16. Rudi’s New Assignment
Rudi’s New Assignment
Lord Creswell had faced many a thorny challenge in his thirty years—bitter negotiations with tenacious land agents, magistrates who took a dim view of legal cunning, and juries immune to persuasion.
He had even once found himself at the wrong end of a pistol, courtesy of an aggrieved husband.
But being unceremoniously thrust into a carriage in broad daylight was an unparalleled indignity.
His Monday morning ritual betrayed his recent ascent into the aristocracy.
Creswell had taken his breakfast in leisure, then set out for a stroll, clad in a coat of impeccable cut, his beaver hat tilted at a rakish angle, and a cane of polished ebony in hand.
He had been sauntering down his Mayfair street at a leisurely pace, when at the corner a figure materialized at his elbow, and an iron grip closed around his arm.
“Make haste, my lord,” growled Rudi Bittermann, propelling him towards a waiting coach.
Creswell attempted a protest. “I say! This is—”
“This is less than you deserve,” Rudi cut in brusquely. With brutal efficiency, the rogue bundled a peer of the realm into his sister’s carriage as though he were mere baggage.
Creswell, unceremoniously deposited upon the facing bench, straightened his coat with a flick of his wrist, affecting an air of unruffled dignity. Opposite him, Lilith Bittermann’s gaze pierced him with a displeasure that promised retribution.
“I trust,” she said in a clipped voice, “that you have some explanation for your failure to produce anything of value regarding Mr. Sinclair’s supposed betrothal.”
Assuming a studied nonchalance, Creswell ventured an excuse. “Miss Bittermann, I must remind you that such investigations require considerable time. Secrets, after all, do not parade themselves obligingly for one’s convenience.”
“Time, Creswell, is a commodity you have quite exhausted,” she returned frostily. “You have had a week.”
He lowered his gaze to the head of his cane, formulating a lie. “Perhaps your original intelligence was flawed. My sources suggest the lady in question is little more than a phantom of gossip. Idle tongues are prone to embellishment. I have encountered no solid evidence of her existence.”
Rudi snorted. “Thought as much.”
Lilith’s irritation grew. “I believe you are playing games, Creswell. I am not amused.”
“Madam,” Creswell sounded wounded, “I assure you, my every effort has been devoted to this search. It is not my fault that Mr. Sinclair is so adept at concealment.”
“Enough,” Rudi interjected with a huff. “If there’s no heiress, there’s no point chasing shadows.
” He leaned forward, stretching a meaty hand toward Creswell’s shoulder.
The motion made his prisoner flinch. Rudi smirked, reaching for the bulwark panel behind the driver, on which to make a sharp rap. The carriage lurched to a halt.
Lilith did not smile. “My patience, Creswell, is finite. Your full debt stands.”
Creswell moved for the door, but before he could escape, a thick-fingered hand clamped down on his knee.
“You wasted our time,” Rudi said grimly.
Creswell managed a sneer. In the next instant, pain shot through his leg as Rudi’s grip tightened and twisted with expert cruelty.
Creswell drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth, stifling an oath.
With one last twisting compression, Rudi released him with a shove, sending him tumbling towards the open door.
“Out!” Rudi ordered.
Creswell descended with precarious dignity, his grip white-knuckled upon the carriage door.
His right leg protested violently against any attempt to bear his weight, so the pavement was reached in an indecorous heap.
The carriage rumbled away, leaving him crouching on a street he did not recognize.
He exhaled sharply, grateful for the strength of his cane to bring him back to standing.
With hands that were not steady, he adjusted the skew of his hat and straightened his coat.
This imbroglio grew increasingly hazardous with each passing day.
He had no intention of crossing Lilith Bittermann, but neither did he intend to allow that despicable woman to sully his future.
Despite Miss Harrington’s protestations of regard for Miles Sinclair, Creswell’s resolve remained fixed upon her dowry.
That being his goal, bringing her name to the Bittermanns’ notice would tarnish the purity he relished in her.
So he would prove his worth over that of Mr. Sinclair, win back Miss Harrington’s affections, and do whatever it took to keep her well away from the Bittermanns.
It was a purpose he shared unwittingly with both Sinclair brothers. With a grimace, he set off toward home, his once-decorative cane now an unwelcome necessity as he leaned heavily upon it with each step.
In the disappearing carriage, Lilith pulled a notepad and red pencil from her reticule.
“If Miles Sinclair wants to toy with us,” she mused, scrawling a note, “we’ll take one of his toys.
” She handed it to her brother. “Rudi, after you’ve brought me home, collect your lads and have this delivered to Mr. Sinclair. ”
Later that same afternoon, Miles and Lucinda rode leisurely through Hyde Park, the warm summer air fragrant with roses.
The golden light dappled the bridle path, and Periwinkle, sleek and self-important, pranced between their horses, his slender frame and glossy coat drawing admiring glances from passing pedestrians and riders alike.
He paused to sniff a rock with deep suspicion, his tail wagging, before darting forward to reclaim his rightful place at Miles’s side.
Lucinda watched him with a smile. “He’s a remarkable little thing.”
“Aye, he’ll chase anything that flies, steal your gloves when you’re not looking, and howl if his dinner is late.”
“None of which, I note, has dimmed your fondness for him in the slightest,” Lucinda observed, as the greyhound zigzagged across the path in pursuit of a butterfly.
Miles grinned. “True enough. He’s a scoundrel, but a loyal one. Aren’t you, old boy?” he called. Periwinkle barked his agreement.
