by Candace Camp
So Damaris recited the story of her abduction again, and she was pleased to note that she was able to review it in a more calm and collected manner. Even so, Myles’s brows lifted with each detail until she thought they might soar into his hairline.
“Good Lord,” he said finally as a hackney stopped and they climbed in. “I rather thought Rawdon was jesting, at least in part. What a dreadful ordeal for you. Do you have any idea who the men were?”
“No, none at all,” Damaris confessed.
“But it was not random,” Alec put in grimly. “One of the louts called her by name.”
“He knew who she was?”
“Or he wanted to make sure he had the right woman.”
“Ah, yes, of course. In that case… you think he was hired by someone else to capture Mrs. Howard?”
“That would be my guess. We’ll get it out of them soon enough—provided we can find them.” They drove past Damaris’s house first to see if her attackers might again be lurking around. However, they saw no one loitering about nor any carriages near her home.
“I should go in and let the servants know I am all right,” Damaris said, struck by guilt that she had not thought of it earlier.
“I sent a footman to inform them,” Rawdon assured her, and told the coachman to drive on.
Damaris backtracked along the route she had taken in her escape as best she could in the dark streets. More than once she mistook a turn, but eventually in their meanderings they came upon the yard in which she had sought shelter, and from there, it was an easy enough task to return to the place the abductors’ carriage had stopped.
“This is it.”
“You’re certain?” Alec peered out of the window at the rather ordinary street.
“Yes. We stopped just beyond that red door. I know that.”
Rawdon exited the carriage, calling up to the driver to wait. Damaris and Myles got out after him, and for a moment, they stood glancing around them.
“Somehow I was imagining someplace far… seedier,” Myles commented. “By the wharves, perhaps.”
“Yes, it seems fairly respectable,” Rawdon agreed. “But I doubt the abductors live here. Which door shall we try first?”
“I don’t know which house they were planning to enter,” Damaris said. “There was a cart of some sort in front of us, so it could have been that house they were going to rather than the one right in front of us.”
“We’ll start with this one,” Rawdon decided, and glanced at Damaris. “Perhaps you should—”
“I am not going to wait in the carriage,” Damaris replied bluntly, forestalling him. “It will hardly help if I cannot see to whom you are speaking.”
Rawdon had to admit the sense in her reasoning, though he looked as if he would have liked to argue the point. “Very well, but stay behind us.”
There was no answer to their knock at the narrow house in front of them, so they went to the red door, which led into a small entry with an inner door and a stairway, indicating that each floor contained a separate flat. Rawdon pounded on the inner door, again receiving no answer, but after a moment there were heavy steps above them, and a man appeared at the landing above them.
“‘Ere! Wot d’you think you’re doin’? A man can’t sleep around him for all that noise you’re makin’.”
Rawdon turned, his eyes narrowing. “I have a few questions.”
“Do you, now?” The other man crossed his arms over his chest. “And wot makes you think I’ll answer ’em?”
Rawdon was across the entryway and up the stairs before the other man could even take a startled step backward. He grabbed the man’s shirtfront in his left hand and twisted it, tightening his grip to hold the man firmly in place. “Because I can see from your face that you are an honest fellow. Aren’t you?”
“Happen I am,” the man retorted, setting his jaw. “Don’t mean I’ll be flapping my gums to some swell like you just ’cause you ask.”
“Ah, but I intend to do more than ask.” Rawdon bared his teeth in what could only loosely be termed a smile. He glanced down at Damaris. “Is he one of them?”
“No. He’s not,” Damaris said hastily. “There is no need to threaten him.”
“Then you don’t know Rawdon,” Myles told her drily, and went up the stairs to join the other two men, who were glaring at each other pugnaciously. “Please, allow me to help. It may surprise you, Rawdon, to find that a friendly face opens more doors than a doubled fist.” He turned to the man in Rawdon’s grasp. “Perhaps you could help us. We are making inquiries about a certain incident that took place in front of this house earlier this evening. Mayhap you chanced to witness it—two men pulled a young lady from a carriage, and she took off running, with them giving chase.”
