Ransomed Jewels (13 page)

“I don’t have a choice. I have to find the necklace. Roseneau’s going to kill Alex if I don’t.”

“We’ll find him first.”

Sam kept her in his arms, moving one hand over her back while running the fingers of his other hand through her thick, golden hair. He cradled her head in his palm and nestled her close.

She snaked her arms around his waist. Not out of instinct, or maybe it was, but more than likely it was because she didn’t know where else to place them. She pressed her palms flat against his back and leaned closer. It was as if she needed him to hold her as much as he wanted to have her in his arms. “Tell me about your marriage to Hunt?”

She shook her head. Her body stiffened against him. The subject of her marriage to Hunt was obviously off-limits.

He rubbed his hand over her again until she relaxed in his arms. He’d never felt such consuming fire when he’d been with any other woman, and he’d had more than his share in his nearly thirty years of bachelorhood. But none of them affected him like she did.

He tried to ignore the fiery heat that spread through his body. Told himself in a dozen different ways that he shouldn’t hold her like this, that he shouldn’t think the thoughts he did when she was near. But none of his warnings mattered. None of the rules he’d set down for himself seemed to have any substance when she was in his arms. He knew she felt it, too.

She kept her body pressed against him, her thighs touching his, her torso next to his, her breasts moving against his chest with each labored breath she took. It was magical, the heat that spread from her body to his, from his body to hers. He needed to have her, to taste her. To feel her melt in his embrace.

Sam held her tight with one hand and moved the other over her shoulder and down her arm. Her waist was narrow and he spanned it easily, then worked his hands up her torso until his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts. He wanted to touch them, to feel their heavy weight in the palm of his hand.

She took a deep breath, as if she realized the danger they were in. Her arms dropped from around his waist and skimmed up his chest, palms flat, fingers splayed. And she pushed against him, gently at first, then with more force.

“Don’t. Please. We can’t—”

Sam halted her words by placing his finger over her lips. Her face was tilted upward, her eyes wide, filled with wonder, her lips slightly open as if searching for an objection that would fight her desire. And Sam couldn’t wait any longer. He lowered his head and caught her sigh in a kiss.

Chapter 17

He was going to kiss her.

Claire started to push him away, then stopped. She was unprepared for the pleasure of his kiss. She had never felt such pull, such warmth spread through her body. It reached every part of her. Waves of desire swirled low in her stomach. Her need to be touched and held grew in intensity.

She knew she shouldn’t let him do this. Shouldn’t allow him to touch her, hold her, kiss her. But Heaven help her, what he did to her was nothing short of earth-shattering.

She felt so safe in his arms, so alive and wanted when his hands touched her, when his fingers moved over her. It was almost as if she could begin again, as if he were showing her what it could be like with someone who desired her. As if this time . . .

He deepened his kiss. Hot, fiery spirals swirled deep in her belly. Her mind rushed in confusion.

She tried to match Sam’s efforts, amazed that she’d never known a man’s kiss could have this effect.

She’d never dreamed a man’s touch could be so consuming. Hunt’s kisses had been quick, cold, unfeeling. His lips pressed to her forehead. Or her cheek. But never to her lips.

Memories of Hunt’s avoidance of intimacy struck her full force, filling her with a desperation to experience what she’d lived without every day of her marriage.

Sam’s mouth moved over hers, tasting her lips, drinking from her. Her legs weakened beneath her; her whole body tingled with a sensation she didn’t understand. Her stomach churned as if she’d been thrown into a raging whirlpool.

With shocking clarity, she realized she wanted this. She desired this. She didn’t want to live another minute without knowing what it felt like to be held and kissed by someone who cared for her.

Time ceased to exist. Everything ceased except Sam’s lips moving over hers, his hands holding her, and his body pressed against her. With a desperation she didn’t understand, she moved her hands over him, feeling the corded muscles across his shoulders and down his arms. It was as if she couldn’t touch enough of him, as if she suddenly realized how empty and lacking her marriage had been. She was being given a glimpse of the wonders Sam’s kisses promised, and she was desperate to experience more.

He kissed her again, drinking deeply, then broke their kiss and lifted his mouth from hers. She didn’t want him to, and she pulled him closer.

