Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02]

by The Duke Next Door

  She looked down at where Silly Cat—it was the best she could do—rolled belly up in something damp. Moments later, the kitten wandered into the kitchen alone, mewing for the milk he knew the cook would give him.

  In the meantime, Meggie was nothing but a fluttering coat and short legs moving fast in the distance.

  “MEGGIE! MEGGIE, COME out this instant!” Calder knelt to peer beneath Deirdre’s bed. No skinny legs, no fierce scowl. Worry began to clutch at his gut. The servants were tossing the house upside down, attic to cellar, front gate to privy, but so far there was no sign of his child.

  Meggie was angry with him—furious, to be exact. She missed Deirdre and she was simply too young to understand. Not that he understood all that well himself.

  She would go to Deirdre. Yet it was a long, treacherous way to that neighborhood, with plenty of opportunity for danger both accidental and more sinister. The cart traffic alone was deadly to the uninitiated! He wasn’t even sure if Meggie knew the way, for she’d never been to Primrose Square in her life.

  Knowing his stubborn child, that might not be enough to stop her from trying. He strode from the room. “Fortescue!”

  Fortescue popped up, breathing heavily and dustsmudged, but prompt as always. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Have my carriage readied.” Would it be faster to simply send a groom? No, for he’d want to keep an eye out on the way. “I’m going to check at Lady Tessa’s.”

  Fortescue’s eyebrow rose. “Indeed. Good thinking, my lord.”

  “In the meantime, have the staff search the garden.”

  “They already have, my lord. Twice.”

  “Then make it thrice, Fortescue. She must be somewhere!”

  It was only moments before his carriage came around, but still he chafed at the delay. The night was gathering quickly and the thought of his child alone in the lawless city at night brought his fear to a place he never knew existed.

  Damn him, if he had been less worried about his own heart and more worried about his daughter’s, less bound by his own stupid standards of honor, he would have done anything to bring back the stepmother she loved so much.

  If he lost Meggie now as well …

  Though he searched the streets carefully on the way, he saw nothing of her. Once at Primrose Square, he bounded down from the driver’s seat of the phaeton and was pounding on the door in an instant.

  Lady Tessa’s incompetent butler answered at last. “You’re fired,” growled Calder as he pushed past the man. “Meggie! Meggie!”

  “You can’t fire me, I don’t work for you!” The man faded before the glare Calder turned on him and stepped back, muttering, “Blighters pushin’ in the door, bellowin’ for ladies … Oy, we don’t have no Meggie here!”

  Calder ignored him. “Meggie!”

  Deirdre came running, her skirts in her hands, Sophie close behind. “Calder? What is it? What’s happened to Meggie?”

  He could see on her face that his daughter had never made it to this house. Icy terror stole his breath. “Oh God, Deirdre … she’s gone!”

  As her arms opened, he fell into them, their difficulties forgotten as she held his trembling body close to hers.

  It was Sophie, ever practical, who disturbed the moment. “Lord Brookhaven, you must widen your search perimeter. If we gather everyone at Brook House, we can begin a systematic search.”

  Sophie spoke his language. The solid, practical words pulled him from the pit of terror and gave him something real to do. He straightened, though he did not give up his grip on Deirdre. “Right. Sophie, gather the staff here and get them over to Brook House. Deirdre, get a warm cape. We’ll take another route back and look for her as we go.”

  “Oy, milord … am I still fired?”

  Calder didn’t spare the humbled man a glance as he passed him. “Not if you find my daughter.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Once Calder and Deirdre had arrived back at Brook House, they immediately sent the servants out on Sophie’s “widened perimeter search.” Calder had scarcely shut the door on the last footman when the knocker sounded.

  They answered the door together, in a rush, for Fortescue had already taken charge of the search. There was a grubby fellow at the door, holding out a folded piece of paper. Out of habit, Calder tossed the fellow a coin from his weskit pocket as he unfolded the sheet. The man disappeared before Calder had even begun to read.

  “If you wish your child back unharmed, you will bring Lady Brookhaven to the crossing in Hampstead Heath by midnight. We will exchange them, along with your promise to dissolve your unconsummated union immediately. Bring no one else. Baskin.”

