Luck Is No Lady (24 page)

Mason Hale resisted the urge to scratch at his neck where the collar of his wool coat irritated his skin. It was far too warm an evening for wool, but the black coat was the only thing he had to assist him in blending with the darkness—not an easy feat for a man his size.

He stood as silent as he could manage in the shadows alongside an elegant town house. With every minute that passed, the queasy churning in his stomach grew worse, making him wish he could just empty his guts and be done with it. But he knew it would do no good. The sickness was in his soul and would not be dispelled until he accomplished his goal.

For a second, guilt flashed over what he was about to do. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. Shoved it down until he could breathe again.

He needed his money tonight, one way or another.

Thank God, his sister had agreed to help him. She hadn't wanted to, but Hale had managed to convince her. In all honesty, it was the lesser evil of what options were available to him.

Giving up his silent stance for a moment, he dug down into the pocket of his coat to withdraw a worn piece of paper. Unfolding it carefully with his large hands, he stepped out of the shadows just far enough for the nearest street lamp to cast a gentle glow on the drawing he held.

It was the face of an angel—cherubic cheeks, soft curls, and a gentle pout. The child's mouth looked sad and her large blue eyes were downcast, as though her thoughts were too heavy to share.

Hale's heart ached with raw pain and furious anger.

How could Molly use such a precious child as a means for extortion? How could she allow such sadness to claim her own daughter?

With a low growling sound, Hale refolded the paper and clutched it tight in his massive fist.

He didn't know why Molly had insisted on getting her money tonight. He honestly didn't give a fuck for her troubles.

It was Claire—only Claire—who concerned him now, as she should have from the moment she was born.

He could not make up for his neglect over the last few years, but he would start making it right tonight. Once he paid Molly off for good and Claire was safe and sound, he would never let his baby girl down again.

The sound of a carriage approaching down the well-kept lane forced him back into the shadows. Returning the precious drawing to his pocket, Hale took a bracing breath, long and steady. He slowly rolled his head to loosen the tension in his neck and shoulders while his gaze remained pinned upon the carriage. By the time it pulled to a stop in front of the house he had been watching, Hale was fully focused on what he must do.

There was no help for it.

Claire was all that mattered. The Chadwicks were out of time.

A knock then a grumbled protest pulled Emma from the light sleep she had drifted into.

Roderick shifted from where he still lay half atop her, his arm and one leg slung across her sated body. After placing a shivering kiss to her bare shoulder, he dragged himself from the bed to answer the knock.

They had made love once more after that first time. The second experience was more languid and tender, the sensations building slowly as they explored each other's reactions. Much more than words passed between them while their bodies moved together in a gentle, exquisite rhythm.

Afterward, Roderick thoughtfully drew the bedcovers over their cooling bodies as Emma gave in to the exhaustion that overtook her.

As he padded barefoot to answer the door, she took a moment to stretch her limbs.

The gossamer weight of the bedsheets slid over her skin as she extended her legs and then her arms. Her body ached in sweet secret places and her hair was likely a tangled mess, but she had never felt so content.

She rolled to her side to watch Roderick cross the room, a smile warming her lips.

He had pulled on a pair of breeches, but there was enough of him to admire in the broad expanse of his shoulders and the trim lines of his abdomen as he stood talking with someone on the other side of the open door. So much competent strength and so much tenderness. What a wonderful introduction to life's sensual pleasure, and she had been able to experience it with a man so infinitely worthy. A man she was coming to love more and more with each second that ticked on the clock.

Her feelings for him had grown slowly, moment by moment, until it had become this undeniable thing living in every corner of her being.

He glanced back at her, and her grin faltered.

Something was wrong.

The drugged relaxation that had defined his movements when he left the bed was gone and his expression—drowsy and sensual a moment ago—was now tense and alert. She wished she could make out what was being said, but whoever stood in the hallway spoke too quietly.

Emma didn't realize she had been holding her breath until Roderick closed the door and turned to approach her with a folded note in his hand. She pushed up onto her elbow and gave him a wary, questioning look.

“An urgent message was delivered for Mrs. Adams.” He tilted his head. “Who knew you were going to be here tonight?”

Alarm swept through her.

