Marry the Man Today (4 page)

"That still may be best, Lord Mayor," Ross said with a nod, having no hand free to shake the man's hand. "As you see, I'm all tied up at the moment."

"Captain, I asked you to call the press," Miss Dun-away said, turning her glare on the startled Robins and stomping her foot. "Or did you expect me to fall for his lordship's little deception."

"His . . . I'm sorry, what?" Robins crumpled his wiry brow as he cleared his throat. "Actually, miss, I've been a bit busy with . . . you know."

"No, I don't know, Captain Robins. You arrested me for disturbing the queen's peace, and all I want in return is to tell my side of the story. In print."

"Yes, well, I—"

"Blakestone, if I might have a word with you. Just for a moment." Lord Mayor Callis had come to Ross's side, casting a wary glance at his prisoner.

"Go ahead." Ross shifted Miss Dunaway slightly to . the side.

"I suppose,
I
. . ." Callis hemmed a bit, tugged at his ear as he studied Miss Dunaway. "Yes, well, ahem . . . another one has . . . gone missing."

"Either you unhand me, Blakestone," Miss Dunaway said with a hiss and a wriggle, "or I'm going to have Captain Robins arrest you right here and now."

Ross did his best to ignore her, only held on more tightly, wondering what the devil the Lord Mayor was whispering about. "Another what, Callis? I've been out of the country for the last six months."

"Another
woman."
Callis frowned more deeply and whispered even louder, "Lady Wallace went missing this morning."

"Lady Wallace? Missing from where?" Though he still didn't understand what the man was talking about.

But Miss Dunaway obviously did. She'd gone completely still in his arms, her shoulders drooping precipitously against him. Her pale green eyes wide and worried when she glanced up at him.

"The lady simply disappeared from Regent Street, Blakestone. In broad daylight. That's why I came here to Scotland Yard. I mean to keep it completely quiet for the time being. I had just broken the news to the captain here."

"And I was just about to ask the Lord Mayor why he wanted me to keep the matter quiet,
"
Robins said. "After all, if the woman is missing, shouldn't as many people know about it as possible?"

"As Lord Mayor, I don't want to panic the population. After all, this is the third woman in four months to turn up missing. And we haven't been able to stop a single one."

"A shame, isn't it?" came the unexpected whisper of sympathy from Miss Dunaway.

But Ross hadn't heard a thing about any of it. "I'm sorry, Callis, I'm completely clueless. I've been on the continent. You'll have to
fill me in."

"Briefly then, all of the victims have been ladies. Every one of them. From wealthy families. Aristocratic titles. Three identical crimes."

"Identical?"

"Down to the time of day."

"And the motives for these abductions?"
 
Ross asked, surprised that his prisoner had relaxed so completely.

"Hard to say, my lord." Callis shook his head. "Very few clues left at the scene; though, as I said, each piece of evidence has been identical to the one before. Nothing to alert the passersby that anything is amiss."

"And then what happens? A demand for money?"

"Nothing, my lord. No ransom note. Nor any contact with the family at all afterward."

"No bodies, neither," Robins added, in a whisper meant to exclude Miss Dunaway, though she was listening intently, "we can thank the good Lord."

Three women vanished completely? Three identically orchestrated crimes?

And not a single body?

"Interesting, Lord Mayor." Ross eased his hold on Miss Dunaway's shoulder, trusting that she wouldn't turn and bolt back to her cell. "But how can I help you? I've been away, as I told you."

Callis glanced down again at the becalmed woman. "If I could send over what we've got so far on the Wallace case. It's not muc
h
—"

"I'll be at a dinner tonight until well after midnight, but, sure. Have your officer leave it at the club with Pembridge. I'll take it from there."

"Excellent, my lord. Thank you." Callis breathed a huge sigh. "Three women in four months! Bloody hell, it's a crime wave! And it's liable to set the whole city into a fright, right in the middle of the social season, if we don't solve the crimes and put a stop to the criminal."

"The press won't get wind of this from Scotland Yard," the captain said, "I can promise you that."

"And you, Miss Dunaway?" Ross bent down to the sobered young woman, freeing her hands of his stock, but holding fast to her wrists and peering into her eyes. "Not a word from you either."

