Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess (25 page)

“I recall.”

~~~

He had been there for hours, watching the Charles Street house from the park across the street. The metal bench was hard, digging into his thighs. Killian shifted, waking his legs back up.

He wasn’t about to let Reanna out of his sight. Not when it came to her father. He had followed her, and had been ecstatic when she chose to disappear into the Charles Street house.

That had been hours ago. And she hadn’t left. He could see her silhouette in a second story window. He had forced himself to clamp down on his agitation near the two o’clock hour. But now, at four, his relief that Reanna had chosen not to see her father was palpable. It even shocked him that this one choice of hers could mean so very much to him.

But there it was. He did love her. And it wasn’t just a ploy to get her to stay, to do what he wanted. Down to his soul, every part of him. He loved her.

Although Killian perked up when he saw the hack stop in front of the house, he calmed once he saw Miss Collier get out. Something had to be amiss at the Brook Street house.

He stood, starting across the park and wondering if he could approach Reanna just yet. She wanted space to think, but if something was wrong, he wanted to be there. And at this time of the day, he could certainly claim to have just stopped by the house to check on the progress of moving the furniture in. Then he could help out with whatever was happening with the children.

Killian’s suspicions were confirmed when Reanna emerged, a worried look clear on her face. She hurried Miss Collier down the steps to the hack and stepped up into the carriage.

He was halfway down the street to the hack when his heart sped. Miss Collier wasn’t getting into the carriage. She was, in fact, sneering.

Just as Miss Collier’s heavy form moved down from the carriage step and she slammed the door of the hack shut, Killian heard a coach approaching him from behind. He did not think to turn and look at it, as he was so focused on the hack Reanna had disappeared into.

The boot to Killian’s skull from behind was simple, discrete for the busy street, and effective.

It knocked him flat to the ground, blackness overriding his last flailing steps toward the carriage.

Filth was the first thing she tasted in her mouth. And then something crawling on her neck. Reanna flicked her hand toward her head and jerked upright, only to find cold metal holding her wrist far from her neck.

Eyes cracking, dizziness instantly set in. She fought to stay upright, fought against the sway her head was determined to force.

“Ye up, dove. Good thing, that. Ye cin feed yerself, then.”

Reanna’s head swiveled in the general direction of where the voice came from, searching the shadows. A sliver of light through an arrow slit cast a ray across dirty hay, and behind the pile, deep in the dark corner of the room, movement.

Reanna squinted. And then the smell of the room hit her senses. Putrescence filled her nostrils—rotten food, bodily fluids, mildew—her stomach churned at the invasion.

She craned her neck around, taking in the room, trying to place where she was. Dank, grey bricks on four sides, a planked wooden door full of scratches, cold stone floor chilling her legs.

Reanna looked back to the shadow. She didn’t see anyone. “Hello?”

“What of, dove?”

So there was someone in the corner. “Where am I?”

Hay moved, and a tiny old lady creaked forward, leaning into the sliver of light. Grey hair wild and matted, her eyes crinkled as she looked hard at Reanna. “Violent? Ye be a violent one?”

“Violent?” Reanna shook her head. “Me? No. What—where am I?”

“Ahhh. Ye be a crazy one like me, then. They chained ye, so it be either or. Last one be violent.” She moved forward on her hands and knees, then flung her feet around and sat on the hay. “Or not crazy, and just put in here by a bastard son, like me.”

Reanna shook her head, looking down at the shackle on her wrist. Feeling more cold iron, she flipped her foot out from under her skirt, and found her ankle had a shackle on it as well. She looked up, trying to make sense of the woman’s words. “Am I in prison?”

The old lady cackled. “No, dove. Ye be in the ‘sylum.”

~~~

Hands gripping the outside of the windowsill, Killian leaned forward, staring down at the filth covering his boots.

“You know we have to keep moving.” Devin leaned in, voice low. “Even in these ratty clothes, we are targets in St. Giles.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian slammed his palm against the rough wood of the outside of the bar, making the rag-patched window shake. “I cannot believe the bitch just disappeared like that.”

“Killian, we have searched the rookeries through and through. And had twenty men on that same task.” Devin grabbed his arm, pulling him from what constituted a drinking establishment in this area. “Collier is gone. Not in London. There has to be some other link in this. Reanna could not just disappear.”

Killian looked sharply up at Devin in the moonlight. “Yes. Her father. You know that. But he is more of a phantom than Collier. He is not in any of his old haunts, not at his country home. It was all he had left. He has disappeared as completely as Reanna has. How he has done it, I do not know. I left him with nothing. Nothing.”

