How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (30 page)

She flung Evie away, as if she couldn't stand to touch her. Evie's elbow connected with the table and pain lanced up through her arm, but she hardly felt it. She was too stunned by the enormity of what she heard and by the hell she saw in Bridget's rage-filled gaze.

“Do you think a child could ever forget that?” Bridget stormed. “Do you wonder why I've been plannin' for this moment every day of my bloody life? There's nothin' you could offer that would turn me back. Even if I don't survive this night, it'll be worth dyin' if I take those foul, murdering bastards with me.”

“Enough jawin', girl,” her companion interrupted. “You've got to get goin'.”

Bridget flashed him an irate scowl but gave a grudging nod. “Don't you think I know that? I just wanted this one to know what was goin' to happen to her precious, fine gentlemen.” She flicked her attention back to Evie. “You don't make no trouble, hear? If you're good, you might get out of this with a whole skin.”

That prompted the question Evie should have asked right away. “Why did you bring me down here, Bridget? What
do
you want from me?”

The girl lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Because your damn lover's gettin' too close to the truth. I've got him off searching the stews for Terry, and it's only a matter of time till he finds him.”

“And if he does?” Evie challenged. “If he tries to stop you?”

Bridget let out a laugh so rough and ugly it scraped like a rasp over Evie's ears. “We'll use you to get out of London. You're my ace in the hole, darlin'. I'm bettin' your pretty boy will do anything to keep you safe.”

 

 

After abandoning the hackney in favor of going on foot, Will took the last three blocks through Seven Dials at a fast clip. London's main streets were busy late into the evening, and running was faster than crawling along in a carriage.

As he'd feared, Evie had defied him, and Will had every intention of imposing an appropriate punishment as soon as he held her safe in his arms—like never letting her out of his sight again unless accompanied by two footmen and a very large dog to protect her. He wasn't a man who prayed much, but he'd been running a litany through his head ever since he left Hereford Street.

After dealing with Terence O'Shay, Will had reported to Aden and then followed Alec to Milbank House. Alec had already ordered Sir Gerald to send the dinner guests home—all of them blustering and demanding explanations—after which he'd initiated a search of the house. It hadn't taken long to find a chilling store of gunpowder in the undercroft. Alec and his men had also surprised two of Bridget O'Shay's coconspirators in the act of laying down the match cords in final preparations for blowing up Milbank's house.

Bridget, however, had not been present, and her men refused to give up her whereabouts. Will had left Alec to try to extract whatever information he could and headed to the Reese town house. If anyone knew where the girl might go to ground, it would be Evie.

To his shock, Evie had already run headfast into danger. Eden, worried about her sister and returning home early from an evening out, had told Will about the note from Bridget. Will had ordered Eden to send a message to Alec before racing out to the street to find yet another hackney.

He rounded the corner into White Lyons Street and slowed as he headed into the laneway behind St. Margaret's. Drifting into the shadow of a house opposite the back entrance, he decided to go in through the front. Bridget would expect him—or anyone, for that matter—to come in through the back building, so he would go through the church and—he hoped—catch her and whoever she had with her by surprise. On short notice, it was the best plan he could come up with to rescue Evie. He'd likely have to forgo capturing Bridget, but he could make his peace with that, under the circumstances.

He swiftly made his way around to the front door of St. Margaret's. He'd never broken into a church before, but he supposed there was a first for everything. Extracting his picklocks, he crouched in the shadows of the narrow porch and went to work.

After a minute, he eased the heavy oak door closed behind him and slipped into the vestibule. The small church had whitewashed walls and pews lining the narrow aisle up to the canopied altar. A sanctuary lamp provided some light, as did high windows reaching up to the vaulted arch of the roof. Still, most of the church was thick with shadows. Will stood as motionless as the statue of St. Michael in the niche beside him, straining to see or hear anyone who might be lurking.

Satisfied that he was alone, he cast an ironic glance at the stone angel looming over him. It
would
be Archangel Michael who stared down at him with an expression on his austerely carved features that issued a challenge to protect the innocent and fight evil. That's what Michael Beaumont had been trying to do, however misguidedly, and now it was up to Will to finish the job.

After tapping the angel's sword for good luck, Will moved swiftly up the aisle, searching for the door to the kitchen and offices. Not for the first time, he wished he'd had a chance to do a thorough exploration of the church complex. Unlike Alec, who rather delighted in the unexpected, Will always wanted to know everything he could about a mission. Given the stakes—which included the life of the woman he loved—he hated even more than usual that he was going in nearly blind.

He'd reached the lectern when muffled voices froze him in place. They came from behind a small door on the right side of the chancel. A dim light filtered out from underneath the doorframe, perhaps from a candle or small lamp. He moved closer, taking his pistol from his coat pocket.

Crouching down, Will stared through the keyhole then breathed a curse. He saw—and heard—enough to realize that a child was huddled on the stone floor, sobbing as he hugged a woman's skirts. As far as he knew, the only child at St. Margaret's belonged to the housekeeper, Mrs. Rafferty. That the boy and his mother were locked away certainly suggested they were not part of any conspiracy.

He tapped lightly on the door, and the child's weeping cut off in mid-sob.

“Mrs. Rafferty, it's Captain Endicott,” he murmured, his mouth close to the keyhole. “I'm Miss Evelyn's friend, come to help.”

He heard nothing but silence for a few seconds, then a soft scrambling.

“Can you get us out?” Mrs. Rafferty hissed.

“Hang on,” Will murmured.

It took less than a minute to pry open the rusted old lock. When he opened the door, a small body startled to hurtle out. Will picked up the boy and stepped into the room, closing it behind him. He set the lad, who looked no more than seven, on his feet. His mother grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him to her dark skirts.