  Calder stared at the paper. Kidnapped. He’d not even thought of it. Meggie was rebellious, angry. His only thought was that she’d run from him, just like her mother.

  Just like Deirdre.

  Deirdre. He turned on her. “Your lover still wants you.” He thrust the note at her, his fury and fear overwhelming.

  The confusion on her face was plain, then she read the note. “Oh, my God. Oh, Meggie!” She turned to him urgently. “Calder, Baskin is a madman. He’s dangerous!”

  Calder gazed at her, his eyes narrowed. “Is this a ploy to frighten me into conceding? It isn’t necessary, you know. I could easily have this marriage dissolved. It would be costly, and neither of our reputations would ever recover from the scandal, but you’d have your lover and I’d have my daughter back.”

  Deirdre snapped her fingers before his face. “Calder, listen to me! There’s no time for your jealousy! I’m telling you, Baskin assaulted me in my bedchamber yesterday. He climbed the bloody tree, for pity’s sake! His mind is going, I tell you! He thinks we’re in love, that I can save him from the darkness or some such babble—” She shoved up the sleeves of her gown. “Look what he did to me!”

  Calder looked. The bruises of legend were indeed something to behold. Very clearly, the shape of a man’s hand was outlined in purple and black on each of her upper arms. Calder slowly reached out his own hand and covered them gently, matching finger to finger.

  His hands were too large to have made them. Somewhere inside him, beneath the gibbering fear for his child, relief welled up that he’d not harmed Deirdre thus.

  Then the cruelty of those bruises struck him. “So much force—you were fighting him, weren’t you?”

  “Of course I was fighting him, you stupid man! It was as if I swatted at an elephant with a handkerchief. He’s out of control, I tell you!”

  So, just like that, his wife was returned to him—but his daughter was still gone, somewhere in the dark, in the hands of a madman. If he’d had faith in Deirdre, he would never have lost her. Pity something that simple wouldn’t bring Meggie back.

  Deirdre realized it as well. “You’re thinking of doing it.”

  He took the note and folded it carefully. “I have no choice but to go to meet him, but you’ll not come with me.” He turned away. “Fortescue, prepare the phaeton. I’ll drive myself.”

  She stepped before him, protesting, “I must come! He’s expecting me—and I can talk to him. He’ll listen to me, he loves me.”

  Calder reached to stroke his fingertips over the bruise on one arm. “Did he listen to you yesterday?” He moved past her. “Fortescue, her ladyship will wait here. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Calder, what are you going to do?” She tried to press past Fortescue, who simply took hold of her skirts with one hand. Deirdre pushed at him, trying to twist away, but the butler’s grip was steadfast. “Calder! Calder!”

  Chapter Forty-five

  In his small but respectable house in London, Mr. Stickley woke to a pounding upon his door.

  He sat up abruptly, alarm chasing through him. “Is it fire?”

  Then he recognized the sodden howling from outside. “Stiiiiii—” Hiccup. “Kleeeey.”

  Eyes narrowed in disapproval, Stickley left his comfortable bed and went to his door to let his drunken par
tner in before the neighbors sent for the watch.

  Wolfe hadn’t been to his home in many years, perhaps not since their boyhood. “What do you mean by this?”

  Wolfe grinned at him. “Gotta game waiting, ol’ Stick. All out, I’m ’fraid.” He leaned forward. “Can’t stop now—I’m in the middle of a lucky streak.”

  Stickley sniffed. “Then why are your pockets empty?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Need a bit to tide me over until the next turn of the cards.”

  Wolfe stank of spirits and women and other unwashed amusements. Stickley drew back. “I don’t have anything here!” This wasn’t precisely true. What might have been more precisely truthful would have been, “I don’t have anything here for you!”

  It wasn’t surprising that a practiced sinner like Wolfe saw through that feeble lie. He advanced on Stickley, his gaze flashing from amiable drunk to dangerous in an instant.

  “I need that coin, Stick. I’m owed, after what I’ve done for us this past week.”

  “What have you done?”