"I promise, Blakestone," she said, her gaze glittering brightly with something he couldn't read. "Cross my heart. Not a single word, to anyone. May I go home now?"

Home?
Now that was a sudden change of direction.

"I thought you didn't have a home." A bosom, she had said. But the woman definitely had a bosom. Shapely and soft-edged, he'd noticed that in particular. "Or have you tired of prison life, madam?"

She shrugged and nodded slightly. "Just putting everything into perspective, sir. Hearing about those poor women. Makes one think, doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

"A paddy wagon, Miss Dunaway?" the captain said, eyeing the woman, his hands on his hips, his earlier hes-itance having vanished. "Or can I trust you in a hack?"

"Thank you, I'll walk, Captain. I promise to go straight to m
y
—"

"No. I'll see you home, Miss Dunaway." Ross heard the words escaping his mouth before he could pull them back. Before he had noticed his heart slamming around inside his chest.

Before he realized that he just needed to know where she called home. Because he couldn't quite let go of all that fiery courage. Not yet.

She lifted her eyes to his, searching his face, obviously assessing his motives. "If you promise not to bind my hands and drag me to my door."

Ross glanced at Callis and Robins, who were watching the exchange as though expecting a bout of fisticuffs to break out between them.

"A truce then, madam."

Her smile filled her eyes with a kind of peace. Then she turned and reached out her hand to the captain as though she'd just spent the afternoon in his mother's parlor. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain Robins. I'll recommend Scotland Yard to all my friends."

Robins's mouth hung open as he shook hands with the woman, before he finally managed to babble out, "You're very welcome, Miss Dunaway."

She turned then to the Lord Mayor. "And the best of luck in your search for the three missing women, my lord. It seems you're going to need it."

Then the remarkable woman flounced out the front door of Scotland Yard as though she had just won the day.

"This way, madam." Ross caught up her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and started back toward the Admiralty livery, where he would borrow a carriage and safely return the extraordinary Miss Dunaway to her home.

A full circle completed.

Crossing Whitehall hadn't turned out so badly after all.

Chapter 4

I long to hear that you have declared independency. And, I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors.

Abigail Adams, to her husband John

March 31,
1
776

“You
live at the Abigail Adams, Miss Dunaway?"

Elizabeth delighted in the rumble of surprise lurking in Blakestone's voice. And in the scandal that flared deeply in his dark eyes as he handed her down from the coach.

"So you've heard of the Adams, my lord?"

"Madam, every man in town seems to be talking about the bloody place."

"Because every man in town is terrified of a few women gathering together, unchaperoned by their men folk." There was something wickedly sensual about pausing here with him on the very public circu
l
ar drive up in the courtyard of her deliciously controversial club.

Even more so because he held her hand too long, too possessively, his eyes smoky and unreadable as his gaze traveled over her brow and across her cheeks.

"Indeed, Miss Dunaway, you ladies leave us men folk quaking in our boots."

"Don't mock us, my lord. It only proves my point."

"I'm merely confessing a timeless truth. Whether you admit it or not, you ladies have us gentlemen completely at your mercy. Always have and doubtless you always will."

The clever blackguard! So like a man. Wielding his platitudes with such backhanded grace!

"Very open-minded, Blakestone. But still you object to the mere presence of the Abigail Adams."

"I have no opinion at all, Miss Dunaway." As though to prove his disinterest, he gave the practical sandstone edifice a browsing glance, then swept that same glance back across her face. "It's just that I should have realized that you would be a member of London's first ladies' club."

"I'm not just a member of the Abigail Adams, my lord. I'm the owner."

One of his brows lifted slightly and then he smiled like a tiger. "So not only are you a radical suffragette, but a notorious hosteler as well."

Notorious? H
m
m
m
... the notorious Miss Dunaway!

How
 
wonderful!
  
She
 
wanted
 
to
 
giggle
 
at
 
the thought, but bottled it up inside her belly and struck a dignified pose, tilting her chin at the man.

"I prefer the term
s
uff
r
a
gist,
if you please."

"What's a suffragist?" His brow dropped skeptically low, as though he believed she would concoct a new word just to confound him.

