Miss Charity's Case (28 page)

“Charity, no!”

She spun around. Oliver reached for her, but her arm was grasped from behind. Field twisted her against him. Oliver reached beneath his coat. For his pistol? Her breath exploded out in a shriek when Field held up a knife.

“Shall we make the stakes more interesting, Blackburn?” he taunted.

“Release her.” He drew his empty hand slowly from under his coat.

“I shall if you will bring me what I want within an hour. If you fail, I shall return her to my party. This time, my friends will have the chance to do more than dance with her.”

Frustration knotted his fists, but he did not raise them. “Release her, and we shall negotiate.”

“For what? You have told me you do not have what I want. You must guess Charity Stuart is the connection, for you have attached yourself to her with little ado.” Field tilted the knife toward Charity's throat. “This should give you the incentive to find what I want. One hour, Blackburn.”

“Give me your word you will safeguard her.”

Field sneered, “My word? I recall you saying my word was worth less than a goose's honkings.” When Oliver did not answer, he said, “Very well, you have my word that, for the next hour, Miss Stuart will be kept away from my guests.”

“And from you.”

“You drive a deuce of a bargain, Blackburn, but I shall watch over her as if she were my own babe.” The flat of the blade brushed her hood back. “Not a hair shall be harmed if you bring me what I want.”

“Go, Oliver,” Charity whispered, “and do what you can to save Joyce.”

“And you. I shall be back.”

“I know.” She prayed he could hear her love and trust in those two words.

Field pulled her back from the door and laughed as Oliver strode out of the house to search the fog for something Charity feared he could not find in time.

Eighteen

Thyra pushed her footman aside and threw open the door to the foggy street. Grabbing the sleeve of Oliver's damp coat, she whispered, “She is here. Myles brought them. Good God, Oliver, I cannot tolerate the old witch. She is threatening all kinds of mayhem. Myles is trying to calm her, but …”

“I am glad Joyce is safe. At least, I know Field can no longer focus his fury on her.” He shrugged off his wet cape and tossed it onto a bench in the hall.

“Where is Charity?”

“With
him.”

Thyra choked, “No, Oliver! How could you leave her?”

“Because he would have killed her otherwise. He had a knife at her throat.” Pushing past her, he said, “Maybe Joyce has some answers. I cannot save Charity unless I have what Field wants.”

“You have something that beast wants?”

“He believes so, but I have no idea where it might be.”

“What if Joyce does not know?”

Oliver sighed. “I hope she does. I have only an hour to determine a way to keep Field from prostituting Charity.”

She moaned and hid her face in her hands. He paused long enough to pat her shoulder, then climbed the stairs. Later he would soothe Thyra. For now, she must be as strong as Charity.

From the doorway, he looked into the sitting room where Miss Joyce Stuart waited with her great-aunt and Leatrice. All three women were preternaturally quiet.

Rimsbury rushed through the hall, Thyra on his heels. “Thank goodness, you are safe,” he said. “We were worried.”

Joyce rose and met Oliver's eyes steadily. For the first time, he saw a resemblance to both her sister and her father. “Forgive me, my lord. This is all my fault. Allow me to apologize to you and Charity now that—”

“Charity is not with me,” he said tightly.

The duke rushed to Lady Eloise as the old woman gasped in horror. Over his shoulder, Rimsbury asked, “He has her?”

“Field wants some papers he thinks Charity has in her possession.”

Joyce nodded and sat next to her great-aunt. Chafing the old woman's wrists, she said, “Those damnable papers!”

“Joyce, such language!” chided Lady Eloise, and Oliver knew virago was fine.

Ignoring her, Joyce added, “He asked me about them so many times. How could I have believed his gabble? I must have been short a sheet to think he meant to protect us.”

He laughed shortly. “You should pick your allies more cautiously. What did he tell you to support his tale?”

“That you and Papa were enemies of the crown—spies, if you will—even hinting Charity might be part of your cabal.”

“And you believed this of your father and sister?”

