The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  ‘Geoffrey!’ Ellie’s hand jumped to her mouth. ‘What are you doing?’

  He laughed. Laughed!

  Cal’s gaze was drawn to the gun. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t look away. Ellie was so vulnerable standing in front of Geoffrey as she was. He could practically see how the bullet would tear through her flesh like she was nothing more than meat. Cal tried to push her behind him, but she was having none of it.

  ‘Geoffrey.’ She reached towards her brother as though to take the gun from his hand.

  Geoffrey jumped back and out of her reach.

  Bang!

  Plaster explored above their heads. Instinctively Cal raised his arms to cover Ellie from the worst of it. White specks fell into his eyes and for a second he couldn’t see.

  ‘There are people upstairs!’ Ellie yelled. She was angry, much angrier than scared, and she was glaring at Geoffrey with renewed ferocity. ‘You’ll kill someone.’

  Footsteps sound on the stairs behind them. But he didn’t spare the spectators a glance. He had his family to protect.

  ‘Ye’re out of shots.’ Cal nodded to the gun. It was a double-barrelled flintlock pistol, very similar to the type British troops had used during the war. ‘What are ye going to do now?’

  ‘What’s all of this?’ A middle-aged woman, of all things, appeared in the doorway behind Geoffrey. She was dressed in a long travelling cloak, and there was mud on her boots. She started at Geoffrey’s back with horrified recognition.

  Geoffrey laughed again, a maniacal laugh that carried with it notes of triumph and madness.

  ‘What am I going to do now?’ he repeated Cal’s question as though it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard—the punch line of a hilarious tale. ‘I’ve already done it.’ He sprung around, apparently completely unaware of the woman behind him.

  ‘Verity, look out!’ Ellie dived forward, but Verity drew back her fist and punched Geoffrey square in the face.

  There was a sickening crack, and Ellie’s brother went down, his hands grasping at his bleeding nose. Before anyone could move to apprehend him, someone else screamed.

  It was Maggie, and she was pushing her way through the crowd towards them.

  ‘Gwen. She’s gone!’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellen launched herself at Geoffrey, but Calum was faster.

  He grabbed her brother by the scruff of his collar and hauled Geoffrey to his feet. Drops of blood splattered his old shoes. ‘What have you done with Gwen?’

  ‘Check my pockets. I haven’t got her.’ Geoffrey’s voice was muffled by the sleeve he held to his nose, and he was breathing heavily out his mouth. For all that, he still managed a sneer.

  ‘If ye’ve hurt that wee bairn in any way—’ Calum broke off. The unspoken threat hung in the air, and for the first time that evening a flicker of fear crossed Geoffrey’s face. He eyed the sheer size of Calum, and where he hadn’t seen a threat before, he certainly saw one now. Calum’s muscles held tension, clearly visible though the thin linen of his white shirt. And the candlelight from the small chandelier overhead highlighted the peaks and valleys of his scars.

  Geoffrey glanced down at his gun. They all knew he was out of bullets, and he never pushed for a fight when he didn’t have the upper hand.

  Only he did have the upper hand, gun or no, because he had Gwen.

  Renewed desperation clawed at Ellen’s throat like someone trying to strangle the life from her. She grabbed at Geoffrey’s sleeve demanding his attention, demanding he tell her where Gwen was. Her brother turned his gaze towards her. And his eyes, so like her father’s in shape and colour, where filled with hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred.

  ‘But you’re my brother.’ She stumbled back a step, the sheer force of his look a knife to her heart.

  ‘You ruined my whole life!’

  ‘What rot,’ scoffed Calum aggressively. He released Geoffrey to wrap an arm around her shoulders, holding her up when her knees would have given way. ‘Ye ruined yer own life. Ye had the world handed down to ye on a silver platter, Blackford, and ye threw it all away at the gambling tables. Ye’re a cowardly coxcomb!’

  ‘Of course you’ve taken Ellen’s side. Everyone always does.’ Geoffrey laughed for the third time. A bitter laugh. A sad laugh. The laugh of a condemned man.

  Suddenly someone was screaming, but Ellen couldn’t hear what they were saying. There was a rushing in her ears and spots blurring her vision.

  Gwen!

