For the Sake of a Scottish Rake

by Anna Bradley

  “My lord.” Eloisa offered Godfrey a brief curtsy, then turned to face her father. “Good morning, Father.”

  “What the devil do you two want?” Jarvis wheeled around the side of the desk. “Go back up at once and fetch your cousin. I sent for Lucinda.”

  “She’s not here.” Eloisa’s gaze met his, her chin high.

  For a moment Jarvis was too stunned to speak. Not here? It was eight o’clock in the morning! Either Lucinda had fled her bed before sunrise, or…

  Jarvis’s brain gave a sluggish twitch as, very slowly, a suspicion wormed its way through the alcohol haze in his head. If Lucinda wasn’t here, then she likely hadn’t spent the night in her bed. If she hadn’t spent the night in her bed, it was fair to assume she’d fled his protection.

  Jarvis eyed his daughter. Yes, Lucinda had fled. He could see the truth in Eloisa’s face, in the strange glitter of her blue eyes.

  Now he thought of it, it wasn’t surprising, really. Anyone could see Lucinda was smitten with Ramsey. Yet Jarvis was surprised, all the same, and not at all pleasantly. Up until now everything had gone just as he’d predicted, but he hadn’t anticipated this turn of events.

  Godfrey didn’t say a word, but from the corner of his eye Jarvis saw his lordship’s hand clench, the special license crumpling in his fist.

  Again, not surprising, but Jarvis was prepared to rage and bluster as though it were. He grabbed Eloisa’s shoulders. “What do you mean, she’s not here? You will tell me at once where she is, or else—”

  “No, I won’t tell you.” Eloisa’s chin shot higher. “And you won’t find her.”

  “Search the house,” Jarvis barked, and the servant fled.

  “You may send as many servants as you like scurrying over every corner of this house, Father, but it won’t do you any good. Lucy’s not here, and she hasn’t been for hours.”

  Eloisa didn’t say anything more, but her meaning was plain. Lucinda had spent the night somewhere else.

  Or, more to the point, with someone else.

  That was more than enough for Godfrey. “It seems you’ve lost control of your niece, Jarvis. Pity. She would have made a lovely countess.” Before Jarvis could utter a word of protest, Lord Godfrey leaned over, and with one quick flick of his wrist, tossed the license into the fire. When he turned to face Jarvis, his face was hard. “You’ll do me the honor of calling on me later today, won’t you? I believe we have business to discuss.”

  Then he was gone, and with him all of Jarvis’s plans to get himself out from under Godfrey’s thumb lay in tatters at his feet.

  Or so it appeared to Lord Godfrey.

  Jarvis drew a shaking hand over his damp brow. Good Christ, he’d thought the man would never leave. Now he had, Jarvis was ready to get some answers.

  He turned his icy gaze on his wife and daughter. He took several menacing steps toward Harriet, who could be relied upon to crumble like dust between his fingers the moment he started squeezing her. She blanched as he drew closer, but Eloisa darted between them, her eyes flashing. “Don’t touch her!”

  “You presume to issue orders to me?” Jarvis snatched his daughter’s arm and clamped down on it until the soft flesh collapsed under the pressure of his fingers.

  His wife let out a cry and clawed at his hand. “Stop, Augustus!”

  But Jarvis didn’t stop. He shoved his wife aside and turned his attention back to Eloisa. “Now, my dear child. Let’s try this again, shall we? Where the devil has your cousin gone?”

  Eloisa was silent, fear, defiance, and triumph in her eyes.

  Jarvis’s fingers tightened. “Speak, girl!”

  Eloisa flinched, but not a single word passed her lips.

  Jarvis stared down at her, his eyes bulging with shock. It had never occurred to him Eloisa would defy him. She’d never done so before.

  “Very well, then.” He wrenched his daughter toward the door with a twist of her arm and dragged her from the study into the hallway. His wife scrambled after them up the stairs, her shrieks growing louder with every step. Several servants paused to watch, open-mouthed, but none dared interfere.

