It wasn’t far.
Just past Lincoln’s Inn Fields lay a narrow street lined in respectable houses. A quiet residential area, with the occasional coffee shop, it was one of the streets rebuilt after the fire of nearly a hundred years before. The houses were built of golden stone, the windows and doors faced with white stones. Tranquil next to the bustle of Covent Garden. Deceptively so.
Alconbury halted at the end of the street. “It’s at the other end. Number seven. This is one of the more private places the Prince frequents.” He paused. “My father owns it.”
A low rumble indicated Julius’s growl. “What do you suggest?”
“They know me. If Lady St. Just is not there, they are likely to know where she has gone, although I think she’s inside. I will take two of you in with me. Not you—” He glanced at Julius. “You are too well-known.”
“I go,” Dominic said. He would not budge on that. However, Alconbury nodded. “Without the wig and fashionable trappings, you look entirely different.”
“That was the idea,” Dominic said laconically. Now he was so close, his throat tightened and a familiar sensation zinged through his veins.
With the ease of long practice, he captured that feeling, used it to hone his warrior edge. He touched his sword hilt—not his dress sword but a good army weapon. This would have taken off Alconbury’s hand at a single stroke. It still might.
He wore a dark green country coat without the exaggeration of the skirts and huge cuffs. Linen adorned his wrists instead of lace. As Alconbury had said, he’d left off his wig.
He did indeed appear entirely different. Northwich might recognize him, but he’d have to risk the duke being present. If he was named, he was more than ready to fight his way out.
“I’ll go,” Val said. He had a reputation in society for recklessness, worse than his sister, but that could make him useful. Or dangerous. It was less likely that one twin would be recognized where people were used to two.
“Yes,” Alconbury said. “You two. The house has much the same pattern of rooms as any other in London. If they have her, it will be upstairs, where it’s less easy to escape.”
“And if they do not?”
“I’ll find out.”
Their only hope was in their avowed enemy. Alconbury had the ingress into this place, and he could question without resistance. After he had found her, Dominic had one more task to achieve. Far less important.
Darius, Max, and Julius disposed themselves in the street around the house.
Alconbury led Dominic and Val to the house and rapped on the door, using a series of complex knocks and taps. Dominic memorized them.
Someone opened the door cautiously and held a lamp out to illuminate Alconbury’s face. He stood his ground, but frowned. “Let me in, you fool!”
That did the trick. The door opened enough for him to pass through. When he would have barred Dominic and Val, Alconbury knocked the man’s arm aside. “Let them in. Is my father here?”
“No, sir.” It spoke for the establishment that they didn’t call Alconbury “my lord.” Clandestine indeed.
Dominic breathed out in relief. The one person who would know him for sure was absent.
The door closed behind them, revealing a narrow hallway lit by the lantern the man who had let them in was holding. Without another word, he turned and led the way up an equally narrow staircase to a room at the front of the house on the first floor. It would be considered spacious by many. With the man inside and the three who entered, it was full.
Dominic gritted his teeth and followed Alconbury’s example of bowing low to the man who called himself prince. He stood back, as befitted a bodyguard or lesser companion. All the better to shoot the man, if he made a false move.
This room was much better furnished than the one in Hart Street. Fine furnishings and delicate china adorned the place, as well as the cut glass from which the prince drank deeply. The ruby liquid glistened in the light of the expensive beeswax candles that festooned the sconces and holders.
“You are come for a reason, Alconbury?” he asked.
He didn’t even asked to be introduced to Dominic and Val. They kept their heads down, but of necessity they had taken off their hats. The prince spared them barely a glance. He had pale blue protuberant eyes, most unlike Dominic’s. Meeting his half-brother in these circumstances unnerved him more than he had thought. Did this man know who was legitimate and who the bastard?
“The house?” the Pretender asked.
“Is still standing, sir. At least it was when I left.”
Max had sent a message to some people he knew. If they were successful, the house would be standing for some time to come.
“A pity. I grow bored, Alconbury. Something had better happen soon.”
Alconbury glanced away. Dominic had positioned himself so he could see the side of his face and gauge his expression. Trained to observe every little detail, he put all his expertise to use now. “Sir, you have initiated action. At least, I assume you have done so. I heard this afternoon that the wife of Lord St. Just is missing. Abducted, some say.”
“What does his lordship say?” He glanced toward Dominic.
“You can guess.”
The men exchanged a long, grave look, but neither of them said anything.
A shuffling sound came from above. More inhabitants. Dominic tried hard not to get his hopes up. After all, this house would contain a number of people, set here to protect and provide cover for the Young Pretender. He would probably move in a few days. At least, if Dominic had charge of him, that was what he’d do. How many more houses were there? How long before he found her?
“How did you take her?” he asked smoothly.
“We got her out of the back gate.”
“We?” Alconbury raised a brow.
The Pretender shrugged. “My men.” He glanced at Dominic. “I want some things you would probably not give me without a little…persuasion.”
