Chapter 15
Alistair sat in the farthest corner of White’s, half in shadow, a forgotten glass of brandy warming in his hand.
The low murmur of voices and the occasional bursts of laughter around the gentlemen’s club did little to brighten his mood.
He ought to feel some measure of relief.
After all, Jane was leaving London. She would soon be tucked away in her aunt’s country estate—far from him, far from the dangers that followed in his wake.
That had been his plan. His wish. His demand.
So why did his chest feel hollow? Why did dread coil in his gut like a living thing?
The memory of her face haunted him. The flash of hurt in her eyes when he had suggested marriage between them—an arrangement, nothing more—just so he could shield her.
He knew it had been clumsy, perhaps even insensitive.
Yet every word had been born of desperation.
He wanted only her safety. And it was his fault she was in peril at all.
Blast it, he had the strongest urge to abandon this chair, this club, this cursed brandy, and ride after her—fall to his knees and beg her never to leave him.
But that was madness. A man had no right to such a plea when he was nothing but danger to her.
No—the wisest thing, the only thing, was to let her go.
A sudden movement drew him back to the present. Lord Rupert sank into the armchair opposite, his expression one of cheerful irreverence. “Good gads, Alcott, why do you look like death’s poor cousin?”
Alistair did not even look up. “What do you want?” he muttered, dragging the glass to his lips.
“Nothing, save the questionable pleasure of your company.”
He gave a short, derisive huff. “Unlikely.”
Rupert leaned back with a grin. “What happened to you? You used to be much more pleasant.”
Alistair’s gaze dropped to the amber liquid in his glass. The silence stretched until at last he said, flatly, “Go away.”
“I will. But first there is something I suspect you’ll want to hear.” Rupert leaned forward, his voice lowering. “I spoke again to the fellow who attacked me. It seems he wasn’t entirely truthful in his first confession.”
Alistair’s head came up, sharp. “How so?”
“Well, I made a visit to Newgate this morning and asked him—nicely, of course—to explain how I was meant to be his victim.”
Alistair’s brow arched with skepticism. “You? Nicely?” He knew well enough that Rupert had earned a reputation as one of the Army’s most effective interrogators.
Rupert gave him an injured look. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s your fear. I merely suggested he might part with a finger or two should his tongue remain idle.”
“And did he?”
A flash of mock indignation crossed Rupert’s face. “Of course not! I’m not a monster.” He paused. “Though I can’t say I left him entirely comfortable.”
Alistair’s frown deepened. “How in the blazes did you gain leave to interrogate a man inside Newgate?”
“Does it matter?”
He shrugged. “I suppose not.”
Rupert straightened and drew a folded paper from his pocket. “Regardless, I discovered where he lodged. His rooms were a shambles, but I found this.”
Alistair set down his brandy, suddenly intent. “What is it?”
“The layout of a country estate in Lavenham.” Rupert spread the paper across the table. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Alistair leaned forward, snatching it before Rupert’s hand had fully withdrawn. His blood went cold. “Lady Cosima’s estate is in Lavenham.”
Rupert let out a whistle. “Well, it is a good thing she is still in London, then.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched. “No. She and Lady Jane depart tomorrow at first light.”
“Then we stop them.”
Alistair surged to his feet, shoving the paper into his pocket. “My thoughts exactly.” He strode out of White’s with Rupert on his heels, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Once in his coach, he barked rapid directions at the driver before slamming the door.
Rupert settled opposite as the vehicle lurched into the crowded streets.
Alistair’s knee bounced restlessly, his gaze fixed on the passing windows, his mind reeling.
How had Jules’s men obtained a layout of Lady Cosima’s country estate?
How had they known the ladies would seek safety in Lavenham?
Rupert’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. “We will reach them in time.”
“What if we don’t?” Alistair’s tone was harsh. “Jules always seems to be one step ahead.”
“Even the cleverest adversary stumbles eventually.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Alistair muttered.
Rupert studied him with a strange intensity. “I’ve never seen you so restless. You were steadier on the Continent than you are now.” He tilted his head. “Unless there is more at stake here?”
Alistair’s eyes snapped to his. “Do not analyze me.”
Rupert raised his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. It is merely an observation.”
Alistair turned away. The last thing he wanted was for anyone—least of all Rupert—to glimpse the truth of what Jane meant to him.
