Sadly, no matter what she and Merrick had shared last night, circumstances remained the same. His father didn’t approve of her, and Merrick had merely been using her to gain more time. But at least he’d never lied to her. And now, the sham was over—not on Merrick’s terms, but on his father’s.
Well, it didn’t matter.
She now had the means to free her brother, and she was going to do precisely that. That she’d lost a piece of herself in the process was simply a consequence of their circumstances.
She stared down at the ring on her finger, admiring it one last time. It was beautiful, indeed, but it wasn’t intended for her. Someday, another woman would wear it. That woman would bear Merrick’s children and share his bed. And Claire would hear about their visits to London and read about their royal affairs in the paper. And she would become a faded memory. People would point to her and whisper about her tattered fairy tale. And she would remember sweet, wicked kisses and a shimmering night when everything had seemed so much like a perfect dream.
Well, she was wide awake now, and there was no point in avoiding the inevitable.
Ryosan had already gathered her belongings and hauled them to the carriage. She inspected her room one last time, spying the small, lifeless moth on the nightstand.
Poor creature.
Tears pricked at her lids as she lifted up the delicate gift. Opening her reticule, she placed it inside, determining that it should not die in vain. She would cherish it always, along with the memories it would engender.
Resolved now, she went to Merrick’s room to leave him the ring. Removing it, though reluctantly, she placed it in a small velvet pouch and set it down on the perfectly made bed. Beside it, she placed the note she’d written. It read simply, “It’s over. I’ll tend to my own affairs from here on out. Thank you for everything, but please do not seek me out.”
And then she lifted her chin, straightened her spine, turned her back and walked away.
Chapter 26
“I believe I’ve pinned down our man,” Cameron said when Ian sauntered into his office. “He’s a nighttime guard at Fleet. His cohorts tell me he’s been known to take a bribe now and again.”
Ian contemplated the new information. “Is it possible he might have smuggled Ben inside?”
“Anything is possible,” Cameron replied. “And it would explain why no one has seen him, and why every trail leads to a dead end. Inside those prison walls, I doubt anyone looks at anyone’s face. And you can’t bribe or browbeat a man to talk about what he can’t see.”
“At this point, what are the possibilities?”
Cameron lifted both brows. “Well… the most obvious… that he’s already dead, of course.”
Ian winced. Claire would be devastated.
“But that’s not what my gut says,” Cameron added at once. “I don’t think they would continue to ransom a dead man.”
“They might,” Ian argued. “If they were greedy enough. It wouldn’t matter if they hadn’t the means to deliver him.”
Cameron shook his head. “Let’s think about this. If he’s alive, Fleet Prison would make perfect sense, considering Ben’s activities of late. I hear tell of gooneys being posted at the more serious games to discourage nonpayment. What if that’s what’s happened here? What if Ben lost a fortune to someone with connections and they used the opportunity to extract that debt from his family? Fleet would be the perfect place to imprison him. When and if the poor bugger is released, he can’t very well point his finger at anyone, now can he? He was in debtor’s prison, after all, not locked away in someone’s attic. Chances are he’ll want to keep it mum.”
“So… if he’s there, how do we find out?”
Cameron winked at him. “Getting in is never the trouble,” he said. “It’s getting out that usually poses the problem.”
Ian grinned.
“I know someone and it should be simple enough to find out. And if he’s in there, we’ll have him out by nightfall.”
“If he’s not?”
Cameron shrugged. “Well, then we haven’t any more leads aside from that bastard prison guard, and we’ll be shoving a barking iron up his arse when he leaves his post at daybreak. Either way, we’ll be getting the answers we’re seeking.”
Claire wasn’t bacon-brained enough to carry the money on her person. Once she was certain she was dealing with the right person—and only then—she would hand over the banknotes. To that end, her only lead was the house on George Street where she’d last spied Ben before he’d disappeared. She was halfway there before she realized she was being followed. This man, however, wasn’t the same man who had attacked her in her home. This man was at least a head taller and much, much leaner, and he appeared to be older. He also wasn’t nearly as adept at concealing himself as her attacker had been. She’d first noticed him outside Merrick’s home. He’d stood across the street, watching while Ryo packed the carriage.
When the man quickened his pace, she ducked into a dress shop whose doors were about to close.
“Just a moment, please!” she begged the plump female behind the closing door.
“Oh, my!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, obviously startled. “I was just about to close.”
“Please!” Claire persisted.
The woman suddenly grinned. “Blimey! I know you,” she said. “Do come in! Come in!” In fact, she seized Claire by the hand and dragged her into her shop. “At least I feel as though I do.”
“You do?” Confused, and a little unnerved, Claire peered back at the door left ajar.
“Oh, yes! I used to sew for Lady Huntington,” the woman explained. “What a wonderful surprise to see you, my dear. Tell me, have you come to purchase a wedding gown?”
The question took Claire by surprise. She shook her head.
The good-natured woman tilted her head in obvious disappointment, but said, “Oh, I do understand. It’s such a grand occasion and I’m certain you’ll be going to Courtauld’s. Still, you must allow me to measure you for a day dress.”
