Chapter 22
Nathaniel hadn’t needed to wait long. One more day, and he’d have abandoned all pretense of patience, stormed into Ardmore’s estate uninvited, and demanded to see her—consequences be damned. But Alice had returned.
Alone.
According to the note from Benjamin, the ever-watchful lad, she’d arrived without company the evening prior, which sparked a flicker of hope. Had there been a rift between her and Ardmore? Was that why she’d come back so soon, without fanfare or explanation?
Nathaniel hadn’t visited her immediately, however.
He ached to do so, but he needed to consider his next step carefully.
Instead, he had instructed Benjamin to be on the lookout and let her know of every movement she made.
Why was he spying on his wife instead of simply going to talk to her?
The answer was not comfortable. Distrust brewed in his heart and he wanted to see her next move before he made his own.
Other than Alice going out for a couple of hours in the morning, and the maid coming in, there had been no other comings and goings in the house.
Nothing of importance to report the entire day.
But about an hour ago, his patience and instinct had been proven right when Benjamin sent a message that the missus had requested a carriage to pick her up at seven in the evening.
Interesting. Where did she plan to go? What did she plan to do? He would follow. He would find out. Tonight, he would get his answers.
He finished tying his necktie and slid his arms into the sleeves of his evening coat, then smoothed his hands over the front.
The familiar presence of the weapon in his pocket comforted him.
He didn’t know what he was walking into, but he’d be ready for anything.
After years of danger and secret missions, it was second nature for him to carry a weapon.
Or two. He nodded to the butler, who stood guard by the front door, as he put on his overcoat, retrieved his walking stick—another weapon, since it concealed a blade—and opened the door.
“Don’t wait up for me, Wilson.”
His coach stood ready to take him, as he had requested, and he jumped in with alacrity, his body thrumming with anticipation.
Was it the thrill of the chase, or the prospect of soon seeing his wife?
Regardless of the motive, he took a deep breath and tamped down his reactions. Missions required a cool head.
He was acting like a green lad. Or worse, a besotted fool cuckolded by his wife and still hopelessly in love.
The idea blackened his mood. The upcoming confrontation would not be easy.
They might have to face painful facts and hurt themselves further in the process.
But it was long past time to clear the festering misunderstandings that had divided them for so long and speak the truth, once and for all.
Even if it was painful. The events of tonight might decide whether they had a future together… or not.
As the coach rolled through the elegant Mayfair streets and turned west toward Kensington, he idly looked out the window, seeing the darkening shapes of trees in Hyde Park pass by, listening to the clamor of the city as it came awake with entertainment as night approached.
The coach turned the corner into their quiet street, and stopped.
He had instructed his driver to stop some distance away from her home.
It was still a quarter of an hour before seven. Now they waited.
They didn’t have a wait long. The coach she had requested rolled up to her door at precisely seven and she slipped out of the house at once. As if she had been waiting for it behind the door.
He rapped twice on the coach roof to warn the driver to be ready to go.
Alice was clad in the dark, utilitarian garments of one who is headed to do secret work.
Not an amorous rendezvous then? Maybe something related to their mission.
That prospect was not any better, through.
She was boarding a coach—all by herself.
No guards, no backup, no explanation as to her destination.
Where in God’s name was she going?
Her coach took off.
Swearing under his breath, he rapped again on the roof of his coach, sticking his head out the window to tell his driver. “Follow that coach. But keep your distance. I don’t want them to see us.”
They trailed her through the dimming streets, the tidy elegance of Kensington gave way to the soot covered, and dirtier buildings of a more unsavory part of town.
A district near the docks—respectable by daylight, but not a place one wanted to visit after sundown.
The sort of place where rough men and less respectable characters fueled their spirits with drink, and ladies of the night plied their trade.
Nathaniel seethed. What the hell was Alice thinking coming here alone?
Her coach continued on until it reached an almost deserted street by the docks.
There, it stopped, and she slid out like a shadow.
He leapt from his carriage a short distance away and followed on foot, his boots silent on the uneven cobblestones.
Alice moved like a wraith, hugging the walls, almost invisible under the cloak of darkness.
Until she came to a stop outside a squat, unmarked warehouse.
No sign. No lights. She crept towards a side entrance, looked around as if looking for trouble, but finding none, slipped through the narrow side door without so much as a creak.
He slipped in after her.
Inside, the darkness was nearly absolute. But high windows allowed the faintest wash of moonlight to cut across the cavernous space. His eyes adjusted slowly.
There she was—a slim, determined figure in motion.
From deeper within came the murmur of voices. Low, male, and cautious. Alice was heading straight for them.
A meeting with an informant? But the way she moved suggested more that she was sneaking in. Trying to catch someone unaware, or worse—spying on some dangerous activity. Bloody hell. She could be walking into a trap.