With a nod, Devin started walking down the tight street. Swearing with every step, Killian followed.

Devin slowed his gait so Killian could catch up. When they were in step, Devin spoke softly. “Killian, it has been a month. We have found no trace of Reanna. No trace of her father. No trace of Collier. You cannot continue this.”

“Continue what?”

“No sleep. No food. Constant searching.”

Killian’s feet stopped. “I am finding her, Devin. Do not question that. I will find her.”

Devin paused, turning to his friend. “And what then?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if she left on her own accord, Killian?”

“Do not—”

“What if, Killian? You have to consider the possibility. With her father—”

“Stop. Right. There.” Killian’s fist clenched. “Do not dare insinuate what you are, Devin. Reanna is not her father. She would never.”

“Are you sure?”

Killian spun away from him, then stomped down the street, muttering at the trailing Devin. “Were it not for your baby at home, you ass, I would have already knocked you bloody flat out and left you to the cutthroats, Dunway. Do not continue to push this.”

They walked on in silence, Devin a step behind Killian, mouth clamped tight. Killian stepped over the torso of an inebriated man strewn across the street, face-down in muck. Devin nudged the drunk’s head with his foot as he passed, positioning the man’s nose above the mud so he would be able to breathe.

A few quick steps, and Devin was in line with Killian once more. “I apologize. I did not mean to question her integrity. I thought I had objectivity on my side. But upon further reflection, I do not think objectivity is going to get Reanna back. I do not know her like you do.”

“Damn right you don’t. Just ask your wife what Reanna would or would not do.”

“I have. And not to worry. Aggie is steadfast in her defense of Reanna as well.”

They stepped onto the main thoroughfare and Devin stopped a hack. They both got into the carriage in silence.

Killian’s eyes stayed fixed out the window of the coach, searching. Searching as they had done every minute in the past thirty days. Even in sleep, his dreams searched for clues.

“She is waiting, Devin. Waiting somewhere for me. I know it as I know my own breath. I just need to find her.”

Devin leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. His eyes shifted out the window, searching the dark alleys. “We will, my friend. We will find her.”

~~~

Reanna looked in the far corner of the cell for the twentieth time.

“Ye see ‘im now? He be jumpin up and down fer ye.”

Reanna looked from the corner to her friend. “No, Gertie. I am afraid I do not. You know I believe you when you say you are seeing the spirits, but I do not have your...gift. Just because you are determined for me to see them, does not mean they are determined to be seen by me.”

“Posh. Ye just need to be tryin’ harder.”

Reanna sighed. Putting aside Gertie’s ability to see and chat with ghosts, she was the dearest person in the world to be stuck with in an insane asylum. Gertie was a mother through and through, which made the fact that her own son placed her in the asylum after she started seeing spirits all the more heartbreaking.

Gertie moved off into the back corner of the cell, babbling something to the wall. Reanna saw a stone wall; Gertie saw a gentleman to flirt with.

Holding back a head shake, Reanna watched as Gertie laughed. Gertie had estimated she had been in the place for eight years, give or take a year. In all that time, Gertie had never stopped seeing spirits, nor forgotten how to laugh or be kind. Reanna figured if Gertie had managed to keep all of those qualities alive in the midst of the filth surrounding them, then maybe being a spirit-seer wasn’t all that bad. In wicked irony, it probably kept Gertie sane in the insane asylum.

And that had kept Reanna sane in turn.

The lock slid on the other side of the door, and Reanna braced herself as the door swung wide.

“Yer meal.” Wally stepped in, setting two bowls on the floor in front Reanna. Gertie stayed in the corner. His ever-present leer was especially malicious this eve. Reanna kept her eyes down.

“I hear word yer gonna be got.”

“What?” Reanna ventured a glance up at the brute. Then she shifted her head back down as quickly as it had risen. She had learned the hard lesson early in her captivity that it was best to stay quiet and have no eye contact with Wally.

He sneered a chuckle. “Got yer ‘ttention, eh? Ye be lucky ye have a fine gentleman comin’ for ye, ye wench, or ye be mine. He be payin’ mightly for you to stay on the clean side of this place. On the clean side of me, or I be havin ye already.”

“Gentleman?” Reanna asked, keeping her eyes down and her voice to a whisper.

“Fancy jacket, dark hair, gold tooth. ‘e know ye well, ‘e say. If ‘e don’t show, I might just break and have ye fir meself.” Wally bent over in front of her, licking his pudgy lips and puckering them at her. Laughter at her repulsion followed.

The thin strand of hope snapped in Reanna’s chest. Gold tooth. Mr. Nettle. Hell. With her father, at least she had a chance. A chance at what, she wasn’t sure, but at least she had blood on her side. But Mr. Nettle—she was clueless. She didn’t know anything of the man and had only met him twice. The first time she had barely remembered him, and the second time he had almost run her over. So why was he with her father now? Why have the least bit of interest in her?

Her chin hit her chest as she tried to make herself as small as possible in front of Wally.

After a moment, the brute stood, kicking over one of the bowls full of mush. He walked out without another word, the lock sliding into place.

Gertie waited a moment before she stepped out of the corner shadow.

Reanna sighed. “You can have it, Gertie.”

“No, dove. Ye know we share it.” She plopped down in front of Reanna and held up the full bowl to her.

Hands heavy, Reanna took the bowl and swallowed a chunk of the vileness that, at the very least, kept her alive. She held the bowl up to Gertie.

Gertie took it, but made no motion to sip. She was staring at Reanna.

“I don’t like yer plan, dove. And I know ye be thinkin of doing it now.” Her eyes were the clearest Reanna had ever seen them.

“From what Wally just said, I do not have a choice, Gertie. It is my only chance. I cannot let Nettle take me. Him, my father, I cannot let them do whatever they are planning. I have to get back to Killian. I have to.”

Gertie shook her head, taking a sip from the bowl.

Reanna took the silent reprimand for what it was. But she had to do it, and she needed her friend’s support. “You have seen Wally in the late evening round. He is slow. His eyes are blurry from the hours of cups he has been into. He trips every other time he comes in here. It is the perfect time. It is dark. And he is especially leering that time of night.”

“But yer body, dove. It invites bad things to offer it up to him. If it don’t work...”

“I can think of no other way to get out of the shackles, Gertie. And I have to. I have to get out of here. Before Nettle. I have to be gone before he comes for me. Nettle and my father put me in here, and heaven knows what they will do to me next. What they will do to Killian.” Her throat thickened. “I cannot chance that.”

