Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “All right. All right.” Edmund tried to order his thoughts. Perhaps for one moment, he might manage to believe this. Might manage to entertain this outlandish possibility. Where would that leave them? “Ayton cares for Catherine,” he told Robert. He could hear the faint tremor in his voice.

  Robert gave a cold laugh. “Of course he does! Don’t you see? That’s the whole point. That’s what all this has been about from the beginning!”

  Edmund frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Robert let out his breath in frustration. “Ayton came to me last year, asking for Catherine’s hand. I refused to allow it.” He began to pace. “I knew it was foolish. I knew with his connections, Ayton could do as he liked to me. But there was no way I was going to let that monster marry my sister. When I refused him, Ayton tipped off the authorities. Told them of my involvement in the syndicate and where to find me. Sent them to my house and had them arrest me. I’m in this place because of him. No doubt he planned to make Catherine his wife once I was out of the way.”

  No. None of this is true. Simon is a far more decent man than Robert. Isn’t he?

  Robert grabbed hold of Edmund’s collar and yanked him toward him. His eyes were flashing. “I’m telling the truth, Cousin,” he hissed. “I swear it. You’ve got to believe me. Or I will hold you personally responsible if anything happens to my sister.”

  Edmund swallowed heavily. He managed a faint, disoriented nod.

  Robert shoved him away. “Go,” he said. “Now. Get Catherine from that man.”

  * * *

  How long have I been here?

  Minutes? Hours? Days? Time felt strangely pliable and unsteady.

  Where is Edmund?

  Catherine put down her tea. She had drunk cup after cup, hoping it might go some way to keeping her awake. It clattered noisily against the saucer, the sound rattling through her body.

  She blinked. Her eyes felt heavy. All she wanted to do was sleep. Little wonder, she knew. She had managed to rest barely an hour when she had returned from Patrick’s townhouse that morning.

  Lord Ayton frowned. “Miss Barnet? Are you all right?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes. Quite all right. Just tired, that’s all. I imagine the events of the last few days have begun to catch up with me.”

  “Yes,” said Lord Ayton. “Perhaps.”

  Catherine gripped the edge of the table. A wave of exhaustion flooded her. She felt as though she might fall asleep at the table.

  And suddenly Lord Ayton was kneeling beside her, looking up at her with concern in his dark eyes. “Miss Barnet, you don’t look well at all. You must come upstairs and rest until Edmund returns. I insist.”

  “Oh no.” Catherine tried to wave his concern away. “I couldn’t…”

  “Nonsense.” Lord Ayton was already helping her to her feet. “There’s a guest bedroom upstairs waiting for you. You’re clearly in need of rest.”

  Catherine’s legs felt unsteady beneath her. The thought of a little rest sounded heavenly. But here in Lord Ayton’s Manor? She simply couldn’t. “No,” she said. “Thank you. But it wouldn’t be right.”

  Lord Ayton’s hand tightened around the top of her arm. A little tighter than was necessary, Catherine noticed through the fog that had fallen over her. “You needn’t worry about propriety, Miss Barnet. As you said, it is not the time for it. Besides, I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  Catherine could only nod in agreement. She stumbled on the stairs, her legs wavering beneath her.

  “Besides,” Lord Ayton’s voice was suddenly close to her ear. “You’re hardly one to bother yourself with propriety now, are you, Catherine?”

  Even through her exhaustion, his bitter words sent a spear of panic through her. Her heart began to pound. She tried to wriggle out of his firm grip. “I’m feeling much better,” she said, her words thin with fear. “Please, I should just like to go home.”

  “Home? Don’t be foolish.” And Lord Ayton’s arm was suddenly tight around her waist, dragging her down the hall toward the bedroom.

  Catherine tried to focus, but a sweep of dizziness washed over her. She saw blackness come toward her. Felt herself go limp in his arms.

  Chapter 49

  When Catherine opened her eyes, she was lying on a wide, curtained bed with Lord Ayton peering down at her. She gasped, tried to sit. He pressed a firm hand against her shoulder, forcing her downwards.

  “Come on now,” he said smoothly. “You need a little rest. There’s no need to panic. You’re safe here.”

  Catherine tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry and her heart was racing. “What did you put in my tea?”

  Lord Ayton shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a little opium.”

  “Opium?”

  He smiled. “I see you’re new to the stuff. Didn’t expect it to knock you out cold.” He chuckled airily.

  Catherine’s stomach tightened at the sound. “Let me go. Please.” She could hear the tremor in her voice. Could feel tears burning behind her eyes.

  “Why?” Lord Ayton’s voice became suddenly icy. “So you can run back to Lord Ramshay?” He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  The thumping of her heart intensified.

  That’s what this is about?