“Not completely, but he hinted Charity had been bamblusterated by you.” She did not wipe away the tears flowing down her cheeks. “He suggested you betrayed Papa. I knew Papa had a life beyond the parsonage, but I had no idea what.”

Oliver nodded, comprehending the breadth of Field's chicanery. “So you tried to keep Charity from my company?”

“You seemed always about, and then I heard …” She glanced at Leatrice, who looked away. “I heard someone say you and Charity danced as if you had known each other for years. I began to question my own thoughts, but I knew Charity was falling in love with you. I could not let that happen, so I sought the only help I had in London.”

“Field!” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “He twisted your mind well.”

“He told me his name was Lord Stanhope Heath, and, cabbage-head that I am, I was taken-in by his generous gifts and sweet words. I began to believe I truly loved him.” She glanced at Lady Eloise and away. “You must understand, my lord, I was so anxious to escape from the matches my great-aunt was trying to make for me that I willingly let Lord Heath's attention turn my head.” She blinked back tears. “I guess I am the cabbage-head Lady Eloise considers me.”

“And Field blackened my name to you?”

“Yes, on every opportunity. By the time I knew
he
posed a danger to Charity, not you, my lord, it was too late. I realized that he had only been using my
naïveté
to twist my heart into his keeping. I came to hate him. I tried to flee, but he always had someone watching me—to protect me—he assured me. Only when I convinced him Charity would not listen unless he brought me with him did he release me.” She covered her face with her hands. “I tried to warn her, but he must have drugged the wine I had upon our arrival. Now, she is with
him!”
Joyce collapsed into a paroxysm of weeping.

Oliver knelt next to her and put his hands on hers, drawing them from her face. “Where are the papers Field wants?”

“I have no idea.”

Rising, he walked to the door, fisting his hand against the molding. Thyra put her hand on his arm as he whispered, “Where do we begin to look for something that may no longer exist?”

Charity sat on a chair in the prettiest prison she could imagine. The walls were decorated with Chinese style wallpaper in a delicate gold and elegant friezes. A grand bed, an armoire, and even the washstand were made of black walnut. Elegant art was arranged on every wall and table. She found it preposterous to believe—even now—that this grand house could be a brothel.

Staring at the steel fire grate, she listened to the mantel clock. The minutes were fleeing too quickly. Almost an hour had passed since Oliver had left after vowing that he would bring what Field demanded.

“Blackburn may not have been bluffing about not having what I want,” Field said as he came to stand behind her. “He has had time to get to his office and back twice.”

“Oliver was honest.”

He laughed and sat beside her. Balancing the knife on his knee, he said, “There must be a first time for everything, I suppose.”

“What do you want from him?”

“You really have no idea?”

Charity looked at the cold fireplace again. “If I did, do you think I would ask?”

“I doubt if wasting time now is something you wish to do.” When she flinched, he went on, “I want information.”

“About what?”

He chuckled as he stood. Pacing the room, he remained between her and the door. She had no hope of escape through that or the window which was on the far side of the room. Even if she could reach it, they were high above the street.

“The war is far from over at the diplomatic level. With so many countries eager for a slice of Boney's empire, every government is anxious for information to further their interests.”

Charity faced him. “Are you intimating Oliver is a spy?”

“Just a courier.” He tapped his finger against his chest. “I, on the other hand, am a spy. Your lover did nothing but transport information on his ships.” Sneering, he laughed louder. “Your fine earl is nothing but a delivery boy for the British government.”

“Which government do you work for?”

“Whichever one is willing to pay for my services. My current employer has great interest in information Blackburn should be able to get for me. He has access to Thyra Estes's house.”

Charity could not understand the convoluted course of his words. “Thyra? She works as a courier, too?”

“No, but I believe you have.”

“Impossible!”

“Is it? Your father and your lover were allies. Where is the last
communiqué
Stuart should have had? Not in your sister's trunk, nor in the parsonage which I had searched much to the dismay of the new parson. That leaves but one place, Charity.”

