A Rake by Midnight

by Gail Ranstrom

  Nancy harrumphed. “Your mother says she wants you home before midnight.”

  “Midnight? But I cannot possibly be home so soon.”

  “The boat leaves at dawn, miss. You’d be boarding in your ball gown.”

  Her stomach knotted as she pictured herself standing on a deck waving goodbye to her sisters and Jamie. Pictured leaving everything and everyone she loved behind.

  “Then…then a ball gown it shall have to be,” she said.

  “I am sorry, miss, but you know your mother will be having apoplexy if you are not home by midnight. Because of what happened to Miss Cora, I would not put it past her to alert the night watch if you are not.” Nancy closed the door behind her with a note of finality.

  Midnight! Too soon! Why did Mama have to choose today to care when she came in? There would be no time to tryst with Jamie. No time to say a proper farewell or to hoard memories for the lonely days ahead.

  She stubbed her toe on the little carved box peeking out from under her bed and stared. How had she forgotten? Henley. She knelt and opened the lid. There, just as she’d left them, the key, the packet of opium and the pocket pistol she’d borrowed from Mr. Renquist lay secreted.

  Here, at least, was something she could do. Her last chance to find Mr. Henley.

  Gina, dressed in the seductive French-blue gown, stood in conversation with her friends, smiling and laughing as if nothing else mattered. As if he did not matter. They hadn’t been able to find a moment alone since he’d called for her earlier this evening and found Hortense and Harriet waiting with her. Had she engineered that?

  Perhaps she’d been right not to trust him alone with her. Even standing across a room, his body responded to the memory of her beneath him, twisting with passion, tangled in the sheets, gripping him and holding him inside her, calling his name. He could not conceive that this night would be the end of it all. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. She was more potent than whiskey and coursed through his veins like thick, raw honey.

  “Good God, Hunter!” Marcus Wycliffe said. “That hot look could melt glaciers. Have a care if you do not want the entire ton to know what you are thinking.”

  “Blast the ton,” he muttered.

  “Is it true? She’s leaving in the morning?”

  “Less than twelve hours.” He glanced at the tall case clock in one corner as it struck ten. “By my reckoning, eight.”

  “And you’ve not spoken for her?”

  “Oh, I’ve spoken. She will not have me.”

  Wycliffe made a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh. “What of your formidable powers of persuasion?”

  “She wants an answer…a truth…I cannot give her.”

  “Ah, yes. And the truth is everything to you, is it not?”

  Everything? More than Gina? More than love? Or were Gina and love the only truth that mattered? “It has always been my bulwark,” he admitted.

  “I hope it will comfort you when she is gone,” Wycliffe said.

  He was growing tired of hearing that. Did they think he did not dread it—his brothers and Wycliffe? “Is that what you came to talk about, Wycliffe? Or was there something else?”

  “Ah, yes. Dick Gibbons.”

  “Have you brought him in?”

  “He’s gone to ground. No one has seen him since Artie was killed. No funeral arrangements, nothing. I cannot decide if he simply does not care or if his brother’s body and a decent burial means nothing to him. Only animals walk away from their dead, but I doubt Dick is any better than that.”

  “So now what?”

  “I want you on the case. If anyone can find him, you can.”

  “Ask Devlin. He’s got eyes everywhere.”

  “Jamie, since you’re so fond of the truth, do you know who got to Artie?”

  He grinned. Wycliffe suspected Devlin. “What makes you think I know?”

  “A bit too coincidental, don’t you think, that Charlie was shot and not twenty-four hours later, a Gibbons turns up dead.”

  “It could have been any of us,” Jamie admitted. “But you chose Devlin because he has the ruthlessness for a cold kill. If I knew, I wouldn’t lie about it, but I wouldn’t tell you, either. Whoever killed Artie Gibbons did London a favor.”

  Wycliffe crossed his arms across his chest. Jamie knew the man was pragmatic enough to realize that what Jamie said was right. But he would also be concerned about any of his operatives who might have overreached the law by taking matters into their own hands.