  Lord Ayton leaned over her, running his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “So foolish, Catherine. I could give you so much more. This manor could be yours. You’d have all the wealth you could dream of. And instead you choose life with a penny-poor man who has criminals on his doorstep each month?”

  Catherine’s eyes flashed. She clenched her jaw as hatred shot through her.

  “It was you,” she said bitterly. “You’re the one who sent those men after Patrick.” She glared. “Why?”

  Lord Ayton chuckled. “You’re an intelligent young lady, Catherine. I’m sure you can put the pieces together.”

  Her thoughts began to knock together. Lord Ayton had seen her fleeing the ball. Had he followed her? Or had he known from the beginning that she was headed to Patrick Connolly’s house? Sent those men to show up at his door while she was watching? Make Patrick look like a criminal.

  “You wanted to turn me away from him,” she said tearfully. “You wanted me to turn to you instead.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she hurriedly blinked them away. How could she ever have let this man close to her?

  What an utterly terrible judge of character I am…

  “And how close I was to succeeding.” Lord Ayton leaned over her so his lips were inches from hers. His hand moved over her shoulder and along the curve of her hips. Catherine felt a surge of revulsion. Instinctively, she thrashed beneath him, trying to break free, but he clamped a firm hand over her shoulder, forcing her to lie back on the bed.

  She dared to ask: “What are you going to do to me?” Fear made her voice tiny.

  Lord Ayton smiled that polished smile she had seen on him so many times. That smile she had seen as they had walked arm in arm around the grounds of Featherstone Manor.

  He held his lips against hers for a moment, making the muscles in her neck tighten with disgust.

  “I’m going to do as I’ve always longed to do, Catherine. I’m going to make you mine. I’ll let no one come between us ever again.”

  Chapter 50

  Lord Ayton released her arms suddenly and stood. “Rest,” he told her brusquely. “I’ve important plans to make. And we’ve a great deal of tasks ahead of us. You’ll need your strength.”

  He stood and marched across the room, pinning Catherine with eyes that were at once both cold and lustful. Eyes that belonged to a dangerous man.

  How have I never seen that look before?

  He marched out the door and slammed it closed, locking it firmly behind him.

  The moment his footsteps disappeared down the passage, Catherine rushed dizzily to the window. It was a long drop down to the garden. There was nothing to climb down but the sheer wall of the house. There would be no darin
g escapes from this place like there had been from her bedroom at the manor.

  She went to the door, pushing an ear against it. She could hear nothing. The house was empty. Where were all Lord Ayton’s staff?

  She knew for certain they were not at a wedding.

  Had he released them from their duties so the two of them might be alone? Had he ensured there would be no witnesses to whatever he had planned?

  * * *

  Simon Moore made his way along the hallway, unable to stop the enormous smile creeping across his face.

  Catherine Barnet was upstairs in his bed. Just as he had always longed for.

  Soon, he would slide into bed beside her, take in every inch of her. Make her his.

  But not yet. Right now, regrettably, there were more pressing things to do. His plans that would ensure that he and Catherine had a life of their own, free of the prying eyes of Edmund and the cursed Patrick Connolly.

  In time, he would make Catherine forget. He would give her a life of luxury. He would show her what real love was. And soon she would only have eyes for him.

  Simon reached into his wardrobe and pulled out the traveling trunk at the back. He sat it on the bed and began to slide his clothes from the racks, folding them neatly and sitting them in the trunk. A mundane task. But it was best his staff not be involved. He had sent them all away that morning, knowing the time would soon be here for this thing he had dreamed of to become reality. What a grand coincidence that Catherine and her witless cousin had appeared on his doorway just a few hours later.

  Providence at work, of course. A sign that I am doing the right thing.

  And yes, it was the right thing, Simon thought to himself, to cast this life aside and begin a new one with the lady he loved.

  These past years had been good to him. Had seen his pockets filled with wealth, through both honest and questionable means.

  He’d first caught a glimpse of the underbelly of this city when he had ventured into the gambling halls. He had seen a mess. And he had seen opportunity. These witless thieves and desperate sorts needed a man at the top with brains. Someone who knew how to handle money, how to handle people. Someone who knew how to stay silent, invisible. Someone who knew how to hide from even his closest friends.

  The Ghost.

  The Ghost, the men had called him, when he heard them speak of him in hushed whispers. The Ghost, spoken of in reverence.

  And yes, he deserved to be spoken of in such a way. Just look at where he had taken that sorry excuse for a crime syndicate. Now there was big money being made at the gambling dens, at the bawdy houses, at taverns across the city. There were large-scale smuggling operations taking place, right beneath the noses of the revenue men.

  Just look at all the sorry fools he has outwitted, outplayed.

  But never mind the thieves and the smugglers and the revenue men. Defeating Patrick Connolly would be his greatest victory of all.

