Conspiring with a Rogue (39 page)

“
Estranged friend, it would seem,” Drake growled. Why had Whitney come here alone and not waited for him to retrieve her in the morning? Why endanger herself when they could have come together, unless—he stood, unease racing up his spine. The only reason could be that Whitney intended to find Lillian alone. Was this more of her absurd notion about being a burden to people? Cold fear swept over him and made him shudder. “What did you tell Mr. Wentworth?”

Madam Brouchard threw the bag of coins toward Drake. “Consider the information my gift.” She smiled. “I like you, and if your friend is doing you a wrong, I’ll not profit from it.”

“
Thank you,” he said. “The information?”

“
The girl, Lillian, was taken today to Madam Goodchild’s brothel.”

“
That’s all you know?” he asked, eager to leave.

“
I’m afraid so. I wish I could be of more help.”

“
You’ve helped tremendously.” He started toward the door but stopped midway and turned back to Madam Brouchard to toss the bag of coins on the desk. “Keep it.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Why?”

“
I’ve been poor, and it’s a hell of a way to have to live.”

She sniffed and dashed a hand across her face before turning away and waving at him. “Go. I need to return to business.”

Understanding she did not want to break down in front of him, he strode out of the room. If he knew anything about people, it was the need to keep their pride. He stalked through the milling crowd, almost bowling several people over in his haste to leave, and bounded out the door, down the steps and onto the seat of his carriage.

Danny sat up, bleary-eyed.
Poor kid
. Drake had not intended to drag Danny with him from brothel to brothel into the wee hours of the night, but the lad had insisted he could be of use and he did have a point. Things had gone slowly, but they would have been slower if Drake had been forced to deal with his horses and carriage himself at every house of ill repute.

Danny rubbed his eyes as he looked at Drake. “Where to, Mr. Sutherland?”

“
I told you to call me Drake.” He stared off into the black night. Or was it early morning? He pulled out his watch fob and whistled. Half past midnight. Even if Whitney had gone to Madam Goodchild’s and found and rescued Lillian, they should be back at Whitney’s town house by now. Unless something untoward had happened.

He gripped the reins as he clicked his tongue to get the horses moving. He refused to entertain the possibility. Whitney had proven her capability in taking care of herself. She would be at home, safe and sound.

She had to be.

And if she wasn’t, he would race to Madam Goodchild’s and rescue her. Then, he would take her to his bed and discover what secret had driven her away, even if he had to seduce her senseless to do it. The prospect brought a smile to his face.

One hour later, Drake frowned savagely at Madam Goodchild. “Tell me again. Slowly,” he demanded.

The fine-boned woman jerked at his command but nodded, her black curls bouncing as she did.

“
Sutherland,” Rutherford said beside him, “why do you need to hear it again?”

Drake put his palms against the cool wood of the desk so he wouldn’t hit Whitney’s cousin. “Because I do,” he said flatly, staring at the swirling pattern of dark grain instead of Rutherford’s questioning gaze. Why had he permitted Rutherford to come with him to Madam Goodchild’s? Whitney’s cousin was grating on his nerves. The man could not be expected to understand how Drake could not hear anything beyond the fact that Whitney had fled into the mouth of danger.

His Whitney.

His life.

His heart had beat so loudly after that revelation that the annoying
thump, thump, thump
of the damned thing drowned all Madam Goodchild’s words out. “Again,” he barked.

Madam Goodchild spoke quickly. As she did, Drake raised his head and stared at her lips, willing himself to commit every word she formed into memory. When she finished, she glanced at the clock on her desk. He looked too, his ears ringing as he focused on the time.

Loving Whitney was going to be the death of him. Numbness had consumed him since he arrived at her townhome only to discover she had never returned.

Rutherford put a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Satisfied?”

“
Not until I have Whitney in my arms safe and sound.” He turned to Rutherford. “I need your help.” Drake didn’t give a damn that he was asking for help. Nor did he care that Madam Goodchild was witnessing him beg. He would do anything, say anything, be anyone to save Whitney.

Rutherford gaped at him.

“
Do I need to beg?” he asked quietly. “Shall I get on my knees?”

“
Your knees won’t be necessary,” Rutherford said. “Of course, I’ll help you. We’re off to the
Adelaine
, I presume?”

“
As fast as we can damn well get there.” Drake wiped at the perspiration on his forehead and headed for the door without looking back. Behind him, Rutherford bade their thanks to Madam Goodchild, and then fell into step with Drake.

“
Are you prepared?” Rutherford asked.

“
Always.” Drake prayed for Whitney’s sake his words were true.

“
Let me make sure I have this straight,” Lillian said, addressing Whitney with an incredulous look. “My father employed you to find me, and you then disguised yourself as a demirep and went into the Sainted Order?”

“
That about sums it up.” Whitney tugged at the ropes that bound each of her wrists to the spindled legs of the dresser that was unfortunately nailed firmly to the floor.