  “It wasn’t you, Jamie. You stayed by Charlie’s bedside all night. Where were Lockwood and Drew?”

  “I must assume they were having brandy in Lockwood’s library, assuming that I was at Charlie’s bedside.”

  Wycliffe gave him a long look and then nodded. The matter was closed and he changed the subject. “Give me the name of Mrs. O’Rourke’s ship and I’ll find a reason to hold it in harbor. Will a week be enough to change Miss Eugenia’s mind?”

  “Thank you, Marcus, but no. I’ve already used my best argument. If I couldn’t sway her with that, I can’t imagine what else I could do.” Jamie sighed and slapped him on the back.

  Perhaps one last try? He approached her group and greeted the ladies, then requested a dance. Gina placed her hand in his as he led her toward the dance floor. “You are well, I trust?” he asked.

  The color in her face heightened. “Tolerable.”

  He laughed. “Only tolerable? If I recall, you were doing quite well last night.”

  She smiled shyly. “Actually, I have a small ache…”

  Of course she did. He’d been an idiot not to realize she would. Considering the extent of their activity, a small ache was likely an understatement. “I’m sorry. Unaccustomed muscles. ’Twill pass, and quickly, I think. Is it of consequence enough that you would prefer not to dance?”

  “A stroll in your sister’s gardens might suit me better.”

  Suit him better, as well. He would prefer to have her to himself. He led her out the terrace doors and she shivered in the night air. He began to shrug out of his jacket but she waved it away, so he slipped his arm around her instead and she nestled against his side. “Will you meet me later, Gina?”

  Her pause was so long that he knew it would be a refusal. “Mother expects me home by midnight. We leave at dawn.”

  He stopped by a fading rosebush. “Can I not persuade you to stay?”

  “The cost would be too great.”

  That question. That damned question that had ruined more than Gina’s pride. She would have to give it up, or he would have to destroy her with an inconvenient truth. And neither of them could compromise without denying who they were. He turned her in his arms and leaned down to place a kiss on her lips, still swollen from last night.

  “Faith,” he whispered against those dewy petals. “Can you not find a little faith?”

  “No more than you can lie.”

  Why did she have to be so blasted stubborn? Would she really throw everything good away for the sake of a single forgotten moment? Was her pride—or whatever it was that drove her—more important than her future? Than him?

  He tamped down hard on his rising anger and tried to reason with her. “And if you should find yourself back in Belfast with a growing belly?”

  By her look of surprise, he gathered she had not thought of such an eventuality. “I… Surely not.”

  As for him, he had no intention of fathering a bastard. “You would not be the first woman to be surprised by such an event, Gina. A hasty marriage two or three months from now would have society counting the arrival of our first-born on their fingers. Is that what you want?”

  “No, but…I did not mean for any of this to happen. What we did—” She stopped to sigh and start again. “My mother has already lost one daughter forever, and two to marriage. All she wants is to go home. I cannot delay her further.”

  “If your mind is made up, Eugenia, I will not beg. But, should I find out in the future that you have
given birth and not given me the chance to make it right, there will be hell to pay.” He took her elbow and led her back to the ballroom. He had to control his anger before he said something he would regret, but with her name on Henley’s list, he could not leave her where she was vulnerable. Once inside, he gave her a formal bow and left her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gina wavered between grief and anger. How could she leave Jamie? How could she stay if he would not answer her? His stubborn refusal to say the words that would end her agony of uncertainty infuriated her because, without that answer, she was surely leaving on that ship in the morning. And now she could only watch him join his brothers across the room and feel the emptiness of her life.

  And his threat! Should I find out in the future that you have given birth and not given me the chance to make it right, there will be hell to pay. Hell to pay? Absurd. But then she realized her hand had gone to cover her belly without her realizing it. Oh, she could not think about that now.

