by Lilly Hale
Trey consoled himself with those thoughts as he sat in his room nursing his second glass of brandy and staring at the fire in the fireplace. The clock on the mantel struck eleven. Trey glanced up, took another drink and swore under his breath. It was no use. He was never going to be able to sleep tonight. He missed Elise, yearned to crawl into bed with her, just to feel her arms enfold him, rest his head against her soft breast and let her ease his heart. But he couldn’t very well kick Jemma out so he could have Elise to himself. No matter how badly he needed her, Elise was unavailable to him tonight.
Elise. She was his life’s greatest joy and at the center of its greatest heartache. What the hell was he going to do now? It had seemed so easy to set aside the specter of them being found out and ostracized. It had seemed so easy to say, ‘we’ll deal with it somehow’ when it was just an unrealized possibility. Now it had happened, his baby sister was suffering and it was his fault. Now he had to deal with it. How could he selfishly go ahead with his unconventional life with Elise, knowing how badly it was hurting Rachael?
Finally, he drained his glass, stood and collected his cane. He had to get out of here for awhile. It was late, but he needed some fresh air. A walk would do him good, help him clear his head. He threw on a coat, made his way downstairs to the dimly lit foyer and left the house.
Chapter Twenty-one
Rad strode into the dining area of the Ambassador Club and scanned the room. So far, his search for his brother had proven fruitless. He wasn't surprised by Trey's disappearance last evening. Trey was pretty shaken up by Rachael’s emotional outburst and hurtful words, but it wasn’t like him to stay out all night. Rad’s first stop had been to see if he was with Elise. He figured Trey would turn to her for comfort, but Trey wasn’t there, hadn’t been there at all. And now Elise was stewing over Trey’s whereabouts as well. Rad had urged her not to worry. Trey was a grown man, after all; he could certainly take care of himself through the course of one night away from home.
Rad had more on his mind this afternoon than Trey.
Rachael was gone, too.
With renewed urgency, Rad searched the room. Although there were many wealthy gentlemen seated at the linen-covered tables enjoying their meals, Trey was not among them. With a muttered oath, he turned and started for the smoking lounge.
As he passed one table, he caught the mumbled, "...diddling both of them, you know. Perverted is what it is," and froze. His first instinct was to turn around and put his fist in the mouth that uttered the sneering comment, but he resisted the temptation. Clenching his fists at his side, Rad took a deep breath and continued on his desperate errand.
He stepped into the large room, air heavy with the mingled aroma of fine tobacco and fine leather, and ground his teeth in frustration. Trey wasn't there. A familiar face did catch his eye, though.
The man looked up and saw him, his mouth curved in a drunken sneer. "Well, well, Radcliffe Kingston. Wouldn't have thought you'd have the guts to show your face in such a fine establishment as this."
Jeff Turner. He always was an arrogant bastard. And the way he was chuckling now, looking to the clearly uncomfortable men around him for support, made Rad's fingers itch to be about his throat.
"We’re members here, Turner, we can afford it. What the hell are you doing in New York? Come to grovel for money from men who've actually made something of themselves?" Rad hadn't known for certain that Turner was in financial trouble, but the way his barb made the man pull out of his lazy slouch and glare fiercely at him, seemed to indicate he'd guessed right.
After his momentary lapse, Turner once again composed himself. "Actually, I came to keep a promise to a lady friend. Or should I say woman friend. I can't rightly call her a lady anymore. Seein' how she's been lettin' both you and that cripple brother of yours rut between her legs."
One fellow nearby cleared his throat in shock at Turner's crude words. Several others left the room.
Rad's face grew hot with fury. "You stay the hell away from her. Do you hear me? If I find out you've so much as come within a block of her, I'll break your damned neck."
Turner laughed and looked to the one man left at his table. "What did I tell you? Look how hot he's gettin'. He's pokin' her, too. Once a whore like Elizabeth gets a taste for two cocks, she's not likely to be satisfied with just one."
