In the Arms of a Marquess (32 page)

“Sheeble bribed you with the girl?”

Crispin looked toward the wall again, as though he could find courage there. “When I discovered the girls, I threatened to make it known at the next port, and to have them sent back home. But by then it was too late.”

Ben knew about too late. Nine years ago he learned that lesson when he rescued an English miss in a crowded marketplace.

Crispin dragged in a breath. “I did not sleep.”

“Guilt for agreeing to keep the business secret and profiting from it?”

His eyes slewed back to Ben. “I never wished to profit from it, and I have not.” His voice was hard. “Sheeble said that if I slept, he would put Tabitha overboard. I could do nothing. The crew anticipated their gold at the end of the cruise. None of them would help me, and they took my sword and pistol, even the lock on my door. I kept her with me and barely slept for two months until we reached port. Sheeble let me have her then, but he maintained a watch on us.”

“I assume you smoothed the transfer into India of those girls who remained alive, without notice by the authorities. Why did you agree to sign the documents?”

His shoulders fell. “I was beyond myself. Ill. It was easier to do what he wished than to continue. I could not work and remain in society and protect her from Sheeble all at once. It was impossible.”

In society in Madras at that time he had begun to court Octavia, an attempt to release himself from the grip his obsession had on him. But such a grip never released a man.

“Did Styles ever threaten you himself?”

Crispin’s lip curled. “Sheeble always, until you so conveniently gathered us all at your estate.”

“He allowed you to purchase the
Sea Bird
, making you believe that would be an end to the trade in girls.”

“He lost a fortune in Nepal, but you must know that. I paid him twice what the ship was worth. I thought that would end it.”

“But he warned you that was not to be.” With a burr beneath a horse’s saddle and an impromptu race. Ben should have known. But he hadn’t known about the fire then. He had not yet learned to mistrust his old friend. “Will he bring the girls from the countryside this time?”

Crispin lifted his gaze again, abruptly sharp.

“Apparently you know everything already. Why are you here?”

“Take care now how you speak to me, sir,” Ben said evenly. “I have been asked to show you more mercy than you deserve, but I am inclined otherwise.”

Crispin’s eyes flickered with something deep and disturbing. Dread.

“I deserve no mercy at all. Not from you.”

Icy fingers stepped up Ben’s spine. “Where did Styles take your Tabitha?”

“To the safe house with the new girls. But only for a night, to frighten me. He brought her back this morning. I have sent her to the country with my housekeeper.”

“You no longer fear for her safety?”

Crispin shook his head, eyes swimming with guilt.

Ben’s throat twisted. “Where,” he said as steadily as he could, “is Miss Pierce?”

The baron looked like a man already upon the gallows.

“When he came to my rooms this morning,” he said in a strangled voice, “he said he is finished with Tabitha. That she and I are no longer useful to him. You are his principal object.”

“Crispin—”

“He has all the leverage he needs with Octavia.”

Cold, hard purpose washed through Ben, submerging the panic fighting to break loose. “Where is he?”

Crispin shook his head, throwing his face into his palm, not masking his misery now. “In the countryside, or preparing the ship. I don’t know. I don’t know, for God’s sake! I wish— I wish I had never—”

Ben stood and moved swiftly across the chamber and from the building, telling himself that Sully and Abha would not allow her to come to harm. That she was clever enough to recognize danger if it confronted her. That he was not upon the threshold of losing his life the moment he had gained it.

But as he pressed along London’s leaden streets toward Blackwall where Sully’s men would bring news to Creighton, he passed through a world of humanity that had become once again thoroughly alien.

Chapter 24

DISABLED. The state of a ship when, by the loss of her masts, sails, yards, or rigging, she is rendered incapable of prosecuting her voyage without great difficulty and danger.

—Falconer’s
Dictionary of the Marine

L
al clung to Tavy’s head with the grip of an animal three times his size.

“This will not do,” she mumbled, peeling the monkey’s tiny black fingers from her bonnet one by one only to have him reattach more firmly than ever.

“I told you this,
memsahib
. Your absences give him worry.”

Tavy ceased her efforts, resigning herself to walking down St. James’s Street with a capuchin monkey wrapped around her nape. Passersby gaped, stared, pointed, proper English gentlemen and ladies reduced to nursery behavior by the sight of the Original and her exotic pet. But Lal’s behavior when she returned home from Ben’s house had made it clear that he would have torn the house apart if Tavy left him again. And somehow she felt safer with him.

She scanned the upper windows of Brooks’s gentlemen’s club. She could not very well knock on the door and expect to enter. But Abha could give a note to the doorman. If only she had thought to write one.

“Miss Octavia Pierce, what a pleasant surprise.” The female purr suggested precisely the opposite. Priscilla Nathans’s violet pelisse perfectly complimented the emerald glint of her eyes. She was alone, followed only by a servant carrying an armload of parcels. Her ruby lips curled into a moue of distaste. “And what interesting headgear.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will accept that as a compliment.”

