A Whisper of Desire (22 page)

“I'm not here for that. I'm your brother's friend. I'm here to take you away from this life.”

He looked at her then and his eyes flared with hope. “Clarence said you might come back for us tonight. He said you were a real lady.”

Speaking in her normal voice, she said to him, “I'm the Duchess of Lyttleton and I'll never let anyone hurt you again.” She'd moved closer to the bed as she talked, and she offered the child her hand.

Simon's eyes filled with tears. “Are you real?”

“Take my hand and see.” She smiled at him.

A sob choked out of his mouth. “I'm too scared in case you're not real.”

Tears filled her eyes and she didn't care if it frightened Simon, she merely reacted, engulfing him in her embrace and hugging him tightly. “I'm real and I've got you, I'll keep you safe, but we have to hurry.”

He nodded and took her hand, leading her down the back stairs. If they came across anyone, Marisa would pretend she was a client. Luckily, they saw no one and soon they were out into the chilly evening air. She hurried the boy to the carriage.

To her dismay, the men were still not back.

She pulled a blanket from under the seat and wrapped Simon in it. “Stay here. His Grace will be back shortly. He is a kind man and he'll help both you and your brother. I'm going back for Clarence.”

“Clarence won't come.” The little boy snuggled down on the squab, pulling his blanket round him. “He blames himself for this life we lead, but it's not his fault.” He closed his eyes. “I'm so tired. I'm always too scared to sleep because I have terrible dreams and when I wake up I'm still in the club.”

“You can sleep here. You're safe. No one can get to you here. I won't let them.”

He closed his eyes and was asleep before she had finished talking.

She looked out of the carriage window and realized she couldn't walk back in the front door. The guard hadn't seen her come out. She made her way back through the side alley and into the club.

She'd made it through to the first-floor landing when a hand appeared out of the dark and grabbed her arm, dragging her into a room. “Your husband has just departed. Why are you sneaking round my back stairs?”

Angelo!

She pulled her arm free and turned to face him as he closed the door behind him. Unfortunately, that put him between her and her only means of escape.

“I wondered what was keeping my husband so long.”

“I hope you are not here liberating my property.”

Glaring back wordlessly seemed the sensible tack to take.

He moved toward her almost at a glide. His handsome features were a mask of friendliness, but she understood the ruthless man beneath his angelic beauty.

He whored out children.

“His Grace will get you back when he returns my property.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw Clarence slip you a note. What other reason would he have for doing so? I've just checked Simon's room. He would normally be there, as he's in great demand.”

“You monster. He's a child.”

“Some of us are born lucky in this life, while the majority of us live in the gutter. Simon was near dead when I took the boys in. I fed him, clothed him, and put a warm roof over his head. Nothing in this life comes for free. How else is he to pay me?”

“Not everything is about money.”

“Says someone who has never had to beg for food in her life.”

Her face heated at the truth of his words.

“I've had a disagreeable night. My luck just changed. Finding you on my stairs has perhaps redeemed my losses. I wonder what His Grace is prepared to give up to get you back.”

He gave a snakelike smile and she couldn't help it. She lashed out, catching his chin with her fist. The pain was worth it when she saw his head snap back, and Angelo teetered backward.

He let out a string of obscenities, and she braced for his attack. It did not come. He merely said, “Your husband will have to pay for that. I wonder if he's ever sucked a man's cock before.”

“You're disgusting.”

He merely laughed and turned to leave the room. “I shall lock the door so you do not wander off with any more of my property.”

As he stepped through the door, a gun went off and Angelo crumpled to the ground. Marisa saw blood seeping onto the wooden floor.

She stood frozen to the spot, thinking that Maitland had arrived to save her, but after another minute of staring at the blood seeping out in an ever-increasing circle, no one came.

Suddenly, she kicked herself into action and made for the door and escape. As she drew near she realized Angelo was still alive. While every nerve in her being wanted to simply step over him and leave him to bleed to death, she couldn't do it.

The trousers made things easier because she could kneel, avoiding the blood. She pulled off her cravat and pushed down on his stomach wound. “Keep still.”

He tried to speak, his breath a gargle in his throat. “Fleur…”

“Don't talk. I have to fetch help. Keep your hand on this if you can.”

