Chapter 5
Fort awoke when someone rattled back the curtains at his bedroom window. Blinking his eyes against sunlight, he saw the offender was not an impudent servant he could dismiss on the spot.
“Gad, Jack. What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“Waking you,” said the rangy young man cheerfully. “Late night, Fort?”
He had a lean, humorous face, and mousy brown hair, tied back casually. His dress, too, was casual—plain breeches and coat, suitable for riding.
“Not particularly.” Fort stretched lazily, then tensed when he remembered the night.
A quick glance showed him the door to the adjoining room still stood ajar. Was the chit awake? Though Jack Travers wouldn’t make trouble, he’d rather his friend not know there was a bound damsel in the bed next door. He’d be hard-pressed to come up with a believable explanation.
He rolled out of bed naked and rang for his valet. “Why don’t you go down and command breakfast, Jack? I’ll join you when I’m ready.” He turned to frown at his friend. “Why the devil are you here at this ungodly hour?”
“Pettigrew. Ham. Tickle-me-quick.”
This cryptic string of words enlightened Fort, and he glanced out of the window to check the weather. Another fine day. No chance of getting out of his commitment to ride out to Ham this morning with Travers and Pettigrew to observe the paces of Tickle-me-quick, a promising Ascot runner.
What on earth was he going to do with troublesome Lisette? He didn’t want to leave the poor girl tied up all day.
He turned back to repeat his suggestion that Jack go down to breakfast, just as his friend pushed wider the half-open door into the next room. It was a meaningless fidget, really, but Jack paused, then walked in.
Fort waited, expecting voices or perhaps a scream.
Silence.
Then Jack strolled back, dangling red-and-white-striped stockings, and lacy garters speckled with dark stains. “What have you been up to, my friend?”
Fort snatched the garters and confirmed that the stains were blood. He pushed by his grinning friend, but saw what he expected. The little bird had flown.
He looked at the sheet. More blood. For a moment he wondered if Murray and his men had somehow invaded his house and murdered the wench. It took only a moment to dismiss that. The blood was mere spots, and Murray would have left the corpse.
What the devil had the silly chit done to herself?
“The bodice dagger,” he muttered, then remembered that he had an audience.
He cursed himself silently, though, for forgetting Lisette’s weapon.
Thinking back, he could see he’d been far too interested in the silly widgeon, far too stirred by her, far too frustrated by her sudden panic. He’d hidden it. He didn’t show anyone that kind of need. But it had dulled his wits.
These days, he couldn’t afford dulled wits.
He glanced at the clearly intrigued Jack, but before his friend could voice his curiosity, Fort’s valet scratched and slid into the room as if attempting to be invisible.
Dingwall was a thin, prudish, humorless man who had been appointed by Fort’s father years ago. Gliding over the carpet, the valet placed hot water silently on the washstand, then stood beside it, as patient as a statue and almost as inanimate.
Jack was observing Dingwall in fascination. He’d seen the valet many times before, but everyone tended to stare. As well, everyone asked why Fort didn’t get rid of the strange man now that his father was dead.
There were reasons, but not good ones. Even he knew that.
It was petty to jab at Dingwall when his father was beyond reach.
It was foolish to keep the Incorruptible’s tool around just because Fort felt haunted by memories and guilt.
After all, the valet could no longer send reports back to his father, unless he had a means to talk to hell.
Fort strolled over to the washstand, ready to jab at Dingwall, petty or not. If only the valet’s feelings were more obvious. If they were, he’d show his disgust at the sight of naked bodies. No flicker of emotion moved the still, pale features.
Plague take it, Fort had let the man find him in bed with a whore once or twice. Dingwall had not so much as twitched. Two whores once, now he came to think of it.
He’d think the man indifferent if he’d not found the years of reports of his every action. Dingwall had related every sin, had described every debauchery in detail. Always he had implored Fort’s father to correct his wickedness.
Fort knew what sort of correction Dingwall had in mind, for the man had been hired before he’d grown too old to be beaten.
Now, Fort dangled the stained scraps of cloth in his valet’s line of sight. “Dispose of these.”
Ah, for once Fort saw a betraying trace of hesitation before the valet took the garters and stockings. “Immediately, my lord?”
“Immediately.”
Dingwall glided out of the room.
“You really should—”
“—dismiss him,” Fort completed. “Perhaps he amuses me.”
