Cloaked in Danger (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“It’s dark outside, Adam,” Adam’s mother said in a calm, I’m-talking-to-a-five-year-old voice. “Perhaps we should wait for daylight.”

Adam stopped his pacing long enough to look at her. “I will not wait. We’ll take candles, lanterns, whatever we must. Something is wrong. Very wrong.”

She stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Adam looked down as she squeezed his arm, surprised by the easy comfort she offered, even though he knew she was furious with him. “You’ll find her.”

He placed a hand over hers, squeezed back. “Thanks, Mama.” He moved to the center of the room. A handful of servants entered.

“Ye called fer us, milord?” Shamus, the coachman, asked. The footman, groom and stable-boy all stood alongside, with Higgins bringing up the aft.

“My betrothed, Miss Whitney, is missing,” Adam said bluntly. “We’ll mount the search immediately.”

“Missing?” Lily echoed, as she walked into the room with Cordelia and Georgiana. “What do you mean missing?”

“She hasn’t been seen since yesterday. She hasn’t been home.”

“Perhaps she ran off with someone else to Gretna Green,” Cordelia said lightly. When every eye in the room turned on her, she shrugged. “I was only teasing.”

“This isn’t funny, Cordelia,” Adam snapped. “She could be—” He stopped. He didn’t want to think about “could be.” He looked back at the servants. “We have very little to go on. The last she was seen was leaving her home on Somerset. She was supposed to meet me in Hyde Park and never showed. We’ll start there and work our way out.” He pointed to Shamus and John, the footman. “You two will go to the Cumberland Gate and work along Park Lane, then inward toward the Serpentine.” He pointed at the groom and stable-boy. “You two go to Hyde Park Corner and move in. I will go to her house and travel the path to where she and I were to meet.”

“Lord Merewood?” the stable-boy asked, his hands together and shoulders hunched. A wary fear lit his eyes.

“Yes, Jonah?”

“What are we looking for precisely?”

An image of Aria, crumbled to the ground as Blythe had been, only this time dead, flashed through his head and he strove to control the rolls of nausea in his gut. This was every nightmare he’d ever had come to life.

The slamming of a door saved Adam from having to answer, and he watched as Blythe strode in, yanking off gloves and cloak as she entered the room. The dark blue gown underneath indicated they’d planned on an evening out. Ravensdale was two steps behind her, also dressed in finery. As he entered the room, the doorway was filled with about five or six men.

“We’re here. What can we do?” Blythe asked, coming to stop in front of him. She tossed her things on a chaise and reached up to embrace him. “We’ve brought some of Michael’s servants to help with the search.”

Adam glanced at their mother, certain she’d sent for Blythe and her betrothed, but not about to turn down the offer. The more people involved, the quicker they could move.

Ravensdale gestured his men inside and then came to stand next to Adam. “What is the plan?”

“Start from her home. Search the park. Knock on doors if we must and see if anyone has seen her.”

“Knocking on doors might not get you anything but servants this time of night,” Blythe told him. “And tonight is the Bedford Ball. It’s quite likely most of society will be there. It’s where Michael and I were headed.”

“You should still go. You can do more by asking about her there, versus staying here.”

She reached for the gloves and coat she’d tossed. “Something feels very wrong about going to a party while the rest of the household is searching, but I understand.” She tilted her head. “Do you suppose that is how Aria has felt all these months? She was attending parties and pretending to be husband hunting, all the while searching for information on her father’s whereabouts.” She tugged a glove on. “I hadn’t considered how difficult this must have all been for her.”

Adam had. Every day. Aria had delved into a world she didn’t understand, tried to play by their rules. It had cost her the freedom to choose who she married. It had cost her reputation. And possibly her life.

And she had wanted to escape it the moment she had the chance.

He shook off the thoughts. No time to brood. “It was daylight when she left her house and headed to the park. Anyone might have seen her, servant or lord. I need to know, so we’ll still knock on doors and ask the servants.” He glanced around the room, and waved a hand. “Go, go.”

