His Lady Midnight (2 page)

The carriage rattled to a stop in front of him. Looking up, he said to his coachman, “Let's start with the usual places, Alfred.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Galen did not reply as he climbed into the elegant carriage and settled back against the leather seats that had been recently cleaned. The odor of the soap assailed him, and he fought not to sneeze.

How many more nights was he going to ride through the streets of London trying to halt his brother from drowning in his own folly? He knew the answer. He would do it as long as he must, although he would have liked to remain at the countess's soirée tonight and probe further to discover what Lady Phoebe Brackenton had truly been doing. Mayhap the smoke had disturbed her, but he suspected she had been less than honest with him about what she had been doing during her time away from the gathering.

He heard his name shouted. Even though he did not want to halt now, he slapped his hand against the side of the carriage, stopping it before it had traveled far from the square. He opened the door as a rider paused next to it.

“Galen, I had hoped to speak with you before you departed tonight.” Sir Ledwin Woods swung down from his horse. He was a plump man with a heart as big as his stomach, and he had been Galen's friend since they first attended school together as boys. Galen was not surprised that Ledwin was only now on his way to the countess's party, because Ledwin often lost himself in his reading for days at a time, only realizing belatedly that he had missed some appointment he had made and had intended to keep … this time. His work had increased since he had been given some minor post in the government. Galen was not even sure what it might be.

As Ledwin came over to the carriage, he said, “I trust from your exasperated expression that you are again on your way to save Carr from his own imprudence.”

“He has been gone for too long, I fear.” He sighed as he climbed out and clasped his friend's outstretched hand. “And you know how much trouble he can find with such little effort.”

“I thought he was still abed with that fever he caught earlier in the month.”

Galen flinched.

“Forgive me,” Ledwin hurried to say, putting his hand on Galen's shoulder in sympathy. “I should not have reminded you of that.”

“You did not remind me. The truth is that I cannot forget.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers curling into fists. “If he had died from that fever, his death would have been my fault.”

Ledwin scowled, the furrows in his forehead looking even deeper in the faint light from the carriage's lantern. “You have taken on the task of being your brother's keeper when he does not want you to help him. That is a thankless task, Galen, which may gain you only more trouble.”

“No matter. The task is mine.”

“You will never change him from seeking his entertainments in ignoble taphouses as long as you remain in London.”

“The Season—”

“Will go on without the Townsend brothers.” He chuckled. “Do you worry about Carr missing his entertainments, Galen, or you missing yours? I hear that, although the Season is but a week old, already two lasses are vowing never to marry unless they can claim the title of Lady Townsend.”

“You should not heed poker-talk.” He put his hand back on the door. “I cannot linger. I must find Carr and get him back home.”

“Berkeley Square is too close to Drury Lane and the other places where he can seek trouble.”

“What would you suggest? That I purchase one of the new homes they are building in Regent's Park?”

Ledwin sighed. “Too close still, I fear. Why don't you persuade Carr to spend some time at Thistlewood Cottage?”

“Your country seat in Bath?” Galen laughed and shook his head. “I appreciate your generosity, my friend, but Carr will no more leave London during the Season than—”

“You would?”

Again Galen flinched. To own the truth, he enjoyed the Season with its gatherings and its gossip and its flirtations. If Carr enjoyed only that, Galen would have had no worries.

His brother had sought baser entertainments during the past year, leading him more deeply into trouble that tempted him to more. At first, Galen had thought Carr would come to realize he was choosing the wrong sports, but Carr reveled in them, pursuing them night after night and not returning until long past dawn.

That was why, when Carr did not come home two weeks ago when the night was exceptionally cold, Galen had not worried. Then, in the morning, a footman had found Carr half dead with the cold on the front steps. Carr had been so altogethery that he had not realized that he was only inches from his own door.

When the fever struck, nearly killing Carr, Galen had hoped it would persuade his brother to rethink his life. Mayhap it had, because now Carr seemed even more determined to waste his life in high, fast living in low taverns.

“Excuse me, Ledwin,” he said as he stepped back into his carriage. “I must be on my way in hopes of finding Carr in one of his usual places.”

“They grow in number.”

“Yes.”

“As does your burden, my friend.”

“It is
my
burden, and I must tend to it.”

Ledwin nodded and closed the carriage door. Folding his arms on the window, he said, “My offer stands for whenever you have need of Thistlewood Cottage. Consider it.”

“I shall.”

“I hope you find him quickly.”

Galen slapped the side of the carriage as his friend stepped aside. “So do I,” he said under his breath. “So do I.”

Two

It was taking too long. They had to get this night's work done and be on their way before anyone took note of what they were doing.

Phoebe heard shouts and pushed open the door of her carriage. She waved aside her coachman, but Sam clung close to her as she edged toward the wagon that should have been on its way before now. What was causing the delay?

“Go back to the carriage, Sam,” she ordered as she peered around a stack of what might have been raw cotton or finished textiles.

“My lady, I should stay with you.”

She shook her head. “I need you ready with the carriage, so we can leave posthaste if we must.”

“I don't like any of this.”

Neither did she. Tonight was one of those fogbound nights when disaster lurked unseen. The sudden turn of the weather from winter to spring brought these fogs, which were at their worst here by the Thames. Hearing the muffled clang of church bells in the distance, she gasped. An hour had passed since she had arrived, and still the task for tonight was not completed.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Sam remained close behind her. “Go!”

“My lady—”

“Say nothing!” She put her hand on his arm to soften the impact of her sharp words.

