by Jane Feather
"Prepared for what?" Jonathan blinked again.
"He'll know what I mean," Edward said. "Now, don't delay. Can you remember the address?"
"Hall Court, off Ludgate Hill," Jonathan said promptly. "But this is most inconvenient, Edward. I have an engagement with a lady from whom I have every expectation of securing a commission."
Edward's mouth tightened, and the other man quailed at the look that sprang into the usually benign eyes. "If you're intending to marry Clarissa, Lacey, you'll have to learn the cardinal Belmont rule – we help each other before we help ourselves," he declared with ice-tipped clarity. "Now, find Stoneridge!"
Without waiting to see how Jonathan responded to this ferocious command, he backed his horses into an alley and turned back the way he'd come, driving his horses through the crowds as heedlessly as before.
Jonathan lifted the curly brim of his tall beaver hat and scratched his head. Then he shrugged and set off toward Mayfair. St. James's was as good a place as any to begin his search.
He drew a blank at Brooks's and Watier's, but the footman at White's acknowledged that Lord Stoneridge might be on the premises. He left Jonathan kicking his heels in the hall and sailed up the gilded staircase to the coffee room.
Stoneridge looked up from his conversation with Major Fortescue as the footman coughed at his elbow. "Well?"
"There's a young gentleman inquiring after you, my lord. Should I deny you?"
"That rather depends on the identity of the young gentleman." Sylvester raised an eyebrow.
The footman extended the silver tray with a card. "Now what the devil does young Lacey want with me?" Sylvester said, frowning. "You'd better send him up."
Jonathan appeared in the doorway a minute later. He stood looking round with every appearance of fascination, then flushed slightly as several gentlemen raised eye glasses and stared fixedly at the inquisitive intruder in this exclusive salon. He made his way hastily across the room, tripping over a small spindle-legged table in his embarrassment, righting it swiftly, only to catch his toe in the fringe of a Turkey carpet.
"It is something of an obstacle course, I agree," Stoneridge observed. "Pray sit down, Mr. Lacey, before the obstacles get the better of you."
"Your pardon, Lord Stoneridge." Jonathan mopped his brow with a large checkered handkerchief. "But I have been looking all over for you."
The first faint prickles of unease crept over Sylvester's scalp. "I'm flattered," he said calmly.
"Fairfax sent me with a message. A matter of the utmost urgency. I'm not at all sure what it could mean."
The prickles ran rampant up and down his spine. "It's to be hoped I shall. Pray continue."
"He wishes you to meet him at Hall Court, off Ludgate Hill – I believe that's correct. Oh, and he said to come prepared. He said you would know what that meant."
"Indeed, I do." Sylvester rose, no sign on his face of his inner turmoil. "Obliged to you, Lacey." He nodded briefly. "You'll pardon me, Peter."
"Of course. Anything I can do?"
But the offer was made to the earl's back as he strode from the salon.
What the hell trouble was Theo in now? He couldn't begin to imagine, and speculation was terrifyingly futile. His unease that morning had obviously been justified.
Concentrating only on immediate plans, he strode back to Curzon Street, where he thrust a pair of dueling pistols into his belt, dropped a small silver-mounted pistol into his pocket, tucked his sword stick under his arm, and slipped a wicked stiletto-bladed knife into his boot. Edward had said to come prepared.
He would make faster time on horseback, and within ten minutes he was galloping Zeus toward the Strand.
Theo swam upward through a murky pond where weeds snatched at moments of lucidity and waves kept tumbling her back into the dark world below. But slowly, her mind cleared and her eyes opened. Her head was pounding as if half a dozen hammers were at work, and gingerly she turned sideways on the pillow, feeling at the back of her head for the source of the hammers. Her fingers encountered a lump the size of a gull's
She was feeling sick and giddy, and her eyes could make no sense of her surroundings. Something heavy was round her right ankle, and experimentally she moved her leg. There was a heavy clunking sound, and whatever it was rasped painfully against her ankle bone.