“Sir, you should have waited for us to act on your behalf,” Alconbury said, his dark eyes glinting. “You cannot kill her.”
“Can I not? I have heard rumors I have to confirm before I give myself up.”
“You are determined on that course, then, sir?”
Stuart shrugged. “I am.”
Alconbury sighed. “I cannot help but think it is a dangerous gesture.”
Stuart’s jowls quivered and his color rose. “What do I care for danger? A public trial will put my claims at the forefront of people’s minds. They will not kill me. They will not dare. At present, Europe is balanced on a knife-edge and my father holds considerable influence. My case will be heard.”
“Sir, they will arrest you and lock you up. Remember the case of Mary, Queen of Scots. She was an honorable guest of the Crown for over twenty years.”
Stuart snorted. “She was betrayed by France.”
“As you were, sir.”
King Louis of France had left Stuart on the quayside at Calais. Although the Old Pretender had ordered his son to retreat, since he had lost France’s support, the Young Pretender had left anyway. He’d come far too damned close. He was finished, and desperate. Also, considering Dominic had seen him three times before, he appeared permanently drunk.
A feminine voice called out once. Too brief for him to identify, but a woman.
“You brought a her here?” Alconbury asked smoothly.
The Young Pretender glanced up. “She will not settle, however much we tell her she will come to no harm,” he said viciously.
Dominic suppressed his smile.
“You have men guarding her, I presume?” Alconbury smiled and relaxed his hands by his sides.
If Stuart didn’t know the signs of imminent attack, Dominic did. Alconbury was preparing to strike.
“Naturally.”
Enough. Dominic stepped forward, drew his gun, and held it to the side of the Young Pretender’s head. The man’s arrogance was stupendous. “You will have her brought here.”
“I beg your pardon, sir! Pray step back!”
Val drew his weapon—one of them at any rate—and held it to Alconbury. “I’m afraid he cannot. Have her brought down.”
Despite the weapon, Stuart turned his head and confronted Dominic. He smiled, a stretching of full lips that revealed dingy teeth. “Another brother,” he said. “I am right, am I not?”
“That depends. Get my wife. If you do not, I will not hesitate. You will die. Think on this—the authorities will thank me if I kill you.”
“They will not. You will make so many enemies that you and your wife will never be safe.” The smile broadened.
“On the contrary. You’re here incognito. That means I killed a man in a brawl in the City. In self-defense.” He let that sink in. “If the authorities find you dead on British soil, do you think they will admit to it? Don’t you think they’d send you quietly back to Italy, or bury you somewhere and you would merely disappear? Even your father doesn’t know where you are, does he?”
“Our father,” the Young Pretender said softly. “Don’t you want this? If you kill me, you are heir.” He glanced around the room. “Royalty may legitimize children, if it suits them.”
“Just as well for you, then.” Dominic glanced at Alconbury while still keeping his attention on his brother. The earl showed no surprise. It could be a good straight face, though. Telling his enemy anything more than he knew already went hard with him. Already he was getting Alconbury’s measure. As far as Dominic could see, Alconbury was far more dangerous an opponent than Charles Stuart. “Get my wife,” he said.
Alconbury’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Very well.”
He and Val left the room.
Dominic had his moment. He moved away, still holding the gun, but far enough to get the document out of his pocket. He tossed it at the man. “Have you seen this before?”
The Pretender took it between finger and thumb. “I have not. Not this copy, at any rate.” He glanced at the two men guarding him. “One word and you die.” They must be trusted indeed for them to remain here, because Dominic intended to leave nothing hidden.
Stuart flourished the paper. “You know what this means? You could be King. Fight by my side. With this we may defy the world and reclaim what was stolen from us.”
Dominic beckoned, and his brother returned the paper to him. “Do you truly think I want that? I will tell you now that if my wife is hurt, if you ever do anything again to harm either of us, I will stake my claim. I’ll declare you a bastard in the process.”
Stuart picked up his glass and drained it in two gulps. Dominic ignored the thumps and scuffles from above. “This document is my guarantee of safety. You know there are more, and you know what they mean. Does the Duke of Kirkburton?”
The Young Pretender’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Unfortunately, yes. He acquired a copy of the certificate. He will try to force you into the open.”
“He doesn’t know it’s me, though, does he? There is no record of what happened. The baby could have died, could it not?” His smile was more genuine as relief flooded through him, making him weak in the aftermath. “Tell him, and he will become my supporter, not yours.”
“Kirkburton is after the main chance,” Stuart said. “His son is cut from the same cloth. Take care who you trust.”
“I do. Shall I tell you what will happen? You will return to the Palazzo Muti, and I will take my wife to my house in the country. I will accept the Earl and Countess of Brampton as my parents, and in the fullness of time I will inherit the title. You will go back on your travels. You will never find peace or happiness. You’re a broken man, are you not? Sick of fighting and getting nowhere.”
“I’m still fighting.”
Never had Charles Stuart appeared more regal to Dominic. He sat still in his chair, his head tilted at an arrogant angle and his eyes shrewd. Dominic was afforded a glimpse of the bonny prince who had captivated all who met him instead of the wreck of a man who grasped at straws to gain what he thought he still wanted.
