For Love Alone (42 page)

Both Ives and Percival shook their heads. Ives explained how he and Percival had spent the day. “No one seemed to pay any attention to us, not that we expected they would.”

Roxbury nodded, an impatient expression crossing his lined features. “It is the damned waiting that exhausts one,” he said with obvious frustration. “And it is worse when we don't even know for certain that our suppositions are correct.” He paused, thinking hard, then muttered, “But
Le Renard
has to be Grimshaw! Everything points to him.”

Forrest frowned slightly. “I know why you believe that Grimshaw is the Fox, but could you not be mistaken?”

Roxbury flashed him a vexed look. “Of course we could be mistaken, but there is too much evidence for him
not
to be.” He started to tick off the various reasons beginning with the death of Ives's father and the other members of the family. “It was Grimshaw who made the fatal wager that sent the Harringtons to their deaths in the yacht. And it was—”

“No, it wasn't,” Percival said slowly. “Remember, I was there that night, and while it was Grimshaw who finally struck the terms of the wager, it was Dewhurst who actually suggested the wager.”

Roxbury and Ives exchanged stunned glances, everything suddenly falling into place—especially why, in spite of their best efforts, they had never been able to catch Grimshaw in any suspicious activities. They had been watching the wrong man!

“Dewhurst!”
Ives exclaimed, Sophy's words from that morning flashed terrifyingly through his brain. Surging up from his chair, he snatched out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “My God!” he said in shaken accents. “Sophy is with him at this very moment!”

S
eated beside Henry Dewhurst in his high-perch phaeton, Sophy was enjoying the fine sunny afternoon. As planned, Henry had picked her up at the Berkeley Square town house just a few minutes previously, and they were merrily bowling down the busy London streets.

Because being driven in Hyde Park was more about seeing and being seen, Sophy had dressed accordingly in a striking afternoon gown of lavender-and-white-striped sarsenet trimmed with lace and purple-satin ribbon. Though she was wearing a dashing little hat of chipped straw that fastened underneath her chin with a jaunty bow, she also carried a white parasol lavished with a great deal of delicate lace. She looked utterly charming.

Glancing at her as she sat by his side, Henry complimented her on her looks. “May I say, my dear, that you look especially fetching today?”

Sophy dimpled at him. “You just did, Henry.”

“Why, so I did,” he replied lightly. He glanced at her again. “I would even go so far as to say that your marriage to Harrington seems to agree quite well with you.”

Sophy looked ahead, but Henry could not help noticing the dreamy smile curving her lips. “Indeed, I find it
most
agreeable,” she said softly.

“Well, then,” he responded, “I am very happy for you.”

They said nothing for several minutes, as Dewhurst expertly threaded his horses through the crowded London traffic. The noise of the grinding wheels and clatter of the horses' hooves on cobblestones, as well as the cries of the many street vendors, created a constant racket. Sophy was looking forward to the relative quiet of the park.

As Berkeley Square was only a short distance from Hyde Park, it did not take long for her to realize that Henry was driving in entirely the opposite direction. She said nothing for a few minutes, thinking that perhaps he was merely taking a roundabout route; since the day was very fine, she had no objections. When he guided his horses across the Vauxhall Bridge, however, she was moved to question their destination.

Glancing at him, her curiosity evident, she asked, “Do you have an errand you must take care of before we go to the park?”

A smile curved his mouth. “Oh, you might say that, my dear. It is certainly something that must be seen to immediately.”

A feeling of unease slid down her spine, Ives's warning ringing in her ears. Oh, fiddle. I am just being silly. It was broad daylight and this was no clandestine meeting. Ives knew about it. So did the servants. They all knew who she was seeing and where she was going ... except she was not exactly going to Hyde Park.

She considered the situation, but did not yet see any reason to be
overly
alarmed, although she was increasingly anxious that they were rapidly leaving the environs of the city behind them. I have no reason to be worried, she told herself uneasily; Henry is my friend. She had always had a fondness for him, and he was the only one of Simon's disreputable friends who had never put her to the blush, the only one who had ever treated her with kindness and respect.