In that instant, Rad knew: It was Turner who spread the rumor, just like he did in Savannah four years ago. He'd ruined them in Savannah, and now he'd turned New York society against them as well. Not that Rad gave a damn what society thought of him, but Rachael was innocent in all this and Turner had completely ruined her, dashed her hopes for a bright and happy future.
With a growl of rage, Rad flew at him, jerking the surprised man out of his seat. "It was you! Wasn't it, you bastard?"
"Go to hell, you fuckin’ pervert." Turner's look of defiant hatred gave him his answer.
Rad's control snapped. He drew back his arm, smashing his fist into that hated face again and again, for Trey and Elise, and for Rachael.
Finally, through the red-hot haze of his fury, he realized that the man he held up by the shirt was no longer conscious. Blood streamed from Turner's nose and swollen lips. Rad dropped him like a piece of filth and stood, panting, silently daring any man left in the room to condemn what he'd done.
All of them stared, but none of them said a word.
Straightening his jacket, Rad stalked from the room. He had to find his brother.
It wasn't until after nine that evening that Rad trudged through the door of the Kingston home, weary and discouraged.
Albert met him in the front hall. "Mister Kingston, your brother is upstairs in his room. He arrived home some hours ago."
"Did you tell him about Rachael?"
"I tried to. But I'm afraid he didn't comprehend any of what I said. He wasn't in a very good way. We saw that he was settled safely in bed, hoping he'd sleep it off."
"Damnit, this can't wait, Albert. We need to get him sobered up."
"May I suggest the usual manner? It always proved quite effective on you."
Despite his anxiety, Rad had to smile at the butler's droll recommendation. "Yes, I think that might just do the trick."
****
Trey's hoarse shout echoed through the upstairs hallway as the cold water hit him full in the face, harshly jerking him out of the comforting blackness of his stupor. On the heels of the water's physical slap came the fist-in-the-gut impact of the memory he'd been drinking to forget. The awful guilt stole through him once more and he wanted to crawl back into the abyss, just forget everything for a while longer.
Groaning, he wiped his sodden hair off his forehead and opened first one eye, then the other. Through the skull-splitting ache in his head he saw Albert standing next to the bed, face impassive, empty bucket in hand.
"Refreshing, isn't it?" Trey gingerly turned his head at the sound of Rad's voice. His brother was standing at the foot of the bed, not quite smiling, but looking satisfied, nonetheless.
“What the hell, Rad!” Trey barked then winced as his head nearly cracked open.
"Never thought I’d live to see you at the receiving end of the infamous bucket.”
“So this is some sort of payback for the times I had to roust you when you were too drunk to go to work?” Trey growled. “You picked a hell of a time for revenge, Rad. Thanks.”
“Actually, it was necessity rather than revenge that prompted my rather extreme action." Rad poured a cup of coffee from the tray on the bedside table and pressed it into Trey's hands. "Drink this. You need to sober up, and do it fast."
"Why? I'm finding I rather like being the irresponsible sot for a change," Trey muttered, but took a sip of the strong brew anyway, letting its bitterness wash away the woolly taste on his tongue.
"Yes, well as much fun as it is wallowing in your guilt, I'm afraid you'll have to put it off for a while. We have a missing sister to locate."
Trey was instantly alert. "What? Rac
hael's missing?"
"She must have left sometime last night. Her valise is gone, along with some clothes and jewelry. I've questioned the staff, but no one saw her leave or has a clue as to where she went. I tried to find you as soon as I found out this morning, but you're a hard drunk to track down."
"God damnit. I was afraid something like this might happen."
Rad sat down next to him. “And there’s more good news. While I was out looking for you today, I ran into an old friend of ours from Savannah. Jeff Turner. He as much as admitted he was the one who ignited this scandal."
“Shit.” It figured Turner had something to do with it. He should have known the man would have revenge on the mind after what happened at their last meeting. “Does Elise know?”
“Not about that. But I went to see her this morning, looking for you. I had to tell her you didn’t come home last night and she’s worried sick over it. Where the hell were you, anyway?”
Trey sighed. “I spent most of the night at a tavern downtown. When it closed, the office was nearby, so I went there and slept on the sofa.”
