‘Only if you will come with me.’
He looked up at that and she saw the naked anguish in his eyes. Her heart went out to him, but she knew from bitter experience that it would not do to press the matter, so she refilled her coffee cup.
‘Tomorrow I am expecting the package from Aunt Filey to arrive at the White Horse,’ she remarked. ‘Do not forget you promised to escort me.’
‘I do not know. I must see how I feel.’
Deborah said nothing more. She finished her coffee and went upstairs to change her gown. She must not be downhearted at Ran’s lacklustre response. There was a plan in place to rescue him from this nightmare and saving her brother was all she had ever wanted.
But deep inside, not quite buried, was the memory of Gil’s outburst. He had said he loved her. It comforted her, even though she knew it was merely a manifestation of the guilt and remorse that he felt for the way he had treated her. She was convinced now that the Viscount was a good and honourable man, pushed beyond the limits by grief over the loss of his siblings. She of all people could understand that. But that he should utter those words—the very words that she had hoped, prayed, he would one day say to her, when she had given her heart to him back in Fallbridge—how could it fail to bring back thoughts of what might have been, if it had not been revenge that brought them together? If they had been free to love one another?
But they were not free. Even if there had been the slightest truth in his words there was too much between them that could be neither forgotten nor forgiven, so it was too late for her to realise now that she would much rather remain in London with Gil than fly to the Continent and never see him again.
* * *
‘Good morning, my lord.’ Harris opened the shutters, allowing the sunlight to flood into Gil’s bedroom. ‘Looks like a fine morning for a drive to the coast.’
‘Do you have to be so damned cheerful?’
Gil buried his head in the pillow. Perhaps he should not have had so much brandy last night.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but you told me to wake you before I set off.’
‘Aye, well, perhaps I have changed my mind about that.’
Harris chuckled. ‘Not you, my lord. Just a little bit top-heavy after last night is my guess, having seen the empty decanter downstairs! Now, I’ve brought your coffee. Do you want me to help you dress?’
Gil struggled to sit up, wincing a little at the early morning sunlight.
‘No, no, you go off about your business. I can fend for myself. And, John…’ he met his man’s eyes ‘…see them safe aboard the packet before you come back.’
‘Aye, my lord, you can depend on me.’
When Harris had departed, Gil leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. It was out of his hands now, Deb and her brother would soon be in France. Gil had insisted that his man go in person to Dover to make all the arrangements, for he wanted no incriminating letters left behind, and John could be relied upon to use his old army contacts to good effect. And now he was off to Kilburn to collect the travelling chaise purchased to carry Deborah and her brother to the Continent.
Gil had done everything he could to make their flight as comfortable as possible. Deborah’s pride might balk at it, but she would accept his help for her brother’s sake. And everything he did to help her flee the country was driving another nail into the coffin of his own happiness.
* * *
He was just tying his neckcloth when a footman informed him he had a visitor.
‘A Miss Meltham, my lord. I have shown her into the drawing room.’
‘What the devil—?’ Gil glanced at his watch. It was not yet eight o’clock.
Dismissing the servant, he quickly shrugged himself into his coat and made his way downstairs.
Deborah had not removed her cloak and was pacing back and forth on the Aubusson carpet. When he entered the room she moved towards him, her hands held out.
‘Thank heaven you are here!’
He pressed her gently into a chair, and dropped down beside her, pulling off her gloves to chafe her trembling hands between his own.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘tell me what this is about. It must be something important to bring you here.’
‘Oh, Gil, our plans are all undone.’ Her fingers clutched at his, her green eyes dark with worry. ‘The Margaret has already docked, and Sir Sydney has taken Randolph off with him to fetch the counterfeit notes.’
‘You are sure of this?’
She nodded. ‘I heard Ran arguing with Sir Sydney late last night.’ She frowned, struggling to remember it accurately. ‘It was almost midnight and word had just come that the Margaret was in port. Ran said he wanted no more to do with the business and that he would not have any more notes issued from his house because it was too dangerous. And then Sir Sydney said in that case Ran must go to Wapping with him and they would deal with the matter there.’
‘On the ship?’
She shook her head. ‘Sir Sydney mentioned Katherine Street. Ran owns a warehouse there, I have seen it mentioned in letters from our man of business. He urged Ran to sell it, because it has not been used for years, but as far as I know, Ran has never made any attempt to do so. I did not hear anything further; Enfield was prowling around and I was obliged to retire to my room.’ She looked away, a flush of mortification staining her cheeks. ‘Oh, I have been so foolish! Everything is lost!’
He squeezed her fingers. ‘I doubt that. Tell me it all.’
‘I thought they were planning to go to Wapping later today and, since they are in the habit of sitting up until dawn and then sleeping ’til past noon, I thought we should be able to get Ran to safety before Sir Sydney left his room. Instead, Elsie woke me an hour ago to say that instead of going to bed they had fetched a cab and gone out, and taken Enfield with them. Miller also told Elsie that he had watched from an upstairs window as they were leaving. They had b-been obliged to help my b-brother into the carriage, because he was so intoxicated he could barely stand…’
‘And you think they have gone to the docks?’
