Andrea Kane (46 page)

Stacie turned to Damen. “Damen, you’ll gallantly refuse to have Breanna meet Anastasia alone. You’ll arrange to be there with her when she reads Stacie’s evidence—which will be, say, at the docks, at ten o’clock that night. You’ll tell Breanna that, once this damning proof is in your hands,
you’ll
be the one to turn it over to the authorities, sparing both her and Anastasia any potential risk. Cunnings will hear this entire plan. He’ll rush off to contact Uncle George, alerting him to the fact that he’d better intercept whatever evidence Anastasia has before she shares it with you and Breanna—and you present it to the authorities. Uncle George will panic. He’ll arrive at the docks at nine-fifty
P.M
.—he’s
always
prompt, and this time he’ll want to be early so, hopefully, he can grab Anastasia, destroying her and her proof before you and Breanna even lay eyes on it. Sure enough, you both won’t have arrived yet, giving Uncle George just the advantage he needs. When I show up, as myself, we’ll have a little scene. I’ll provoke him into admitting what he’s done. It shouldn’t be hard, given his high opinion of himself and the fact that he believes we’re alone.”

A triumphant smile lit Stacie’s face. “What Uncle George won’t know is that Bow Street has been alerted to the situation, and has men hiding behind the warehouses and listening to every word that’s spoken. Once he’s confessed, they can take him away. Now, are we all ready to enact my plan?”

“Absolutely not.” Damen sliced the air with his palm. “Your plan neglects to take into account a few minor details. Such as, what if this assassin Cunnings hires is watching the bank when
Breanna
visits? What if he figures out it’s you, not she, who’s calling on me, and he decides to carry out his job then and there? He’s a professional killer, Stacie; there’s no guarantee you can fool him.”

“We don’t have to try.” Breanna’s eyes were glittering precisely like Anastasia’s. “Stacie will stay here, in your home, safe.
I’ll
come to the bank.”

“And what will you tell your father?” Stacie demanded, hands on hips. “Before he thrashes you, that is?”

“I’ll tell him nothing. I won’t see him. I’ll spend the remainder of the night right here. Then, I’ll borrow one of your gowns, take our phaeton, and ride to the bank as soon as it opens.”

Anastasia’s jaw dropped. “And how will you explain your absence at Medford Manor?”

“I won’t have to.” Breanna’s lips curved, and she explained to them how she’d stuffed her bed to make it look slept in. “My lady’s maid will peek in, and think I’m still asleep. By the time she realizes her mistake, I’ll have finished my business in London and be on my way home. Given the speed of your courier—Cunnings’s courier— Father will have received his warning message before I return, so he’ll already know where I’ve been. Beating me for it would be counterproductive: it would only alert me to the fact that he’s aware of my plan, which would give me the opportunity to warn Stacie. So he’ll save my whipping for
after
he deals with her.” Breanna’s smile widened. “But, as we all know, there won’t be any ‘after’ for Father. He’ll be en route to Newgate.”

“And if he brings a weapon?” Damen demanded.

“Father’s no marksman,” Breanna assured him. “I’m a far more accurate shot than he is. He’s also a coward. That’s why he’s paying an assassin to do his dirty work, rather than taking care of things himself. When it comes to violence, Father uses his fists, not a pistol.”

“Which brings me back to the assassin.” Damen’s scowl deepened. “Obviously, Cunnings will alert him to our plan at the same time he alerts George. He’ll respond by being right there at the docks waiting for Stacie to show up.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Anastasia concurred. “But Cunnings will also instruct him not to shoot me until Uncle George gets the written evidence he’s there to collect. So I’ll be safe until that happens. And once this assassin sees Bow Street swarming about, I doubt he’ll rush forward, pistol aimed and ready.”

“It’s bloody risky,” Damen said, with a hard shake of his head. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ll be there to safeguard me,” Anastasia reminded him. “Bring your own pistol, if it makes you feel better. Give me one, as well. But this is the only way we’re going to catch Uncle George. Before he makes sure I’m …” She wet her lips, not eager to finish her own sentence.

“Dammit,” Damen bit out, only too well aware of Stacie’s implication, and the fact that she was right.

“What about Wells?” Anastasia suddenly realized aloud. “He’s been at his post every morning for three decades. If he and Breanna stay here overnight, he’ll be glaringly absent at dawn. That will make Uncle George suspicious.”

