Percy heaved a sigh. "If you knew all along, why did you let me go on?"
For the first time, she saw the policeman smile. The crooked grin transformed his worn features, giving him a raffish charm. "Because your tale was quite entertaining. You really should write a novel, you know."
Soon thereafter, they arrived at Hatchard's. Mr. Kent entered the premises first, signaling a pair of his men to flank the door. He surveyed the bookstore with the same vigilance he might use at the docks or in the stews.
"I am going to browse around, and there's no use following me through the stacks as they're quite narrow," Percy said. "Perhaps you'd care to wait for me at an assigned place?"
His alert gaze scanned the environs. Finally, he nodded to the fireplace, the central point of the store. "I'll be here if you need me, Miss Fines."
Feeling like a bird freed from its cage, Percy escaped into the shelves. She perused her way though sections of history and poetry before winding her way to the back of the store where the novels were housed. She caught Mr. Kent glancing her way and waved at him before wandering off the main aisle into a row of shelves. Selecting a new volume by one of her favorite authors, she was flipping through the pages when she felt a tug on her arm.
Looking down, she saw an urchin, no more than five or six, peering up at her.
"Are you Miss Fines?"
Her pulse sped up. "Yes, I am."
"I've somethin' for you, then." He shoved a note at her; before she could ask him a question or even hand him a coin, he scampered off down the row.
She broke the wax seal.
My dearest love, I must see you again. There is much I need to say to you and know that I will do whatever is required to make things right. I am waiting for you outside the back entrance—please don't make me wait in vain, my darling.
-H
Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Whatever is required to make things right. Could Gavin be saying that he meant to give up his revenge for her? Was he capable of changing after all? More to the point: after all she'd been through, was she willing to risk her pride and heart again for a man like Gavin Hunt?
A thousand times, yes.
Peering down the main aisle, she saw that Mr. Kent remained in position. He nodded at her, and she fluttered her fingers back before returning behind the shelves. She looked to the opposite end of her row: the back door, less than a dozen yards away. She could see Gavin in moments, possibly without Mr. Kent finding out. And if Gavin was proposing what she hoped, they wouldn't need to meet in secret any longer.
Giddy with excitement, she made her decision and walked steadily toward the door. She brushed by another patron who gave her an annoyed look, but she continued on. She saw that the door had a lock on it, but the knob turned easily in her hand. She opened it and slipped through.
Despite the early time of day, the alleyway wavered with shadows from the tall abutting buildings. Her heart leapt as she saw the dark-clothed figure standing a few feet away. His broad shoulders were turned away from her, his head obscured by his hat.
Softly, she said, "Gavin?"
He turned.
"Oh, I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "I thought you were someone else."
Though the stranger was handsome, his smile raised the hairs on her nape. "You're prettier than I thought you'd be, Miss Fines. No wonder Hunt's been in a constant state of rut. You'll come in handy, I'm sure."
She backed away, only to bump against a solid, burly form. A cloth covered her mouth, muffling her scream. A sweet, pungent smell filled her nostrils, and she knew no more.
THIRTY-SIX
Gavin kicked the door open. "Where the hell is she, Morgan?"
The group of men sitting around the long table stared at him. Behind him, the bespectacled idiot who'd tried to bar his way into Morgan's office yapped like an irate dog. "My apologies, my lord. I tried to stop this person, but he would not listen. Shall I have him removed from the premises?"
"I'd like to see you try," Gavin said, baring his teeth.
"Never mind, Jibotts." Morgan rose to his feet. Turning to the group at the table, he said curtly, "The meeting is adjourned for now. I'll expect the shipping reports on my desk tomorrow morning."
After a chorus of Yes, m'lord, the toadying fools took off.
Old four-eyes, however, hovered protectively at the doorway. "My lord, I can have the magistrate summoned—"
"Leave us, Jibotts," Morgan said. "And close the door behind you."
With one last suspicious glare, the man departed. Morgan picked up the coffeepot and poured himself a cup of steaming brew. He cocked a dark brow.
"I don't want any bloody coffee," Gavin snarled. "Where the hell is Percy?"