"A suffragist is any disenfranchised citizen who demands the vote. By adding the French suffix 'ette' to suffrage, one renders an otherwise creditable position feminine."

"And is a feminine position so objectionable?"

"It is when everything feminine is dismissed out of hand."

Another flick of a smile, again setting off her heart at a full gallop. "Meaning that you don't want to be associated with anything feminine?"

"That's right." Though it suddenly didn't sound at all like what she'd wanted to say.

"What a great loss to the world, then." He shook his head slowly, with high drama, clicking his tongue on his teeth. "Attempting to obliterate anything female about yourself."

"That's not at all what I mean." She wasn't sure what she meant at the moment, not with his full attention beaming down on her. Clothed in his crisp linen and glinting gold buttons.

"Then what?" He leaned down from his tremendous height, shading her face from the fading sunlight. "Because, like it or not, Miss Dunaway, I find you quite feminine."

"Me?"

"Quite."

Oh, my!

"Well ... I, uh ... I can't help that, can I?" Try as she might to remain unaffected by all that overwhelming maleness, she couldn't keep her heart from thrumming madly against her ears, making it difficult to hear him clearly, causing her to tip her head even closer to catch his every word.

Every single word, because she wanted to feel each of them brushing against her ear.

"I wouldn't want you to, madam."

Wouldn't want her to what? To feel his words against her ear? Steamy as they were. Close as they wer
e
—

Dear God, had she babbled her fantasies out loud? "You don't want me to what, Blakestone?"

"To be anything but feminine in everything you do."

Those words were even steamier, closer. And yet their meaning was just now piercing her fogbound brain. The lout had lured her.

No, she had allowed herself be lured, seduced by his voice. His exotic scent. His broad, shadow-casting shoulders. Served her right for succumbing to .. . to . . . whatever he'd done to her.

Said to her.

"Why feminine, Blakestone? To keep me in my place, I suppose?"

"To keep us honest, my dear." His eyes darkened to coal as he lowered his voice.

"To keep who honest?" she asked in a whisper.

"The male of the species."

The male.
She didn't know what to think beyond that single thought.
The male.
Except she was quite sure that nothing in the world would keep this particular male honest if he had a mind not to be.

After all, he'd been playing her like a violin since the moment she'd f
i
rst set eyes on him.

Though just now his gaze seemed honest in th
e
extreme, able to set her cheeks afire, probing deeply enough to steal her breath away.

Though for all the world, the man had just sounded as though he supported her cause. Not that she could trust anything about him.

The sly, circling wolf.

"Though I'm grateful for your patronage, Blake-stone, I was not put on this earth to be the feminine antidote to your manhood."

His eyebrows shot up, one cocked higher than the other. Then a slanting smile filled his eyes with a devilment that made her cast backward for what she had said that would have made him react t
o
—

His manhood! An
antidote!
Oh, heavens, he couldn't possibly have thought she mean
t
—

"Believe me, Miss Dunaway, you are not and never could be the antidote to my manhood."

Dear Lord! A fiery blush had banked itself just beneath her bodice for the last few minutes and now it roared to life, heating her chest and her neck, rising right up to her cheeks and brows.

"Yes, well, thank you for delivering me safely, my lord. Good day." Before her blush could unmask her completely, she clamped her hand against her bosom, turned abruptly toward the sanctuary of the Adams and headed for the front door.

The blackguard had riddled her into a complete dither. Blast it all! She wasn't the dithering type.

No matter. London was a big town. With any luck she'd never see him again.

Except that she could hear the blighter following her like a stalking shadow, his stride long and as possessive as his handshake.

At least she'd had the chance to tame her confusion and regain her tattered dignity as she started up the wide granite steps toward the elegant front door, which, under the keen-edged footman's timing of Mr. Ronald Hawkins, opened wide as she approached.

"Ah, good evening, Miss Dunawa
y
," Hawkins said, with a graceful nod of his blond head. "Welcome back to the Adams."

The young man was learning well. Though his black coat seemed to have shrunk across his shoulders in the last few months.

