Temptress in Training (36 page)

Lindley folded it and didn't even realize he still had the knife in his hand until he'd left the room and was already halfway up the staircase to go confront the annoying bastard who had cost Lindley so very, very much. He reminded himself he needed to find out what Fitzgelder knew of Sophie before he killed him. Er, before he turned him over to the proper authorities. He tucked the knife up his sleeve.

The corridor at the top of the stairs was empty. Silently Lindley approached the door to Fitzgelder's room. How would the man react to his visit? Did Fitzgelder still think him a friend, or did he realize by now the truth of the matter? Knocking and alerting the bastard to his presence might only serve to allow the man time to arm himself. Lindley would much prefer his visit to be a surprise. Noiselessly he knelt before the door and withdrew the knife. Rather handy that he'd thought to bring it.

As quietly as possible, he worked the lock. With the merest whisper of a click, it opened a hair's breadth. He casually returned the knife to his sleeve, stood, and readjusted his coat. Even while contemplating murder, a gentleman wanted to appear in good form. He touched the knob, and it turned easily. The door swung open with an ominous creak.

“What the hell…?” Fitzgelder yelled, lounging on the bed in his stocking feet with a book, of all things. He was caught completely off guard.

“Shut up. It's me,” Lindley announced, stepping inside the stuffy room. “And I believe I have something you might be interested in.”

“Well now,” Fitzgelder replied. “It's about damn time.”

Damn, but the man unrattled quickly. Lindley pulled the door shut tight and moved toward the oily bastard. He dropped his voice.

“I've a letter from some friends of mine,” he said, slipping it out of his coat and letting Fitzgelder take a good look at the crest emblazoned on the paper. “It concerns you.”

Fitzgelder understood, and he didn't like it one bit.

“Brutus. And to think I believed you nothing more than an entertaining popinjay,” the bastard said, shaking his head. “I should have listened to Eudora. She told me to keep an eye on you.”

Lindley saw the fire blaze in his eyes and the gears turn in his head, desperate to figure out an escape. Let him fret. There was no escape for the mongrel now.

“There was an attack on some innocent women along the road a few days ago,” Lindley explained.

“What do I care about that?”

“You don't, I'm sure. What's important to you, however, is that the attack was actually intended for your cousin, Anthony Rastmoor.”

Fitzgelder went back to his book. At least, he pretended to.

“As I've seen my cousin recently, I'll assume it failed.”

Lindley smiled. “Yes. Miserably.”

“Pity.”

“You might be saddened to hear that one of the attackers was killed on the road, in fact.”

Saddened was obviously not what Fitzgelder felt. “I'll send a card to the widow.”

“The other was killed later, though,” Lindley went on. “Presumably to keep him silent. It was too late, however. He survived just long enough to give testimony that the attack had been orchestrated by you.”

“Good help is so hard to find these days.”

“And they were able to connect this attack to others. Truly, Fitzgelder, you should have taken care to cover your tracks better.”

True, Lindley's friends at the Home Office had likely used less than pleasant tactics to get the would-be highwayman to talk, and of course they had to trace his contacts back through two or three other petty thugs before they finally were able to connect him to Fitzgelder, but the results were favorable. According to Warren's letter, there were at least two connections to known criminals who had been involved in traitorous activities involving payment from French loyalists and schemes targeting English agents. Fitzgelder would not be going free anytime soon.

But perhaps Fitzgelder did not have to know that just yet.

“So I am here to make you an offer.”

Fitzgelder eyed him. Obviously he was intrigued, so Lindley continued.

“I am in a position to, er, misplace some of the evidence against you, should you be agreeable to providing some information I need, of course.”

“Why should you want to make bargains with me?” Fitzgelder asked.

“Because I want Miss Darshaw, you snake,” Lindley said, having to hold himself back from ripping pieces off the man. “I know you have your petty thugs prowling everywhere, and I wonder if you just might know where she could be.”

Now Fitzgelder laughed. “Eudora's little whoring seamstress? You can't be serious, my friend. You would turn me loose for
her
?”

“I would. Eudora took her before I was quite finished with her, as a matter of fact.”

Fitzgelder seemed to think this was the funniest thing he'd heard. “Oh, Lindley, you must think me a fool. It's that bloody treasure you're after, isn't it? Well, Eudora won't let you have it. Or that Darshaw chit, either. She's got a vested interest in that one, I'm afraid.”

What was that to mean? Of course Eudora would want the treasure—money had always been that woman's chief motivator—but what of this special interest she had in Sophie? Surely she couldn't be that devoted to the girl's sewing abilities that she would never let her be parted from her?

