A Season for Love (28 page)

Forgive me, mama, but I think you were
wrong.

~ * ~

“
Good God!” The Duke of Longville
looked up from his current task of attempting to find places for
three pistols and a knife in the skin-tight clothing designed for a
London gentleman in warm weather. “May I inquire, my dear duchess,
exactly what it is that you are wearing?”

Jen tossed her head, quite like the willful
filly she was, Marcus thought, repressing an urge to smile that did
not at all fit the dire circumstances of the moment. “These
clothes,” she retorted, “were frequently my saving grace on the
Peninsula. And I must tell you I am quite pleased I can still fit
into them.”

“
Breeches or no,” the duke returned
quite ominously, “you are not going with me.”

“
I daresay I can shoot far better than
any Bow Street Runner,” Jen told him roundly.

“
I do not doubt it. You will,
nonetheless, remain here. It is enough I stand to lose my
children—”

“
You will not lose the children!” Jen
cried. “And I intend to be there to make certain of it.”

Slowly, the duke examined his wife from the
masses of hair tucked up into a boy’s oversized brimmed cap, to the
vaguely Spanish-style jacket whose pockets bulged with what
appeared to be almost as expert an array of pistols as his own, to
the breeches which fit her long legs rather too well, doing little
to disguise rounded female hips; and, finally, to the lace-up boots
which were so patently army-issue. She made a credible man, his
wife, those sturdy shoulders and full number of inches standing her
in good stead.

He sighed. And made one last effort. “Jen,
think of Susan,” he urged.

“
I have . . . but she is only one of my
three children.”

“
Ah-h,” Marcus breathed, for the moment
finding his emotions too overborne to speak coherently.

“
And, besides,” Jen added, “I do not
plan to be shot, you know. We are to deliver the money and receive
the children, are we not? Surely, not an onerous task.”

“
Frayne would not care to hear you call
him a child.”

Jen managed a faint smile. “No,” she agreed
absently. “And, Marcus? If the villains are afraid to show
themselves because they fear you—or if they catch sight of the
Runners—I thought I might be useful. As the courier, you see.”

The Duke of Longville howled. There was
no other word for the noise that was torn from his throat.
“
If
you go, Eugenia,” he
roared, “you will remain in the carriage a good block away,
prepared to receive our missing family. Is that
understood?”

Jen eyed the toes of her boots in order to
hide her flash of triumph. By pushing outrage to the limit, she had
achieved her goal.

But when the duke and duchess returned to
Longville House three hours later, they were the sole occupants of
the carriage. A burly man in a mask was thirty thousand pounds
richer. The kidnapper’s only reply to the duke’s sharp question
about his missing family had been: “No need to worrit yourself, y’r
’ighness. I daresay they’ll rescue theirselves.”

And then, with armed men descending on him
from all directions, Bert Tunney had dropped through a trap door
into a waiting boat beneath the waterfront tavern appointed as the
meeting place and disappeared into the darkness of the river before
anyone could lay a hand on him.

The Earl and Lady Worley, who had been
waiting at Longville House, took one look at their daughter’s face
as she and the duke entered the drawing room and cried out in
anguish. Brandy was dispensed all around.

“
Bow Street warned me,” the duke
muttered, “but I could not take the chance of angering the
dastards. I did as I was told.”

“
Surely they spoke true,” Jen said for
perhaps the twentieth time that night. “Our stray lambs will soon
appear on the doorstep.”

Lord Worley and the duke exchanged a look
full of foreboding, but neither admitted to what he was
thinking.

“
We will wait,” said Lady Worley. “That
is, duke, if you do not mind.”

“
My dear lady, of course not,”
Longville told her, before adding more softly, “But I wonder if
they will come back to us before morning.”

“
We will wait,” Tony’s mother declared,
her chin jutting into the air in a manner the duke found remarkably
like her daughter’s.

“
Of course, mama,” said Jen. “We will
all wait.”