“Sam?”

“Someone’s coming,” he said without releasing his hold.

His breathing was heavy and labored, and hers was no different. She listened to the commotion at the front door and struggled to regain her composure before they were found out.

She stepped out of Sam’s arms as Barnaby threw open the door.

“Claire? Are you all right?”

Barnaby crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. He held her at arm’s length and looked at her as if he feared the worst.

“It’s not me, Barn. It’s Alex. Roseneau sent me one of the handkerchiefs I embroidered for him last Christmas. It’s all bloody.” Claire clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Barn. They’ve hurt him.”

“Sh,” Barnaby said, pulling her close. “It’ll be all right.”

Major Bennett stepped toward them. “I’m glad Honeywell found you.”

“He was just leaving Roseneau’s home,” Lieutenant Honeywell volunteered. “From the back.”

The major’s brows arched, which only emphasized the frown on his forehead. “What were you doing at Roseneau’s house?”

“Paying a visit.”

“I hardly think so. Roseneau isn’t home.”

The major waited and finally Barnaby answered, “A perfect time, then.”

“Perfect for what?”

“To look for anything that might tell us where Roseneau has Alex.”

The major’s body stiffened as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He finally spoke. “Did you find anything?”

Barnaby reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He handed it to Sam.

“What is it?” Claire asked, her heart pounding faster. She moved to the desk where the major had taken the paper and was reading it beneath a lamp. She stepped closer and looked over his shoulder.

“It’s a sheet from Roseneau’s ledger. There’s an entry to a Clyde Biggins, made just before Alex was kidnapped. It’s for rent on a warehouse in Southwark.”

Claire looked up at Barnaby. “Is that where you think they’ve got him?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a place to start.”

The major folded the paper and put it in a drawer in Hunt’s desk. Next, he opened a side drawer and took out a gun. He checked to make sure it was loaded, then put it in his pocket. He closed the drawer, then turned to Barnaby. “Stay here with your sister. Lieutenant Honeywell and I will see what’s there.”

Claire saw Barnaby’s shoulders tense, saw his eyes turn black with fury.

“You, Major, can go to hell. It’s
my
brother who is possibly in that warehouse and
I’m
going to get him out. If you insist on coming with me, that’s your choice, but I’ll not stay behind like some pampered dandy.”

“Your sister needs—”

“Then
you
stay with her. You’ve spent little time elsewhere the last two weeks.”

“Stop it! Both of you.” Claire wanted to shake them. “No one needs to stay with me. But someone needs to get Alex. He’s hurt. He might even be—”

Claire stopped. She couldn’t say the words. Couldn’t even allow herself to think the thought.

“Honeywell,” the major ordered. “Stay here and guard the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watkins, have someone bring the carriage round back. We might need it to bring Lord Halverston back. And tell them to hurry. It will be dawn in a couple of hours. We’ve got to be in and out of that warehouse before it’s light.”

“Yes, Major,” Watkins said and ran from the room.

Claire watched as the major opened another drawer and took out a knife and another gun. Neither of these was Hunt’s. The major must have put them there when he moved in.

When he was ready, he turned to Barnaby. “Do you have a gun?”

Claire saw her brother smile, then pat the inside of his jacket. The major nodded, then walked to the door. “Do you know how to use it?” he said when he passed Barnaby.

“Sometimes I get lucky, Major, and hit what I’m aiming at.”

The major ignored Barnaby’s sarcasm and walked across the room. Her fear must have shown because Barnaby placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry, Claire. Nothing will happen to either of us.”

“Or Alex. I want all of you to come back safely. I’m not sure I could go on if anything happened to any of you.”

She didn’t want to look at the major when she said that, but she did. It was as if her gaze was drawn to his.

In answer to her words, his eyes slowly moved to her lips. His message was clear. He knew their kiss had meant something to her.

He gave her a final look, then issued her butler an order on his way out. “Watkins. Have a room ready in case the marquess needs one.”

“Of course, sir. We’ll have everything he needs.”

And the major was gone.

Barnaby gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before he followed the major from the room. The carriage was waiting at the back, and Barnaby opened the door and climbed inside while the major climbed atop and took the reins.

