C
HAPTER
E
IGHT
When the rumbling of the wheels changed to rattling over city streets, Stuart sat up. “We’ve arrived. Where now, captor mine?”
“Clapham Close, number ten.” Charlotte had recovered from her momentary madness by now. Everything would be fine; she had done the right thing. He hadn’t been out of her sight once, and she intended to keep him there until Susan appeared. Charlotte didn’t expect it would take long, but she had to find her niece first, before he had a chance to tell her more lies.
He went still. “Oh?”
She jerked the pistol. “Your valet sent your things there. You were going there. Therefore, that’s where we will go.”
He sat back and stared out the window the rest of the way.
A short while later, they came to a stop, and the driver opened the door. Stuart climbed out first, then turned to offer her his hand. Holding her skirts in one hand and her pistol in the other, Charlotte ignored it. With a shrug, Stuart started up the steps of the large townhouse. She tucked her weapon under her cloak as he rang the bell.
“I’ve still got my pistol. Don’t think you’re safe.”
The smirk he gave her was more strained than insolent. “I’ve never felt less safe in my life.”
The door opened to reveal a footman in starched livery. He blinked, then opened the door wider. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Frakes,” said Stuart, strolling through the door. Charlotte followed, her skin prickling with unease as she took in the state of the house: elegant, handsomely furnished, fully staffed by servants. Was this truly the home of a fortune hunter? It was possible, she tried to reassure herself. No doubt the whole house was mortgaged to the hilt and the servants paid on borrowed money. The butler appeared, looking rather flustered.
“Good evening, Mr. Drake. We did not expect you.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” Stuart was shedding his coat, and he turned to Charlotte, raising one brow in question. She gripped the front edge of her cloak tighter and glared back. Stuart handed his coat to the footman, and turned back to the butler. “Is anyone at home tonight?”
“Ah, well, sir, I’m not sure,” said the butler almost apologetically. Charlotte sent another surreptitious glance around the hall. Something was wrong. This was not the right house. It couldn’t be.
“Ah well. Don’t let it worry you, Brumble,” said Stuart.
“Where is Susan?” hissed Charlotte, more and more ill at ease. Yes, it could be a façade, but she just wanted her niece.
Stuart turned. “I told you before, I’ve no idea. You wanted to come to my home, and here we are. I trust you are satisfied?”
“I shall be satisfied when I see my niece safely returned!”
He sighed. “God save me from unreasonable women ...”
Charlotte was infuriated, and worried, and prodded him with the pistol. “This cannot be your home.”
“I promise you, it’s the closest thing to it. I’ve nowhere else to go, and you know I sent all my baggage here.” He spread his hands wide. “This was my destination all along, sad to say.”
“Back again?” rumbled a cold voice. They turned in unison to see a tall, gray-haired man with a sour expression. His eyes were fixed on Stuart, who winced almost imperceptibly before assuming a cocky smile.
“Surely you didn’t think I would last the whole Season in Kent, Terrance. You know how dull those country assemblies are.”
The man limped forward, leaning on an ebony cane. He looked highly displeased to see Stuart. “You could use a little dulling.”
“Oh dear, I always thought a sharp wit my best asset.”
The man snorted. His eyes landed on Charlotte, and she was thrown even further off balance by the malice in his expression. “How dare you bring your bit of skirt into this house?”
Stuart shifted his weight toward her at the same moment Charlotte took an unconscious step in his direction. Their elbows bumped, and Stuart steadied her with one hand without looking at her. Charlotte didn’t pull back; her intuition was telling her she had just made a very serious mistake, and she had the terrible feeling that she would need more than forced cooperation from Stuart. “Not a bit of skirt at all,” Stuart replied, curling his fingers more securely around her arm.
“Stuart!” Another voice, female this time, echoed in the hall. A short, plump woman hurried forward, her arms outstretched in greeting. Stuart finally looked away from the gentleman. “Oh, how delightful,” cried the woman, embracing him. “I had no idea you were coming back to town. Why, if you’d sent word, I would have held dinner for you!”