“Oh… that’s really not necessary,” Claire assured the woman. “I only needed to come in and rest a moment.”
“I insist!” the woman said, clapping her hands with glee. “It will be my wedding gift to you. Everyone—I mean everyone— has been following your story in the paper. I must say, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer girl. And don’t you listen to a thing those nincompoops say.”
Despite the queerness of the situation, Claire couldn’t suppress a smile. She didn’t have the heart to tell the woman the truth. Just for the moment, while she waited for her pursuer to leave, it felt good to pretend there might be a wedding after all. “Very well,” she relented. “But I must insist upon paying.”
“Poppycock,” the woman declared. “I can afford a few yards of cloth for a woman of inspiration.”
Claire laughed. She refrained from pointing out that getting married was hardly a grand accomplishment.
“I must say, it’s about time you stopped wearing those mourning dresses,” the seamstress said. “It’s time to celebrate—pink or violet?”
“Neither,” Claire replied, peering back at the door, grateful for the safe haven. “Have you something in green perhaps?”
“Of course,” the woman declared, heading toward her back room. “Come and choose your favorite. My name is Hattie, by the way.”
“Very good to meet you, Hattie,” Claire said, as she hurried to the door, closing it. And just for good measure, she locked it, then hurried after the seamstress, peering back over her shoulder at the window.
Evidently, the daytime guard was uneasy about their arrival, but he didn’t protest as his superior commanded him to unlock the cell-block door. The corridor revealed to them was long and dark. The guard entered first, leading the way, lantern in hand. Cameron and Ian followed.
He stopped at the first cell, where a man sat on the dirt floor chewing his toenails. He was an older chap with matted gray hair. “Not him,” Ian said wi
th certainty and they moved on to the next cell and the next.
Halfway down the block, they came to a man who lay sleeping on a dirty pallet. His dark hair was matted and his face was black with grime. However, his profile bore an uncanny resemblance to Claire. Ian and Cameron exchanged glances of relief.
“This the man?” the guard asked.
“Ben?” Ian called out.
The man on the pallet opened his eyes and turned his head to view them. His tone held far more vigor than he seemed to. “Tell Huntington I said to go hump a camel. My answer is still no,” he said with malice.
“Huntington is behind this?” Cameron asked, raising his brows.
The prisoner sat up. “Don’t you know who the hell butters your bread?”
“Open the door,” Cameron commanded the guard. “This is the man we’re looking for.”
The guard complied, casting wary glances over his shoulder at Cameron. In his cell, Ben stood and came forward from the shadows.
“Let me introduce myself,” Ian offered, stepping into the cell. “I’m Ian MacEwen,” he said, “Your sister’s… fiancé.”
Ben’s mouth opened, then closed. “I’ll be damned,” he said, scratching his filthy chin and then flashed perfect white teeth. “It’s true, then?”
“Good God, man, are you going to stand there gossiping?” Cameron asked. “Or do you want to get the hell out of here?”
“Get the hell out,” Ben replied without hesitation, his question immediately forgotten as he brushed past them toward the door, scratching his matted head. “I’m one hungry, dirty bastard,” he said, chortling with giddy relief.
Ian stood back, letting the man pass. “Pew!” he said, getting an unexpected whiff. He waved a hand under his nose as he met Cameron’s gaze and laughed. “I’ll vouch for that, my boy. You need a good soak.”
Chapter 27
After leaving the dress shop, Claire hailed a hansom and returned to Grosvenor Square. Though her pursuer seemed to have fled, she’d completely lost her nerve and hoped Lord Huntington might agree to accompany her to the house on George Street. Despite that she loathed to involve him, or even suffer his company, a woman must do what a woman must do. Alas, she would have gone to Cameron, instead, but she daren’t face Merrick, and she suspected the two had become fast friends. She simply couldn’t bear to see him again, and the only thing keeping her strong was the knowledge that her brother needed her. Elsewise, she was afraid she would melt into a giant puddle of tears. Her heart was quite thoroughly broken. And how she’d managed to get it that way was beyond her, because she’d thought she was keeping herself well girded. Clearly, she hadn’t girded herself well enough.
And yet, she refused to feel one ounce of guilt over last night. It had been the most incredible night of her life. Let the consequences fall where they might. And if the bittersweet memory haunted her for the rest of her days, then it was a price she was willing to pay.
And nevertheless, once she freed Ben, she planned to escape to the country until Merrick and his party left London. And from here forth, she vowed never to read the paper again. She didn’t wish to hear news of him, didn’t wish to know when he visited London or when he chose his new bride.
Lord a’mercy! The mere thought of him wedding someone else turned her stomach.
The cab dropped her in front of Alexandra’s house. Their longtime servant answered the door. “Shall I summon Lady Alexandra?” he inquired.
“No,” Claire said, nibbling her lower lip. “Is Lord Huntington receiving, perchance?”
The servant smiled and nodded. “He will be very pleased to see you, my lady. Please come in.”
Ian was a quivering mass of unrestrained joy.
He couldn’t wait to see her.