  Jarvis didn’t stop until he reached a door at the end of a long hallway on the third floor, in the servants’ quarters of the house. “Get in,” he hissed. He shoved Eloisa into the bedchamber with enough force to make her stumble before grabbing his wife and shoving her in after. “Don’t bloody move, either of you. You’ll stay here until you tell me where Lucinda is.” He didn’t give either of them a chance to reply, but slammed the door closed and, just for good measure, locked it behind him.

  He hurried back down the stairs to his study, closed and locked that door as well, and went straight to the sideboard. His hands were shaking so badly the first glass slid from his fingers and fell to the floor, but he managed to get the port into a second glass. He downed it with one swallow, filled it again, then grabbed the bottle and crossed the room to throw himself into the chair behind his desk.

  He had to think.

  He was halfway through his third glass of port before he realized there was nothing to think about. Until Eloisa became hungry or thirsty enough to tell him where Lucinda was hiding, there wasn’t anything he could do. Worse, he didn’t have much time. Godfrey was going to call in the debt this afternoon. Jarvis didn’t have the money, and without Lucinda he hadn’t a prayer of getting that much blunt in one go.

  Nearly six thousand pounds, at last count.

  Too much to steal from Lucinda’s trust. A pound or two here and there could be explained easily enough, but Chancery tended to frown on guardians snatching thousands of pounds from their wards. No, the only hope he had of paying the debt was to seize permanent control of Lucinda’s fortune, and for that he needed to get his hands on Lucinda.

  Trouble was, London was a big city, and he hadn’t any bloody idea where to look for her. His first thought was Grosvenor Square, but he discarded it at once. Ramsey’s brother was some high-in-the-instep marquess with a fancy house on Grosvenor Street, but Jarvis knew well enough Ramsey wouldn’t take Lucinda there.

  Ramsey wasn’t, alas, a fool. He’d guess that would be the first place Jarvis would look for her. The first and the last, because after Grosvenor Square, he hadn’t the vaguest idea where they might be. They could have gone anywhere. If Eloisa was to be believed, Lucinda had been missing the entire night. That was more than enough time for Ramsey to have taken her out of the city.

  Even if they were still here, Jarvis didn’t have time to chase his niece down every filthy alley in London. Godfrey was waiting, and he wasn’t a patient man.

  Or a merciful one.

  That left Jarvis with one choice only. A quick retreat from London.

  He muttered a vile curse and dropped his head into his hands, overwhelmed with self-pity. How had it come to this? He’d planned the thing so carefully, fit each piece into the next with such deftness he’d impressed even himself.

  Now here he was, on the verge of leaving London with a vengeful earl and dozens of infuriated London tradesmen on his heels.

  How could it all have gone so wrong, so quickly? Less than twelve hours ago he’d been at the Weatherby ball, satisfaction curling through him as Godfrey led Lucinda through three dances while all of fashionable London watched. He’d been so certain it was the beginning of the end for his troublesome niece, but he hadn’t anticipated she’d run. He’d expected another Eloisa, and instead he’d gotten a red-haired demon with an iron will and a rebellious streak wider than the Thames.

  She was the wiliest, slipperiest chit he’d ever come across. No doubt she intended to remain hidden until her twenty-first birthday. Then she’d marry Ramsey, and take her sixty thousand pounds with her.

  As for Jarvis, well…it was looking more and more like he’d be fleeing to the Continent with the bitter knowledge he’d been outmaneuvered by a devious slip
of a girl with a sharp tongue and a mad father.

  He reached for the bell and stood staring moodily out the window until Harley, the hired butler, appeared. He offered Jarvis a bow, then stood silently, waiting for instructions.

  “My family and I are leaving London sooner than expected. Ready the carriage, send a maid to attend to our baggage, and make preparations to close the house.”

  The man stared. “You mean to leave today?”

  “I mean to leave well before teatime. Don’t stand about gaping, man! Do as I say. Oh, and we’re not at home to any visitors. Don’t even answer the door. I don’t care who it is.” Godfrey might turn up again, and the last thing Jarvis wanted was another confrontation with his lordship.

  Harley looked as if he wished to say more, but he pressed his lips together and bowed stiffly. After he left there was nothing for Jarvis to do but sit and wait, and finish the rest of his bottle of port.