Claire watched until they were out of sight.

“You’d best go inside, my lady,” Honeywell suggested as he scanned the street.

She slowly went back into the house. She told Watkins to have plenty of hot water and bandages ready, and to wake Maude in a little while and tell her they might have need of her.

Lieutenant Honeywell stood guard at the door while Claire walked back into the room that had been Hunt’s study and continued her search for the necklace.

Chapter 18

Sam stopped the carriage close to the warehouse and jumped to the ground. Barnaby was already waiting for him.

“How do you want to handle this, Major?”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, happy he didn’t have to argue with Barnaby Linscott. He’d been afraid Claire’s brother would insist on taking control.

Sam looked at the old wooden structure in one of the seedier parts of London. It was a single-story building that looked like it was about to collapse in on itself.

A large double door took up most of the front, with high windows on either side. The windows might have allowed sunlight to penetrate the interior of the building had they not been so caked with dirt and grime. A narrow alley separated the building from a neighboring building, which didn’t appear to be in any better condition.

This wasn’t a building Sam thought many people might even notice unless they had a specific reason to search it out. A perfect spot for Roseneau to hide the Marquess of Halverston.

“There are probably two entrances. I’ll take the back and you watch the front. If your brother’s here, he’s more than likely in the back.”

“Maybe we should stay together, then.”

“No. I don’t know how many guards there are.”

Sam pulled his pistol from inside his jacket and checked it. Then he reached for his knife. “We can’t let anyone escape to tell Roseneau his prisoner is gone. With any luck, he won’t find out for a few days.”

“And by then, the Russian representatives will have arrived?”

Sam’s gaze darted to Barnaby. “How do you know about that?”

Barnaby shrugged. “It’s a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Or knowing the right people. For instance, who would ever have guessed the esteemed Marquess of Huntingdon was a spy? Or that the two of you worked so closely together?”

Sam studied Lord Barnaby and fought the niggling questions that consumed him. “Yes. Who?”

Claire’s brother was a mystery. And Sam hated mysteries to which he didn’t know the answers. He gave Barnaby another look, then took off his jacket and threw it in the carriage. Removing one’s jacket was a trick Hunt had taught him. It made moving in a fight much easier.

Sam slipped his knife and gun into the waistband of his pants where they would be in easy reach. When he finished, he turned to discover Claire’s brother had done the same.

Another coincidence Sam found unsettling.

“Give me about five minutes to get inside, then be ready. Don’t let anyone get past you.”

“Yes, Major,” Barnaby said. “Good luck.”

Sam took one step and stopped. “You know, there’s a good chance they’ve already moved him.”

Barnaby nodded. “I know. I would have if I were Roseneau. He can’t chance us finding Alex until he has the necklace.”

Sam felt the weight of Barnaby’s words. As much as he wanted this to be over, he knew the odds weren’t in their favor. He gave Barnaby a final nod, then checked the gun at his waist and walked away.

He stayed in the shadows as long as he could, then crossed the street. They still had an hour or so until they no longer had the advantage of darkness. That would be more than enough time. Unless something went wrong.

When he reached the warehouse, he stepped around the corner of the facade. A long cluttered alley stretched the length of the building and Sam hugged the rough wood until he came to a back exit. Two dirty four-paned windows were high off the ground on either side of the door. Sam moved a barrel beneath one so he could look inside.

A faint light burned from a lantern inside about halfway down the length of the cavernous room. Two men rushed about, gathering their belongings and stuffing supplies into a burlap bag. It was obvious they were preparing to leave.

A makeshift bed lay in the corner of the room, but in the darkness, Sam couldn’t make out whether or not anyone lay beneath the heap of blankets. A gnawing lump in the pit of his stomach told him that even if the Marquess of Halverston were there, he may already be dead.

The fact that the men were cleaning up to erase any evidence that they’d been there could indicate that they were preparing to move the marquess—or his body. If so, he’d arrived just in time.

Sam tried the window, praying it wasn’t locked. It was. He moved the barrel to the other window and pushed. The window moved—not far, but enough to indicate it wasn’t locked. Sam pushed harder. It opened just far enough that he could squeeze through.