~~~

“What does it say?” Devin stood at the sideboard, pouring himself a brandy.

Mid-pace, Killian snatched the letter from his desk and held up the vellum to Devin. Turning, brandy in hand, Devin took it from his friend, and downed a long swallow as he scanned the paper.

Devin’s eyes rose from the words. “This is short. He wants to meet tomorrow, but there is no mention of Reanna in here.”

Killian shrugged in the middle of his pace. “He must think it beneath him to actually mention her. Mention what he did. We both know exactly what this meeting is about.”

“Do you know the place he requested?”

“It is an inn a short way into the countryside.”

Devin drained the last of the brandy. “Do you trust him?”

“No.” Killian stopped in the middle of the study, eyeing the paper Devin still held. “But do I have a choice?”

~~~

“You do remember where to go?”

Darkness had settled an hour earlier, but Reanna needed to repeat to Gertie the plan one more time. It was as much for her own nerves, as it was to assure her that Gertie knew what to do.

“Yes.” Gertie nodded in the trace of moonlight.

“Are you positive? You remember the street, the house? To tell them that I specifically sent you. You can recite all of the children’s names, if necessary.” Reanna hoped Killian hadn’t moved the children to the new house yet. Even if he had, someone should still be at the Brook Street townhouse. Killian would have seen to it. He would not have overlooked a detail like that. She hoped.

“You will stay there until I come? The children will love you, and your son will not be able to find you there.”

“Aye, dove. I remember it all. Are ye sure ye want to chance this?”

“I do—”

The lock on the door clanked, interrupting Reanna’s words. Gertie scurried into the corner and Reanna tensed, drawing upon every bit of nerve, every bit of courage she could manifest.

If this was the only way out, the only way to Killian, the only way to the children, she could do it. She had to.

Light from the hallway spilled in, along with the blubbering form of Wally balancing two bowls. He didn’t trip on the raised stone like he sometimes did, and Reanna held her breath. He took another two steps forward, and the smell of gin washed over her. She exhaled. Good. She needed him drunk and clumsy for this.

She stood, crouching half over as the short length of the shackle on her wrist held her down. Wally pulled up instantly. She had never stood in front of him.

“What of ye, wench?” He dropped the evening bowls to the ground.

“If—” Her voice came out as a squeak, and Reanna coughed, opening her throat. “If I am to be taken from here tomorrow, then I would like my last night to be memorable.”