by Merry Farmer
“Your presence is required at once.”
A devilish grin pulled at the corner of Malcolm’s mouth. He tucked the note into his jacket pocket. “Galston, have my carriage sent around in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Galston nodded and retreated from the room. Malcolm shot out into the hall after him, passing him as they reached the front hall and charging upstairs, three steps at a time. He dashed past Cece’s room, where she was busy packing a small trunk.
“Papa, whatever are you doing?” she called after him, poking her head out of her room. “My presentation at court is tomorrow.”
“I’ve been called away,” he said without stopping, hurrying on to his room.
“But there’s so much to do,” she continued. “Remember the change of plans? We’re staying the night at—”
He shut the door, cutting off the rest of whatever complaint she was making, and stripped off his clothes as he crossed to his washstand.
As fast as he could, he tossed the clothes he’d been wearing aside and bathed in his washbasin, using the lemon-scented soap Katya liked. When that was done, he toweled off and threw open his wardrobe to pick out crisp, clean, and stylish clothes. Ones that were easy to remove. Katya’s note had been clear. His presence was required at once. They both knew what that meant.
As soon as he was dressed, he dragged a comb through his hair, then left his room a mess as he dashed back into the hall. Galston would clean it up. That’s what he paid the man for.
“You can’t be called away at a time like this, Papa,” Cece called after him once again as he whisked past her room and down the stairs. “We’ve far too much to do. The Queen—”
“I don’t understand why all you young girls are so eager to kneel before that old harridan,” Malcolm barked as he descended the stairs.
“Papa!” Cece scolded, fists on her hips as she glared down at him. “Your Scotch is showing. Don’t say things like that outside of the house.”
As he reached the door, Malcolm turned to send his daughter an impish wink. How he’d managed to produce offspring that loved an English queen so much was a mystery to him. He didn’t have time to contemplate it, though. His carriage was at the door already when Galston opened it for him, and Katya was waiting.
The short ride seemed interminable. Malcolm tapped his foot against the carriage’s floor the whole time, feeling far more self-satisfied than he should. It was one thing for Katya to come when he sent her a note letting her know he needed her, but it was far rarer for her to send for him. Their system had been in place for more than a decade, though, and had successfully enabled them to carry on like lunatic children—or perhaps not children exactly—without their friends knowing about it. Peter would probably shake his head and call him a damn fool if he knew how fast he jumped when Katya crooked her finger.
He was out of the carriage and at Katya’s front door within moments, and was pleased when Katya’s butler, Stewart, opened the door without him having to knock. Malcolm smoothed his hand over his hair one final time, breathed into his hand to check his breath, and put on his most seductive grin as he marched straight toward the stairs that led up to her bedroom.
“Malcolm, wherever do you think you’re going?” Katya called to him from her front parlor.
Malcolm froze with his foot raised to mount the first stair. Prickles broke out on his skin as he turned to find her standing in the doorway, dressed in a plain afternoon dress, the bodice buttoned all the way up to her chin. Behind her, Malcolm spotted Dowland and Craig sitting on sofas that faced each other. Both men stared at him with surprised looks.
Heat rose up Malcolm’s neck. There was nothing he could do to stop it from breaking out on his face. He hid his wrenching disappointment with a glower and marched straight past Katya and into the parlor, pretending he hadn’t made an utter ass of himself.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Katya studied him with narrowed eyes and a twitch to her mouth that said she knew exactly what was going on in his mind. The vixen had probably planned for him to make a fool of himself. “Sir Christopher is ready to make his report to Inspector Craig,” she said. “I thought you’d want to hear it.”
“I do,” Malcolm grumbled, moving away from her to stand behind the sofa where Craig sat. His pride couldn’t take the humiliation of standing next to Katya, knowing she was probably laughing at him.