He looked below him to the spot inside the building where he’d land. Boards and boxes and a pile of debris Sam couldn’t distinguish in the dark cluttered the floor. He pulled his gun from his waistband. The element of surprise would be gone the minute he vaulted through the window. There was no way he could fall without being heard.

Sam pushed up the window a little farther to keep assessing the situation. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he had surprise on his side.

He hefted his body to the sill of the open window. With his gun in his hand, he leaped through the opening. He landed hard on the floor and immediately rolled to the side.

The man closest to where he landed spun around and fired. Sam heard the bullet whiz past his head. He dodged in the opposite direction as another shot echoed in the long, empty building.

He had hoped to startle them enough to get closer, but he wasn’t so lucky. An uneasy feeling shot through him as the second man spun toward him with a gun in his hand and fired.

Sam felt a burning pain in his upper arm and dove to the ground. The first man lunged forward and Sam rolled to the side as the long blade of the man’s knife swiped downward.

Sam leaped to his feet and rammed a fist into the first man’s face, then went after the second gunman. But that man was ready for him, and Sam had to back up a step when he circled him with the expertise of a back-alley fighter.

An empty box prevented Sam from moving freely and he paused to kick it out of his way, then pulled his knife from his waist and brought it in front of him. The man stepped back, as if evaluating Sam’s skill. Sam saw a wariness in his gaze that bordered on respect; then a broad, malevolent smile showed a toothless mouth when the man noticed the blood darkening the sleeve of Sam’s shirt. He growled loud enough for Sam to hear, then moved to attack Sam’s injured side.

Sam avoided one onslaught after another, knowing he had to choose the perfect time to strike. And it had to be soon. He’d lost too much blood already and couldn’t waste the little energy he had left.

Sam spun to the side and slashed his knife downward. This time he hit muscle and flesh. The man moaned and lunged forward, knocking the knife from Sam’s hand. Before Sam could reach for it, the man grabbed him from behind and pulled Sam’s arms back. His knees buckled beneath him as spikes of red-hot pain shot through him.

Sam took a deep breath, then jerked free and threw his elbow back, catching the man in the gut. The man doubled over in pain. Sam spun around, knowing this was his only chance to take him down. He brought his fist up beneath the man’s chin and punched him with all his strength. The man fell to the floor, his head cocked at an unnatural angle.

Sam spun around to fight the other man but before he could attack, the man caught Sam across the shoulder. A searing pain sucked the air from his chest and he fought to stay on his feet.

Sam sagged to the side, then dove for the closest weapon. He knew he probably wouldn’t make it in time, but he refused to give in without a fight. He reached, grabbed the knife, and spun around. Then stopped short. The man stood in front of him with a pistol aimed at the middle of his chest.

“You’re a dead man,” the man whispered, and then squeezed the trigger.

Sam dove to the side as a shot echoed in the empty warehouse. But he felt no pain. Instead, the man in front of him stared in wide-eyed amazement, then sank to the floor.

A small black circle of blood on the man’s back grew larger, and his open eyes stared in sightless death.

Sam lifted his gaze to focus through the murky darkness to the place where Barnaby stood with a pistol in his hand.

“Are you all right?” Barnaby took a step toward him and looked at his arm.

“I’m fine,” Sam answered, trying to ignore the burning pain that ran down his back. “But we need to get out of here.”

Time was of the essence now. Three gunshots wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

He cast a glance to the pile of blankets in the corner of the warehouse. “See if your brother’s here.”

Barnaby gave him little more than a cursory nod, then raced past him. Sam followed, keeping his arm as immobile as he could. He watched Barnaby hunker down and pull back the covers. Sam didn’t need to look to see that the makeshift pallet was empty—Barnaby’s vile oath confirmed it.

“We’re too late. He’s gone.” Barnaby bolted to his feet and kicked the blankets with his foot. “The bastards have moved him.”

Sam ground his teeth together, both from the pain as well as regret. He’d so hoped they’d be in time. For Claire as much as anyone. But he should have known when Roseneau sent the bloody handkerchief that he’d move him.

Sam stepped past Barnaby and knelt beside the blankets. “Feel this,” he said, moving so Barnaby could put his hand where Sam indicated.