  Abruptly Wolfe’s mood swung again. “Saved the Pickering caboodle!” he crowed. “Lady Brookhaven won’t be the Duchess of Brookmoor. Can’t be a duchess if you don’t have a duke!”

  Stickley, who had been contemplating simply handing over a small portion of his emergency nest egg, just so he could get back to sleep—without having Wolfe’s malodorous self passed out on his fine carpet, thank you—drew back warily now.

  “You didn’t kill him?”

  Wolfe blinked and put one hand upon his chest in mock offense. “Me? Why, I could never do such a thing!” Then he snorted. “But Lady Brookhaven ought to have been more careful who she flirted with. Lovestruck young men do tend to take drastic measures!”

  Stickley went cold. “Brookhaven is dead?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?” He belched then, his face taking on a greenish tinge.

  “What precisely do you have to do with this matter?”

  Wolfe’s gaze went glassy and distracted. “Not a thing, not a thing. It’s all that young Baskin’s doing. All he needed was a bit of guidance from someone with more … life experience.”

  Stickley backed away. “Where is Baskin now?”

  Wolfe giggled. “There’s a party on Hampstead Heath tonight,” he sang. “A spot of murder and then a pretty little wedding, all at the point of a pistol! ‘A sacred place,’” he mocked in a reedy voice, posing his hands in an effete manner, “‘Where we can announce our vows before the gods themselves,’ etcetera, etcetera. I tell you, Stickley, that boy might be a lousy poet, but he’s got a real imagination for crime!”

  No longer quite so worried about his carpet, Stickley hurried to the desk in his tidy little study and pulled a small sack of gold from one of many such hiding places. “Here.” He tossed the bag at Wolfe, who caught it easily, not even drunkeness likely to make him drop his coin. “Now go on to your game.”

  Stickley shut the door on a suddenly gleeful Wolfe, then turned to his wardrobe instead of his bed. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late to stop matters from turning dangerous!

  CALDER DROVE THE phaeton as quickly as he dared, for the midnight hour was fast approaching. The city was far from empty—the carriages of the rich were transporting from ball and musicale to late supper. Out of Mayfair, there was less traffic and he allowed the horse its head, the phaeton tilting dangerously on the corners.

  Once on the deserted plain of Hampstead Heath, he slowed, letting the horse pick its way with care. “The crossing” was where Baskin had said to meet him. Two roads intersected in the Heath, if one cared to call them roads. They were more like earthen tracks, created by picnicking commoners and drunken rowdies coming and going.

  Then, ahead in the limitless blackness, he saw a man standing by the road with a lantern and a small bundle on the ground at his side. Baskin.

  The man waved the lantern at him, stupidly, Calder thought, for there was no mistaking him at this point. He didn’t see Meggie anywhere—

  As he drew nearer in the phaeton, the bundle lifted its tangled head, revealing a white face. Baskin, the bastard, had tied his tiny daughter in a sack!

  “I’m going to kill you,” murmured Calder beneath the creak of the wheels. “For Deirdre’s bruises and for treating my child like a kitten you want to drown. I’m going to kill you with my bare hands and then I’m going to resurrect you just to kill you again.”

  In the rear of the phaeton, behind and somewhat under the seat, in the spot where one might stow a picnic lunch if one were on a drive with one’s lover, Deirdre braced herself in the unpadded space.

  Fortescue had watched her climb the stairs to her room, but he’d not set a guard on her window. The climb down the blasted tree had been harrowing, and she was quite sure she’d scandalized several squirrels with her gown rucked up to her waist, but she’d managed to reach the waiting phaeton before Calder.

  Now her body ached beyond imagining. She’d been knocked about rather thoroughly when Calder had been driving fast, and more than once she’d nearly given in and called out to him to stop.

  Now, as the phaeton, normally a rich man’s plaything, slowed to a stop, she took advantage of the creaking to fling herself bodily from her prison.

  Once on the ground beneath the phaeton with her sleeping limbs tingling to wakefulness, she crept forward carefully, listening.

  “Free my child at once!”