The dark waters of the pond closed over her again, but this time she fought back, dragging herself upward into the light. It was a dim light, but the fog was clearing from her mind despite the continued pounding in her head.
Someone, and it hadn't been Neil Gerard, had hit her on the back of the head. They'd been driving up Ludgate Hill. She'd said that it seemed a strange route to take when they should be crossing Blackfriar's Bridge. Gerard had smiled and said he had something of interest to show her.
Then they'd turned aside into that reeking, gloomy court. And like the dumb fool she was, she still hadn't grasped what was happening. She'd sat there like a gaby a minute too long before going for her pistol, and someone had hit her from behind.
Without much hope she felt in her pocket. No pistol. Sylvester was right, Theo thought disgustedly. She was a naive, impetuous baby who needed all the protection and surveillance a caring and watchful husband could give her. If she ever got out of this situation in one piece, she'd lock herself in her room and give him the key!
Struggling up onto one elbow, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a small room lit only by a grimy skylight. She was lying on a narrow cot, on a straw palliase covered with rough striped ticking. Apart from this there was a table and chair, and a small coal fire burning in the hearth.
There was a chain around her ankle. Her right leg was shackled to the bed. Sitting up properly, Theo stared in disbelief; then she reached down, ignoring the pounding in her head, and lifted the chain. It was heavy, but it seemed long enough to allow her to get off the cot. Carefully, she stood up; her head swam, and cold perspiration broke out on her forehead as a wave of nausea washed over her. She sat down again and waited for the moment to pass.
Then, with renewed effort, she stood up and took a step toward the table in the middle of the room. The chain had sufficient play to enable her to get that far. There was a carafe of water on the table, and she drank thirstily. The cold liquid helped to clear her mind even further, and she continued her investigation of her prison.
She dragged the chain to the door. There were heavy bolts at the top and bottom on the inside – useful should she decide to lock herself in. Again without much hope, she raised the latch. It came up sweetly, and the door swung open onto a narrow passage. Her heart lifted and she stepped forward, only to discover she was at the limit of her chain, and the links bit into her ankle bone.
Theo pulled the door closed again and returned to the bed. Her foot kicked something as she sat down. At least Gerard or his assistant had provided her with a chamber pot. But what did they want with her?
There came the sound of footsteps in the passage outside, and instantly she lay down again, closing her eyes. It might be useful to pretend she was still unconscious, at least until she had a better sense of what was intended.
Gerard came into the room, closing the door behind him. He trod softly to the cot and stood looking down at the white-faced, unconscious figure. He laid a hand on her brow and was relieved to find her skin warm. Dan didn't know his own strength, and Neil had been afraid the blow had been unnecessarily hard. He needed the Countess of Stoneridge alive and well when it came to negotiating with her husband.
He allowed his gaze to roam over the still body. The soft rise and fall of her breasts, the way her skirt clung to her flat belly. The hem was rucked up, showing the curve of her ankle and calf. He bent and pushed it up a little farther, remembering the vibrant sensuality that had so struck him when he'd first laid eyes on her. His hand slid up her silken-clad leg beneath her skirt and petticoat. A madness seemed to have entered him. There was something incredibly exciting about having this immobile, unaware body a
t his disposal. His fingers insinuated themselves into the leg of her drawers, creeping upward over the warm skin.
And then there was a loud banging at the door. With a muttered curse he jerked his hand away and straightened.
" 'Ow is she?" Dan's huge head appeared around the door. "Awake yet?"
"Not as yet" Gerard moved casually away from the cot "Send that girl of yours to me. To the front room."
"Fancy a bit, do ya?" Dan chuckled and his red eyes leered. "Well, you do good by 'er, an' I've no objections. I'll listen out fer yon missie fer a spell."
Gerard said nothing but drew his arm sharply aside as he passed so that he wouldn't brush against the man. Dan's sneering chuckle followed him as he went to the front room that he'd once occupied, to await the scrawny maidservant he'd used there before to ease his hunger pangs.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Theo opened her eyes, once she was sure she was alone. She was shuddering from head to toe, her skin where he'd touched her crawling as if it were alive with slugs leaving their sticky trail. The sense of violation was so powerful, she wanted to retch. She'd been too shocked and too disoriented to resist, and by the time she'd recovered from her shock, it had stopped. But he wouldn't do it again.
