Maybe This Time, page 34
“This article in the Register. It’s a retelling of an incident that occurred in Grimsby a year and a half ago.”
“Share it with me, then,” she invited.
“It seems a widow encumbered with the debts of her departed husband wanted to remarry. To exempt the new husband from acquiring the old husband’s debts as well as his wife, she jumped into her intended’s arms from a window before witnesses.”
Kevan laughed from deep in his chest. Perplexed, Alyssa frowned and lifted her cup to her lips. “Why would jumping rid him from debt?”
“Because when she jumped, my dear lady, she was naked.”
Sputtering on the hot tea, Alyssa felt heat surge to her face. “Dear God, naked?”
“Naked,” he repeated, a chuckle lingering in his voice. “The woman interpreted the law to be such that if she had nothing, her intended would inherit nothing. These debts, stood between them, you see.”
“So she removed the obstacles between them by coming to him bare?” she asked, setting her cup to its saucer.
“That was her intent. The article quotes her as saying, she’d not so much as a pin in her hair.”
Parks strode into the breakfast room. “Milord, excuse me. James MacMillian has returned.”
Tucking the newspaper under his arm, Kevan stood and dropped his napkin onto the table. “Forgive me, my dear. This is an urgent matter.”
“Of course.” Alyssa tilted her head to receive his kiss. “Meg and I shall likely be gone before you are done.”
He paused. “Where are you off to?”
“Bond Street. A gown for Almack’s next week.”
Kevan smiled. “Something green, I hope. Emerald, like your eyes.”
She felt her insides go soft. “If it would please you.”
“It would.” He bent and brushed her cheek again.
“Very well.” Her heart nearly careened out of her chest.
“Take Parks with you,” he instructed, “and be cautious.”
PARKS ACCEPTED the outing with grace and a stiff jaw, as he did everything else. Unlike her father’s Burns, Parks was decidedly human, and for that, Alyssa was grateful.
Directly, Alyssa, Meg, and Parks arrived at the dressmaker’s shop. Just outside the door, Alyssa paused and turned to Parks. “I won’t subject you to entering. We’ll be half an hour. No more.”
“I think his lordship would rather I—”
“Nonsense,” Alyssa protested, trying to dispel his obvious unease-- “Meg is with me, and we’ll venture nowhere else. We’ll be safe as babes in our cribs.”
“But, milady—”
“I insist, Parks.” She smiled to soften the sting of her orders. “I know how much you men detest escorting a shopping woman.” She turned for the entrance. “Half an hour.”
Meg turned to Parks and frowned. “You might as well accept it. She’s a mite stubborn, to be sure.”
Parks blinked twice, the only outward sign of his displeasure, and relented. “I’ll wait here at the door.”
Alyssa thought the modiste gracious, her greeting pleasant, considering the last disastrous visit she’d made to the tiny woman’s shop. She explained the occasion requiring a special gown.
“I know just the thing,” the woman said to Alyssa. “We must first select a pattern.” She waved a hand toward the pattern room. “If you please.”
Alyssa turned to Meg, following behind. “Choose a fabric you like.”
Meg began to protest, but Alyssa would hear none of it. “I insist. You need a new gown. Something bright and as cheerful as your disposition. You’re too young to wear those drab colors you’re so fond of.”
“Pink,” the modiste suggested. “With your pale coloring, pink would be just the thing.”
Meg’s cheeks flushed. “No, milady. I have—”
“Claret,” Alyssa said. “Select three, Meg. One pink, one claret, and one in any color you choose—so long as it isn’t dreary.”
“But—”
“For pity’s sake quit your frowning. You know how determined I can be.”
Meg flashed an excited smile. “To be sure, I do. Thank you, milady.”
“Well, go on,” Alyssa urged her. “And don’t forget pretty trims. Ribbons and braids, whatever strikes your fancy. And bonnets. You must have bonnets to match each gown.”
“Yes, milady.” Smiling, Meg turned toward the fabrics, a youthful spring in her step.
The modiste whispered, “You are very gracious to your abigail, madame.”