Unmindful of her nakedness, she sat up to take the note Roderick extended to her. It could only be from her sisters. They knew she hoped to attend the party incognito and would never have sent a message that would have revealed her presence unless it were a serious matter.

What could have happened?

She swept her hair back over her shoulder and opened the note written in Portia's hand.

Something terrible has happened. We need you home immediately.

Her stomach dropped with a heavy thud. The rush of panic through her blood made her limbs tremble as she shoved aside the bed covering to swing her feet to the floor. She still wore her stockings, but her chemise and gown were in the other room.

“What is it, Emma? What is wrong?”

She looked up, finally meeting Roderick's eyes. His shoulders were drawn back, his feet braced apart on the plush carpet as though prepped for battle on her behalf. His eyes caught hers, concern and something more flowing from his gaze.

Her heart gave a hard lurch, but Emma could not take the time to acknowledge the emotion he inspired.

“It is from my sister. I must return home immediately.”

“What has happened?”

“I don't know, but it cannot be good. I need my clothes.”

“I will get them.”

Emma twisted up the length of her hair into a bun, tucking the ends so it would stay at least for a short while.

The girls had attended a musicale with Angelique. It was nothing dangerous, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet there was no mistaking the edge of panic in Portia's note. Her sister was attracted to excitement, but she would never create it for unnecessary effect. That the note was so brief and so insistent filled Emma with a deep, consuming fear.

She needed to get home.

Roderick returned within moments and handed her the chemise before laying her gown and reticule on the bed beside her, and her shoes on the floor. Then he walked back to the other room.

Emma dressed quickly. The shaking of her hands made every task difficult. The buttons on the back of the gown proved the most frustrating. Each second she was delayed increased her anxiety tenfold. She was about to call out for Roderick to help her when he strode back into the room, fully dressed.

Seeing her difficulty, he came toward her. “Allow me.”

Emma gave him her back, and he stepped up behind her to work on fastening her gown.

“The man who delivered the note is waiting with a carriage. Snipes had him pull up to the side door so you do not need to worry about being seen.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She had completely forgotten about the party still in full swing below.

She turned her head to look out the window. It was dark outside, though the lights of the city were not quite as glaring as they had been earlier. Dawn was not far away.

Roderick finished the last button of her gown and she stepped away to slip into her shoes. By the time she straightened again, Roderick was at the door. She rushed past him into the hall, feeling him beside her as she made her way down to the side entrance of the club. Just before she reached the door, Snipes appeared out of the shadows.

“Your cloak,” he muttered, handing it to her.

She gave the man a smile while Roderick swept the concealing outer garment over her shoulders before they stepped outside.

Her great-aunt's driver stood beside the waiting carriage, and he came forward quickly to assist her into the vehicle. Emma caught his eye, and the deep concern she saw there tightened her throat.

“Charles,” she said on a whispered breath. The single word was loaded with questions she couldn't manage to form.

The driver's expression was tight, but he said nothing. As soon as she was seated in the carriage, Roderick followed immediately behind.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“I am coming with you.”

“I do not think—”

She caught a glimpse of the hard, determined look on his face as he took the seat opposite her. Then the door was shut and the darkness filled the interior of the carriage.

“I am coming with you, Emma,” he said again. “There is no telling what manner of trouble you may be facing. You do not have to do it alone.”

As the carriage started off, she realized there was no point in arguing when it would only delay her. She couldn't imagine how he might assist when she still had no idea what had happened. But she had to admit his solid presence helped to keep her from losing herself to a full panic.

The ride to Mayfair took an excruciating amount of time. And in the silence that fell between them, Emma became consumed with speculation on what could have possibly occurred. Had Portia finally done something reckless enough to cause a scandal? Had Lily been taken in by a libertine? Were the Chadwicks once again on the edge of ruin?

She should have known better than to leave her sisters under the dubious chaperonage of Angelique. Though the dowager countess was often quite lucid, at times the dear lady completely lost touch with reality. Emma had believed those eccentric moments to be harmless, but what if it allowed for some nefarious seducer to take advantage?

Oh God, she should have been there.

Instead, she had followed in their father's steps. She had become engrossed in the thrill of winning, unable to stop even when she had the funds she needed to pay Hale. And then afterward, when she should have gone straight home…

She glanced across the carriage to Roderick's shadowed form.

