“Unfortunately, Lady Worthing, my parents raised a gentleman.” Even the earl refused to look at Cashémere Aldridge.
“And the world is a better place for it, my Lord.” Ella could not stop herself from rolling her eyes in disbelief. “Tell my brother that I pray for the speedy and safe return of each of you.”
“Yes...certainly, Lady Worthing.”
*
“Where is my Papa?” Sonali whined. “You said that when we arrived at the old house, Papa would come for me.” She huddled on her bed, the blankets wrapped around her. “I do not want to be here without Papa.” Surprisingly, her voice did not tremble in fear.
The man did not answer at first. He lit the candles to take away the darkness. “Your Papa will come. He cannot be more than a half day’s journey behind us,” he said, at last. “I will find you something to eat.”
“Is Mrs. Carruthers well? You left her lying on the ground,” she accused.
“The lady will survive. She just has a bad bump on her head.” He moved to unlock the door. “Your caretaker fought well in defending you.”
“Must you lock the door? My Papa never locked the door when we lived here.”
“I am afraid your Papa’s rules do not apply to me.” He opened the door, left, and locked it from the outside.
Sonali looked about the familiar room. At least, she knew this place–better than being locked in the box under the coach’s seat. She had decided that she would remain brave until her Papa came after her. Papa was her knight–her prince–and she would be the brave princess fighting off the ogre and the black knight. It was a lesson she had learned from Cousin Velvet–how to be brave. Sonali curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. When she did so, none of the bad things existed. She wore a pretty gown and danced with her father. He lifted her into his arms and held her to him; everything was perfect when she closed her eyes.
*
“We will leave the carriage behind my warehouse,” Jamot told her as Velvet rocked precariously back and forth on the seat. She had fallen from the bench more than once over the past week. She did not even open her eyes to look at the man who had entertained himself with her misery. With her eyes closed, she could picture Bran’s face. Although she doubted in real life that he searched for her, in her dreams, Bran remained her ferocious prince. “Soon we will know if your duke comes for you.” As the carriage came to a complete stop, he pushed her to a seated position. “Once I have you in the back room, I will release some of your bonds. Would you like that?” With a gag in her mouth, Velvet knew he did not require a response.
As usual, the man simply lifted her from the coach. He allowed no one else near her. She had even noted that when he had ordered the coach to stop for her personal needs, the driver climbed down and took a short walk himself. She had never seen the man, and more importantly, he had never seen her. No one knew this dark-skinned man had transported her in his coach.
Entering the warehouse through the back door, she duck-walked the line’s length of crates towards a staircase. The man periodically shoved her in that direction. To her dismay, no one else moved about the building, which was the size of a large barn or stable. She had hoped to make contact with someone once they arrived, but now Velvet felt her situation’s pure loneliness. Only she and this man knew she was here. As she began to maneuver the steps in a tittering board pattern of ropes let out one way so she could lift her leg to the next step and out another way for her trailing foot to follow, Velvet shivered, instinctively feeling fear for the first time.
“This will take forever!” Irritation laced his words. Unceremoniously, the man threw her over his shoulder, like an old blanket and carried her to the darkened room. Throwing her onto a makeshift bed, he yanked the gag from her mouth.
“As no one can hear you even if you scream your pretty head off, taking this away will do no harm.” He fastened her bonds to a support post in the room’s middle. “If you take it slowly and not tangle up the ropes, you should be able to move about some. That should help your color; you have gotten very pale over the last few days.” He finished the connection to the post. “I will bring you food and a chamber pot later. Will you be well until then?”
Velvet forced moisture into her mouth. “Yes, thank you.”
Uncharacteristically, the man caressed her cheek. Things had changed, and Velvet did not like it. Tied up in the carriage, she had known what to expect, but the total isolation she had felt since entering this warehouse frightened her. “Did I mention I once wanted His Grace’s wife for my own?” he whispered close to her ear.