  “Not a chance. She’s a biter,” Baskin said disapprovingly. “Really, Brookhaven, you ought to see to your unruly brat.”

  Calder made to swing down from the seat. Baskin raised his hand from where it had been hidden by his coattails. A dueling pistol glinted dully in the lamplight. “I’ll thank you not to presume, Brookhaven.”

  Then Deirdre saw Meggie in the sack and wondered at Baskin’s fearlessness. Didn’t he realize that he was already dead? And when she was done with him, she promised herself she’d give Calder a moment with him as well.

  Meggie, however, seemed to be taking matters quite well. She looked grubby and tattered, but then she usually did. She also seemed monumentally bored. “Hi, Papa,” she said calmly. “Bastard’s a liar.”

  Baskin turned on the child in a fury. “Show some respect, brat!”

  She shrugged inside her sack. “Sorry, Mister Bastard.”

  Baskin aimed a kick at the bundle and Meggie cringed.

  Calder couldn’t bear it. He leaped down and started forward. “You wanted Deirdre, Baskin!”

  Baskin looked up, his kick unfinished. “Yes! Where is she?” He peered at the carriage. “She isn’t with you!” In his fury he aimed the pistol at Meggie.

  Calder’s blood turned to ice. He held up both his hands. “She’s just down the road,” he lied. “I left her there because I didn’t trust that you’d bring my daughter.”

  Baskin lifted his chin. “Well, I am a gentleman, Brookhaven. I keep my word.”

  The idiot’s oblivious smugness underlined his madness as nothing else could. This fellow had no idea what he was doing. He was obsessed with Deirdre. Nothing and no one would convince him that Deirdre didn’t want him just as much in return.

  Calder doubted that telling Baskin that the marriage had been consummated would accomplish anything but to madden him further.

  This was not going to end well, he saw now. Reason was useless, as was bribery. The best he could hope for was to save Meggie. There wasn’t much hope of saving this stupid boy as well.

  So be it: Calder wasted no time dithering. He took a step forward, his hands still held up.

  Baskin jolted at his movement. “Stay where you are!”

  Calder moved slowly but he continued to move. “You have the pistol, not I. You can hold it on both of us more easily than one.”

  Baskin blinked but could find nothing wrong with that logic. He sneered then. “Deirdre said you were all that is efficient and mechanical. That’s why she doesn’t love you, you
know. You’re as cold and cruel as ice.”

  Calder knew the young man was deluded and let the sting of the truth pass unremarked. Meggie was all that mattered. If he could get between her and the pistol, he could take the single bullet that lay within. He might even survive it, though that mattered very little at the moment.

  Thank God he’d left Deirdre safely at home.

  Deirdre began to move backward, away from the phaeton, into the deepest shadow. If she could get around Baskin, she could distract him while Calder overcame him. She was very fond of this plan.

  Her second plan, formed in the last few seconds, was to give herself into Baskin’s possession voluntarily. He felt himself to be a gentleman. She might be able to persuade him to allow Calder and Meggie to go free.

  She was not fond of this plan at all.

  Now if Calder would just stop moving …

  “Halt, damn you!” Baskin’s cry was shrill but all the more frightening for it. Deirdre froze and the tableau before her, framed in lantern light, froze as well. It was Calder who faced the pistol now, but Baskin had moved to stand just behind the bagged Meggie, so the child was still in just as much danger as before.

  For the first time, Meggie seemed to be showing fear. She was hunched small, her sack-covered hands covering her face. Only her wild curls showed above the crude sacking. Poor little one. Poor wee frightened—

  Then Deirdre got a glimpse of what Meggie had in her mouth. The child was chewing the cord with all her might as her gaze flickered this way and that, keeping an eye on proceedings.

  Deirdre longed to signal her, but she would only endanger them all by doing so. Better that she stay concealed and work her way around …

  She stumbled on a stone, sending it rattling into some others in the darkness.

  “What was that?” Baskin cried out in alarm. “Who goes there?”

  On instinct Deirdre dropped flat, hiding her pale face and hair beneath her darker-clad arms. She waited, her lungs too frightened to expand, willing herself to sink into the soil and disappear entirely.