“Wot? ’Er?” The man looked down the stairs at Damaris. “The swell mort?”
“Did you see her?” Rawdon asked curtly.
“Never seen ’er in me life,” he replied in a surly voice. “Now be on your way, why don’t you?”
“What about the people who live on the ground floor here?” Myles went on.
“Wot about ’em?”
“Who are they? The sort to go about abducting young ladies?”
“‘Ow should I know?” His gaze turned crafty. “And if I did, why should I tell you?”
Rawdon released the man and reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin and holding it up. “I believe this, Myles, is what opens doors most efficiently,” he said in an aside to his friend, then turned back to the other man. “Does this give you sufficient reason?”
“Best in the world,” the man replied, looking a good bit more cheerful, and nipped the coin out of Rawdon’s fingers. “Wot you want to know?”
“The people downstairs.”
“Family—man and wife and a passel of little ones. Usually runnin’ about shriekin’ all hours.”
“Doesn’t seem likely. What about the house next door?” He pointed in the direction of the first house they had tried.
“It’s to let. Been empty awhile. Some swell like you owns it.”
“Have you seen this ‘swell’?”
“Nah. Just ’is agent, wot comes round to get the rent ever week.”
“Did you see anyone there recently? This afternoon or evening?”
He shrugged. “No. Like I said—” He paused, looking thoughtful. “No, wait, I lied, I did see a bloke there earlier, ’bout the time I came home. Only one, though. And she weren’t there.” He nodded toward Damaris.
“What did he look like?”
“Oh, regular, like.”
“Could you be a bit more specific? This information is hardly worth a shilling, let alone a crown.”
The man sighed and twisted his face up in thought. “Well, ’e ’ad medium sort of ’air. Blue eyes—not like yours,” he added, looking at Rawdon. “More…”
“Regular?” Myles suggested.
“That’s right.” The man nodded. “Sort of this tall.” He gestured. “Brown jacket. Oh!” He brightened. “The bloke ’ad a big nose. I remember that.”
“Did he?” Rawdon reached into his pocket and pulled out his card case. “Here is my card. Should you see this fellow at that house again, there’s a Yellow Boy in it for you if you come tell me. I’d very much like to have a chat with him.”
The card disappeared into the man’s pocket with the coin, and he nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
“Sounds like your fellow,” Rawdon commented to Damaris as they left the house.
“Yes, his description fits—though I suppose it could fit a number of other men as well. Do you think there’s any chance of his returning?”
“I don’t know. But if he does, I think our friend will come running to tell me. Let’s see if there might be anyone else here who saw the men.”
They spent some time canvassing the houses across the street and on the other side of the house in question, but they could not discover anyone who had noticed either the men or Damaris at the ho
use earlier. Finally, they got back into the hackney and returned to Rawdon’s house.
When Alec got out and turned to offer Damaris his hand to exit the carriage, she looked at him in some surprise. “But I am returning to my house.”
“Nonsense. You are staying right here.”
Damaris’s eyebrows shot up at this autocratic statement. “I beg your pardon?”
Alec grimaced. “Don’t balk, Damaris. I am sorry to be blunt; Genevieve always tells me I am lacking in diplomacy. But surely you must see that it is impossible for you to return there until we locate your abductors and put them in jail. What is to stop them from trying again?”
“I cannot stay here!”
“Why not? There is plenty of room. I told Genevieve to have a chamber made up for you. And if you are worrying about the proprieties, there is no need. My grandmother’s presence makes it perfectly respectable. Not to mention my sister.”
“No hint of impropriety would dare attach itself to Lady Genevieve,” Myles agreed with a grin.
It was not the propriety that made her hesitate, Damaris thought, so much as the fact that she was sure his grandmother and sister both disliked her. However, she could hardly say that to Rawdon. The truth was, she would prefer not to go home; she knew that if she did, she would probably lie awake all night, listening for odd noises. With Rawdon nearby, she felt safe. And that was something she had even less desire to admit to him.