  ‘Hold up there, lass.’ Calum pulled her against his hard chest, trapping her hands. ‘Ye’re all right. We’ll find her.’

  She realised it was her who was screaming. They were her cries echoing through the rundown house. She buried her face in Calum’s shoulder, biting down on her bottom lip until there was pain. Her whole body shook from the force of her sobs and there was nothing she could do to stop.

  ‘Dearest.’ Lady Faye was there, rubbing circled on her back. And Owen too. They huddled close, offering comfort with their touch.

  My family. The thought came unbidden, offering strength enough that she was able to finally check her tears. She was not alone in this, and crying wasn’t going to help find her daughter. She pulled away from Calum’s chest, searching for brother. She’d demand Geoffrey tell her where Gwen was if it was the last thing she did.

  ‘He got away, lass. When ye started screaming,’ said Calum, and she felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. ‘Your Maggie and Verity ran after him.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Her voice was hoarse. She licked her lips and wiped clean her face with the Calum’s offered handkerchief.

  ‘One of the servants is already on their way to fetch the Runners. Until then, we have to trust Maggie and Verity will find Geoffrey. Miss Calder,’ he suddenly called over the top of her head. ‘Did ye see a bairn when ye searched the house for Tzar?’

  Ellen looked over her shoulder in the direction Calum had spoken. There was a crowd of people pressed into the tiny space behind her. She’d completely forgotten about the engagement ball.

  Sophy pushed her way through costumed guests towards them. There was a large busted Cleopatra, a sheep-less shepherdess, two knights of the round table and three King Arthurs all squeezed into what was probably the narrowest passageway in all of London. The rest of the guests must still be upstairs in the ballroom. The music had stopped. They probably all had their ears pressed to the floor. She looked up, and there was an eye staring at her through the hole in the ceiling. It blinked, then pulled back.

  Ellen’s scandalous past was well and truly out to air. Not that it mattered now. Nothing matter more than Gwen’s safety.

  ‘No, Your Grace,’ panted Sophy. ‘I heard the shots. I’ve just come from the other half of the house, and it’s completely empty. I didn’t find your dog—or the missing girl.’

  Renewed doubt choked up Ellen’s throat. Sophy was a part of this. Sophy had taken her child. And Ellen had been the one to invite her into their home.

  She broke free of Calum’s embrace, rushing Sophy. ‘She’s only six,’ she screamed.

  ‘I know.’ Even when Ellen grabbed at Sophy, the other woman didn’t flinch away. She looked straight at Ellen, and some of Ellen’s own pain was reflected back at her. This woman’s beloved brother was missing; and there was a strange sort of kinship in that.

  Ellen’s shoulders sagged and she felt the fight leave her body again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  Only when Calum tried to pry her fingers off Sophy’s arm did she realised she’d grabbed her hard enough to bruise. She let go, disgusted at herself.

  ‘She’s a very quiet bairn,’ Calum said. ‘Ye might not have heard her if ye weren’t searching carefully.’

  ‘No. I swear I never saw a child.’ Sophy looked between them, still steadily meeting their gazes. ‘I searched every room save your own chamber, Your Grace, and your’s, miss.’ She nodded towards Ellen. And with her nod, another piece of Ellen’s heart broke.

 
If Geoffrey hadn’t left with Gwen, if Sophy wasn’t a part of this, if Gwen wasn’t anywhere to be found in the house, then where was she?

  ‘Keep searching,’ Calum demanded, desperation creeping into his voice. ‘If ye find the lass I swear to God I’ll help find your brother.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ellie looked just about ready to expire from heartbreak. Cal gently led her to the porter’s chair, and she sank down onto the seat, her head dropping into her hands.

  ‘Ye’re shaking.’ He forced his wounded knee to bend, and kneeled before her, rubbing her shaking legs. If only he could somehow rub a little of her fear away.

  If Ellie’s heart broke, surely his would too.

  He needed to fix this. He needed to find Gwen. Right this very minute. ‘Lizzy, stay with Ellen. Owen, guard the door. Call for me immediately if Blackford dares to show his face here again, and don’t let any of the guests leave unless ye’re sure they’re not hiding Gwen on their person. I’ll direct the search.’ He straightened, ideas about search numbers and reporting stations and plans of attack swirling around his head. It was the same voice he’d listened to when captaining a ship of seven hundred men. The voice he’d stopped listening to after the fire. Now, he didn’t have that luxury.