“I am sure you will.”

Lal leaned over Tavy’s shoulder and bared his teeth. Tavy moved toward the front door of Brooks’s.

“Searching for anyone I know?”

Tavy looked over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, yes. I don’t suppose you have seen Lord Crispin today?” According to Abha, Marcus was no longer at either of his residences. But Tavy needed to find him and insist he turn himself in to the authorities. His actions had hurt people, even though he had not wished to. He simply did not have Ben’s strength of character. Although, of course, Ben had hurt
her
perfectly well. But since she seemed to be the only person in humanity to have that honor, it must be for the best.

“Lost track of your fiancée? How diverting.” Lady Nathans chuckled, a rippling sound of superiority. “Perhaps you have been too attentive elsewhere, hm?”

Lal’s fingertips dug into Tavy’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you mean, but I am certain it will not do me any good to find out.” She stepped away.

“Abigail Carmichael had a lovely night with him. I’ve only just now come from calling upon her at home. She is exhausted, of course. Some gentlemen are not easily sated.”

Octavia tasted sour milk.

“My lady, you obviously delight in speaking in riddles.” Lal’s fingertips pinched her earlobe, his whole little body jittering. “Unfortunately I am not so fond of deciphering them, especially since Lady Carmichael’s nocturnal activities certainly have nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t be so coy, my dear. A person has only to see you glance at Doreé to know your feelings.”

“Do you know, Lady Nathans, I believe you are—quite literally as well as figuratively—a green-eyed monster.”

The monster’s green eyes narrowed. “What on earth could I have of which to be envious?”

“What you imagine your good friend Lady Carmichael had.” That which Tavy, whatever way she looked at it, could not possibly accept. Perhaps he had been with Constance under certain circumstances, although Tavy was already beginning to doubt it now that she’d had time to consider. But not another woman, and certainly not the previous night during the hours he had left her alone. Not the man she knew him to be now.

“I saw them with my own eyes, my dear, as did Lord Styles and the others. I needn’t imagine a thing.”

“Hm.” Tavy’s blood hummed. “Well then, imagine this: Imagine telling me the name of the ship your husband and Lord Crispin own which is shortly to set sail for the East Indies.”

The demi-rep’s gaze sharpened.

“Has Doreé cozened you into seeking out information for him?” Her purr sounded rather rough now. “How quaint you are to be so devoted.”

“Then,” Tavy continued as though the baroness had not spoken, “if you do not tell me the name of the ship, imagine me telling Lady Carmichael exactly what did not happen in your bedchamber that night at Fellsbourne before your host left it.”

Tavy almost laughed at the momentary panic that sluiced across the baroness’s face. But the monster masked it quickly.

“You could not possibly know anything,” she said smoothly.

“Oh, well then, if you have no anxiety upon that score, I will just call upon Lady Carmichael as soon as I am finished here.”

“Sea Bird.”

Tavy swiveled on her heels and met the baroness’s gaze. “
Sea Bird
, you say? And which berth might she be lodged in?”

“I haven’t any idea.” Lady Nathans scowled. “What do you take me for, common gentry like yourself?”

“Oh, I would not take you for anything. In that, I believe Lord Doreé and I are quite alike.” With a smile, she headed down the sidewalk, Lal hurling a string of staccato comments in their wake.

“Do you wish now to go to the ship?” Abha asked at her shoulder.

“Well, Lord Crispin is not at either of his flats. Do you think he might be there?”

“No.”

Tavy peeled Lal’s mitt from her chin and drew in a thick breath. “Why not?”

“He is behind you.”

Tavy pivoted. Amidst the attractive traffic upon St. James’s—ladies walking arm in arm, gentlemen dressed to the nines, tradesmen in neat trousers, even a flower girl in a fetching smock—Marcus looked horrible. Worse than she must have looked with the monkey on her shoulder. He strode straight to her at a hard pace, drawing stares.

“I hoped to find you before I left.” His voice was hoarse, his face pale and eyes red as though he had been crying. He looked at Abha and his brow seemed relieved. “You are safe.”

“I am.” She shook her head. “Where are you going?”

“My house in the country. But first I must see Nathans, apologize to him for implicating him in this business. I needed his money to purchase the ship, but he is innocent, of course.” His brow contorted, the thick lock of hair falling over it that she had once wished to brush away in a comforting gesture. His cravat was crushed, his coat wrinkled, and whiskers shadowed his jaw already at midday. He looked directly at her, for the first time since she had known him apparently unconcerned with what others might think of him. He seemed a man thoroughly beaten, and it was awful to behold.

“Marcus, you must turn yourself in. If not because it is right, then because you cannot go on like this.”

“I will.” His lids drooped until his eyes were half closed. “I promise, I will return and give my testimony. But now it is in Doreé’s hands, where it should have been all along. He will see it to its end.” His blurred gaze swept up to her face. “Do you know who he is, Octavia? Do you truly know?”