“But my clothes—my maid—” she began, castigating herself for her weak attempt at refusal.
“Are already here,” he finished for her. “The servant I sent to your house earlier was charged with telling your maid to pack some of your things and bring them here for your stay.”
“Edith is here?” Damaris smiled, warmed by the idea of his thoughtfulness. She gave Rawdon her hand and stepped down from the hackney. “That is very good of you.”
Inside, Genevieve and Lady Rawdon waited for them, looking so much the same that one could almost have believed no time had passed. Lady Rawdon’s hands were busy with a piece of needlepoint, but Damaris noted that Genevieve’s embroidery hoop lay idly in her lap. She shoved it aside when they entered and rose lithely to her feet.
“Are you all right?” Her eyes skated over Rawdon, then Myles, and she relaxed fractionally. “I assume from your lack of bruises and cuts that you did not get into a mill.”
“Lady Genevieve, I am touched to hear your concern,” Myles told her, grinning.
“I am always concerned for my brother’s well-being,” Genevieve retorted, shooting Myles a quelling look. “Especially when he is in the company of a scapegrace.” She turned to Rawdon. “Did you find the men you were seeking?”
“I fear not,” Alec replied. “They had disappeared. Hopefully, something will turn up. In the meantime, Mrs. Howard will be staying with us.”
Damaris could not see that this news excited Genevieve, who merely said, “Of course. Please, allow me to take you up to your room, Mrs. Howard. I am sure you must be exhausted.”
“Thank you, yes.” Damaris took her leave of the others and followed Lady Genevieve out of the room.
Rawdon’s sister said little as she walked up the stairs and along the paneled corridor to Damaris’s room, though Damaris could see from the corner of her eye that Genevieve was watching her with shrewd, assessing eyes. She could hardly blame the girl, of course. Genevieve must wonder who Damaris was and why her brother was taking such an interest in her. No doubt she found it forward of Damaris to run to Rawdon for help. In Genevieve’s place, Damaris suspected that she, too, would be wary of her. Still, it did not make Damaris any more comfortable in Genevieve’s aloof company.
“Here is your chamber,” Genevieve said, stopping in front of one of the doors and opening it. “I hope you will find everything acceptable. Just ring for a servant if you need anything.”
“I am sure it is perfect,” Damaris told her honestly. She doubted that much was ever out of place or lacking in a household run by the countess or her granddaughter. “Thank you. It is good of you to take in a stranger like this. I am sorry to impose so on you.”
Genevieve gave her a smile that did not reach her eyes and said, “Pray do not consider it. Rawdon is a generous man.”
On that ambiguous note, she nodded to Damaris and left. Damaris went into the spacious room, which was decorated with the same formal elegance as the rest of the house, with velvet draperies of a deep russet and a tester and bed hangings of the same material. Coals glowed in the small fireplace, warming the evening coolness, and Damaris’s maid was at the dresser, laying out her silver-backed brushes.
“Oh, ma’am!” she cried, turning and seeing Damaris. “I’m ever so glad to see you. I was worried when you didn’t come home!” She took Damaris’s hand and pulled her toward the vanity table. “Here, let’s take off those clothes and get you a bath. Then you’ll feel more the thing.”
Damaris sank down onto the stool in front of the mirror, and Edith went to work taking the pins from Damaris’s hair. With a sigh of relief, Damaris closed her eyes and gave herself up to her maid’s competent ministrations.
“Ah! Excellent!” Myles took another sip of his brandy and leaned his head back against the chair.
Alec sank into the chair across from his friend and stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He swirled the liquid idly in his glass. “I thought we were never going to get away from the countess. Lord, what a night.”
Myles grinned. “Yes. I have to tell you, your grandmother frightens me silly.”
Alec chuckled. “You are not the only one. She’s terrorized Castle Cleyre ever since I can remember. However, she likes you, so you needn’t worry.”
