by Jaimey Grant
Derringer nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. Aurora looked away, inadvertently meeting the dark brown eyes of her husband.
There was a scratch at the door. Derringer thanked the butler and opened the ransom note addressed to the Countess of Greville. He read it swiftly, shoved it into his pocket without letting anyone else see it—much to the astonishment of Northwicke and Prestwich—and snapped his fingers rudely in Levi’s face to get his attention.
“Ransom note arrived. Forester, although he did not actually sign the note, is asking for…well, far more than I expected him to demand for the return of Rhiannon Glendenning. How does he know exactly what you are worth?” inquired the duke curiously, turning his black gaze on Aurora.
Aurora shrugged, gave him a limpid look, and countered, “How do you?”
Derringer smiled. “I did not until now. You have enough to pay it should you choose.”
“Should I choose?” she exclaimed in astonishment. “Of course I choose. I want my daughter back.”
“Do you want to pay this bastard or do you just want your child?” he asked brutally, placing the slightest stress on a certain word.
“Are they not one and the same?” she asked, angry at his callousness and too distraught to understand his meaning.
“What his grace wants to know, little Rory,” Prestwich inserted helpfully, “is do you want to pay to get her back, or do you just want us to retrieve the child?”
“There is no us about it, Prestwich,” Derringer said firmly. “I will get the girl back and Forester will not be a threat when I get through with him.”
Prestwich and Northwicke opened their mouths to protest but Levi forestalled them. “I, at least, am helping you, Hart. That is my child he has and I will kill Desmond Forester when we find him.”
Aurora’s heart leapt when she heard his words. His child. The rest of his speech she discounted. They could not possibly be contemplating murder with such equanimity.
“I shall return presently,” stated Derringer abruptly. He strode from the room with six pairs of curious eyes boring into his black-clad back.
“I wonder what that was all about?” murmured Verena.
Bri shrugged, her eyes darting from one gentleman to another until they finally rested on her husband. He gave her a rather bleak look.
Aurora moved closer to Levi. She had no patience for the duke at the moment and little desire to know what insane decision had sent him from the room. She had only one thought in her mind and that was her husband’s words.
Gazing up at him hopefully, Aurora could not keep her heart from her eyes. “Did you mean it?” she asked.
“Mean what?” His voice was carefully blank and Aurora felt her heart sink to her toes.
“About Rhiannon being your child?”
The earl shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose I did. I do care for her.” His dark eyes looked down at his wife. “No matter what lies her mother has told.”
*
Chapter Sixteen
The Duke of Derringer had no intention of allowing anyone to “help” in the recovery of Rhiannon Glendenning. He knew from experience that those wanting to help were generally more of a hindrance.
A part of his rarely active conscience told him he should at least allow the child’s adoptive father to help but his practical side told him that Levi had more on his plate than he could currently hold. He believed his wife was little better than a lying trollop. It would take time to sort that out.
After questioning the butler and footman minutely, Derringer ventured out into the streets of London. In his years of supporting the claim that he was as dangerous as he was heartless, the duke had made several friends among the lower reaches of London’s dregs.
~~~~~~
He was annoyed when he walked out his back door and literally ran into Levi. “Leave me to handle this, Vi. I will do much better alone.”
“Where the devil are you bound?” Levi asked, taking in his friend’s appearance. He laughed. “Almack’s?”
“Heavens no! Once was enough.” He shuddered. “What a nightmare.”
“So where?”
“If you must know, you interfering jackanapes, I am off to confer with some friends of mine.”
“In the slums?”
“Yes.”
Levi’s eyes widened. “Are you in earnest? Who do you know in the rookeries?”
Derringer released an exasperated sigh and glared at the earl. “Whoever it takes to end this annoying farce that girl has landed herself in,” he replied scathingly.
“Careful, Hart. I don’t care what rumor calls you. I still love ‘that girl’ and I will call you out.”
“Behold me frightened.”
Levi’s eyebrows quirked slightly. “Indeed. You appear as you always do,” he remarked. “I am going with you, Hart,” he added stubbornly.
“As you are?”
The earl looked at Derringer’s black raiment, tattered coat, old leather breeches and worn topboots, his forehead creasing as he took in the odd spectacle before him.
The duke knew what he looked like. He looked a villain, the part he wanted to play in the darkness of London’s East End. A nobleman could not venture into the rookeries at night and expect to live through the experience.
Levi glanced down at his own dark brown coat, gold waistcoat, buff leather breeches, and shining Hessians. Amusement lurked in his eyes. “That would be suicide, I believe.”
~~~~~~
Derringer’s butler, a gruff ex-pugilist, was sent to a secondhand shop to root out a suit of clothes for Levi. The butler usually accompanied his master into the rookeries to act as a sort of bodyguard.
The servant returned, handed Levi a wrapped parcel, and disappeared into the corridor. Inside the package, the earl found a suit of mismatched clothes that had seen better days fifty years ago.