  It never occurred to him to release his wife and daughter from their prison, nor did it cross his mind to inform them they’d be leaving London within a matter of hours. Indeed, he’d have completely forgotten about them both if something unexpected hadn’t occurred to remind him of their existence.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Jarvis’s first thought was it was Lord Godfrey, come early to collect his debt. He stumbled to his feet and peered out the window, but the awkward angle only permitted a glimpse of their visitor. He could see it wasn’t Godfrey—and thank God for it—but he couldn’t tell who it was.

  Harley appeared in the study doorway and cleared his throat.

  “Who is it?” Jarvis whirled around, nearly losing his balance. “What do they want?”

  “It’s Lord Vale, sir. I imagine he’s here to call on Miss Jarvis.”

  Jarvis stared blankly at the man. Eloisa? Why the devil would a young, wealthy aristocrat like Lord Vale want to call on Eloisa? Damned if he knew, but whatever it was Vale was after, he was impatient enough to get it. A second dull thud sounded from the front door, this one louder and more insistent.

  Jarvis flinched. It didn’t sound as if he was going to go away without speaking to someone. “Damn the man. Go on then, Harley, and tell Vale Eloisa isn’t—”

  Jarvis broke off. He wasn’t any cleverer a man than he was a kind one, but even the dullest brain enjoys an occasional flash of illumination.

  Vale and Ramsey were friends—as thick as two bloody thieves. A man couldn’t lay eyes on one of them without being obliged to look at the other. If anyone in London knew where Ramsey had gone, it would be Vale.

  Wasn’t there a chance, slim though it might be, that Vale would go straight to wherever Ramsey and Lucinda were hiding once he left here? Mightn’t it be worth sending him on his way, and then following him?

  “Sir?” Harley was still waiting.

  He’d need the carriage. That was the first consideration.

  “Sir?” A faint note of impatience had crept into Harley’s voice. “Shall I fetch Miss Jarvis?”

  The carriage, perhaps a blanket or two, and a bottle of his wife’s laudanum—

  “Do you wish me to admit Lord Vale, sir, or do you intend to permit him to break the door down?”

  Jarvis jerked his attention back to Harley. “Is the carriage ready, Harley?”

  Harley blinked. “I believe so. I instructed the groom to ready it.”

  Jarvis rubbed his hands together as a new plan began to take shape in his head. “Wait until I’ve gone, then you may answer the door. Tell Lord Vale Miss Jarvis has left London, and won’t be returning.”

  “Left London, sir?”

  Jarvis could see by the way Harley’s brow lowered he didn’t at all care for these instructions. Unfortunately for Harley, Jarvis didn’t give a damn whether he cared for them or not. “Impertinent fellow! You heard me. Now do as I say at once.”

  Harley didn’t move. “May I assume, sir, whatever journey you intend to undertake will include Mrs. and Miss Jarvis?”

  “Yes, yes. That is, not just yet. I, er…I just recalled I need to make a brief trip to Maidstone. I’ll return to London to fetch my family as soon as that business is concluded.” Though if things went as he hoped they would, there’d be no need to flee London, after all. “Now, mind what I said. Don’t open the door to Lord Vale until I’m out of sight.”

  Harley didn’t look pleased, but Jarvis didn’t give him a chance to refuse. After one final peek through the window, he flew from the study down the hallway to the staircase. He went up, grabbed a coverlet and the brown bottle on the small table beside his wife’s bed, then lumbered back down the stairs to the kitchen and into the mews behind the house.

  Lord Vale’s equipage was standing at the curb on the opposite end of the mews. Jarvis instructed his own coachman to wait until his lordship regained his carriage, then to follow him without delay.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Lord Vale came rushing out less than ten minutes later, looking even less pleased than Harley had. He called something to his coachman, then leapt into his carriage as if his breeches were on fire. The coachman wasted no time, but flew off down the road at such a speed the carriage wheels skidded across the stones.

  Jarvis held his breath as they followed Lord Vale’s carriage through the streets of London. Once or twice they were delayed in the heavy tangle of conveyances on the road and lost sight of Vale, but each time Jarvis’s heart began to fail, they managed to catch him again.