She stared, dumbstruck, and nodded.

His gaze slipped to Abha, then farther along the street. Tavy followed it to a young man, thick-set and garbed like a dockworker, leaning against the rear wheel of a parked hackney coach.

“I hope you know,” Marcus whispered, returning to her face. He shook his head. “I beg your pardon, Octavia. A thousand pardons for putting you in danger.”

“Danger? But you said that was a story you invented.”

His eyes seemed to grow fraught again. “He did not tell you, then.” His gaze slewed to the lumper down the block once more. “But he—”

“Tell me what, Marcus?”

He gripped her hands. “If he did not see fit to tell you, I cannot.” He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew an envelope. He pressed it into her palm. “Give him this.”

“Lord Doreé? What is it?”

“He will understand. Octavia, my dear, God bless you. And forgive me, please.” He released her and swung away down the crowded sidewalk.

The crisp stationery shook in her fingers.

“Where do you wish to go now?” Abha asked.

“I hardly know.” But she did. Ben had spoken with Marcus, clearly, but he hadn’t told her. Still he kept secrets. But one secret she must learn the truth of finally. “I will call upon Lady Constance.”

Abha nodded. Tavy strode toward the carriage. The young dockworker pushed away from the hackney, falling into her tracks.

“Abha, do you know that man?” Her gaze darted to the stranger as she climbed into the carriage.

“No,
memsahib
. I do not.”

I
n the downstairs parlor of the Duke of Read’s town house, Lady Fitzwarren sat ensconced in a gilt-and-white chair. She rose hastily and moved toward Tavy with a heavy exhalation.

“There you are, dear girl.”

At the window, Constance whirled about and threw herself forward to grip Tavy’s hands.

“Octavia darling, I went to your home but you were not there. Where did you go?”

Tavy’s head spun, her heart tangled. The blue eyes glimmered with such affection and concern.

“Constance, I came here to— I—” How could she do it? “I have no way of asking this delicately, but are you increasing?”

The dowager sucked in an audible breath. Constance’s brows dipped into a frown. She shook her head. But this was not sufficient answer for Tavy’s heart.

“Yet you are clearly troubled. At the Saveges’ ball the other night—” She took a steadying breath. “Constance, I must know if you and Ben intend to marry. Please tell me now, without evasions.”

Her blue eyes flickered with a hint of agitation. “We do not.”

Tavy tried to control her quick breaths, but her lungs would not seem to function properly. She glanced at the dowager. Lady Fitzwarren’s pinpoint eyes were direct. She nodded her head once, a spray of purple feathers fluttering upon her bandeau.

Tavy pulled her gaze away. “Did you—” Good heavens, this was equally difficult. “Were you ever lovers?”

“No. Never. Oh, look at me, Octavia.” Constance gripped her fingers. “I said no.”

Tavy jerked her hands away. “But why not? And why did you never marry?”

The beauty’s lips curved into a sad smile. “No doubt it would have made things quite a bit easier for me if I could have convinced him to marry. But he would never agree to it.”

Tavy stared into her friend’s brilliant eyes. “Did you wish to?”

Constance twisted her slender shoulders in a movement that might have been a shrug or assent. “For companionship, yes. Safety and comfort.”

“You never . . . ?”

“Desired him?” Her slim brows lifted. “I tried to kiss him once.”

A lump clotted Tavy’s throat. “And?”

“It was years ago, after that endless period of mourning. I needed to know if we would suit, if I could run away to him and not grow to regret it, or estrange my closest friend by forcing a faithfulness upon him he did not want.”

“What happened?”

“He let me make a fool of myself.” A rueful curve shaped her lips. “He was very kind at first in putting me off, then he said it was like kissing his sister, and I remember throwing something porcelain at him, or perhaps marble.” Her grin crept into a private smile of memory. Then her gaze lifted to Tavy’s. “But sometimes I have found myself wishing it were otherwise, when I look at him and see what you see.”

“What do I see?” Tavy barely whispered.

“A beautiful man in every way. A man without equal upon this island or any other. Octavia, I have known him since he was thirteen and I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Tavy’s heart ached so hard she was obliged to press a hand to her chest. “He is dishonest with me.”

“His life is a masquerade. But you know that, don’t you?”

“I thought— When you said you had betrayed me, I thought you meant with him.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I simply cannot go on like this, imagining and fearing and not trusting but wanting to trust. I am not fashioned for that.”

Constance said softly, “I don’t believe he is either.” Her smile was gentle.

Raw hope battered Tavy’s insides.

Constance reached for her hand. “You are more observant than you know. I have been so heartsore. But since I learned of his perfidy, I am more sorry for him than anything else.”

“His perfidy?”

“His lies to Ben, to me, and everyone else.”

“Whose lies?”

Constance shook her head. “Octavia, what—”

“Who lied to you and Ben? Marcus?”

“Lord Crispin? Why, no. It was Walker. I thought you understood—”

“Lord Styles? What did he lie to you about?”