Edith Layton (17 page)

“I don’t care for that one,” an exquisite blond woman muttered to her host and hostess as she watched Nell narrowly.

“She’s the current heroine,” Belle told her. “Haven’t you heard the story of her rescue?”

“I heard the story and I like her even less,” the blonde woman said. “And I’ve just spoken to her, and I tell you, Belle, I don’t trust her one bit.”

“Because she made eyes at Damon?” Miles laughed. “Come, Gilly, he’s used to that, and besides, we all know your husband doesn’t see anyone but you. He doesn’t dare.”

“Aye. He values his eyes, that’s why,” she said, to make everyone laugh, including her husband. “But that one…She’s up to no good. I’d swear to it.”

No one laughed at that. Their friend Gillian Ryder might be considered a lady now, but she’d come from low beginnings and was an astute judge of the kind of characters few of the nobility got to know.

“We watch her,” Miles said seriously. “But she’ll be gone soon. Her cousin, Dana Bartlett, the dark fellow brooding so Byronically over there by the window, will be taking her to live with him as soon as he finds a place that’s suitable.”

“Newgate would be suitable, I think,” Gilly said, studying the man in question. “I wouldn’t trust him either.”

“You,” her husband told her, “need to dance the glooms out. Too much time in the nursery and not enough in the ballroom. I told you so.”

“No dancing tonight, I’m sorry to say,” Belle said. “There’s not enough room. Everyone who was asked has come. Such a crush,” she said happily, because that was the hallmark of a hostess’s wild success.

Gillian Ryder wasn’t the only guest at the party from humble beginnings. Eric Ford was a popular man, unusual in that he had friends of both noble birth and low origins: men who were politicians and landowners, scholars and athletes, women of wit, style and charm, from many classes. His old school and army friends were there, along with the extended family of close friends he’d made over the years, all also friends of Miles and Belle. It was as much a reunion as a party, and the word had gone out that there’d be something else to celebrate before the night was over too.

Camille was as much hostess tonight as Belle, so she had to circulate amongst all the guests. She and Eric drifted apart. Though they tried to keep each other in sight, it was almost impossible. There were new arrivals to greet, introductions to be made, and news to be brought up to date. The sound of voices and laughter grew louder as the hour grew later. Wine and punch were served. Waiters passed through the rooms with trays of food. A feast would come after midnight, which was not far off. The guests were enjoying themselves too much to mind the crowding, but even though the windows had been thrown open to the chilly night the room was growing hot.

Eric felt himself beginning to grow much too hot. His heart picked up its pace. He tried to fight off panic.

God, no! Not now, not again, please!

He excused himself from the people he was speaking with and went to a far corner of the room to try to suck in some cooler air near the windows. He ran a finger beneath his cravat. His neckcloth had been annoying, but now it felt as though it was cutting off his breath. He shivered, and his heart, so high a moment before, began to sink.

“There you are!” Miles said when he found Eric leaning against a wall by an opened window. “There’s no escape for you, lad. Your time’s almost up. Getting cold feet? There’s still time to run, you know.”

He laughed, but Eric didn’t.

“Come, big fellow,” Miles went on sympathetically, “this will be much easier than riding to war, although I suppose the results can be just as lethal. Still, courage, it will be over before you know it. Now, ready? I’m going to tap a glass and call for silence soon. Are you prepared, or do you want another minute?”

Eric didn’t smile. He didn’t respond at all, he only stood very still, frowning, as though listening to something no one else could hear.

“Eric,” Miles asked, suddenly serious, “are you all right? Are you unwell? Is it the fever again? Tell me. Oh, damnation,” he said as he noticed how
sallow Eric was. His own color fled. He turned to some nearby guests. “See if Harry Selfridge is still here, someone. Or any other doctor. I think Eric’s fever’s returned.”