He gripped her hand where it lay on his wound. She leaned closer to him. “Fleur de Lily…” A hacking gurgle filled the corridor. She watched as his eyes grew round with fear and then an arm was around her neck and a cloth was being pushed into her face.

She struggled, almost succeeding in twisting out of his grasp when her limbs weakened and would not obey her commands to fight back. The stench permeating from the cloth saw her head swim with dizziness. The pungent substance made her panic, she couldn't breathe, and blackness tinged her vision.

The last thing she remembered was seeing the light leave Angelo's eyes just before everything went dark.

“Just get in the carriage, Arend. We can't interrogate him in his own club. Angelo has too many men around to force information from him.” Maitland was just as frustrated as Arend, but they had pushed Angelo as far as they could tonight, given that Angelo was surrounded by his henchmen.

“Fuck. He knows!” Arend punched the side of the carriage. “He bloody knows who this woman is. He all but admitted it to us.”

Hadley squeezed Arend's shoulder, and without a word entered the carriage. Maitland remained outside, standing silently, waiting for Arend to calm down.

Arend cursed again. “We are going to have to write to Grayson.”

“You can't be serious. You know what Angelo wants from him. He wants his pride and his soul.”

Maitland couldn't believe Arend expected his friend to comply with that degrading demand.

“Don't be ridiculous. However, if he comes to London we could perhaps draw Angelo into a trap.”

“I doubt it, Angelo's anything but stupid.”

“Hey, I say, chaps, there's a young lad asleep in here. And it's not Marisa.” Hadley called through the carriage window.

Blood froze in his veins. She'd bloody gone for the boys. “Is Marisa in the carriage?” His stomach twisted. He already knew the answer Hadley would give him.

“No. I thought it was her asleep on the squab, but it's not.”

“Stay with the lad. Arend, come with me,” Maitland said, and headed back into the club.

“What's going on?” Arend asked, as they entered the club. For some reason there were no men guarding the door. Maitland's pulse sped up.

“Marisa has it in her head to save the young lad she stowed in my carriage, along with his elder brother. I assume she's here looking for Clarence.” Maitland indicated right. “Let's split up. If you find her, I give you permission to put her over your shoulder and drag her out of here.”

Ten minutes passed and he'd searched all the ground floor thoroughly. He couldn't find any sign of her or Clarence, and fear had a painful grip on his innards.

He made his way toward the stairs where Arend had gone, only to find Arend coming down; his face was dark as thunder and he was pulling Clarence along by his ear.

“Angelo's dead. Shot. I found no sign of Marisa, but the boy here says he saw her taken.”

Maitland wanted to scream, but no sound could get through the knot in his throat.

“Angelo wasn't clever enough. Our enemy must have found out he'd discovered her identity.”

Their villainess had Marisa. Murder leaped into Maitland's eyes as he struggled to comprehend the danger Marisa was in.

“You have to help her.” The quietly spoken words from Clarence made him pull himself together. The panic was still roaring through him, but he called on all his years of control to think logically and calmly. Fear was the enemy.

“You saw who took her?”

Clarence nodded to confirm his words. “I came up to warn Her Grace that Angelo was on the prowl. I saw a woman, dressed like a man, fire a pistol at Angelo as he exited the room. Then she disappeared. When Her Grace came out to help him, a man who was most definitely with the woman grabbed her and pressed a cloth to her face, and then she simply fainted into his arms.”

She'd been drugged. “Did you see where they took her?”

“They carried her to a carriage in the alleyway behind the club. I saw the carriage turn north toward Smithfield. I didn't know what to do, follow further or find you.”

Hadley beckoned with his hand. “Stop chatting out there and get in; we need to start a pursuit.” With that, Hadley pulled Clarence into the carriage. Maitland and Arend piled in after him.

“Do we follow now or get fresh horses?” Arend said.

“Horses would be faster, this carriage is too slow with all of us in it,” Hadley responded.

“Plus, I have to drop the boys at home. We cannot endanger them, Marisa would tear my flesh off with her scolding.”

Everyone looked at Maitland.

“They want her alive or else they would have killed her at the same time they killed Angelo.”