Rad’s brows drew together. “You weren’t there this morning. I checked there right after I saw Elise.”
“I left early, before anyone arrived for work. I went out to get something to eat and stayed for a drink afterward.”
“More than one drink, obviously.”
Trey stood, accepting the towel Albert offered. "Yes, well, it was a stupid thing to do and I’m sorry for worrying everybody. Give me a few minutes to get into some dry clothes. We'll need to alert the authorities to Rachael's disappearance, maybe they can help.”
“I already did that. They suggested we hire a private investigator to look for her.”
“All right, then I guess I need to go see Elise. Let her know I’m fine - an idiot, but fine."
****
Elise was awakened by the sound of agitated voices in the hall outside her room.
"But sir, it ain't proper! I can't allow-"
“Move aside, lady. Now!”
“If you don't leave right now I'll send for the-- Oh! Unhand me, you devil!"
Before Elise's groggy mind could register the identities of the familiar voices, the door opened, and she saw a man’s form silhouetted in the light of the lamp held by her fuming landlady. Her heart lurched. “Trey?”
“Guess again, sugar,” the man growled, taking a menacing step into the room.
Jemma was startled awake and hastily lit another lamp. The light fell across the intruder’s face, causing both women to gasp in unison.
Jemma recovered first. "Mistah Turner! What on earth are you doin' here? And what done happened to your face?"
Elise sat frozen on the bed, dread creeping through her as she took in the appearance of the last person she’d expected to see standing in her doorway. His nose bruised and bulging, one eye completely swollen shut and his fine jaw discolored, Jeff Turner was nearly unrecognizable, but his good eye focused upon her and blazed with a hatred that was all too familiar.
"That's just what I'd like to know," echoed the irate Mrs. Johnson. "And it ain't proper, you bargin’ in like this in the middle of the night!"
Tearing his gaze from Elise, Jeff turned on the woman and barked, “I’ve had enough of you, lady! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hightail your fat ass downstairs and mind your own damn business. Is that clear?”
Mrs. Johnson blanched at the barely restrained violence that visibly seethed within the big man who confronted her. Shaking, her mouth slack, she retreated. Elise heard her stumbling footfalls as she hurried down the stairs. Please be going for the police, Elise prayed silently as she watched Jeff turn his furious gaze upon Jemma.
“You too, old woman.”
Her wrinkled face set in a scowl, Jemma rose to face him. “Now, I don’t know what’s agoin’ on here, Mistah Turner, but ifn’ you think I’m agoin’ to leave you here alone with Miss Lizzie, you’s plum crazy! I ain’t-”
Jeff’s hand flashed out, catching Jemma on the cheek with a loud crack, and sent her tumbling back onto her cot.
“Jeff! No!” Elise shrieked, scrambling out of her bed to kneel by her servant’s side. “Jemma, are you all right?” At Jemma’s weak nod, Elise breathed a small sigh of relief and spun to face Jeff. “How dare you! She’s an old woman, for God’s sake! You could have killed her!”
“Shut up, you bitch,” he snarled. Grabbing Elise’s arm, he jerked her up against his side, so hard it made her head snap backward. “I will kill the old hag if you give me any trouble.”
The steel-cold tone of his voice made Elise shiver. His threat was not an idle one. Summoning her courage, she demanded, “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Jeff’s swollen lip curled. “I want what’s mine, Elizabeth. What I bought and paid for back in Savannah. You strung me along for four years with promises you never had any intention of keepin’ and bled me dry in the process. I spent a goddamned fortune meetin’ your demands, and now I’m up to my eyeballs in debts I can’t pay.”
His bitterness was not unfounded. In a way, Jeff was as much a victim of this cosmic mix-up as Trey, or Elise herself, but his actions were inexcusable. Pulling back the fraction of an inch his iron-grip on her arm allowed, Elise returned levelly, “Jeff, I’m sorry about your financial troubles, but-”
“But nothin’!” His face was inches from her own, and Elise smelled the metallic stench of liquor and blood on his breath. “You owe me, you little whore. And I intend to collect.” Turning, he dragged her toward the door. When Elise instinctively resisted, he snarled and grabbed her shoulders, then shook her fiercely. “Should we complete our transaction here, Elizabeth? So the old woman can watch? Is that what you want?”
