Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (33 page)

“Certainly, Sir. Please come in, Sir.” The butler took Wellston’s hat, gloves, and riding crop. After Cashé’s bad behavior at Linton Park, Wellston had refused to ride with her in the carriage. Instead, he had ridden Khan.

“Please ask my sister, Miss Satiné, to join us,” Cashé demanded.

“I will see if Miss Satiné is available.” The butler returned his attention to Wellston. “This way, Your Lordship.” The servant led them to a nearby drawing room. “Baron Ashton will be with you shortly, Sir.”

Marcus wanted to leave Cashé Aldridge to her own devices, but his few private moments with Eleanor Kerrington told him that the viscount and the duke might require his assistance so he had pressed on. However, the faster he had rid himself of Cashémere Aldridge the better. In fact, if what Lady Worthing had shared was accurate, he could dump her off on Lexford, who for some unexplainable reason seemed to affect the chit.

“Your Lordship,” Baron Ashton stepped into the room. “How good of you to call upon us, Sir, and to bring our Cashémere with you.” He bowed to Wellston and opened his arms to his niece.

“Uncle Charles,” she cooed, “it is so good to be back at Chesterfield Manor.”

“I am always amazed, my Dear, how much you and your sister resemble one another.” He sat Cashé away from him and took a closer look at her face. “Absolutely uncanny,” he murmured.

“Where is Satiné?” Cashé acted as if this was simply a social call.

The baron shot a quick glance at Wellston. “Your sister will be down in a moment; she has just returned from a long ride and must wash away the trail dirt.” He motioned her to a nearby chair. “Meanwhile, perhaps the Earl might enlighten me as to why you two travel together.”

“I can explain,” Cashé began, but a raised hand from her uncle interrupted her disclosure.

“I would prefer to hear it from His Lordship, my Dear.”

Although he perfectly understood the man’s concern, Wellston did not like the implication in the baron’s words. “I am Marcus Wellston, and my estate is in Berwick in Northumberland. For many years, I have been a close friend of the Duke of Thornhill.”

“William Fowler?” The baron’s eyebrow rose with curiosity.

“No, Sir. Brantley Fowler. His Grace assumed the title several months ago. Fowler and I served together on the Continent. Perhaps, I might make a very complicated story shorter. Viscount Averette thought it best that Miss Aldridge leave her home with the Fowlers and return to Scotland with him. She has resided in the viscount’s home for the last three months. Recently, the British government agency for which His Grace and I both served intercepted word of a possible kidnapping. Because I was closer than Thornhill, I was asked to rush to Edinburgh to thwart the attempt. Unfortunately, I was too late. Lord Averette assumes Miss Aldridge is a runaway and is on her way to meet Thornhill. The viscount chases your niece toward London. Miss Cashémere thought we might catch her uncle and set him to right, but when we reached Linton Park, Lady Worthing informed us that His Grace and Viscount Lexford have rushed to Liverpool to discover word of your niece.”

“Why did you go to Linton Park, Cashémere?” Her uncle still remained a bit confused by what was truly an unusual turn of events, and the baron could not hide his dismay.

“Lady Eleanor married Viscount Worthing nearly four months prior. The Averettes and I traveled to London when we heard of the duke’s passing. With Brantley’s disappearance, Uncle Samuel had thought that Fowler’s Cousin Leighton might assume the title. We were unaware of His Grace’s return to the estate. Our coach broke down outside of Linton Park, and we discovered Lady Eleanor in residence and awaiting her nuptials. His Grace and Velvet made their way to the wedding, so we stayed on for the ceremony. As Uncle Samuel thought Velvet might rush to see Thornhill, Uncle went there first; therefore, that became our destination also.”

“James Kerrington, Viscount Worthing, Sir,” Wellston added, “served as our commander. He and Thornhill are intimates.”

Baron Ashton smiled knowingly. “Were you a member of the Realm?”

Wellston stammered, “You...you are...familiar with the Realm, Baron?”

“Intimately.” Ashton puffed up with self-importance. “When I was younger, there was a time I served as such myself.”

Before anything else could be said, Cashé squealed, and Wellston turned to see a woman the spiting image of Cashémere Aldridge: the same height, the same coal black wavy hair, the same dark brows and pale skin, the same delicate features and heart-shaped face, the same green eyes. Although he had spent the last week with Miss Cashé, this time his heart jumped.

“My niece, Your Lordship.” The baron took the newcomer’s hand in a loving gesture. “May I present Miss Satiné Aldridge? My Dear, this is Marcus Wellston, the Earl of Berwick.”

