Spent, he collapsed, then gathered her to him. He’d given her far more than his body. He’d lost his soul. And his heart. And perhaps even more.
TWENTY
HE LEFT ALICIA’S SIDE JUST AFTER DAWN, EARLIER THAN recent habit but after last night, he wanted nothing more than to have done with A. C.
After last night…he had even less idea what was wrong between them. Something, yes, but he’d be damned if he had a clue. If he pushed, twelve hours might result in them unmasking A. C., then he would be free to devote himself to the most important endeavor of his life—wooing Alicia, even winning her anew, if that’s what was required.
Frowning, he left his apartments. After last night, he could hardly have missed the fact that she was as he’d hoped, openly, generously, totally his. If that was so, then what else was there? From where did their problem, whatever it was, spring?
Confusion reigned. Reaching Alicia’s door, he determinedly put it from him, turned the knob, and entered.
She was still asleep. He sat on the bed and looked down at her, then gently shook her shoulder.
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes; he notched up her lack of surprise when she focused on him as a minor victory.
“I’m off to hunt down A. C. We’re breakfasting at the club to work out our best approach. We need to learn who owns Ellicot, then proceed from there, but whatever we do—”
“You have to make sure you don’t alert A. C.” She was wide-awake now, studying his face, her gaze earnest but watchful.
He hesitated; he wanted to say something about last night, about them, but didn’t know what, and couldn’t find the words.
“Stay on guard.” Squeezing her hand, he rose. “If we stumble and alert him, I’d expect him to run, but…he’s kept his head until now.”
“We’ll be careful.” She struggled up on her elbows.
“Good.” Backing, he raised a hand in farewell. She was naked beneath the covers, now sliding slowly down; he didn’t trust himself to kiss her, and stop at just a kiss. Last night had left them both with enough to think about.
“I’ll be back this evening, if not before.”
She nodded. “Take care.”
At the door, he glanced back and saw her watching him. He inclined his head, and left.
Closing the door, he turned. David, Harry, and Matthew stood shoulder to shoulder across the corridor staring unblinkingly up at him.
“I was just telling Alicia where I’d be today.”
“Oh.” David considered his reply to their unspoken question, then nodded and turned to the stairs. “Are you going down to breakfast?”
Harry and Matthew swung around and followed.
Drawing a relieved breath, Tony fell in in their wake. “No—I have to go out straightaway.”
Reaching the stairs, David and Harry clattered down.
Matthew stopped and turned to him. “Are you going to marry Alicia?”
Tony looked down into the big eyes fixed innocently on his face. “Yes. Of course.”
The other boys had stopped halfway down to listen; now they whooped joyously, and thundered on down.
Matthew simply smiled. “Good.” He took Tony’s hand and, with simple gravity, accompanied him down the stairs.
Two hours later, Alicia strolled the lawns in the park, alone but for Maggs, tactfully keeping watch from a distance.
All about her was quiet and serene. It was too early for the fashionable throng; a few latecomers were still exercising their horses on Rotten Row, but most riders had already clattered home while the matrons and their daughters had yet to arrive.
The solitude and fresh air were precisely what she craved.
After the door had closed behind Tony, she’d lain in bed for ten minutes before the insistent refrain playing in her brain had prodded her into action. Ringing for Bertha, she’d washed, dressed, and joined Miranda and Adriana in the breakfast parlor.
Miranda and Adriana had been busy organizing their morning’s engagements; she’d excused herself on the grounds of a slight headache and her need for a quiet walk to refresh herself. Accepting her excuse, the other two had left to get ready to visit Lady Carlisle; she’d climbed to the schoolroom and checked on her brothers, then quit the house, Maggs at her heels as per his “master’s orders.”
She’d accepted his escort with equanimity; she’d grown quite fond of the unprepossessing man. Interpreting his orders to watch over her literally, he’d retreated to stand beneath a large tree, now some distance away, leaving her to her thoughts.
Which were what she’d come to the park to confront.
