Surrender The Night (16 page)

So here he stood, feel
ing a fool. A lonely fool, in truth. Katrina was the only woman he’d ever been able to talk to meaningfully out of bed. He’d miss those exasperating, emotional confrontations. And despite what she thought, despite their differing backgrounds, they were not so ill matched. Their primary contention was his unwillingness to wed her. Given time, he could have convinced her that he could make her happier out of wedlock than in it.

He desperately wanted that time. He’d handled her wrong, he saw that now. She’d frustrated him so because she was unlike any woman he’d ever known. He couldn’t bribe her because material things meant little to her; he couldn’t subdue that iron will because it was forged more by beliefs than stubbornness; and he couldn’t sway her with passion save for brief moments because she was a woman ruled by mind and heart rather than instinct and self.

He slammed his fist against the mantel, so frustrated that he didn’t even wince. Never had he felt less worthy than now, knowing he’d lost the only worthy woman he’d ever known. ...

When the door opened, he turned eagerly. He saw from Billy’s face that he had news—bad news. Devon leaped forward and caught Billy’s arm in a crushing grip. “Well, man?”

Billy covered Devon’s white-knuckled hand with his own hairy paw. “I found a cabbie who described an odd fare he had—said a wee lass with a gray dress was hooded, carried into his hack by a swell. A tall swell with brown hair and blue eyes.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed to dangerous gold slits. “Sutter- field?”

“I suspect so. The cabbie said he don’t remember where he took ’em, but I think he were afraid to say.”

Devon strode to the door without another word. He snapped over his shoulder, “Have my curricle brought ’round.”

After Billy obeyed, he went in search of Devon. He wasn’t surprised to find him in the study in the act of fetching his dueling sword from the bottom of his gun case.

Devon drew it out, dusted off the leather sheath, then strapped the weapon about his lean waist and threw on a light summer cloak to hide it. He whirled and strode toward the door, waving Billy away from his path.

Billy, however, stayed planted in the doorway. He knew that deadly glitter in Devon’s eyes. “Murder won’t bring ’er back, Devvie lad.”

“Come, Billy, it’s not murder to defend one’s possessions. Step aside.”

Billy didn’t move. “Naw, but whoever said ye own the lass? Not her. And if ye kill him, ye may be called to account, even if it’s a fair fight. And how will ye find her then?”

“Oh, he’ll talk, first. And I’ll give him every chance
to defend himself. Now
move.”

Billy snorted, but he angled his broad body sideways so Devon could squeeze by. Then, his ugly but oddly compelling features drawn with worry, he followed Devon out the front door held open by a wooden-faced footman.

“I shan’t need you today, Henry,” Devon said to the wiry little man who served as his tiger. Henry nodded, but he held the fractious team of grays until Devon and Billy were settled on the lofty curricle seat. At Devon’s nod Henry released the animals and leaped aside. With an adroit flick of his whip above the grays’ heads, Devon urged the team into motion.

Upon reaching Sutterfield’s lodgings, Devon gave a tough
faced lad a crown to watch the horses, then climbed the outside stairs. Billy, still grimly silent, followed him every step of the way. A sleazy-looking little man with long, stringy hair answered Devon’s second knock.

“Wot ye want?”

“To see your master. Now.”

“He ain’t available.” But when the servant tried to shut the door in Devon’s face, he found a boot and a curled hand in the way. Easily Devon shoved both man and door backward and entered the cramped quarters. The stenches of molding cheese and an unemptied chamber pot were overlaid by the acrid smell of cheap gin.

Devon’s mouth curled down at the corners. He sliced a glance at Billy, who sighed, but blocked the door, stopping the weasely man’s furtive movements toward it. Devon threw back the only other door in the small apartment and drew the curtains to let in the late-aftemoon sunshine.

The frayed bed hangings had once been pale blue, as was evident in the creases, but wear, dirt, and sun had bleached them to a sullen gray. Sutterfield, several days’ growth of beard upon his face, groaned at the brilliance and opened one bleary blue eye.