“You are jesting, surely?” he asked as he held up a dull jacket of what used to be bright blue colored velvet with a high collar and a linen shirt yellowed with age. The waistcoat was dark blue with what appeared to be peacocks of all things embroidered all over it in crimson thread. It was blinding—or it would have been had it been new. The boots were not so bad, being plain brown topboots worn to a dull finish and scuffed at the heels and toes.
“At least you did not have to search high and low for a set of completely black clothing,” commented the duke.
Levi threw his friend an uncertain look. “Are you trying to get me killed in this kit?” Shaking out the jacket, he grimaced as a moth fluttered away. “I will stand out like a sore thumb.”
Derringer told him, straight-faced, “Running away with your wife would be so much easier if you were out of the way. Many a man disappears into the rookeries at night.”
Levi hesitated. An arrested expression crossed his mobile features, one that communicated quite clearly to the duke just how believably he’d made his claim.
Watching Levi far more closely than that gentleman was watching him, the duke knew all the fury and feelings of helplessness over the current situation was bubbling dangerously close to the surface. If Levi was to be any help at all in finding Rhiannon Glendenning, the burning emotion had to be quenched.
“Bruiser!”
The butler appeared with another package and handed it silently to the duke. Derringer, in turn, handed it to Levi.
The earl tore into it, a perplexed frown between his brows. He extracted a set of black clothes much like the duke’s, and released an outraged howl. “You bloody bastard!”
He made a leap for him, but the duke sidestepped him easily. He turned, latched onto Levi’s arm, twisting it up and around. He informed his captive, “It was a jest, Vi. Nothing more than a diversion. Murdering me will not solve anything.”
“Like hell!” retorted the earl, beside himself with rage.
Although the Duke of Derringer was known for his selfish, unfeeling attitude, he had deep affection for Levi Greville. This was someone he’d known
since childhood, really the only person to ever ignore rumor and befriend him despite all obstacles. His baiting was not to poke fun at the earl’s pain but to draw his anger out and release it before they ventured into one of the most dangerous areas of London in search of people who truly felt no qualms about ending a human life. If the rage poured out at the wrong time, Levi could get them all killed.
“Your problems with Aurora cease to exist as of right now, Levi. We are on a mission to collect information in order to rescue a kidnapped child, nothing more. Do you understand me?”
Levi nodded, the movement nothing more than a grudging jerk of his head. He was immediately released. Before the duke could back away, the earl swung his massive arm and planted a punishing left on Derringer’s jaw.
The duke’s shouted response to this was short and concise, not fit for repetition.
Bruiser appeared in the doorway and started for Levi, apparently unconcerned by the earl’s slightly more muscular frame.
“No, Bruiser, leave us,” commanded Derringer, fingering his jaw and working it back and forth in an attempt to alleviate some of the tenderness. “That was deserved, I suppose,” he told Levi. “But, friend or no, it will not happen again.”
Levi sucked in a deep breath, gradually releasing the tension that had held him captive. Derringer was relieved to see it go, knowing full well that a calm demeanor was the only way to get through the next few hours.
Facing his best friend, Levi said, “I apologize, Hart, for striking you. It was uncalled for and unwise.” He held out his hand. “Forgive me my hotheadedness?”
Derringer strode forward, took the proffered hand, pulled Levi closer, and landed a solid punch to the earl’s hard head. Levi reeled back from the force of the blow, his eyes wide with shock.
“There. That evens things out a bit,” said Derringer, satisfied. He smirked and left the room.
~~~~~~
“Why do you not just send Bruiser to find these friends of yours and convey them to your residence?” inquired Levi curiously as Derringer hailed a hackney coach.
“I prefer to do my own dirty work,” was the duke’s cryptic reply.
The duke and Levi climbed into the cab, followed closely by Bruiser. “So why does Bruiser go?” asked Levi, eying the butler with obvious misgivings.
“He keeps me from getting killed.”
The earl nodded but continued to look suspiciously at the butler-bodyguard. His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?” he asked suddenly.
The butler looked back at Levi with blank gray eyes. “Reckon you don’t,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“No, I do,” exclaimed the earl suddenly. “Didn’t you fight Randall five years ago over at Hammersmith?”
“Reckon I did.”
“You won,” concluded Levi triumphantly.
“Why do you act as though you’ve never seen Bruiser before, Vi?” inserted Derringer, finding himself drawn into the conversation despite himself. “He’s been with me since, well, before that fight, actually.”
“He is a servant,” explained Levi with a shrug. “How many members of the upper ten thousand ever notice servants?”
This explanation was ludicrous—and true—enough to make the duke release a short bark of laughter.
The cab stopped and the jehu called down that he wouldn’t go any further. The three dark clad men climbed down and Derringer tossed a guinea to the driver.
“Gor’ blimey! ‘Tis twice in one week.” And he drove off whistling.
“What are the chances?” Levi mused.
Derringer ignored his friend as he looked around, processing everything in his mind. Two drunks were standing in one doorway watching them. A whore called out her wares. A mongrel dog whined for food in an alley nearby. A small child ran by, bumped into the earl and darted off.