“She is also my friend.”
“I see. You are both blessed with fortune, then.”
Those words forged Kevan’s image in her mind, and a thrill rushed through her. “Oh, yes. I am most blessed.”
The tiny woman smiled. “Then come, step in here and we will select a pattern that will make you shine like the first water diamond you are. All of Almack’s will envy you.”
Almack’s could keep their envy if only Kevan would lose his restraint. Since her revelation about Hedwig, he’d been loving, but he’d not bedded her. She didn’t understand his behavior. His desire was as evident as always, but her attempts to let him know that his attentions were welcome had been met with staunch reserve.
Then she recalled the words he’d spoken at Woodwind. You will come to me, Alyssa, he’d said. Certainty flooded her. That must be it. Before her father’s intrusion that night, she’d invited Kevan to make love with her. She’d sought his affection. After hearing her confession that she found suicide preferable to wedding Innes, Kevan doubted his welcome. He needed her reassurance.
For pity’s sake. While she waited for him to come to her, he waited for her to come to him! Oh, that blasted man. That darling, blasted man. How could he think himself anything like Innes?
Anxious to return home, Alyssa stepped behind the curtain into the pattern room. This would be the quickest dress order in history.
A man’s thick arm snaked around her neck and squeezed, slamming her back against a hard chest.
Alyssa gasped. Twisting, she tried to break away, to scream. A pungent cloth bore down on her nose and mouth. She couldn’t utter a sound! Acrid fumes stole her breath. Spots flooded her eyes. Fear clawed at her stomach.
“At last we meet again.”
That voice. The hair on her neck stood on end. Icy dread suffused her limbs. Dear God, Innes . . .
She strained to see him, but instead saw the modiste laying prone on the floor. Panicking, she fought harder.
The cloth! What drug sodded the cloth? Holding her breath, she caught his coat sleeve, jerked hard. Innes trapped her arm at her side, smothered her face with the foul-smelling cloth. Opening her mouth, she thrust her tongue into the fabric, trying to create a gap between the cloth and her face, searching for untainted air. Her tongue, her nostrils, tingled and grew numb. She had to breathe. The tingling sensation seeped into her chest. Then into her arms and legs. Terrified, she felt her strength drain away and darkness swallowed her.
Twenty-three
“GONE?” KEVAN gaped at Parks. “What do you mean, gone? She couldn’t just disappear!”
Parks dabbed his damp brow with a square of cambric cloth. “I saw no one enter or leave, milord.”
“I was in the shop with her and heard nothing,” Meg added, wringing a lacy handkerchief in her hands. “Until the modiste starting groaning, not a peep came from that room.”
Kevan forced his fears aside. For his wife’s safety, he had to remain calm, lucid. “Get James MacMillian—and that guard who was here with Lord Cameron. Blast and damn! I don’t know the man’s name.”
“Sir Duncan,” Parks supplied. “He left his card for her ladyship. In case she changed her mind.”
“Send Major, Parks. I want those men here right away. And have someone see if the Lord Chancellor is available. Tell him the matter is most urgent. Request, do not demand, his presence.”
“Yes, milord.”
“And Parks. Tell the footmen that if Lord Cameron should call, admit him at once and bring him to me.”
“But you forbade him the house,” Meg reminded his lordship. Her hand clamped over her mouth. She’d spoken before she’d stopped to think. His lordship would surely take offense.
Preoccupied, he didn’t. “Things have changed now, Meg. Everything . . . has changed now.”
JAMES ARRIVED first and was ushered into the library.
“What have you learned?” Kevan asked.
The young man’s cheeks were ruddy from the cold. He moved toward the fire, talking as he walked. “Cook at Cameron House says her lord ain’t been home since yesterday morn. If she hears anything, she’ll send word straight-away. And she said to tell you special that she’ll be keepin’ her ear to the doors. Has a fondness for Lady Alyssa, she says.”
“And at Innes’s?” Kevan asked.
