Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (20 page)

“You reminded me that one person
can
make a difference.”

Stepping around the table, he gripped her shoulders, pulled her close and set his smooth lips to hers. She was so shocked that she just stood still as his soft mouth pressed firmly against hers. Slowly her lids lowered and she drifted into the kiss, feeling like a willow swaying in a warm breeze.

He tasted of wine and veal, and the faint scent of almond enveloped her. He was solid as an oak, and she needed that support, for her knees had turned to jelly and she knew that if he released her, she would fall. But she knew without doubt that he would not let her tumble. So she melted into him, loving his mouth with a tenderness that bespoke her burgeoning feelings for this remarkable man.

Lifting his head, he murmured, “I promised myself that I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” she whispered, her eyes hooded, her mouth lush with his kiss. This woman moved him, he realized. She was different from any other woman he had known. With those sparkling azure eyes and the melodic voice that chimed in his soul. She was like a cloud of cream and lace in her night rail, causing a man to imagine the curves being hugged by that silkily thin fabric. He yearned to rake his hands through her strawberry blond hair, disrupting her coiffure of curls and making her sigh with pleasure. But he had sworn to protect her, not exploit her.

“Give in to temptation,” he murmured as he
pulled away, keeping his hands cupped on those silky shoulders.

“Where’s the harm?”

“I swore to keep my hands off you, Lillian. It’s not right that I take advantage.”

“What if I want you to?” Her voice was husky, and he could see the desire pooling in her blue gaze.

It took every ounce of his self-control to stop him from taking her right then and there. In Windsor, no less. “Now you might want to, but how will you come to feel after?” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he murmured, “You might come to regret it, and that I could not endure.”

Leaning into his broad chest, she sighed. “I wish you were a bit less honorable, Nicholas Redford. But I suppose it’s like asking a leopard to change his spots.”

“If only I could be the man that you see me to be.”

Pushing him away, she chided, “Oh, go off and find Lancelot. Catch the wretched bastards, Nick, and give Colonel Thompson cause to regret ever coming to Windsor. Show him what you are made of.”

His face softened. “Thank you, Lillian.”

“For what?”

“For sending me back out there.” Releasing her, he turned and quietly left the room.

A
s the first rays of dawn filtered through the bedroom window, Lillian decided that she could wait no longer; she would venture out of her room and find out what was happening. She was anxious about what Nick was “checking on” and certain that if Lancelot was to be found, Nick was the man to do it. She splashed cold water on her face and performed her ministrations, apprehension making her movements quick but jerky.
Dear Lord,
she prayed,
let this turn out well.

As she walked down the plush, red-and-gold carpeted corridor, she was not surprised to see many servants bustling about and to hear the quiet hum of a waking household. A sense of urgency filled the air, and Lillian felt it thrumming through her, propelling her toward Hogan’s office.

She knocked lightly on the door.

“Come,” he called, not looking up from the papers scattered on his desktop. He dipped his quill, blotted it and scribbled. Lillian slipped into the large chamber and waited a few feet before his great brown desk.

Hogan’s hunter green coat was clean and pressed, and his shirt ruffles were perfectly folded. But his gray hair was mussed over his ears, and dark shadows banked his eyes. The creases flanking his lips seemed more delineated than the day before, as if they were now set in a permanent frown.

Dropping his quill, he looked up, surprised. He stood. “Good morning, Lady Janus. I trust your accommodations were acceptable?”

“Wonderful, sir. I just could not dally in my rooms knowing that Lancelot and his captors are still out there. Pray tell me, is there any news?”

He inhaled a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and then dropping. “We will pay the ransom today, my lady. And we hope that then Lancelot will be returned to Her Majesty.”

“You doubt that they will keep their word?”

“Once they have the money, they have no incentive to return the dog. I fear that they will grab their booty and take off to evade capture.”

“Won’t Colonel Thompson be able to catch them when they come to retrieve the money?”

His steely eyes narrowed, and she realized that she had just slipped about speaking with Nick during the night. She held her breath, wondering how he would deal with this indiscretion.

After a tense moment, he seemed to let it pass. “I do not believe that Thompson appreciates the difficulty in tracking anyone over such a spread of water.”

“Then let Mr. Redford have a go at it, sir.”

“You and Mr. Redford will be leaving this morning. His services are no longer required.”

“But Lancelot has not been found. Why send off one of your best men?”

“I did Dunn a favor by giving Nick this job. You couldn’t say no to the man once he had gotten his teeth sunk into an idea. But I never really thought that it would come to anything.”

“But it was not charity. It was to the queen’s benefit as well. And here you have the perfect opportunity to utilize Redford’s talents.”

He raised his hand, declaring, “Enough, Lady Janus. My decision is made.”

Her spirits and her shoulders drooped. “Then we have failed.”

“We all have.”

