A Gentleman's Honor (39 page)

She stared at him. “
You’re
A. C?”

“A. C?” Sir Freddie blinked, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten.”

He shifted. With a graceful sweep of his arm, he bowed, the gesture full of his customary elegant charm. Face, lips lightly curved, and manner were all one, but as he straightened, his cold, pale eyes met hers. “Sir Alfred Caudel, my dear, at your service.”

Tony returned to Torrington House midmorning. After reviewing their information, the group had agreed that Jack Warnefleet and Christian, neither of whom had been visible thus far in the affair, should visit Ellicot’s offices and extract by whatever means they could some idea of who was behind the company.

There was a limit to how unsubtle they could be; there was no guarantee of a quick and favorable outcome. Restless, impatient, sensing matters were nearing a head but with nothing he could reasonably do, Tony had returned home.

He’d only just settled behind his desk when the study door burst open and panic—carried by David, Harry, Matthew, and Jenkins—rushed in.

“Alicia!”
Matthew shrieked. “You’ve got to go and save her.”

Tony caught him as he charged around the desk and flung himself at him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his gaze locking on the others.

David and Harry had rushed to the desk, gripping the front edge, their expressions as horrified as Matthew’s. Jenkins, close on their heels, was not much better, and out of breath as well.

“My lord,” Jenkins puffed, “Maggs sent us to tell you—Mrs. Carrington was inveigled into a carriage which then took off to the west.”

Tony swore, started to rise. “Where’s Maggs?”

Jenkins struggled for breath. “He’s following the carriage. He said he’d send word as he can.”

Tony nodded curtly. “Sit down.” Lifting Matthew into his arms, he turned his attention to the older boys. “Now, David—tell me what you know, from the beginning.”

David dragged in a huge breath, held it for a second, then complied. The story came out in reasonable order: Alicia visiting the schoolroom, mentioning she was going for a walk—Tony had imagined her out with Miranda and Adriana—the boys then prevailing on Jenkins to take their nature lesson in the park; they’d arrived to find Maggs running toward them, swearing and cursing, watching a black carriage that had passed the boys turn out of the park and roll away to the west. Maggs had pounced on them, given them the message, hailed a hackney, and set off after the carriage.

“All right.” Tony felt none of their panic; he’d spent the last decade dealing with similarly fraught situations. He welcomed, even relished what he recognized as the call to arms; he couldn’t yet see how it related, but he knew a bugle when he heard it. “Did Maggs say who was in the carriage?”

The boys shook their heads. So did Jenkins. “I don’t think he saw who it was, my lord.”

“It was Sir Freddie someone’s carriage.” The mumbled words, spoken around a thumb, came from Matthew.

Tony glanced at him, then sat him on the desk so he could see his face. He pulled up his chair and sat, too, so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “How do you know that?”

Matthew took his thumb out of his mouth. “Horses. This time, he had four, but the front two were the ones that always pull his carriage. I know them from when he came to call at the other house.”

Tony wondered how much reliance to place on a small boy’s observations. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked into Harry’s face.

“Matthew notices things—and he really does know horses.”

Tony looked at David, who nodded, then at Jenkins, recovering in a chair. Jenkins nodded, too. “He’s very good about details, my lord. Excellent memory.”

Tony paused, then swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. Rising, he turned to the bookshelves behind the desk, scanned, then pulled out his copy of
Debrett’s
.

A tap fell on the door, then it opened. Geoffrey Manningham strolled in. Across the room, Tony met his gaze.

Instantly, Geoffrey came alert. “What? What’s happened?”

“Caudel has kidnapped Alicia.” Tony opened the book, swiftly flicking pages. He found the entry for Caudel. He read it, and swore beneath his breath. “Sir
Alfred
Caudel.”

He slammed the book shut. “A. C. Currently with the Home Office. From an old if not ancient family, his principal estate is in north Oxfordshire, near Chipping Norton, not far from the tavern where those letters from the French captains were sent.”

Geoffrey’s mouth had fallen open; he snapped it shut. “
Caudel?
Good God—no wonder he’s so desperate to scotch the investigation.”