  ‘Right you are!’ Owen snatched a sword from a bewildered-looking knight and turned his gaze to the front door as though daring Geoffrey to reappear. He’d come to the ball as Icarus, the man who’d flown too close to the sun, and was wearing white feather wings and a short white tunic. Now, he was an avenging angel.

  ‘Where’s Chakrabarti?’ Lady F pushed a shot of whisky into Ellie’s hand, looking up and down the passage as though the butler would appear on command. ‘He was supposed to be manning the door, and he’s never not where he’s supposed to be.’

  ‘Ye’re right.’ He frowned. Had Geoffrey stolen away their butler too? Surely not.

  ‘Why has he done this?’ Ellie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. Calum didn’t need to hear a name to know she was talking about her brother again.

  ‘Think about it for a moment, love,’ he said, trying to offer words of comfort. Though what he could stay to make any of this better was beyond him. ‘What would Geoffrey want with a six-year-old? Nothing whatsoever. She’ll be hiding somewhere in the house.’

  ‘Then why did he say he’d got what he’d come for?’ Lady F nudged the untouched glass in Ellie’s hand, directing her to down the whisky.

  ‘He’d just fired a gun and created a scene that’s not likely to be forgotten anytime soon,’ Cal reasoned. ‘I think that’s what he was referring too. Gwen probably heard the shots and hid somewhere.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Ellie straightened, discarding the glass on the chair arm. ‘She’s very good a hiding. She’s used to hide in the—’ Her face froze.

  ‘Ellie?’

  She pushed to her feet, her gaze distant. ‘What of the old housekeeper’s sitting room at the back of your library. That door’s half in shadow. Sophy might not have seen it.’

  They hurried down the hallway, pushing their way past guests who had their mouths open and were watching everything that was happening like it was some sort of stage drama. In the library, the fireplace was empty and the curtains drawn, leaving the room so dark Ellie nearly tripped over the footrest again. Cal slipped his hand into hers. ‘This way.’ Reaching towards the door, his hand touched the back of a chair. ‘This shouldn’t be here.’ He pulled it out of the way. It had been blocking the door shut. He opened it, blinking in the sudden light.

  A three-arm candelabra was on one of the dusty tables. Chakrabarti sat on the floor, his back against the wall. His eyes were closed and there was a bloody gash on the side of his head. Tzar lay at his feet, gently snorting.

  A flash a white fabric was all Cal saw of Gwen as she scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Ellie.

  ‘Mama!’ A heartbeat later, the child had buried her face in Ellie’s skirts. Ellie dropped to her knees, crying loudly. She pressed wet kisses to Gwen’s cheeks, chin and hair.

  Chakrabarti groaned, his eyes flickering open. ‘Your Grace.’ He tried to struggle to his feet, but Cal shook his head and nudged Tzar out of his way so he could bend over the butler and better assess his head wound. Thankfully it looked fairly shallow, despite the blood which had dripped down the side of his face and begun to dry on his cravat. Head wounds could be serious though, and Chakrabarti would need a doctor to check him over. ‘Someone hit me.’ The young man’s words were slightly slurred. Concussed no doubt.

  ‘It was my brother.’ Ellie stood up, her daughter in her arms. She bounced lightly on her toes, one arm wrapped around Gwen’s back and the other cradling Gwen’s head to her shoulder. The girl’s arms were wrapped tightly around Ellen’s neck. It looked like they were never going to let each other go. He could hardly blame them. It was all he could do not to pull them both into his arms. Hell, he felt like crying too, his relief was so palpable.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Chakrabarti ran a shaking hand over his face. ‘There was a labourer. He came out of the drawing room after the guests had gone upstairs. That’s when he hit me.’ He looked at the blood staining his hands as though he couldn’t work out where it had come from. Even shallow head wounds tended to bleed a lot.

  Cal stuck his head out the library door, directing Owen to call a doctor. then returned to Chakrabarti. Although the young man was slurring his words, his gaze was clear. ‘After Blackford hit ye, he dragged ye in here?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Chakrabarti shrugged then winced. ‘I woke up and found myself locked in here with Miss Guinevere. I think she’d come downstairs looking for Miss Miller.’