Wellston offered the newcomer a proper bow. “What might I call you, Sir? Berwick?” she asked.

“Yardley. I am Lord Yardley.” His eyes traced the features of her face.

“Let us order tea, Your Lordship.” Ashton hustled everyone to nearby chairs. “We must inform Satiné of the situation, and I have many questions. Then Lord Yardley and I must devise a plan in case Thornhill and Lexford fail.”

*

“Is this the right area?” Bran asked as he and Lexford hid in the shadows of an alley leading to the waterfront warehouses.

Lucifer motioned to a line of empty buildings, a few shabby shops, some run-down housing, and an unsavory-looking inn. “If’n ye wanted to hide in Liverpool, this would be the place.”

“How do we go about finding out if Jamot is in one of these buildings?” Bran itched to find Velvet before Jamot exacted a Baloch’s revenge.

“I be joinin’ the men in that bar.” Lucifer smiled deviously. “You and the viscount should depart. Dressed as you be, ye are prime targets for the locals.”

Lexford touched the man’s arm, an unspoken warning to be careful. Henry “Lucifer” Hill had served him since Lexford had saved the man from certain death. They were more than servant and master; Lucifer knew Lexford’s deepest secrets. “We will wait for you at the inn.”

“Be there soon, Your Lordship.” Lucifer staggered out of the alley, swaying in place for effect before entering the inn.

Lexford caught Bran’s arm. “Let the man do his work, Fowler.”

Reluctantly, Bran nodded his agreement. He knew he was close, but even if he knew for certain where he might find Velvet, he must go carefully. This was an area where his title meant little. His skills as a Realm member would serve him better.

Chapter 17

James Kerrington had not fully understood Lucien Simms’s warning about the tunnel’s “twists and turns” until he encountered the first one. A support timber had sagged, and rocks had tumbled into the passage. Kerrington had to literally crawl through the opening, being extra careful not to dislodge the boulder still holding up the roof. Even when not crawling through the narrow opening, he had gone through the tunnel bent over at the waist, his six foot two frame too tall for the passage. He grumbled when he banged his head for the third time. “Bloody short smugglers!” To help him see in the dark channel, he carried a shuttered lantern, which he left burning in the passageway, as he swung open a door attached to a rickety-looking shelf in the cellar.

Easing the door partially closed, Kerrington stood tall to stretch his muscles before moving through the darkened rooms. He lit a candle snub he had carried with him. He needed the light to find his way through the passages, briefly checking each alcove and storage room, but also setting the way to memory for his escape. A few minutes later, he quietly opened the servants’ quarters door. With a deep breath of relief, Kerrington listened carefully for any sign of his detection as he slowly climbed the narrow steps. His gun hand led when the stairs took a sharp turn to the left, but he was alone. He had paused to steady his nerves, but then he heard it: someone moving about straight ahead.

*

Although he had assumed that the viscount and Fowler had already arrived in Liverpool, Wellston sent a message to Lexford’s Cheshire estate. He and Baron Ashton had ridden together while the Aldridge twins had taken the baron’s carriage. Wellston had argued about the insensibility of bringing the sisters with them, but he had quickly lost the battle. The females insisted that they could be of assistance. Actually, Miss Cashé had insisted on their ability to aid in Miss Aldridge’s rescue, while Miss Satiné had simply asserted the need to assist her older sister before it was too late. Yardley had wished that Miss Cashé held her sister’s awareness of the dangers in which they might partake

“Liverpool is only another mile or two,” Ashton pointed out. “We will put in at The Golden Apple. If your friends followed protocol, they will be lodged there.”

Wellston liked the baron. Liked how the man’s mind worked. He could see how he might play a part in what was the Realm’s work in keeping Britain safe. “I hope we are in time.”

*

“I brought you some bread and cider.” Jamot placed the tray he had carried on the cot’s end.

Velvet had stiffened with his entrance. By her estimate, he had left her alone for nearly two hours. A high window let in streaks of light. She had measured the time by how the light on the opposite wall had dwindled and how the lines had shortened. Although her stomach rumbled with the possibility of food, protectively, she forced words of gratitude, but she did not immediately move to the tray he offered.

“How long will I remain here?” Her voice came out quieter than she had expected. She had heard it loud and clear in her head, but when she opened her mouth, Velvet found that the hours without speaking had affected her.

