Returning to the parlor, Marcus poured a measure of brandy into a tumbler and set it to his lips. The amber liquid provided a welcome bite to his throat as he swallowed. What might Hedgewick have done to warrant the hostage taking of his daughter? He thought on that for a while and came up blank, so he decided to ask himself who could be behind it instead. Surely it must be someone of rank. Hedgewick didn’t associate with anyone else. Which meant that he must have a powerful enemy among the peerage. Perhaps a handsome young gentleman with the means to lure Regina into his carriage with the pretext of trying to help her? But if the villain was young, then that meant Hedgewick would have crossed him in recent years, which didn’t seem likely. Unless he’d been dealing in things that Marcus had not been aware of.
Downing the remainder of his drink, Marcus went to find his father. When he knocked on the study door and received no answer, he entered the room uninvited. Hedgewick didn’t seem to notice the impropriety. He just stared off into the distance, his unfocused gaze suggesting that he was caught in deep thought. In one hand was the letter Plath had brought him twenty minutes earlier. In the other was a half empty glass of brandy.
Marcus closed the door and moved toward a vacant armchair. Lowering himself into it, he considered his father a moment; the hollowness of his cheeks and how his hair had thinned in recent years. “Have you received additional news about Regina?” he asked.
Hedgewick blinked and dropped his gaze to the paper he held. He stared at it for a second, then hastily folded it and placed it in his desk drawer. “No. Just a note from your mother informing me that she has arrived in Paris and that all is well.”
“I see.” The urge to reach across his father’s desk and haul him to his feet by his cravat so he could shake him was rampant. Gripping the armrest, Marcus forced himself to overcome it. “Do you know how long she’ll be away?”
“Until Regina is found.”
“And what if that never happens?”
Hedgewick stared back at Marcus. “She will be.”
“You are certain of this?” He wanted to ask his father what he had done. If it wasn’t terrible then surely he would have shared it with Marcus and they would have worked together on figuring out who’d sent the letters. Instead Hedgewick had lied, confirming that there was something he was ashamed of or possibly even afraid of. And this made Marcus nervous.
“Bow Street is looking into her disappearance and—”
“Ha!” Marcus leaned forward in his seat and pinned Hedgewick with an incredulous glare. “She’s been gone a week now. Hell, she could be in Scotland at this point for all we know.”
“She isn’t in Scotland, Marcus. The letters were posted in England.”
“Letters?” Marcus tilted his head in question and watched as Hedgewick drew back.
“Forgive me. I’ve not been sleeping well lately. I’m afraid I misspoke.”
“So you’ve had no other word from the man who’s holding Regina? No indication at all of her whereabouts or why he’s letting you know that he has her?”
Incredulity shaped Hedgewick’s features. “Of course not, Marcus. I would have told you about it immediately if there were.”
Marcus’s heart gave a dull thump of disappointment. “Good to know,” he forced himself to say. Because if he revealed that he’d read the letter and knew his father was somehow connected to Regina’s prolonged absence, Hedgewick would be more careful about concealing the truth and prevent Marcus from discovering anything more.
So Marcus wished him a pleasant evening instead and went to eat his dinner in his bedchamber. If additional letters arrived, Plath would help him discover their contents. And until then, Marcus would start looking into every peer with a strong connection to his father, because taking a man’s daughter hostage – that was personal. Whatever Hedgewick had done, it likely involved a severe breach of trust and perhaps some sort of betrayal.
Regina stood in the middle of Guthrie’s parlor and glanced around. After their argument six days earlier, she’d told herself that she wouldn’t touch any of his things ever again. She’d also told herself that the kiss they'd shared had been a mistake. After all, she was a young lady, and in spite of her current situation, she hoped to return to Society one day and marry a man of her own social class. To pursue a romantic relationship with Guthrie was utterly unthinkable. Which was why it was so unfortunate that she hadn’t yet heard back from Fielding.
According to the messenger who’d delivered her letter to him, the earl was not in Town at the moment and there was no indication as to when he would return either.
Sighing, Regina contemplated making a list of other potential candidates for marriage. She could also write another letter to Marcus, although she supposed the one was enough since she didn’t really have anything left to tell him.
Restless and with a depressing sense of helpless passivity creeping through her, she wandered into the bedchamber and crossed to the dresser. The miniature depicting Guthrie’s father was still there, a constant reminder of Regina’s foolishness. It made her heart ache, just looking at it. The main crack ran right below the man’s chin, traversing what appeared to be a pearl–tipped cravat pin.
Frowning, Regina bent closer. The cream colored waistcoat peeking out from behind the jacket had been painted to represent a shimmering type of fabric that seemed to resemble silk. And there was some sort of red ribbon around the neck, like that belonging to a medal perhaps, though she couldn’t be sure since only part of it was visible. It wasn’t something Regina had noticed before because looking too closely had filled her with guilt.
But studying the image now, there was no doubt in her mind that Guthrie’s father must have been gentry. Which made her wonder why no one had stepped in as guardian after he died. It seemed rather odd. Especially since there must have been an inheritance of some sort. At the very least, a solicitor should have been able to help a child in such a position even if no one else could.