“Indeed, and no wonder he knew so much about the investigation itself.” Standing behind the desk, fingers lightly drumming, Tony rapidly assembled a plan, checking and re-checking, mentally listing all the necessary orders. He glanced at the three boys, spared them a reassuring smile. “I’ll go after them.”

Geoffrey frowned. “You know where they’ve gone?’

“Maggs has them in his sights—he’ll send word as soon as he passes a hostelery.” Tony spoke to the boys.

“Maggs knows what to do—he won’t stop following Alicia. I’ll head out as soon as I know which road—Maggs and I have a system we’ve used before. It’ll work, so don’t worry that we’ll lose the trail.” He looked at Geoffrey. “I need you to get word to the others, and then wait here with Adriana, Miranda, and the rest—no need for vapors, I’ll bring Alicia back.”

Geoffrey nodded. “Right. Who do you want me to get hold of?”

Tony gave him a list. Dalziel first; Tony wrote a short note summarizing the evidence that Sir Freddie was A. C. He handed it to Geoffrey. “Give that to Dalziel—into his hand, don’t show it to anyone else. Use my name, that’ll get you through his pickets. Then go to Hendon House and tell Jack, then to the club, and tell the majordomo, Gasthorpe. Tell him the others—Deverell’s out of town but the other five—all need to know.”

While he’d talked, he’d risen and tugged the bellpull. Hungerford appeared; Tony ordered his curricle brought around with the bays put to. Without comment, Hungerford left.

Almost immediately he returned. “A message from Maggs, my lord, brought by an ostler from Hounslow. Maggs says it’s the Basingstoke road.”

Having assimilated the fact that Sir Freddie was A. C., which he verified beyond doubt by telling her the details of how his scheme had operated, and of how he’d worked since Ruskin’s death to turn all blame on her, Alicia still didn’t know the answer to her question. She fixed Sir Freddie with a steady gaze. “What do you plan to do now? What do you want me to do?”

“At the moment, nothing.” Reaching out, he lifted a window flap, glanced out, then let the flap fall and looked back at her. “We’ll be journeying through the night. When we stop to change horses, you’ll remain in the carriage, calm and composed. At no time will you do anything to attract attention. You won’t forget that your brother’s future lies in your hands, so you will do exactly as I say at all times.”

She debated telling him that Tony and his friends knew about Ellicot, but decided to hold her fire, at least until she knew more. “Where are we going?” Through the night suggested deep into the country.

Sir Freddie studied her, then shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will hurt to tell you.” His tone was cold, unemotional. “Given how forthcoming I’ve been, I’m sure you’ve realized by now that this last and, I fancy, winning throw of the dice involves your demise.”

She had, but refused to let it panic her. She raised a brow, faintly haughty. “You’re going to kill me?”

He smiled his chilling smile. “Most regretfully, I assure you. But before you waste breath trying to tell me such an act won’t get me anywhere, let me explain how things will appear once you’re no longer about to state your case.

“First, I’m aware of the activities of Torrington and his friends. They really are quite tediously tenacious. Ellicot was an obvious liability—he, naturally, is no longer with us. His family, however, are most likely aware that he had a sleeping partner, so I took care to remove all evidence of my association with him… and replaced it with evidence of
your
association with him.

“When Torrington and his friends look, they’ll find a circle of evidence that leads them back to you—where their attention should have stayed all along. I’m sure they won’t be happy about it, but they won’t have any choice in laying the blame at your door. I’ve become quite adept at bending society and the upper echelons to my bidding; there’ll be such irritation that you’ve escaped, your guilt will be established by default.

“Naturally, you won’t be there to answer the charges, which will only reinforce them. Your disappearance will be seen as an admission of guilt, one your supporters will be at a loss to counter. When your body is eventually found, as I’ll ensure it is, everyone will conclude that, weighed down with remorse, with the investigation closing in—something you would know with Torrington as your lover—with social disaster of ever-greater proportions looming over you and your precious family… well, you took the only honorable way out for a lady.”

She let contempt infuse her voice. “You said you know of Torrington and his friends and how tenacious they are. My death won’t convince them—it won’t stop their investigation, it’ll intensify it.” She was perfectly certain of that.