The sounds of shuffling feet, of soft-spoken words as people matched up with their partners and discussed their actions. As they filtered out of the room, one by one, Adam found his family looking at him with a mixture of pity, worry and fear.

Cordelia stepped toward him, and Adam shook his head. “Cordelia, whatever sarcasm or witty retort you have at the ready, stuff it. I don’t want to hear it.”

Resignation crossed her face, along with a mere second of what could have been sadness. “I want you to know I’m here, for whatever you need.”

Instantly, Adam let out a breath. “Apologies. I am—”

“No need. It’s not as if I don’t earn such regard.”

Hypatia stepped forward. “Girls, perhaps you can confer with Cook. We’ll need an ongoing supply of food and drink. Whatever she wishes to prepare is fine.” The girls nodded, and one by one, with a hand brushing Adam’s arm as they left, they left the room.

Adam looked at his mother, uncertain of what to say.

She finally shifted her weight and looked away. “You’ll find her.”

He nodded, hating the yards of emotional distance that separated them, but uncertain what to do about it. He stepped back to let her pass. A second before she disappeared out the doorway, he called, “Mama?”

She stopped and slowly turned. “Yes?”

“I shouldn’t have thrown Calebowe out. I shouldn’t have offered him money.” Not in her presence, anyway. In hindsight, he realized what a stupid move that had been.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She took a step forward. “It was rude and insulting, both to Franklin and to me.”

“I won’t apologize for wanting answers.”

“I understand you want to protect me, but if you have questions, ask Franklin. He will answer them. I have hundreds of letters to prove that.”

“Mama, if I agree to talk with him, you have to promise something in return.”

Above the flickering light, her eyes turned wary. “What is that?”

“That if I discover something that indicates he isn’t who he says he is, who you believe him to be, you’ll call it off.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “There is no point, Adam. He is exactly who I know him to be.”

Adam still felt the ache of how certainty could turn cold with one small detail revealed.

“Then making the promise shouldn’t mean a thing. You have nothing to worry about.”

A few seconds passed, and Adam shifted uncomfortably under her knowing gaze.

“All right.” When she spoke, her tone was soft, different.

“You agree?”

She nodded, took a step toward him. “But I’m agreeing to this for the simple reason that despite how you make me crazy”—she smiled a wistful smile—”or perhaps because of it, you remind me of your father.”

After she walked out, he sat still, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t known how much those words would mean.

* * *

The fall took minutes, but it felt like hours of being suspended in a void of noisy blackness.

Aria fought against the wind whipping at her to curl into a ball. But the ground came up to meet her with a harsh, desperate slap. It vibrated through her body, threatened to pull her under, to take over as it shoved air from her lungs.

She cried out as the fog closed in, blurring her vision, threatening to pull her under.

She couldn’t take a breath.

Couldn’t think.

Could only feel the tortured pain along every inch of her skin.

Sounds assailed her ears, melding into one long, haunting cry.

God, the pain!

Her ankle flared with a fire that sent her stomach into spasms. Clutching at her chest, Aria forced small gulps of air into her lungs until she could breathe properly, until the feeling of a hammer against her leg subsided. Slowly. One at a time. The radiating torture inside her lungs had subsided finally, even as her muscles curled in surrender, tensing every limb until the smallest movement sent streaks of protest through her.

Seconds passed into minutes, and Aria huddled in the foul-smelling, slithery cold. Every part of her body screamed, and she half feared the pounding of her heart would give her away.

Her mind worked in overtime to conquer her body. Aria forced short breaths through her mouth to lessen the stench of the alleyway. The acridness had already seared her nostrils, letting her know that animal and human alike had lived here.

“There!” she heard above. Tilting her head, she could barely make out the flickering light and the shadow of a human. “The blasted wench is there. Grab her!”

Patrick’s words burst through the pain. She needed to get up. Be damned how much her ankle hurt.

He was coming after her.

