Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “It’s long past midnight,” he said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “Nowhere. Out with my friends is all.”

  Catherine’s stomach knotted.

  He’s lying.

  She felt certain.

  She gripped the sleeve of her robe in her fist. “Edmund, please. Tell me the truth.”

  “That is the truth.” He slid off his wet coat and hung it on a hook beside the door.

  She shook her head. Looked him in the eye. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s not. Edmund,” she coughed. “Are you involved in the same things Robert was involved in?” Her voice came out cracked and uncertain.

  Edmund let out his breath. “Catherine, I—”

  Her stomach plunged.

  “Not you too,” she cried. “Not after Robert. And…Lord Ramshay. I—”

  “Lord Ramshay?” Edmund repeated in surprise. “How did you know about that?” He tilted his head. “Have there been things going on between you and Lord Ramshay that I don’t know about?” His voice was curious, not critical.

  Catherine shook her head. “That is hardly the issue at hand.”

  He began to pace. There was a hardness in his eyes Catherine had never seen before.

  “Edmund,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, “you’re scaring me.”

  He stopped pacing. He had left silvery trails of water across the entrance hall. He pressed gentle hand to Catherine’s shoulder. “Come into the parlor,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you everything.” He caught her eye. “But in return, you must do the same for me.”

  Catherine swallowed heavily. Nodded.

  She followed Edmund into the parlor. He stoked the fire and stood in front of it to warm himself. Catherine sat in the armchair opposite. Her heart was beginning to thunder.

  “I believe Patrick is in trouble,” Edmund said bluntly.

  Catherine felt a sudden jolt inside her. Her stomach tightened. “What kind of trouble? Does it involve the men who are after his money?”

  Edmund sucked in his breath. “How much do you know?”

  She knotted her hands together. “Most of it, I think,” she admitted. “I know there are men who come to Lord Ramshay’s house each month to collect the money his father owed them. And I know there were other men threatening him for more.”

  Edmund nodded slowly. “You and Patrick seem to know each other much better than I thought.” He turned to face the fire for a moment, holding his hands up to the flames to warm them. He turned back to face Catherine. “Patrick and I, along with Lord Ayton have been trying to get to the bottom of who’s behind these threats.”

  “Lord Ayton?” she repeated.

  Edmund nodded. “We’ve been searching for these men in Seven Dials. At—”

  “The Red Queen,” Catherine finished. “The gambling club Robert was involved with.”

  Edmund said nothing. He looked down. “Patrick went looking for the men on his own. We saw men delivering contraband to the Red Queen several nights ago. I believe he has gone to their hideout searching for the leader of the syndicate.”

  The churning in Catherine’s stomach intensified. “Who is the leader of the syndicate?” She could hear panic rising in her voice.

  Edmund shook his head. “All I know is he goes by the name of The Ghost.”

  Catherine found herself gnawing a thumbnail; a habit she had left behind in childhood. “The Ghost,” she repeated. The name felt bitter on her tongue. “Perhaps Robert knows how to find him.”

  “We’ve already been to see Robert,” Edmund told her. “He claims he knows nothing about this Ghost character.”

  “He’s lying,” Catherine pressed. “He must be.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps he’s too afraid of the man to speak out against him.”

  Catherine let out her breath in frustration. “Why would Lord Ramshay have been foolish enough to frequent the Red Queen in the first place?” she demanded. “After all that happened to his father? How could he have been so thoughtless? Surely he knew such a thing would not end well.”

  Edmund frowned. “Patrick never frequented the Red Queen, Catherine. He hates the gambling dens. He’d never even partake in card games at university. He hadn’t set foot in the place until we went searching for the men who ransacked his home.”

  “What?” She felt her stomach plunge. “Then why did these men come after him? What has he ever done to them?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out.”

  Catherine closed her eyes. Guilt sat heavily in the pit of stomach. “I thought he was involved,” she coughed. “I thought he was a part of the same world as Robert.” She felt tears pricking her eyes. “I turned him away because of it.” Her tears escaped down her cheeks. “How could I have doubted him so?”

  Edmund reached over and pressed a hand to her wrist. “Who could blame you for thinking such a thing after Robert?”

  She coughed back a fresh rush of tears. Edmund’s kind words were providing little comfort.

  Patrick Connolly was the most decent man she had ever known. And in return for his kindness, she had doubted him. She had chosen to believe criminals from the gambling dens over him. What kind of person was she? How could she have become so untrusting?

  She swallowed hard, trying to force away her tears. Patrick was in trouble. Falling apart would not help the situation. “Where did you go looking tonight?” she pressed.