  The chase continued until at last Lord Vale’s carriage came to a halt. Jarvis peered out the carriage window to find they’d stopped in an obscure London street in Cheapside, in front of an indifferent looking inn called the Swan and Anchor.

  Once again Jarvis’s heart failed him. What the devil would they be doing here? Why would Ramsey have brought Lucinda to some shabby little inn in Cheapside?

  Lord Vale seemed to know exactly what he was doing here, however. He leapt from the carriage, rushed up the stone steps to the door, and disappeared into the interior of the inn.

  Now Vale was out of sight, there was nothing for Jarvis to do but wait here in the carriage and hope Vale would come back out with Ramsey in tow. Jarvis had left just enough confusion behind him to tempt Vale to bring Ramsey to Portman Square to set everything to rights.

  It was the sort of thing they’d do. The sort of thing tiresome heroic types always did.

  But if they did leave the inn, mightn’t they take Lucinda with them? Jarvis hadn’t a prayer of snatching her away if Ramsey and Vale were hanging about. If she slipped through his fingers now, he wouldn’t get another chance at her. If he made a muck of this, his only other option would be to leave London at once.

  Leave England.

  Jarvis perched on the edge of his seat with his breath held, peering out the carriage window. He fixed his anxious gaze on the door, a curse falling from his lips. There was no sign of either Vale or Ramsey.

  Jarvis was wasting what little time he had.

  If the thing were to be done, it had to be done now. He couldn’t linger here all day and wait for Vale and Ramsey to leave the inn. He’d have to make his move now, and hope for the best. Fortunately for Jarvis, he knew just what he needed to do to coax Lucinda outside.

  “Bexley!” Jarvis rapped on the roof of the carriage until the coachman slid down from the box and appeared at the window. “Go inside and find Lady Lucinda. Do what you must to get her alone, then tell her Miss Jarvis is outside in the carriage. Say her cousin must speak to her on a matter of grave importance, and urge Lady Lucinda to come out at once.”

  The coachman, who was a man of few words and even fewer scruples, nodded and turned away to do his master’s bidding.

  Before he’d gone a step, Jarvis called him back. “Lord Vale and Mr. Ramsey are inside. Take care neither of them sees you. There’s a reward in it for you if you manage the thing dis
creetly, Bexley.”

  Bexley gave him another nod, then disappeared into the inn.

  Cautious hope surged through Jarvis. Or perhaps it wasn’t hope, but something darker. Jarvis didn’t trouble himself much over it one way or another. He had one bothersome chit locked in a bedchamber at Portman Square and the other soon to be on her way to Kent, from whence she wouldn’t return. The whole thing was proving to be almost too easy.

  Jarvis’s one regret was he wouldn’t be there to see Ramsey’s face when he found Lucinda was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ciaran had been gone longer than Lucy had expected he would be. Either that, or she’d become such a fool over Ciaran Ramsey, every moment without him now felt like an eternity.

  I’m not the sort of lady who falls in love.…

  She’d actually told him that, hadn’t she? Even more astounding, she’d truly believed at the time it was the truth. Now, looking back, Lucy was amazed she could have known herself so little, been so deceived about her own nature.

  She was the sort of lady who fell in love. Worse, she was the sort of lady who fell deeply, helplessly, and irrevocably in love, and as humiliating as it was, it seemed she could do this without it being at all a requirement the object of her affections love her back.

  That is, Ciaran did love her. She knew he did, but as he’d reminded her on many occasions, his love was the love of one friend for another. It wasn’t a romantic love, or a love one built a life upon. It wasn’t a love that dwelt in every corner of his heart.

  It wasn’t the sort of love Ciaran had felt—and likely still felt—for his former betrothed, Isobel Campbell. Ciaran was as much a victim of his heart as Lucy was. It might be over between him and Isobel, but he must be still in love with her, whether he realized it or not.

  Lucy fell across the bed with a sigh, then leapt up again. She retreated to a chair on the other side of the room, as far away from the bed as she could get. Even then, she couldn’t stop staring at it. Staring, and remembering what had happened there.

  Twice. Last night, and then again this morning. Goodness, what a wanton she was!