He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mother. I had other concerns and must confess complete disregard for dining.”
“Ah well, I shall always hope.” The woman’s smile dimmed just a bit. She glanced at Charlotte, who was feeling rather faint.
Mother?
Stuart’s mother? This was his
parents’
home? “Who is your guest, darling?”
“Allow me to present a friend of mine, the Contessa Griffolino. Charlotte, my mother, Mrs. Drake.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Contessa,” said Stuart’s mother politely. Her expression had grown even more acutely intrigued at Stuart’s use of her Christian name, but Charlotte barely noticed.
“Mrs. Drake,” she said, faintly.
“And my father, Mr. Terrance Drake,” added Stuart, in the same half-mocking tone he had used when he spoke directly to his father. Mr. Drake glowered at them both, but his wife glanced at him, and he jerked his chin down in unwilling imitation of a bow. “We’ve come on urgent business,” Stuart went on. His grip was tight on her elbow. “Madame Griffolino’s niece has disappeared, and we fear she’s run off to London. I offered my assistance in tracking her, and we left Kent in a hurry hoping to overtake her.”
“How dreadful,” said Mrs. Drake at once. “You must be so worried.”
Charlotte barely nodded. She had made a terrible error—Susan wasn’t here, and might be halfway to Scotland by now, or France or anywhere, with some unknown person. She had let her prejudices against Stuart affect her judgment, and now she had lost Susan.
Stuart slipped one arm around her waist as he felt her sway. Her face was blank with shock, and he could only guess at what was in her mind. Whatever her failings, the woman cared for her niece, and Stuart suddenly felt a bit ashamed of himself for teasing her and trying to seduce her when she must have been worried out of her mind about the girl.
“We both are, Mother,” he said, to fill the silence. “Terribly. There aren’t many clues to her disappearance, and we left Tunbridge Wells in such a rush, we haven’t anywhere to stay.” He was supporting more and more of Charlotte’s weight. In a minute he would be the only thing holding her up. Discreetly, under cover of her cloak, Stuart extracted the pistol from her fingers. She didn’t make even a whimper of protest.
“Why, Stuart, if you think it would—” Stuart didn’t hear the rest of his mother’s words as Charlotte finally collapsed. With a quick motion, he caught her under the knees and lifted her. She hadn’t fainted, but was simply stunned, her eyes wide and unfocused, her body limp.
“She’s overcome,” he said quickly to his mother. “Might we have a moment alone?”
“See here,” began Terrance warningly, but his wife interrupted.
“Of course! The poor woman! Bring her into the library, Stuart.” Stuart followed his mother down the hall, ignoring his father’s glowering. In the library, he set Charlotte down on the chaise, and accepted the small glass of brandy his mother handed him. She hovered behind him until he sent her a speaking look. When she had closed the door, Stuart drew out the pistol he had hidden under Charlotte’s cloak and set it safely to one side.
“Charlotte.” He gripped her shoulders, but she looked right through him. “Are you going to be ill?”
“She’s gone.” Her lips barely moved. “But where? She said ... following her heart ... I was sure ...” She fumbled in the pocket of her cloak, and withdrew a crumpled note. Stuart smoothed it flat.
What a mess. It appeared the girl really had eloped, although obviously not with him. Clearly Susan hadn’t been as in love with
him
as she had professed. It had been the life she thought he was offering her, much the same way he had wanted the financial independence and security she offered him. That was no more than he deserved, Stuart conceded. But faced with the fact, he suddenly felt quite terrible that he hadn’t made a greater effort to convince Charlotte he had nothing to do with it. When she told him Susan was gone, Stuart had assumed the girl had simply run off and would likely turn up at a friend’s home, if she didn’t return on her own. He had let his uncontrollable interest in Charlotte quiet his better judgment, and given in to her demands because it suited his desires.
He cleared his throat. “Have you any idea whom she might mean?”