“Ashmita?” The word slipped from her mouth.
“Your duke must prefer women with black hair,” he remarked as he strolled to the door. Pausing to look at Velvet, he added, “So do I.”
*
“Are you sure, Simms, that this tunnel goes under the house?” Kerrington asked.
The man, whose hair had grayed at the temples and whose face held lines from too much sun and too much wind, but whose body still held a physical litheness that spoke of strength, nodded. “Aye, Sir, it does. I followed it to the cellar myself only yesterday, before the man you watch arrived. Once in, you must make your way through a maze of rooms to the far end of the house, but narrow stairs will take you to the servants’ quarters.” They were nearly a quarter mile from Bran’s old house. “Lots of houses around here have tunnels–too much history of smuggling.”
“How many men surround the house?” Kerrington continued to confirm the details.
Whittington loaded his gun. “Ten.”
“Can you deal with them?” Kerrington required assurance.
“There is only ten.” Lowery recognized Worthing’s need to control all the odds; it was why they had chosen him as their leader all those years ago. “Come on, Captain, we can do this. We will take them out one at a time–reduce the odds before the chaos starts.”
Kerrington checked his own weapon. “Give me twenty minutes to work my way there and to find Sonali.”
“We will give you thirty. There are some narrow twists and turns that a man of your size will require a few extra minutes to traverse,” Simms shared; a gleam of excitement sparkled in his eyes.
Kerrington checked his watch. “Be wary, Gentlemen.” With that, he disappeared into the opening behind the waterfall.
*
“Yes, Sir.”
Marcus Wellston called on Chesterfield Manor. “The Earl of Berwick and Miss Cashémere Aldridge to speak to Baron Ashton.”
“Certainly, Sir. Please come in, Sir.” The butler took Wellston’s hat, gloves, and riding crop. After Cashé’s bad behavior at Linton Park, Wellston had refused to ride with her in the carriage. Instead, he had ridden Khan.
“Please ask my sister, Miss Satiné, to join us,” Cashé demanded.
“I will see if Miss Satiné is available.” The butler returned his attention to Wellston. “This way, Your Lordship.” The servant led them to a nearby drawing room. “Baron Ashton will be with you shortly, Sir.”
Marcus wanted to leave Cashé Aldridge to her own devices, but his few private moments with Eleanor Kerrington told him that the viscount and the duke might require his assistance so he had pressed on. However, the faster he had rid himself of Cashémere Aldridge the better. In fact, if what Lady Worthing had shared was accurate, he could dump her off on Lexford, who for some unexplainable reason seemed to affect the chit.
“Your Lordship,” Baron Ashton stepped into the room. “How good of you to call upon us, Sir, and to bring our Cashémere with you.” He bowed to Wellston and opened his arms to his niece.
“Uncle Charles,” she cooed, “it is so good to be back at Chesterfield Manor.”
“I am always amazed, my Dear, how much you and your sister resemble one another.” He sat Cashé away from him and took a closer look at her face. “Absolutely uncanny,” he murmured.
“Where is Satiné?” Cashé acted as if this was simply a social call.
The baron sh
ot a quick glance at Wellston. “Your sister will be down in a moment; she has just returned from a long ride and must wash away the trail dirt.” He motioned her to a nearby chair. “Meanwhile, perhaps the Earl might enlighten me as to why you two travel together.”
“I can explain,” Cashé began, but a raised hand from her uncle interrupted her disclosure.
“I would prefer to hear it from His Lordship, my Dear.”
Although he perfectly understood the man’s concern, Wellston did not like the implication in the baron’s words. “I am Marcus Wellston, and my estate is in Berwick in Northumberland. For many years, I have been a close friend of the Duke of Thornhill.”
“William Fowler?” The baron’s eyebrow rose with curiosity.