Befuddled, Regina made a mental note to inquire about this when Guthrie returned.
He wouldn’t like her prying, but she figured the best way to get some answers was to ask him for them directly.
With this in mind, she returned to the parlor, flopped onto the sofa, reached for the deck of cards sitting on the table, and prepared to wait. Guthrie had taught her to play casino a couple of nights ago, and she’d finally managed to beat him yesterday evening. She smiled at the memory of it, at how excited he’d been on her behalf when they’d tallied the scores and hers had been higher than his.
Selecting a couple of cards, she set them upright on the table and leaned them carefully against each other until they no longer required her support. Adding cards slowly, she built outward and upward until she’d completed three levels. She was just beginning on the fourth when she heard the door open.
Startled by the sound, she looked up and inadvertently budged the card house with her wrist. The entire thing quivered back and forth and then promptly collapsed in a heap.
“Sorry,” Guthrie said. “I didn’t mean to distract ye.”
Regina gathered the fallen cards and returned them to the stack. “It’s all right. I can always build another.” She scooted back on the sofa, folded her hands in her lap, and tried to think of how best to address the subject regarding the miniature. But her thoughts on the matter scattered the moment she saw the plate he was holding.
His lips quirked. “I realize the cake Gareth baked fer ye the other day didn’t quite meet yer expectations.”
“It was tasty enough,” she said, not wanting to sound ungrateful or critical of the cook’s attempts, “and certainly better than anything I’d have been able to make myself.”
Guthrie laughed. “Seein’ ye knead dough with yer sleeves rolled up to yer elbows and flour dustin’ yer hair would be a lovely sight.” He set the plate before her with a flourish. “Behold, a mille-feuille, courtesy of Patisserie Amelie.”
* * *
Regina stared at the con
fection and at the strawberry placed on top. “You went to Bond Street to buy me a cake?”
“It only seemed fair that I get ye a proper one after watchin’ ye force Gareth’s efforts down.”
The edge of her mouth lifted. “I think he used too much sugar.”
“I’m sure ye’re right. Now give this one a go and let me know what ye think.”
She felt his gaze on her as she reached for the silver fork on her plate. Carefully, so she wouldn’t tip the cake onto its side, she scooped up a corner and put it in her mouth. And almost groaned with pure satisfaction. The puff pastry layered with jam and cream was rich but not too sweet. It filled her mouth with decadent boldness, leaving behind a taste of vanilla that made her hungry for more.
“This is excellent,” she said as she took another bite and then yet another. “The best thing I’ve ever had.” Glancing up when Guthrie said nothing, she noted the satisfied look in his eyes. “Thank you. Truly.”
“Ye’re welcome.” Removing the forest green silk top hat he’d chosen to wear that day, he took a seat in the armchair furthest from her. “Now, there’s another matter I’d like to address.” He watched her pensively while she continued to eat, completely undeterred by his perusal since savoring this delicious treat was far more important than being subject to his observations.
“Ye’re obviously bored,” he remarked after a moment while giving his lapels a quick brush with his fingers. Finding her gaze, he stretched out his legs and leaned back. “Perhaps I should take ye out fer the evenin’?”
Regina stilled, and for a second she held her breath so she wouldn’t disturb the joy his suggestion instilled in her veins. Her fork remained suspended in mid-air. “Really?” He merely inclined his head. “What about the risk of me being discovered?”
“It still exists. There’s a good chance yer father has men posted all over London just waitin’ fer ye to resurface. But if ye do wish to get away from this place fer a bit, I believe it can be accomplished without detection. If ye’ll trust me, that is.”
He’d given her no reason not to. In fact, it impressed her how hospitable he was being toward her. So much so that he’d gone to the trouble of making her dream to try cake come true.
And since she couldn’t leave until she had somewhere better to go, she remained, hoping each morning that this was the day when she’d finally hear from Fielding.
“I do,” she said in answer to Guthrie’s comment. Adjusting to the excitement that suddenly filled her, she gave him her brightest smile. “So where are we going, how will we get there, and what am I going to wear?”
Sitting across from Regina in the hackney carriage that would take them to the Strand, Carlton told himself for the hundredth time that the only reason he was taking her out was to keep her happy. As long as she was happy, she‘d be more likely to stay with him of her own free will. Which meant he would have no cause to restrain her, and that made everything so much simpler.
But the truth was that the kiss they’d shared had changed things between them. While they hadn’t discussed it and no other kisses had followed, the brief caress had forged an intimate bond that he longed to nurture. It made him want to be more than Carlton Guthrie in her eyes. It made him want to pretend, if only for a brief moment in time, that things were different between them – that he was in a position to court her and…
He sighed. A man didn’t court a woman like her unless he intended to marry, which was something he couldn’t allow himself to consider. Not only because he wasn’t respectable, but because of what he intended to do. Regina would loathe him forever for killing her father. Which meant that pursuing a romantic attachment with her would be pointless.
But for just one evening, he’d allow himself to treat her to some amusement. Already the smile she’d given him when he’d made the suggestion had made his heart triple in size. He wanted to hold that smile in his hands forever or keep it in a box so he could look at it when his grey life needed the sun.