The steady yearning she had felt for him from the beginning still hummed through her blood. But the yearning felt different now. It felt heavy and dark and selfish. Because while she had been indulging in the heady sensations she experienced in his arms, her sisters had been left to fend for themselves.

She looked away from him as an ugly weight settled in her stomach.

The carriage came to a stop. Roderick quickly opened the door and leaped to the ground before turning to help Emma. His hand was warm as it held hers, and she was so tempted to hold on to him even after she descended from the vehicle. But guilt drew her hand back and she rushed up the steps to the door of the town house. She could feel Roderick following just a step behind her. With an ache in her heart, she forced him from her awareness.

The hall was quiet and dark, except for a dim glow spilling out from the parlor.

She strode swiftly toward the parlor. Portia was pacing in frantic strides around the room, her hands twisting in front of her. Angelique sat in her usual chair, her gaze lowered but no snore rumbling from her chest.

Emma scanned the expanse of the parlor as cold fear settled into her bones.

Noticing her standing there, Portia stopped her pacing. The young woman said nothing, simply turned to face her, tension and anger tightening her lovely features. Angelique also looked up. Her gaze was clear and direct. Her mouth was drawn into a thin line.

Emma took a heavy breath.

“Where is Lily?”

Portia turned a pointed gaze toward Roderick where he stood behind Emma's shoulder.

He stepped forward to execute a polite bow. “I am Roderick Bentley, your sister's…employer. I would like to assist in any capacity needed.”

Portia nodded, not seeming to catch the slight hesitation in his introduction. She glanced back to Emma, her brow raised in query. When Emma did not add anything to clarify his presence, the girl gave a barely perceptible roll of her eyes then turned about and started pacing again.

Emma understood her sister was reluctant to speak plainly in front of Roderick, but Emma could not bring herself to ask him to leave, any more than she could turn to look at him.

“You had better sit down, Emma,” Portia suggested as she made a turn across the room. “This is a tale you will not take lightly.”

Emma's heart sank. Painfully. But she stood her ground.

“I think you should first tell me where Lily is.”

Portia stopped. The girl's gray eyes were steely when she met Emma's gaze. “Lily's exact location is presently unknown, but I can tell you where we know she has been…
if
you sit down. Trust me,” she continued in a dark tone, “this will not be easy.”

The fear that had been clutching at Emma since the note had been delivered spread through her in an icy wave. What on earth had happened?

She walked to the settee on wooden legs. The moment she was seated, Portia resumed her pacing while Roderick remained near the door.

“How do I begin?” Portia muttered to herself. “The beginning, of course. You see, everything was fine until we arrived home from the Sherbrookes' musicale. Lily was the first to exit the carriage, and before I could follow, a large man came out of the shadows, knocked Charles out cold, and scooped Lily up, taking her off to another carriage on the street. They drove off so fast, I barely managed to catch my breath to chase after them.”

“It was all quite dramatic, darling,” Angelique interjected. “Our little Portia would have run after them down the street if I hadn't stopped her.”

Emma stared. Unmoving.

She could not believe what she was hearing. It was implausible. Impossible.

“What are you saying, Portia? Lily was abducted?”

“Yes! And that is not even the most disastrous part.” As Portia continued to pace, her steps became shorter, more stabbing.

Shock claimed Emma in a frozen grip. “What
is
the most disastrous part?” she asked, struggling to understand what could be worse than her sister's abduction. Lily clearly hadn't been saved, or she would be here now.

Portia waved off her question with a sweep of her arm. “I will get to that. I wanted to go to the authorities right away, but Angelique suggested an alternative.” Portia stopped her pacing and looked pointedly to the dowager countess. “Would you like to explain this part?”

Angelique nodded with a smile. “
Certainement
.” The lady met Emma's wide gaze with an odd little smile. “I happen to know of a man who calls himself Nightshade. He is very good at what he does and has a far better chance of tracking down our dear girl than anyone.”

“Nightshade?” Emma asked incredulously. “Who is this man? What exactly does he do? How do you know you can trust him?”

Angelique gave an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders. “No one knows who he really is, darling—that is the point. He is a shadow, an everyman, someone with access to every corner of this city from the gutters of gin alleys to the drawing rooms of St. James's Palace.”