Dowland looked like a confused stoat as he glanced from Malcolm to Katya to Craig, then back to Malcolm. “As I told Inspector Craig just now, I ended up visiting The Black Strap Club on two nights.” His face was redder than Malcolm’s, which was a strange kind of relief. “It’s just as bad as you said it was,” Dowland went on in an apprehensive voice. “The staff, if you can call them that, treated my first visit as though it were a special event of some kind. I was taken to an alarmingly decorated salon at first and given a complete menu of the services the place offered.”
“A menu?” Craig said, sitting forward with a frown.
Dowland nodded and swallowed. “Some of the offerings were startling. Most of them were.”
“Was it printed, this menu?” Craig asked, the excitement of discovering exactly what he needed pouring off of him.
“Yes,” Dowland answered, wiping his mouth. “With illustrations for some things.”
“That’s new,” Katya said, moving to sit beside Dowland. She rested a hand on his arm. It was probably a comforting gesture, considering how upset the man clearly was, but Malcolm hated it all the same. He needed comforting too, dammit.
He also needed to keep his head on if he was going to defeat Shayles at last. “Shayles will argue that was all a charade and that the menu was a joke unless you have evidence to back it up,” he said.
“Oh, I have evidence,” Dowland said with a doleful look.
“What evidence?” Craig scooted to the edge of the sofa, looking like he would either fall off the edge or spring to his feet.
“Screams, for one.” Dowland rubbed a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. “We walked past a hallway, and I heard a woman screaming and begging for mercy.” His voice faltered, and he drew in a long breath as though trying not to be sick.
“Go on,” Katya prompted him softly.
Dowland shook his head. “I figured it wouldn’t be enough for me to pick some poor girl and lock myself away with her for an hour,” he went on. “So I pretended I was curious about some of the…stranger things on that damnable menu. Shayles himself was there, and he took me on what he called ‘the grand tour’. We went down to what I can only describe as a dungeon.”
“I’ve seen it,” Malcolm growled. He’d rescued a young American woman named Noelle Walters from that very dungeon a few years before.
“Then you know how utterly hellish it is,” Dowland said, glancing to him like they were comrades sharing a horrible secret.
As much as Malcolm wanted to despise the man for the way Katya sat so close to him and offered such sweet support, after a look like that, he rather liked the man.
“There was more than just the dungeon, though,” Dowland went on. “The entire club is packed full of what looked to me like devices of torture.”
“Photographs might sway a judge,” Craig said as if talking to himself. “They would at least warrant an indictment.”
“But the very worst of it was the women,” Dowland said, more haunted than ever. He shook his head, his face contorting with misery. “I don’t know which was worse, the ones who were trying to look appealing or the ones who cowered as if praying not to be seen. And they were young, too young. The cosmetics couldn’t hide the bruises on some of them,” he reported in a rush.
“I know,” Katya said in her most soothing voice, stroking his arm. “Rest assured, my girls on the inside do whatever they can to help those unfortunate women.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Craig said in a surprisingly vicious growl.
He stood a
nd began pacing, tension rippling off of him. His face was mottled with anger, and his blue eyes burned with fury. Malcolm would have bet his entire fortune that a woman Craig had cared for in the past had been abused in some way. He knew that kind of fury, had lived with it night and day since meeting Tessa and rescuing her from Shayles’s clutches.
“We have to bring Shayles to justice,” Malcolm said, meeting Craig’s eyes and holding them. The time had come to lay all his cards on the table. “My late wife was once married to that bastard. He treated her no differently than he does the women in that club now. I was barely able to save her, but saving one woman from treatment like that is not enough. We need to save them all. I think you know that more than most.”
A light of understanding shone in Craig’s eyes. “I do,” he said, communicating far more with two words than most men did with lengthy speeches. “And we will.”
“So it was all worth it?” Dowland asked, glancing between Malcolm and Craig.
“It was,” Katya answered, the softness in her voice turning to steel.