“I would retire. After you die, and your brother, if you leave no issue, the cause dies with you. Your brother is not likely to leave issue, is he?”
“No.” Charles’s lip twisted. “Even if he were not a Cardinal. He preaches constantly on virtue and purity. One would imagine he was afraid of simple human pleasures.” He nodded to the weapon. “Put that away and have a drink. You won’t use it.”
“I have yet to see my wife.” He still would, if he needed to.
Stuart shrugged and picked up the decanter, which glittered like a huge ruby in the light. He poured the liquid into his glass and toasted Dominic. “To you, brother. May you live happily.”
“Thank you.”
“A good prince knows when he is defeated,” the Pretender went on, after taking a sip. “But not for long. Take your wife. If you accept your foster father’s title, that is an end of it. Your progeny are of no interest to me. Is that clear enough?”
“It is.” So clear, he wanted to weep. He’d won. “If you renege on this, so will I.” Because of his insistence on honor, sometimes people thought he was incapable of thinking deviously, or getting his way in less than perfect conditions. The men under him had soon learned differently. As did this man tonight. “I will still make my claim.”
The Pretender took another drink, more substantial this time. “I’ll be glad to get back to good wine. I have a woman waiting for me. Yes, I will leave, this time. I will return, you may count on it.” He sighed. “Another campaign over. I should have been a soldier, but my father would not allow it. Only leading troops, not being part of them.”
“I was a soldier.”
He sighed again. “I know.”
The door opened to admit the most beautiful sight Dominic had clapped eyes on for more than a day. His wife. She appeared disheveled. Her red-gold hair stood out like a halo around her head, the shadows under her eyes pronounced. But she was alive, and as far as he could see, unharmed.
She saw him and took off. It would have taken more than Val and Alconbury to stop her flying across the room into his arms. Dominic held her tight, and when Val came closer, handed him his pistol. An accidental discharge would not do at this stage.
The Pretender stayed in his chair.
Alconbury stood by the mantelpiece, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms. “We are excused, then?” he said. “You may safely leave matters to me. I have a ship waiting at the Pool of London. I fear we may have to leave tonight.”
“My men?” Stuart asked.
“Asleep, sir. They will remain so for a while. They were my father’s men. He was joining you in this attempt?” He didn’t sound pleased. Clearly, he and his father were in disagreement over this strategy.
The Pretender merely met his gaze and said, “They are loyalists. To the true King and his family.” He didn’t look at Dominic, who was cradling his wife close, uncaring about any other matters.
“We are leaving for the country in the morning,” he said. “I’ll have no arguments.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly.
Chapter 20
It had taken two days for Lord St. Just and his bride to reach the private house he owned, set like a jewel in the lush countryside of Leicestershire. Dominic had not allowed Claudia to lift a finger for herself, despite her assuring him that she had come to no harm. She had been kept captive in a comfortable, if small bedroom, fed adequately, and they had not threatened her. They had not needed to. She didn’t tell him that part, where Charles Stuart had calmly told her that he meant to kill her if her husband didn’t appear soon. That he meant to kill her husband when he arrived.
That had terrified her. She’d rather they beat and starved her. The man had told her with such detached calmness that she had to believe him. She had no idea how Dominic had changed the mind of the Young Pretender, but somehow he had, and they had come away free and clear. Only to find London thinning of company and the weather decidedly s
unnier.
Dominic had pampered her. At first, realizing that he needed to spoil her, to reassure himself that she was not hurt, she let him. She recognized that he needed to take care of her. He’d exclaimed over the very small bruise on the back of her head where the abductor had struck her, tucked her into bed, and refused to join her.
She wanted him badly, at least to hold her, but after the first day she wanted more. He had driven her screaming mad by his refusal to listen. He made calm arrangements and lifted her into the carriage as if she were a damned invalid. She had allowed him his way, her savior.
Besides, two inns they stopped at, while perfectly adequate, offered little in the way of privacy. She could hear every snore of the man in the bed next to their room on the first night. She had no mind to try to seduce him with an audience nearby.
When they arrived at the house, she’d insisted on seeing it. Then Dominic had kindly suggested that she might like to retire to bed for a while. At first ready to protest, Claudia had another thought. “Yes, I would,” she said. “I’d like to wash the grime of the road off first. Could I order a bath?”
“This is your house as much as it is mine, my love. You must order whatever you wish.”
She went up to the charming bedroom with the wide bay window that looked out over the neat park attached to the house. The servants brought up a French enameled bath and poured the contents of numerous water cans into it. With the water steaming and the towels laid ready, she allowed her maid to undress her and stepped into the tub.
When her maid would have picked up the big sponge to wash her, she stopped her. “No, let me relax for a few moments.” She met the woman’s gaze directly. “If my husband asks for me, tell him I am ready to receive him. I wish him to think I am in bed.”
Reckless in Pink Page 25