"It's none of your damn business, Hunt. I told you to stay away from her." Morgan studied him with cold, grey eyes. "I'm the one who wronged you and if you're willing to discuss restitution—"
"She's in danger, goddamnit." Fear made Gavin's words boom against the walls. He was known to be coolheaded under any circumstances, yet now his thoughts raced. "I've been by her house and got run off by the old hen who runs the place. Bribed one of the neighbor's grooms—he said he saw her carriage leave two hours ago. Tell me where she went."
Morgan stared at him. "What sort of danger are you referring to?"
Gavin raked his hands through his hair. He'd left in such a rush that he'd forgotten his hat. "Cutthroats, Morgan," he grated out. "There's no time to get into it. If you know where she is, we have to find her."
His words seemed to finally galvanize the marquess into action. "They're after her?" he said, grabbing his jacket.
Self-loathing burned in Gavin's chest. "They're after me," he said, "and they have no qualms about using her to get what they want."
"Come with me," Morgan said.
Such was his fear for Percy's life that Gavin did not balk at the autocratic command. They descended the steps of the warehouse, Morgan barking to have the carriage brought round. Matched grays met them at the entrance.
"Home and be quick about it," Morgan told the driver as they boarded the well-sprung vehicle. They'd barely found their seats before the equipage leaped forward.
"Percy is at your home?" Gavin said tersely.
"Mrs. Fines is having tea with my wife this afternoon," Morgan corrected. "I am not certain if Percy planned to come. If she is not there, her mother will know where she went."
Gavin's fists tightened in his lap. He looked out the window. Though the streets blurred past, the carriage could not move fast enough to suit him. Sweat slickened his brow. Goddamnit, if anything happens to her …
"Why are you worried about her, Hunt? I thought she was a pawn in your game," Morgan said. "A means to an end."
"I never said that," Gavin bit out.
"You certainly let her believe it."
Guilt wrenched his gut—if it wasn't already so knotted, he might have felt something. "I should kill you," Gavin snarled. "It would make me feel a damn sight better."
"Perhaps. Before you tear my head off, however, you might like to know that I've put Percy under protection. Wherever she is, Mr. Kent is with her."
Never in his life did Gavin think he'd welcome a Charley's involvement. Some of the tightness in his gut eased, but he muttered, "He better know what he is doing. These aren't petty thieves he's dealing with. These are powerful, ruthless men who'd do anything to keep it that way."
Morgan studied him with an unfathomable gaze. "Tell me who is after Percy—or you, rather."
Gavin weighed his options. Confiding in his nemesis had not figured into his plot for revenge. For Percy's sake, however, he saw no better alternative. "A man named John Magnus. Likely in partnership with another bastard, Warren Kingsley. They're cutthroats who've killed three men already."
"Why?"
Gavin made a scoffing sound. "For power and money, of course. Forgotten what life was like in the rookery, your lordship?"
"I remember," Morgan said, "every bleeding s
econd of it. No title can make a man forget where he came from. I was born in the gutters, no different from you."
A queer pang tightened Gavin's throat. To cover it, he sneered, "Then you'll know that where I come from murder doesn't warrant much of a reason. 'Tis as senseless as abandoning a boy and thrashing him within an inch of his life."
A muscle ticked in Morgan's jaw. A moment later, he said, "You want to know why I did it? Why I not only refused to help you, but beat you and left you in that cesspit?"
Yes. "I don't give a damn."
"I did it because I was scared." Morgan looked at him, and despite the rage burning in Gavin, he knew pain when he saw it. "Three years I lived with Grimes. Days in the stacks, nights in a hell worse than that." The other man passed a hand over his mouth. "As time passed, I forgot to hope. Forgot ... myself. I was just another one of the miserable, worthless mongrels willing to do anything to survive."
Gavin had been with Grimes less than a fortnight, yet he could still see the small, pale faces, lifeless eyes. His jaw tightened as he recalled his own fear. His own foolish vow: I'll never be like them.