“His house is closed up tighter than a corked bottle, milord. Stable’s empty, too. Everything. The neighbor’s groom, Jerome, says Innes was in residence and things were normal—like four days ago. Then, quicker than you can spit, the house was shut down and everyone gone. Left day afore yesterday.”
“Day before yesterday?” Kevan frowned. “And Alyssa wasn’t abducted until this morning. Check the inns within two hours ride of here—all directions. I know Innes is responsible. When we find him, we’ll find Alyssa.”
“Milord?” Parks tapped on the library door.
“Come.”
“Sir Duncan is here.”
“Show him in, Parks.”
“I’ll get right on that other, milord,” James said.
Kevan nodded and James made his exit. Kevan stood to greet the guard, who on entering the library made no effort to hide his outrage. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them and his cravat was clutched in his hand.
“Lord Buchannan, I do not appreciate being dragged from my bed, handed my clothes, and thrust into your carriage with the most mundane of explanations. That you wish to see me is an inadequate excuse.”
Major had taken his orders to heart. “Innes took my wife.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “When?”
“This morning. He abducted her from her modiste’s shop on Bond Street. My men are searching all of the main roads and I’m gathering as much information as possible. Lord Cameron hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning, and Innes, not since he closed down his house two days ago.”
Duncan plopped down in a heavy chair that groaned under his weight. He was a big man, only slightly smaller than Kevan. And when his body tensed and his eyes clouded as they were now, he appeared formidable. Kevan held his gaze.
“Why do you think Innes took her? Regretting his loss?”
“Exactly.”
“And her father?” Duncan asked. “Is he involved?”
“I don’t know. But he has motivation for wanting his daughter wed to Innes. Strong motivation.”
Kevan poured two glasses of port at the sideboard, then passed one to the guard. “I need your help, Duncan.”
Duncan nodded. “You have it. But I’ll tolerate no lies, Lord Buchannan.”
“Kevan.”
“Kevan,” Duncan repeated. “I believe you won the lady as she said. Has a ring of truth to it, that. But I do not believe you staged the abduction.”
“Why not?”
“Your lady doesn’t lie well. Her skin gives her away.”
“I love my wife, Duncan. I vow it.”
“I believe you. I also believe she is content with you. And that is one reason why I will help you find her.”
“One reason?” Kevan asked. “Are there others?”
Duncan drained his glass and set in to the table with a thunk. “Innes killed his first wife. I know it as well as I sit here and breathe. But I can’t prove it.”
What both men feared passed in a glance between them. Would Innes make Alyssa his next victim?
Footsteps at the doorway had both men turning.
“Excuse me, milord,” Parks said. “This just arrived. I thought it might be important.”
Kevan took a buff colored envelope from Parks’s outstretched hand. “Who sent this? The envelope bears no seal.”
“I heard a knock. It was on the steps, but I saw no one.”
Kevan nodded. Sweat dotted his skin. With a trembling hand, he opened the envelope and read:
Weep not for treasures lost.
Sob when they are found.
Emeralds once gleaming fiery bright
Sparkle not beneath the mound.
-13-
Kevan’s skin grew clammy. Trembling, he passed the note to Duncan. “Here’s our proof. It’s from Innes.”
Duncan read the note, the creases in his leathery skin deepening. “Innes.”
“If we seek my wife, he’ll kill her.” Kevan swallowed his anguish.
“He will regardless,” the older man predicted. “Unless we find her first. How did you know it was Innes?”
“I won my wife with a pair of twos, a pair of fours, and an ace. The cards total thirteen.”
“I see.”
“And you?”
Duncan grimaced. “Innes’s wife was stabbed thirteen times.”
Twenty-four
THE LORD CHANCELLOR, tall, gaunt, and somber-eyed, presented himself at Kevan’s Knightsbridge establishment just before dusk.
Escorted into the library, he folded his long body into the chair Duncan had occupied earlier that day.
“I apologize for my delay, Kevan. The matter was unavoidable.”
“Thank you for coming,” Kevan said, wanting to rush through the amenities. “Port?”
“Yes, please.”