Sir Freddie, however, smiled, coldly condescending. “The key is Torrington, and how he’ll react to finding your dead body.”

She couldn’t stop her lashes from flickering.

Sir Freddie saw; his smile deepened. “He’s in love with you, not just a passing fancy, I fear, but well and truly caught. What do you think it will do to him to be the one to discover you dead?”

She refused to react, to give him any indication of what she thought; the arrogant fool had just said the one thing above all others guaranteed to make her fight to the last.

“With you gone and nothing left to save, Torrington will retire to deepest Devon. The others won’t be able to sustain the investigation without him.” He paused, then added, “And that, my dear, will finally be the end of the story.”

She drew breath, but didn’t challenge him; there had to be some way to scuttle his plans. She kept her mind focused on that, refusing even to think of defeat. Defeat meant death, and she definitely wasn’t ready to die.

Leaning her head against the squabs, she went over his plan. He was right in predicting she would do nothing to put Matthew at risk, but the risk came from Sir Freddie. He’d said his men would hold Matthew
until
they heard from him; if they didn’t… there’d be time to find them and free Matthew unharmed.

She needed to escape and simultaneously take Sir Freddie captive, ensuring he could send no message. Once they’d turned the tables, Sir Freddie would tell them where Matthew was held… she needed Tony for that, but…

In her heart, she was sure he’d come for her. Maggs had been watching; he’d probably realized she’d been kidnapped before she had. Maggs would get word to Tony, and Tony would come. However, she couldn’t rely on Tony catching up with her before Sir Freddie tried to kill her.

She looked across the carriage. Sir Freddie’s eyes were closed, but she didn’t think he was asleep. He was some years older than Tony, a few inches shorter, but of heavier build. Indeed, he’d be described as a fine figure of a man, still in his prime; he’d never looked out of place in Adriana’s court.

Physically, she couldn’t hope to win any tussle, yet if Sir Freddie had any weakness, it was his overweening conceit. He believed he’d get away with everything. If she played to that belief, there might be one moment, almost at the end of the game, when he might be vulnerable….

It would likely be her only chance.

She saw a glint from beneath his lashes; he’d been watching her studying him. “You didn’t say where we’re going.”

He was silent, clearly weighing the risk, then he said, “Exmoor. There’s a tiny village I was once stranded in. The evidence will suggest you stopped there, then wandered out onto the moor, threw yourself down a disused mine shaft, and drowned.”

Exmoor. Closing her eyes, leaning her head back again, she focused on that. An isolated moor. They’d have to walk to any mine… the coachman would have to stay with the horses…

As the day rolled into evening, she behaved precisely as Sir Freddie wished. She considered pretending to fall apart, weeping and despairing, but she wasn’t that good an actress, and if Sir Freddie suspected she wasn’t resigned to her fate… instead, she behaved as she imagined a French duchess would have on her way to the guillotine. Head high, haughtily superior, yet with no hint of any struggle against an overwhelming fate.

He had to believe she’d accepted it, that she’d go haughtily but quietly to her death. Given his background, that was very likely the behavior he’d expect of her, a lady of his class.

The farther they traveled, stopping at inn after inn to change horses, the more evidence she detected of his natural conceit overcoming his caution. He even allowed her to use the convenience at an inn, although she had no chance to speak to anyone, and he remained within sight of the door at all times.

Night fell; four horses pulled the coach steadily on. Closing her eyes, feigning sleep, she felt her nerves tensing and tried to relax. Exmoor, he’d said, and Exeter was still some way ahead; it would be hours yet before she got her chance. Her one chance at the life she now knew beyond doubt she wanted. The life she was prepared to fight for, the life she was determined to have.

Not as Tony’s mistress, but as his wife. As his viscountess, the mother of his heir, and other children, too. She had far too much to live for to die.

And she knew he loved her; not only had he said so, but he’d shown her. If she’d had any doubt over what his feelings truly were, the picture Sir Freddie had painted, the question he’d asked: how would Tony react to finding her dead? had blown all such doubts away.

Devastated was too small a word—she knew precisely how he would feel because it was the same way she’d feel in the converse circumstance.