“I have heard of him,” Roderick spoke up from across the room.

Emma dared to lift her gaze. He stood so strong and steady. The sight of him immediately filled her with contradictory feelings of gratitude and guilt, love and fear.

“Nightshade is known for being able to accomplish the impossible,” he continued. “It is said the man will do anything for the right amount of coin.”

“From what we saw, his reputation is well earned,” Portia declared as she walked toward Emma to crouch down beside her. Her voice lowered as she took up the explanation. “Nightshade was able to confirm Lily had been taken on Hale's command. She was…sold…to a brothel for the money Father had owed him. By the time Nightshade followed her to the house of ill repute, Lily had already been auctioned off to some unnamed gentleman.”

Sold. Auctioned.

Emma fought the urge to be ill as her stomach twisted in vicious knots.

She sat frozen in place with a vise grip around her chest, squeezing the air from her body. Her every thought was filled with terror and heartache for her gentle sister. And heartrending guilt for not being there to stop it all in the first place.

“Did you say Hale?” Roderick asked. Emma looked up to see his gaze intent on Portia. “Mason Hale?”

Portia glanced aside at Emma before replying. “Yes. Father owed him a debt. We believe he took Lily in repayment.”

“Do you know him?” Emma asked, realizing that possibility for the first time, uncertain if the thought filled her with hope or dread.

Roderick's expression was stoic and unreadable as he met her questioning look.

“He is an acquaintance.”

Emma wondered at the odd note in his tone even as a tremor ran through her at the intense look in his eyes. Something had changed in him at the mention of Hale. His manner had become more focused, his gaze sharper, though his expression remained unreadable.

Every particle in her body strained to go to him. If she did, if she rose silently to her feet and took the five steps to his side, he would wrap her in his arms. She would feel the comfort of his strength, his protection, surround her.

But nothing would be changed.

Lily would still be missing, claimed by some
gentleman
who thought nothing of purchasing an innocent girl from a brothel. The idea should have shocked her—that a gentleman would do something so heinous. But she had learned much over the past few months; such things were no longer a great surprise.

Hale had given her until today to pay him. What forced his hand early? And in such a catastrophic way?

The most gut-twisting part was that she had the money. She'd had it hours ago.

Portia resumed her compulsive pacing. Her skirts whipped violently around her legs as she went into more detail about their dealings with the hired investigator.

“After Nightshade returned to report his findings, he sent us home, saying he intended to go back to the brothel for more information,” Portia explained. “He will notify us as soon as he can. Once he discovers the identity of the gentleman who took Lily, we can get her back.”

Emma was surprised by Portia's confidence in the mysterious Nightshade, but she had no intention of crushing her sister's optimism. Even she could not bring herself to entertain the possibility that Lily may not be easily returned to them.

“Did Nightshade give the name of the brothel?” Roderick asked.

“Something about a dragon, I think,” Portia answered. “No. Pendragon.”

Having the place named made it all the more real. Fear for Lily flashed bright in Emma's soul. Keeping her sisters protected was her only responsibility, and she had failed. Just as she had with their parents.

God, she hated feeling so wretched. She needed to redirect her focus. There had to be something she could do.

She looked down at her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She forced them to open, watched as she commanded her fingers to uncurl. Somehow, she had to find a way to manage this.

Perhaps she should borrow some of Portia's confidence in her anonymous investigator and perhaps a healthy dose of Lily's ceaseless optimism. She certainly had nothing to lose.

She took a long and steadying breath.

“We must be practical about this,” she said finally, speaking mostly to herself. She looked to her sister and then to Angelique, who sat in her chair with uncharacteristic solemnity. “You have faith in this Nightshade?”

At their nods, she took another deep breath and looked to Roderick.

He gave a nod as well. “He is highly regarded and has been reported as accomplishing tasks no one else would dare to attempt.”

“Then I shall endeavor to trust in his abilities as well, which means Lily
will
be returned to us.” Though she did not say it out loud, she added a silent wish that her sister would be unharmed when Nightshade found her. Still, she could not ignore the fact that unharmed might not necessarily mean untouched. “We must consider every contingency in order to protect Lily from whatever may follow after tonight.”

“Yes,” Portia exclaimed, “that is exactly what we must do.”

