by Alyson Chase
Someone cursed behind him. Sutton’s voice reached him as though through a tunnel. “Dunkeld, go with him. Summerset and I will stay and join you later.”
A heavy hand landed on Julius’s shoulder bringing him up short. Julius blinked up at Dunkeld.
“We can’t use the front door. This way.” Dunkeld led him out the side, across the yard, and down an alley to where their carriage was waiting. He pushed Julius inside and told their driver where to go.
Climbing inside, Dunkeld pounded on the roof, and the carriage jerked into motion. “She’s at Simon’s. Nothing bad ever happens under that roof. The club is filled with adolescent, self-satisfied twats, but they wouldn’t let a woman come to harm.”
Julius nodded. He sat very still, and willed the carriage to move faster. In his mind, he could still hear the ticking of that damn clock.
In the dark part of him, the part that had never truly left his prison, he knew that time had run out for him and Amanda.
***
Lady Mary pulled open the bottom door on a mahogany bureau and peered inside. “I’ve always wondered what went on in these gentlemen’s clubs. What they were doing that was so illicit that women couldn’t be allowed to see.”
“Have you found anything?” Rubbing her damp palms along the front of her skirts, Amanda ignored the quaver in her voice. As long as she was able to make the words she wanted come out of her mouth, she was fine. A tremor here or there was of no matter.
Because people won debates all the time whilst sounding like scared little mice.
Amanda sagged into her brocade chair. This was a doomed endeavor. Except, she didn’t have to win. She placed both hands on her stomach and took a deep breath. She only needed to delay Hanford.
“Are you certain Mrs. Fry said she’d come?”
Dropping a cigar back in a drawer, Lady Mary pushed it shut with her hip and sauntered to the bookcase. “That’s what she wrote. Did you really think she’d miss this?”
No. That was too much to hope for. Amanda didn’t mind losing the debate if it meant she’d helped Julius. But failing miserably in front of the earnest reformer— “And the rest of the Ladies’ Society?”
“Mrs. Fry is rounding all of them up.” Lady Mary shot her a warm smile. “You will have much support from the crowd.”
She would fail in front of the lot of them. “Oh. Good.” Perhaps, Amanda consoled herself, the women would be denied entrance. Stomach quivering, Amanda focused on keeping her tea down and stared at the closed door. Julius’s acquaintance, Lord Bertrand Waverly, had seated them in a back room and told them he’d return when it was time to speak. The look of glee on his face as he anticipated the debacle to come had almost sent Amanda fleeing back into the carriage.
The room at least was small and windowless, an interior chamber with two doors. The one they’d entered opened onto the hallway. The other, Amanda didn’t know. But the cloistered space helped to calm her nerves.
Lady Mary finished her perambulation of the room and stood in the center. She planted her fists on her wide hips. “Cigars and liquor. No different than any drawing room. I don’t understand the great appeal.”
Amanda shrugged. “A place where gentlemen don’t have to worry about offending the fairer sex, where they can say, or behave, in any manner they wish. Everyone deserves such freedom.”
“Except for women, apparently.” Perching on the armrest of a chair, Lady Mary fluffed out the skirt of her lavender gown. “We don’t have such clubs.”
“You could always start one.”
Pursing her mouth, Lady Mary tapped a finger to her lips. “That is an interesting idea.”
Amanda opened her mouth. She hadn’t been serious. But the door swung inward, and she fell silent.
The Marquess of Hanford stood in the opening, the black silk of his coat glimmering in the lamplight. The pointed tips of his collar were so starched they left little red imprints in the soft skin of his neck. His valet had spared no expense in dressing his master for the debate.
Amanda looked down at her own dress. The preparations for the night had been rushed, and she hadn’t bothered changing from her day gown. The faded Mornine fabric was neat and serviceable, and looked like pauper’s rags next to the marquess.