It—her present tack—wasn’t going to work. She’d thought her best way forward was to adhere strictly to her position as Tony’s mistress and not wish for more, to rein in her dreams and accept what she’d been given, what he’d freely offered. But that view was fatally flawed— last night had proved it, had illustrated the truth beyond doubt.
The connection between them, so much more, so much stronger than any mere physical link, was not compatible with, would not remain constrained within, the bounds of the relationship of a nobleman and his mistress. Their connection was a vital thing, a living force in and of itself; it was growing, burgeoning, already demanding more.
Last night, she’d nearly told him she loved him, had had to fight to swallow the words. Some night soon she’d lose that fight. One way or another, the truth would out—in toto, there was more to it, more depths, more aspects than even that powerful fact.
She might already be carrying his child; it was too early to know, yet the possibility existed. In the beginning, she’d assumed he’d know what to do, would take precautions, yet he hadn’t, nor had he expected her to. If she’d been shocked by her wanton behavior last night, her reaction to the idea of bearing Tony’s child had only confirmed how little attention she’d paid her to her latent hopes, aspirations, and dreams. Until now.
In her heart, and now very clearly in her mind, she knew what she wanted. The question facing her was how to get it; leaving matters as they were was, she now accepted, no longer an option.
Drawing in a breath, she lifted her head and looked unseeing at some distant trees. She’d taken serious risks to secure Adriana’s and her brothers’ futures, boldly gambled and won. It was time to act in pursuit of her own future—to realize the dreams she’d never allowed herself to dream but which Tony had brought alive.
She would speak with him. She felt her chin set. Just as soon as A. C. was in custody, she would talk to Tony, explain how she felt about them, about their future. How he would react was the risk, the unknown, yet… she had his declaration of love to lean on, and, indeed, more. Their connection itself; through it she sensed how he felt, his need, even if he didn’t consciously acknowledge it. In time, he would recognize the truth as she had, and reassess as she had, and adjust.
Grimacing, she looked down. She would be gambling that their love truly was as she saw it—a huge risk, yet one she felt compelled to take.
The thud of footsteps approaching over the grass reached her. Looking up, she saw a footman in plain black livery striding purposefully her way.
Glancing to the left, she saw Maggs, leaning against the tree trunk, come alert, but as the footman halted and bowed, Maggs relaxed and resumed his unobtrusive watch.
“For you, ma’am.”
The footman proffered a note. She took it, opened it, read it, and inwardly cursed. Chickens were coming home to roost thick and fast. Sir Freddie Caudel most formally and politely requested an interview.
She looked across the lawn to the black carriage drawn up on the gravel drive. With a sigh, she tucked the note into her reticule. “Very well.”
The footman bowed and escorted her to the carriage. Maggs, closer to the carriage than she, remained where he was, half-obscured by the tree.
Reaching the carriage, the footman opened the door and stood back, clearly expecting her to enter. Puzzled, she looked in, and saw Sir Freddie, dapper and u
rbanely elegant as usual, sitting inside.
Smiling easily, he half rose and bowed. “My dear, I hope you’ll forgive this unusual approach, but for reasons that will become clear as we talk, I wished to speak with you in the strictest privacy. If you will do me the honor of sharing my carriage, I thought we might roll around the Avenue—it’s quite peaceful at the moment—and conduct our discussion in relative comfort, out of sight of prying eyes.” He smiled, his pale gaze somewhat rueful, gently humorous, and held out his hand. “If you would, my dear?”
Inwardly sighing, she gave him her hand; gathering her skirts, she climbed into the carriage. Sir Freddie released her and she sat opposite him, facing forward. Sir Freddie nodded to his footman. The man shut the door; an instant later, the carriage started slowly rolling.
“Now.” Sir Freddie fixed her with a calmly superior smile. “You must let me apologize for this little charade. I’m sure you understand that, given the nature of my interest and thus the reason behind my request for an interview, there would be nothing more unappealing to me than in any way whatever giving the gossipmongers reason to wag their tongues.”