“I’ll start the ball rolling immediately,” Craig said, cutting around the sofa and heading to the door. “We need physical evidence from the club itself, as well as photographic evidence, and in order to get all that without Lord Shayles getting wind of the impending raid, we’ll have to act fast.” He turned back to them as he reached the door. “Very fast.”
“How fast?” Katya asked, rising from the sofa and meeting Malcolm halfway across the room as he followed Craig into the hall. Dowland got up on shaky legs and followed them.
“Like lightning,” Craig told her, absolute determination in his eyes.
An odd sort of excitement buzzed through Malcolm’s entire body. For nearly twenty years he’d been fighting against Shayles, putting everything he had into bringing the man to justice. His pursuit of the man had stopped him from taking holidays, interrupted relationships, and haunted his every step for almost half his life. Now, all of a sudden, he stood on the precipice of ending the war with a decisive victory. It seemed unreal.
“This may sound odd,” Katya spoke into the sizzling silence that had followed Craig’s single word, “but would you care to stay for supper, gentlemen?” She glanced to Craig and Dowland, sending Malcolm a final look as though she assumed he would stay.
“I wish I could,” Craig said, some of his tension loosening, “but this needs to be dealt with immediately.”
“Oh, but you must stay.” Bianca practically leapt into the hall from around the corner of the doorway to a private, family parlor across the hall from the front parlor. Natalia peeked around the corner after her.
Malcolm rolled his eyes, wondering how much of the frightening conversation Katya’s two wildcats had overheard and how long they’d been spying.
“Land sakes, you two,” Katya exclaimed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though they’d given her a sudden migraine. “Am I going to have to lock you in chains and throw you in the cellar?”
Dowland made a strangled sound, his expression twisting with misery. Katya instantly looked contrite, but it was Craig’s amused grin as he studied Bianca that caught Malcolm’s attention.
“I’m tempted to stay for supper after all, if it means I have the pleasure of such lively entertainment,” Craig said, the formal words sounding odd in his bastardized accent.
“Please stay.” Bianca swept forward, making doe-eyes at Craig. “You could escort me in to supper and sit next to me. I promise I won’t bite.” She twitched an eyebrow, much the same way Katya had when she was that age and too young to know how obvious the gesture was.
Craig seemed to be eating the whole thing up. “I’m certain you’re a brilliant conversationalist, Miss….”
“Bianca,” Bianca informed him, sweeping even closer. “Lady Bianca Marlowe, at your service.” She held out her hand, presumably for Craig to kiss.
Malcolm couldn’t let the farce go on. “She’s seventeen,” he said, glancing from Craig to Katya.
Instantly, Craig’s expression shifted from overt interest to embarrassed caution, and he pulled his hand back before he could touch Bianca’s. He peeked at Katya. “I’m terribly sorry, my lady. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s not your fault,” Katya said, glaring at Bianca. “Go change for supper.”
“But Mama,” Bianca said through clenched teeth.
“Go,” Katya told her in a warning voice.
Bianca growled in frustration, then turned a charming smile on Craig, as if the man hadn’t just witnessed the entire childish exchange. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Inspector Craig,” she said, curtsied, then did her best to march up the stairs with dignity. She might have managed it if Natalia hadn’t dashed out of her hiding place to scurry up the stairs after her.
“So that’s no to supper then?” Malcolm said with a sly grin for Craig.
“Not for a few more years at least,” Craig answered. He nodded to Katya. “Good evening, my lady.”
With a final nod to Malcolm and Dowland, Craig turned to go.
“I must decline your kind invitation as well, Lady Stanhope,” Dowland said. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.”
“Understandable,” Katya said, taking Dowland’s arm and escorting him to the door. “Another time, perhaps?”
“Certainly.”
Malcolm stood where he was, trying not to seethe with envy at the way Katya fussed over the man as Stewart handed him his coat and hat and saw him out the door. As soon as Dowland was gone, Katya turned back to Malcolm wearing the smile he’d hoped to see from her when he arrived.