He clapped his hands together. “My dear, here you are! I wanted to advise you before you spoke. I’m certain public discourse is unfamiliar to you, and I thought you could benefit from my many years of oration.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes. If she hadn’t seen the evidence with her own eyes, she would still believe him a sweet old man dedicated to his cause. But like many politicians, he spoke with a serpent’s tongue.
“You are Miss Wilcox, I presume? Come, come, you must be.”
Amanda nodded.
“And who is this charming lady?” he asked.
Amanda and Lady Mary stood, and Amanda made the introductions.
Hanford clicked his heels together and bowed deeply. “Charming. Simply charming. Cavindish.” His bushy grey eyebrows drew together. “Did we meet at the prince’s annual Michaelmas ball?”
Lady Mary patted her bun. “I think I’d remember meeting a gentleman such as yourself. Also, I make it a point not to celebrate Michaelmas. I have a bone to pick with that particular archangel. As an administrator of cosmic intelligence, he has been much too lax when it comes to informing the populace in the recklessness of the unadulterated slaughter of geese.”
“Uh …” Hanford blew out his cheeks and slid a glance at Amanda.
She frowned at her chaperone. Now really wasn’t the time to act the mental incompetent. Between her and Hanford, it was like watching a joust of who could act the biggest idiot. She cleared her throat. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. I wasn’t certain you would.”
He flashed his incisors at her. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I think the public deserves an informed debate.”
Amanda’s body tensed. Informed debate, her foot. But now wasn’t the time to antagonize the marquess. She’d save her anger for the stage. Perhaps it would help her to find her voice.
Lady Mary glided to a side table and adjusted the mirror hanging above it. “What is it exactly that you gentlemen do here at Simon’s? I’m thinking of opening a ladies’ club, and am curious about your activities.”
“A ladies’ club?” Hanford tossed his head back and loosed peals of laughter. “What on earth would a group of women do at a club?”
Lady Mary tapped her fingers along the marble top of the table and plastered a wide smile on her face. “That’s why I asked you about your club’s activities. To determine our options.”
“It is a sound idea.” If it had sounded foolish to Amanda before, the marquess’s mockery had transformed it to an outstanding proposition. “Women want the freedom to act without the strictures imposed by male society.”
“Isn’t that what your sitting rooms are for?” he asked.
Lady Mary and Amanda stared at him, unblinking.
He straightened his cravat. “Yes. Well, if you are that interested, I’m more than happy to show you around the club. I’m not a member here, but many of my friends are. I’ll introduce you, and you can see what we’re all about.”
Lady Mary rolled up onto her toes. “That would be lovely.” She glanced at Amanda and her smile faltered. “But I’m here to support Miss Wilcox. I don’t suppose you’d like to go on the tour, dear?”
Mingle among the crowds, people who would love to jeer at her, snub her? No, that wasn’t at the top of her list. She shook her head. “But you go if you want the tour. I’m happy to wait here.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. A public tour in a well-respected club couldn’t be dangerous to Lady Mary, could it? Even if the tour was led by a criminal.
Maybe she should go along.
“Wonderful.” Lady Mary bustled to the door and waited for Hanford to open it. “I’ll be back soon, and I’m sure the Ladies’ Society will be here at any moment.”
With a swish of sati
n, Lady Mary swept from the room. Hanford dipped his head, a slight smile dancing around his lips. “Goodbye, Miss Wilcox.” He tapped the wall three times in quick succession, then left the room, closing the door with a decided snick behind him.
Amanda’s scalp prickled. She stepped forward, hesitated. Lady Mary really should be safe with the marquess in public, and it wasn’t as though she was a helpless, old lady. But Hanford’s behavior had been decidedly odd.
A slight whisper of air on the back of her neck sent a shiver racing down her spine. She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the chill.
Another set of arms wrapped around her from behind. Large, strong, and tight as a python. She opened her mouth to scream, and a meaty palm slapped across her mouth. The man easily lifted her off the ground and turned to the open door in the back of the room. Amanda kicked at him and struggled to pull her arms loose from his hold, to no avail.
Her head started to swim, pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes. She managed to suck down the barest amount of air between his fingers, but it wasn’t enough.
