Paine grimaced at the consequences. By dawn, if not sooner, Oswalt would know he ran the club where Julia was last seen. Oswalt would correctly surmise that Julia was with him, knowing that he’d not let an innocent loose to be caught in Oswalt’s clutches. The only secret that hadn’t been exposed was that Julia was the dark-haired woman with him.
The disguise of Eva St George had been a resounding success on all levels. At times, Paine had struggled to remember the woman beside him was the gently reared niece of a viscount. Julia’s joie de vivre was utterly convincing. But it would not hold. The henchman might not have put two and two together, but Oswalt was clever. He’d see through the disguise and the coincidence that two new women had shown up at the club within two nights of each other, especially after he searched the playbills of London and determined there was no actress named Eva St George currently treading the boards.
Paine shot a look at Julia, laughing as she tossed the dice. He didn’t want to alarm her. She was having so much fun. The men around the table were utterly charmed. But he needed to call an end to the evening. He only had a handful of hours to get Julia to safety, somewhere where she could be protected.
He was a loner, used to relying on himself. It was rather difficult to think of anyone or any place where he could take Julia. But one place did surface, as hard as he tried to fight it. He could take her home. Not to Jermyn Street or to the anonymous town house on Brook Street, but to his family home, the seat of the Earl of Dursley, deep in the sheep country of the Cotswolds.
He hadn’t been there for twelve years, and he’d left in disgrace, but it was still the one place he thought of when he thought of being safe. Between the influence of the Earl and the thick sandstone walls of his home, Julia couldn’t be safer, no matter what kind of reception he himself would receive from his brothers.
He sighed and edged to Julia’s side, placing a possessive hand at her waist. He murmured something into her ear about leaving. It was time. The prodigal was going home.
Chapter Nine
Something was amiss. Paine’s playful whisper in her ear about going home didn’t match the iron grip he had on her waist as he guided her to his carriage parked in front of the hell. That was odd, too. When they’d arrived, they come in the back door and left the carriage in the wide alley.
‘What’s happened?’ Julia asked the moment the carriage door was shut behind them. ‘Why are we parked in front?’
‘Because I wasn’t sure who was waiting in the alley for us,’ Paine said tersely.
Julia didn’t need further explanation. She knew what that implied. She swallowed hard. ‘Oswalt knows.’
Paine gave a short nod. ‘He will know shortly. Gaylord Beaton, one of the dandies who comes slumming, went outside with Oswalt’s man. I don’t have to be a fortune teller to know what transpired. Beaton was here the night you came to the club. He’s been losing heavily. I am sure he saw this as a prime opportunity to get a little of his losses back and some revenge against me as well.’ Paine sighed. ‘Oswalt will put the pieces together when his man gives him the news.’
‘Then Oswalt will come looking for you.’ Julia supplied the rest, concern evident in her tone. This was the very scenario she’d wanted to avoid. She didn’t want anyone entangled in her problems. She’d sought Paine out because he wasn’t likely to take an interest. But just the opposite had occurred. She didn’t want him to become a casualty of her folly.
‘Don’t worry,’ Paine said. ‘He’s got to find us first.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to my family home in the Cotswolds. I don’t know what kind of reception we’ll get, but I know my brother won’t turn us away. We’ll stop at the house briefly, just long enough to pack a few supplies, no more than an hour. I don’t know how much time we have before Oswalt sounds the hunt.’
Julia didn’t like the grimness in Paine’s tone. At the house, she tore upstairs with single-minded efficiency, throwing necessities into the first satchel she could find. A travelling valise was right where Paine had said it would be. She dragged it out from under the low bed and stuffed a few items of clothing for them both into it. Paine was downstairs furiously dashing off notes.
He’d said no more than an hour at the house. She thought an hour was too much. Julia dashed downstairs fifteen minutes after going up them with a jumble of cloaks and a spare blanket draped over her arms, the valise in one hand, the small satchel full of toiletries in the other. She couldn’t attest to how well the garments she’d haphazardly packed would hold up, but at least they’d be clean and warm when they needed them.