He stalked after her, his body taut, breath measured. He drove his hand into the internal pocket of his coat, his fingers coiled around the handle of his pistol, and retrieved his gun. Well-trained instincts warned him to be ready for action.
The voices became clearer. Russian. At least two speakers. A third voice—English, cultured, aristocratic. Faintly familiar.
She was nearing the entrance to a smaller, lit room where the men were gathered.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a shape peeling itself from the gloom. No, two shapes. Three. Silent. Swift. Closing in on her.
His heart seized.
“Alice!” he bellowed, pointing his gun.
She spun, already reaching for her pistol. The flash and crack of her shot rang through the space, echoing his. Two attackers fell with a grunt. A third shot rang out and the dangerous hiss of a bullet whistled past him.
The last attacker was still coming towards Alice.
Nathaniel didn’t think. Launching himself into motion, he collided with the third assailant at full speed, driving him back with brutal efficiency.
Chaos reigned. Shouts erupted from the lit room. More men were spilling out. The Russian, more armed guards, and the Englishman. Too late for stealth now, their presence had been discovered. Now they would have to fight their way out.
With a last well-placed punch to the man’s jaw, Nathaniel knocked his opponent unconscious and rose, gun drawn, ready for hell.
He saw the momentary surprise on Alice’s face as she beheld him, but there was no time for more.
Four more men were upon them, the two in front drawing guns, pointing one at Alice and the other at him.
Alice jumped and took cover behind some stacked crates.
Not having any cover nearby, he dropped to the floor and rolled.
The bullet ricochetted inches from his head.
Another shot rang out, and his attacker fell. Alice had shot him. Providing cover that allowed him to reach her behind the crates. The swift look they shared held a thousand questions, on both sides. But there was no hesitation in their actions from either one of them.
They moved in tandem without needing to speak. Years of working together had trained their instincts to align. The remaining guards flanked them and came at them behind the crates from each side, attacking as one.
Alice ducked low, striking with precision, while Nathaniel covered her back.
He dropped the first man with a brutal elbow to the throat.
Alice spun, catching another attacker with the butt of her pistol.
The third tried to flank her, but Nathaniel caught him mid-charge, slamming him into the brick wall.
It was over in moments.
From the side of the room, movement caught Nathaniel’s eye.
Dimitri stood in the doorway to the room where their meeting was taking place, the well-dressed Englishman at his side, but backlit as they were by the brighter chamber, he couldn’t see their features clearly.
These men were their real quarry. All the others were merely guards.
Something glinted in Dimitri’s hand. Either a gun or a knife.
“Don’t move,” Nathaniel murmured to Alice, stepping in front of her and raising his weapon.
The Englishman and Dimitri exchanged a look, then, apparently realizing they were outmatched, retreated swiftly into the shadows.
“Damn it!” The expletive burst from him as he took off running after the ruffians.
He gave chase, but soon they split up. He decided to follow the Englishman, since he was probably the mysterious Lord A they were looking for.
Dimitri was already identified and located; he could be dealt with later.
Right now, the Englishman was their main objective.
He hounded the shadowy figure for a few minutes, darting in and out of sight.
The Englishman shot at him. He took cover and reloaded, firing back as he ran after the man, but soon lost track of him amid the darkened warehouse.
His quarry must have exited the building, for not even the footsteps echoed anymore amid the cavernous space.
Reaching the site where he had last seen the Englishman, Nathaniel found an unlocked side door. When he peered through, there was no sign of the man anywhere. He had lost an important suspect. The clearest lead they had ever had.
Double damn.
He couldn’t give chase blindly through the night. By now the man could be anywhere, and he couldn’t risk leaving Alice alone. Dimitri might come back for her. One of the guards might regain consciousness and attack her. The risks were too great.
At least they had caught a glimpse of the Englishman. Not enough to identify him, but enough to rule out some candidates, based on voice, height, and build. It was some progress. They would capture him another time.
He returned to find Alice tying one of the miscreants with a secure rope, holding him down with a knee on his back as she bound his hands.
Nathaniel yanked a necktie from one of the unconscious guards and used it to bind him with it.
Finished with her task, Alice stood, panting and disheveled, and reloaded her pistol with steady hands.
One body lay still. The one who had shot at him and Alice had taken out. The others had disappeared. Wounded, but probably not seriously enough if they were able to slink away. At least they had two of the attackers securely bound, ready to be transported.
“They’ll fit in the coach,” Alice said.
Nathaniel nodded grimly and helped her lift the men. Between them, they loaded the two prisoners into Alice’s waiting vehicle.
“We’ll take my coach. It’s larger and the coachman is trustworthy. I’ll pay for and send your coach away,” he told her and she nodded. Neither spoke beyond the necessary.
“Where to?” she asked once the carriage door closed.
Nathaniel glanced at the bound men slumped across from them. “Let’s take them to him,” he said. There was no need to say Dalton’s name out loud. She would know who he meant.
She gave a single nod and signaled the driver.