“That’s true.” Damen rubbed his chin, considering the issue thoughtfully.

“I told the viscount I felt ill,” Wells protested. “He won’t be surprised if I’m not up and about at dawn.”

“We can’t take that chance,” Damen replied, studying the tired but determined butler. “Listen to me,” he continued gently. “Don’t be stubborn. You’re exhausted. You need some rest. And Stacie’s right—you’d better be at the entranceway door tomorrow morning. Even if George believes you’re ill, you can’t be sure he won’t check on you. If he does, and finds you missing, he’ll most certainly become suspicious, especially since he knows full well how deeply you care for Anastasia and Breanna. That’s a risk we can’t take.”

Seeing the butler’s oncoming protest, Damen held up his palm, warded it off. “If you want to help us, go home. I’ll arrange for an appropriate change of clothes. Then my driver will take you to Medford Manor. He’ll use the closed carriage, so you can get a few hours’ sleep on the way. It will be later than usual when you reach your post—which is understandable, given how ill you felt the night before—but the important thing is that you’ll be there. Everything must seem in place.”

“That’s perfect,” Breanna agreed. “If Wells goes home, I won’t have to face Father until ten o’clock tomorrow night. I’ll stay here, drive the phaeton to the bank, then return here, spending the rest of the day with Stacie. I’ll fill her in on what happens at the bank, keep her inside and out of view—” A pointed, no-nonsense look at Stacie. “—until it’s time for us to leave for our rendezvous at the docks. In the meantime, Wells can tell Father I left Medford Manor right after breakfast, took the phaeton, but mentioned nothing about where I was going. Once Father receives Cunnings’s message, he’ll know my destination, and why I didn’t disclose it to Wells.”

She gazed pleadingly at the butler, appealing to him in a way she knew would ensure he went home, got the rest he so desperately needed. “Please, Wells. You’d be sparing me Lord knows how severe an argument and how painful a beating. Do it for me.”

The butler’s protective instincts won out, just as Breanna knew they would. “Very well, Miss Breanna. If it will shield you and help Miss Stacie, I’ll do as Lord Sheldrake asks.” He rose, looking tenderly from one girl to the other. “I’ll do my part,” he assured them, his voice quavering a bit. “And then … I’ll pray.”

As always, the House of Lockewood opened its doors at nine
A.M
.

And, as always, Cunnings was there at half after eight, doing his paperwork in preparation for the day.

His first client arrived promptly at nine.

A half hour later, their business together was completed.

Leaning back in his office chair, Cunnings nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Excellent. You’ll take care of it, then.”

A smug smile curved the lips of the man sitting on the opposite side of the desk. “For such an enormous sum and an even more enormous challenge? Of course.”

“Good.” Cunnings felt a surge of triumph, a premonition that, at long last, he was about to come into his own. “I’ve given you all the information I have. I realize it’s not much, but…”

“It’s all I need.”

“I rather suspected as much.” Cunnings rose, handing the man a sheet of paper. “By the way, here are the figures you requested. If you glance at them, you’ll see …” His head snapped up as a din from the hallway accosted his ears.

“Please, Graff. Hurry. I left Medford Manor at the crack of dawn in order to get here this early. I must see Lord Sheldrake now—no matter who he’s meeting with. My business simply won’t wait.”

It was Breanna Colby’s voice, Cunnings realized. Clearly, she was standing just outside his closed office door, or rather, rushing by it. She sounded breathless, and terribly distressed.

“I alerted Lord Sheldrake to the urgency of your visit, my lady,” Graff was reassuring her. “He’s agreed to see you at once. I assure you, I’m walking as quickly as I can.”

“Good. And please see that we’re not disturbed.”

Her voice moved in the direction of Damen’s office, and Cunnings took an inadvertent step toward the door, wondering what the hell this was all about.

“That’s Breanna Colby, Anastasia’s cousin,” he muttered, half to himself, half to his visitor. “I’d better find out why she sounds so flustered. Maybe she’s heard from her cousin. Will you excuse me?”

“By all means. I’ll wait here, in case there are developments I should know about.”

“Good idea.” Cunnings scooped up some paperwork. Then, he crossed over, opened his door, and wandered casually into the hall.

Graff was on his return trip, shaking his head in puzzlement as he headed back to his post.

