Edith Layton (18 page)

A muscle leapt in Eric’s clenched jaw.

“Nor,” Dana went on, “did I ever mean Camille the least harm. Now, whatever you think of me, also remember that I am a man-at-law and a good one. I’ve dealt with criminals and have learned
how their minds work. Most want only easy money. Making off with a lady of quality is not easy money. So I tell you this too: you’re looking at it from the wrong angle. If you want to find her,” he said slowly, as he gazed at each of them in turn, “look to your own enemies and not at anyone who loves Camille.”

“Nell doesn’t love her,” Belle protested.

“No,” Dana said. “But she doesn’t hate her either.”

“True,” Eric said slowly, thoughtfully, “a woman like that doesn’t love or hate anyone unless they can either help them or stand in their way.” He looked at his friends. “The man is right. Camille is missing because she is important to Nell for one reason or another.” He began buttoning his collar. “Let’s get Bartlett’s list of men Nell was involved with and make our list too to see if any names crop up twice. We have to think of who has reason to want to harm us. By abducting Camille, they strike at me, of course, as well as Miles, but given our friendship, they’d have to know they would involve all of you too.”

Miles and his friends looked back at him with matching grim expressions. They were men who had fought in the wars and in their time had worked as spies for their king and country. Since peace had come, they had tried to work for a better England, lobbying in Parliament and the House of Lords.

That meant they could think of too many people
with reason to want to harm them. And far too many of them were people they didn’t want to speak of in the same breath as Camille, much less think of in the same room with her.

S
he came awake all at once but lay still, because she was dazed and she was remembering. She’d been snatched from her home. And struck on the head. Nell—Nell had to have betrayed her, she realized.

Camille didn’t know where she was, but knew it wasn’t a place she wanted to be. She was remembering enough to know that.

She had been waiting for midnight, for her chance to tell the world about herself and Eric. Jittery and excited, she’d kept watching the tall case clock in the corner and, raising herself on her toes, trying to see where Eric was. He was her touch-stone and compass throughout the seemingly endless party. She’d been polite, sociable as she could
be while her mind was on nothing but him, but it was difficult.

Still, Belle wanted the midnight announcement to come as a grand surprise and had decided that if Camille hung on Eric’s arm all night it would ruin all the drama of the moment. Camille didn’t care about drama but she did care about Belle. So she had tried to keep her mind on the other guests until a glance at the clock showed that in a matter of minutes their moment would come, and she’d decided she didn’t have to wait any longer. She didn’t think she could anyway.

But she couldn’t find Eric. He wasn’t where he’d been only moments before. He’d been chatting with old friends, joking, seemingly involved with them. But they’d exchanged glances all night. She wondered where he’d got to.

She’d got a glimpse of someone who might have been him. But why would Eric suddenly be alone all the way across the room, standing by a wall? A pair of gentlemen walked past, obscuring her view. Camille stepped forward to go to him and felt a small, cold hand on her arm.

“Cammie?” Nell had said breathlessly. “Come with me—you have to see this!”

“What?” Camille remembered saying absently, craning her neck, trying to look past the men, “What is it?”

“Something you have to see. Come.”

“Not right now. Have you seen Eric anywhere?”

There was a silence. Then Nell had whispered
urgently. “Yes, that’s it. That’s what I have to tell you. He’s not here. He needs you and he sent me to get you.”

Camille had swung around, suddenly terrified. “Is he sick again?”

Nell nodded.

“Let’s get Miles,” Camille had choked, spinning around on her heel.

“Oh, no! Not that kind of sick,” Nell had said quickly, grabbing Camille’s arm to stop her. She’d laughed weakly. “Not like last time. Not at all, actually. Oh, I hate to ruin the surprise, but it’s something else, and he specifically said he didn’t want anyone but you.”

“A surprise?” Camille had laughed, both charmed and vexed with Eric. “A quarter-hour to go and he’s plotting a surprise?” Amusement had won out. “What fun. Fine, let’s go, lead on, where is he?”

“Come,” Nell had said, tugging her by the arm, leading her through the crowd by taking her along the margins of the room, hugging the wall.

They’d headed along the long hall toward the kitchens but passed them by and went to the servants’ entrance in back.

Camille remembered feeling her first twinge of hesitation then. “Outside?” she’d asked. “It’s freezing out. I have to get a wrap.”

“You don’t need it,” Nell had said as she pulled Camille along.

She’d been charmed. “Oho!” Camille had chor
tled. “This will be a fine surprise! I’ll bet it’s in the stables. Is it?”

“Yes, yes,” Nell had said, “well, near them. Come on, quickly.”

“A colt instead of a ring—or with one,” Camille had guessed, laughing. “He knows me so well. That’s something to tell the grandchildren.” Her laughter had stopped when she heard a commotion behind her, startled voices raised in the salon. A servant had trotted past, ignoring them as he hurried toward the sound.