He tried to, anyway. Derringer reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, giving him a brisk shake. “Where is Big John?”
The frightened child stuttered so badly that the three men combined could make neither heads nor tails of his explanation. Derringer finally made out The Painted Whore when the lad slipped from his grimy, oversized coat and darted off, turning down an alley and disappearing.
Derringer tossed the coat aside, handed Levi his leather purse, and started walking. The other men fell in step beside him. He noticed the drunks were following them and cursed under his breath.
“Bruiser, do you see the drunks behind us?” The butler nodded. “If they make a move, take care of them.” The other man nodded again.
“Vi, help him when the time comes. I should see Big John alone. He is suspicious of all newcomers. And I don’t want it becoming known that three large men are looking for Forester.”
Levi nodded silently but Derringer could practically feel the other man bristling at being excluded.
The duke entered the tavern with the air of one who belonged there. He was given barely a glance by the patrons.
The working girls were more interested. One sidled up to him and brushed against him in obvious invitation. Derringer looked down at her ample charms, smiled into her eyes and, after pressing a coin between her nearly bared breasts, ordered simply, “Point me in the direction of Big John.”
Her full painted lips twisted into a pout. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating a room in the back.
Derringer looked pointedly at the long-fingered hand that still rested on his arm. The girl jerked it away and stepped aside. He heard her tell her friend that he was Old Nick himself. The comment made him smile in genuine good humor.
The room in the back of The Painted Whore was little more than a closet. Derringer pushed the door open without even knocking. Just as he thought, surveying the scene before him. John was working.
“‘Eartless,” said the duke’s quarry. “Care fer a pint o’ shrub?” he asked casually, lifting his tankard. He shoved aside the papers strewn across the table and kicked out a chair with his foot.
Derringer declined the offer of drink, straddling the proffered chair. Resting his arms across the chair back, he eyed the wizened little man across the table. “I need information, John. A friend of mine is being held for ransom.”
“What be yer mate’s name?”
The duke hesitated. He didn’t want to tell him Rhiannon’s name unless he had to. She was only a child. He was enraged that anyone would dare to drag a child into such madness merely for money.
“Not important,” he told him. The look in John’s eyes told Derringer just how much he’d managed to reveal to the crafty old man but, to his credit, John said nothing.
“What’s in it fer me?” he asked instead.
Derringer’s lips tipped up ever so slightly at the other man’s avaricious nature. “I will allow you to live at least one more day,” he offered, only half-jesting.
“Nothin’ doin’, me lord ‘eartless,” the old man replied, completely unfazed by his dark companion. “I gots to ‘ave blunt for me work.”
“Business gone down lately?” asked the duke with mock sympathy.
“Naw, jist lookin’ out fer me own,” he answered with a smug grin.
“A monkey.”
“Five ‘undred quid? What fer?”
Derringer leaned forward. “For you and Tiny and any other men you think you may need to help. I need to know the whereabouts of a certain Mr. Desmond Forester and anyone he is seen with. I need to know if he is seen in company with a small girl of about three years old. And I want him watched from now until midnight in two days. Remember how I like details, John. Nothing is too unimportant or insignificant. I want to know everything. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“When you discover anything, come to my townhouse in St James Street or seek out Lord Greville if I am unavailable. I expect results, John,” he warned softly. “This involves a very dear friend of mine and I’ll not have her hurt by the greed of a madman.”
“‘E must be mad to tangle wit the likes o’ you,”
commented John.
“Exactly. Where is Tiny?”
“Try ‘Arwood’s ken. I seen ‘im sneakin’ ‘bout ‘is lordship’s place last night. I reckon as ‘ow ‘e’s been ‘ired to watch the old man. Right strange goings-on there.”
“Very well. Here.” He didn’t care a rap for the Earl of Harwood and the strange goings-on of his family. He tossed a handful of coins on the table between them. “I want silence on this, John. If Forester finds out that I am asking about him, he may get desperate.”
The little man saluted mockingly. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
Derringer smiled and bowed just as mockingly. He left the room and exited the building after fending off the advances of two more women for which the pub was named. He shuddered as he erupted into the darkened street.
Levi stood leaning against a lamppost, Bruiser stood to attention next to him, and the two “drunks” were lying insensate in the gutter.
“Problems?” inquired the duke as he joined them and the three started walking down the street.
“Nothing a little muscle couldn’t solve,” replied Levi, his hands shoved in his breeches pockets.
Bruiser ambled along beside them but said nothing.
They traveled the dark streets of London’s East End, turning first this way and then that until Derringer hailed a hack and they climbed inside.
“Where to, guv?” called the jehu.
“Grosvenor Square.”
~~~~~~
Harwood House was lit up like Vauxhall Gardens during a fireworks show. Candles burned in every window and carriages were lined up outside the door. Music filtered out into the night sky and wound its way around anyone who was close enough to hear. Sounds of merriment could be heard and Derringer paused in the shadows.
“Harwood would have to be entertaining,” grumbled the duke. His dark eyes scanned the area, looking for any shadows that did not belong.