by Lily Dalton
“She was beautiful, and smart, and everyone loved her. Did you even care about her? Did you even know you’d gotten her with child?” Cormack raised his fist, and slammed it down at the center of Mr. Kincraig’s face.
But in a blur, he found himself flat on his back, their positions changed. Now his opponent stared down at him. Cormack blinked, not certain of what had just happened, knowing only that the man must have remarkable physical skills to have achieved the switch.
Kincraig peered down at him, hands pinning his shoulders. “Can you please let me know who we are talking about?”
The confirmation that Laura had been that inconsequential to the man who had dishonored her sent emotion tearing through Cormack’s chest, more painful than any physical injury. “My sister, the governess you seduced while staying at the Duke of Rathcrispin’s hunting lodge, and left to bear her shame alone. Congratulations, she is dead and you have a two-year-old son.”
Mr. Kincraig clearly had certain talents, but he was lithe and lean where Cormack enjoyed the benefit of muscle. Cormack wrenched himself free of the man, and leapt to his feet to circle Kincraig, who did the same.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he answered, with a shake of his head.
“Don’t dare deny your crime.” He hurtled himself at the man, slamming him into the bookcases and twisting his hand into his cravat. Several books fell, and the butler rushed in.
“Sir, ought I summon help?”
“No, Mr. Crandall,” he said, his chin moving above Cormack’s fist. “Please leave us.”
The man backed away, leaving them alone.
Kincraig remained unruffled, and entirely passive. “I make it a practice never to deny my crimes. I’ve been to Rathcrispin’s hunting lodge once, and that was two months ago. I admit to a temporary dalliance with a governess while there, but if a fully developed two-year-old son has resulted from the affair, the power of my loins is impressive indeed.”
“Rackmorton told me…” Cormack’s growl faded. He released Mr. Kincraig, and stepped away. “I knew better than to trust the man, but why would he lie about something like that?”
Kincraig straightened his shirt. “Who did that to your face?”
“The man you sent.” But even as he said the words, he knew what Mr. Kincraig would say.
“I don’t have a man, I’m afraid. There is only me. I don’t wish to cast aspersions, but I think you ought to look toward—”
“Rackmorton,” Cormack hissed, a new fear coming to mind.
“You’re going there now? I’ll go with you.” Apparently Kincraig wasn’t a man to hold grudges. “I’ll just get my coat.”
“No. If you wouldn’t mind, please go to Wolverton’s and ensure that Miss Bevington is all right.”
“Which Miss Bevington?” His dark brows rose in question.
“Daphne.”
“Do you mind me asking why? Has something happened to raise your concern?”
“Did he ever show you his collection? The paintings he keeps locked in his study?”
Mr. Kincraig’s lips twisted. “Those. Yes, some weeks ago. Why?”
“He recently added a new acquisition to his collection, one inspired by her. I believe he may have some sort of fixation with her. Given what happened to me last night, and the fact that he purposefully led me to believe you knew Laura, I find myself increasingly concerned for her safety.”
Mr. Kincraig crossed his arms over his chest and bit his bottom lip. “There’s something here that doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Cormack made his way to the front door.
His companion followed. “Rackmorton’s angry with you because you were snooping around about the Invisibilis, isn’t that right? Trying to find the man responsible for what happened to your sister?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that you say he has a portrait of Daphne, which is concerning in nature, but I don’t understand why that has anything at all to do with your being beat up by his toughs and a sudden concern for her safety, unless…”
He pulled the handle, opening the door, but Mr. Kincraig pushed it shut.
“Unless what?” Cormack scowled.
“You and Daphne.”
“That’s right.” He met his gaze steadily. “Me and Daphne. I will speak to Wolverton when the time is right. Once all this is settled.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Mr. Kincraig pulled the door open. “I’ll go to Wolverton’s now. Join us there, when you’re through.”
Cormack departed Mr. Kincraig’s residence, and made a stop at his own. It would take him only a moment to wash and change, which would give him time to calm himself before confronting Rackmorton. He would need all his patience and wits about him, to extract the answers he sought before decimating the man. The marquess had thrown the blame of what occurred to Laura on Mr. Kincraig, but why? He could only presume he was trying to protect someone else.
Upon seeing his approach on the walk, his footman’s eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet, opening the door. A glance in the vestibule mirror proved he looked like a ghoul, with one green, slimy half of his dead face still sliding off. “Heavens.”
He turned with the intention of going to the stairs, but Kate Fickett stood at the center of the marble floor.
Seeing him, she screamed.
“No, please don’t,” he said, attempting to reassure her.
“Your face!”
“It is only medicine. I’ve been injured and a very nice woman from a farm applied…this awful salve. Kate, why are you here?”
Just then Jackson entered the room. “Oh, my heavens. Do you need a physician?”
“All I need is a washbasin, a towel, and a set of clean clothes.”
Despite his reassurances, Kate still looked very afraid. “Lord Raikes, I came to you because I did not know where else to go. It’s Daphne—”
“She’s all right, isn’t she?” he demanded, moving closer.
