Darrington 01 - Marriage Minded Lord (19 page)

“She’s concerned for you,” Charlotte rejoined. Once she’d removed her spencer and gloves, she sighed. “I really wish the two of you could find common ground. I hate to hear you argue all the time.”

“We wouldn’t need to argue if she would deign to look at the situation from my viewpoint.” Felix strode down the hall and into his study. “If you want to join me, fine. But don’t think I’ll discuss the night’s events with you either.” He dropped into his chair and let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so exhausted.

Charlotte perched on the same chair she’d occupied the last time they’d talked. “Why are you annoyed at me? I’ve been nothing but helpful to your plight.”

“More like you’ve been butting in and pushing me into the direction you wished for me to go.” He poured out a measure of brandy and took a sip. The liquor warmed his throat when he swallowed. “Why did you loan her the gown and the choker?” For that matter, when had she made Clarice’s acquaintance, and why hadn’t either of them told him?

“Because Miss Delacroix is in love with you, you nodcock.
She wanted to look beautiful.”

How could she know that? Had they talked?
Still, his chest swelled with pride. “I rather doubt that. She all but wished me to the devil earlier.”

“For your own good, most likely, or perhaps you weren’t listening carefully enough.”

“I heard what she said quite clearly.” At times, conversing with females was beyond aggravating. Why couldn’t they say what they meant?

“No, dearest brother. You heard what she said, not what she felt.” She pleated a section of skirting. “If you’d stop being so bacon-brained, you would realize you return her regard. I merely set the wheel in motion and presented her in the best light possible.”

“She did look lovely in that gown. It suited her coloring much better than would yours, not that you don’t appear spectacular in that hue.” He swallowed the remainder of the liquor in one gulp. He poured another measure of brandy into his glass. “I meant what I told Mother earlier. I want to make Clarice an offer.”

She launched to her feet. “
How wonderful! I’m happy to hear it. You two will suit admirably for you are both the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

Felix shook his head. “
I suspect she’ll refuse my suit if her objections before she left me tonight are any indication.”

“
That is because she’s probably terrified of what will happen if she does accept, especially while she’s still in Lady Drummond’s employ.”

“Out with it, Charlotte. I’m beyond tired tonight.”

“Just this. I believe Lady Drummond beats Clarice. I’ve seen the bruises on the dear girl’s back myself, but your lady didn’t come right out and say who’d given them to her.”

“Dear God, then it’s true.” He downed his second glass of brandy. “She made reference to beatings but never expanded the thought. And stupid me, I should have carried her off right then instead of letting her go back there
regardless of her pleading.” What kind of man was he that he hadn’t demanded she accept his help?

“Knowing Clarice, she was too proud. We should both pray that she knows enough to stay out of Lady Drummond’s sight tonight and that she locks her door.
As much as I would think it quite romantic of you to bash in the Drummond door and spirit Clarice away, even I know that would be looked at with dim frowns. Life isn’t a Gothic novel.” With a sniff reminiscent of their mother, Charlotte quit the room.

Once her footfalls faded, he loosened his cravat then ran a hand through his hair. Waiting for morning would be insufferable. All he wanted was to
protect Clarice from the world at large. Why wouldn’t she let him do this one little thing?

When his feet slid off the desktop, Felix awoke with a start. He’d been dozing fitfully since Charlotte left him, but the rest hadn’t brought peace. If anything, the knots tightening in his belly left him more uneasy than
when he’d begun.

“
Lord Swandon.” Samuel rapped at the still-open study door. “There is a matter of some urgency you need to attend to.”

He stared, blurry-eyed, at the butler. Clad in a long night shirt with what appeared to be a hastily donned dressing gown and slippers,
he resembled a ghost. “Out with it, man.” Standing, Felix slowly stretched his stiff, aching limbs.

“There’s a young boy in the parlor, my lord. Apparently, he’d been pounding on the door for some time before one of the footmen let him in then roused me.”

“How exceedingly odd. Why would a boy come here?” Felix followed Samuel down the hall and into the parlor.

“He said he had your card and would only speak with you.” Samuel cleared his throat at the door. “Master Malcolm,
Lord Swandon has arrived.” He remained at the door.

Felix narrowed his eyes. The urchin was probably no older than nine or ten. His clothes were dirty but not ragged. Dark smudge
s marred his hands and face. “I was told you need to speak with me.”

“Morning,
milord.” The young man briefly touched the brim of his cap. Shaggy blond hair stuck out beneath it. “I was on me route delivering bundles of the
Times
to them who sell the papers when I sees something suspicious.” The boy’s rough accent authenticated his story.