“Bloody hell! It’s still warm. That means we only missed them by minutes.”

“It also means your brother’s still alive.”

Barnaby’s chest heaved. “We have to find him.”

“We will,” Sam said, lifting the closest blanket. “Get that lantern.”

Barnaby brought back the lantern from the other side of the room.

“Hold it closer.”

Barnaby moved the lantern to shine directly overhead, and Sam leaned down to get a closer look.

“What is it, Major?”

“Blood. Fresh.”

“Ah, hell.”

Sam lifted the blankets one by one and shook them out. Something heavy clattered to the floor. Sam picked it up and handed it to Barnaby.

“It’s Alex’s. His ring. He always wore it.”

Sam struggled to his feet, ignoring the blinding pain shooting through his arm and shoulder. “He left it to tell us he was here. Now we’ll just have to figure out where they took him.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Sam grimaced. “Nothing’s ever easy, so we’ll have to rely on help.”

“From whom?”

“From Roseneau himself. We’re going to let Roseneau lead us to your brother.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Sam braced his hand against the small wooden table in the center of the room. “Roseneau still wants the necklace. He knows he’s a dead man without it. As long as he thinks we have it, your brother’s safe. We’ll have to let him think we’re prepared to give it to him.”

“But we don’t have it.”

“Then we’ll have to stall until we do. The Russians are scheduled to arrive in England next Thursday. Roseneau will want the necklace in his possession by then.”

“And you intend to make sure Roseneau doesn’t go unpunished for the role he played, don’t you, Major?

Sam leaned heavier against the table as an uncomfortable tension stretched between them. “He deserves to pay for the lives he’s taken. The same as our traitor.”

“What about Claire?” Barnaby asked on a sigh.

Sam thought of how desperate Claire was to save her brother. She thought they had a choice. But they didn’t. Not getting here in time to rescue her brother took away all their options.

Unfortunately, if Barnaby Linscott sided with his sister, Sam would be fighting a much more complicated battle. He needed to find out before he took another breath. He braced himself, trying to ignore the pain that was worsening, and faced his adversary squarely. “Are you of the same mind as your sister?”

The grim set of Barnaby’s features evidenced a regret that was bone deep. He shook his head. “Alex would never allow even one brave soldier’s death to be on his conscience. Let alone thousands. But Claire’s a woman. And she loves Alex. She’ll do whatever she believes she has to do to save him.”

“Then we’ll have to be certain she isn’t put in a position to make such a decision.” Sam shoved himself away from the table and took a step toward the door. “You and I know she wouldn’t be able to live with herself no matter which choice she made.”

Sam walked across the empty warehouse, his boots thudding heavily on the rough wooden floorboards. An uncomfortable weight pressed against his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d be able to live with the decision he knew he had to make—the decision that might cost Claire’s brother his life.

Barnaby followed him out of the warehouse and down the alley to the waiting carriage. Sam was thankful they’d brought it to take the Marquess of Halverston home. At least he wouldn’t have to try to stay atop a horse.

“How badly are you hurt?” Barnaby asked as he opened the door and helped Sam inside.

“I’ll be better when Bronnely gets me sewed up.”

Barnaby moved his gaze to Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home,” he said, the frown on his face darkening.

The carriage rocked when Barnaby climbed atop, and Sam sank back against the cushions as they took off down the street. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain. Just as he tried to block out the disappointment he knew he’d see on Claire’s face when they arrived without the Marquess of Halverston.

Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the disappointment of finding the warehouse empty and knowing they were no closer to finding Halverston now than they’d been before. But Sam couldn’t stop reliving the night Hunt had died in his arms. What the hell had he meant when he’d said she had it? When with his dying breath he’d told Sam that Claire had the necklace?

Sam swiped the film of perspiration from his forehead and dropped his head back against the cushion. Even though she didn’t realize it, Claire must have the necklace. And the papers. Hunt must have hidden them before he left. Or after he returned home. Otherwise he wouldn’t have warned Sam to protect Claire. It had to be in the house somewhere.

Sam ground his teeth as another stab of pain shot through his shoulder. Roseneau had barely gotten Halverston away in time tonight. He wouldn’t be so careless again. Nor would he give them another chance to get so close to rescuing him.