“Only if you’ve a devilishly strange sense of humor. He makes me feel as if someone’s walked over my grave.” Jack dropped lazily into a chair. “Now, tell. Whom did you have tied up? And, more importantly, why was she so eager to escape? Must be losing your touch, my friend!”
Fort soaped a cloth and began to wash. “A virgin who got cold feet, that’s all.
I’d no mind to go out again to take her home, but feared she’d run given the chance.
The silly creature would never have survived the night streets.
” He rinsed the cloth and re-soaped it, frowning.
“I didn’t think her desperate enough to cut free. I hope she’s safe.”
Jack surged out of his chair to face him. “No, you are not spending the morning checking on her. You have a commitment.”
Fort eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to start, anyway.” Dingwall oozed back into the room, so Fort added, “Do go down, Jack. I’m not going to run off.”
An hour later he rode along Whitehall, strangely tempted to abandon Jack and search for Lisette even though he knew it was hopeless.
He was annoyed but comforted by the knowledge that she’d run off with one his pistols.
He truly didn’t want her to have fallen into the clutches of Murray and his associates.
He saw another angle to it all, however.
Innocent young ladies—French or English—didn’t go out for the evening with a blade tucked down their stays, nor did they sneak around the dark walks of Vauxhall.
Innocent young ladies weren’t likely to cut themselves free at cost of some skin, either. They were even less likely to arm themselves with a dueling pistol and head off into the night streets of London.
Therefore, despite appearances, Lisette was not an innocent young lady.
Which raised two important questions.
Who was she working for?
And why had she not become his mistress when given the chance?
Daylight had forced Kenny and Mack to move farther away from Walgrave House, but it didn’t prevent Kenny from seeing the earl ride off with a friend.
He went to find his companion. “Nothin’?”
Mack rubbed his gritty eyes. “Nae a scabby thing. I need some sleep.”
“Aye, me too.” Kenny yawned. “Rum do, though, isna it? He’s gone off. So what’s he done wi’ her?”
“If she really is his fancy piece, perhaps she’s lyin’ on silken sheets, sippin’ chocolate out of fine china.”
Slowly, Kenny grinned. “Then perhaps she’ll come out later—go shoppin’ or some such—and we can scrag her then. I’m away back for a word wi’ Murray. I’ll send Jamie along to relieve ye. It’s definitely worth keepin’ an eye on this place.”
Elf wasn’t lying on silken sheets but she was sipping chocolate out of fine china.
She was in Amanda’s boudoir, wondering how to evade her friend’s persistent curiosity.
Her hair was still damp from washing, so all outward trace of her adventure had disappeared.
Except for some scabs on her wrists, of course.
Those scabs were outward signs of inner turmoil and a restless night.
“Well?” asked Amanda, buttering a bun. “Have you decided to tell all?”
Elf focused her attention on the serious matter of stirring chocolate. “Why do you think I didn’t tell all?”
“To begin with, you said nothing of how you escaped that captain.”
Elf looked up, relieved to have a question she could answer. “Oh that! I merely took to the bushes. Amanda,” she added, leaning closer, “the shrubbery was alive with lovers!”
She succeeded in distracting her friend for a while with a discussion of the scandalous nature of Vauxhall, and the possible identity of some of the people there. But eventually, of course, Amanda steered back to her questions.
“So, how did you end up with Lord Walgrave? It looked to me almost as if he had taken you prisoner! If you hadn’t indicated otherwise, I would have sought help instanter.”
“What a scandal that would have caused!” Elf decided that the best way to diffuse Amanda’s curiosity was by appearing to be honest. A mischievous childhood had taught her that a story should stay as close to the truth as possible.
“Lord Walgrave saved me from the captain,” she said, “and then wanted to return me to my party. When I had to admit I had none, he came to the reasonable conclusion that I was a doxy and offered to buy the night.”
“Elf!” Then Amanda put down her bun and whispered, “You didn’t!”
“Of course I didn’t!” Elf knew her cheeks had turned bright red. She only hoped Amanda took it accurately as embarrassment and not as guilt over a lie. “But the captain was hovering, so I took up Walgrave’s offer so as to get away. I’m sorry for abandoning you, Amanda, but I thought you’d manage.”
“Of course I managed. It was nothing to return home. But then how did you end up bound?”