Eric shook his head and grimaced with pain of doing it. “No!” he rasped with effort. “Not fever. It’s not the fever.” An expression of surprise crossed his face, and he grabbed onto Miles’s shoulder. “Damme, it’s not the fever,” he groaned as he crumpled to the floor.

Miles knelt and loosened Eric’s cravat.

“Too much wine?” a guest asked.

“Probably the fever,” Miles said through tightened lips.

“No,” Eric said. His eyes were closed, his lips were white, but he managed to say, “Stomach, head. Too fast, feels differen’. Hard to talk. Tontongue’s numb…”

“We’ll get you to bed,” Miles muttered, kneeling beside him.

“No,” Eric moaned, before his eyes rolled up. “Don’t. Need soap.”

“You should have come to us before this,” Miles said, rising to one knee. “He’s delirious. I’ll get him into bed,” he told Drum, who had come running. “Tell the others.”

A hand gripped his sleeve. Eric clutched hard, dragging Miles down so he could speak to him.

“No,” Eric whispered with effort. “
Soap
. Get soap. ’S poison. I’ve been poisoned.”

Guests began gathering around Eric’s fallen fig
ure and those gentlemen kneeling by his side.

“Too much to drink,” one of them said wisely. “Jug-bitten. Dammed fool thing to do at a party such as this. Surprised, I thought the big fellow was a knowing one.”

“Get a pail,” Miles called as he and Rafe pulled an ashen Eric to his feet. “Fill it with warm water and soap. We need soapsuds.”

“Soapsuds?” a matron said, wide-eyed, “But that’s for purging.”

“Aye.” An older gentleman shook his head. “That will make the poor lad cast up his accounts. He’ll cascade for hours.”

“But soapsuds are a specific for—Oh! Was it the lobster patties?” the matron asked frantically, clutching her fan to her stomach like a shield. “They tasted a bit off.”

Belle came running, a little blond whirlwind of a woman helping her force her way through the crowd. Gillian snatched up the glass of wine Eric had put down. She held it to the lamplight and then sniffed at the red wine in it. She dipped in her finger, brought it to the tip of her tongue, and scowled horribly. “Faugh! Thought so! No one will get sick on any food here unless they stuff themselves like pigs. Someone’s slipped something into his drink. They tried to croak him.”

“Hush,” her husband said. “No need to assume the worst. It might just be a headache powder. He suffers from them when the fever is on him.”

“Aye, this stuff would cure it,” she said bitterly,
“for good. There’s enough whore’s eyewash to choke a horse in that glass. Belladonna,” she explained, as those near her gasped. “Demireps put it in their eyes to make them bright as stars. It also blinds them for a spell. Those that get tired of the game drink it because it’s kinder than a rope. You have to get it out of him fast,” she told Miles as he and his friends lifted Eric.

“Bring the pail and a doctor to the blue bedroom,” Miles told a footman, as they carried Eric from the room.

E
ric woke at dawn. He remembered the tingling and numbness on his tongue that made him set down his glass. The clumsiness of his tongue made it hard for him to speak, then the rapid onset of heat, fever, and chills made it impossible. He remembered his sudden panic, then falling. He winced as he remembered waking to thinking he was drowning, as vile liquids were forced down his throat. He wished he could forget the bouts of vomiting that followed, his friends’ voices in his ears, urging him to hang on. So, he thought, looking around the all too familiar room in which he’d spent his last recuperation, he had survived—though there’d been times when he hadn’t wanted to.

He swallowed and felt how raw his throat was,
how dry his mouth. And then he sighed with gratitude to whichever deity was watching over him. He’d been very sick. But it had not been with malarial fever, he’d realized that soon enough, and even poison was preferable to that. It could have been a bit of lobster gone bad, an antique clam in one of those tasty patties he’d popped into his mouth. Whatever it was, he’d recover from it. The important thing was that he wouldn’t have to renounce his engagement to Camille.