The man sat on the cot before pouring her a glass of cider. When she shook her head in refusal, Jamot simply smiled and sat the glass on the floor near the bed’s leg. He straightened slowly, but the smile remained. “As soon as your duke brings me the emerald, we will discuss your release.”

“Brantley Fowler is not
my
duke,” she insisted.

“But you are his love.” He strolled towards her, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

Velvet compelled calmness to cloud her face when his callused hand cupped her chin. “If I was the Duke of Thornhill’s love, why have I spent the last three months alone in Scotland? I am simply a distant cousin.”

“It is because English men do not know how to appreciate a woman of your beauty–of your coloring. They prefer their pasty-faced women with pale eyes and fair hair. A man of the East would see your real worth–the unforgettable depth of your eyes. I wonder how dark they turn when you are in the throes of passion.”

Velvet tried not to shiver as his finger stroked her cheek. “I doubt if His Grace even knows I am missing.”

“Actually, you will find this amusing.” He stepped away from her, and Velvet allowed herself a few quick breaths. “I have created a quagmire for your duke. My associate has taken his daughter, and I have taken you. Will he save the woman he loves or his daughter? I am certain it is quite a dilemma.”

“Bran will find Sonali first,” she insisted. “She is his only child.”

“Is she now?” Jamot turned to face her again. “Have you ever noticed how the girl possesses no Anglo features?”

“Bran has lighter hair,” she observed. “Darker coloring often takes precedence in children.”

“Did your duke tell you what happened to Ashmita?”

Velvet edged away from him, not liking the turn of the conversation. “He said Ashmita was illused by someone, and he rescued her and took her to a safe place.”

Jamot snorted. “The English protect their women too much. They give you no credit for being strong physically and emotionally.
Illused
is too mild for what happened to Ashmita. Our leader termed her no better than a whore after his cousin had raped her. Mir tied her to a bed and charged each man who wanted her a rupee. For a fortnight, our tribal men visited her over and over, leaving their seed in her belly. That was before your duke and his friends freed her.”

“Were you one of those men?” Velvet did not want to ask, but she could not stifle the words.

“I had wanted Ashmita–wanted my seed to be her children, but I could not go to her tied in that tent. It was no longer Ashmita; it was an unknown woman crying in pain and disgrace.” His tone spoke of a great loss.

“Why did you not stop what happened to her?” she accused.

His ironic laughter filled the room. “You do not understand men’s ways. We are like lions–we choose a leader, and we obey him without question. Shaheed Mir is my lion king.”

“You chose an allegiance to a man who would destroy the woman you wanted? You are correct: I do not understand men’s ways.”

He suddenly turned to go. Before he did he sat a chamber pot in the nearby corner. “I will leave you for now. I hope to have word soon of whether Thornhill chooses you or Sonali. If he comes for you and brings the jewel, you will go free. If he chooses the child...well, if I am to lose Mir’s favor, then I will take my pleasure in you, my Dear. Fowler took Ashmita as his own so it seems only fair. Do you suppose the duke will still want you once I have used your body, and you are no longer an innocent?” At the door, he paused to emphasize his point. “If Fowler saves Sonali, you may curse him aloud as I enter your body. As you give yourself to me.”

“You may
take
of what you speak, but I will never
give
myself to you!”

*

Yardley recognized both Fowler’s and Lexford’s horses in the stable at The Golden Apple. At least, he had found them. “Let me check on my friends while you assist your nieces,” he told Ashton, noting the carriage just pulling into the land leading to the inn. As he stepped into the dimly lit open room, Wellston spied the viscount heading toward the staircase. “Lexford!” he called.

“Yardley!” came the response. “What are you doing here?” Lexford came forward to greet him.

“Miss Cashé remembered that her uncle and twin were in Manchester. Actually, Baron Ashton, their uncle, is a former Realm member. We followed you in hopes that we might be of some service.” Wellston shared quietly.

“Miss Cashé is here?” Lexford looked over his friend’s shoulder expecting to see the woman.

Wellston thought how the viscount could have her. Cashémere Aldridge held no sway over him. “The baron assists his nieces.”

“Thornhill is in the private dining room. Go on in. I will meet the baron.”

“And Miss Cashé’s twin?” Wellston remarked with amusement.

“Do they truly favor each other?”

“Let us just say, you will need to be aware to whom you address your attentions.” Laughing at the expression on Lexford’s face, Wellston strolled away to find Brantley Fowler.