  ‘Maggie was in the kitchen getting her dinner,’ Ellie clarified.

  ‘Blackford must have locked Tzar up because he wouldn’t stop barking at him.’ Calum scratch Tzar behind the ear, remembering how much he’d barked at Geoffrey the first time Ellie’s brother had come calling. ‘Ye’ve certainly got good taste, old man.’

  Tzar wagged his tail in agreement.

  ***

  ‘I can’t tell which way he went.’ Verity squinted up and down the street. They’d barely passed through the gate before a sinking feeling had filled her stomach. It was so dark, they’d never find Geoffrey now. ‘I should have tried harder to stop him.’

  ‘Self-pity later.’ Maggie turned right onto Curzon Street. ‘There’s only two ways he could have gone. We might as well try this way.’

  Verity felt lost, like her thoughts were trapped in golden syrup. All she could do was follow Maggie. In no time at all they’d reached the end of the street, bringing them face to face with another hard choice.

  ‘This way.’ Barely pausing, Maggie turned onto Clargest Street, guessing again. Her footsteps tapped out a brisk rhythm that seemed to echo the beating of Verity’s heart. ‘If that vile man has hurt Gwen…’ Her voice dropped away with worry, even as she sped up.

  Verity couldn’t think of a single comforting word. What could she say? Meaningless platitudes about how it would all work out in the end. How could it? They both knew what Geoffrey was capable of.

  They reached the end of the second street and were faced with another impossible choice: left or right along Piccadilly? Unless, of course, Geoffrey had crossed into Green Park. Verity eyed the shadowy wall surrounding the park wearily. Surely not even Geoffrey would risk crossing it after sundown?

  ‘This is hopeless.’ Maggie turned a circle.

  ‘We can’t give up so quickly.’ Maggie’s panic seemed to launch Verity’s thoughts into action. ‘We’ll keep searching.’ It was all that they could do.

  She took Maggie’s hand in hers, and they turned back, taking a different direction this time. Practically running now, they made their way along each of the streets in Mayfair, circling around Roseworthy.

  ‘Wait.’ Maggie held out an arm, stopping Verity. ‘Down here.’ Partial darkness hid the bottom of the area steps of the nearest townhouse,
but Maggie didn’t hesitate.

  Verity followed, almost slipping on something dark and wet on the stairs. There was a door, which presumably led to the basement kitchen, and at the foot of the steps lay Geoffrey. His arms were flung wide like he’d tried to stop his fall. He stared up at them, unseeing.

  Kneeling, Verity ran her hands over Geoffrey, searching for any signs he still lived, but there was no breath and no pulse. Her fingers brushed something sticky on the back of his head. More blood. ‘He’d dead.’ He’d died as he’d lived—alone and disgraced. ‘It’s over.’ She sat back on her heels, sucking in deep, shaky breaths.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Maggie’s usually stern mouth quivered. ‘We knew him his whole life. And now he’s… This is how it ended?’

  ‘He was a rotten egg.’ Verity rose, dusting off her skirts.

  ‘That doesn’t mean we stopped loving him.’ Maggie’s voice broke.

  Verity handed over her handkerchief. Geoffrey and Ellen were the closest Maggie had come to having her own children. She wanted to wrap her arms about the other woman’s shoulders, but that last seed of fear held her back.

  ‘What now?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘We do all that we can. We tell the authorities and make sure Gwen’s safe. Then… Then we go home.’

  ‘Back to the duke’s house?’

  ‘No. Home to Evendale.’ She held Maggie’s gaze, even as heat flushed her face and her chest seemed to constrict. ‘Yes?’

  Without pausing for thought, Maggie slipped her hand into Verity’s, as she’d never done before, and tugged her back the way they’d come. ‘Yes.’

  ***

  Gwen’s weight was a welcome burden. Ellen cradled her little girl as she drifted into an exhausted sleep. Pressing another kiss to her temple, Ellen settled into the gentleman’s armchair by the cold library fire. The low mumble of Maggie’s and Verity’s voices drifted in through the open door. They were answering questions of a Bow Street Runner.