"Thank you, Hawkins." Feeling her old self again, in charge and at ease, Elizabeth took a quick breath, then turned to face the persistent earl, in all his flagrant manhood, full on. "As for you, my lord. Do give my best to your colleagues at the
Times.
"

Blakestone stood there for a long moment, ta
l
l and broad-shouldered, looking at her and then past her, past Hawkins, so obviously trying to catch a glimpse of the feminine mysteries lurking inside the shadowy ladies' club.

Let him wonder!

Let him outright suspect!

Let hi
m
—
o
h, dear! He'd taken hold of her hand again, swamping it in his heat.

"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Dunaway." He lifted her hand to his lips. And stunned her with the exquisite heat of his large fingers. "But do take care on your adventures."

"My adventures?"

He frowned deeply at her, then glanced briefly over his shoulder at the street. "There seems to be great danger out there. I wouldn't want to hear that you've become a victim of whatever fiend is prowling the streets of London."

"I assure you, my lord, I'll be entirely safe."

Perhaps she'd said that with a little too much confidence, because the man only frowned more deeply and took her chin firmly between his thumb and finger. "Don't take any foolish chances with your misadven-turing, Miss Dunaway. I might not be around to rescue you the next time."

"You didn't rescue me, Blakestone!" She laughed, though she ought to have shinned him. "Not even close."

And still he frowned as he straightened, speaking distinctly between his amazingly white teeth. "Do you understand me, Miss Dunaway? The danger?"

/
understand far more than you might ever imagine, Blakestone.

"Of course I understand the danger. I'm not a fool. Three women of good breeding vanish into thin air in the course of a few months, never to be seen again . . . a cautionary tale if ever there was one." But hardly a danger to her. Not like the danger posed by the man whose
m
inty breath was breaking against her mouth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lor
d
—"

"Oh, look, there she is!" came a trilling voice from inside the Adams, and then a half-dozen club members poured out onto the porch, surrounding her with their questions, shoving the charmingly irritated Blake-stone to the edge of the throbbing circle.

"Gracious! Did you break out of prison with your bare hands, Elizabeth?"

"I'll bet that captain grilled you good and hard, didn't he?"

"Will we be in the morning
Times?"

"Let's go inside, ladies." Elizabeth found Blake-stone's gaze locked hard on hers as she tried to herd the women through the front door into the foyer. "I'll tell you everything. I promise."

Everything but the way the earl's touch had dizzied her, had sent her pulse spinning out of control.

She had only turned away from him for a moment, but when she glanced back to bid him farewell, he was gone.

And the carriage too, leaving her with the oddest feeling that she would be seeing him again soon.

Even more odd, because that would be just fine with her.

******************

"I can assure you, Prince Rupert, the prime minister does see Austria's point," Ross said, tamping down his irritation with the deputy ambassador as he accepted a brandy from one of the embassy's obsequious waiters. Doubtless also Rupert's operative as well.

"Austria's point, Blakestone," Rupert said with a snort, a quick show of that hair-triggered, half-witted Hapsburg temper, "is that Austria has no choice, not with Russia sitting on her flanks."

"And Lord Aberdeen greatly appreciates Austria's efforts toward fashioning a truce between Russia and the opposition. Howeve
r
—"

"Ah-ha! Just as I suspected!" Rupert glared as he waggled his sticklike finger at Ross. "I told the emperor there would follow a 'however' from the prime minister. What is this 'however,
'
my lord Blakestone? Sit. Sit, and tell me."

Rupert might only be a deputy diplomat with little authority, but he was a typical spoiled princeling through and through. Commanding the embassy's parlor conversation as surely as he had the dinner conversation.

"As I was about to explain, Prince Rupert, Her Majesty's prime minster seeks only to have all of the parties in the dispute fully represented at any negotiation table."

"Surely that goes without saying, sir?"

Ross had learned the hard way that nothing in international politics should ever go without saying. Without drafting in indelible ink. The devil dwelled in the details.

And Tsar Nicholas was the worst kind of devil when it came to hedging his bets.

"What of the sultan of Turkey?" Ross asked, leaning forward in the wing-backed chair. "Has he been told of this peace conference to be convened in Vienna at the end of the month?"

The prince sputtered for a moment, then nodded. "But of course."