“Ain't you goin' to let us out, mister?” the boy asked plaintively, staring up at him.

Will hunkered down before him. “Yes, of course, but I want to keep you out of trouble, too. What's your name?”

“Billy,” he said with a sniff.

“I'm a William, too, although my friends call me Will. I'm going to get you out of here, but you need to be very quiet. Can you do that?”

The boy rubbed his nose and nodded.

Will stood and cast an assessing glance over the mother. She was a trim, calm-looking woman in her mid-thirties, he guessed, neatly garbed in a dark blue dress with a plain collar. One side of the collar was ripped and hanging off her shoulder, and her hair was coming down from the knot at the back of her head.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked.

“We're fine, sir, just frightened,” she replied in a soft Irish brogue. “But I'm worried about Miss Evie and what they'll do to her.”

Will clamped down on the rush of fear that tightened his muscles. “Did you see Miss Evie?”

“No, sir. They put us in here before she arrived, but I heard that bi—” She stopped, glancing at her son. “I heard Bridget talking about her to one of those men. She said she'd use Miss Evie as hostage, if she needed to.”

Now Will's fear whirled through him like an icy gale before settling into a cold, steady anger. “How many of them were there?”

“Bridget and two men, as far as I know, but they locked us in here sometime ago.” Mrs. Rafferty glanced down again at her child, then back up at Will. “I'd like to help in any way I can, sir, but I need to get my boy to safety.”

“Of course. I'm going to get you out of here, and then I want you to go directly to Bow Street. Tell them that Captain William Endicott of the First Royal Dragoons sent you, and try to get someone here as quickly as you can. Tell them I'm working with Sir Dominic Hunter. They'll know him. Do you understand?”

Mrs. Rafferty nodded and took her son by the hand.

“One more thing. Where's the door into the other building, and where does it lead?”

After the woman explained the layout, Will swiftly led them through the church to the front door. A fast inspection outside showed him that all seemed quiet, and he sent them on their way. Every muscle in his body urged him to race to the other building to rescue Evie, but he forced himself to watch Mrs. Rafferty and Billy until they disappeared around a corner.

A minute later, Will was easing open the door between the church and the back building. It led into an anteroom—a small space filled with shelves that clearly served as a pantry. The pantry had no door and opened directly onto the kitchen. That was a lucky break, since it meant he wouldn't have to fumble with locks and creaking hinges while trying to maintain the element of surprise.

He moved silently to the opening, hunkering down by a set of shelves. He craned out just a bit, catching sight of Evie in a chair on the other side of a long, oak table, just in front of the hearth. She leveled a fierce glare in the direction of the opposite door, her scowl clearly directed at someone over there. Not a hair appeared out of place, and her neat bonnet and tidily buttoned spencer gave evidence to the fact that she hadn't been manhandled.

Relief rushed through him, so encompassing that he had to pull back for a few seconds to catch his breath. He clamped down on his emotions, gave a quick shake of his head, and leaned out again.

From his angle, he couldn't see how many of her captors were at the other end of the room since a large dresser—he remembered it held a great deal of crockery—blocked his view. Of course, that meant that they couldn't see him, which he could use to his advantage.

He thought about it for a few seconds, then slowly rose to his feet without making a sound. That clearly put him in Evie's line of sight. It was a risky move, but he needed to get her attention. He could only hope she had the discipline not to react when she saw him.

The seconds crawled by. Finally, Evie sighed and rolled her shoulders, trying to stretch on the uncomfortable-looking cane chair. Her gaze drifted in Will's direction and then she suddenly sat bolt upright, staring at him with round eyes. He grimaced in warning and jerked his head in the direction of whoever was watching her.

To his immense relief, she let out another tedium-filled sigh and slumped down again. She let a good minute pass before she twisted in her chair, as if trying to get comfortable. She'd turned enough so she could see him quite naturally, maintaining her slumped back posture as if she'd given up any hope of rescue.

He rewarded her with a smile and held up one finger, then two, again jerking his head toward the door. She casually lifted her hands—which were tied together at the wrists—making a show of scratching her nose, then lifted her index finger in a fleeting movement.

Good girl,
he mouthed.

A tiny, self-satisfied smile quirked up the corner of her lush mouth. God, how he loved her. And he would spend the rest of his life proving that to her once he got them out of this blasted mess.

He faced a hard decision. Act now, or wait for Alec to show or for Mrs. Rafferty to fetch help from Bow Street. The problem with waiting was that he couldn't be certain when help would arrive or how it would manifest itself. If rescuers came storming into the place, it was entirely possible that the man who stood guard over Evie—at gunpoint, he had to presume—would either shoot her or use her as a shield to get away. That wasn't a risk he was prepared to take.

He went down in a crouch. Evie watched him out of the corner of her eye as he pointed in the direction of the dresser. He pantomimed reaching up, grabbing something, and then throwing it. No doubt he looked like an idiot, but figured she would understand what he was trying to communicate.

Evie looked vaguely puzzled for a moment or two before switching her gaze forward with a tiny nod. It made Will's stomach clench that he had to use her as a distraction, but it was their only chance.

“Excuse me,” she said after clearing her throat, “but I need to use the necessary.”

Will had to repress a snort of laughter as he began to inch forward into the room. It was a simple, entirely believable request that somehow mocked their dire circumstances.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, letting asperity color her voice. “I have to visit the necessary.”

Will hugged the wall as he crawled toward the dresser. The room was dimly lit, with only a small fire on the hearth and one branch of candles on the mantel. Deep shadows reached into the corners, but he could now see Evie's captor, a tall, brawny man holding a pistol. He sat on the stairs that led to the corridor and Beaumont's office. All the man had to do was look down and to the right and he would see Will, too.

Fortunately, his attention remained on Evie.