He blinked, then sat up. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times, then stretched, appraising Devon all the while. Bright sunlight glanced off the gold- embellished hilt of Devon’s sword. Unwisely, Sutterfield jeered, “What a . . . queer surprise, Cavanaugh. Do you always come acalling wearing a sword?”

“Only when I intend to kill someone,” Devon res
ponded, leaning against the door jamb and crossing one ankle over the other.

Sutterfield started, and his innocent look was spoiled as his yellow skin went pasty white. “What the devil for?”

“For stealing what is mine. I warned you once. Now you’ll pay.” Sutterfield vaulted from the bed, but Devon caught him before he’d gone two steps and shoved him against the wall with a hand at his throat.

“How lucky that I forgot to take off my driving gloves,” Devon said mildly. “I’d hate to dirty my hands on you.” When Sutterfield moved as if to raise his knee, Devon tightened his grip slightly. Sutterfield choked and went from pasty white to pale blue. When he went limp, Devon smiled.

A less intelligent man than Sutterfield would have read the menace in that smile, and it drained the little cockiness the viscount had left. When Devon relaxed his grip, he coughed and rasped, “If ... I tell you where I took her . . . you have to promise . . . to let me go.”

“That I can promise you truthfully. Tell me where to find her, and I’ll release you.”

“She’s, she’s
...”
Sutterfield hesitated. When Devon infinitesimally closed his fingers, he croaked, “She’s at Madame Lusette’s!” Devon went still, then his grip closed in concert with the breath hissing between his teeth. Sutterfield gurgled as his lungs labored for the air that his constricted windpipe could not supply.

Devon stared at his working face impassively, and only Billy’s loud “Let him go, lad!” saved the viscount.

Snarling like a mortally wounded bear, Devon let him go—only to begin raining blows on Sutterfield’s face and belly. Billy called to him to stop, but in his red haze Devon was blind to the voice of reason. Billy ran across the room and caught Devon’s raised fist.

“Listen, lad. His man’s gone to fetch the watch.” They heard the sound of descending footsteps, then the slam of the exterior door.

“Good, he can wipe this slime up off the floor,” Devon growled, jerking his fist away.

It was Sutterfield himself, sliding to the floor and leaving a bloody trail down the silk wallpaper as he went, who stayed Devon’s arm. “Don’t you want to kn
ow if I had her?” he gasped, panting.

Devon froze, his impassivity slipping to show the anguish he’d hidden so well. Sutterfield’s smile was ghastly but triumphant. “Kill me and you’ll never know.”

Devon’s arm slowly fell to his side. Just as slowly his hand lifted, felt for, then clasped the hilt of his sword. “It doesn’t really matter. You’ve degraded her whether you’ve personally used her or not, and for that you will die. Fetch your sword.” Devon stood back and allowed Sutterfield to stagger to his feet.

“I’ve some other news you’ll find interesting,” Sutterfield said as he stumbled to a curtained alcove. He came back with his dueling sword.

“Save it. You’ll need all your energies for this.” Devon threw off his cloak, took off his gloves, drew out his sword, and waited.

When Sutterfield would have spoken again, Devon’s face twisted. ‘ ‘Damn you, I don’t want to hear what happened to her there! She’s no bawd, and for treating her as one you die!”

Devon didn’t even allow Sutterfield a salute. They’d engaged only three times before Devon’s crafty riposte jerked the sword from the viscount’s weak grip. That cruel twist to Devon’s expressive mouth was marked as he drew back his arm to thrust. The door slammed back on its hinges. In rushed the watch and the constable.

“’Ere now, ye know duelin’ ain’t proper, ’specially ’ere,” the constable said, stepping between Devon and his target.
When Devon looked as if he might thrust anyway, the man paled. But, to his credit, he stood his ground.

Billy averted disaster by snatching the sword away from Devon. “Come, lad. We must try to find her.”

Devon drew a shaking hand over his suddenly sagging features and turned blindly to the door. The constable caught his arm.

“Not so fast. Ye’ve some explainin’ to do.” When Devon threw him off and hurried out the door, the constable and the elderly watchman followed.