‘I am sure of it. I looked in Ran’s study before leaving Grafton Street. The bill of lading is gone.’
‘And if the bill is in your brother’s name then Warslow will need him to sign for the goods,’ said Gil.
‘I thought as much. That is why I came directly to tell you. Even if Randolph returns to Grafton Street within the next hour or so I do not think I can take him out again this morning without arousing suspicion. And even worse…’ her voice dropped to a whisper ‘…after last night’s argument, I am afraid Sir Sydney will not allow him to return at all.’
He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and made his decision.
‘Then I must go and fetch him.’ Gil jumped to his feet and reached for the bell-pull. ‘Now, this is what we shall do. You must go directly to the White Horse and wait there for Harris to bring the travelling carriage. Send word to your maid and your brother’s man to join you. I hope to be there with your brother before Harris arrives, but if not, you must explain what has happened and tell him to bring the carriage to Katherine Street.’
‘But you cannot go alone.’
‘There is no time for anything else.’ He added in a bracing tone, ‘Do not worry, if necessary I shall merely hold them all at the warehouse until Harris arrives.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Trust me, we shall come about. By nightfall I hope you will all be safely in France.’
‘Gil—’
‘Quickly now. We must summon a cab to take you to Piccadilly.’
He strode to the door and held it open for her. As she passed him she paused, her eyes searching his face.
‘You will be careful, my lord?’
Unable to resist, he touched her soft cheek with his fingers.
‘Of course. Go now.
Your brother will be with you soon.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Katherine Street was deserted. One side was bounded by the plain wall of the London dock while on the other, the early morning sun had not yet risen above the run-down wooden warehouses. Long shadows stretched across the road, but even against the light, Gil could see that the buildings were all in poor condition and most likely had not been used for decades. That would account for the lack of traffic, thought Gil, moving along the road as slowly as he dared. He was dressed in dark, plain clothing and he hoped anyone seeing him would think him a trader. He had no idea which building belonged to Lord Kirkster, but he guessed it might be the one at the end, where the double doors opening on to the street showed signs of recent and hasty repairs. Glancing up, he saw a new rope dangling from the hoist that jutted out above the opening to an upper floor. He walked around the corner, then slipped into the alley that ran around the back of the warehouse. In one section, the planks that formed the walls were hanging loose. For a moment he was shaken by doubt. The silence and desolation of the place was unsettling and the building was now so run-down he wondered if it could be secured to store anything at all.
Perhaps the furniture had been taken directly to Grafton Street. If so, where were Warslow and Kirkster? At that moment Gil heard a rumble, like distant thunder, or heavy furniture being dragged across a floor. It was faint and was gone in an instant, but it was enough. He made his way back to the weaker part of the wall and eased himself between the loose boards.
Inside Gil stood for a moment, allowing his senses to adjust to the gloom. There were no windows at ground level, but sunlight slanted between the warped and weathered boards and as his eyes grew more accustomed he could see that the ground floor of the warehouse was clear save for the odd empty crate. He was standing directly below an upper floor that stretched across half the building and the murmur of voices filtered down to him through the wooden flooring. Pulling a pistol from his pocket, Gil made his way cautiously across to the stairs.
He had his foot on the first tread when he felt a sharp prod in his back and a rough voice behind him said, ‘Well, well. On the sneak, are we?’
Gil froze.
‘I’ll take that barker, if you please.’
Gil did not resist as a hand came from behind him and plucked the pistol from his grip.
‘Who is it, Enfield?’ Warslow’s sharp voice came from above. ‘Well, well, Viscount Gilmorton.’
Gil looked up just as the man himself looked over the rail at the edge of the upper floor.
‘Do come up, my lord, but I advise you to keep your hands in sight. I have no doubt that you have the second of those exquisite duelling pistols secreted in your pocket. Make no mistake, my lord, Enfield will not hesitate to shoot you if he thinks it necessary.’
‘I am surprised he has not despatched me already,’ said Gil as he began to climb the stairs, aided by another sharp prod in the back.
Warslow gave a silky laugh. ‘Since you have come this far it would be a shame if you were to die before you have seen what is going on here.’
Gil stepped on to the upper floor, where the morning sun pushed its way through the grime on two small windows and lightened the gloom. The man behind him quickly moved around, keeping the pistol firmly pointed at Gil’s chest. So this was Enfield, the butler from Grafton Street. Gil thought the fellow looked very much at home here, dressed in dark homespun with an old kerchief tied around his neck, more like a dock worker than a gentleman’s servant.
Making sure he did not obstruct Enfield’s aim, Warslow stepped up and searched Gil’s pockets.
‘As I thought,’ he murmured, pulling the pistol from Gil’s coat. ‘I saw you use those duelling pistols during my army days and always admired them. Since you will not be requiring them any longer I think I shall appropriate them.’ He put out an imperious hand and Enfield gave him the second weapon.
Gil said nothing. A quick glance showed him three pieces of furniture. An elegant bow-fronted commode and pair of sideboards stood in the centre of the floor, doors and drawers open and a series of leather bags lined up in front of them.