“Good. I should hate to be in her bad graces.”
“Well, I know that state well, and I can tell you that it is not pleasant. I suspect she will freeze me for the next fortnight to demonstrate her displeasure.”
“Does the countess dislike Mrs. Howard?” Myles asked, surprised. “She seems a most agreeable and refined woman to me.”
“She does not know Mrs. Howard,” Alec told him. “And that is even worse, in Grandmother’s eyes. Worse, rather than allowing the countess an opportunity to grill the lady on her ancestors and life history, I whisked Mrs. Howard off. I am sure she suspects there’s something deeply smoky about the woman. No lady, to the countess’s way of thinking, would get herself carried off by ruffians.”
“It is a demmed peculiar thing,” Myles commented. “Who do you suppose those men are? Why were they after Mrs. Howard?”
“Beyond the obvious?” Rawdon shook his head. “I have no idea. She said she’d never seen either one of them and had no idea why they attacked her. Clearly, she would stir any man’s lustful nature, but still…”
“Not the sort of thing one would think would happen in Mayfair, particularly in daylight. Didn’t she say she’d just stepped out of her carriage?”
“Yes, and she had only to walk a few feet to her door. I think it is clear that they were lying in wait for her. It was no happenstance.”
“What do you plan to do?” Myles asked.
“I’ll set my Bow Street Runner on it. See what he can find out.”
“You are the only gentleman I know who has his own Bow Street Runner,” Myles pointed out.
“There are those who would dispute terming me a gentleman.” Rawdon smiled faintly. “The problem is that, other than seeing she doesn’t go out without an escort, I am not sure what to do.”
“It might be best if Mrs. Howard returned to Chesley,” Myles suggested.
“Mm.” Rawdon went back to studying his drink.
Myles was silent for a moment, watching his friend, then said casually, “Mrs. Howard is certainly a beautiful woman.”
“Yes.”
“I was surprised to learn she was in London. Did you, ah, know she was coming here?”
“Ran into her at the theater the other night.”
“I see. And when you introduced her to Lady Genevieve, she decided to invite Mrs. Howard to her ball?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Odd, Lady Genevieve taking to someone quickly like that.”
Rawdon glanced up and met Myles’s twinkling eyes. “Yes, isn’t it?”
He stood up and strolled over to the liquor cabinet to retrieve the decanter, then returned to replenish both their drinks.
“Rawdon…” Myles began when his friend sat down again. “I’m beginning to think that you are developing a tendre for our Mrs. Howard.”
“I? I believe it was you who kept dangling after the woman last Christmas.”
Myles grinned. “I will admit I enjoyed flirting with her.”
“You enjoy flirting with everyone.”
Myles laughed. “I will not deny that I like the company of women.”
“But what about this particular woman?” Rawdon asked, his gaze sharpening. “Are you enamored of her? Do you mean to woo her?”
Myles’s brows went up at his friend’s suddenly serious tone, but he shrugged and said lightly, “No. Much as I admire the lovely Mrs. Howard, I get along with her far too well to fall in love with her.”
Rawdon cast him a sardonic glance. “Then…”
“Would I object to your pursuing the eminently pursuable Mrs. Howard?” Myles grinned. “Not at all. Indeed, I think it might provide me a good deal of entertainment, watching the chase.”
“That was not what I was about to say.”
“It should have been. Come, Alec, an earl cannot remain unmarried forever. And you would have difficulty finding a better prospect than Mrs. Howard. She is entrancing, and your relatives disapprove. What could be more appealing?”
Rawdon snorted. “I can assure you, my grandmother’s approval—or disapproval—has no role in my pursuit of a woman. But I have no intention of wedding Mrs. Howard or anyone else, for that matter. I am done with such nonsense.”
“But surely you will marry one day.”
“I suppose I must, if only to keep my cousin Hubert from inheriting the title.” Rawdon shrugged. “But I will take a wife as a Stafford does, for her bloodlines, not because in some juvenile way I fancy myself in love.”