“You see, Lindley,” Fitzgelder began with a patronizing sigh, “it's like this. Eudora's in love with the girl's want-wit father.”

“That's ridiculous.”

He had never seen any indication of it. Surely Fitzgelder was mistaken. Eudora did not…But then again, he'd completely misread Eudora's involvement with Fitzgelder, too, hadn't he? D'Archaud had claimed his dealings with Eudora had gone on for years; perhaps there had been more there than he'd mentioned.

It certainly could explain his claim that he had another daughter with a woman Eudora had refused to allow him to marry. Indeed, unrequited love had certainly caused people to behave oddly throughout the centuries. Yes, the more he thought about it the more he had to admit Fitzgelder's assertion held water. A woman scorned was capable of doing any number of cruel things to the object of her misplaced affection.

And threatening to force his adult daughter into the most vile form of human slavery would certainly fit that bill.

“So where do I find them?” Lindley asked.

“Well, Lindley, let me tell you,” Fitzgelder said, sighing again and shutting the large volume he'd been reading. He hung his legs over the side of the bed and yawned, the lazy bastard.

“Yes?”

“I don't think Eudora would appreciate it very much if I told you.”

“Damn it, Fitzgelder, I have no time for this. I—”

But Fitzgelder swung at him without warning. Lindley ducked just in time to keep the sharp corner of that heavy book from smashing into his face, but he caught enough of it with the side of his head to throw him off balance. He staggered.

Whirling, he lunged at Fitzgelder, but the smaller man stooped low to avoid his advance. When he came up, he held one of his discarded boots in his hand. Lindley saw it a fraction of a second too late. Fitzgelder flung the boot and landed its heel right into the back of Lindley's head.

Pain seared through him in a jolt. The room went dark, and Lindley had but one last thought.

Thank God Sophie wasn't here to see this. It was damned embarrassing.

She supposed it should not have taken half a day to find her way to Loveland, but Sophie had not been there in years. She'd made a wrong turn. Or two. But at last, she was through the tiny village where she remembered visiting the baker with Grandmamma. Loveland could not be far.

Findutton-on-Avon seemed little changed since her last visit, although there were signs of a recent and damaging flood. Still, it was enough the same for her to find Grandmamma's road without too much difficulty. She began to recognize the scenery as she plodded along on the ancient nag the old groom had left saddled for her.

It had not been a comfortable ride, but she was happy to be free of Madame. Her nerves were on edge, though, and more than once she'd imagined someone following. Always, though, it turned out to be nothing. She was well and truly escaped. Now if only she could be so certain that Lindley fared as well.

Worry for him and guilt that she might be too late had clung to her all day. She tried to console herself with thoughts of Papa, but it was no use. Lindley's smile, his fiery touch, his elegant confidence…these had all seeped into her and taken over her heart. She could think of nothing worth living for if Lindley had not survived.

Of course she knew better than to believe there might be some place for her in his life if he still had it, but as long as he breathed there was just the tiniest hope that somehow, someday she might find her way back into his arms. Even just a moment or two would be better than nothing. She wondered if Annie might understand such a feeling.

Perhaps not. Annie seemed assured that Papa returned her feelings. Sophie supposed her situation was somewhat more like the affair that had brought Madame to ruin all those years ago. Except that Sophie did not have a fine home or noble family to dishonor. Indeed, Lindley had brought her far more salvation than ruin. Her story was nothing at all like Madame's.

Besides, Madame had gone on to prosper from her hard lessons learned. Sophie knew beyond all doubt, now that she was being completely honest with herself, that she could never willfully give herself to other men for something as unimportant as money. Whether he wanted her or not, she belonged solely to Lindley. She would gladly starve before pretending she could go to anyone else.

She rounded a bend and came over a gentle rise. There was Loveland before her, just as it was in her memory. Yet, it was different, of course.

Gone was the cheerful, carefully maintained garden that Grandmamma loved. Certainly the area was bursting with flowers of all colors, but they were growing in disarray, with weeds choking and dividing them. The whitewashed walls of the cottage were marred by time and weather, and a clear line ran around the perimeter of the house where the river had left its bank and flooded the place. Sophie could nearly weep to think what the interior must look like.

It dawned on her that she should spend less time wandering through her emotions and more time cautiously observing. Was she alone here? Were Papa or Lindley anywhere nearby? What of their enemies? She guided the horse slowly toward the yard, the area between the cottage and the little stable beside it.