“What was that commotion?” Cunnings inquired.

“Lady Breanna,” Graff supplied. “She has some critical business to discuss with Lord Sheldrake.” An exasperated sigh. “Women can be so excitable at times.” He shrugged, continuing on his way until he disappeared from view.

Cunnings moved down the hall, pausing a few feet from Damen’s office. He leaned against the wall, scanning his papers as if he were actually reading them, in the event someone walked by or Sheldrake abruptly emerged.

The marquess’s door was shut nearly all the way, a slim crack being the only open space.

It was enough—not for observing, but definitely for eavesdropping.

“She’s
here?
In England?” Sheldrake was asking incredulously.

“Yes,” Breanna replied. “Apparently, she’d uncovered information that implicates Father in some horrible crimes. But she had no proof. So she pretended to leave the country, only to stay right here and gather the evidence she needs to send him to Newgate.”

“I don’t believe this.” Sheldrake sounded badly shaken. “Is she all right? Did you see her?”

“She’s fine. And, no, I didn’t see her. She sent a messenger to Medford Manor late last night, instructed him to throw pebbles at my window until he got my attention. I was lucky. Father had gone out after midnight and Wells was feeling ill and had retired early. I slipped downstairs and met the messenger at the door. He gave me Stacie’s note. Then, I sent him on his way, quickly, before Father could return and ask questions. No one saw him but me.”

“Did Anastasia’s note tell you where she’s staying?”

“Only that she’s somewhere in London. Her note said that knowing her exact whereabouts might put me in danger.”

“Did she tell you what proof she had?”

“Not specifically. Just that it would shock me and strip Father of everything—including his freedom. So it must be despicable. In any case, Stacie insisted that I see it with my own eyes and decide what I want her to do. She won’t turn the evidence over to the authorities without my permission.” Breanna drew a shaky breath. “It is, after all, my father she’d be relegating to Newgate. Not to mention the scandal this entire affair would cause our family.”

“Lord,” Sheldrake muttered. “Whatever George did, it must be contemptible. Otherwise, Anastasia would never ask you to betray your own father.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you intend to do—or need I ask?”

“I’m going to support Stacie’s decision,” Breanna responded instantly. “Our grandfather would want nothing less. If Father is guilty of some horrible crime, he should be punished. The Colby name will survive, and ultimately prevail.” A troubled pause. “But Damen, to be honest with you, I’m terrified of what Father will do to me if he finds out I’m involved. Despite my false show of bravado—waving that pistol around as I did—I’m truly afraid of the man. I don’t know why I ran to you, but the truth is, I had nowhere else to turn.”

“You did the right thing.” Sheldrake’s voice was taut with strain. “I’ll help you. Tell me when and where Anastasia expects you to meet her.”

“Tonight. At the London docks—the deserted southwest section nearest the Tower. At ten o’clock.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“What?” Now Breanna sounded panicked. “But, she’s expecting only
me.
If she sees someone else, she might bolt.”

“Not if that someone is me. I love her, Breanna. Anastasia knows she can trust me.” Sheldrake paused, blowing out his breath slowly, thoughtfully. “On the other hand, you have a point. Between the night and the fog, she’ll see the silhouette of a man and, unless I have time to call out and let her know it’s me, she’ll take off. The best thing would be if we both went. You can coax her out, and I’ll be there to lend my support—to both of you.”

“And what about the evidence?”

“I’ll take it directly to Bow Street. You and Anastasia will wait for me in my carriage. We won’t venture back to Medford Manor until the authorities have arrested your father.”

“After which we’ll all be safe.” Breanna emitted a shaky sigh. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary.” A hesitant pause. “I suggest you spend the day in Town. Feel free to use my house as your own. Shop, call on friends, do whatever you most enjoy. But don’t ride back to Kent. The last thing you need is a confrontation with your father. Answering his questions was bad enough when you knew nothing. Now that you’ve actually heard from Anastasia, I’m not sure you’d be able to successfully lie about it. And if George should suspect…”

“Say no more,” Breanna interrupted, an audible tremor in her voice. “I can’t face Father. Not now, knowing what I know, planning what I’ve planned. I’ll do just what you suggested—stay in Town, then go to your house until tonight’s meeting.” A rustle of material, alerting Cunnings to the fact that Breanna had risen, was heading for the door.