She got up and rinsed out her mouth, then dipped her finger into the water and scrubbed at her flesh where his fingers had been. Her head still ached, but it was an almost irrelevant discomfort now. She had to get out of there.
Had Edward seen what had happened? He'd not have been able to do anything single-handed, but perhaps he'd gone for help. But whether he had or not, she must still help herself.
When Gerard returned, he would find her wide awake and composed, and if he attempted to touch her again, he'd get more than he bargained for.
Presumably, he had the key to the chain somewhere on his person.
Then she knew what she had to do. He wouldn't find her wide awake and composed. He would find her just as he'd left her. With her skirt hiked up, her body defenseless and inviting. And when he approached and bent over her, she'd be ready for him.
Sylvester rode up Ludgate Hill, looking for Hall Court. He saw Edward's curricle first, drawn to the side of the thoroughfare and in the hands of an urchin who stood holding the reins, idly picking his teeth.
Edward was standing in the shadows at the entrance to Hall Court, his eyes fixed to the door through which Theo had been carried.
"Thank God Jonathan found you," he breathed as Sylvester dismounted beside him. "I believe she's still in there. Gerard's phaeton is still there, at least."
"Gerard? What's Theo doing with that sewer rat?"
Edward, looking wretched, said, "She thought he might have the truth about Vimiera."
Sylvester whitened. "You?"
Edward nodded in acute discomfort "I hadn't intended to, sir. It was gossip I heard in the Peninsula, and of course I didn't believe it, but somehow Theo…" He shrugged. "After Lady Belmont's reception she guessed something and, well, she wormed the story out of me. She didn't believe it anymore than I did."
So the secret he'd been so desperately trying to keep had been no secret at all. Fairfax had known all along and never given him the slightest indication. And Theo had known for days, and it hadn't mattered one iota to her. She simply hadn't believed it. He should have known, of course. He just hadn't trusted enough.
A joy of such piercing intensity almost took his breath away; then he said briskly, "So tell me how she got herself into this mess."
He listened to Edward's tale in growing incredulity and then wondered why he was incredulous. It had Theo's mark all over it. She'd asked the right people the right questions and drawn her own correct conclusions, then simply plunged headlong into a situation that he already had well under control.
"What am I going to do?" he demanded, almost a cry of despair, when Edward fell silent. "Just what the devil am I going to do?"
Edward stared at him, clearly wondering if he was in the grip of temporary insanity. "Why, we must go in and rescue her."
"Yes… yes," Sylvester said impatiently. "That's the least of my problems. I mean, what in God's good grace am I to do about Theo?"
"Oh." Edward nodded his comprehension. "Well, people who know Theo well, sir, tend to do what she thinks best. Rather in the manner of Mohammed and the mountain, if you follow me."
"Oh, I follow you, Edward," he said. "And just look what letting her do what she thinks best leads to."
Edward shook his head and said tentatively, "As to that, sir, I think you're mistaken, if you'll forgive my saying so. Theo wanted to prove to you that she's capable of helping you and that she deserves your confidence. If you had taken her into your confidence, she wouldn't have gone off on her own like this. She would have expected you to involve her, and she would have followed your lead."
Sylvester glared into the shadows of the court, wrestling with what he recognized as the truth. If he'd trusted in her responses from the beginning, they would all have been spared a mountain of grief and trouble. It was time to throw in the towel. If he didn't involve Theo, she would involve herself; she would find out whatever she wanted to discover, and it seemed as if he couldn't do a damn thing about it. God knows, he'd given it his best shot.
She wanted a damn partnership, and it looked as if he'd acquired a partner whether he wanted one or not.
A tiny smile touched his eyes. Of all the possible repositories of his confidences, he couldn't think of any more honest and reliable than his forthright gypsy. And at least, if he was directing operations, she wouldn't shoot off on lethal tangents with only half the facts.