Since none of the kidnappers trusted the
others, Alfie and Flann insisted on accompanying Bert when he
picked up the money. So, after securely tying their victims’ hands
and feet, Flann and Alfie rowed upriver and waited for Bert in a
skiff beneath the tavern. After Bert’s plunge down into the small
boat—with shots plunking into the water not far from them—Flann
rowed like the fiends of hell were after him—or so he said as he
finally shipped his oars and caught his breath, long after all
pursuit had been lost in the darkness and they came to a quiet
landing beneath the warehouse. With considerable anticipation, the
three miscreants climbed a ladder into the building above and were
finally able to examine the bulging leather bags.

“
Gor blimey!” breathed Alfie. “’Tis the
bluddy most blunt I ever seed.”

“
A bag each,” declared Bert,
expansively.

“
You ain’t gonna give us no argue?”
Alfie demanded, incredulous.

“
It’s satisfaction I wanted,” Bert
declared. “Wanted to see the duke crawl, I did. Say, ‘yes, sir’ and
‘no, sir’ to me, Bertram Tunney, carter. And ’e did. Oh, ’e did!”
Tunney chortled.

Flann McCollum, as speechless as an Irishman
can get, reached out to touch one of the bags with a single finger.
’Tis a new life, it is,” he muttered reverently. “If ye’ll not
mind, I’m off to Plymouth this minute. Are ye comin’, Alfie?”

“
Aye, I will,” declared the pickpocket,
seizing one of the bags. “Perhaps I’ll even be respec’ble in the
New World.”

“
And what of our guests?” Flann asked,
nodding toward the door into the storage room.

“
Won’t ‘urt for ’em to suffer a mite
longer,” Tunney growled.

“
Tied up, they can’t get out,” Flann
reminded him.

“
Soft for the boy, are you?”

“
The lady’s too pretty to starve,”
Flann countered quietly enough. “And if she and the boy don’t
return home by morning, I would say we’ve no chance atall to use
the gold that lies within our grasp. We’ll hang as high as the
mizzen mast. Maybe even have our heads on a pike at the
Tower.”

“’
E’s right,” Alfie chimed in. “Cut ’em
loose, Bert. You can’t just leave ’em there.”

“
You wasn’t plannin’ anything worse,
was you, Bert?” Flann demanded. “’Cuz that’s not what I agreed to.
Pretty gal and a brave little chap. And the older one an earl’s
heir. It’s home they have to go, Bert. You promised a head start,
but I’m wonderin’ if I shouldn’t make sure you do right by
’em.”

Alfie Grubbs drew out a long,
efficient-looking knife. “I think we cut ’em loose before we go,”
he declared. “Duke’s arms is too long, if you get m’ drift. Even
the Canadas won’t be far enough away.”

“
We’ll just go along and see it’s done,
shall we?” said Flann. He took Bert firmly by the arm.

“
You’re going away,” the carter cried.
“I got a business ’ere in the city. I’m goin’ nowhere. Let ’em
live, and I’m a dead man.”

“
So that’s how it is,” said the
Irishman. “You never planned to let ’em go.”

“
You know somethin’, Bert,” said Alfie,
“I think you’re going to like the New World. Big country like that
can use an enterprisin’ man like y’rself. Ten thousand ought to buy
you a fine new carting business, if that’s what y’
want.”

Bert Tunney began a strong, and highly
profane, protest, only to clamp his teeth over his tongue as his
own pistol appeared in Flann McCollum’s hands, courtesy of Alfie
Grubbs, the pickpocket. Without further conversation the three men
moved toward the door to the storage room.

“
Ye’ll have the honor of cutting them
loose,” said Flann to Alfie, “while I make sure old Bert behaves
himself. And mind you take care, Alfie, me boy. Can’t send ’em back
all bloody, now can we?”

“
Your days are numbered,” Bert Tunney
shouted from the doorway, even as Flann McCollum kept the muzzle
hard to his back. “Word’s come Boney’s won. The swells is selling
out of the funds and preparing to run. Your heads will roll, I tell
you. Done fer, you are, no matter what ’appens ’ere
tonight.”

Tony gave him a sharp look, but this was not
the moment to think of the dramatic events in Belgium. Their own
fate must take precedence. He held his breath as the man called
Alfie knelt beside Laurence, a lethal-looking knife in his hand. He
felt Caroline’s shoulders tense beside him. But their fears were
short-lived. In under a minute, Laurence was free of his bonds and
Alfie had turned his attention to the viscount and Lady
Caroline.