Paine looked up at the sound of her racing feet on the steps. ‘I am just finishing a note to Madame Broussard about your clothes,’ he said, too casually for Julia’s taste.
‘My clothes? How can you think about something like that at a time like this?’ Julia scolded, breathing hard from her exertions. ‘Let’s go. Hurry.’ She hated the desperation welling in her voice, but there was no hiding it. She was scared.
Paine came to her, placing a hand on each arm. ‘Everything will be fine. I will not let Oswalt lay a hand on you, not even a finger. But for me to be successful, we can’t let Oswalt drive us off course from our plan. When we return to London, you’ll need those clothes for all the events we’ll be attending. I rather Oswalt not get wind of this residence because a delivery boy comes poking around with trunks of lady’s clothing and starts asking questions because he doesn’t know where to leave them.’
Julia hardly heard the last part of his rationale. Her mind was still stuck back on the ‘for me to be successful’ part. ‘That’s just it. I don’t want you to be successful. I didn’t want anyone involved at all and now you’re in this up to your neck and we’re racing off to implicate your brother, the earl, too. Why don’t we just drive over to the Buckingham Palace and involve George IV, too?’
‘Well, if you thought it would help,’ Paine drawled, sending the last of his quick missives.
‘Arrrgh! Men!’ Julia stamped her foot in irritation. No, that wasn’t nearly strong enough for what she was feeling. How could he be so calm when Oswalt could be out in the streets looking for them already? Men had no sense of righteous, warranted, fear.
Paine came around from his desk. ‘I am sorry, Julia. I shouldn’t have joked. It was poorly done of me.’ He drew her into his embrace. ‘Go to the carriage. The coachman is hitching up my travelling team. You can get in and arrange the luggage.’ Paine kissed the top her head. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
Julia nodded, offering Paine a tremulous smile. He was doing his best to be strong. She should do the same. But she knew Paine was worried too. She’d felt the hard steel of a pistol at his waist when he’d held her. She didn’t have to be told that it would be a mad dash to the Cotswolds and a dangerous one at that. It was at least two hours until dawn. Thank goodness for the full moon. It would be the only thing keeping them on the road instead of in a ditch. But, Julia rationalised, any head start would be valuable.
Sam Brown gave his boss the news over breakfast in the ‘white room’ of Oswalt’s London town house. In the five years he’d served in Oswalt’s employ, he’d never come to the house or any of the man’s residences. All their business was done in the dock offices. He wished they were there now. He much preferred the plain plank floors and the inevitable dirt to the starkness of this room. The room made him overly conscious about the city mud on his boots.
The use of so much white was an odd choice for décor in a city well known for its abundance of soot. But he’d heard talk among the other men about Oswalt’s unusual penchant for purity. This was the first time he’d seen actual evidence of it.
He stood at attention, making his report and trying not to worry about what was on the bottom of his boots while Oswalt cut into the thick sirloin with relish. ‘The club she was last seen at is owned by a cove named Paine Ramsden. I saw him last night. He’s a right handsome ladies’ man. I wouldn’t be su
rprised if—’
‘What did you say?’ Oswalt’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, his eyes going hard.
‘I said the girl was spotted at a club operated by a Paine Ramsden,’ Sam repeated hesitantly, shocked by the vehemence of Oswalt’s response. He had not thought his boss would take the news so poorly. All the others had reported nothing. He had a lead to offer. To his way of thinking, the boss should have been jubilant to have some news at last, a place to begin the search and a name to go with it.
Oswalt’s fork clattered on to the white china plate, the sirloin forgotten. ‘She’s with Ramsden?’ he growled.
‘I don’t know that, sir. My informant said only that he saw her the night in question.’
‘Who’s the informant? Anyone we know?’