“No! I ain’t gonna let you hurt my girl, you sorry piece o’ white trash!”
Elise saw Jemma struggling to rise from the cot, her face already swelling from Jeff’s blow. “Jemma, don’t!” Her blood went cold at the thought of what Jeff might do to the feisty old woman.
It was too late. Jemma advanced upon them, her black eyes shining fiercely from within their nests of wrinkles. “You get your filthy hands off o’ my Miss Lizzie!”
Letting go of Elise momentarily, Jeff rounded on Jemma. “I warned you, you stupid old bitch.” Drawing back his arm, fist closed, he prepared to strike.
“No!” Without thinking, Elise threw herself between Jeff and Jemma, and when Jeff’s fist lashed out, it was Elise who caught the punishing blow to the side of her head. Lights exploded like popping flashbulbs before her eyes then the blackness swallowed her up.
****
Trey noticed the inconspicuous hack pulling away from the boarding house simply because it was the only vehicle on the street at that hour besides his own. Dismissing it as insignificant, Trey signaled for his driver to stop in front of the building, then exited his carriage and hurried up to the front porch. He saw that the door was wide open, and felt a twinge of foreboding as he stepped inside.
“Hello?” A faint light shone from beneath a door at the end of the front hall. Trey saw a shadow move across it. “Hello?” he called again, “Is someone there?”
The door opened a tiny crack, and Trey knew someone was peering at him from the other side. A moment later he heard that person let out a gush of breath. The door opened, and a Mrs. Johnson bustled forward in her dressing gown. “Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were him.”
“Him?”
“Lord, yes. The man who was here a few minutes ago. He was crazy, I tell you! Rantin’ and ravin’ and threatening everyone... It was terrible! I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do, so I just came down here and hid.”
A noise from the stairs made Trey look up just in time to see Jemma wavering precariously at the top of the steps. He rushed to her as fast as his leg would allow and caught her when she collapsed against him. “Jemma! Dear God, what happened?”
Jemma looked up dazedly, and Trey’s heart
nearly stopped beating. Blood, glistening in the dim lamplight, ran from her nose and was smeared across her swollen cheek. The old woman choked back a sob. “I couldn’t stop him. He-he done took my baby! You’s gotta get her back, Mistah Trey!”
Trey’s gut clenched. “Someone took Elise? Who was it, Jemma?”
“Mis-Mistah Turner.” A gnarled hand grasped his lapel in a desperate plea. “Please, Mistah Trey, you gotta find her! He hit her so hard, it-it knocked her senseless! I couldn’t stop him, and he took her! Oh, my poor lil’ girl!”
Torn between the desire to go after Elise and the need to help the injured woman in his arms, Trey turned to the landlady. “Can you get her back to her bed then see that a doctor is summoned immediately?” At Mrs. Johnson’s nod, he tenderly turned Jemma over to her care. “Don’t worry, Jemma. I promise you I’ll bring Elise back unharmed. Don’t worry.” Despite the confidence in his voice, it was a promise he didn’t know if he would be able to keep. He’d seen which way Turner’s hack had been headed, but it now had a five minute head start on him, and he could only guess at its destination.
Hurrying back outside, Trey shouted to his driver, “Thomas, help me unhitch the horse. I’ve a carriage to catch, and I’ll make better time riding.” When the task was quickly carried out, Trey handed over his cane, accepted Thomas’ leg up and mounted the agitated steed’s bare back. “Go inside and help the landlady with Jemma, will you? She needs a doctor.”
With that, he nudged the horse into a run, crouching low over the animal’s neck, his whispered words of prayer lost in the cold night wind that tugged at his jacket and whipped through his hair. God, please let her be all right. Please don’t let that bastard hurt her. A desperate fear gripped him. With a shout, he urged the racing horse onward down the old cobbled street, his eyes searching left and right at every crossroad for the hack that carried his beloved away from him.