“Do you know why Lady Cosima is leaving London?” Rupert asked.
“I thought it was best if they got as far away from me as possible,” Alistair replied.
Rupert looked amused. “Ah, that would have been a good plan had it been less obvious that is what you would have done.”
Alistair looked heavenward. “I would prefer if we sat in silence.”
“We could, but chatting with you is much more enjoyable. You are being a delight.”
Knowing his friend was goading him, Alistair decided to change subjects. “I was attacked again. This time in my own home.”
All humor left Rupert’s expression. “When?”
“Last night in my bedchamber,” he revealed. “Danvers shot him.”
Rupert settled back into his seat. “How is your dear batman doing? I have missed him since the war.”
“I do not think the feeling is mutual.”
“I shot him by accident,” Rupert defended. “How many times do I have to explain myself? He was sneaking around the tent and I was on duty. What choice did I have?”
Alistair chuckled. “He was lucky you are such a lousy shot.”
Rupert looked insulted. “I have an excellent aim, but I wasn’t trying to kill him—merely wound him,” he explained. “If he was the enemy, I needed him alive to interrogate him.”
“Frankly, I am surprised you became a barrister. You always seemed to enjoy the immense pressure of war.”
“No more than you,” Rupert replied. “But being a barrister is far less exciting than being a soldier, but much more predictable. Safe.”
“I suppose you have a point,” Alistair said. “Although my life is hardly predictable now with Jules after me.”
Lord Rupert’s eyes grew determined. “We will find him and make him pay for what he has done.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then we die trying.”
Alistair had to admit that he didn’t like that option, but he kept quiet. He may welcome death, but Jane did not deserve the same fate. She was an innocent in all of this.
When the coach halted at Lady Cosima’s townhouse, Alistair strode up the steps and pounded at the door. Relief and dread warred in his chest as the butler appeared.
“I must speak with Lady Cosima,” Alistair demanded.
The butler bowed slightly. “I regret to inform you, my lord, she has already departed for her estate.”
The words struck him like a blow. “What? They were to leave tomorrow at dawn.”
“The driver thought it best to make an early start, to avoid poor weather. They left no more than an hour ago.”
Rupert touched his arm. “We can still catch them.”
“Only if we ride hard,” Alistair said grimly. He fixed the butler with a hard stare. “I need you to prepare two of your fastest horses. Now.”
The man faltered. “My lord—”
Alistair cut him off. “Unless this sentence ends with you following my orders, we are going to have a problem,” he growled. “Do we have a problem?”
“No, my lord,” the butler responded. “I will see them brought around front at once.”
Once the door shut behind them, Alistair turned sharply towards the street, scanning the branching roads as though sheer force of will might summon the ladies back into sight. “Which way do you suppose they went?”
Rupert joined him on the step. “I would assume whichever road offered the most respectable accommodations for two ladies traveling together.”
Alistair gave a curt nod. “Then I know which road they took.” His mind’s eye could already trace the familiar coaching inns, the mile markers, and the dangerous stretches of woodland where an ambush would be easiest.
Rupert turned towards Alistair, his expression unusually solemn. “We will find them and bring them home.”
The words rang hollow. Alistair’s chest constricted. “This is all my fault,” he admitted, his voice ragged.
“No,” Rupert countered. “This is Jules’s fault.”
But Alistair dropped his head, the weight of his guilt bowing him. “How in the blazes am I to keep Lady Jane safe, when I cannot even manage to keep myself alive?” The memory of last night’s attack in his bedchamber returned like a shadow, the taste of gunpowder and blood still vivid.
“You will find a way,” Rupert said, unflinching. “Besides, I have contacts at the Home Office. We are not the only ones searching for Jules.”
Finding himself curious, he asked, “How do you have contacts at the Home Office?”
Rupert’s mouth curved with that infuriating half-smile. “It is one of the benefits of being a barrister.”
Alistair studied him with narrowed eyes. His friend was keeping secrets—he was certain of it—but now was not the moment to pry. There was only one thought hammering in his mind, one name beating through his veins with every pulse. Jane. She was all that mattered. She always would be.
He tugged out his pocket watch and flipped it open. If they rode hard, they might still catch the ladies before darkness cloaked the roads.