“Hogan, I need your help!” Nick announced, charging into the room. He moved with alacrity, the exhaustion seemingly gone from his person. His clothing was still wrinkled and his hair was a bedraggled mess, but his cocoa-brown eyes flashed and his handsome features were fixed with determination. Lillian’s heart thrilled; Nick was on the hunt and he was magnificent.

He bowed curtly to Lillian. “Good morning, my lady.”

She nodded, her heart doing the special dance that it reserved especially for him.

Hogan scowled. “You have been dismissed, Mr. Redford. There is no more opportunity to change my mind. I have a small portion for you, but otherwise—”

“I don’t care about the bloody fee, Hogan. I think I have a way to get Lancelot back.”

Hogan’s bushy brows knotted. “This is not some sort of weak attempt at saving your skin?”

“Do you want him back or not?” Nick stood stock-still, waiting. Lillian held her breath. She knew that tone; Nick thought he had the answer.

Hogan’s face hardened, as if on the cusp of a negative decision.

“Mr. Hogan, please.” Lillian stepped forward. “Please give him a chance. There’s a reason Dunn recommended Mr. Redford especially for the job. Redford often sees what we fail to. Trust him.”

“I have little time to waste on wild-goose chases—”

“Just a few minutes, sir,” Nick pleaded. “I will show you.”

“How?”

“Just follow me and bring along two burly servants. I will prove it to you.”

Hogan held up one hand, fingers wide. “Five minutes, Redford. Not one second more.”

“Good,” she murmured under her breath, relieved. Now if only Nick could deliver on his word.

Nick turned to her. “I cannot allow you to join us, my lady.”

“But why not?”

“Rogues still roam freely.”

“But—”

“Trust me.” He shook his head, insisting, “Wait for us here.”

“Your five minutes are fading, Mr. Redford,” Hogan interrupted.

“No, Lillian.” With a final look of warning, Nick spun on his heel and headed out the door.

Hogan waved a hand. “My office is at your disposal, my lady.” Then he, too, raced out the door.

Lillian stepped through the threshold, careful not to be seen. She understood that she should follow Nick’s instructions, but somehow her feet managed to enter the hallway of their own accord. Part of her recognized that she bristled at being ordered about. But truly, she couldn’t help it; her very fiber would not allow her to sit by idly while Nick’s and Lancelot’s futures hung in the balance.

Servants parted before Nick and stared after him in his wake. The air fairly crackled with urgency, and Lillian realized that her heart was beating rapidly with apprehension. She had no idea what Nick was up to and prayed that it was not folly. She had faith in him, yes, but this was the queen’s favorite dog that had been abducted.

A servant scurried past and she spun around, pretending to be casually examining a tapestry. Turning, she peered out the long corridor as Nick, Hogan and two burly servants marched down the passage like a small army preparing for battle. She scuttled down the long hallway after them, her shoes silent on the thick carpets. If Nick turned around, she wondered if she would drop to the ground, a pillar of salt, Nick’s wrath come down from the heavens to smite her. She stifled a mental giggle at the thought. Egad, she was as skittish as a fox.

Nick led them down the hall to the servants’ staircase. Lillian tried telling herself that she had come far enough and would cease this fool’s quest. But soon she found herself at the top of the stairs and eyeing the open doors of the room that Nick and Hogan had just entered.

Could she dare?

The large room had pale-colored walls and a
sundry of mismatched but expensive furniture placed throughout. It was the servants’ salon, Lillian realized, with finer furnishings than were to be found in some of Society’s London homes. She slipped inside, hoping to be unobtrusive near the wall by the door.

Two housemaids huddled in a far corner, but upon seeing Nick and his party, they immediately rose and drifted out. Mr. Glen’s carrot-topped head could be seen cresting an armchair facing the hearth. Wilson stood before him, cap in his hand, his brown hair mussed and hanging in his eyes.

“I say…” Wilson sputtered.

Glen spun around in his seat and then stood. “I pray to the Lord you have news of our Lancelot?” Mr. Glen asked anxiously.

“Take off your gloves, Mr. Glen,” Nick demanded.

“What?” he cried, his pale cheeks quacking with agitation.

“I wish to see your injuries.”

“I don’t understand,” Glen cried, his eyes directed at Hogan.

“I insist you take off your gloves, Mr. Glen,” Nick urged.

“Why?”

“Because I wish to see the injuries you claim to have gotten while searching the bushes for Lancelot.”

“I must protest, sir,” Glen implored Hogan. “I am hurt—”

“Do as he says, Mr. Glen,” Hogan replied stonily.

Glen bristled. “You will take this…character’s word—”

Nick stepped forward, menace in his every movement. “If you don’t take off your gloves, then I will take them off for you.”

“All right. All right. But I will not forget this indignity.”

Wilson’s eyes flew from Nick to Glen, to Hogan and back to Glen, uncertainty in his brown gaze.

With painstaking care, Glen slowly stripped off his gloves, exposing white bandages with bloodstains peeking through. Holding up his hands, he challenged, “Are you satisfied?”