“We’re so close,” she said, crossing the hall and sliding easily into his arms. “So close I can taste it.”
Her sudden burst of amorousness knocked Malcolm off-guard. “After all these years.”
He leaned close, intending to kiss her, but the front door flew open again, revealing Cece, followed by Stewart and one of Katya’s footmen carrying trunks. Katya leapt out of Malcolm’s arms, and he stepped back, pretending he and Katya hadn’t been about to light any fires.
“Papa,” Cece scolded the moment she saw him, not a trace of surprise in her expression. “I tried to tell you that if you had just waited for me, we could have come here together.” She shook her head and muttered, “Called away indeed,” under her breath.
“What are you doing here?” Malcolm asked, more alarmed than he cared to admit.
Cece stopped a few feet in front of him and let out an impatient breath. “My presentation at court is tomorrow. Lady Stanhope is my sponsor. We agreed that the whole family should stay the night here so that we can all travel to Buckingham Palace together bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Malcolm glanced to Katya in confusion. “Aren’t you staying at my house tonight?”
Katya blinked at him. “You didn’t remember? We decided it was less of a hassle to have two people relocate to Stanhope House instead of all four of us packing into your house, since the girls insist on not being left out.” Katya rolled her eyes.
The faint echo of something Cece had said to him a few days before, deep in the middle of his preoccupation with Dowland’s part in their mission against Shayles, and in possible connections between Dowland and Katya, came to mind. “Of course I remembered,” he said.
Katya shook her head at him. “Stewart can get the two of you settled. Supper will be served within the hour.” She launched into motion herself, as though there were a thousand things to do to prepare for what amounted to a small, family meal. “You can keep yourself occupied until we eat, can’t you?” she asked him as Cece headed upstairs, Stewart and the footman following her.
“Yes, of course,” Malcolm said.
“Good.”
Katya moved past him, her hand brushing his as she did. A jolt of excitement coursed through him. Maybe the visit wouldn’t be without comfort after all.
As much as she enjoyed subtlety and the clever dance of politics and society,
few things filled Katya with as much of a sense of contentment as a family dinner. Especially when family included Malcolm and Cece. Between the six of them—her and Malcolm, Cece and Rupert, and Bianca and Natalia—there were always at least five conversations happening simultaneously. Robert would have had a second heart-attack if he could have seen the way his children carried on at the table, the girls expressing their opinions as loudly as Rupert. But Robert wasn’t there, God rest him, and what society couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt it.
“We should all sleep in my room tonight,” Bianca suggested to the other girls with an excited gasp as they finished their pudding. “That way we can talk about all the gentlemen who are likely to ask Cece to dance at the ball tomorrow night.”
“If you all pitch your tents in the same room tonight, none of you will sleep a wink,” Rupert said. Katya detected a hint of temper in his words, probably at the thought that other men would want to dance with Cece.
“That’s the point,” Natalia told him, rolling her eyes.
“Young women apparently don’t need sleep,” Malcolm added, his expression surprisingly similar to Natalia’s.
Katya hid her grin by taking a last sip of wine. “If you truly want to stay up all night and have dark circles under your eyes when you’re presented to the Queen tomorrow, then by all means, do so with my blessing,” she said with only a touch of sarcasm.
Malcolm grinned in approval at her across the table.
“You have a point, Lady Stanhope,” Cece said with a sigh, then sent a covert smile to Bianca. “Although we could stay up for a bit to discuss a certain gentleman I saw leaving the house as I arrived.”
Bianca burst into a giggle, Natalia following suit shortly thereafter. Rupert rose from the table with a sigh, throwing his serviette down.
“I, for one, want to be well-rested for tomorrow’s activities, so I’m going to bed,” he said.
“I think I might turn in early as well,” Malcolm said, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. He stood and walked around the corner of the table to kiss Cece’s forehead. “Sleep well, my darling.” As he stepped away from her he added, “That’s an order, by the way, not a suggestion.”