Ah, newspaper ink. That would explain the smudges.
“Go on.” Felix nodded in encouragement.

“Well, just as I was about to finish me route through St. James Square, I spies a big burly man shoot out of a townhouse with a woman over his shoulder
. Looked like she was playing dead, she did.”

“While that is interesting, I fail to understand what any of this has to do with me.” Yes, the boy’s story was mildly intriguing, but crime in London wasn’t his concern.

The boy rolled his eyes. “You gents ain’t got no patience for a good yarn.” He dug around in a pocket of his natty tweed jacket and finally pulled out a creased calling card. “The lady dropped her reticule. Must have been cold-cocked by the man, you see. Well, I picks up the purse, my lord, and roots around inside. Not to steal, mind you.”

“Of course,” Felix murmured, wishing the lad would get to the point.

“I gots me pride after all.” Malcolm straightened his spine. “There weren’t no coin inside anyway. I tucked the frippery in me bag if you want it.”

“That won’t be necessary. By the by, what color was it?” Knots tightened in his stomach.

The boy shrugged. “Black, maybe some sort of blue, and it was real soft.”

Felix forced himself to remain calm. That sort of reticule could belong to anyone.

“I found this inside.” He handed the card to Felix.

“This is one of mine.” He lifted the card and sniffed. A faint scent of lavender met his nose, immediately putting him in mind of Clarice.

“I tucked it away. I had to finish me route, after all, but I kept remembering what I seen, you see, and since your name was on that card, I came here straightaway once I finished.”

“How long does it take you to walk your route?”

“’Bout two hours, sir. St. James Square is me first stretch.”

The Drummond residence also sat in St. James Square. “And you say a man was carrying an unresponsive woman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you notice what she wore, what color her hair was, anything else pertinent?”

Malcolm wrinkled his nose. “Too dark to tell. Might have caught a flash of some pretty blue or green, but the man met up with another man. Said something about a Frenchie woman who clawed at his face before he knocked her out.”

Felix’s gut ached as if he’d been kicked. Clarice? Was she in danger? “Did they mention where they were headed?” Why the hell would anyone wish to kidnap a lady’s companion? Certainty not for ransom.

“I heard Wapping, but then they turned the opposite way of me route.” The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I should be on me way, sir. School is in a few hours and the headmaster will take a rod to me if I fall asleep at me desk again.”

“I quite understand. If the headmaster disciplines you this morning, give him my direction. I shall set him straight.”

“Thank you kindly, sir!” Malcolm beamed.

“And, Malcolm?” Felix fished a sovereign from his pocket. He tossed it the boy’s way. “I appreciate your information and your forthright attitude. Go along.”

“Well ain’t you a real ripper, sir? Thank you!”

“Samuel?” Felix gestured to his butler. “Take our friend here to the kitchens. Have Cook give him as much food as he can eat plus some to take away for the fine service he’s provided.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“And Samuel, round up a footman. Advise him to have the town coach brought around. I needs must be off as soon as he can manage it.”

“I’ll see to it immediately, Lord Swandon.”

Once the butler left with Malcolm, Felix stared at his calling card. Creased and dog-eared, it appeared to have been well-used… or perhaps battered while tucked away in her reticule or a pocket. He sniffed the vellum once more and smiled at the familiar perfume.
Or perhaps she’d kept it near her bosom as a small reminder.

The thugs had a good two hours on him. Should he risk stopping by the Drummond house? Chances were high that if Clarice had been abducted, Olivia wouldn’t admit to it or worse, she’d attempt to detain him, especially if she’d been behind the nefarious deed.
After Clarice had hinted about beatings, he wouldn’t be surprised.

…
Wynesford built his fortune on human trafficking…

The words bounced through his mind like a child’s ball. Where would the kidnappers have taken her, and in Wapping no less? Cold dread coursed down his spine. Stuff and bother.

…he’s into shipping…

Of course. The London Docks. If Clarice hadn’t told him about the secret to the Drummond
funds, it would never have occurred to him.

“Devil take it.” He slammed out of the study. If she came away from this incident with even a scratch on her delicate skin, he’d pummel the stuffing out of everyone who had a han
d in the kidnapping. Taking Wynesford to task would be a bit trickier, but he would, even if it cost him the rest of his reputation and his position within Society.

Chapter Ten

Felix alighted from his town coach and swept his gaze over the darkened buildings crowding the piers. Dawn was a couple of hours off. The rhythmic slap of the Thames against the wharves and banks filled the air. Here, on the west side near the West India Docks, the shadows seemed thicker as buildings leaned close to each other, lining the narrow streets. Steel rang against steel in the distance. The dull thud of iron into wood echoed softly. Occasionally, voices drifted to his position but the owners of said voices never materialized from the gloom.