“An excellent plan, my dear,” Angelique agreed.

Their enthusiasm helped to bolster Emma's confidence, though deep down she knew any planning would be futile if Lily was not found.

“I am afraid I must take my leave.”

Emma looked up and met the direct focus of Roderick's vivid blue eyes. There was a fire of determination there and the light of compassion she had come to expect from him. But also something else she couldn't quite identify, though it made her heart clench with a feeling similar to regret.

“I wish I could stay,” he continued, and she believed it to be true, “but there is something I must see to without delay.”

“Of course, Mr. Bentley,” Emma replied, rising to her feet. The words felt so wooden and empty. She wished she knew what else to say, but there was no reason for him to stay other than the fact that she wanted him to. “I am sure you are anxious to return to your club. I imagine there is much you will have to do after last night's celebration. Please allow me to show you out.”

Turning to the others, he gave a bow. “If there should be anything I can do to assist your family, on this matter or any other, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,
monsieur
,” Angelique replied with a smile as she peered at him through her opera glasses, which she had withdrawn from the folds of her skirts. “Do not be a stranger.”

Roderick gave another short bow, then Emma led him from the room. They had just stepped into the hall when Angelique added in a failed sotto voce, “That man can grace my parlor any day. He is far more fun to look at than the drapes.”

Emma's cheeks warmed. What she wouldn't give to have such a liberated tongue.

Instead, she kept her gaze forward and her lips firmly closed.

* * *

Roderick's chest hurt. Deep inside where the blood pumped hard and heavy, he ached.

He could still practically feel the agony Emma had contained within her stiff, unmovable frame when her sister had told of the abduction. Every breath she had taken was measured and controlled. Every movement so harshly calculated it was painful to witness.

He had wanted to go to her, sink to his knees before her and warm her frozen hands in his. He had wanted to gather her to his chest and run his hands down her back to soften the steel of her spine. He had wanted to encourage her to rail and rant and release the rage and fear he sensed beneath the surface of her strained composure.

Instead, he had done nothing. Their last few hours together had not given him that right, that freedom.

Having reached the front door, she stopped and turned to face him. Before him stood the super-composed, fully self-contained woman who had entered his office, seeking a position as bookkeeper. Roderick studied her with a hard knot in his throat. She looked back at him, but her expression was flat. It held nothing of the passion and fire he had seen in her not many hours before. Gone was the woman who had ruled his gambling room with her sparkling smile and innate sensuality. Gone was the woman who had insisted he make love to her despite his fear of this very moment.

“Thank you for your escort home. You have my deepest appreciation.”

Inexplicable anger clawed through him. “I don't want your appreciation, Emma.”

Her jaw tensed and her shoulders squared. Something flickered in her gaze. “Then what do you want?”

A sick feeling twisted his stomach. “You know I would not exploit this situation.”

Her lashes swept over her gaze and she glanced aside.

“Have I given you reason to distrust me?” he pressed.

Her gray eyes lifted to meet his. “It is not you I distrust, Roderick,” she answered in a low murmur. “It is myself.”

He shook his head, but before he could speak, she went on.

“My sisters—my family—are too important. They are all I have, and I cannot fail them again as I did tonight.” She glanced to the parlor. “I can only pray Lily returns home safely, but if—when—she does, it will not be the end of things. The scandal that could erupt from the kind of experience she has likely endured tonight would be devastating, and you know as well as I that scandal is not the worst we have to prepare for. I must do all I can to protect my sisters.”

“I can protect you and your family.”

“No,” she answered sharply, meeting his gaze again. The gray of her eyes was hardened with determination and the strength he had admired in her from their first meeting at the club. “It is not your responsibility. We are not your family.”

She was right. He had no family. Even when his mother had been alive, she had been far more concerned with those who had turned their backs on her than a child she had never wanted.

For a while, he had felt something special with Emma. A connection unlike any he had known before. And she was severing it.

He wanted to grasp ahold of her and drag her against him. Wanted to claim her mouth. Most of all, he wanted her to welcome him into her embrace.

But the truth of her words twisted inside him, reminding him of who he was. He had cultivated a life in which he surrounded himself with people who, like him, did not fit in to greater society. He had been content to exist in his little universe, interacting with those of his father's world only when he desired it for his own gain or profit.