“
I already tried that.” Lillian’s voice trembled. “I can’t believe the stupid decisions you have made.”

“
Me? I only had to come find you because you left your home and met a man at a
sex
club.” She shook her head in reproof.

“
I thought he loved me,” Lillian said in such a sad voice that Whitney immediately regretted her harsh words. Whitney forced herself to smile as she met Lillian’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry. That was cruel and I of all people have no place to talk about the strange things done for love. I’m afraid my rescue has not gone according to plan,” she said, attempting to joke with Lillian. Her friend looked ready to faint.

Tears started to trickle down Lillian’s face. She brought her knees to her cheeks and rubbed her face against her skirts.

So much for adding a touch of lightness to Lillian’s mood. Whitney’s own mood was fast approaching hopelessness. She stared at the blood trickling down her wrists, belatedly wishing she had realized all the furniture was nailed down before she had expended so much energy trying to move the blasted dresser.

Lillian’s soft sobs made Whitney want to cry too, but someone had to stay strong. “Lil, it’s going to be all right.”

Lillian glowered at her. “Is it? I’ve been kidnapped, held hostage in not one—but two― brothels, then drugged and thrown on a ship to be sold like a piece of worthless baggage into the slave trade, all because Lord Cadogan wants some sort of twisted revenge against my father. And it’s all my fault because I liked him and I thought he liked me. And now you—
my rescuer
—are tied up right here with me. How is it going to be all right?”

Whitney started to conjure some tale to spew but promptly shut her mouth on the thought. She refused to blatantly lie. It probably was not going to be all right. For all she knew, she was going to die here. Most likely very soon.

A chill, caused by fear more than the dampness of her clothes, covered her. Ridiculous people and their misplaced revenge. Who knew the world was so full of loons who could destroy her life? First Mrs. Blightson and now Lord Cadogan.

She was scared senseless. She didn’t think she had ever been more afraid. Then she thought of Drake and her fear compounded. If Lord Cadogan murdered her, Drake could get himself killed trying to avenge her. She pulled at her wrists to no avail. “We have to get out of here somehow and warn your father and Drake just how dangerous Lord Cadogan really is.”

Lillian’s eyes popped wide and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t believe I didn’t consider…”

“
Consider what?”

“
If you’re here, Mr. Sutherland cannot be far behind, and I’ve no doubt
he’ll
save us both.”

“
You’re wrong,” Whitney said tonelessly. “He has no idea where I am. I left without so much as a note.”

“
Again?” Lillian hiccupped. “I really wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

“
Me too.”

Lillian leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. “If you live, will you tell Drake of Mrs. Blightson’s threats?”

“
How can I? I can’t burden him that way.”

Lillian glared across the room. “You’re already a burden with your lies and secrets. Let
him
decide. Give him the choice.”

Lillian’s words swirled provocatively in Whitney’s head. She wanted to believe what her friend said. If she told Drake everything, would he finally accept some help?

“
It doesn’t matter,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s not coming, and even if he was, he would never make it in time.”

As if on a magical cue of doom, bells chimed throughout the ship, signaling its impending departure. Tears welled in Whitney’s eyes. She would never see Drake again. Her throat constricted at the thought, and panic rose up in her chest. She jerked at her wrists. “Damnation!”

Her skin burned, the ship groaned and warm blood trickled from the fresh cuts of the rope digging further into her skin. She could not live without him. Now, faced with the certainty of losing him forever, she knew it. How could she have been so stupid to think she could go on without him? He had to take her help, so they could have a happily ever after.

The door handle rattled as angry voices exploded outside the door. Immediately she recognized Drake’s voice. “Drake!”

“
Whitney?”

His voice washed over her like a soothing wave. Then something slammed against the door, making it clatter in the hinges. The thump came again and again. “Damn solid English door,” Drake cursed. “Get down,” he yelled.

“
We’re already on the floor.” She laughed with relief and caught Lillian’s beaming gaze.

The blast of a shot rang through the cabin, the acrid smell of smoke filling the room. Drake barreled through the door, brown eyes blazing, face twisted with fear and rage.

“
Drake,” she cried, rearing up to stand, forgetting her ropes, and then yelping at the biting sting.

“
Whitney, thank God.” He started toward her, relief washing over his face, smoothing away the lines.

“
And Lillian,” Lillian added with a hiccup.

Drake’s head jerked to the right and his gaze went to Lillian. “Lady Lillian, thank God you’re here too.”

Whitney’s heart raced in her chest. She loved him. She loved him, and she wouldn’t waste another minute worrying her love would hurt him. “I love you!” she cried, though he wasn’t even looking at her.

Drake whipped around to face her, a grin on his face, but as he started to say something, another shot rang out, and he careened forward to the floor, hitting his head on the desk chair as he went down. Whitney stared, mute with horror. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, and a dark stain of red seeped slowly through his snowy white shirt near his shoulder.