Sliding a hand onto the incredibly sticky, disgusting ground, she pushed, even as her ankle gave out.

No time to waste.

Favoring the injured foot, she crouched and then stood on a shaky leg. And hesitated.

Had to run. She set her left foot down gingerly, shifted a tiny amount of weight onto it. The stabs ran up her legs in never-ending flares. She tried to step onto it, and her leg collapsed underneath her. The drop to the ground was yet another torturous thud, and frustration surged through every bit of her. Damn him! Damn him!

Try again! Get away. This couldn’t be for nothing.

Again, she scraped her way to standing. Set her foot down. Put weight on it. Crumbled to the ground, this time with curses, yells and tears she could not stop.

Voices.

A light flickered at the end of the alleyway. She knew it was him. And she also knew with a soul-wrenching truth that she would not be able to run away. But she’d be damned if he would find her easily.

She slid an inch or two at a time, moved deeper into the filth. Rancid smells threatened upheaval of whatever food churned in her stomach, but she swallowed it down. Cast-off trash of God-only-knew what kind lay about her, and she scraped and slid until she was covered. Dipping fingers into the slime, she wiped it on her arms. Her face. And laid down. Whatever she lay in felt slimy, cold and coarse against her skin. When a small piece of it ran over her leg, she bit her lip until the salty metallic taste of her own blood touched her tongue, to keep from screaming.

“Find her!” The voice boomed, and Aria feared the hammering of her heart would sound like a beacon and bring them right to her feet.

If she could stay hidden, if he thought she’d gotten away, he would search somewhere else. And she would have time to gather her strength and leave this alley.

The light of a lantern glowed past the filthy paper and refuse she’d sunk into. Please, dear God, don’t let him see me.

She quieted her breathing as best she could, ignored the chill of the ground underneath her, the high-pitched chirps of rodents nearby. The men’s footsteps echoed amid the sounds of trash being shoved aside as they hurried down the alleyway.

“She ain’t ‘ere,” one voice said, seeming confused.

“She has to be. She must have injured herself in the fall. She could not have gotten far.” Patrick’s tone was matter-of-fact. “You will look through every bloody inch of this alley. She’s here. I want her returned to her room by the time I get back.”

Aria closed her eyes, trying to block the pain, exhaustion and fear. So cold. Her body trembled. Her teeth began chattering and she bit hard to still the noise.

The sounds of men grunting as they kicked trash, threw things around and searched every inch nearby added to the roar that rushed through her head.

How many more inches before they kicked her? Threw something at her?

Found her?

Her ankle radiated in angry waves. The foggy vestiges of the drug he’d given her remained, but one thing was clear.

He wouldn’t stop until he broke her. Somehow, she had to find a way out.

Something landed on her head. The men were close.

It was only a matter of time now.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The door slammed with a satisfying thud that rattled the pictures on the wall. Adam needed the violence. He wanted to break things, he wanted to—damn it, he wanted to find Aria. They’d searched the entire bloody park again and found nothing.

“Nothing!” he roared.

“I’m sorry,” his mother said from the doorway to the parlor. “Let me get you tea, so you can warm yourself.”

“Only if there’s more whisky than tea leaves.” He followed her in.

Not two steps into the room, the sound of a knock on the door echoed through the corridor.

“Do you think it’s her?” his mother’s soft words held a hopeful thread.

“I don’t know.” But he couldn’t help the rush of blood that flooded his heart.

But at the face on the other side of the front door, Adam scowled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Patrick Wade stood on the stoop, bound up in a tailored coat and expensive scarf that did nothing to mask the street rat underneath. “She’s gone.”

Adam stepped into the doorway. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

Patrick reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “My men tracked her to the docks. This is a copy of a ship manifest with the passenger list. It left today.”

Adam snatched the paper and glanced at the words written. Cardivale ship, East dock, bound for Calais.

And there was her name, drawn in a feminine style.

Hers? He didn’t know. He’d never seen her handwriting, but every instinct in his body screamed against this.