Billy, however, stayed behind long enough to glare at Sutterfield, who had slumped down in a chair. “If you value your life, you’ll make an extended visit to the Continent. Especially if the lass has been harmed.”

Sutterfield barked a mean laugh. “Oh, she’s the star whore all right.” When Billy’s mouth tightened grimly, Sutterfield muttered, ‘ ‘They wouldn’t let me near her. The last I heard, she was sick of the fever. From the taking of her brat.”

Billy stared. “Do ye mean she were pregnant?”

“As a fat cow. With Cavanaugh’s seed. Tell him that, from me.” Sutterfield staggered to his feet
, fetched a valise, and began flinging his clothes inside it. Billy walked heavily to the door, closed it, then leaned against it.

He shut his eyes and muttered a quick prayer. “Poor wee lass. Poor babe.” Then, more quietly: “Poor Devvie lad. She’ll ne’er forgive ye now.”

Devon bribed the watch and the constable just as Billy joined him. Night was upon them. Madame Lusette’s business was brisk when they arrived and demanded to see her.

“She don’t work much no more,” said the girl the doorman took them to. She was a voluptuous little thing with bright red hair and vermilion cheeks to match. She sidled up to Devon and ran her hand down his arm.

“But I’d be glad to take care o’ yer
...”
She trailed off suggestively, then concluded, “business.”

Devon shrugged her off and flipped a guinea in the air. She caught it adroitly. “There’s another for you if you bring Lusette herself to us. Now.”

With a half-avaricious, half-regretful look over her shoulder she hustled her shapely little rear out the door, leaving it open. They heard a knock, then muffled voices.

Madame Lusette herself, looking harried, came into the antechamber. When Devon tossed another guinea to the girl behind her, Madame Lusette threw the girl a sharp look that sent her scurrying off, then turned politely back to Devon and Billy. “Well, gents? What’s yer pleasure? We’ve a new girl from China—”

“We
are
seeking one of your new girls. She’s about this high”—Devon held his hand out, palm down, even with his collarbone—“with bright gold hair and blue-green eyes. I’ll pay you a hundred pounds if you’ll take me to her.”

Madame Lusette’s eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. “I’d let ye keep her for that. She’s been naught but trouble. But she ain’t here. She ran away today with a sawbones who were tendin’ to her—”

“What was wrong with her?” Devon interrupted sharply.

“He said she had fever and could die, but I sent a man to the place where he said he’d take her, and she weren’t there.”

“Fever? From what?”

“Why, from—”

“What difference does it make, now, lad?” Billy inserted. “She’s obviously well and this was a ruse to get her away.”

The madam crossed her arms over her huffing bosom. “Shoulda known that feller were too young and handsome to trust with her. And I wager she was fine as a trivet by the time she left, too.”

Where Billy’s diversion had not worked, this one did. Devon’s mouth snapped shut over another authoritative question. Then, almost whispering, he asked, “And what was this fellow’s name?”

The madam shrugged. “Names don’t mean much in my line o’ work. We just asked fer a doc and he’s the one they sent. A tall, slim bloke with pale blond hair and blue eyes.”

“They?” Billy asked when Devon stared into space.

“The school where he were studyin’. That fancy new one on . . .” The madam gave them directions. She snatched up the palmful of guineas Devon vaguely offered her and was already counting them when Billy ushered Devon out the door. Seeing that Devon was in no state to drive, Billy took the

reins himself.

The school was almost deserted, but they found one instructor working on his notes. After listening to Billy’s description, the physician nodded and said, “That would be young Farrow. A most talented young doctor. But as
to where he’s from, I couldn’t say. He kept much to himself. I know only he attended here on an inheritance and planned to return home soon.”

Billy pulled Devon outside, throwing him a worried glance. When Devon climbed up beside him and let him take the reins again, Billy snapped, “Wake up, man! This is no time to go about in a daze if you want to find your lady.”

Devon finally focused on him. All his frustration, anger, and worry sounded in his soft response. “ Tis obvious she doesn’t want me to find her. What did she go through in these weeks, Billy? What did they do to her to make her agree to become another man’s mistress when she scorned me?”