"But a mongrel pushed too far can bite back." Morgan's smile held no humor, only bitterness. "I have no regret for my actions that night, save for what I did to you. I was terrified. All I could think to do was run. And you were crying, begging ..."—his voice broke low—"and I saw myself. Saw my own stinking, helpless self, and I couldn't get away fast enough."
The other man looked away. Gavin did the same as alarming heat pushed against the back of his eyes. He heard himself say, "And the fire ... ?"
"That is the one sin I cannot claim. I swear it on my life, on everything I hold dear," Morgan said in a gravelly voice.
Slowly, Gavin's anger receded. For the first time, he was able to look quietly into the pool of his past. The surface was … calm. In its reflection, he glimpsed the boy he'd been and another boy—one with a lost look in his grey eyes. They had both been powerless, undeserving of what fate had meted out to them. And somehow they had both survived. Studying the man he'd hated for so long, he was struck by a bewildering feeling of ... was it kinship?
As the drive continued in silence, Gavin became aware of the clip-clop of the horses echoing the rhythm of his own heart. An organ that wasn't dead, that could feel love. For Stewart, the man who'd fathered him. For Percy, the only woman he'd ever loved. He'd lost one, but he would not give up the other without a fight.
"How ... how did you move past it all?" Gavin said gruffly.
The marquess glanced swiftly in his direction, and Gavin saw that the man's lashes were spiked with moisture. Morgan seemed to mull over his response, before saying, "At first, I thought working my arse off was the answer. It kept me focused on the future, on making something of myself." He shrugged. "And then the title came. More money and power. I thought I'd risen above my past at last."
"Control," Gavin said with a nod. "A man can't have too much of that."
"I thought so too—and I was wrong. What I needed was the opposite. To learn to trust, open myself to another." Morgan's austere features softened. "In the end, 'twas my marriage that put the past behind me."
Gavin's throat clenched. Once he had Percy safe and sound, would she give him another chance? She was everything he needed—and blind fool that he was, he hadn't recognized it. How could he, when he had never known love before? But he'd make it up to her. He'd find a way, even if it meant tearing his heart open and showing her what was inside.
"You care about Percy, don't you?"
Under Morgan's scrutiny, Gavin's cheekbones heated. 'Twas one thing to consider falling upon bended knee in front of one's beloved and another entirely to admit such a thing to another man. Especially Morgan.
"What goes on between Percy and me is none of your business. I don't care if you're a marquess or her adopted brother or the sodding Archbishop of Canterbury," he muttered. "She's mine. And the minute I get the minx back, I'm going to marry her and to hell with what anyone has to say about it—and that includes Percy herself."
He crossed his arms. There was a pause.
"I'll take that as a yes," Morgan said dryly.
*****
The Harteford residence was a Georgian mansion on Upper Brook Street. Gavin took scant notice of the luxurious surroundings, hadn't even a hat to toss to the crotchety old stick who opened the door. He scanned the marble foyer and the grand curving staircase, impatient for any sign of Percy.
"Are the Fineses here, Crikstaff?" Morgan said.
"Yes, my lord," the butler intoned. "The marchioness is entertaining them in the drawing room."
The Fineses. Both Percy and her mother were here, then. Relief flooded Gavin. He had to restrain himself from shoving his way past Morgan to get to Percy. It wasn't that he gave a damn about being impolite to his host: he had no bleeding idea where the drawing room was in the sprawling abode. So he was forced to follow Morgan's brisk lead down the hallway to the right.
He heard the laughter first. Then the sounds of a pianoforte … Christ. He cringed as notes splintered the air with ear-splitting discordance.
Morgan looked over his shoulder. A faint smile reached his eyes as he opened a pair of French-style doors. "Welcome to Mayhem, Hunt."
The mêlée was worthy of the market at Covent Garden. Two identical, tow-headed boys chased one another round the piano, pounding out notes as they passed and shouting cheerfully all the while. A brunette with a vexed expression was scolding them to stop whilst another lady—middle-aged and with a heart-shaped countenance and blue eyes that identified her as Percy's mother—tried to lure them to the sitting area with a plate of cakes. Meanwhile, Paul Fines sat flirting with a cool blonde who looked amused by the entire situation.