Alicia inclined her head; from her experience, now extensive, of Sir Freddie’s circumlocutory periods, she knew it was pointless to try to rush him. He would get to his peroration in his own good time. Nevertheless…“Now we are here, you perceive me all ears, sir.”
“Indeed.” Sir Freddie returned her nod. “I should also explain that I did not think it appropriate, in the circumstances, to call at Torrington House.” He held up a hand as if to stem a protest she hadn’t made. “I’m quite sure I would be treated with all due consideration, indeed graciousness, however, I am aware that Manningham is an old and valued friend of Torrington’s.” Sir Freddie paused, as if weighing that fact anew. Eventually, he said,
“Suffice to say I deemed it impolitic to call on you there.”
Again, she inclined her head and wondered how long he would take to come to the point. Given that point—his offer for Adriana’s hand—she turned her mind to finding the words with which to refuse him.
Sir Freddie rambled on and on; his voice, polished, light, his accents refined, was easy on the ear. Smoothly, he described his current position, his reasons for looking for a wife, then moved on to Adriana’s manifold charms.
The carriage suddenly rocked, the wheel dipping in a pothole; mildly surprised that such a thing existed on the fashionable carriageway, Alicia refocused on Sir Freddie’s eloquence, and discovered he was still describing, in phrases both flowery and convoluted, just what it was about her sister that had attracted his notice.
Counseling patience, she folded her hands in her lap, and waited. Her mind slid away… she imagined Maggs, under his tree, watching the carriage go around and around the park…
Instinct flickered. The carriage blinds had been drawn from the first, she’d assumed to prevent the interested seeing Sir Freddie speaking with her. The carriage rocked again; the blinds swayed—and she caught a glimpse of what lay outside.
It wasn’t the park.
She looked at Sir Freddie as the sounds outside registered. They were traveling down some major road, not one lined with trees, not even with shops, but with houses—a road that led not into the city, but out of it.
Her shock, her realization, showed in her face.
Something changed in Sir Freddie’s expression, as if a thin, obscuring veil was drawn aside; abruptly she realized that he was watching her closely, a coldly calculating look in his eyes.
He smiled. Before the gesture had been urbanely charming; now it chilled.
“Ah—I did wonder how long it would take.” His voice, too, had subtly changed, all pleasantness leaching from it.
“However, before you think of making any heroic attempt to escape, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”
His eyes held hers, and they were colder than a snake’s. Alicia sat transfixed, her thoughts tumbling, churning. “Escape” implied…
“The most important thing you need to bear in mind is that there’s another carriage ahead of us on this road. It contains two rather rough men—I wouldn’t distinguish them with the title of gentleman—in company with your youngest brother. Matthew, as I’m sure you know, has a habit of slipping outside when he grows bored with his lessons. He did so, with a little encouragement I admit, this morning, just after you’d left the house. He’s an enterprising young chap, quite capable of evading all supervision when he chooses.” Sir Freddie smiled. “But I’m sure you know that.”
Alicia’s heart lurched; the blood drained from her face. She did know of Matthew’s occasional excursions—just to the area between the house and the street to watch the world rumble by—but since they’d moved to Torrington House, she’d thought they’d stopped. “What do you want with Matthew?”
Sir Freddie’s brows rose. “Why nothing, my dear— nothing at all. He’s merely a pawn to ensure you behave as I wish.” His gaze hardened. “If you do as I say, no harm will come to him. Those two men I spoke of have strict orders, ones it’s to their advantage to obey. They’ll take your brother to a safe place, and wait with him there for word from me. Depending on how matters transpire, I will instruct them either to return him to Upper Brook Street unharmed”—his lips curved lightly, tauntingly, “or to kill him.”
He held her gaze. “The instruction I send will depend on you.”
Alicia fought to met his gaze levelly, to keep her expression impassive, to keep her fear, her panic, at bay. Icy chills ran up and down her spine. Matthew…a vise squeezed her heart even as, instinctive and immediate, she searched for the means to free him. Maggs—he would fetch Tony… she couldn’t work out the how and when, not with Sir Freddie’s cold and sharply observant eyes on her.