“I don’t know.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
Her emotional response struck panic through his heart. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Someone sent her a message this morning, saying they knew about her being at the Blue Swan.” She wheezed through a nose that had grown puffy with her tears. “They said if she didn’t meet them today, that they’d tell everyone.”
“Who?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. They came in a carriage I didn’t recognize, and with no distinguishable markings. One moment she was standing on the pavement, and then she was gone.”
“Rackmorton,” he growled. Rackmorton had been at the Blue Swan that night, and like a snake he had waited for the most opportunistic moment to bite.
“I don’t think she would have gotten into a carriage with Rackmorton. She rather abhors and mistrusts him.”
He could not imagine that Daphne’s abductor would be anyone else. Again, the memories of the paintings he had seen in Rackmorton’s secret room filled his mind.
Rackmorton’s secret room.
He swore. “If he has harmed her, I will kill him.”
“I pray you will!” she exclaimed. “What if he forces her to elope? To marry him? She cannot marry anyone else. She can only marry you.”
“Please know I have already come to the same understanding. Miss Fickett, please listen to me. Wait here for me to return, in the drawing room. Do you understand?”
If the girl returned to Wolverton’s home in her present state, she would only inspire panic in the household, and he had every intention of sparing them that experience.
She nodded. “Where are you going?”
“To find Daphne, of course.”
Once they parted ways, he raced upstairs, changing so quickly from his mud-and blood-covered clothing that he was still lacing his breeches when he exited the house.
Jackson waited in the street, mounted on one horse and holding the reins to another.
“You
don’t have to do this with me,” Cormack said, swinging into the saddle.
“And yet here I am. Don’t deny me the pleasure.”
A short time later, they arrived at the same house where he’d attempted, like a fool, to tell Daphne good-bye. After knocking on the door, and being told Rackmorton was not receiving guests, Cormack barged past the footmen, with Jackson following behind, and headed straight for the study. As he reached for the door, he heard a muffled scream. He attempted to turn the handle, but the door was locked.
Had that been Daphne’s voice? He couldn’t tell, the sound had been too muffled.
He kicked the door, which produced no result. He kicked it again—
Beside him, Jackson pointed a gun and shot, blasting the handle to bits.
Cormack glanced at him. “I knew I kept you around for something.”
“I’m happy to be of assistance,” he answered cooly, blowing the smoke from the barrel.
Inside the study, Rackmorton was nowhere to be seen. Cormack heard a man’s voice from inside the secret room.
“Come now, darling. Don’t make me force you.”
He strode furiously to the door. This one, too, was locked.
“Gun.” Cormack extended his hand.
Jackson gave him the weapon, handle first.
Blast. And the doorknob was gone, obliterated to bits scattered across the floor. He and Jackson burst into the room. In the corner, Rackmorton’s butler stood, his pantaloons around his ankles. A blonde servant girl stood with her arms upraised, still holding a silver tray, which she had clearly been using to fend him off.
With him distracted, she ran for the door.
“What are you doing in here?” demanded Cormack.
“I have privileges,” he snarled.
“Where is he?”
He whirled, cursing at them. “How dare you discharge a weapon in Lord Rackmorton’s home, and destroy his property.”
“I said, where is he?” Cormack advanced, forcing the man into the corner.
“You have no right to do this. When he finds out you’ve done this—”
Cormack grabbed him by the neck. “Tell me where he is. Somewhere here in the house?”
The man wheezed. “I don’t know where he is, but he left hours ago.”
“My Lord, I do believe he’s telling the truth,” said Jackson.
Cormack let go of him, and the man collapsed, holding his neck with both hands. Had he just wasted valuable time coming here, when he ought to be on a different trail? How could that be? Even so, he wasn’t done here. Striding to the far corner of the room, he wrenched the nude portrait of Daphne from the wall, and kicked his boot through. Tearing the canvas with his hands, he did not relent until the thing was in ribbons.
On the way out of the study door, he passed the dowager.
“What has happened here?” she demanded.
Cormack bowed curtly at the waist. “My lady, your son has quite the private art collection in there, which your butler is presently admiring. But then, I’m certain you’ve seen it.”
“Art collection?” Her eyebrows raised in interest. “Why, no, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just there. Do you see that smallish door?”
“Just a storage room, but it’s been years since I…” She frowned, and paused, before entering the door.
He continued on, but paused a moment on the threshold, until as he expected, the dowager screamed.
Hopeful that there had been some misunderstanding, and that Daphne now waited safely at home, Cormack sent Jackson to escort Miss Fickett to the Wolverton residence, but he rode directly there and found the family, along with Mr. Kincraig, gathered in the drawing room in a quiet uproar, having only just discovered Daphne’s absence. Havering was there, and by chance, the Duke and Duchess of Claxton had just returned from their country estate. Mr. Kincraig pulled him aside to quietly explain. It seemed a florist had arrived for a scheduled appointment her mother felt she would never miss.
It was then, they all realized he was there. Everyone exclaimed about his bruised and swollen face.