“He said you have to come quick,” Nell had insisted when she felt Camille lagging. She’d tugged at her hand. “It won’t be a minute, but it’s important, he said.” She’d opened the back door and looked out into the darkness. “Hurry,” she’d said, taking Camille’s hand. “We’re late.”

Camille had stepped out into the night, looking for Eric’s tall form. She’d shivered. It was cold and hard to see her way. A thick layer of clouds obscured the moon.

“Come,” Nell kept insisting. “This way!”

Camille had stumbled after her, heading down the back alley. “But the stables are this way,” she’d complained, drawing back as Nell dragged her past the turn they had to make to get to the stables. “You’re headed toward the street.”

“Come,” Nell persisted, pulling Camille hard.

Then, Camille remembered, she’d taken alarm. “I’ll fall and break my neck,” she’d complained, hanging back.

And then she couldn’t say another word. She was clutched from behind. She’d turned, too late. Darkness descended. A foul-smelling sack was thrown over her head, and she’d felt herself caught in a strong pair of arms. She’d fought back, trying to free herself, using her knees and teeth instead of her lungs, not wasting her breath in a scream.

“Help me!” a harsh voice had commanded in a hoarse whisper. “She’s strong as an ox and fighting like one too. The bitch is kicking…Ow!”

“Here, y' damned milksop,” another rough voice said. “Aii! She bit me! The mort bit me!”

Aye! And I’ll do more,
Camille had silently promised, the rancid taste of greasy burlap on her tongue. She remembered struggling against the hands holding her, kicking and snapping at anything she could feel touching her—until a sudden blow to her head made the darkness complete.

And now she was here with an aching head, and even with her eyes closed she knew she wasn’t at home. It smelled wrong, and the room was too cold and still, the bed she lay upon too hard. Her memory was complete, the confusion she’d felt on awakening was cleared. But what had happened? And where was Eric? Was he in danger?
Eric!

Camille snapped open her eyes.

“She’s awake,” a man’s voice said sweetly. “Welcome, Miss Croft.”

She tried to sit up, but her head pounded so badly she fell back. She’d seen enough to start shuddering.

She lay upon a cot in a small, plainly furnished room. The light was dim, but she recognized the man looking down into her eyes. He was unforgettable. The destruction of that once handsome face was like a picture from a book of sermons on the dangers of lust and envy, pride and wrath. From this close she could see that Lord Dearborne looked even worse than the last time she’d seen him. The man’s clothing was immaculate and fashionable, but it was like expensive wrapping on a corpse. He was gaunt, his cheeks were hollowed, and his color bad. He wore cologne, but it couldn’t disguise the stale smell emanating from him. If he wasn’t dying of some disease, Camille thought, he was surely sickened unto death by his excesses, which were legendary.

He looked much older than he was, but the century was no longer as young as it had been when he had been remotely acceptable. If morals weren’t changing, manners certainly were. Dearborne’s exploits had caused his exile from England. Recently returned, forgiven by his long-suffering family, he was nonetheless shunned by polite Society. That was due in large part to the efforts of many of Camille’s friends: Gilly Ryder and Rafe Dalton, the earl of Drummond, and…and Eric, of course, Eric, she remembered. Rafe had thrashed Dearborne because of what he’d said about Brenna, and she was Eric’s sister.

Camille shut her eyes and tried to gather her wits.

“I see you know me,” Dearborne said. “Good. I bear you no rancor, Miss Croft, but it is necessary to inconvenience you, I’m afraid. By taking you, I take the wind from a great many sails—even as my sails will carry me far from here. Life is not as pleasant here as I’d hoped it would be. But this, as one of my parting gestures, is delicious. Thank you, Nell.”

Camille opened her eyes again. Nell was there too. She hadn’t been noticeable in the gloom, because she was dressed in dark colors and sat in a corner in a high-backed chair, hands in her lap, as still and prim as a nun at prayer. She wore a black cloak, and her hair was pulled back severely, exposing her pure profile. Her face was lovely, pale and sad. But then, Camille thought, Nell had always been the very picture of a perfect heroine.

“Well, then!” Dearborne said, straightening. “I think we may leave Miss Croft to her fate. You and I, Nell, still have work to do.”

“What fate?” Nell asked.

“Oh, come,” Dearborne said, “rather late in the day to worry about that, isn’t it?”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I’m not going to do anything to her,” Dearborne answered with a small, satisfied smile. “As I said, I’ll leave her to her fate.” He turned his attention back to Camille. “I know your head aches,” he told her. “It wouldn’t ache if you hadn’t been such a hoyden. Take off your gown, Miss Croft.”

Camille’s heart raced. “I can’t get up,” she said,
pressing her hand to her aching head to buy some time.