But he hadn’t gotten a chance to announce that engagement! She must feel terrible about that. He certainly did. He had to talk to her immediately. He raised his head and felt a stab of pain but managed to swing himself up into a sitting position in spite of it.

“Are you mad?” a tired voice asked. “Lie down.”

“Do lay back, sir,” he heard his valet urge him. “You’ve been very ill.”

“But not with the fever,” he croaked. “And you got to me in time. Thank you.” He refused to lie down again, but he did hang his head; it felt too heavy to lift. “Hello, Miles,” he said wearily. “I was that sick that you’re still here by my side?”

“That sick,” Miles agreed.

There was something in his voice that made Eric raise his head and look at him. “What is it?” Eric said quickly. “What else happened? Where’s Cammie?” he asked on a sudden wild surmise.

“She’s missing,” Miles said helplessly. “She vanished last night. And so did Nell.”

Eric stared at him.

“Their wraps are still here, and there are no notes left behind,” Miles said, anticipating his question. “She’d have told someone if she meant to leave for more than a moment. No one saw them leave either. With so many people coming and going, that’s no wonder. When we got over our surprise and horror and saw you weren’t going to die—at least not right away—we wondered why she hadn’t come to see how you were doing, and so we sent for her. She’d disappeared. When did you last see her? Can you remember?” he asked urgently.

“I kept her in the corner of my eye all night,” Eric said in bewilderment. “That is, up until I began to feel sick. Then I deliberately went to the back of the room because I didn’t want to worry her. But it wasn’t my fever, after all, just bad luck with the catering, I suppose.”

“No,” Miles said heavily. “There was belladonna in your wine. Gilly spotted it. The doctor said it’s used often enough in other potions, but not in such a large amount, and not in wine. Lucky for you that you didn’t down the whole glass. You were deliberately poisoned.”

“To get me out of the way,” Eric said, thinking with difficulty because of shock and an aching head. “To get me to stop watching Cammie.” He looked up. “But you said she left no note. Have you received a ransom note?”

Miles shook his head. “Nothing. That’s what’s
so strange. Why would anyone go to all that trouble, take her, and not try to profit from it?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Dana Bartlett! What did he say?”

“Well, that’s just it,” his friend Drum, who had been sitting quietly in a chair by the window, said. “He’s disappeared too.”

Eric leapt from the bed.

It took both his friends and his valet to get him back into bed after they picked him up from the floor. Then it took the three of them to hold him down.

“Softly, softly now,” Miles panted, as he strained to quiet his friend. “If running out into the streets would help, we’d be there. We’re looking as best we can. We’ve got the word out all over town. Not just the Runners, and the best are already on the case, believe me, but all our friends as well. We’re lucky. We had so many old friends who used to be in the game here last night. They’re already on the trail: Rafe, Ewen Sinclair, Leigh, and Talwin. We got word that Wycoff is on his way here to help us too.”

“And as Gilly knows the worst of London intimately,” Drum said, “she’s put out the word in places we don’t even know about.”

“The doctor says you have to rest and drink lots of fluids,” Miles said, as he felt his friend stop struggling. “Do that, and you’ll be able to join us in the hunt. Get up now, and you’ll be of no use to Cammie at all.”

Eric watched his friends’ relief as they stepped back and studied him. He would have thrown them off, if he could, but he hadn’t the strength. He felt a seething mixture of fury and helplessness. “If he thinks he can abduct her and force her to marry him, he’s wrong,” he growled. “He doesn’t know her or me.”

“That’s true enough,” Miles said. “So rest easy.”

Eric eyed his friends’ weary, unshaven faces. “As easy as you are? Certainly.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked grimly determined. “Bring me the blasted liquids. I’ll drink gallons. I’ll be right in no time. And then I’ll bring her home.”

“Of course I’m getting dressed,” Eric snarled at the two men who entered his room a few hours later.