  Edmund shook his head. “Catherine, please, I don’t want you involved.”

  “Don’t want me involved?” she cried. “You cannot tell me all this and then tell me not to be involved!”

  “No.” Edmund shook his head emphatically. “I’ll not have you putting yourself in danger on my watch.”

  She pushed past his comment. “Were you at the Red Queen?”

  After a moment, Edmund nodded resignedly. “No one there knows anything of what happened to Patrick,” he said.

  Catherine’s mind flickered to the tattooed man who had come to the Ramshay townhouse the night of the ball. The image inked on the back of his neck had been a curious one. An anchor with some kind of insignia beside it. It had caught her attention that night. If they could determine the nature of the emblem, would it help them find him?

  She looked at her hands. “There’s something I ought to tell you, Edmund,” she said, her voice low. “And I hope you’ll not be angry…”

  Edmund’s eyebrows shot up.

  Catherine drew in her breath. “The night of the Viscount’s ball,” she began. “It was Patrick’s house I went to. I was there when the men came to his door and threatened him. One of them had a tattoo on his neck. An anchor and some kind of strange marking. It looked like an insignia of some kind. Perhaps if we were able to determine—”

  “You went to Patrick’s house?” Edmund repeated. “And what exactly did you do there?”

  Catherine felt her cheeks color. “The tattoo, Edmund,” she pushed. “Surely that is the more pressing issue?”

  Edmund snorted. “Now we really do need to find Ramshay.” He marched to the shelf and pulled down his brandy bottle. “I owe him the thrashing of a lifetime.”

  Chapter 40

  “Sir?”

  The man they called The Ghost looked up from his desk. His eyes were tired after hours of reading these ledgers by lamplight. He could hear the distant patter of rain. Tucked away in this filthy basement, he felt removed from the rest of the world. He hated this place. The last place he had used as a hideout was far more civilized. Still, he knew it important that he keep on the move. Knew it important that no one was ever truly sure how to find him. That was the key to his success.

  He turned reluctantly.

  George Thorne was standing in the doorway, wringing a dirty woolen cap between his hands. His shoulders were hunched and his chin tucked. He looked like a school boy waiting for a scolding.

  Pathetic creature.

  “What
is it Thorne?” The Ghost asked impatiently. He glanced sideways at the papers on his desk.

  “I’ve just had a report from Ives and Nichols. They’ve taken a prisoner.”

  The Ghost arched his dark eyebrows. “A prisoner?”

  “Yes sir. It’s Lord Ramshay.”

  The Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat.

  A most interesting development.

  “They’ve captured Ramshay? When? Why?”

  “He was seen creeping around the docks, sir. Seems he knows a little too much about the deliveries.”

  “I see.” The Ghost tapped a finger against his chin. He had to admit, he had not expected Ramshay to search for him so doggedly. Had assumed the man would simply crumble under the pressure. Submit to whatever demands Thorne and the other men made, until he had nothing left.

  He couldn’t help feeling a faint flicker of admiration, along with frustration. Ramshay wasn’t as much of an easy target as he had first assumed. Nonetheless, he would have to be taught how unwise it was to involve himself in The Ghost’s business.

  “Where is he?” he asked Thorne. “Where are you keeping him?”

  “At the docks, sir. In the warehouse.”

  The Ghost nodded slowly. He rolled an ink pot between his fingers, deep in thought.

  “Shall we bring him to you, sir?”

  No. Not yet. It’s too soon.

  “Leave him where he is for now, Thorne. And see you make his stay as uncomfortable as possible.”

  * * *

  “This tattoo,” said Edmund. “On the man who came to Patrick’s house. Tell me more about it.”

  He had returned to the fireplace and had a glass of brandy in his fist. Steam was rising from his wet shirt.

  “There were two different markings,” Catherine told him. She was perched on the edge of the armchair, looking up at Edmund intently. Desperation was making her heart pound. Desperation and longing. “An anchor,” she said. “And the emblem. I thought perhaps it may have belonged to a company, or organization of some sort?”

  “Can you describe it?”

  Catherine stared into the fire, trying to conjure up the image. “It looked almost like a heart,” she said. “But there were letters inside it. Numbers. And a strange symbol on top.”

  Edmund rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “A merchant’s mark perhaps?”

  “It would make sense,” said Catherine. “If Patrick believed these men were involved in smuggling it’s possible they are merchant sailors.”

  Edmund nodded. “Yes. But I don’t know how it will help us find him.”

  “We need to find out which company the mark belongs to,” Catherine said determinedly.

