Silent Revenge (38 page)

“Well, blow me over. She claims to be the Countess of Northcote.”

“I am,” Jessica insisted. “I’m the Countess of Northcote.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Colin interrupted. “She’s insane. Why do you think her family wants her put away?”

“No! Colin, please. Don’t do this!” Jessica fought Frish with every breath she took, but he was too strong.

“You always were too proud for your own good,” Colin said, watching her struggle. “Even as a child you thought you were better than anyone else. Always sticking your nose in the air like you were somebody when you were nothing.” Colin leaned close and yelled in her face. “Nothing! The closest your father could come to giving you a title was to marry one.”

He stepped away from her. “Get her out of here!” he yelled.

Jessica knew this was her last chance to get away. She brought her foot up and stomped down on Frish’s instep, then turned around and lifted her knee as hard as she could. Frish dropped his arms from around her and clutched his crotch, but before she could get away, Colin had her in his grasp.

Without hesitation, she brought her arms up as hard as she could, pushing against Colin’s chest, fighting to free herself. She struggled with all her might, and when he raised his arm to push against her throat, Jessica opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the thin material of his silk shirt.

Colin reared back and pulled himself away from her, holding his injured arm in front of him. Jessica didn’t wait to see what he would do next, but ran across the room as fast as she could. She reached the drawing room door, then raced through the entryway toward the door that would lead her to freedom.

Just as she reached the entryway, Colin’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. A growing circle of blood dotted the pristine sleeve of his shirt, and when she looked up at him, his eyes glowered with madness. “You bitch!”

She saw his arm move before she felt the blow, and his fist struck her face. Jessica staggered, and then blessed darkness consumed her and she knew no more.

Chapter 25

S
imon jumped from the carriage and took the steps to his town house three at a time. The two husky men he’d brought with him stayed close on his heels. They knew what they were to do.

The first man stopped outside, taking his place next to the steps, prepared to guard the entrance from any unwanted intruders. The second man followed Simon through the door Sanjay held open for them, almost jerking the door from Sanjay’s hands in his attempt to close and bolt the thick oak slab behind them.

“Where is your mistress?” Simon charged into the drawing room, hoping he’d find Jessica waiting up for him. The room was empty.

“Missy is in her room resting,” Sanjay answered. “She said she very tired.”

Simon headed toward the stairs, stretching his long strides almost to a run. It was happening. One of the runners they’d hired to work for Great Northern Shipping had found out there was a very important shipment coming in during the night. Simon had no doubt this was the opium shipment. All signs pointed to it. His heart raced in his chest. It would be over soon.

Collingsworth and Ira had stayed at the docks. The authorities had been notified and were on their way, but Simon had to make sure Jessica would be safe. A wave of warring emotions rushed through him. He needed to be with her. Just in case.

He turned at the top of the stairs and glanced down at the man standing guard at the front door. Simon knew when the raid took place, Tanhill would seek him out. And if Simon could not stop him, Tanhill would come for Jessica next. The hatred that boiled between them had no boundaries.

Simon breathed a reassuring sigh and crossed the long hallway to their room. He fought the urge to call out to her even though he knew she would not hear him. He didn’t care. The need to see her bordered on desperation. He just wanted to hold her one time.

Simon flung open the door and stepped into the room. Dark shadows danced on the walls, making strange and foreboding patterns. He walked to the bedside to light the lamp that sat on the small square table.

A soft glow illumined the area, and Simon held the lamp high. The bed was empty. He moved the light, searching every corner. She was nowhere.

“Are you sure your mistress came in here, Sanjay?”

“Yes, master. Martha even checked earlier and she was here. Maybe she went to her other room.”

Simon did not set the lamp down, but carried it to the room at the end of the hall. The place he’d always found her. He swore softly under his breath, vowing that if she’d locked the door again, he’d break it down. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get back to the docks before Colin’s shipment arrived.

He reached for the latch. It turned easily, and he pushed open the door. The blackness from inside brushed against him like a dangerous whisper of warning.

Simon lifted his lamp and scanned the room. What a strange room. There was no bed. No nightstand. No wardrobe containing her clothes. Only tables scattered throughout the room stacked high with scraps of material. Only squares of brightly colored cloth arranged on each table in an indiscernible order.

Simon lit a second and a third lamp. The room brightened to a warm glow, and he stepped to the center and looked around him. Lifting the lamp high, he turned in a complete circle. Each wall was cluttered with pencil drawings of gowns.

Although he could not remember who had worn each of them, he knew he had seen many of the gowns before. Why would Jessica have drawings of them? Why would she be so interested in what the other women wore that she would hang the designs on her wall?

Simon looked at the gowns again. He was sure these were gowns made by the famous dressmaker Madame Lamont. The ones created by the mysterious designer everyone was talking about. Why would Jessica have her…?

He looked at the material samples on the tables.

Bloody hell.

It couldn’t be. Surely Jessica wasn’t this mysterious person? The mysterious designer every woman in London wanted to design their gowns?

Simon walked over to the desk in search of an answer and picked up one of the many papers scattered haphazardly on top. It was a half-finished ball gown, the wide skirt trimmed with a mass of lace ruffles, while the bodice remained a series of fragmented lines, incomplete and undone.

The next paper was an unfinished skirt with samples of different materials attached at the corner. The next a finished design labeled “Day Dress for the Marchioness of Canterwall.” Another labeled “Ball Gown for Lady Preston.” Both clearly inscribed in Jessica’s elegant hand.