His friends were taken aback. This wasn’t the man they knew. A huge man with formidable strength, Eric had obviously been taught to control his temper years before. He was always the most patient, steady man they knew, even in the most difficult situations. Both Miles and Rafe had worked with him on matters of life and death and had seen him upset. But never like this. Even his valet, usually so passive, stood at his master’s side looking wretched. Eric’s teeth were clenched, his eyes were wild, and he was dragging on his clothes as fast as he could.

“I got up as soon as I knew I could without
falling down,” Eric said, as he hurriedly tucked his shirt into his breeches. He stood in his shirtsleeves and stocking feet, his shirt still unbuttoned.

When he saw his friends’ expressions, his changed. “If I lie in bed, I think,” he explained, looking at them with entreaty. “I think of what could have happened to her, what could be happening to her. She’s as brave as any man I ever met, resourceful, high-spirited, and clever. But she’s very young and so
damned
beautiful…”

Rafe blinked at that. In spite of the dire situation, Miles had to smile. Any doubts he had about his friend’s true feelings for his sister vanished.

Eric passed a hand over his eyes. “I can deal with any situation I can get my hands on, but I can’t deal with my imagination. I can’t accept my helplessness as well as thinking about how helpless she may be. It destroys me. But I wouldn’t be standing if I thought I’d fall down again. I’m not a fool, that wouldn’t help anyone. Trust me. I can do this. I’m big as an ox and strong as one, and I know my limits, both physical and mental. So don’t argue, please. I
must
be up and about so I can find her or at least get on her trail.”

“But not quite so fast, my friend,” Drum said from the door. “We have a present for you.”

Drum and another tall, dark gentleman, his cousin, Ewen, Viscount Sinclair, stood in the doorway. They had a man between them. They wore grim smiles. The man did not.

Dana Bartlett looked as haggard as Eric felt. He
was still in his evening clothes, but they looked much the worse for wear. His hair, usually carefully brushed, was unkempt. He had a recent bruise on his forehead and one swelling on his cheek as well. His eyes were red, and he was unshaven. Being so dark, it looked as though he hadn’t shaved in days. He bore the stale scents of liquor and perfume. Most notably, to Eric’s eyes, he looked both afraid and defiant.

Drum prodded him into the room. Belle was at their heels.

“We found him coming home an hour ago, when the sun was well up,” Drum said. “He claims that he didn’t know Camille was gone and doesn’t know where she or his cousin may be.”

“And be sure,” the Viscount Sinclair said through thinned lips, “we asked him thoroughly.”

“I spoke only the truth,” Dana said bitterly.

“Oh, yes,” Eric retorted, striding over to him. “And since you’re a lawyer we certainly should believe you, is that it?” His face was gray with fatigue and worry, but his hands were fisted and his jaw was clenched as he confronted Dana. “Cut line,” he growled. “Your cousin was a bad influence on Camille. You knew that but didn’t tell anyone. What’s your game now?”

“I thought I could keep Nell in line,” Dana said sadly. His eyes darkened, and he stood straighter, staring Eric in the eyes. “If you knew she was a bad influence, why did you let her stay?” He nodded and added in the momentary silence that followed
his remark, “I don’t know what happened last night. I didn’t even know Camille was missing until this morning, when your friends told me. Nell might be involved, but I am not. By God!” he exclaimed when he saw a vein beating wildly in Eric’s neck as he clenched his teeth hard. “Why should I harm her? I aspired to her hand. I wanted to marry her. If that’s a crime, if you think a man shouldn’t dare reach beyond his social position, then yes, that I am guilty of. But nothing more.”

“And if you aspire so high you forget your manners so easily?” Belle asked incredulously.

He looked at her.

“You left last night without saying good night to your hosts,” she said, “and you expect us to believe you couldn’t be found until now because you’re completely innocent?”