*

Kerrington held his breath as he inched forward. Simms had warned him of the broken third step, and he double stepped it so as to not make any noise. The open door ahead obviously led to the kitchen. From the stairway, as he edged closer, he could see a shadow crisscrossing the room. Moving as slowly as possible, Worthing peered around the doorframe to see Talpur loading a tray, likely to serve to Sonali. The man took a long drink of ale, which showed how westernized Talpur had become, a fact Lord Worthing filed away for future use.

Realizing he had only minutes to find Sonali before his compatriots attacked Talpur’s guards, Kerrington slid past the opening when the Baloch stood with his back to the door. Their information had appeared correct: Talpur remained in the house alone. Advancing more quickly, Kerrington climbed the steps carefully avoiding the centerboards, which invariably creaked in the best of cases. He warily opened the door leading to the sleeping quarters. The light click of the knob turning in place sounded loud to him, but he knew it was quiet in the house.

He slid through the opening and hurriedly checked the rooms leading to Bran’s former quarters. Then he noticed the key displayed prominently in the lock of Sonali’s old room. Turning the key, Kerrington edged the door open only an inch or two, and then he saw her, huddled on the bed–eyes wide–and a chin defiantly raised. As he shoved the opening wider, Sonali’s eyes filled with tears as it registered that he stood before her.

“Uncle James,” she squealed.

“Shush,” he whispered as he brought his finger to his lips to silence her. “Come, Darling.” He motioned to her.

She scurried to his side. “Papa?” she asked as she took his hand.

“They have taken your Cousin Velvet also,” he quickly explained Bran’s absence. “Your Papa is so strong, I sent him to help his cousin, but I am here and so is Uncle Carter.”

She looked disappointed, but Sonali held tight to his hand as he led her toward the servants’ stairway. “You must be quiet, Poppet, and step light on the stairs.”

“Yes, Uncle James.” Sonali caught tighter to his hand and wrist.

Slowly, they slipped into the narrow passage. Kerrington kept himself between her and the potential danger of Talpur in the kitchen. As they neared the open portal, he spied on Talpur through the space between the door and the frame–along the hinges. Seeing the man pick up a knife to slice the bread, Kerrington scooped Sonali into his arms and fleetingly hide her from view as he began their escape. The sound of Talpur’s approach forced him to move faster than he wanted, and when his foot hit the broken step, Kerrington knew Talpur would follow.

*

Carter Lowery, Thomas Whittington, and Lucien Simms waited the required thirty minutes to give Kerrington time to traverse the tunnel. They had counted ten men surrounding the house, each carrying a handgun. Simms thought they all were local thugs–men out of work and needing whatever funds they could find to buy their next drink. This fact played into their hands; they would not fight skilled assassins.

When Lowery caught the first guard in a strangle hold from behind, the man resisted for only a few seconds before he succumbed to the force across his windpipe and collapsed. Lowery eased the man to the ground and took the single shot 60 before moving on to the next sentry.

He and Whittington easily disabled a pair near the back door. A well-lodged upper cut sent one pudgy fellow onto his backside before Whittington placed a booted kick into the man’s chest, cracking ribs and incapacitating his opponent. He turned to plant a straight punch to the midriff of the man with whom Lowery tussled.

“What be ye doin’ ‘round here?” A guard asked Lucien Simms.

Simms craned his neck as if to look in a nearby window. “Nothing really. I just saw some people around Mr. Fowler’s house, and I thought I should check on it. Is Fowler at home?”

“That be none of ye business. I ‘pect ye should find yer way home.”

“Of course.” Yet, before the man knew what was happening, Simms used the walking staff he carried, very much as those who have studied the ancient Chinese fighting arts, to bring the man first to his knees with an accurate strike to the groin and a second one to the back of the neck, sending the guard sprawling face down in the dirt.

With that obvious move, the remaining guards charged. Lucien Simms swung his staff with deadly accuracy while Whittington and Lowery both skilled in hand-to-hand combat punched and jabbed their way through the battle to take over the house.

*

Talpur heard the commotion outside the house and then the steps creaked, and he knew the Realm brought their attack. Those he hired to protect the house could not hold out for long against the fighting expertise of Fowler and his compatriots. He knew their cunning well. He had suffered the ultimate degradation: He had tried to stop Fowler’s initial attempt to rescue the girl known as Ashmita. It had been he who the duke struck with an upper cut, sending Talpur reeling with a broken nose. Fowler had left him sprawled on the tent’s floor. Angry at Talpur’s inability to thwart the efforts “of the Anglo,” Mir had Talpur tied to the whipping posts and had delivered ten strikes himself. Talpur still carried the scars across his back.