‘None of the usual.’ Sam Brown knew the boss was referring to the regular snitches they bought information from when the need arose. ‘This was a blue-blooded buck who’d lost his father’s allowance. He was scared and ready to talk. I found out his name is Gaylord Beaton. He saw her go into the back room with Ramsden and she didn’t come out. But that doesn’t mean she’s still with him.’
Oswalt brought his fist down on the white tablecloth. ‘Of course she’s with him, you dolt. Where else could she be? She went into his office and didn’t return. No one else has reported a sighting. He’s probably spirited her away somewhere.’
‘It’s just that he was with a different woman last night at the club and no one has seen the girl since,’ Sam Brown said nervously, twisting his cap in his hand. He seldom had to argue with his boss to make a point. But he’d yet to see his boss so upset over an individual that logic risked being overlooked.
‘Who? Who was he with last night?’ Oswalt shouted, his eyes glinting.
‘An actress, Eva St George.’ Sam Brown was doubly grateful he’d been astute enough to pick up that information last night.
‘She had black hair and didn’t match the description of your girl. She was definitely not a débutante. Her gown was cut low, she wore cosmetics and she and Ramsden were quite affectionate in public.’ He shifted his feet, awkwardly remembering the very passionate, very public kiss Ramsden had given the woman and how the woman had responded whole-heartedly, clearly enjoying it. From what he’d heard of débutantes and high-society ladies, they never enjoyed it.
‘Really? What else? Tell me about it—their “affection”, as it were.’ The boss seemed over-eager for a detailed accounting of the couple’s intimacies.
Sam did his best, thinking the request one of the queerest requests ever made of him. ‘I don’t know how to describe it, sir. She leaned into him and he pulled her so close it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. They looked like they were in love, sir. That’s why I didn’t think there was a need to look into the woman’s background further.’
‘More’s the fool you,’ Oswalt sneered. He raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘An actress? Are you sure about that? Have you checked the playbills? What role does she have? What theatre does she work at?’
Sam Brown didn’t like to be treated as an idiot. He was good at his job. Oswalt would never have hired him otherwise.
The boss was apoplectic by this point, his face red. ‘Perhaps the woman wore a wig. Did you think of that? I bet that’s what the conniving bastard, Ramsden, did—passed her off as someone else beneath our noses!’
‘I’ll go back to the club and when they turn up again tonight…’ Sam began.
‘Why wait until tonight? Find out where he lives and check his quarters,’ Oswalt demanded. ‘If he saw you make contact with anyone, or if the informant—this Gaylord Beaton—was seen, your hand’s been tipped. With luck, you’ll take him by surprise, maybe even inflagrante delicto. You’d better hope so, because if luck fails, it’ll be a race to the Cotswolds.’
Sam was relieved to see some of the anger ebb from Oswalt’s features. His boss calmed down considerably once the man started to plan. ‘Why the Cotswolds, sir?’ Sam ventured to ask. He couldn’t imagine why a man about town with one foot in the underworld and one arm around a gorgeous, willing actress would happily head to the bucolic Cotswolds.
‘Because that’s where his brother, the earl, lives. The family seat is in Dursley.’ Oswalt’s piggish eyes narrowed. ‘If we don’t catch them on the road, there’ll be no getting to them once they’re under Dursley’s jurisdiction.’
‘Seems like you know the family pretty well,’ Sam hedged, wondering how his boss had come to know so much about a family of peers.
Oswalt leaned back in his chair, hands folded across his corpulent belly. ‘You could say I’ve had dealings with them before.’ His interest in the sirloin returned, the crisis had passed. He jabbed his fork into a fresh piece of meat. He waved it at Sam before taking a bite. ‘Mind you, I won the first encounter and I’ll win this one, too.’ The gleam in his eye suggested he was looking forwards to the challenge laid down before him.