He studied her profile as she peered out the window at the darkened streets beyond. The hood of the cobalt blue cloak she’d borrowed from Nicolette hid most of her hair. But that didn’t matter. He knew precisely what it looked like, how each lock curled against her head, and the way the red strands conquered the blonde when the light of an oil lamp cast its glow upon her. During the last couple of days, he’d gotten to know her better. She’d told him that while she was skilled at playing the pianoforte, she actually loathed having to do so.
“I would so much rather have learned how to play the viola,” she’d confessed. “But all young ladies must be adept at the pianoforte.” She’d affected a deep commanding tone that must have been meant to mimic her father’s.
“Ye could still learn to play the viola,” Carlton had suggested. He’d smiled, because for some odd reason, he’d envisioned her playing a jaunty tune instead of some peaceful melody. And in this vision of his, she was also barefoot and dancing, like a fairy, skipping along the edge of a moonbeam.
“Perhaps.” She’d frowned for a moment but then the creases upon her brow had faded and she’d asked, “Is there anything you wish you could do if you had the chance?”
Kiss you again, had been his immediate thought.
“I’d like to travel.”
“Where to?” Her eyes had held his with the most sincere interest he’d ever been subjected to. And in that moment he’d realized something shocking. That this woman, who’d burst into his life in a flurry of netting and lace, had chiseled away at the ugly remains of his heart and burrowed her way deep inside it.
By then of course it had been too late. He’d already fallen for her in ways that were hard to describe. But knowing that she would leave him one day, most likely with hatred burning in her eyes, threatened to shatter his soul.
The carriage rocked to one side, bringing him out of his reverie. “Tell me about yer parents,” he encouraged even as guilt began to gnaw at his conscience. “Was theirs a love match, do ye think?”
She turned to face him more directly, which caused her cloak to part just enough to reveal a sliver of purple taffeta beneath. The gown was also Nicolette’s and offered a far more daring neckline and a much tighter fit across Regina’s breasts than anything else he’d seen her in yet. The black lace trim contrasted against her pale skin in the most provocative way imaginable. Indeed, he’d been half tempted to tell her she had to change back into her day dress before they left. But the sparkle in her eyes when she’d stepped from the bedroom and seen his mouth open in utter dismay had kept him silent.
Here was her chance to be wild and free, if only for one evening, and he could not make himself ruin her fun. His motivation had nothing to do with the lovely view that he’d be allowed for the rest of the evening. Or so he kept telling himself.
“No,” was her response to his question. “I have never seen any hint of affection between my parents. And while they are always civil, it never felt as though they liked each other very much.” She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the skirt of her gown. “The atmosphere at home has always been cold and reserved whenever Mama was present. I think she regrets marrying Papa, though I’m not sure why.”
The carriage drew to a halt and Carlton moved to open the door. But before he did so, he addressed Regina with genuine sympathy. “Children ought to be raised in happy homes filled with love and affection. I’m sorry you weren’t.”
She stared at him until he grew uncomfortable. Eager to rid himself of the feeling, he stepped down onto the pavement and offered his hand to help her alight. But the shock that went through him when she placed her palm against his almost caused him to lose his footing. Heat rushed up his arm and caused sparks to dart over his skin. The degree to which she affected him was…well, rather terrifying, really.
“The way you just said that,” she muttered while studying him with intense curiosity. “You sounded different.”
All heat evaporated from his body. “How do ye mean?” he carefully a
sked.
She looked him square in the eye with more boldness than even his men ever dared. “You sounded well-spoken.”
“As opposed to what?” Feigning ignorance would be the only way to make her second guess what she’d heard.
“You know.” He gave her a blank stare. “You don’t pronounce all your words correctly. They’re often cut off at the ends.”
Tilting his head, he decided to push for embarrassment. “I didn’t realize ye were so ’igh in the instep as to take issue with me speech?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Guthrie. Stop spinning my words.” They’d left the carriage and were now making their way to the theatre’s back entrance. His arm was securely linked with hers so he could keep her close to his side as they walked. “I have no issue at all with the way you speak. In fact, I find it rather charming, if you want my honest opinion. But for a second there it was almost as if you belonged in a Mayfair ballroom. And then of course there’s the miniature of your father. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it since yesterday but the moment never felt right.”
“An’ it does now, does it?”
“Not exactly, but since we’re addressing the issue, I’m curious to know who he was. I mean, that cravat pin he’s wearing suggests he was upper class and there’s also a ribbon around his neck that looks like it could be part of a medal.” She glanced up at him through the darkness. “Did he fight against Napoleon by any chance?”
Carlton tried not to panic even as he felt every muscle in his body grow tight in response to the threat Regina posed to his carefully crafted persona. If the truth about him got out, then he might as well pack his bags and flee London forever. Because he wouldn’t belong in St. Giles anymore. The people there would turn on him in a heartbeat if they discovered who he actually was. Not only because he’d lied, but because of what he’d deliberately hidden from them.
The Forgotten Duke Page 10