“Where are we headed, my lord? If we linger, the constable will be along soon,” his carriage driver advised.

Where indeed. Felix wrinkled his nose against the aromas of human piss, rubbish and the brackish grime that clung to the water and hulls of the ships. If Lady Drummond intended to sell Clarice into slavery, chances were high she couldn’t do it here on English soil. Plus, European women would command a higher price in the islands or perhaps farther off in India or the Orient.

“Let’s get closer to the export dock. Barring that, I’ll have to investigate each wharf by foot. Have a care to pull off into the shadows. It won’t due to announce our presence too soon.” He regained his seat just as the carriage lurched forward.

Of course, all of this was speculation. Clarice could have been killed and the thugs who’d taken her might have already dumped her body into the river. His stomach roiled. He clenched his jaw.
I refuse to think along those lines.
Despite the mental reassurance, his chest was tight with frustration and fear. He had no idea people he actually knew could commit such a loathsome act, or had no respect for human life at all.

The carriage rocked
to a halt. Felix threw open the door and tumbled out, glad for the chance at action. His brain didn’t do well marinating on things that may not have happened. A long row of warehouses crowded the dock. Darkened doorways yawned at even intervals. Coils of ropes appeared like dangerous snakes in the shadows. Then the pools of black shifted. Two men materialized out of the gloom near the farthest doorway, so slowly his eyes might have been playing tricks on him—one tall and thin where the other was shorter and solidly built.

He frowned. Guards were out of place considering the other empty doorways.
“Stay here and out of sight the best you can,” he instructed the driver. “If someone comes around, do whatever you can to render them unconscious. I shall strive to return in a quarter of an hour.” Hopefully, with Clarice.

“Very good, my lord. Give a whistle if you require assistance. I’ll lend my fists.” The coachman’s grin was a sketchy affair.

Felix nodded. He tossed his beaver felt hat into the carriage. It would be crushed if he wore it to a fight then he strode with purpose down the length of the dock. Every so often the planks beneath his feet squealed in protest. Rank, moist air brushed over his face. The breeze clawed at his tailcoat and cravat. He curled his hands into fists then unclenched them. One way or another, those men would tell him what happened to her.

The closer he came to the men guarding the door, the more menacing they looked. Clothed in the rough
garments of fisherman or dock workers, the bulkiest of the pair had a jagged scar down the length of his right cheek. His slimmer companion possessed a crooked nose and his smile revealed a missing front tooth. He held a revolver while the other held a knife at the ready.

So that’s how it’ll be.
Felix nodded at them both. He’d need to take down the man with the gun first. The bloke with the knife might get in a lucky stab, but doubtful it would be fatal, unlike a bullet at close range.

“Good evening, gentleman. Nice night to take in the fresh air.” Felix halted with five feet of space separating him from them. He stood lightly, balancing on the balls of his feet, his body tensed
yet loose. He had no weapon except his fists, but they had served him well in a pinch while in France then later in Spain.

“Move along, my lord, unless you want your
pretty face bloodied,” the stalwart one ground out. He followed the statement by expectorating on the planks near Felix’s boots.

“I shall if you’ll impart some information.” He moved forward a few steps. “I’m looking for a youngish lady of French descent.”

The thugs exchanged a glance. The man with the revolver gestured. “Don’t matter what you want. No one will see ‘er again—at least not in England.” He laughed and his companion joined in.

Felix peered into the beefy face. Scratches decorated his scarred cheek. He felt a surge of pride that his Clarice would mark him in such a way. “Where is she? For that matter, where is Lord
Wynesford?” It was a stab in the dark, but he had to try.

The slim man snickered. “
Wynesford don’t come down here much. Neither does his bitch of a daughter. Keep their hands and noses clean while blokes like me and Canton does their dirty work.”

“And your name is?” Felix slid his gloves from his hands, folded them and tucked them into a pocket in his tailcoat. They were expensive, after all, and he didn’t want them soiled.

“Why do you want to know?” He leveled the pistol at Felix’s heart.

Felix shrugged. “I merely wish to know the name of the men I intend to best before the fight begins.” He assumed a defensive posture with his fists up and guarding his face.

“I’m Angus. That’s Canton, and this won’t take long.” He flicked his head. His bulky friend circled around to Felix’s rear.