Perhaps when John first returned home, she might have considered leaving for Egypt. In fact now that he thought of it, he was somewhat surprised she hadn’t. But now? It made no sense.

And yet, here was her name on a ship’s manifest.

Adam held the paper up. “I am keeping this.”

Wade shrugged. “Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. I am going after her, Merewood. I came here to give you that. One of my ships leaves first thing in the morning, and I’ll be on it. I will find her.” A slow smile spread across his lips. “And when we return, she will be
my
wife.”

Anger prickled. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you compromise her, Wade.”

“Like you did.”

He put a hand on the door. “A name on a hand-copied manifest means nothing, but I will confirm if Aria was on that ship. Now kindly get the hell off my property.”

He started to close the door but Wade thrust a hand against the edge. “I have known her far longer than you. To assume you know her mind or her heart is laughable.”

“Get your bloody hand off my door.”

“Adam, what is going on?” His mother stood behind him. At the sight of her, Wade lifted his hand.

“Good day to you both.” The triumph he believed he’d earned was clear in his tone, in the lift of his brows and the slight smirk. Adam took small pleasure in slamming the door in his face.

He handed his mother the paper. “A shipping manifest.”

Hypatia dropped her eyes, scanning the page until she stopped at Aria’s name. “She wouldn’t have left without a word, would she? Not like that.”

“I don’t know, Mama.” Wade’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Mrs. Whitney’s words. “I want to say no.” He moved back into the room. “But I need to check.”

“You?” she replied, following him. “Why not send someone else to confirm this, Adam? Does it have to be you?”

“Everyone else is searching, Mama,” he said as he grabbed his coat. “I’m not going to call them back. I don’t believe she’s on that boat, but I can’t afford to ignore the possibility.”

Hypatia sighed. “I understand. Is there someone you can take with you, at least?”

“I will go with you.”

The deep voice yanked Adam’s gaze away. “Ravensdale, why aren’t you with Blythe?”

“She insisted I stay and help search wherever you needed me. She said she was quite capable of asking questions of my friends.” Ravensdale shook his head. “God help them.”

Adam gave a curt nod. “Very well.” He stabbed one arm into a sleeve and slid the rest of his coat on. “Let us be on our way, then.”

Hypatia followed them to the front door and held it open as the chilled air swirled about them. “Be careful.”

“We will, Mama.”

* * *

The stench of the quayside stung Adam’s nose as they strode along the alley, nothing but the muffled sound of their steps mixing with the scurry of rats and occasional moans of ladies of the night with their paying customers. They reached a corner and turned toward the docks. Ships loomed out over the water like shadow monsters from a child’s nightmare.

“Here.” Adam jerked his head toward a shabby building ahead. A dim light flickered inside the window, but otherwise it offered no signs of life or light in this dreary place.

Ravensdale stood next to him. “Who told you this again?”

“Patrick Wade. A former suitor of Aria’s.”

“Why the hell would she be involved with Wade?”

Adam stopped. “Why? What do you know?”

“The man is a gutter rat, though he hides it behind a legitimate business I had very brief dealings with. Takes advantage of the weak, rumored to be part of numerous whore houses and stealing rings. He’s building a business, all right, but on the backs of the barely working and desperate. Again, why is Aria involved with him?”

Every blunt word ratcheted the tension through Adam until he felt he’d snap. “I don’t know, damn it. But we have to find her before he does.”

Finally, someone came to the door, a small, wrinkled man with a smattering of white hair pushing out from his head and a scowl affixed on his long face. “Whadya want?”

Adam thrust the copy of the manifest at him. “I need to see this.”

The man squinted, huffed and turned around. Grabbing a candle, he shuffled inside the dimly lit, sparse room. It held little more than a scuffed, ancient desk and a few scraggly chairs. This place felt filthy, and the idea of Aria here chilled him.

A loud slam startled him, and he looked down at the desk, where the man had dropped a book. “There ye go.”

They strode to the desk, and as Adam bent down to open the book, Ravensdale shifted slightly to cover his back and keep an eye out. Adam quickly found the identical page and...