  The weight of the pistol in the pockets beneath her gown and the key tied to her corset strings reminded her what she had to do. Tonight was her last chance to find justice for Cora. And for herself.

  “You are looking quite thunderous, Miss O’Rourke.”

  She turned to find Georgiana Huffington standing beside her and forced a smile. “Really? I was only thinking of all I have yet to do before I can leave tomorrow.”

  “I wish we had met sooner, Miss O’Rourke. I think we might have been friends. As it is, we shall have to be content with friends in common. I called upon Christina Race today. I wished to condole with her over the loss of her fiancé. Mourning is something I have had a fair amount of experience with.”

  “Did you find her well?”

  “Melancholy, but fit enough. She gave me a message for you.” The woman handed her a folded paper.

  Her curiosity was piqued. “Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Huffington?” She did not wait for a reply before she unfolded the page and scanned the lines, barely pausing to note that it had not been sealed.

  My dear Eugenia,

  After considerable introspection, I have come to believe that Stanley would not have wanted me to keep his secret in view of what has transpired over the last several days. For better or worse, you should know, though what you will make of it, I cannot say.

  The night of his death, Stanley confessed to me that he had participated in Mr. Henley’s rituals. His guilt over that troubled him more than he could express. He wanted to make amends, but did not know how without bringing his family shame. Perhaps the following will help you find the answers you seek and make whatever amends are possible.

  Stanley was terribly concerned regarding his sister, Missy. Despite her flirtation with Mr. Booth, Stanley believed she had formed an “unhealthy” friendship with Mr. Henley. It was, in fact, Stanley’s belief that she and Mr. Henley had become lovers, and that Mr. Henley was wielding undue influence over her. If she is, indeed, close to Mr. Henley, perhaps she will be able to answer your questions.

  I am, as always, your staunch friend,

  Miss Christina Race

  Gina’s head spun. Missy Metcalfe? She did not particularly like the girl, but could Missy have fallen for Mr. Henley’s superficial charm? Been so deeply under his spell that she had lost all restraint and good judgment?

  Mrs. Huffington placed her hand on Gina’s arm. “Are you well, Miss O’Rourke? You’ve gone quite pale.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am fine. I must thank you for bringing this to me so promptly. I may yet be able to use it.”

  The woman blushed. “I confess I read it. My curious nature is my greatest failing. I do not know what any of it means, but I fear it could mean danger for you.”

  Gina shrugged. There was only one way to find that out. She gathered reassurance from the weight of the pistol in her pocket. “I must speak to Miss Metcalfe at once. Do you know where she lives?”

  Mrs. Huffington’s green eyes widened. “Is that wise, Miss O’Rourke? Surely, in view of Christina’s letter—”

  “I really have no choice, Mrs. Huffington. She may be the only one who can help me find the answer to a question.”

  The woman seemed to consider this for a moment, and then made a decision. “I saw Missy here earlier. Shockingly, I have seen her at other fetes since her brother’s death. I do not know what she is after, but she makes me very nervous, indeed.”

  “Here? Where?”

  “In the gardens. As if she were waiting for someone.”

  Gina glanced at the terrace doors. Did her answer lie on the other side? She had taken several steps in that direction when Mrs. Huffington halted her with a hand on her arm.

  “Oh, please, Miss O’Rourke, I do not think this is wise.”

  Most likely not, but how long could it take to wheedle an answer from Missy Metcalfe? “If I have not come back inside within half an hour, please inform Mr. James Hunter of what I’ve done.”

  Mrs. Huffington watched her leave, a worried look on her face. As Gina turned to close the terrace doors behind her, the girl was already turning to Jamie. Pray she did not tell him soon enough to frighten Miss Metcalfe off before she’d gotten the information she needed.

  Quite alone on the terrace, she went the few steps down into the garden, shivering in the cold and wondering if Missy might have watched her and James kiss earlier. She strolled conspicuously down the center path to a fountain, then sat on the edge, contemplating the various paths that converged there.

