Charity (17 page)

Cleo’s eyes widened and she banged her cane on the floor. “Mind the way you speak to me, young man! Given your behavior with regard to both of my nieces and the company you’ve chosen this evening, I’d say you have no leg to stand on.”

“Please forgive me if I have offended you, Lady Egerton.” He gave her a pointed look. “But given your unassailable chaperoning skills, it must have caught your notice that Anthony Iverson has been hovering in her vicinity for the past hour.”

Startled, Cleo glanced again in Charity’s direction. Her niece was gone.

“Oh, dear,” she said, quite forgetting her ire. “Charity knows better than to associate with the likes of that man.”

“Charity has a tendency to do precisely what she should
not
when she’s under the influence of her rather formidable temper. I cannot imagine being under the influence of several glasses of champagne in addition will help in the least.” Lachlan swept the room with his eyes, seeking not only Charity’s bright hair and attire but Iverson. When he found neither, he laid a hand on the old lady’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he instructed. Then he strode off in the direction of the doors to the terrace.

Stepping outside, Lachlan looked to the right and the left, hoping he’d see Charity talking and laughing in one of the small groups that had moved outside to escape the crowd and the noise within. She was nowhere to be found. His
eyes roved the garden, delving into each shadowy nook. It was, by the
ton’s
standards, a rather spare garden with open expanses of beautifully manicured lawn rolling between small, well-tended beds of foliage. There were gaslights lining a footpath of neatly spaced flagstones, making it difficult for a couple to slip away for a dark tryst.

Satisfied that Charity wasn’t out here, Lachlan turned and walked back into the ballroom. He caught Cleo’s anxious eye and shook his head slightly to indicate he hadn’t found her, but unable to shake a feeling of urgent dread, he located Lucinda and politely extracted her from gossiping with a group of her equally vapid friends. “Let’s take a turn around the room, shall we?”

Lucinda dimpled and placed her hand on his arm. “I thought you’d abandoned me, my lord,” she said, her eyes as wide and guileless as those of a china doll. Lachlan gave her a distracted smile and led her toward the steps, skirting the dance floor and keeping to the room’s perimeter, his eyes alert for any sign of his quarry.

Her fingers were tingly. Charity giggled and held them up in front of her, then thrust them toward Anthony Iverson’s face and wiggled them. “They feel like they should sparkle,” she said in a wondrous tone.

Anthony glanced over his shoulder and then smiled down disarmingly at her. “Do you think you can walk very quickly and quietly with me to that gate over there?” He pointed across a short expanse of lawn to a narrow, wrought iron entry set into the side wall of the garden.

“ ’Course I can,” said Charity cheerfully. “I can do
lots
of things.” She started to take a step in that direction but was brought up short by her companion.

“Not just yet,” he said. “We’re playing a game, sort of
like hide and go seek. Did you ever play that when you were a little girl?”

She nodded quickly but then blinked when the action made her dizzy. She reached out and clutched his sleeve to maintain her balance. “My head feels all sparkly, too,” she said, swaying slightly.

Anthony grimaced. If he was going to get her out of here, it would have to be soon, while she could still walk. He looked toward the terrace one more time and then emerged from the shadows at the side of the house, tugging Charity along behind him. She stumbled in his wake, somehow managed to keep her footing, and giggled again.

“Shh,” he hissed.

They reached the gate, which he opened quickly, wincing at the sharp metallic clang. He wanted their absence to be noted, but needed time to get her away from the ball first. He pushed Charity ahead and then slipped out just behind her.

Charity leaned up against the garden wall, lifted her skirts slightly and looked down at her feet. They appeared to be right where they belonged, but, oddly, she couldn’t feel them. She looked at Anthony in mute appeal.

He chuckled. “You’re going to be just fine,” he said, and then bent and swept her effortlessly into his arms.

“Oh, thank you,” she said with a musical giggle, punctuated by a hiccough. “Where are we going?”

“To my coach.”

“Why are we going to your coach? Aunt Cleo will wonder where I’ve gone.” A tiny little thread of alarm rendered Charity momentarily sober, but it was dispelled when Anthony said, “I told her I would see you home.”