But no Percy.
"Where the hell is she?" Gavin said.
All heads turned in his direction.
Beside him, Morgan cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is Mr. Hunt. He came to the office looking for Percy. Where has she gone today?"
Paul Fines broke the silence. "Are you mad, Morgan? Why did you bring the bastard here?" Rising, he glared at Gavin. "Even if I knew where my sister was, I would not tell you."
Gavin's hands grew clammy. "You mean to say you do not know where she is?"
"What business is it of yours? Haven't you done enough damage already?" Fines said.
Gavin started forward; Morgan stayed him with a hand on the arm. "Whatever the past, Hunt is here to help today," he said calmly to the room at large. "Percy may be in danger. We must locate her—where is she?"
"Hatchard's. Mr. Kent went with her and planned to bring her here afterward. They should have arrived by now." This came from Percy's mother, the lace on her ash-blond curls trembling. She turned an accusing gaze to Gavin. "What have you got her mixed up in now, sir?"
Heat crept up Gavin's neck. "Mrs. Fines, I—"
"There'll be time for explanations later, Anna," Morgan cut in. "Hunt and I must go to Hatchard's immediately."
"I'll come too," Fines said.
"You'll stay here and look after the family," the marquess said. "Kent and Percy may yet show up. If they do, send word to us."
As Fines gave a subdued nod, the brunette came up to Morgan. Her eyes were wide with worry. "You will be careful, won't you?"
Morgan cupped her cheek. "Of course, my love."
Gavin turned impatiently to the door just as a long-limbed figure came striding into the room. He recognized the Charley from the other night.
Kent's face was pale, his posture stiff. His gaze honed on Gavin. "What are you doing here?"
"Where is Percy?" Gavin said as a dull thud started in his ears.
Kent spared him another glance before announcing in a flat voice, "She's been taken."
THIRTY-SEVEN
Percy opened her eyes. The lids felt heavy, weighted. She blinked as the world came into focus. She was lying upon a straw pallet, her hands bound behind her back. Maneuvering to a sitting position, she ga
zed around her. Some sort of storage room, with empty pots stacked against the wall and a strong chemical odor in the air. The door opened, and the stranger from the alleyway strode in. Behind him, she glimpsed stairs leading up, the flash of sunlight on water. She was in a basement ... next to the Thames?
"Ah," her kidnapper said. "Awake at last."
"Who are you?" She managed to keep her voice steady. "What do you want?"
"The name's Kingsley." He had the gall to sweep her a bow while flashing white teeth. "I am your host. We'll be having a party this evening, and you, my dear, will be the main attraction."
She was no fool. The cad planned to use her to lure Gavin. "Mr. Hunt knows better than to waltz into your trap," she said, lifting her chin.
"A man in love tends to lose his head. No pun intended." Kingsley came toward her. She edged backward, her shoulders hitting the wall. "You are a pretty thing, aren't you?" he mused. "No wonder you've got the bastard tied up in knots."
When he reached a hand to her hair, she spat, "Stay away from me!"
"Little hellion, eh? Hunt always liked his women full of sauce." Kingsley's smile drew chills down her spine. "And I should know—I've fucked all of his women."
Percy screamed as he yanked her head back, his lips descending upon hers.
"Goddamnit, Kingsley, keep your cock in your pants."
At the sound of the new voice, Kingsley's grip eased, and Percy tore free, scrambling away. She turned to see the newcomer ... and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the black patch covering one eye.
"Jack Spades," she breathed.
"The name is John Magnus, Miss Fines." The scruffy old man stared at her with his good eye. One of his hands gripped a cane; the other aimed a pistol at her chest. "And I prefer to keep it that way."
"What's the chit talking about, Magnus?" Kingsley demanded.
"Nothing of consequence."
Magnus gave her a warning look, and Percy realized that his partner in crime knew nothing of the past. Recalling what Gavin had told her about the betrayal and back-biting that went on amongst the club owners, she hit upon an idea.
Bucking up her courage, she said, "I wouldn't call your motive for killing Mr. Hunt inconsequential, Mr. Magnus."
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