GypsyDukeEpub (25 page)

It was John's uncle, Lord Bartholomew. What was he doing here? And why did this gypsy appear to be waiting for him?

A sick feeling hit the pit of her stomach. She had no choice now. She would have to run for it.

While the gypsy stared at the carriage, Kitty tiptoed backwards. But when she saw his head turn to look her way, she turned around and ran.

He would be faster. Her legs were already exhausted from unexpected walking, but her life might depend on her ability to escape him. She saw another carriage coming from the opposite direction and waited until it was almost upon her before darting directly into its path.

She narrowly missed being run down, and she could hear the loud
curses from the coachman, but she had put distance between her and her pursuers by cutting across the green.

A loud voice called out to her. "Kitty! Kitty stop!"

She would have laughed if she wasn't already winded from running. Did John's uncle really think she would trust him? He was probably the one that had abducted her.

If she married John and they had a son, Lord Bartholomew would never be able to realize the duke's title. If he could get rid of her or John; no marriage, no heir, he assumed the title.

Kitty ran straight into the shop where she had bought the green ribbon. Maybe they would recognize her. Her reputation would be ruined, but she'd be alive.

She rushed through the door and crouched on the floor behind a huge display of ribbon roses. No one from the street could see her there. Neither could the proprietor, who was busy with another customer.

"Be right with you," he called.

"No rush, I am perfectly happy," Kitty managed to gasp in an almost normal voice.

Robert waited perhaps five minutes before John's uncle came out. Now, he faced a quandary. Sir James and Newport remained inside, but he knew Lord Bartholomew had more to lose if John married Kitty.

He decided to follow Lord Bartholomew. With one thump on the roof of his carriage, his coachman urged the horses into motion. Their leisurely gait took his carriage right past the one carrying John's uncle.

If they continued in this direction, they would circle around the green in a natural manner and be able to observe Lord Bartholomew's progress.

It appeared he didn't live far away. They had traversed a mere four streets when his carriage slowed.

Robert, who kept a cautious watch from his window, banged on the roof again, causing his coachman to circle yet another green. This would bring Robert's approach to Lord Bartholomew's house from the opposite direction.

A string of curses brought Robert across his carriage to the other window, and he was shocked into paralysis when a young woman greatly resembling Kitty ran past him. He tried to get another look at her face, but she was too far gone. That was definitely Kitty. He recognized the pelisse she had thrown over her arm, and there was a gypsy lad chasing after her.

He jumped out of his carriage, tearing across the green for the gypsy. He tackled him, and they rolled several feet before coming to a stop with Robert on top. He didn't hesitate to bring back his right
fist and slug the lad unconscious.

"Kitty! Kitty, wait!"

But she was too far away and turned down the merchant's avenue.

"Blast! Blast it all!"

Robert looked back at his charge, still immobile. A sudden memory of where he was had Robert searching for Lord Bartholomew's carriage. It had disappeared from sight. Now Robert couldn't even be certain which house the man had approached. That was easy enough to discover. Question the servants of the surrounding houses. Only he couldn't do that dressed as he was.

He looked down. Another costly waistcoat marred beyond repair, his breeches torn where he'd landed on the ground, and a deep slit in his Hessians, not to mention the spot where the black had completely rubbed off. His valet would have a fit.

The coachman reached him, holding out a pistol.

Robert grinned. How many members of the ton had a staff that responded to crises like his? They expected people to shoot at them. They expected to disappear at odd hours for days on end and took it all in stride. Well, all except his valet. The man would love it if Robert would keep to an acceptable schedule.

"Did you see what happened to Lord Bartholomew's carriage?"

"No mi'lord. Had my eyes fixed on the young lady. It were young Lady Kitty, were it not?"

Robert clapped him on the back. The man had a good eye. "It were indeed, Cliff. I do not suppose you noted where she ended?"

Robert kicked at the young gypsy before indicating to Cliff that they would carry him back to the carriage.

"I did, mi'lord. Just give us a sec' to git this scoundrel bound, and we'll be after the gel."

Robert impatiently waited outside his carriage while this maneuver took place, keeping his eyes tuned to the street Kitty had entered, but to no avail. She did not return to public view.

John's hackney reached the end of the green before the coachman yelled out. "Where to, mi'lord?"

"Stop for a moment."

They rolled to a stop, and John leaned his head out the window. "You see that groom up there?"

"Yer mean 'at bulky fellow what's hurryin' on so?"

"That's the one. Don't lose sight of him."

"Aye."

The hackney lurched forward, rattling John's teeth before it evened off into an easy gait. He looked about him at the seats and almost wished he hadn't. The condition of a hired coach was appalling. His new attire might not live through this experience.

The incongruity of such a thought made John chuckle. A gypsy wouldn't care about the seats, just be thankful he had a ride. How easily he had fallen back into his role as a member of the Quality.

He kept a watchful eye as they made slow progress through the seedier parts of London. Robert's groom, Jones, was adept at following a target. His nondescript appearance made him nearly invisible among countless other individuals that looked just like him. But, even more than that, he had a way of slipping from one area to another that never drew attention to his actions. The fellow would have made a great gypsy, though he probably wouldn't appreciate the sentiment.

John found himself wondering where Robert had picked up such a man. The future Viscount Newburn was a colorful individual, John was beginning to see.

The hackney slowed even more. The back alleys their quarry traversed were too narrow for the hackney. John would have to continue on foot, a problem he'd anticipated for the last ten minutes.