She looked at Field in incredulity. Her case! But it had held only her linen and a few trinkets belonging to her parents. Bits of jewelry, love letters in a velvet ribbon—nothing that could help a government.

“If you knew Joyce did not have it, why have you delayed so long contacting us?”

“I am surprised you regret not being able to enjoy my company before this.” He chuckled with cruel amusement. “I thought Blackburn might have the missive when I discovered he was bound from The King's Heart Inn to the sea.” He tapped the knife against the wall and smiled. “A mistake, I am afraid, for Blackburn was involved only with his shipping line. Once I realized that, I came back to London to entice your sister to me and watched, with great enjoyment, your bumbling attempts to locate her.”

When the clock on the mantel chimed the hour, Field paused in his pacing. “Five more minutes, Charity.”

She rubbed her hands against her icy arms. “Oliver will come. He always has when you have played your games.”

“You have been very lucky.” He stroked her hair, but she drew away. Leaning on the back of the chair and rocking the knife only inches from her face, he said, “If Blackburn had not saved you at The Boar and Bear, I would have had you then.” He turned her face toward him. “It does not matter, does it? The end result will be the same.”

“Don't touch me!” She tried to pull his hands away from her. “You told Oliver—”

He snickered. “I gave him my word, and we both know its value. Why should I wait another five minutes?” Jerking her to her feet, he perused her with a slow, satisfied appraisal. “I cannot offer you to my guests without knowing if you are worth their money.”

Charity struggled to escape. The flash of the knife in front of her eyes froze her.

“It will be one of my greatest pleasures to have Blackburn's lady,” he murmured as he ran a single fingertip across her shoulder and slowly began to unhook the back of her gown.

She tried to pull away. He snaked his arm around her and tugged her to him. She bit her lower lip to silence her scream. She knew how easily he could kill her. She pressed her hands to her bodice to keep it from drooping. He pulled one away. When she opened her mouth to shriek, he clamped his lips over it.

Fighting to escape, she moaned when he raised her skirt to reveal the length of her stockings. He laughed as he pressed the flat of the knife to her nape. The message was simple. Do as he wished, or he would kill her.

The door struck against the wall. Charity looked past Field's shoulder to see a most incredible sight. Her sister stood in the door, her face pale with horror.

Field snarled, “Blackburn?”

“No,” Joyce whispered. Charity was astounded when she smiled. “Someone better.”

Field whirled and scowled. “Joyce, what are you doing here?”

“Lord Blackburn came after me, Stanhope!” She laughed. “I told him I believed he was innocent of killing Papa, and he thought I was owning to the truth. Then, when he was busy, I slipped away. I came here, knowing you would protect me.”

“Does he have what I want?”

She shrugged, not looking at her sister. “He must know where it is.”

“Then where is he?” He shoved Charity away and peered into the hallway. “Where is that blasted fool?”

Charity ran to the washstand. She grasped the ewer and smashed it into Field's head. When he turned, his hand raised, he had time only for a curse before a shadow filled the door. Oliver's fist knocked him to the floor. He tried to regain his feet, but Oliver's second blow sent him against the wall so hard the paintings rattled. Field slumped and did not move.

When Oliver held out his hands to her, Charity lurched forward to be enfolded in his arms. He whispered into her hair, “Did you doubt I would come back for you? I could not wait to land Field a facer.”

“I feared you would not find what Field wanted.”

“I didn't.” When she looked up at him, he smiled and held out his hand to her sister. “I found something better. An ally in your sister.”

Charity stepped away from Oliver to meet her sister's tear-filled eyes. “An ally? But you said—”

“A diversion to give Lord Blackburn a chance to sneak up on that horrible man.”

“So you believe Oliver is innocent?”

She smiled. “Mayhap not innocent.”

“You are a wise woman, Joyce,” he replied with a chuckle.

“I hope I can become one, for I have been witless until now.” She took Charity's hands in her own. “Through all this, I trusted you, dear sister, and I know you would not give your heart to a heartless man.” A pair of tears left a gleaming trail along her cheeks. She took a deep breath. “What will you do with him, Lord Blackburn?”