Ben had insisted upon returning to Highbury Hall to repair himself, and Ian couldn’t blame the man. The plan was for Ian to retrieve Claire and to take her home to her brother. Ian was so charged with the news he could barely contain himself. He couldn’t wait to witness their reunion, and he considered how best to break the news. Briefly, he considered not telling her and letting her see Ben for herself. But he decided it would be far too cruel to make her wait a single minute longer than he must. She was so worried about her brother. Every second he kept the knowledge from her was a second too long.
He spied Ryo in the foyer. “Where is Claire?” Ryo shook his head, and seeing his expression, Ian had a sudden, sinking feeling in his gut. “Where is she?” he asked again.
Ryo simply stared at him.
Ian glowered at the man and bolted up the stairs to Claire’s room, shoving the door open. It was devoid of her belongings, every trace of her removed.
Where would she go?
Why would she go?
She must have at least left him a note, he reasoned, panic welling in his breast.
Hurrying to his own room, he found her note on his bed, along with a small brown velvet pouch. He opened the pouch and turned it upside down, dumping the contents onto the bed, and his heart twisted at the sight of the ring—completely intact, with not a stone missing.
Confusion furrowed his brow.
Why would she leave it? They’d had a bargain. Bloody hell! He’d gone without sleep day and night trying to keep it. He lifted the note to read it and his jaw clenched. It was all he could do not to crush it where he stood.
For a long, long moment, he stood staring at the note in disbelief, trying to make sense of the words.
But she wouldn’t leave, he told himself, not after what they’d shared last night, not with Ben in so much trouble—not unless she’d been given another means to help him…
Or an ultimatum.
His mind rattled off questions.
The answer to all of them seemed to be the same answer… his father—selfish, rotten bastard! The old man had wanted Claire gone from the instant she had arrived in his home. And he, more than anyone, had the means to achieve it. His father’s involvement was the only reason Ryo could possibly find to keep his mouth shut.
Crushing the note, he tossed it to the floor, clenching the ring in his fist until the stone cut his palm.
What if Claire went after Ben herself?
What if she’d gone to Huntington for help?
His heart hammered like drums against his ribs and his gut wrenched over the possibility.
Furious, he flew downstairs, making his way to his father’s office, intending to confront the man once and for all.
This was not the way he’d intended to do it. Somehow, after meeting Claire, he had mellowed in his intentions. He had no longer been so angry, simply prepared for the truth. But at this instant, he was more infuriated than he’d ever been in all his life.
He found the old man seated behind his desk. When Ian walked in, he slammed his closed fist upon the door as he passed, and the King looked up.
The ring sliced into his palm, but he didn’t give a damn. He tossed the obnoxious piece of jewelry on the desk.
“Where is Claire?”
“I believe Ryo said she returned home,” his father said pleasantly, with no trace of guilt.
Ian clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. “Why?”
His father shrugged. “How the devil should I know, Merrick? She simply left.” He peered down at his papers once more, as though to dismiss Ian.
“Liar!” Ian shouted, smacking his hand down on the papers on the desk. “Why?”
Clearly alarmed by Ian’s show of temper, his father raked his chair backward, away from the desk. “I don’t know,” he insisted, clinging to his ignorance.
“I don’t believe you,” Ian said with conviction. “You’re a rotten, selfish bugger who doesn’t know how to breathe a word of truth.” He lifted his hand, revealing a spot of blood where his palm had been.
“Merrick!” his father said, eyeing the bright red stain. He stood up and took another step backward in self-defense.
Ian glared at the man. Every ounce of ire he had pent up came
to the forefront. “You blind auld fool!” Ian said, shaking his head in disgust. “Even now, you haven’t the first bloody clue, do you? You haven’t any notion how sickened by you I am.”
“How can you speak to me in such an insulting manner?” his father asked, looking wounded by Ian’s actions and his words. “I raised you better than that!”
Ian leaned over the desk, seething with contempt. It radiated from his skin like fire. If he were a bloody dragon, he’d incinerate the self-serving codger where he stood. “Look into my eyes,” he demanded. “Look deep and tell me what you see, auld man.”
His father began to quake. “I see an insolent, ungrateful son who has too little respect for his elders.”
“Wrong!” Ian shouted. “You conceived me, aye, but I have no father.”
“You can’t mean that,” the old man argued. “She can’t be worth this much to you, Merrick. Can she, truly? She’s just a silly little woman.”
“My name is not Merrick,” Ian returned scornfully. “It’s Ian, you auld fool!”
The look on the old man’s face at the revelation was one of absolute horror.
“And, yes,” Ian assured him. “Claire is worth a hundred thousand of you. So you’d better pray she went straight home, because if she’s come to any harm at all—at all—I will hold you personally responsible.”
His father stepped forward, cocking his head. “You are Ian?”
Ian turned and walked away, afraid that if he remained one more second in his father’s presence, he would strangle the bastard with his bare hands.
“Thank you,” Claire said, and meant it.
Despite their earlier discord, she would be eternally grateful for Lord Huntington’s service. No matter that she had treated him so coolly, he had, at once, come to her rescue. And he’d been a perfect gentleman, besides.
“It will be my utmost pleasure,” he said. “I am so pleased you’ve come to your senses, my dear. I’ll warrant Meridian is a far cry from England.”
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 38