CHAPTER 27 #2
A whispery snore from within McClellan’s bedchamber assured her that the maid was sleeping soundly.
A few swift strides brought her to her own room, where she quickly undressed in the dark.
Moleskin pants, threadbare coat, floppy cap—it took only a few moments for Charlotte to transform herself into a grubby street urchin.
After hiding the last errant wisps of hair under her cap, she tucked her boots under her arm and crept down to the kitchen, where a careful flick released the back door’s lock.
“Wrexford will have no cause for complaint,” she murmured as the night breeze tickled against her cheeks.
The leaves rustled. A twig snapped. “In and out . . .” Quickening her pace, Charlotte crossed through the garden to the back wall.
“I’m simply going to take a quick look to see if my hunch is right. ”
* * *
Wrexford rapped on the trap of the hackney. “Stop—we’ll get out here.”
“It’s late and I’m thirsty,” groused Sheffield as he climbed down to the street. “Why are we walking the rest of the way to your town house?”
“Because,” growled the earl, “I need to think.” The trip to St. Giles had been a wild-goose chase.
“And you can’t do that sitting by the hearth with a glass of good Scottish malt in hand?”
“Stubble the whinging. It’s only a short way.” And moving his limbs might jog loose some forgotten clue. At the moment, he couldn’t think of what else to do.
Sheffield fell in step beside him, maintaining a tactful silence.
It was late, and Mayfair was sinking into slumber, the night sounds muffled by the swirls of fog ghosting in from the river.
At the next turn, Wrexford cut through a narrow alleyway that led to Bruton Street and the north end of Berkeley Square.
He paused at the far end, and then drew back into the shadows as he spotted a lone figure approaching.
As he shifted to check the other direction, he heard his friend draw in a sharp breath.
Wrexford fixed him with a questioning frown.
Sheffield waited for the figure to pass. A glimmer of moonlight showed his face had turned unnaturally pale. “It’s Lady Cordelia—”
“Sssshhh.” He didn’t wait to hear more. Taking his friend’s arm, he pulled him close. “Let us move quickly and quietly. When I give the signal, we’ll take her by surprise. It’s about time we get some bloody answers.”
A grim nod was Sheffield’s only response.
Easing out of the opening, the earl set off with a wraithlike stealth, hugging close to the buildings, where the muddled shadows hid their movements.
Closer, closer—Lady Cordelia was making pursuit easy, he observed.
Though she kept up a rapid pace, she never bothered to check on her surroundings, or whether anyone was following her.
A mistake. But perhaps she had grown overconfident in her cleverness.
The gap between them was closing. In another few strides, she would be within arm’s length. Wrexford hesitated, however, as she hurried through a turn and headed toward Berkeley Square.
What the devil is she up to?
Cordelia crossed the street and darted into the dark-hued foliage of the square’s central gardens.
The earl waited a moment, then signaled for Sheffield to follow.
It was dark beneath the tall plane trees, with only a scattering of starlight filtering through the leaves.
Keeping to the grassy verge, he followed the soft crunch-crunch of her steps on the graveled footpath.
She paused at a gap in the bushes and appeared to be surveying the town houses straight ahead.
One of which was his.
Wrexford crept closer. The breeze stirred the shoulder capes of her coat just as he grabbed her around the waist and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Cordelia tried to scream, but he tightened his grip, muffling all but a tiny squeak.
Jerking her off her feet, he pivoted and retreated into the gloom, ignoring her thrashing punches and kicks. Twisting her around to face him, he thrust her up against a tree with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.
Fear sparked for an instant in her eyes, though she continued to struggle.
Good. Perhaps the shock of staring Death in the face will help loosen her tongue.
Sheffield had come up beside him. He caught one of her flailing fists and leaned in close. “Hold your fire! We need to talk.”
Surprise spasmed over her face as recognition dawned. Slumping back, she went very still.
Keeping her pinned against the tree trunk, Wrexford lifted his palm from her mouth.
“T-Thank God,” she stuttered. “I feared that I might not be able to gain access to your town house.”
“Why?” he demanded. “So you could murder me in my bed?”
“Stop terrorizing her, Wrex,” snapped his friend, “and let her explain.”
Charlotte hitched in a shaky breath. “Good heavens, you really think I might be the Bloody Butcher and Lord Chittenden’s murderer?”
“You clearly possess the audacious cleverness and steely nerve,” replied the earl.
“Men.” She huffed a grim snort. “Just because I’m a female who dares challenge convention, that doesn’t mean I’m the Devil Incarnate.”
Wrexford suddenly felt a little ashamed of himself. He lifted his forearm away from her chest and bent down to pick up her fallen hat. “Our suspicions are based on facts, not prejudice. We have evidence that says the Bloody Butcher wears a Wellington hat.”
“So do a great many other people in London,” she replied. “And like all but one of them, I’m innocent of those ghastly crimes.”
“So you say,” murmured Wrexford.
“Let us see if she’s carrying a weapon,” responded Sheffield. “Would that put your doubts to rest?”
He arched a questioning brow. “Lady Cordelia?”
“You are welcome to do so.”
Sheffield cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but this will require me to lay hands—”
“At this point, it’s rather absurd to stand on propriety, sir.” She fixed the earl with a challenging stare. “However, I suggest that Lord Wrexford conduct the search, so he’s satisfied nothing has been missed.”
“Very well.” The earl crouched down and began with her boots. She stood with unflinching sangfroid as he worked his way upward. After patting down her shoulders, he allowed a grudging smile. “It appears I owe you an apology—”
“To the devil with my sensibilities. I didn’t come here for apologies,” replied Cordelia. “I think your friend Lady Charlotte may be in grave danger.”