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

Instead of throwing a punch, Felix kicked at Angus’s hand, effectively knocking the weapon free of the man’s grasp. It skittered over the damp planks. He twisted around just as Canton slashed with his knife. The blade nicked his side, but he ignored the sharp stab of pain in order to throw a punch with his right fist. It slowed the thug down, but not by much. Angus retaliated with a punch of his own and caught Felix in the left kidney.

Felix stumbled. Pain exploded through his insides. He dodged Canton’s next lunge with the blade, then spun and planted his foot squarely in the burly man’s crotch. The big
man dropped to his knees, clutching himself with both hands, his knife fallen forgotten on the wood beside him. Quickly, Felix kicked the blade away, but didn’t turn around in time to block the next blow from Angus.

Agony screamed into his jaw as the fist connected. Felix staggered and faltered then took a spill onto the planks. His heartbeat raced. His lungs ached. He made it seem as if he was nearly bested
as Angus approached. Breathing heavily, Felix felt around the immediate area. His scrabbling fingers found a broken piece of planking, which he gripped and slammed into Angus’s knees.

A distinct pop resounded
. Angus fell down. He held his left leg close to his chest and yelled for his compatriot. “He broke me damn knee!”

Canton spit out a curse before lumbering to his feet. “You won’t get as lucky this time, git.”

“If you think you can hit me, be my guest.” Felix wiped his face with his sleeve. He wasn’t prepared when Canton threw his body weight at him. He grunted, staggered backward, his arms locked with the bigger man’s as they both fought for dominance. “Tell me where she is.”

“Not bloody likely.” Canton maneuvered out of Felix’s hold just enough to deliver an uppercut jab to Felix’s jaw. “Walk away with your life or die here. Your choice.”

“I’ll keep fighting until you tell me what I want to know.” He threw a punch, but Canton ducked and sidled away. Clarice’s life might depend on him winning this skirmish.

“You gits and your morals. Angus, go get help if you can.” Canton circled around him. He feinted and lunged, throwing a fist into the mix.

Felix kept moving, dodging and ducking when necessary. He had no idea if Angus had left. “Is that the best you can do?” When the big man rushed at him, they both went down in a heavy tangle of limbs. Felix hit his head on the dock. The breath whooshed from his lungs as Canton landed on top of him. His vision darkened for an instant. He wheezed, gasping to suck in much needed air. The burly man put his beefy hands around Felix’s throat and squeezed.

I refuse to expire like this.
A strangled sound issued from his throat as he scratched at Canton’s fingers in a desperate bid to loosen the hold.
Must remember Clarice.

He
jabbed a knee into Canton’s soft belly. The bigger man grunted, but his grip didn’t slacken. With his heart pounding and his lungs on fire, Felix wriggled. He beat his fists against Canton’s scarred face and head. Finally, the fingers relaxed, and Felix took advantage of the break to lever his feet up. He planted them on Canton’s chest, and with a mighty shove, he pushed the man from his person.

As Canton lumbered to his feet, Felix flipped to his knees and crawled away. He swept the dark dock for anything he could use for defense. The likelihood of defeating a man of Canton’s stature was dismal unless he had a weapon. Angus’s pistol glittered in the dim light
, but it was too far away. The abandoned knife was well beyond his reach.

Canton grabbed Felix’s ankles.

Felix twisted, bucking his body in the hopes of kicking free. At the same time, something cold and hard brushed against his right hand. He closed his fingers around the object. A shaky laugh of relief issued from him when he realized it was a short length of chain, the fat links of iron rusty and rough in his hand.

As Canton leaned over him, his fist cocked backward to deliver a blow, Felix swung the chain as hard as he could. It caught the bigger man on the side of the face. The end of the chain wrapped around his head and smacked Canton’s opposite eye. With a howl of outrage and pain, the thug released Felix’s ankles and staggered backward.

Felix scrambled to his feet. He rushed at the man, headfirst, and again they both fell to the dock. This time Canton hit hard, landing on his back. Blood glittered on his cheek. The mangled eye was swollen. Felix didn’t care as he pressed the big man down, leaning all his weight on Canton’s sternum. “Where the hell is the woman?” If he didn’t receive answers, he’d search every room in every warehouse though his strength would fade soon.

Canton gasped for breath. “The warehouse behind us. Door’s not locked. She’s to be loaded onto a ship for Jamaica in the morning.”

“Not if I can help it.” Felix bashed a fist into Canton’s temple, and the man slumped unmoving. He slapped one of his jowls. When the man didn’t come to, Felix heaved himself to his feet. He staggered toward the building. Every bone in his body ached. His lungs still burned. His jaw throbbed. Angus was nowhere in sight.
Damn
. Reinforcements would arrive soon.

He needed to find Clarice and leave before another wave of Wynesford’s minions found them.