  Edmund nodded. “It would narrow things down at the very least.” He set his glass on the table. “Lord Ayton knows something of the sea. His grandfather was a naval captain.”

  Catherine nodded silently. She did not want to involve Lord Ayton. After all she had learned tonight, there was no way she could continue their courtship. How could she, when her heart was overflowing with love for another man? But Lord Ayton had been desperately kind to her. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted.

  But the situation was a dire one. A man’s life was in danger. The man who Catherine was coming to realize she loved. If Lord Ayton’s feelings got hurt in the process then so be it.

  It was just the way things would have to be.

  * * *

  “Edmund. Miss Barnet. This is a surprise.” Lord Ayton gave Catherine a warm smile and gestured for them to enter.

  She returned it stiffly, then pulled her eyes away.

  It was early in the morning. She and Edmund had set out for the Ayton Manor the moment breakfast was finished. She could still smell the bacon Lord Ayton had been eating.

  “We need your help,” Edmund told him. “We’ve a lead with regards to who has taken Ramshay.”

  Lord Ayton’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Taken him? You believe he’s been kidnapped?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Edmund. “He’s not been home for days.”

  Lord Ayton frowned. “And how does that prove he has been kidnapped? He could be anywhere. Doing anything.”

  “Lord Ramshay is in trouble,” Catherine said sharply. “I know it. And we need to find him.”

  Lord Ayton’s eyes flickered in surprise at her sharpness. He cleared his throat. “I see.” He swallowed heavily. “And how can I help?”

  “One of the men who ransacked Ramshay’s house had a tattoo on his neck,” said Edmund. “An anchor. And an insignia we believe might be the marking of a merchant company.”

  Lord Ayton frowned. “How do you know this?”

  Edmund shook his head hurriedly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Catherine flashed him grateful eyes.

  “I know your grandfather was a man of the sea,” said Edmund. “I thought perhaps you might be able to help us find out which company the emblem belongs to.”

  Lord Ayton frowned. “You’d recognize this symbol if you saw it again?” he asked Edmund doubtfully. “From the neck of the man who ransacked Ramshay’s house? How exactly do you know all this? You were there when it happened?”

  Catherine’s stomach began to knot. She could feel Edmund trying to catch her eye. An uncomfortable silence hung over the room. Finally, she said:

  “I would recognize the symbol. I was there when it happened.”

  Her words dropped heavily into the stillness. For a long time, Lord Ayton said nothing.

  “Ah,” he murmured finally. “I see.”

  Catherine felt her cheeks blaze. She dared to look up at Lord Ayton. She could see the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Truly.”

  Lord Ayton said nothing. His eyes were unreadable. He went to the bookshelf that stretched floor-to-ceiling along one wall of his parlor. He pulled down a large leather-bound book and carried it to the table.

  The three of them hovered around it. Lord Ayton began to flick through the worn pages. They were filled with illustrations of colorful flags and nautical emblems.

  “Can you describe the marking, Miss Barnet?” Lord Ayton’s voice was thin.

  Catherine swallowed heavily. She felt an ache in her chest. She felt like the worst of people. Felt like some lying harlot. Felt like little witch.

  She owed Lord Ayton an explanation. He needed to know her courtship with Patrick had ended that night. Needed to know she had not been pining after another man while they had been walking together through the garden. Needed to know she had not been dreaming of someone else, when his lips had touched hers.

  Or had I?

  She forced herself to focus. Right now, none of this was important. All that mattered was finding Patrick and saving his life. Then, and only then, would she try to make amends for the way she had treated Lord Ayton.

  “A heart shape,” she began. “With letters and numbers around it. And a strange pointed symbol on the top.”

  Lord Ayton nodded. “It certainly sounds like a merchant mark.” He continued leafing through the pages. After a moment, he stopped, a frown creasing the bridge of his nose. “This one.” He tapped the page, then held the book up for Catherine to see. “Is this what you saw?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Yes that’s the one.” She was certain. She had found herself oddly fixated on the strange tattoo the night the man had stormed Lord Ramshay’s house. Now she was exceedingly glad of it.

  “It’s an insignia of the Company of Merchant Adventurers,” Simon told her.

  “The Company of Merchant Adventures?” Edmund repeated. “And where would one go searching for a man who sails with such a company?”

  Simon closed the book with a thud and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his freshly shaven chin. “It won’t be easy,” he admitted. “But I know the Merchant Adventurers have been known to use the docks at Saint Katharine’s-by-the-Tower. Perhaps you might start there.”

  Chapter 41

  “Featherstone Manor,” Edmund
told the cab driver as they made their way out of Simon’s Manor. “Church Street, Chelsea.”