There it was. Her name.

“Why would she leave now?” He looked at the old man. “Are you the scribe?”

“I write entries in, if that be what ye mean.”

Adam stabbed a finger over Aria’s name. “This woman. Did you write this? Did you see her?”

With a sigh that spoke of all the world’s troubles, the man grabbed up a pair of spectacles and peered over the book, candle in hand. “Aye, I did. A right fine beauty she was, too.”

“Describe her.”

“Ehh, I may be old but I ain’t dead,” the man said with a cackle. “Dark hair, eyes, with a body—” the man’s hands moved as if to cup a pair of large breasts “—that was—”

“Did she say anything?” Adam interrupted.

“I wasn’t listenen’,” the man said with a hoot of laughter.

Adam’s thinned temper snapped, and he grabbed the man’s shirt and yanked him close enough to smell the stale liquor on his rancid breath. “You will speak with respect for the lady, do you hear me?”

His eyes bugged. “She was upset. Yes, yes, I believe that was it. Something about her father being missing. In a hurry. Needed the next available ship out to Calais.”

With every word, Adam’s stomach tightened and his anger threatened to boil his skin off. He slacked his hold on the man and without another word, strode out of the room.

Two seconds later, Ravensdale was beside him.

“It was her. She’s gone.”

She was gone. Damn the woman to hell then. Damn her for not trusting him, not telling him her plan. Did she think she didn’t matter to him?

What if she wasn’t coming back?

Perhaps he didn’t matter enough to her.

Adam recounted the things she’d lied about in the short time he’d known her...all for the same reason, to find her father.

Had she ever planned to marry him or was that also a ruse? She didn’t give a wit about her reputation. She’d never intended to stay in London long enough to need to care about it. She had told him, on the first night they met, that society had nothing she would ever want.

How could he have been stupid enough to forget that?

To think she had altered her opinion? That she had wanted to marry him?

“If I may say something...” Ravensdale spoke slowly, his step matching Adam’s furious pace back to where they could hope to find a hack home.

“Unless you wish a fist in your face, keep your blasted thoughts to yourself.”

“We did discuss rescheduling that last disagreement, so now would be as good a time as any. But before you make assumptions about what Miss Whitney has or has not done based on that flimsy testimony, I suggest you stop and think. You were quick to leap to conclusions that everything I had done or said in regards to your sister was a lie.”

Adam opened his mouth to retort, and Ravensdale jumped in, “There were lies about Thomas, yes. I knew he was alive. But my feelings for her were—and are—real. It was not a simple situation, Merewood. I doubt this is, either. Especially not if Wade is involved.”

“She left. What more information do I need?”

“A lot, you braying ass. If she’s gone-—and that is still an ‘if’ at this point—why did she leave so suddenly? Without a word to anyone? Did she even pack a trunk? Truly, is that like her?”

No.

The thought came unbidden, but Adam couldn’t shake it. No, the woman he knew would not run from anything. Even if she planned on leaving London before they married, she would brace herself on solid ground and battle for what she believed until there was no one left to fight.

His breathing began to slow. “That guttersnipe lied, then. Why?”

Ravensdale snorted. “So you can be reasoned with. Blythe said it was possible, I didn’t bloody well believe her. Damn, now I’ll have to purchase that ridiculously expensive gown she wanted.”

“Keep it up and I
will
toss a fist in your face.”

A grin cracked Ravensdale’s pretty face. “We could always say we met with a couple of thugs. What do you say?”

“It would be worth...” His words drifted as shadows that had loomed behind them began to close in. “Behind you.”

The smile had vanished. “You, too.”

“How many?”

“Three. No, four.”

Adam saw two men emerging from the shadows behind Ravensdale. Five on two. Not great odds. The men stepped into sight and by the sheer ugliness of them, Adam knew these weren’t gentleman.

Without words, Adam and Ravensdale swung around. Gave their backs to each other.

And prepared to fight.