A movement took his eyes to a shadowed corner of the room where Lord Kirkster was sitting on a chair, head drooping and an open wine bottle clutched in his hand. Gil thought he would not prove a hindrance.
At a word from Sir Sydney, Enfield pushed Gil on to an empty chair and tied his hands behind his back. Gil cursed him roundly, earning a blow to the face that rattled his teeth and split his lip. He cursed him again and took a fist in the stomach. Enfield would have followed up with even more blows if Warslow had not ordered him to stop. But the distraction had worked. The knot at Gil’s wrists was not nearly as tight as it should have been.
‘You had best go and look outside, Enfield,’ Warslow barked. ‘Gilmorton would be a fool to come alone.’
Yes, thought Gil, as Enfield clattered away down the stairs, he had been a fool, but he was not prepared to show it. He stretched his legs out before him as if he was completely at his ease as he looked around. He nodded towards the pieces of furniture.
‘I have interrupted you. Counterfeit notes from Liverpool, I take it.’
‘Very clever of you,’ sneered Warslow. ‘I knew when we met in Fallbridge that you were not there by coincidence. You were after Kirkster, were you not? You wanted to make him pay for what happened to your sister.’
The familiar black rage rose up in Gil. He fought it down, knowing only a cool head would help him now. He looked across at Randolph, who was sitting with his head in his hands.
‘It seems to me he is paying dearly for his association with you, Warslow.’
‘Can I help it if the boy is a drunkard and an opium eater?’
‘But you encouraged him in his habits, did you not?’
‘But of course. To have a lord at one’s beck and call adds greatly to my reputation, I have gained no end of connections through it. He is very useful to me.’
‘But no more!’ Randolph shouted, the words slurring into one another. ‘I told you this is the last time.’
He slumped back, the wine bottle dropping from his fingers. Gil threw Sir Sydney a contemptuous glance.
‘I cannot admire your choice of accomplice, Warslow.’
‘No, I had hoped he would be more use to me today. We should have been gone from here by now if he had been able to help pack the bags and Enfield has already arranged for the first batch to go out.’ A flicker of impatience crossed his face. ‘I begin to think Kirkster has outlived his usefulness. And I have to admit his conscience is becoming troublesome.’
Gil froze. A question now might prompt Kirkster to confess, but the last thing he wanted to hear at this moment was how Randolph had seduced Kitty and slain Robin. That might well make Gil forget his promise to save him. He addressed Warslow again.
‘Was it Kirkster’s idea or yours to use his house as a base for your intrigues?’
‘He needs my money to disguise the fact that he has used up his own fortune, so he could hardly object when I put this scheme to him.’
‘And you are using his servants to distribute forgeries to the poor wretches you have persuaded to do your dirty work.’
Warslow spread his hands. ‘They all make something from it, Gilmorton.’
‘But not as much as you.’
‘No, not as much as I.’
The reply was smug, complacent, and Gil strained against the ropes binding his wrists. There was some movement, but his fingers could not yet work on the knot. He must keep Warslow talking.
‘You see, Gilmorton, the secret is to spread the notes between dozens of utterers, men and women who pass them off on unsuspecting tradespeople. That way there is no pattern that the Bank inspectors can trace. It has taken me months to organise everything, persuading Kirkster to move
to London, hiring servants I could trust to keep their mouths closed and setting up the gangs of utterers throughout London, mostly respectable but poor working people, desperate to earn a little extra money.’
‘And everything can be linked to Kirkster, but not to you,’ said Gil, his lip curling. ‘Despicable.’
‘But ingenious, you must admit.’
‘Hiding behind that poor wretch?’ Gil jerked his head towards Randolph. ‘Such conduct is not worthy of a gentleman. But then you never were that. Even in the army you were a coward.’
The barb hit its mark. Warslow’s face darkened, he stepped forward, hand raised, and Gil prepared himself for a blow. It never came. There was the creak of boards and Gil heard Enfield’s voice as the man came quickly up the stairs.
‘It’s as quiet as the grave out there. It seems the Viscount came alone after all.’
‘Did he, now?’ murmured Warslow, regarding Gil with contempt. ‘How singularly inept.’
‘Aye, ain’t he just?’ said Enfield, advancing upon Gil. ‘I’ll get rid of him now, shall I? Then we can get on.’
Warslow waved him away.
‘No, not quite yet. I want Lord Gilmorton to dwell a while longer on just how badly he has failed his family.’ He took out his watch. ‘Some of our, ah, customers will be waiting for you at the fish market. You had best take one of the bags and go there now, we do not want to disappoint them. Afterwards you can come back here and help me to dispose of the Viscount.’
Enfield hesitated, his fists clenched. The look he gave Gil showed clearly that he would enjoy inflicting more punishment.
‘If you are sure, Sir Sydney…’
‘Of course I am sure, cloth-head! The sooner the utterers get those notes the better. I will pack up the rest while you are gone.’
‘And where are you going to store them, if Kirkster will no longer have them in the house?’ Gil enquired.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 42