And then, to their astonishment, their three
captors were gone, the distinct snick of the lock echoing clearly
through the vast room. Tony ran to the stout wooden door, checked
the knob, threw his shoulder against it. It was stout English oak,
not so much as shuddering from the blow that sent splinters of pain
through his still aching head.

Tony leaned his back against the offending
door and regarded his companions with what he hoped was a wise and
encouraging countenance. “They need time,” he offered. “They cannot
simply let us walk out of here. Did you notice the bags? They’ve
got their money and are off.”

“
Why was the Irishman pointing a pistol
at the other man?” Laurence demanded.

“
I do not believe we wish to know,” the
viscount answered smoothly.

“
Are you well enough to move the kegs?”
Caroline asked.

“
Contrary to what you may think,” Tony
ground out, hoping it was true, “two whole days is quite enough for
me to have recovered at least a portion of my strength.”

“
If you are not dying of starvation,”
Laurence qualified with considerable feeling of abuse.

“
Should we not wait until daylight?”
Caroline asked.

“
I find I do not trust anyone but
ourselves,” said the viscount. “I believe the sooner we are out of
this, the better. If I start dropping kegs onto my toes instead of
making a decent stack, then, of course, we shall have to wait until
morning.”

Laurence, as intended, found this amusing. He
was still chortling gleefully some forty-five minutes later when he
climbed to the top of the wooden crates on the staircase of kegs
newly constructed by Viscount Frayne. The marquess’s good humor
faded as he peered out the window. “It’s the river, Uncle Tony,” he
said. “And it is very far down.”

“
I do not mind the water,” Caroline
declared, “but I confess I do not care to find myself fallen into a
mud bank.” She shuddered.

Tony turned to Caroline, who was standing
beside him at the base of the makeshift staircase. “I fear I must
go first,” he told her somberly. “I will discover how deep it is
and be able to catch you.”

“
And if you break your ankle or your
neck because the water is shallow?” Caroline asked.

“
I do not intend to. Are you game?” he
called up to Laurence. “Will you jump down when I tell
you?”

“
Of course,” the boy declared with
spirit. “I wish to go home.”

“
Caroline, that will make you last.
Will you be able to jump?”

“
Good God, do you take me for a fool?
Your sister is not the only brave female in the family.”

Tony, suitably silenced, worked at the
window, sighing in relief as it opened out on hinges which could be
locked in place to keep it open. Perhaps their luck was changing.
Below him, the waters of the Thames eddied in the moonlight,
looking ink black and sullen. He rather thought the warehouse was
built out over the river, so that the water would be deep enough
for jumping. At least he sincerely hoped so.

And if he broke his neck and Caroline and
Laurence were left to find their way home alone?

He had no choice.

The viscount pulled himself up to the sill,
swung his feet over, informed Caroline and Laurence that he would
see them below. And jumped.

“
Tony?” Caroline hissed into the night.
“Tony?”

~ * ~

“
Give the jarvey a fiver, will you,
Sims?” said Viscount Frayne as he followed Caroline and Laurence up
the shallow steps into Longville House. “Had to promise it, don’t
you know, else he would have left us dripping onto the cobblestones
all night. Can’t say as I blame him,” Tony added judiciously. I
fear his squabs are now as soaked as we.”

“
Oh, my lord, my lady, Lord Huntley,”
Sims exclaimed in a highly unbutlerish gush, “may I say how happy
we are to see you!”

“
Indeed you may, Sims,” Caroline said,
“but you cannot possibly be as happy as we are to be
here.”

“
Yes, by George!” Laurence
echoed.

“
You will find the duke and duchess in
the drawing room, my lady. Lord and Lady Worley as well—” Sims was
unable to finish his sentence as, alerted by the pounding on the
front door, the two noble couples rushed down the stairs, closely
followed by Miss Sarah Tompkins. Only after so many hugs, tears,
and watery smiles that the greeters were almost as damp as the
now-rescued victims, were Caroline and Laurence urged off to their
bedchambers for dry clothes and a good night’s sleep.