“No, Sir. Brantley Fowler. His Grace assumed the title several months ago. Fowler and I served together on the Continent. Perhaps, I might make a very complicated story shorter. Viscount Averette thought it best that Miss Aldridge leave her home with the Fowlers and return to Scotland with him. She has resided in the viscount’s home for the last three months. Recently, the British government agency for which His Grace and I both served intercepted word of a possible kidnapping. Because I was closer than Thornhill, I was asked to rush to Edinburgh to thwart the attempt. Unfortunately, I was too late. Lord Averette assumes Miss Aldridge is a runaway and is on her way to meet Thornhill. The viscount chases your niece toward London. Miss Cashémere thought we might catch her uncle and set him to right, but when we reached Linton Park, Lady Worthing informed us that His Grace and Viscount Lexford have rushed to Liverpool to discover word of your niece.”
“Why did you go to Linton Park, Cashémere?” Her uncle still remained a bit confused by what was truly an unusual turn of events, and the baron could not hide his dismay.
“Lady Eleanor married Viscount Worthing nearly four months prior. The Averettes and I traveled to London when we heard of the duke’s passing. With Brantley’s disappearance, Uncle Samuel had thought that Fowler’s Cousin Leighton might assume the title. We were unaware of His Grace’s return to the estate. Our coach broke down outside of Linton Park, and we discovered Lady Eleanor in residence and awaiting her nuptials. His Grace and Velvet made their way to the wedding, so we stayed on for the ceremony. As Uncle Samuel thought Velvet might rush to see Thornhill, Uncle went there first; therefore, that became our destination also.”
“James Kerrington, Viscount Worthing, Sir,” Wellston added, “served as our commander. He and Thornhill are intimates.”
Baron Ashton smiled knowingly. “Were you a member of the Realm?”
Wellston stammered, “You...you are...familiar with the Realm, Baron?”
“Intimately.” Ashton puffed up with self-importance. “When I was younger, there was a time I served as such myself.”
Before anything else could be said, Cashé squealed, and Wellston turned to see a woman the spiting image of Cashémere Aldridge: the same height, the same coal black wavy hair, the same dark brows and pale skin, the same delicate features and heart-shaped face, the same green eyes. Although he had spent the last week with Miss Cashé, this time his heart jumped.
“My niece, Your Lordship.” The baron took the newcomer’s hand in a loving gesture. “May I present Miss Satiné Aldridge? My Dear, this is Marcus Wellston, the Earl of Berwick.”
Wellston offered the newcomer a proper bow. “What might I call you, Sir? Berwick?” she asked.
“Yardley. I am Lord Yardley.” His eyes traced the features of her face.
“Let us order tea, Your Lordship.” Ashton hustled everyone to nearby chairs. “We must inform Satiné of the situation, and I have many questions. Then Lord Yardley and I must devise a plan in case Thornhill and Lexford fail.”
*
“Is this the right area?” Bran asked as he and Lexford hid in the shadows of an alley leading to the waterfront warehouses.
Lucifer motioned to a line of empty buildings, a few shabby shops, some run-down housing, and an unsavory-looking inn. “If’n ye wanted to hide in Liverpool, this would be the place.”
“How do we go about finding out if Jamot is in one of these buildings?” Bran itched to find Velvet before Jamot exacted a Baloch’s revenge.
“I be joinin’ the men in that bar.” Lucifer smiled deviously. “You and the viscount should depart. Dressed as you be, ye are prime targets for the locals.”
Lexford touched the man’s arm, an unspoken warning to be careful. Henry “Lucifer” Hill had served him since Lexford had saved the man from certain death. They were more than servant and master; Lucifer knew Lexford’s deepest secrets. “We will wait for you at the inn.”
“Be there soon, Your Lordship.” Lucifer staggered out of the alley, swaying in place for effect before entering the inn.
Lexford caught Bran’s arm. “Let the man do his work, Fowler.”
Reluctantly, Bran nodded his agreement. He knew he was close, but even if he knew for certain where he might find Velvet, he must go carefully. This was an area where his title meant little. His skills as a Realm member would serve him better.