Dismounting, she poked her head into the stable. All was silent and empty. There was no sign of habitation. Odd though, the ground seemed newly rutted as if by several sets of carriage wheels and many prints, both human and horse. How old were these tracks? Was she alone, or had she come too late?

She stood there, unsure of what to do next, studying the tracks and trying to calm the pulse that pounded in her veins. Too late…perhaps it was as she feared. Papa had been here, Lindley had arrived, but she was too late. Madame had done as she planned.

Her horse flicked his ears. Sophie glanced nervously around. No, she didn't see anything, but there was a sound. Yes, behind the stable. She heard it again; it was not imagination.

Leaving her horse to nibble at the weeds that sprouted everywhere, Sophie slung her little pack over her shoulder and moved silently to the corner of the stable. She pressed herself against it and slid around to the back. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward just enough to peek around. If anyone were there, she was taking a great risk. Still, she had to know.

And she was glad she did. There, serenely munching on grass, was Papa's horse.

So he was here!
Thank heavens.
Papa was here, and he'd left his horse behind Grandmamma's stable so that no one would…Wait, why would Papa simply leave the horse untethered and unconfined? Surely he would worry the creature might wander off, unless…unless something terrible had happened.

She turned on her heel and ran toward the cottage. The heavy front door was unlocked and flew open for her. She dashed inside. The air was musty and damp yet smelled of recent cooking. Someone most certainly had been here. It had to be Papa—she
had
to find him.

Yet every room she ran to was empty. She found a hole in Grandmamma's bedroom floor where someone had intentionally ripped the flooring apart, but there was no other sign of violence. No sign of Papa or Lindley, either. She began to panic.

And then she heard the front door slam shut. Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Was this a good thing? Or should she be very, very afraid?

 

H
ELLFIRE AND BLOODY DAMNATION.
L
INDLEY'S HEAD
was throbbing. By Jupiter, but Fitzgelder most certainly knew how to swing a boot. Slowly his eyes focused on the room around him and took stock of his situation. At first glance, it did not look good.

For starters, he was lying on the floor with his hands bound behind him. Second, his feet were drawn up and tied to his hands. Aside from the fact this twisted posture must be wreaking havoc on his seams, it was mortifying to think that he had been completely vulnerable while Fitzgelder took the time to do this to him. What else had the blasted bastard done?

Glancing down, he discovered the coup de grâce. Bloody hell, the mongrel had rubbed bootblack all over his cravat and tied the thing in an absurdly feminine bow.
Botheration.
He did not have time to hunt down another just now! Still, he had to admit the little ruffle Fitzgelder tied at the bottom was expertly done. He would have never thought the man capable of such a touch.

It hardly made Lindley feel any more charitable toward him, though. Fitzgelder would pay. Oh yes, he certainly would. Just as soon as Lindley dragged every scrap of information out of him that might help in finding and protecting Sophie.

Shifting his body slightly, he was able to find just enough slack in the cords that bound him to curl his fingers up toward his wrist. Thank God, that knife was still there. Idiot Fitzgelder, did it not dawn on him that Lindley had used some sort of tool to pick the lock and let himself in here? He should have looked for it.

Most fortunate, however, that he did not. It took some effort, and by now his body ached from the awkward position on that hard floor, but eventually he had the knife in hand and it was a simple matter of cutting through the cords. Well, perhaps it was not quite
simple
, but eventually Lindley got himself free.

He stretched, climbing up to his feet and shaking his limbs to fully waken them. How long had he been out? He did not notice any marked change in the amount of afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, so he hoped that meant there was still time to collect Fitzgelder and stop him from whatever he had planned.

His head ached screamingly, and he felt the goose egg that sprouted up where the boot had struck. If he had the time, he'd request something cold to place over it, but there was no time. He would just have to get by.

Letting himself out into the corridor, he found it empty as before. This allowed him to retrieve the pistol he had hidden in his room earlier. He should have simply kept it on him, yet probably if he had Fitzgelder would have seen fit to use it. Still, he cursed himself for underestimating the bastard. It had been incredibly naive of him to think Fitzgelder would have cooperated. Even knowing Warren had this information, he was every bit as determined as Eudora to get his grimy hands on that treasure.

All Lindley wanted was Sophie.

Pistol hidden behind his coat, he made his way downstairs. He ducked round a corner as a pair of giggling housemaids scurried by. They didn't seem to notice him, so busy were they reliving the delightful moment of theatrical entertainment they had apparently just left in the basement. That was good news. Apparently St. Clement's troupe was still performing. This meant Lindley could not have been unconscious long.