"How shall we get in, sir?" Edward's urgent voice brought him back to the reality of Ludgate Hill, where behind them ordinary life continued in the busy thoroughfare, and in front of them lay the dank court and a world of shadows.
"Knock on the door, of course," Sylvester said calmly. "Do you prefer a sword stick or a pistol?"
"Sword stick," Edward said promptly. "I find I can fence one-handed with little difficulty, and I won't have to worry about reloading."
"Right." Sylvester handed him the stick and drew the two dueling pistols from his belt. "I've a knife and pocket pistol as well, so I think we're armed to the teeth, my friend."
His tone was light, but it didn't conceal the murderous fury in his eyes. He didn't believe Gerard intended serious harm to Theo; it would benefit him nothing. But he had hurt her already, if Edward was right, and he was going to pay in blood.
"I'll knock first. You keep behind me so they don't see you," he said in a low voice as they approached the door. "When I step forward, jump in behind me."
Upstairs, in the room with the skylight, Theo was lying very still on the cot, breathing evenly and deeply, waiting for the moment when Gerard would come back. The door had opened once in the five or ten minutes since he'd been gone, and she'd felt someone's eyes on her, but whoever it was hadn't come close. How long would it take Gerard to finish with the girl in the front room? Not long, she thought. The exchange with the other man had given the impression that he was after a swift, unceremonious satisfaction of an immediate need.
Her muscles surged with energy now; her mind, despite the continued pounding of her head, was crystal clear; and it was very hard to feign unconsciousness. She went over the moves in her head. Which ones she used would depend on Gerard's position when he came close enough.
Then the door opened. She felt her eyelids flutter and forced herself into total immobility, although her muscles ached with the effort.
Gerard approached the bed. She was lying exactly as he'd left her, the hem of her skirt pushed up above her knee, high enough to show the frilled leg of her drawers. Five minutes with the scrawny maidservant had slaked his immediate hunger, but excitement still stirred at the image of the Countess of Stoneridge, chained to the bed, available.
What kind of woman was it who went for a drive to Hampton Court bearing a pistol? The same woman, of course, who ventured alone into
the twilight world of London's dockland. Had she suspected him in some way?
Not that it mattered now. He had her exactly as he wanted her, and he was going to keep her here for two days, after which her reputation would be ruined if he chose to make it so. If Stoneridge chose to make it so, he corrected himself with a satisfied smile. If the lady's husband refused to toe the line – an unthinkable possibility.
But while he had her here, why shouldn't he enjoy her anyway – make the scandal a true one? His tongue darted, moistening his lips. Stoneridge wouldn't be able to retaliate, not when Gerard held his written confession of cowardice over his head. But the Countess of Stoneridge wouldn't tell her husband what had occurred anyway. No woman, even one as foolhardy as this one, would voluntarily admit to her husband that she'd had carnal knowledge of another man, even if it was coerced. It would give any man a disgust of his wife.
He stood at the foot of the cot, looking up her body.
Come closer. For pity's sake come closer. The chant went round and around in Theo's head. If she weren't hampered by the chain, she could use her legs, but she daren't risk missing the only chance she would have.
She shifted slightly on the rough ticking, moving one leg restlessly so that her thighs were slightly parted.
She heard Gerard's breathing grow heavier. Then she sensed the warmth of his flesh. It was as if every pore and cell of her skin was acutely sensitized. She could feel rather than see the shadow of his body behind her closed eyelids. Wait. Wait.
Then she knew he was close enough. Her fingers went for his eyes as she lunged forward in one smooth movement. Gerard screamed, falling back on the bed, fingers blindly worrying at his eyes, and Theo swung her body up and over him bringing the slack of the chain across his throat as she maneuvered herself onto her feet at the foot of the bed.
The sounds of violent banging filled the narrow house. Feet thudded. Gerard lay half-strangled by the weight of the chain across his Adam's apple, one hand still covering his eyes that miraculously remained in their sockets.