  The rustle of skirts alerted her and she looked around to the path behind her and schooled her face to unconcern. Yes. It was Missy, cloaked in mourning black. “Good evening, Miss Metcalfe.”

  “As I live and breathe, Miss O’Rourke. What are you doing alone in the garden?”

  “Thinking of you, actually. I was just given a letter from Miss Race, explaining that you might be able to help me.”

  The light from a nearby lantern fell on Missy’s face as she sat beside Gina. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was something secretive in her smile. “I shall be pleased to help you in any way you require, Miss O’Rourke.”

  “Excellent. Then can you tell me where I might be able to find Mr. Henley?”

  “La! How should I know that?”

  “Miss Race said you knew him quite well.”

  “Did she? Then I am amazed she has not asked me. Why, just this afternoon when we had tea, she told me she had a message for you and asked if I would deliver it.”

  Gina could not hide her surprise at this. Two messages from Christina? “Do you have it with you?”

  “She would not trust it to be written, but bade me deliver it in person. That is the reason I am here. I pray I am not too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Why, to warn you against Mrs. Huffington.”

  How very curious! “Does she mean me some harm?”

  Missy stood and took Gina’s hand, drawing her to her feet. “Christina did not know for certain, but she felt you should not trust her. She said that Mrs. Huffington is…well, involved with Mr. Henley, and that you have been looking for him. She seemed to be concerned that you might believe lies the woman might tell. Has she talked to you, Miss O’Rourke? Told you anything that you might find difficult to believe?”

  Mrs. Huffington? Involved with Mr. Henley? Could it be possible? She proceeded cautiously. “We exchanged pleasantries. No more.”

  Missy sighed. “Thank heavens she has not filled your head with falsehoods.”

  “What could she possibly say? And why would she want to mislead me?”

  “Who knows, Miss O’Rourke. ’Tis rumored she had something to do with her husbands’ demises. And the woman is an incorrigible liar. Perhaps she is trying to protect Mr. Henley. But what Christina told you is true—I may know how to find Mr. Henley.”

  Gina’s heart beat so rapidly that she feared it might beat out of her chest. She squeezed Missy’s hand. “Now? Could you tell me where he is now?”


  “Perhaps we could find him if we leave immediately.”

  “I shall just fetch my cloak and—”

  “No time. We must hurry if we are to catch him. ’Tis now or never, Miss O’Rourke.”

  “But where is he?”

  “There are several places he might be.”

  Was Missy the liar? Or Georgiana Huffington? Or could Christina, herself, have misled her in both directions?

  “Are you coming, Miss O’Rourke?”

  ’Tis now or never, Miss O’Rourke….

  “How long ago?”

  “I… Half an hour. She said to wait half an hour before telling you.”

  Jamie cursed and raked his fingers through his hair. He wanted to shake Mrs. Huffington, but she couldn’t have known the danger Gina was in. “Did she say where they might have gone?”

  “No. I brought a letter to her from Miss Race. She read it, and when I mentioned Missy Metcalfe was in the garden, she went there immediately. I was to tell you only if she hadn’t come back within half an hour. Before I came to you, I looked outside, Mr. Hunter, and neither of them were in the garden.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Huffington. If you will excuse me.” He bowed and went to the foyer, signaling Wycliffe along the way. The footman brought their coats and Jamie waited until they had entered the street before he spoke.

  “Miss O’Rourke has gone missing.”

  Wycliffe’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You jest.”

  Jamie did not deign to answer what was surely a rhetorical question. “The question is where she has got to.”

  “Ideas?”

  “A few. First, we shall call on Miss Race.”

  “Christina Race? What has she to do with all this?”

  “Likely nothing beyond her connection to Stanley Metcalfe. But Mrs. Huffington said she’d given Gina a note from Miss Race, and Gina had gone off to the garden almost immediately. Something is afoot, Marcus. She was angry with me, but I don’t think she’d have gone with Missy unless she thought she had matters well in hand. I’m hoping Miss Race will know where they might have gone.”