“My lord!”

Hellfire.
It was the butler again.

“Yes?”

“There is someone here for you. He's waiting at the door. He says his name is Feasel.”

And so it was. The butler escorted him to the door where Feasel waited nervously, practically wringing his hat in his hands. Lindley could not like that one bit. He met the man, thanked the butler, then stepped outside to see what bad news Feasel might be bringing him now.

“I know you wanted to be informed, so I'm informing ye,” Feasel said. “Miss Darshaw has left the abbey.”

“I know. Tom met me early this morning. He must have told you I knew, else how would you know to find me here? Didn't he make it back to report to you?”

“He reported back, indeed, but then we found out Miss Darshaw wasn't really gone like we'd heard.”

“What?”

“She's sly, that one. It seems she made Madame
think
she and that other gal was run off, but really she was hiding someplace. She didn't really take off until later, once Madame already had her man out hunting her elsewhere.”

Indeed, that was sly.

“Where is she now?”

“I sent Tom on to watch over her, keep her safe. I knew that's what ye'd want.”

Yes, it was. He only hoped Feasel understood how badly he wanted it, that keeping Sophie safe was really all that mattered anymore.

“Where is she? Was she going to Loveland?”

“I don't know, sir. Tom was following, though.”

Of course Loveland was where she'd go. Lindley knew her goal would be her father. Unless she knew her father was here, at Hartwood. Was it possible she was on her way here, now? But Fitzgelder was here, too, and on the loose, thanks to Lindley.

“You've got to find her, Feasel. I'll talk to Dashford, see if he will spare some men to—”

“Wait, sir. There's a bit more you should know.”

“What? What more is there?”

“There's Warren, sir.”

“Warren? Yes, yes…I got his letter. He's finally gathered enough evidence on Fitzgelder so he's—”

“He's following Miss Darshaw, too.”

“What?”

“He arrived at the abbey with a couple of thugs. He was very angry to find out she was gone, so he and his thugs took off after her. I heard them say Loveland, sir. They know about Loveland, as well.”

“Warren was at the abbey? What the devil took him there?”

“Eudora, I'm afraid, sir. It seems…Well, it appears he's her son.”

“Captain Warren is Eudora's son? Impossible!”

“Well, that's the way it looked to me, sir. He was calling her ‘mum' and she was scolding him for taking so long to get there. I don't know, but the two of them are up to something not good. Not good at all!”

“You must have misunderstood. It simply cannot be.”

Although, for the life of him Lindley could not think of a single reason this could not be, other than the obvious fact he did not want it to be. Truth was, he'd heard Eudora had an illegitimate child all those years ago. It was one of many family secrets surrounding her. He'd merely never wondered where that grown child was today, never imagined he might even know the man.

And, by God, it certainly would explain how Eudora seemed to know so much about Lindley's comings and goings, how she'd known he was coming to Dashford's wedding when he was certain he had not told her. Warren had known. If what Feasel said was true, then she could have easily gotten that information from Warren. And all variety of other information, as well.

It was rather frightening to think of what information could be shared between those two, as a matter of fact. Warren had privileged connections to high-ranking government persons. Madame had the most intimate connections to many of these same people through their patronage of her establishment. Damn, but if Warren and Eudora were to combine their efforts, they could blackmail and control a good number of very influential people! Lindley knew for a fact she was capable of it; he just never dreamed someone like Warren could be a party to it.

And they'd have had free use of Fitzgelder's network, as well. Indeed, they could have been using him to do their dirty work all this time, and now that the treasure was within their grasp, he would take the fall for them. If so, why had Warren needed Lindley all this time?

Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps all of this had been part of the game, using Lindley to gather information on Fitzgelder's contacts so Warren could use them against him when it was convenient. All along Fitzgelder had played into their trap, further implicating himself and trusting they would protect him when really that had been the furthest thing from their minds. And Lindley was an unwitting party to every bit of it.

It was staggering to think what this could mean, what it said about that horrible tragedy three years ago. What it might mean to Sophie if they felt she knew too much! Hell, she'd lived in that brothel for years. She could very well be privy to these underhanded dealings. Now that she was out from under their watchful eye as they prepared to spring their trap on Fitzgelder and get away with murder and treasure and all of it, she would be seen as a very valid liability.

Damn, he'd known Feasel could not have been bringing him
good
news. He simply had no idea it would truly be this
bad
. It was almost bad enough to not be believable.