“You said you weren’t going to hurt her,” Nell said again. She didn’t sound distressed, Camille noted with sorrow, just curious.

“And so I won’t,” he snapped. “You’re a big, healthy girl,” he told Camille, never taking his eyes from her. “You can stand, and stand you shall. Take off your gown, I said, or I’ll have someone do it for you. Someone,” he added, “less gentle and considerate than I am. My hirelings, the men who brought you here, would love to assist you. They await just outside.”

“Why do you want her gown off?” Nell asked. “If you’re going to have her, you can’t have me. I won’t be cheated on before my very eyes.”

“What you will or will not have is a matter of small moment to me,” Dearborne said curtly, shooting her a warning look. “But I’ve no intention of having her. She’s a fine, healthy creature, but I don’t care to ride big brown mares. I like a filly with more thoroughbred lines. However, Miss Croft,” he said, looking at Camille again, “my employees don’t share my tastes. The ones you fought with are eager to get a bit of their own back, and I don’t doubt much of it would be taken out of your flesh. Free yourself of the notion that I want you for anything but revenge.”

He picked up a bundle from a nearby table and flung it at her. “Here, put on this on.”

Camille slowly sat up. She opened the bundle with shaking hands.

It contained a gown. An old, threadbare gray gown of indeterminate shape and design.

Dearborne nodded at Camille’s expression of distaste. “I’m keeping my word,” he told Nell over his shoulder. “I only want her gown because it marks her as a lady, one of the quality. Without it, she is instantly anonymous. And actually, were she to wear such finery where she’s going, she might be even worse off. They’ll take it from her rather than asking nicely, as I have.”

“He’s only going to take you to Newgate,” Nell told Camille.

Camille paled. The word “Newgate” struck terror into her heart. She’d never visited the prisons for diversion, as so many ladies of the
ton
did, but she’d heard about London’s vile prisons. Wealthy prisoners could live in somewhat decent circumstances in their own rooms with their own servants and furniture. The poor lived in hellish squalor—if they lived at all. Many went into Newgate and never came out, and not just because of the busy hangman. Hundreds died of jail fever; many more were abused by their jailers as well as by their fellow unfortunates. They might be sending her to prison instead of killing her, but Camille didn’t think much of her chances there.

“Don’t worry,” Nell said. “You’ll be home again soon. I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you. It won’t
be fun, but it won’t be for long. This way they’ll have to search for you, and by the time we’re long gone, you’ll be found. Still, at least your family and friends will worry, and that’s all he’s after. They’ll know what he could have done and be grateful to him for not doing that and count themselves lucky. He’ll win their respect and their gratitude and his own peace of mind, because they won’t have reason to pursue him. But this way, he’ll have the last laugh. You see? It’s very neat.”

“That’s nonsense,” Camille said firmly.

Her head ached, but it still worked. She didn’t believe Nell for a second. But the girl seemed to believe what she said. Her only chance lay in arousing whatever rudimentary conscience Nell still possessed. She was a strange girl, devious and immoral, but she’d lived with Camille. If they hadn’t been exactly friends, they’d been companions. She must know she owed something in return for hospitality.

“I’ll tell everyone who I am,” Camille said. “So what I wear doesn’t matter, does it?”

“And they’ll believe a great gawky, ugly drab in rags is a well-born, wealthy lady, will they?” Dearborne asked with a sneer. “They have hundreds more who look more like one. You’re not precisely the beautiful goose girl whose nobility shines through her rags, Miss Croft. Although you must have some hidden assets,” he added with a speculative leer, “or Ford wouldn’t have offered for you, would he? Too bad I gave my word to sweet Nell, or I’d have a try and see just what you do that
made him so desire your services for life. Of course, it could merely be a matter of manners. He’s a friend of your brother, and since Ford has no title, a viscount’s sister is a good match, if enough money is thrown in to make measure. They had an earl’s daughter set for me, even with my…remarkable history.”

His expression grew cold. “That is, they did until your brother and his friends, including your dear Lieutenant Ford, sent me into exile again. So there must be reparations, mustn’t there? Into your new clothes,” he said, “And now.”

“Nell?” Camille said, hating how the word came out sounding so quivery and lost.

“At least, let her alone until she gets dressed,” Nell said. “She can’t escape.” She got up, went to Dearborne, and looked up into his ravaged face as though he was Apollo incarnate. “I can calm her down,” she whispered to him, her great dark eyes searching his.

“I can have her knocked on the head again. That will keep her calm enough.”

“And maybe kill her? That her friends would never forgive. And can you kill those two you brought tonight? If they’re caught, those rum touches out there will talk, and they’ll say you told them to do it. They’ll say it in every tavern in London anyhow, and then they will be caught. You know their sort.”