Chapter 17
James Kerrington had not fully understood Lucien Simms’s warning about the tunnel’s “twists and turns” until he encountered the first one. A support timber had sagged, and rocks had tumbled into the passage. Kerrington had to literally crawl through the opening, being extra careful not to dislodge the boulder still holding up the roof. Even when not crawling through the narrow opening, he had gone through the tunnel bent over at the waist, his six foot two frame too tall for the passage. He grumbled when he banged his head for the third time. “Bloody short smugglers!” To help him see in the dark channel, he carried a shuttered lantern, which he left burning in the passageway, as he swung open a door attached to a rickety-looking shelf in the cellar.
Easing the door partially closed, Kerrington stood tall to stretch his muscles before moving through the darkened rooms. He lit a candle snub he had carried with him. He needed the light to find his way through the passages, briefly checking each alcove and storage room, but also setting the way to memory for his escape. A few minutes later, he quietly opened the servants’ quarters door. With a deep breath of relief, Kerrington listened carefully for any sign of his detection as he slowly climbed the narrow steps. His gun hand led when the stairs took a sharp turn to the left, but he was alone. He had paused to steady his nerves, but then he heard it: someone moving about straight ahead.
*
Although he had assumed that the viscount and Fowler had already arrived in Liverpool, Wellston sent a message to Lexford’s Cheshire estate. He and Baron Ashton had ridden together while the Aldridge twins had taken the baron’s carriage. Wellston had argued about the insensibility of bringing the sisters with them, but he had quickly lost the battle. The females insisted that they could be of assistance. Actually, Miss Cashé had insisted on their ability to aid in Miss Aldridge’s rescue, while Miss Satiné had simply asserted the need to assist her older sister before it was too late. Yardley had wished that Miss Cashé held her sister’s awareness of the dangers in which they might partake
“Liverpool is only another mile or two,” Ashton pointed out. “We will put in at The Golden Apple. If your friends followed protocol, they will be lodged there.”
Wellston liked the baron. Liked how the man’s mind worked. He could see how he might play a part in what was the Realm’s work in keeping Britain safe. “I hope we are in time.”
*
“I brought you some bread and cider.” Jamot placed the tray he had carried on the cot’s end.
Velvet had stiffened with his entrance. By her estimate, he had left her alone for nearly two hours. A high window let in streaks of light. She had measured the time by how the light on the opposite wall had dwindled and how the lines had shortened. Although her stomach rumbled with the possibility of food, protectively, she forced words of gratitude, but she did not immediately move to the tray he offered.
“How l
ong will I remain here?” Her voice came out quieter than she had expected. She had heard it loud and clear in her head, but when she opened her mouth, Velvet found that the hours without speaking had affected her.
The man sat on the cot before pouring her a glass of cider. When she shook her head in refusal, Jamot simply smiled and sat the glass on the floor near the bed’s leg. He straightened slowly, but the smile remained. “As soon as your duke brings me the emerald, we will discuss your release.”
“Brantley Fowler is not my duke,” she insisted.
“But you are his love.” He strolled towards her, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.
Velvet compelled calmness to cloud her face when his callused hand cupped her chin. “If I was the Duke of Thornhill’s love, why have I spent the last three months alone in Scotland? I am simply a distant cousin.”
“It is because English men do not know how to appreciate a woman of your beauty–of your coloring. They prefer their pasty-faced women with pale eyes and fair hair. A man of the East would see your real worth–the unforgettable depth of your eyes. I wonder how dark they turn when you are in the throes of passion.”
Velvet tried not to shiver as his finger stroked her cheek. “I doubt if His Grace even knows I am missing.”
“Actually, you will find this amusing.” He stepped away from her, and Velvet allowed herself a few quick breaths. “I have created a quagmire for your duke. My associate has taken his daughter, and I have taken you. Will he save the woman he loves or his daughter? I am certain it is quite a dilemma.”
Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet Page 30