“Well, that was very nice of you,” she pronounced. Her eyes felt suddenly heavy, and she rested her head on his
shoulder. “No reason for her to leave early if she’s not sleepy too,” she murmured into his cravat.

Yes
, thought Iverson.
That was very nice of me
. He sneered. Certain families had recently snubbed him and given him the cut direct one too many times. He now had a plan to avenge himself on their hypocrisy, to perhaps earn the reputation he’d been unfairly given. Every breath of scandal that touched the Caldwell and Lloyd families was either ignored or brushed away because of their prominent places in Society. Not this time. Tonight he’d keep Charity away long enough to ensure her reputation was beyond redemption.

He looked down at the beautiful girl who had passed out in his arms and smiled with anticipation. While he was at it, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t sample the goods . . . and by doing so, further ruin any future chance of a noble match.

Beyond worried now, Lachlan mentally ticked off the minutes since he’d last seen either Charity or Iverson. It had been at least half an hour. Short of questioning everyone with whom she socialized during the ball, or searching the entire town house, either of which would raise eyebrows and threaten Charity’s reputation, he had no idea what to do. He’d circled the entire room and already convinced Lucinda she needed a moment in the ladies room, after which he’d carefully questioned her about the occupants, feeling slightly guilty that he was using the unsuspecting girl in such a manner. He stood now near the terrace doors and racked his brain, fighting the impulse to leave and begin a search that was sure to be fruitless. Cleo remained where he’d left her, and even across the room he could see her signs of strain.

Lucinda, who had stepped away to talk with a wildly
gesturing group of young women, returned to his side. “Goodness,” she said in a breathy little voice, “Papa is always afraid I’ll do something stupid and get myself in trouble, but I never really knew what he meant until now!”

Distracted, Lachlan flicked her a glance. It was all the encouragement she needed.

“Therese Thomasson-Sinclair just told me that she saw one of those bothersome Ackerly twins sneaking across the lawn and out the gate with Anthony Iverson!” She paused to take a breath and then plunged onward, flushed with pleasure and acutely aware of the fact that she had finally managed to garner some interest from her escort. Lachlan’s former guilt evaporated when he realized she had been gleefully gossiping about the very girl whose reputation he was attempting to save. “I didn’t think much of it until Therese said it was high time one of those girls got herself in trouble since they keep marrying all the best men.” Lucinda nodded at this proffered wisdom, her blonde curls bobbing cheerfully.

“Miss Harcourt.”

She glanced up to see Lachlan watching her in a way that made her quite uncomfortable. “My lord?”

“Did Therese say when she saw them?”

“N-no,” she stammered. “I could go ask.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Lachlan. He took her arm and led her over to Cleo. “Lady Egerton, permit me to introduce Miss Lucinda Harcourt.”

Lucinda bobbed a pretty curtsy but then jumped when the older lady poked Lachlan in the chest with her cane, ignoring the introduction. “Where is my niece?”

“Miss Harcourt will explain while you take her home. After that, go tell Huntwick I’ve gone after her and will send word if I need his assistance.” Cleo opened her mouth
to ask questions, but Lachlan cut her off. “Go now. There’s no time. Word is already spreading through this ballroom and will make it to others.
Go
.”

He spun and took a couple of steps before turning back. “I will find her, Lady Egerton,” he promised, his voice fierce.

Wordlessly she nodded and watched him go.

Nineteen

By
the time Marquess of Asheburton’s coach finally rumbled northward out of London, it was over two hours since he’d last seen Charity and his fears ran in a thousand directions.

“Head for Scotland,” he ordered his coachman, praying that Iverson’s intent was at least that noble. “Stop at every inn along the way, even those you deem unsuitable places for me to stay. I’ll make a quick inquiry, and, if need be, we’ll continue on.”

Three times they stopped, and all three times he learned nothing. Just outside the city the condition of the roads and the darkness made it necessary to travel more slowly, which gave Lachlan far too much time to think. What if the pair had headed straight for Scotland without stopping, and he was wasting time? Or what if they’d gone in the other direction? He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He clenched his teeth, fighting against the rage just thinking that man’s name incited. It would take every ounce of control he possessed to leave Iverson’s throat intact once he found them.