As he carried her through the door and kicked it closed behind them, she realized it wasn’t Lady Mary she should have been worried about.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Julius leapt from the carriage before it stopped rolling. The moon had emerged from the clouds, and the shadow of St. Katherine’s bell tower slanted across the front of Simon’s. The footman at the front of the club hurried to open the door but wasn’t fast enough. Julius ran into it, leading with his shoulder, and burst through.
He ignored the flare of pain that shot through his arm and raced to the meeting hall where the debate would be held. A crush of men formed a barrier. Pushing his way through, Julius kept his eye out for any flash of muslin. An untidy bun of mahogany hair. Anything feminine.
Men joked and jostled each other, obviously growing impatient for their night’s entertainment. Julius cursed. Amanda could be five feet from him and he wouldn’t see her. He forced his way to the raised stage, pushing men aside, ignoring their shouts of displeasure.
Jumping onto the wood planks, he searched the crowd. No Amanda. No Lady Mary. He breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to think. Amanda was most likely in a waiting room, and there was nothing for him to worry over.
Dunkeld entered the room and made his way to the stage. The throng of men parted before him like waves before a frigate. Size had its advantages.
Climbing the stairs at the side of the stage, Dunkeld asked, “Do you see them?”
A boyish face Julius recognized jogged after Dunkeld. Bertie beamed and stuck a hand out to Julius. “I’m glad you could make it. We’re just about to get started, just as soon as we find our debaters.”
Julius’s fist involuntarily clenched, and Bertie winced. Releasing the young man’s hand, Julius took a step closer. “What do you mean? Where’s Miss Wilcox?”
Bertie flexed his fingers. “Well, I’d left the women in the back study, but they must have wandered away.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, look, there they are now.”
Julius spun and saw Lady Mary holding the arm of Hanford as he led her into the room. The marquess stopped and said a few words with one man, slapped the back of another.
Julius leapt off the stage. He hit the back of a squat man in garish orange pantaloons and bounced off.
Dunkeld steadied him with a hand at his shoulder. “Allow me.” The Scotsman started forward, and bodies either jumped out of the way or were tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper.
Julius followed in the path his friend created. But when they reached Hanford, Julius stepped around Dunkeld and into Hanford’s space. “Where is she?”
Hanford rounded his pale blue eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss Amanda Wilcox.” Planting his feet wide, Julius gripped the lapels of Hanford’s coat. “You will tell me where she is right now.”
Lady Mary’s gaze darted between the two men. “We left her in the back room.”
“She isn’t there now.” Julius shook the man, and was pleased when Hanford let out an unmanly squawk. “Where. Is. She?”
Bertie rushed up to them. “Julius! You can’t manhandle the marquess in the middle of our club.”
Dunkeld placed a palm on the young man’s chest. He glanced back at Julius. “He’s right, you know.”
Smiling grimly, Julius said, “Then you’ll have to excuse us. Lady Mary, please stay here.” Pulling Hanford on to the tips of his booted toes, Julius strode from the room, dragging the flailing man behind him. He headed down the hall to one of the smaller smoking rooms and kicked the door open. He flung Hanford onto a low-lying settee.
Dunkeld closed the door behind them. He jiggled the handle and frowned. “You broke the lock.”
Someone pounded on the door. “This is supposed to be a friendly debate,” Bertie yelled through the wood.
With one hand pressing the door shut, Dunkeld grabbed a low bureau and dragged it to block the frame. “That should give us plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” Hanford jerked on his cravat and pushed to his feet. Julius shoved him back down. Bright red blotches darkened the marquess’s face. “I demand you tell me the reason for this impertinence.”
Julius cracked his neck. “You already know the reason. I’ve asked you twice. Don’t make me ask a third time.”
“This is about Miss Wilcox?” Hanford pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Lady Mary and I left her in the sitting room. I know nothing further.”
“Horse shit.” Dunkeld crossed his arms over his chest, the wool of his jacket’s sleeves pulling taut across the biceps.