The coachman was nowhere near a decent fit for John, being obscenely obese. But he still might lend John his greatcoat in exchange for John's waistcoat and vest which would bring a tidy sum at a second-hand shop.

John raised his hand to the roof of the hackney and rapped loudly.  He jumped out before the carriage came to a stop, pulling out a handful of coins. "Here, take this, and if you can give me the loan of that coat, I would make it worth your while."

The coachman eyed him suspiciously. "How so?"

John looked after Jones to make sure the man was still in sight before answering. He spread his arms. "I cannot walk in this section of town as I am. However, your voluminous coat would afford me a certain degree of…"

"Right, right…jabbering gents…never know when to shut up," he mumbled to himself as he pulled off the coat. He held it just out of reach. "Well?"

John handed him his vest and waistcoat. "This should be equitable."

The coachman nearly yanked them from his fingers in his eagerness to have the fine garments.

John didn't wait to see if he was satisfied with the exchange, sliding his arms through the greatcoat as he hurried after Jones and ignoring the strong smell of sweat and whiskey that arose.

The groom had just disappeared into an alleyway.

John felt concern that he'd lost sight of both men, so he ran. He spotted Jones crouched behind some barrels. It would be prudent to lounge nonchalantly against the wall. From the corner of one eye, he saw Jones leave his hiding place and depart the far end of the alley.

John took off in swift pursuit. Jones was once again on a main thoroughfare, lined with decadent whorehouses and whiskey mills.

John squinted his eyes against the sun, barely making out the form of the man that had left Sir James' residence. He was fast approaching a decrepit shanty house, looking to his left and right repeatedly.

If he didn't want anyone to observe what he did or he was afraid of being followed, there was a good indication he was going somewhere important or had something valuable inside. And nothing was more valuable than Kitty.

John wanted to run. But even at this distance, the man might notice the commotion and flee. He kept to the outskirts of the throng of people on the walkway and hurried as best he could.

Jones was almost even with the man now, though across the street from him with his back turned away, staring through a window.

Their prey decided it was safe to enter the building. He took out a key, and with one more anxious look around, opened the door and stepped inside.

Neither Jones or John wasted any time reaching the dilapidated house.

Jones held up a finger to his mouth as John bounded forward. He bent with one ear to the door. But he rose after a few seconds, shaking his head. "Not a peep inside, yer lordship. What's yer orders?"

John had anticipated this moment all through the agonizingly slow ride.

"We can't go busting in here. If they do have Kitty, she might get injured. If you watch this door, I will reconnoiter the perimeter."

"Aye."

John slipped around the side of the house, checking every window as he did. When he reached the north side, he barely had time to look up to the window before he heard a ruckus.

The window stood open. The man inside was cursing and throwing furniture in an absolute tirade. He wouldn't notice if John chose to bust down the front door, much less, if they just walked in. After assuring himself that he heard no other voices, John returned to Jones.

"We're going in. The man's gone berserk on the second floor."

Jones wasted no time, putting his stout shoulder to the front door
and giving it a good thrust. It gave with no trouble at all, the frame so dry-rotted it couldn't hold the latch.

John mentally shook his head as he rushed up the stairs. What a place for his Kitty to be. She must have been miserable, and it was all his fault. He should have kept someone watching her house.

They reached the landing on the second floor, and John ran to the sound of the commotion. But all was silent now. He and Jones advanced with pistols at the ready.

They stormed through the door as one, giving the single occupant of the room no time to prepare for an attack. He was sprawled on the bed, the other furnishings of the room having been destroyed.

What used to be a chair lay on the floor in splintered pieces, the table as well. Shattered remnants of the chamber pot lay among the rubble, along with what might have been a pitcher of water. The dark wet stain underneath attested to it.

The bedcovering was in a heap at the man's feet, which he almost tripped over in his haste to escape them. His hand made an involuntary reach for a weapon, but it was obvious he was no match for two raised pistols. He dropped back on the bed.

"What do yer want?" he growled, obviously attempting to brazen his way out of the situation.

John pushed his pistol in the man's face. "Where's my lady?"

"I got no lady 'ere, tha's clear ta see."

John cocked his pistol. "Then I have no reason whatsoever to waste my time on you."

"Hey, guv, thar's no need ta git in a snit." He looked around the room with a glint in his eye. "Ya see, I ain't the one what snatched yer lady, I came ta rescue 'er. As you's can see, thar musta' been a struggle." He seemed inordinately pleased with himself to have come up with that lie.

John eyed him for a second. What should they do now? He knew perfectly well the man had wrecked the room, but had Kitty ever been there? There was no way to tell. Unless…

"Turn out his pockets, Jones."

The groom chuckled, apparently delighted to attend this request in the face of the man's reluctance.

"Thar ain't no cause fer that. I ain't got nuthin' of worth to ya."

Jones clapped him on the ear. "Git up, you. 'Is lordship ain't in the habit o' repeatin' hisself."

But the man made a lunge for Jones as he bent over him, blocking John's pistol. Their struggle was brief, for Jones had a good stone
more of muscle on him, and he didn't hesitate to use it. By the time he finished boxing the man in the gut, the old reprobate was doubled over, moaning.

Jones held out his hand to John. "Might this be what yer lookin' for, your lordship?"

He held out Kitty's emerald ring, and John palmed it before slipping it into the pocket of the voluminous borrowed coat. "Yes, I did not think a thief or kidnapper would be able to pass up such a prime object. Kitty was here." He gestured with his head at the bent figure on the bed. "Make him tell us where she is."