The coach slowed. Lachlan pushed the curtain aside and looked out the window. They were approaching a large inn on the outskirts of a village. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, he disembarked and swept inside. He found the innkeeper straightening chairs and wiping tables in the dining area.

“I’m looking for a couple, possibly traveling as man and wife, who may have stopped here within the past two hours,” Lachlan announced.

The man rubbed his forehead. “Didn’t see no couple
walk
in. Young man said his wife was sleepin’ in the coach. Cook saw him carry her in. Dressed like you, he was, all fancy like from some big party.”

“Did the young lady have hair of a rather unique shade? Somewhere between blonde and red?”

“I’d have to wake Cook and ask.” The innkeeper hesitated. “Why yer so interested?”

“The young woman is
not
his wife, and she’s here against her will. Please wake the cook.” When the man looked skeptical Lachlan added, “I’ll pay you three times the normal price for a room in addition to what the young man has already paid.”

Making a mental note to charge the insistent nobleman four times the going rate, the innkeeper hastened off to wake the cook, although he was already fairly certain the rich gentleman had indeed found the couple he sought. Members of the Quality didn’t just appear in the middle of the night very often, especially so close to London. They either arrived early enough for dinner or continued onward.

By the time he returned, he could see that the visitor had come to the same conclusion. When the sleepy cook confirmed that, yes, indeed, the young lady’s hair was reddish-blonde, both men stepped back from the look of rage suddenly emanating from their questioner’s eyes. “Show me,” the man ordered. “Quickly.”

The innkeeper grabbed a candleholder with a sputtering stub of a candle and led Lachlan up a narrow flight of stairs to a long corridor on the second level. He pointed down the
hall. “Last room on the left,” he said, then gave Lachlan the candle and turned to go back downstairs. “Doors only lock from the inside,” he said on his way down. “If you break anything, you’re paying for it.”

Lachlan stalked down the hall, setting the candleholder on a table he passed. As he reached the end of the corridor, he heard a scuffling from inside the indicated room, punctuated by agitated voices. He turned the knob and pushed, then threw his shoulder against the panel when it wouldn’t budge. The cheap wood gave way instantly, and he entered the room with a crash.

In the space of two seconds, he saw all he needed to see. Iverson had Charity backed into a corner, where she was holding him off with a chipped porcelain bowl and pitcher. Before either party could react, Lachlan was across the room and had Anthony by the throat, lifting him and pressing him against the wall with one hand. “I should kill you right here!” he thundered.

Eyes bulging, Anthony brought both hands up to Lachlan’s wrist, scratching, clawing, and pushing in an effort to drag some air through his constricted windpipe. He braced his feet against the wall and shoved with all his might, fighting to stay alive. Charity slid down in her corner, the bowl and pitcher hitting the floor with harmless thuds as her hands fell to her sides.

Lachlan glanced down at her, and she looked back up at him in mute appeal, her dress torn and her hair a rat’s nest of pins and sapphires. She needed him far more than he needed to exact justice right this moment, so he reluctantly relaxed his hold on Iverson’s throat and allowed the cad to slide down the wall until his feet touched the floor.

“You’re not worth it,” he muttered, dropping his hand and stepping back. “Get out of here. I’ll deal with you later.”

Lachlan watched him scurry from the room and then turned back to Charity. He knelt and reached for the hand clenched around the handle of the pitcher. “Let me take that, kitten,” he said, his tone gentle.

She looked through him, her eyes glassy and wounded, either unwilling or unable to comply with his request to let go of her makeshift weapons. Carefully he pried her fingers open, one at a time, until he could take the items from her and set them back behind him, out of her reach. The bowl was easier, and once they’d both been safely moved, he tilted his head to catch her eye.

“Charity. Look at me.”

Tears spilled from beneath her eyelids as she stared down, so horribly ashamed of herself that she was unable to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said brokenly, and took a quivering breath. “I don’t know how I got here.”

Lachlan’s heart wrenched, and all residual anger he might have had with her instantly dissolved. In spite of the behavior that had placed her in this situation, the fact remained that she had been through a great difficulty, and he ached beyond all else to take away the guilt and pain.