“True.” Arend's words did little to calm his inner beast, even though he knew them to be true.

They dropped the boys at his townhouse. Priscilla took them in and would see to their needs until they got back. Once they had saddled their horses, Maitland gathered up more of his men and the posse rode north toward Smithfield.

Every few miles they stopped to ask anyone they saw if they had seen a large black carriage with gold-painted-trim wheel spokes. Clarence had given them a good description. The carriage was quite distinctive, thank God, so it was quite easy to follow. They were soon out of the city limits, still traveling north toward Cambridgeshire.

“We
will
reach her before she is hurt. They want her found, you know that, don't you?”

Never had Maitland been so grateful for Arend's cool demeanor. His words helped reel Maitland back from the edge of mindless fury. “They are making it too easy for us to follow,” he said coolly. “For some reason our villainess wants us to rescue her.”

“Is it a trap for all of us? She must know Maitland won't come alone,” Hadley added.

“Perhaps she wants a trade,” Maitland suggested. “If so, she can have one.” He shut his eyes briefly, struggling to sort out what to do, given the chaotic fury pounding in his temples.

“Let's hope it won't come to that. If we can catch the carriage before they get to some form of cover, I like our chances.”

Maitland shook his head. “We do nothing that places Marisa in danger.” He looked at Arend, already seeing Hadley vigorously nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye. “Arend, I will have your word.”

A growl, as deep as a lion's, filled the air as the horses pounded north. “Fine. I doubt our enemy is in the carriage, especially if she wants us to follow it.”

As Marisa opened her eyes, the first thing that made sense was the bile filling her mouth. Her stomach recoiled as if she were on a ship out at sea. It took her a few minutes to understand the movement was that of a carriage. She was in a fast-moving carriage, but it wasn't Maitland's.

Fear gripped her as she remembered what had happened. Someone had shot Angelo, and she had an idea of who that was and why their enemy would kidnap her. She had to escape before Maitland came after her.

She turned her head and waited for the dizziness to fade. She wasn't alone in the carriage. There was a lady across from her, asleep, or perhaps, like her, drugged.

She wished her head didn't hurt so much. Was this a trap? Could this woman, the young woman across from her, be the villainess pretending to be captured too?

The inside of the carriage was too dark for her to see the woman clearly.

The two of them were alone in the carriage.
Good.
Marisa felt capable of handling one woman.

Perfect.
Time to escape, then.
She tried to rise, but through her drug-induced haze it suddenly dawned on her that her hands and feet were bound. Damn.

Think, girl.

The young lady across from her stirred.

“Are you awake?” Marisa asked, her voice soft enough not to be heard by those above.

“Yes. We've been kidnapped, haven't we?”

“Yes. Did you see who took you?”

“No. Did you?”

Marisa fumed because she hadn't seen anyone, but she was pretty sure it was the villainess behind her capture. “No. I didn't see who took me. My name is Marisa, Marisa Spencer, Duchess of Lyttleton.”

“Marisa, I didn't recognize you in men's clothing. I thought you a young lad. It's me, Lady Isobel.”

Lady Isobel Thompson, Earl of Northumberland's daughter. Relief seeped into her dry throat. Marisa didn't for one moment believe Isobel was their villainess. She'd known Isobel most of her life.

Isobel was a sensible girl who was a year older than Marisa, but Isobel's father died eighteen months ago and she'd been in mourning until the beginning of this season. Isobel's stepmother had brought her to town for her first season two months or so ago.

“Do you know why you've been kidnapped?”

Isobel's voice cracked. “No. Tonight, I was at Lord Marbury's ball and I received a note to meet my stepmother at our carriage, but when I got outside somebody grabbed me.”

This didn't make sense. Why would their enemy kidnap Isobel? She had nothing to do with the Libertine Scholars.

Marisa pulled her thoughts away from that puzzle and back onto their current situation. “We need to get free and make our escape.”

“My hands and feet are bound.”

An idea came to mind. If she could use her teeth to undo Isobel's bindings to free her hands, then they could help each other.

The only problem was how to reach her. She decided the best idea would be to roll off the squab and onto the floor. Then Isobel could roll over until her hands were hanging over the edge of the seat.