She licked her lips, forced her lungs to work. “What do you want me to do?” She frowned. “What is this all about?” Why kidnap her and Matthew if it was Adriana Sir Freddie wanted?
She allowed her confusion and total incomprehension to show in her face.
Sir Freddie laughed.
The sound chilled her to the marrow.
Then he smiled, and she wanted nothing more than to flee. “This, my dear, is about me covering my tracks, an unfortunate necessity brought on by Ruskin. He couldn’t seem to understand that the war was over and the easy pickings with it.”
She stared at him. “You’re A. C?”
“A. C?” Sir Freddie blinked, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten.”
He shifted. With a graceful sweep of his arm, he bowed, the gesture full of his customary elegant charm. Face, lips lightly curved, and manner were all one, but as he straightened, his cold, pale eyes met hers. “Sir Alfred Caudel, my dear, at your service.”
Tony returned to Torrington House midmorning. After reviewing their information, the group had agreed that Jack Warnefleet and Christian, neither of whom had been visible thus far in the affair, should visit Ellicot’s offices and extract by whatever means they could some idea of who was behind the company.
There was a limit to how unsubtle they could be; there was no guarantee of a quick and favorable outcome. Restless, impatient, sensing matters were nearing a head but with nothing he could reasonably do, Tony had returned home.
He’d only just settled behind his desk when the study door burst open and panic—carried by David, Harry, Matthew, and Jenkins—rushed in.
“Alicia!” Matthew shrieked. “You’ve got to go and save her.”
Tony caught him as he charged around the desk and flung himself at him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his gaze locking on the others.
David and Harry had rushed to the desk, gripping the front edge, their expressions as horrified as Matthew’s. Jenkins, close on their heels, was not much better, and out of breath as well.
“My lord,” Jenkins puffed, “Maggs sent us to tell you—Mrs. Carrington was inveigled into a carriage which then took off to the west.”
Tony swore, star
ted to rise. “Where’s Maggs?”
Jenkins struggled for breath. “He’s following the carriage. He said he’d send word as he can.”
Tony nodded curtly. “Sit down.” Lifting Matthew into his arms, he turned his attention to the older boys. “Now, David—tell me what you know, from the beginning.”
David dragged in a huge breath, held it for a second, then complied. The story came out in reasonable order: Alicia visiting the schoolroom, mentioning she was going for a walk—Tony had imagined her out with Miranda and Adriana—the boys then prevailing on Jenkins to take their nature lesson in the park; they’d arrived to find Maggs running toward them, swearing and cursing, watching a black carriage that had passed the boys turn out of the park and roll away to the west. Maggs had pounced on them, given them the message, hailed a hackney, and set off after the carriage.
“All right.” Tony felt none of their panic; he’d spent the last decade dealing with similarly fraught situations. He welcomed, even relished what he recognized as the call to arms; he couldn’t yet see how it related, but he knew a bugle when he heard it. “Did Maggs say who was in the carriage?”
The boys shook their heads. So did Jenkins. “I don’t think he saw who it was, my lord.”
“It was Sir Freddie someone’s carriage.” The mumbled words, spoken around a thumb, came from Matthew.
Tony glanced at him, then sat him on the desk so he could see his face. He pulled up his chair and sat, too, so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “How do you know that?”
Matthew took his thumb out of his mouth. “Horses. This time, he had four, but the front two were the ones that always pull his carriage. I know them from when he came to call at the other house.”
Tony wondered how much reliance to place on a small boy’s observations. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked into Harry’s face.
“Matthew notices things—and he really does know horses.”
Tony looked at David, who nodded, then at Jenkins, recovering in a chair. Jenkins nodded, too. “He’s very good about details, my lord. Excellent memory.”
Tony paused, then swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. Rising, he turned to the bookshelves behind the desk, scanned, then pulled out his copy of Debrett’s.
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