Dana spread his hands. “I left last night before midnight and yes, without saying good-bye. Because I knew what was coming at midnight. Camille herself told me and asked me not to tell anyone else. She had to tell me, you see, because I offered for her the night before. I came to the party because I’d said I would, but I didn’t want to stay for the announcement or the celebration because I’d no reason to celebrate her choosing someone else. I’m not a very good actor and I didn’t want sympathy or pity. So I felt it best that I leave quickly and quietly before the festivities.”

He turned to Eric, his eyes dark, flat, and cold. “I’m a poor loser. But not a stupid one. What
would it profit me to take her away without her permission? Camille is a woman of spirit. She’d have torn me apart if I’d tried,” he said with a peculiarly reminiscent smile. “That’s part of her attraction. She’s an uncommon woman in so many ways.” He saw the look in Eric’s eyes and went on, “I didn’t want to go home either. So I went out, drank too much, and…visited too many unsavory places. I was trying to get through a difficult night, trying to forget. I didn’t come home until morning, when I found your friends waiting on my doorstep.”

“And I suppose you can’t tell us all those places?” Eric asked.

“No,” Dana said on a bitter smile, “I can, every one. It seems I couldn’t manage to forget anything, whatever I did.”

“And Nell?”

“Ah, Nell,” Dana said wryly. “Find her, and I believe we’ll find Camille.” Eric scowled at the word “we” as Dana went on, “There must be a reason they’re both missing, and I think Nell knows it. My cousin is warped, gentlemen. She is both devious and sly. I believed it was a thing she’d grow out of, because it might have something to do with her mother: Martha Baynes is a woman of little humor and less compassion.”

“She is?” Eric said, seizing on the word. “Rather say ‘was.’ She told us her mother was mad.”

“Mad, yes. As in furious with her daughter, not insane,” Dana said. “I didn’t tell anyone about it,
and for that I am sorry. I was honestly trying to help Nell. If I had told you she was lying, none of you would have wanted a thing to do with her, and I knew she’d lose a chance to advance in the world. She was young. I hoped she’d change with good influences to guide her. I offered her a home and a chance for a decent life.” He shrugged. “She was never interested. She had her own plans, and they were to become a famous courtesan. I thought it was nonsense. Her mother had written to mine complaining that a debased female who had followed that profession had inherited a house in their town and that Nell was dazzled by her. I lectured Nell, thinking she was merely a foolish young woman. But I slowly became aware that she was, instead, an utterly immoral one.”

“Nice of you to tell us that now,” Belle muttered.

“But if I had told you that before, I’d have been tarred with the same brush, wouldn’t I?” Dana asked her. “Who among us has no difficult relatives? Would you want people to judge you by a distant cousin? Your friends, at least, all know each other’s lineage as well as your own. But you didn’t know my family.”

“And what did Nell offer you in return for your generosity?” Eric demanded.

Dana’s head came up. “Not herself, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nor would I have been interested. What she offered that I did want was a window into Camille’s feelings.” He saw the pure murder in Eric’s eyes and added, “There was noth
ing indecent about that. Nell said she’d keep telling Camille about my virtues in order to promote my suit. She also promised to keep me informed of my courtship’s progress. She lied, of course. She can’t do anything else. I see that now.”

Dana gazed at Eric steadily. “One thing I can tell you that perhaps you don’t know. Nell was meeting men on the sly at every party and every ball, at the theater, and late at night when the household was asleep. She was looking for one to set her up as his mistress in extravagant style.”

Belle gasped. “How dared you not tell us about that?”

“I would have, if I had felt there was a need, but she told me she’d be leaving you in a matter of days. I believed her decision had been made and she’d trouble you—and me—no more.”

“Names,” Rafe said tersely.

“I’ll tell you all that I know. But believe me, I don’t know them all. Nell is as secretive as she is devious, and that’s saying a lot. Look you, gentlemen,” Dana said harshly, “whether you believe me or not, I tell you I’m as upset as you are at the thought of harm coming to Camille. She’s the true innocent in all this. And remember please, I wasn’t the one who inflicted my cousin on her in the first place.”