There were more questions Sam would like to ask, but didn’t dare. There was a deeper game in play than Oswalt was letting on. The name, Ramsden, had upset his boss greatly, more so than his men’s inability to unearth any useful information on his escaped betrothed. One thing was clear. His boss knew and disliked Paine Ramsden. There was a bad past between them. That much was obvious, although the reasons for it were not. Now there was bound to be a bad future, too, since the boss’s coveted virgin bride had given him the slip and fallen right into Ramsden’s hands. There was no denying Ramsden’s attractiveness to the opposite sex. Sam Brown thought it highly likely that the boss’s bride wasn’t a virgin any more. Perhaps that was what had the boss worried.
Sam Brown turned gingerly on his heel, careful not to leave behind any more markings on the carpet than necessary, and careful not to think too much about why his boss wanted a virgin bride so badly. The men had talked about it, speculating that Oswalt had the pox, that his physician recommended a virgin to cure it.
Like many of the rumours surrounding Oswalt, that one, too, was nothing more than drunken conjecture over ale in the dockside pubs. As such, Sam Brown didn’t have to regard it with any amount of seriousness. There were many things in his dealings with Oswalt he was careful to treat in the same manner, for fear of looking too deeply into the issues that paid him a handsome salary.
After all, he was not paid to think, not in that vein, anyways. He was paid to act and, right now, he needed to round up a few of his trusted men to search out Ramsden’s residence and if needed, track the man and his actress to the Cotswolds.
Chapter Ten
Julia dozed fitfully, her head bumping against the carriage wall. The coach was well equipped enough with its squabs and padding to minimise the constant jounce of the road, but she wasn’t. Paine had encouraged her to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Her mind whirred with the unreality of it all.
Tomorrow was the fifth day. If she’d stayed in London with her aunt and uncle, she’d be facing Oswalt and his physician. The thought made her shudder. But was this any better? She’d run away in the hopes of simply losing her virginity to the one man of her meagre acquaintance immoral enough to take her maidenhead and not think twice. Her plan had succeeded in terms of achieving her goal, but her plan had been naïve, not nearly enough to stop Oswalt if Paine was to be believed.
Apparently, she did believe him. That was what contributed most to her restless napping. In four days, she’d come to rely on Paine Ramsden, a dark rake, as a man of honour. She trusted him with her future and that of her uncle’s. That trust was based on precariously little beyond instinct. Instinct had convinced her that her best hope in eluding Oswalt was to take Paine’s advice and not return to her home. That same instinct now had her making a mad dash across country before dawn in the hopes that his family would take them in and cloak them in protection.
Instinct had led her down a slippery slope with Paine Ramsden and not all of it was about her problems with Oswalt. For better or worse, she’d allowed herself to see P
aine as more than a means to an end. She had yet to decide how foolish that choice had been.
She had known girls back home who had become infatuated with young men from the village and in their infatuation had constructed entirely unrealistic pictures of the objects of their affection, only to be disillusioned later when their fantasies failed to come true. Had she done that with Paine Ramsden? In her panic, had she been so desperate for a hero that she’d fashioned one out of whole cloth and put the guise on Paine, determined to make it fit?
The mistake would be an easy one to commit even without the duress of her situation. He was sinfully handsome and had all the makings of a Gothic hero: a man with a scandalous past, a man decent women were warned away from, the perfect creature waiting to be redeemed by love’s healing power.
The bit about ‘waiting to be redeemed’ was the problem. Julia couldn’t imagine Paine waiting for redemption, no matter what story he’d concocted to tell the ton about them. She shot a look at Paine from beneath her eyelashes. He wasn’t asleep either, although his eyes were shut. There was a tenseness to his body that belied his otherwise restful repose. He was waiting for something right now, but redemption wasn’t it.
No, Paine Ramsden seemed quite content with his life, sutras and all. When she’d walked into the gambling hell and seen him striding towards her, all causal confidence in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, he’d seemed a man who was supremely at ease in the world around him. He’d found his place. Julia thought it highly unlikely that anything or anyone could entice Paine to give that up. ‘Normal’ living would hardly be appealing to a man who enjoyed ‘splitting the bamboo’.
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