Her eyes focused on him. “Romeo. And you told her she was Juliet.” Stuart felt worse and worse.
“Have you no other information?” he asked gently. “When did she disappear? Did she take anything? Have you questioned her maid, or the rest of your household?”
She shook her head, wilting again. “The maid knows nothing. Some of Susan’s dresses are missing, but not many. I spoke to her last night, when we returned home; she never came down to breakfast or luncheon, and I assumed. . . and I did not go to her. But she ran away—and I’ve no idea with whom, if not with you ...”
“Were there no other suitors she might have favored?”
“You were the only one she ever mentioned,” she whispered.
“Are you sure she would have come to London?” he asked quickly, trying to turn the subject from him.
She closed her eyes. “Susan talks of nothing but going there. It’s her fondest dream.” Now that he thought about it, Stuart realized, he knew that. All Susan’s conversation had revolved around their future life in London, with its shopping and society and entertainments. Perhaps there wasn’t a man at all, and she had simply set out on the adventure she dreamed of.
If that were the case, though, she shouldn’t be hard to find. Since she hadn’t been kidnapped, she would likely go out and see the sights; haunting the theaters and shops would turn her up in a matter of days. She probably had little money, and might be found simply by waiting at her family solicitor’s office. They could hire an investigator as well—Stuart stopped himself, realizing he was planning a search when Charlotte would hardly welcome his participation.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up soon,” he tried to console her. “A few days away, and she’ll see the error of her ways.”
“A few days?” Sudden fury banished the emptiness in her eyes. “A few days! What sort of person do you think I am, to sit and wait a few days? My niece is
lost
, gone, spirited away by some lying, conniving villain! How like a man, to suggest sitting and doing nothing.” She shot to her feet, setting Stuart off balance. “I shall not wait. I have to find her!”
A vision of Charlotte charging alone into every nook and cranny in London filled Stuart’s head. He stood and caught her arm when she would have brushed past him. “Where do you plan to look?”
She tried to shake him off. “Everywhere!”
“You’re mad,” he said in disbelief. “What will you do, break into every house you suspect? Most people aren’t as kindly disposed towards housebreakers as I was, you know.”
“I did not ask your advice.”
Stuart grabbed her other arm and forced her to look at him. “I will not let you charge off on your own.”
“You have no right to stop me.” Charlotte struggled in his grip. “She’s my niece, and my responsibility. You have no right—” A sob of terror caught in her throat, terror that almost overwhelmed the humiliation of being so grossly wrong. Dear God, what if she had
shot
him? They would have hanged her. Well, they would have hanged her anyway if she had killed him, but it would be a thousand times worse if she had actually shot an innocent man. She would have been thrown into prison and then hanged, and there would be no one in the world to search for Susan. Her poor niece would simply vanish, and no one would care.
She pounded against his chest, and he caught her hands. Another sob welled up, and another, and then Stuart closed his arms around her, pressing her face into his shoulder. “There,” he murmured. “Don’t despair. It’s not hopeless.”
“I’ve got to find her—I can’t just wait around—she may be in danger... .” Trapped in the circle of his arms, she clutched at him convulsively.
“I know.” He held her even tighter, forcing her to be still. “But you must stay calm and rational, to find her as soon as possible.” Charlotte dimly acknowledged the sense of his words through her haze of panic, and sucked in deep breaths, trying to compose herself. “We’ll find her,” Stuart added softly. “I swear.”
She lifted her head in pure astonishment. “We?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “She can’t have gone far. A thorough search, begun immediately, should have a very high chance of success.”
Charlotte could only stare. He was offering to help? Stuart Drake was offering to help her? What would make him do that, after the way she had treated him? She searched his face, but there was nothing but kind concern there. Her chin wobbled a bit; it would be easier to say no, to leave and never see him again, but she couldn’t. She would be a fool to refuse any help, no matter what it meant to her pride. Not when it was Susan’s safety at stake.