“Can you turn to face the back of the squab and let me study your bindings?” Isobel did as she requested. “They don't look too tight. I might be able to loosen them with my teeth.”

Before Isobel could respond she rolled onto the floor. Unable to use her hands to cushion the fall, the impact jarred her already sore head. “Can you move your hands closer to the edge of the squab?”

When Isobel complied, Marisa strained her neck upward and set about using her teeth to try and pull the knots undone. To her surprise the knots were not tied as tightly as she'd thought. Still, the muscles in her neck and cheeks were screaming by the time she'd managed to free Isobel's hands.

In a flash Isobel pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned forward to tackle the bindings round her ankles. Before she could free her feet, there was a huge cracking sound. The carriage began to shudder and shake, then on a roar the carriage tipped sideways and crashed to the ground.

The panicked horses tried to bolt and the carriage was racing over gravel and dirt that flew into the carriage through the broken window. Thank goodness she'd worn men's hardened shoes this evening. Marisa could feel them scraping along the dirt road through the broken window.

Isobel's cries could only just be heard over the sound of the crashing and banging carriage and the squealing horses.

The carriage was at last beginning to slow, and Marisa slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. She was being thrown around, smashing her shoulder into the side of the wall where the squab was attached to the carriage floor.

She could hear Isobel on the squab above, cursing and gripping the back of the squab as tightly as she could.

“I think we'll be fine, as the carriage is sl—”

Soon as she said the words, a horse's terror-filled scream rented the air and they slammed into something solid. Her head hit the floor hard, pain rendering her speechless. The last thing she saw was Isobel's hand reaching for her as she was flung from the carriage as it began breaking apart around them.

The men learned they were close. The lone rider they passed a mile back said the carriage had sped by only a few minutes ago.

They were lucky it had rained all during the day. The ground was soft, making it heavy going for the coach.

The night was making way for dawn, thank goodness, as it was dangerous traveling over open ground where you could not see ditches, undulations, et cetera. It was mostly luck that no horse had stumbled into a hole or bruised the sole of its hoof on a sharp stone.

Maitland had just finished thinking such a thought when a horse's shrill cry filled the dawn. It was the cry he imagined men heard on the field from dying steeds as they fell in battle. He heard Arend's curse and spurred Astraea to run faster. The mare was already lathered with sweat, but she sensed her master's urgency.

Astraea stumbled as they began to climb a small rise, and it was only because the sun peeked over the horizon that Hadley's steed didn't break its hock in a large hole. Thankfully, Hadley's good hands gathered the reins and kicked the stallion to surge high into the air and sail over it.

Concentrating on ensuring that Hadley remained seated, Maitland did not at first see the carriage. It was only Arend's cry as they pounded down the other side of the rise that drew his attention to the wreckage lying off the road in a ditch partially filled with water.

No one is moving
was the thought that slammed into him as he viewed the wreckage. At the same time, he realized with sickening certainty that this was the carriage that contained his wife.

He drove his heels into his horse's side and raced toward the upturned carriage with rage in his heart. If Marisa was hurt, their enemy could go to the ends of the earth and try to hide, but he'd find her and make her pay.

When he reached the carriage, he slid off his mare before she'd had a chance to come to a halt, and raced for the gap where a carriage door should be hanging. It was ripped off, a gaping hole in its place with splinters of wood everywhere.

The sun was delivering warmth, yet he felt so cold. When he clambered over the broken wheel and onto the carriage step he found the body of a woman lying still on one of the squabs. Even though the woman's coloring was the same as Marisa's, she couldn't be Marisa because this woman wore a dress. Marisa had been in disguise. She'd been wearing trousers. He used his teeth to tear off his gloves, and, grabbing her wrist, he felt for a pulse. He let out a breath as he felt a strong regular beat. He signaled to Hadley. “Help me get her out.”

Arend appeared just as they carried the woman out onto the grass. “Whoever took them has scarpered.” He placed a hand on Maitland's shoulder. “I want you to take a deep breath.”

The roar of his pulse thundered in his ear. “Have they taken her? Is she not here?” At least if they took her, it would mean she was still alive.