Forced to provide some explanation, he answered, “I was attacked on the street last night after delivering Mrs. Bevington home, and dumped in the country.”
Clarissa cried, “But who would do that, and why?”
He was on the verge of confessing everything about the Blue Swan and the Invisibilis, just so the sharing of that knowledge would help in whatever way to find her, but at that moment a man arrived to deliver a note, with the announcement it had come from Miss Bevington.
Her mother grappled with the envelope, as the rest of them gathered closely around.
“Indeed, the missive is written in her handwriting,” she announced, her expression dismayed. “It says…oh, my heavens. It says that she has eloped.”
Just then, Miss Fickett entered the room, followed by Jackson.
“Eloped?” she cried, her eyes wide and frantic. “With whom?”
“It doesn’t say,” replied Lady Margaretta, the note trembling in her hand, and tears in her eyes. “Only that we shouldn’t come after them. That she knows they will be very happy.”
Wolverton thundered, “I wasn’t even aware she had developed an affection for anyone.”
“She hadn’t.” Clarissa took the note, and read the words herself. “I don’t believe it. I would have known. She would have told me.” Strangely, she looked directly at Cormack just then and whispered, “I thought perhaps it would be you. Was I wrong?”
“She has been abducted,” said Kate, tears threatening against her lashes. “I am certain of it. She has been taken against her will. We must find her.”
She quickly conveyed what she had seen, with the carriage rolling up the curb, and Daphne disappearing immediately after. Kate, God bless her, left out all the rest.
“I think it is Rackmorton!” growled Havering.
“Yes!” Clarissa said, nodding.
“I was just at his residence,” said Cormack.
Everyone turned to look at him.
He gritted his teeth. “I went there to confront him, believing him to be the one responsible for what happened to me last night—”
Havering demanded, “And was he there?”
“No, and neither was Daphne. There’s only one route I can imagine them taking,” he said, already racing toward the door. The other gentlemen followed on his heels.
“The road to Gretna Green,” the duke muttered.
Already, Cormack’s footsteps carried him to the door. “I only pray we can overtake them in time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Don’t you dare,” Lord Bamble shouted, leaping across the carriage at her, but too late. Daphne threw the pages she had ripped from his book out the window, and they caught in the wind, scattering in a glorious display.
“You horrid little witch,” he bellowed. “I had not even read those pages yet.”
“Well, I have, and guess what? The hero, Captain Johnson, catches fever on page four hundred thirty-two, and he dies. How do you like that?”
“Arg!” he cried, clapping his hands to his ears. “How dare you ruin the ending for me!” He leapt upon her. “You have left me with no choice.” He produced a thick cord, and grabbed for her hands.
While at first she’d been terrified after he had unexpectedly dragged her into the carriage and subdued her until they were underway, Daphne had come to the realization he wasn’t going to murder her under any circumstance, so she didn’t hold back one bit. She kicked at him with all the power within her, and shoved and slapped his hands away. But to her surprise, Bamble was actually quite agile. After pursuing her about the carriage some twenty times, he managed to wedge her face into the corner long enough to tie her wrists, after which time he flung himself, wheezing, onto the opposite bench.
He stared at her from across the bench, breathing heavily. “Do you see what you have done?” He wheezed. “Now I am suffering an attack.”
> “Dearest Bamble, I think I am at last halfway to despising you.” She gasped for breath, exhausted now. “Which is very sad, because I actually liked you. Very much so, and I always had, since childhood. Please, you must tell me why you have done this when we have always been such good friends.”
He shook his head vehemently, pulling another book from the satchel under the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just be quiet. We’re almost there.”
“Tell me!” she exclaimed.
He blurted, “Because I owe a very large amount of money.”
She saw the glimmer of regret in his eyes, but at the same time, fear. No doubt he had kidnapped her only under duress, and at the order of someone else. But who, and why? By now, the florist would have arrived at the house, and her mother would be aware of her absence. She prayed for a swift rescue, but what would Kate tell them, and how would they know where to look? Her only hope, she feared, was finding out who had forced Bamble to do this, and why. In understanding the reason, perhaps she would save herself.
“I’ve only ever seen you reading books,” she said. “How could you have gotten into that sort of trouble?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I like to gamble.”
“And that is how you came to be at the Blue Swan.”
“Not exactly.”
Her eyes widened at the moment of realization, and she exclaimed, “You’re one of them, aren’t you? The men Lord Raikes is looking for. A member of the—”
“Don’t speak it. The name is only for members to ever say. When I saw you there on the stage…why, I couldn’t believe my eyes. At the time, I just wanted to be certain you didn’t see me. I’m not exactly proud to say I patronize such establishments. The knowledge would kill my mother. Only later did I realize the gift that had fallen into my hands.”
At that moment, the carriage slowed.
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “What gift? Bamble, do you intend to marry me?”
“Heavens, no.” He avoided her gaze. “You’re far too much trouble for me.”
The wheels slowed to a stop, and within moments the door opened. A glance outside revealed a nondescript field, with no landmarks of which to speak.