Kevan filled and passed him a glass. Without further delay, he informed the lord chancellor of his complaints against Innes. He presented the note and the cards as evidence, and conveyed his concern for Alyssa’s safety.
“These are most serious accusations.”
“They are, John,” Kevan agreed. “But they are founded.”
“In circumstance, yes.” Doubt riddled the man’s brow. “What is it you wish from me?”
Seizing that uncertainty, Kevan met the old man’s gaze and held it. “Alone this evidence seems paltry. But combined with known facts regarding the murder of Innes’s wife, Hedwig, the evidence becomes more than substantial.”
“How so?”
Kevan spoke slowly, distinctly. “Hedwig was stabbed thirteen times.”
“An unlucky number, thirteen.” John refilled his glass at the sideboard. “I am privy to the particulars of that case. And I, too, confess to suspecting Innes. How may I assist you?”
“I want the locations of all of Innes’s properties, and any known to be frequented by him. Can you provide them?”
John nodded and stood. “We’ll begin tonight.”
“John, please don’t delay. I must find Alyssa quickly.” An icy shudder gripped his body. “I believe Innes intends to kill her.”
The lord chancellor’s Adam’s apple bobbed and a knowing look settled in his eyes. “I’m sorry to have to say that I agree with you, Kevan.”
“But you do.”
Regret flashed in John’s eyes. “Yes, I do.”
ALYSSA AWAKENED in a dark room. She couldn’t quite remember where she was. She lay still, giving her head time to clear, her eyes time to focus.
A dim light filtered in through the partially drawn drapes at the window, and she made out the shadowy silhouettes of the bed, a desk, and several chests.
Relieved to find she was alone, she eased from the bed and opened the drapes wide. Moonlight flooded the room. Decorated in Chinese red, the room was opulent, the furniture fine and well-cared for.
Memories flooded back. Innes. The abduction. The vile cloth covering her face, her strength draining. Then awakening in a carriage, a bitter elixir being poured down her throat. Innes’s fingers on her neck, forcing her to swallow . . .
Dear God. She had to get out of here. But where was she?
Looking out of the window, she saw three stories of windows stacked between her and the ground. Not a tree, a trellis, nor any portion of the house jutted nearby. Nothing that would assist her in a downward climb.
She went to the first of three doors inside the room and turned the knob. Seeing only a closet filled with a woman’s clothes, a pang of disappointment shafted through her, then apprehension. Were they Hedwig’s?
A shiver raced between her shoulders. She shut the door quickly, then tried the second. It was locked. Did it connect to the hallway, or to Innes’s chambers?
The third and final door creaked open. She peeked out into the hallway. A grizzle-faced man sat slumped against the wall in a chair beside her door, his light snore ruffling the silence.
Her heart thudding, she inched past him, and on down the hallway. The thick carpets under her feet muted the sounds of her footsteps. The staircase was dark and narrow. Easing down it, a stair creaked under her weight. She bit her lip and fought the instinct to freeze. Her blood pounding in her ears, she forced herself to keep moving, to keep her moist palm firmly gripping the slick banister, feeling her way to the ground floor.
Finally, she reached the last step. She looked from left to right in the dim darkness and saw nothing move. Quickly, she crossed the expanse to the front entry. As her hand curled around the doorknob, her heart lurched. Was it locked? Oh God, please don’t let it be locked. Swallowing hard, she twisted the knob. It turned.
“Good evening, my Ladybird.”
Gasping, she jerked the door open and tried to rush through. Innes caught her arm, yanked her back. “No,” he shouted. “You may not leave me again. You’ve only just arrived.” He slammed the door shut.
Alyssa glared at him, cursing her fear, her inferior size. “Let go of me. You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he bellowed, jerking her against his chest.
She struggled against his embrace. His foul breath, rank as sour port, had her stomach churning. “Let go of me.”
“Never.”
Like a vulture swooping down to attack its prey, his head lowered, his wet lips crushed down, assaulted her mouth. Dear God, she silently cried. “Oh, God. Noooo!”