“I agree.” Julius bent over Hanford, placing one hand on the man’s knee, the other on his shoulder. The thin silk of the man’s pantaloons provided no protection. Julius dug his thumb into the nerve on the inside of his leg.
Hanford yelped and tried to jump off the settee.
Julius held him down. “That’s usually a man’s first response. To try to escape the source of pain. It gets worse when you realize there is no escape.”
Hanford’s broad forehead glistened in the light. “Sod off, Rothchild. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Dunkeld sighed heavily. He turned sad eyes on Julius. “Can I assume that our order to keep this a stealth mission has been nullified?”
“That would be correct.” Julius dug his thumb in again and tucked his head against one of Hanford’s flailing arms. Liverpool could kiss his arse if he thought he was going to put his investigation over Amanda. Gripping Hanford’s collar, he throttled the man back against the settee. “We know about your crime ring. The businesses you’ve infiltrated. All the men you’ve blackmailed.” Julius doubted they knew a tenth of the people this man had victimized. But it never hurt to bluff.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hanford spat out.
Julius gripped Hanford high up on his shoulder. With his fingers digging into the man’s back, he tucked his thumb under Hanford’s coat, found the spot right under the man’s collarbone and squeezed.
He kept the pressure on, even as Hanford shrieked and writhed beneath him. He kept it on until Dunkeld pulled him away.
“I think he’s ready to talk,” Dunkeld said mildly.
“All of you can go to hell.” Hanford wheezed, spittle rolling down his chin.
Julius stepped towards him, and the older man shied away.
“Wait.” Hanford raised a hand, and slumped against the brocade back. “Just wait.”
Bile rose to the back of Julius’s throat. Every second he wasted with this scum could be the second Amanda needed him most. “I don’t have time to wait.”
Hanford shook his head. “I’m not admitting to anything. But if you want to find your woman, I have an idea where she might be.”
Dunkeld slapped a hand around Hanford’s neck. “Did you not understand the man when he said time was of the essence? Stop dancing around the answer.”
&nb
sp; “The catacombs!” Clawing at the fingers around his neck, Hanford’s gaze darted between Dunkeld and Julius. “There’s an entrance into them from the basement of this building. It’s a web of pathways. There are entrances to the catacombs from all the buildings on this block. St. Katherine’s used to have an abbey. It’s been torn down and built over by this club and others, but the foundations remain. And the basement entrances. Most of them had been bricked over, but not this one.” He bobbed his head up and down. “I’ll bet Miss Wilcox was taken down there.”
Julius stumbled back. He gripped the back of a chair as chills swamped his body. He locked his knees and prayed he wouldn’t collapse. It had to be the damn catacombs.
Without looking at Dunkeld, Julius said, “Send a message to Liverpool. Tell him what’s happened.” Slowly, he straightened and plodded to the door.
“I can’t leave him until one of Liverpool’s men arrives.” Dunkeld looked from Julius to Hanford, and back again. “If we want to keep this under wraps, we can’t give him time to communicate with his accomplices.”
“I know.” Grabbing the end of the bureau, Julius pushed it aside and jerked the door open. The hallway was empty. “Stay here with him. I need to find Amanda.”
“But …” Dunkeld grabbed his hair and cursed at the ceiling. Gathering himself, he put his fists on his hips and took a deep breath. “I’ll go into the catacombs. You stay here.”
“The woman I’m going to marry is down there. I can’t stay.” Julius ignored his friend’s dropped jaw and ran from the room. He’d never been to the club’s basement before, but it wasn’t hard to find the staircase. He grabbed a candle from a wall sconce and took each step down on shaking legs. He told his body to hurry, but his legs refused, each step closer to the labyrinth of passageways a battle.
He crossed the basement and stood at the entrance to a small archway that had long ago lost its door. The stone steps down were narrow, uneven. Dank air washed over him, and he knew he’d found the catacombs. Sweat ran down his spine. He tried to focus on marshaling his nerve, pushing out the fear.