When he nodded and turned reluctantly to follow her orders, she promised herself that she would apologize to him once they were back on Grosvenor Square. Another shudder raced through her as she thought of her beloved home, which was now mortgaged for more than it was worth. Helping others had come at a high price, and she was unsure how much longer she could live among the
ton
and still do this work. Greater bribes were being demanded with every ship that was readied to sail from the Pool to Australia. Her family's estate in Kent must sell soon, or she would lose both it and her house here in Town.

You could stop this
.

She ignored the tempting voice as she had since she had embarked on this crusade. Yes, she could halt this, but then the innocents among the true criminals would be punished for a crime no greater than stealing five shillings' worth of bread from a shop or setting a trap to catch a rabbit on some unfeeling peer's land.

Seeing a familiar form through the contortions of the fog, Phoebe inched around the stack of bales. A mistake, she discovered, as Jasper turned and, in a hint of breeze that swept aside the fog, she saw another man beyond him. It was too late. She could not turn back now, because she had been seen.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her bonnet to hide its quality. She kept her arms close to her, so no one would see the silver bracelet around her left wrist. Bother! She would have left it on Grosvenor Square if she had had any idea that she must step into the discussions on the wharf. Letting the cloak's hem drag in the puddles on the wharf so that she looked as bedraggled as Jasper, she hoped the man was from the
Trellis
.

“What're ye doin' 'ere?” Jasper muttered, stepping between her and the other man who was watching her closely through narrowed eyes.

“Seein' what's keepin' ye.” She tried to make her accent as broad as his, but she glanced at the other man. For someone who spent so much time near water, she doubted if he had used any to bathe in weeks. His clothes reeked so much that her eyes watered. His matted hair was as dark as Lord Townsend's.

Why was she thinking of
him
now? She must concentrate on this bumble-bath and find a way to complete the night's work without compromising Jasper or herself. Biting back the questions she longed to ask, she knew she had to wait for Jasper to tell her what was wrong and how she could help. Her fan and reticule bounced against her leg as she moved closer to Jasper, and she hoped her heavy cloak would hide the motions from this sailor. She did not want him to think about the possibility that her bag contained gold. She wanted him to keep his mind firmly on completing the deal that would allow them to get the innocents off the boat.

“Woman, ye aren't needed 'ere,” Jasper answered. “This be men's business.”

She slid her arm through his as she noted two other shadowed forms behind the sailor. Mayhap she should have heeded Sam's concern and let him come with her. He was a big man and strong, and he would have forced anyone who might be thinking of doing something foolish to think again. A single shout would bring him running, but she did not want to tip her hand until absolutely necessary.

“Ye've been gone so long,” she said. “I got tired of waitin' on ye.”

“We ain't got time for no curtain lecture from yer woman,” growled the sailor. “Told ye what we want.”

“And I told ye it was too much. I already offered ye two guineas more than last time. It'll be the best I can do.”

“Not enough for my mates and me.” He squinted. “'Ow 'bout the lass? She got some gold on 'er?”

“The missus ain't got nothin' worth nothin'.” Jasper edged Phoebe a half step behind him as he added, “Told ye my best offer.”

“Ain't good enough.”

“Then we've got nothin' more to say to ye. If ye don't want my price, then I shall find someone who will.”

“Jasper!” she whispered. “We can't go without—”

He scowled at her. “This ain't yer business, woman.”

As he turned her to walk away, the sailor shouted, “Wait!”

“Ain't got nothin' left to say.” Jasper kept walking.

“Wait!” called the man.

“Jasper,” she whispered, “if they want to negotiate, we have to listen to them.”

“Give it a minute. They'll be beggin' us to come back.” He chuckled softly. “Some of the tars are just more stubborn than the others. In a minute, they'll—”

Something exploded through the night. Phoebe gasped as Jasper reeled against her, knocking her into some barrels. When he cursed, she pulled him away from the stack as it began to wobble. The barrels toppled to the wharf with a crash that was not as ear shattering as the first explosion.

Jasper began to run through the swirls of the fog, tugging her after him. She did not hesitate. Gathering up her skirt, she followed. Then she passed him. In amazement, she turned. She had never been able to outrun Jasper, even though she was two years older than him and had been trying to best him since they were children on her father's estate in Kent.

“Jasper, what's wrong?”

“They got me.” All hints of his dockside accent vanished, warning her that something was terribly amiss.

“Got you?”

He pulled her behind a stack of wooden cases and down an alley. When he reached a corner, he peered along it. She had no idea what he hoped to see as the fog grew even thicker. He drew her to the left. He threw open a door, then closed it behind them.

Phoebe paid no attention to the scent of horses that warned they were in the back of a stable. When Jasper collapsed to the ground, his hand pressed to his right thigh, she knelt beside him. She pushed aside his hand, even though he warned her away.

Blood glistened in the dim light. Slipping her hand under his leg, she smiled grimly as her bracelet jangled against the stone floor. Damp there, too. That was good, because the ball must have gone clear through the flesh of his leg. Reaching into her bodice, she pulled out a kerchief and pressed it to the wound.

He groaned, but ordered, “Go! You can't be seen here.”

“But you—”

She was amazed when he grinned. “I've come to know these docks better than the river rats do. They have not caught me before this. They won't catch me tonight.”

“I can't leave you hurt.”

“I shall be fine. The chap who takes care of the beasts here is a friend.” He muttered something under his breath, something she was sure she should not ask him to repeat more loudly. “If you go right out to the front, the carriage should be just to your left.”

“So close?”

“Aye. Arranged that with Sam.” He shoved her hand off his leg and put his own over the cloth. “Go, so I can get out of here myself. I don't want those chaps to take aim on me again.”

Phoebe stood. “Why did they shoot at us?”

“Do you want my guess?”

“Yes.”

“Could be they were not sea-crabs at all.”

“Not sailors?” She stared at him, not wanting to believe his words or that he had been shot.