But he
had
wanted a warmer relationship with her. Had he suddenly gone mad and intended to spirit her away to a secluded love nest and force himself upon her? She shook her head disgustedly. This was ridiculous; there was probably a perfectly innocent explanation for their detour. In a matter of minutes, Henry would discharge his errand and turn the horses around and they would, indeed, go to Hyde Park, just as planned. She was going to feel like a perfect ninny for doubting him.

Of course the other explanation, the one which sent a chill right through her entire body and the one that she was not quite able to banish entirely, was the possibility that it was not Grimshaw who owned the cravat pin, but Henry. Grimshaw and Henry were cousins—if the pin were Henry's, Grimshaw would have recognized it.

Her throat closed up in fright. But Henry, she reminded herself anxiously, was not the man they were after—it was Grimshaw. They were all certain that Grimshaw was the villain. An exceedingly unpleasant notion suddenly struck her.

She sat up straighter and said sharply, “Henry, never tell me that you are helping Grimshaw in some perfidious scheme!”

Henry laughed, never taking his eyes off his horses, which now, as the traffic began to ebb and the buildings began to thin out, he urged into a smart, distance-eating trot. “No, my dear, I am not helping Grimshaw, but you could say that Grimshaw helped
me
!”

Tamping down a rush of pure terror, telling herself that he could not mean what she thought he meant, she said crisply, “Henry, I demand that you turn this vehicle around this instant and tell me precisely what sort of game you are playing.”

“It is no game, and I am afraid, my sweet, that you are in no position to tell me to do anything—unless, of course, you wish to leap from the carriage. I should warn you against such precipitous action. It is a long way to the road, and there is every possibility that I might run over you.”

“It is a phaeton, not a carriage,” she said absently, her thoughts jostling wildly. It was obvious that it was not a seduction she had to fear, and that left only one reason for Henry's actions.

Her fingers tightened on her frivolous parasol and she longed for the comfort of her pistol. Her pistol, which was now resting safely at home under her pillow.

Her spirits sank as several more unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind, and she was miserable until, with a stab of hope, she recalled Ives's having said that he would set one of his men to watch her at all times. Surreptitiously she glanced over her shoulder, praying that she would be able to spot her watcher, but the stretch of road behind her appeared depressingly empty, and she saw no one who looked even remotely familiar. It was possible, she admitted with deepening misgiving, that despite Ives's precautions, Henry had managed to elude the man assigned to watch her.

Her chin lifted, and she sat a little straighter on the seat beside Henry. Well, if she was on her own, so be it. She would find a way out of this dangerous predicament all by herself if she had to. Her faith in Ives never wavered. He
would
come after her; he would destroy England to find her. A little shudder of fear went through her. But it would take him time, and time was something she didn't think she had.

Having concluded that she was probably on her own, she considered leaping from the phaeton, but Henry was right. He had given the horses their heads, and they were now flying down the road, and the ground was dangerously far away. Besides, there had been a note in Henry's voice that warned her that he had no intention of letting her escape—he would run her down before he'd let her get away. A shiver went through her.

Her only hope, she realized, was to attract the attention of a passerby, but at the moment they were driving through a particularly sparse area, and there was no one in sight. This was a busy road, however, and she was confident that any second several more vehicles or pedestrians would come into view.

A farmer's cart suddenly came around a curve a quarter mile down the road, followed by a lumbering freight wagon, and her heart leaped.

To her dismay, almost instantly, Henry slowed the horses and expertly swung down a small lane. It was as he began to guide the horses into an old barn hidden from the main road by a grove of trees that Sophy gathered the courage to leap from the vehicle.

But Henry anticipated her move. Holding the reins in one hand, he pointed a very small, very deadly pistol directly at her.

“Oh, no you don't,” he said grimly. “You stay right where you are. I have no intention of letting you go until it pleases me.”

“You don't expect me to believe that you are going to let me go, do you?” she asked scornfully.