  Chapter 51

  Edmund felt as though he were trapped in the most bizarre of his dreams. Simon Moore, The Ghost? He had never heard of anything so ridiculous.

  Nonetheless, his heart was racing. He could not be sure why. What was there to be afraid of? Catherine was safe with Ayton, surely. Wasn’t she?

  Edmund felt oddly tense. Oddly unsettled. Perhaps his racing heart knew something his conscious mind didn’t.

  He knocked on the door of the Ramshay townhouse, just as Patrick came striding out.

  “I’ve an address to try for Groves’ sister,” he told Edmund. “We—”

  “Never mind that,” Edmund said shortly. “We’ve somewhere else to be. And perhaps…Perhaps it might be wise to bring a weapon.” The words felt foolish.

  Patrick frowned. “What are you talking about, Featherstone? Do you know something?”

  “It’s Ayton,” Edmund blurted.

  “What?”

  “Ayton is The Ghost. Robert told me.”

  Patrick gave an incredulous laugh. “No. He’s mad. He—”

  “I know.” Edmund could feel the restlessness building inside him. “But what if there’s a chance…What if he’s right?”

  He watched something pass over Patrick’s face.

  “Catherine is with Ayton,” he said stiffly.

  Edmund nodded. Turned and ran back toward the cab.

  * * *

  Patrick pounded on the front door of the Ayton Manor.

  Silence. No footsteps, no voices, no servants’ bells.

  He knocked again, harder. “Ayton! Are you there? Catherine?”

  Edmund peered through the window into the entrance hall. “The place looks empty,” he reported. “I don’t understand. Where are all his staff?”

  Patrick’s stomach knotted.

  Edmund inhaled sharply. “You don’t truly think…?”

  Patrick rammed his elbow through the window, and the glass exploded noisily. He reached through to the catch and opened the window, leaping into the house. Edmund climbed through behind him.

  Heart thumping, Patrick made his way into the parlor. A book was open on the table, the page from The Ghost’s ledger lying beside it. A tea pot and cups sat half-drunk on the table.

  “Catherine?” he called, sickness rising in his throat.

  Silence.

  He dipped a finger into the tea. Cold.

  Patrick charged up the stairs, calling Catherine’s name. He threw open each door, finding nothing but empty rooms.

  This isn’t possible. It just isn’t possible.

  “Ramshay?” Edmund’s voice echoed down the passage.

  Patrick followed the sound into the main bedroom. The wardrobe door was hanging open.

  “Look,” Edmund said darkly, pointing into the cupboard.

  Heart pounding, Patrick peered inside. The wardrobe had been emptied. Every coat, every shirt, every pair of boots, gone.

  “He’s escaping,” he said, his voice coming out husky, “with Catherine…” His chest tightened.

  Edmund let out his breath and sat back on the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Ayton led us to the wrong docks when we were searching for you,” said Edmund. “I thought it just a mistake. But…”

  Patrick began to pace. His eyes fell to the small wooden calendar sitting on the side table.

  “What’s the date?” he said suddenly.

  “What?” Edmund frowned. “It’s the twelfth of May.”

  The twelfth of May…

  “Those strings of numbers,” said Patrick suddenly. “They’re not coordinates. They’re just dates. That’s all. Dates outlining the next deliveries.”

  He raced downstairs and snatched the page from the table. “Look.” He rapped the page with an impatient finger. “One, two, zero five.” The twelfth of May. “There’s a delivery arriving tonight,” he said breathlessly. He shoved the paper into his pocket. “I think I know how to find him.”

  Chapter 52

  Catherine couldn’t take her eyes from the trunk at her feet. Lord Ayton sat beside her in the coach, close, far too close. His shoulder pressed firmly against hers and he gripped her hand tightly. It was not a gesture of affection, she noted. It was a gesture to remind her not to contemplate escape.

  “Where are you taking me?” She tried not to let fear rattle her voice. Surely, whatever Lord Ayton had planned, it would go more smoothly for her if she seemed agreeable.

  He planted a kiss close to her ear. “You shall see when we arrive.” He squeezed her hand harder. “But there’s no need to be afraid. You know I’d never hurt you.” He smoothed the coil of hair that hung over her cheek. “My beautiful Catherine. Soon we’ll have each other all to ourselves. We’ll not have to concern ourselves with anyone.”

  She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

  Lord Ayton chuckled. “As I told you, my darling. You will see when we arrive.”

  The light had drained from the day when the carriage finally rolled to a stop. Catherine’s insides were knotted, and her hands flecked with white marks where she had d
ug her fingernails into her skin.

  Lord Ayton climbed from the carriage and opened the door, offering his hand. Reluctantly, she accepted it, climbing out of the coach.