Simon spun around. Where was she? He looked at the designs on the wall and fought the anger building within him. Why had she kept all this from him? Didn’t she trust him enough to share her secret with him?

“Sanjay.”

Where the hell was she?

“Sanjay!”

Sanjay appeared through the door at a run. “Yes, master.”

“Where is your mistress?”

“I do not know, master. We have looked everywhere. She is not here.”

“What do you mean, she’s not here? She must be.” Simon started toward the door. The anger he felt dissipated, replaced by an unexplainable fear that seeped to the very core of his being. “Search the house. Search every room and don’t omit even the smallest corner.”

“The servants are searching now, master, but I’m afraid it will do no good. I think the missy is not here.”

Simon stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?” The look on Sanjay’s face caused his heart to skip a beat. “What has happened, Sanjay?”

Sanjay twisted his hands in front of him. “The missy went out this afternoon.”

“Where?”

“To see Lady Rosalind.”

Simon slammed his hand against the wall. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The missy made me promise I would not. She said Lady Rosalind knows when the opium shipment is coming. She went to find out for you.”

Dear God, why hadn’t Jessica come to him? Simon raced down the stairs and into his study. He opened a drawer and put an extra pistol in his pocket. “Sanjay, send someone to the docks with a message for the Duke of Collingsworth. Tell him to meet me at Rosalind’s town house. I may need him.”

“Right away, master.”

Simon let his long, determined stride carry him out of the town house and into his waiting carriage. The two men he’d brought with him were already seated with the driver, and before Simon closed the door, he bellowed the address.

He had failed. He had failed to keep her safe.

An icy fear settled over him. The carriage rocked as it made its way across London’s cobblestone streets, and Simon dropped his head back on his shoulders and closed his eyes. “Dear God,” he prayed, “let me find her. Let her be all right.”

He would not survive if he lost her. He would not be able to live with himself if something happened to her. If Tanhill found her. Like he’d found Sarai.

The carriage turned a corner and slowed. Before it came to a complete stop, Simon bolted out the door and raced up the front walk. The two men he’d brought with him were right behind, flanking him like an impenetrable wall. The door stood open, and Simon pushed at it before rushing through the opening.

“Jessica!”

He stepped to the center of the large entry and listened. Silence. A frightening silence. The front door wide open. Candles lit. Lamps glowing brightly in the study and the drawing room and the small salon beside it. But not a living soul came to see to them.

No butler rushed to see who was there. No downstairs maids ran in fright. No upstairs servants peeked out from hiding places above. Nothing.

“Jessica!”

Simon pulled the pistol from his coat and walked to the study. Tanhill would not catch him unaware again. Simon stepped inside the room and looked around. The air caught in his throat. There had been a struggle in this room.

The chair was not behind the desk as it should be, but overturned at the side. An unlit lamp lay broken on the floor with papers strewn around the desk. The curtains at one window had been torn down, pieces of glass from a broken pane shattered on the floor.

Simon ran from the room. Jessica’s face appeared before him, the smile on her lips soft and gentle, the look in her eyes warm and trusting. Dear God. Where was she?

The drawing room door stood half open, a light shining brightly behind it. Simon kicked it open, his gaze searching the area for any sign of her. A broken crystal decanter, an overturned table, a woman’s body…

“No!”

The roar that echoed in the room matched the roaring in his head. It must have come from him. He thought it had, although he wasn’t sure. He raced across the room, pushing an overturned chair out of the way. She was lying on the floor behind the divan, her small slippered feet lying at an unnatural angle. Her green-and-white striped skirt bunched around her knees and…

She moaned.

Simon frantically moved to reach her while the two guards he’d brought with him shoved aside the divan. He looked down on the body on the floor.

It was not Jessica. It was Rosalind. The relief nearly paralyzed him.

Bruises had already blackened most of her face and arms, and a bloody stain darkened her gown in the front. She’d been stabbed and beaten. Simon didn’t know how she was still alive.

He looked at the two men standing with him. The shock he saw etched on their faces matched the sickness churning in his gut. “Go for a doctor,” he ordered, and one of the men left the room.

Simon knelt at her side, afraid to touch her. She was alive, although he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Rosalind?” He lifted her hand and held it.

She stirred.

“Rosalind, can you hear me?”

She opened her swollen eyes. “Simon?”

“Yes, Rosalind. It’s me. Where’s Jessica?”

“Colin…found out. Oh…God.”

“I know, Rosalind. Where’s Jessica now?”

“Simon…don’t…leave…”

A fit of coughing stopped her words, and Simon fought the panic that raged within him. Tanhill was out there, and so was Jessica. If he’d touched her…

A stab of cold fear slammed into his gut. “Where’s Jessica, Rosalind?”

“Don’t…leave me. I’m…afraid.”

“I won’t leave you. I’m right here. But you have to tell me where Jessica is.”

He waited, but she said nothing. Her shallow breathing seemed even more labored, and he put his hand against her throat to feel if her heart was still beating. Barely.

“I should have…married you…Simon. I was a…fool…to marry your…father.”

He bit back a sigh of impatience. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The doctor will be here soon. He’ll take care of you.”

Simon heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and when he looked up, the Duke of Collingsworth came toward him.

“Oh God,” Collingsworth whispered, staring at Rosalind’s battered body.

Simon turned back to Rosalind. “Rosalind,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand. “Rosalind. Listen to me. I have to find Tanhill. He can’t get away with this.”

“I’m…sorry he’s…dead, Simon. I…didn’t mean to…do it.”