“Take off the bindings,” Nick ordered.

“Now see here,” Glen sputtered.

“Off, or I’ll rip them off.”

Lillian was appalled at Nick’s rough treatment of Glen. Could the poor servant truly be behind this terrible crime? She could hardly credit it; he seemed to cherish his charges, especially Lancelot.

Glen swallowed. Eyeing the men, he untied the knots on the bindings and slowly unwound the cloth. Long, bloody slashes fanned his hands, some deeper and redder than others.

Wilson’s eyes widened, and his freckled face blanched.

“How did you get those injuries, Mr. Glen?” Nick demanded.

Glen’s cheeks reddened, but he did not answer.

Nick pressed on, “I went out to where Lancelot was taken, and the only bushes there are rhododendrons, hardly the kind of bush to cut with such ferocity.” Nick stepped closer. “I ask you again, Mr. Glen, how you got those injuries?”

Mr. Glen’s willowy frame shuddered. “This proves nothing.”

Wilson was shaking his head, his gaze disbelieving.

“What is it, Wilson?” Hogan asked.

Wilson’s voice was hoarse. “Them’s dog bites.”

Hogan’s face hardened. “Where is Lancelot, Glen?”

Glen shook his head back and forth. “This proves nothing.”

“I asked at the village pub, and it did not take long to find out that you’ve got gambling debts, Mr. Glen. Much more than you can make working for Her Majesty for at least seven years. So for you, a quick fix might just be the ticket, eh?” Nick stepped around the armchair and grabbed Glen’s arm, twisting it hard behind his back. “Where is Lancelot?”

“If you don’t let me go, the queen’ll never see her demmed dog again!” Glen screeched.

Lillian’s mouth dropped open.

Nick jerked his arm higher. “Who has Lancelot?”

Glen’s face contorted into a pained grimace, but he gritted his teeth. “Hurt me and the dog dies. You’ll have to let me go.”

Hogan clenched his hands. “You dastard. You’ll hang for this!”

“You’re going to let me go or the queen will never see her Lancelot.” His eyes glittered with satisfaction. “The queen will not take the chance of losing Lancelot. She’ll let me go.”

“The queen has nothing to do with this,” Nick growled. He swept his boot under Glen’s legs, knocking the man flat on his back. Nick jerked his head, motioning for the two servants to assist. “Hold him down.”

Lillian moved along the wall, unable to help herself. She
had
to witness this.

Nick grasped Glen’s left hand while the two men held down the scrawny servant.

“You must let me go!” Glen shrieked. “The queen—”

“Shut up,” Nick ordered, reaching down into his boot and pulling out a long, menacing dagger.

Lillian gasped.

Glen’s eyes widened with terror.

“You’re going to tell me where Lancelot is and who your accomplices are.” Nick sliced the knife through the man’s uniform cuff, exposing Glen’s pasty white wrist.

Glen screamed, “But you can’t!”

“I’m no gentleman. I follow any bloody code that pleases me. For the moment, I’m liking the Bedouin way of doing things: A thief loses his hand.”

Nick slowly slid the knife into the crease at Glen’s wrist. Bright red blood seeped out of the gash.

Glen screamed and his body jerked. The servants grunted, locking him down.

Lillian cringed, sickened, but she could not tear her eyes away.

“Hold still, Glen,” Nick bit out. “The more you move, the more it will hurt.”

“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Glen screamed, his eyes imploring Hogan. “Just get this madman away from me!”

Nick pressed the knife on the wound. “Where and who!”

“My sister’s barn! Next to the mill! My sister and brother-in-law took the dog!” His body wracked with sobs. “Please stop!”

Nick gestured to Wilson. “Do you know his sister’s barn?”

Wilson nodded, his freckled face flushed with anger.

Nick dropped the arm. “Take this worm to Hogan’s office. No water. No food. No contact with anyone.”

The men’s faces were grim as they nodded.

Hogan pulled out a white handkerchief and blotted his sweaty brow. “Do exactly as Mr. Redford says.”

Nick leaned over Glen, slowly wiping the bloodied knife on the quivering servant’s uniform. “I’ll be back, Glen. If you sent me on a fool’s errand, I’ll take out your tongue.”

Glen’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Nick turned, and Lillian tried to melt into the draperies. “Since you don’t have the good graces to stay out of trouble, Lillian, you might as well come along where I can keep an eye on you.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded and stepped forward, trying not to look as guilty as she felt.

“I didn’t want you to witness that,” he whispered sharply, offering his arm.

“I’m a big girl, Nick,” she murmured.

“Not as big as you often think.”

Even though it was well deserved, she was hurt by his rancor. “Nothing untoward happened.”

“But it could have. I swear you’ll have me gray with fright before the week’s end.”

“You’re not afraid of anything,” she countered.

“You have no earthly idea.”