Ignoring her, he finished urging the horses into the building. After halting the animals inside the barn and seeing that they were standing quietly, with one hand he tied the reins to the whip socket and then brought forth a length of rope from its resting place beneath the seat. Despite the slight awkwardness of his movements, she noted unhappily that the pistol was always fixed unwaveringly on her.

A large noose had been formed at one of the rope and, mindful of the pistol, Sophy remained unmoving when he flung the noose over her head and shoulders and pulled it tight, securing her arms at her sides. After that, any chance of escape was doomed. Obeying his command to stand, Sophy soon was trussed up like a fowl for market, several coils of the rope wrapped tightly around her body from her shoulders to her ankles.

“You won't get away with this,” she said, when he was finished. “My husband will find you and kill you.”

“I'm sure that he will try,” Henry replied easily as he lifted her down from the phaeton and set her on the ground. “And he might even have succeeded except for one thing. I have something that he wants more than my life—you. And as long as I have you, he will not lift a finger against me. In fact, he shall dance to the tune of my piping.”

From her position propped against the wheel of the phaeton, Sophy watched him with great misgiving as he swiftly reharnessed his horses to the lightweight curricle opposite her. Desperately she sought a way of distracting him, some way of slowing him down, turning him from his purpose, anything that would give her time—time in which Ives, by some miracle, might discover her plight and find her before it was too late. They were, at present, not far from London, but once he loaded her into that curricle, and they set off for whatever destination Henry had in mind, any faint hope of Ives finding her vanished.

Finished harnessing the horses, he turned to survey her. “Well, my dear,” he said jovially, his blue eyes twinkling, “it is almost time for the next stage of our journey. Once I have put on my disguise, we shall be on our way.”

He grinned, and she wondered how she had ever thought him kind. “Unfortunately, you will not find this part of our journey quite so comfortable. I am afraid that the only place for you is under the seat. Any trail your husband may pick up will end here, even if he manages to find this place.”

“I don't have the ruby pin with me,” she said quietly.

Henry laughed. “That damned pin,” he said with no apparent rancor, only rueful amusement. “I knew it was going to cause me trouble someday. I just never realized how much, or that it would take the form of your uncle's bumbling blackmail attempt. And I never thought that he would be such a fool as to reveal his plans to that detestable Agnes Weatherby. What difficulties they caused me.”

Since there seemed little reason to hold back, Sophy asked bluntly, “You killed him, didn't you? And Miss Weatherby?”

Henry nodded. “Yes, I am afraid that I did.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “It was a nasty moment or two, I can tell you, especially Agnes. In retrospect, I can see that perhaps I should have allowed him to blackmail me for a little while until I could get my hands on the pin. But you see, I had worked out such a tidy little plan—you were supposed to be accused of his murder.” He frowned. “That wretched husband of yours ruined everything.”

Sophy's lips tightened. “And the robbery? That was you, too?”

Turning away, Henry disappeared from her sight, but she could hear him moving about the barn. “Oh, yes,” he replied in muffled tones. “Until Grimshaw told me last night, I did not know for certain that you had the pin; but after Edward's blackmail attempt, I was fairly confident that you did. For years I wondered if it had been well and truly lost, but I always suspected that if anyone had found it, it was you. And I am afraid I made the mistake of thinking that sleeping dogs were going to remain sleeping. Careless of me. And of course, Edward ... Well, while Edward spouted a great deal of nonsense, he admitted that he did not presently have the pin, but that he could lay his hands on it anytime he chose. He also rather foolishly mentioned that he'd had an interesting conversation with you recently—he thought he was being very clever—and it took no great intellect on my part to connect his conversation with you and the pin.”

Coming around the end of the curricle, he startled her by his transformation. Gone was the dapper, foppish Henry Dewhurst and in his place was a stolid, soberly dressed country gentleman of indeterminate age. It was not only his clothes which had been changed: He had added a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and a neatly trimmed beard. She would not have recognized him if she passed him on the street.

“I see that I have done my work well,” he said with satisfaction at the expression on her face. “Over the years I have perfected several different disguises. So useful.”

“Why?” Sophy was compelled to ask. “Why are you doing this?”