Lucinda’s smile softened. Something was endearing about the little creature’s steadfast devotion—his joyous welcomes, his unwavering trust. A pang of envy stole over her—not for the dog, of course, but for the simplicity of that bond.
“I think I’d like a companion like him someday,” she said quietly.
Miles glanced at her. “You mean to say I don’t count?”
She laughed. “You count, Miles. But you’re not the sort to greet me at the door with wagging enthusiasm, are you?”
“How flattering, Miss Harrington! While I recover from that injury, I’ll put you in the way of a trustworthy breeder,” he offered. “But don’t buy anything until I’ve seen it.”
“I do not precisely yearn for canine companionship, Miles. Godmama’s shelters are overflowing, if I was in need.” Her gaze turned contemplative. “I simply mean it would be so nice to have someone loyal and unshakable.”
Miles let out a theatrical sigh. “Ah, yes. Pity you don’t hold yourself to the same standard when keeping promises.”
Lucinda winced. “Oh, Miles, I am very sorry to keep claiming an attachment between us.”
“A more cunning revenge against Alex you could not have devised,” said Miles ruefully. When Lucinda turned on him to protest, he cut her short. “I know, I know, Alex told me how Creswell forced it out of you. I told you that fool wouldn’t honor your confidence.”
“He’s a positive monster!”
Miles noted that his once bright riding partner had turned somber.
“I had no thought of revenge, Miles. How could you think so?” Lucinda looked out at the horizon, saddened. “He expected me to have forgotten him.” She turned pleading eyes on her companion, asking, “Will you apologize to him for me?”
“I make an excellent faux fiancée, my dear, but I draw the line at being a messenger.” He tilted his head, considering. “Although—”
“Although what?” she prompted.
“Well, how did you find him last night?”
“Apologetic. And a much-improved dancer.”
“He isn’t quite the same chap who left us, is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“You remember, Alex always knew what was right, expected others to know it too, and wasn’t shy about telling them when they were wrong. That’s the Alex I grew up with.”
“Yes. And I imagine he was worse after your father died.”
“Quite,” Miles nodded. “Which is why I can truly say he took me by surprise last night.”
“Not just you—Alex took the whole auction by surprise.”
“Oh yes,” Miles grinned. “That winning bid was a glorious trouncing of Creswell.” Then his expression sobered.
“No, I mean later that night. I…well, I had some confessions to unburden, and I was sure I’d receive a thorough whipping for them.
The Alex of old, like Father before him, would have had me drawn and quartered for the nonsense I’ve been up to. ”
She leaned in. “Why, what have you been up to?”
“That’s not important,” Miles replied hastily. “The point is, the old Alex would have skewered me alive for it. He’d have been self-righteous and severe, just like Father. But this new Alex—” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.
“Yes?” Lucinda prompted.
“He merely listened,’ Miles said quietly.
He didn’t storm about or raise his voice.
He just sat there, looking at me—really looking at me, Lu, like he understood.
He let me talk until I was done, and when I finally shut up, he said—” Miles’s voice softened, “We all falter, Miles. The important thing is how we stand again.”
Lucinda gazed at the horizon. “Yes,” she sighed, “his apology to me was most sincere. Not at all like the Alex I remember.”
For a while, they rode in silence, the rhythmic clip-clop of their horses filling the quiet.
At last, Lucinda asked: “I wonder what’s changed him so. Perhaps he’s simply learned to be kind.”
Miles snorted. “And I thought I was being profound.”
“You tried,” she teased, patting her horse’s neck.
“Where’s Periwinkle?” asked Miles, glancing around.
“He was just here a moment ago. Perhaps he wandered into the shrubbery?”
“Periwinkle never wanders.” He scanned the surrounding paths and lawns, his earlier cheer evaporating. “Stay here; I’ll search that way.”
“Nonsense. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
They guided their horses in opposite directions, calling for Periwinkle with increasing urgency. Passersby offered sympathetic glances or half-hearted assistance, but the search yielded no sign of the greyhound. As the minutes ticked by, Miles’s anxiety grew.
“This isn’t like him,” Miles muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
“We’ll find him, Miles. Someone must have seen him.”
A scruffy street urchin, no older than ten, approached the flank of Miles’ horse. Clutching a folded piece of paper in his grimy hand, he asked, “You Meester Sinclair?”
Miles stiffened. “I am.”
The boy thrust the paper toward him.
Miles took the note. “What’s this?”
“Don’t know, meester,” he said, holding up an empty palm expectantly. “Just told to give it to you.”
Fossicking in his pocket, Miles produced a halfpenny for the grimy hand, and the boy disappeared on fast little legs toward the park gate.
Lucinda brought her mare closer, her eyes widening as she read the hastily scrawled message Miles was holding before him:
DECEIT DOES NOT BEFIT A GENTLEMAN.
WE HAVE BEEN PATIENT ENOUGH.
THE ONLY WAY TO SEE YOUR DOG AGAIN
IS TO PAY YOUR DEBTS!
—THE BITTER GRIP
Lucinda’s hand flew to her mouth in horror, gasping.
Miles scanned the park limits, glowering.
“Oh, poor Peri! Who are these despicable people, Miles?”
“The Bitter Grip,” Miles said grimly. “They’re ruthless moneylenders.”
Lucinda’s eyes darted to his. “Oh, Miles! I had no idea you were in debt. What scoundrels they are!” Lucinda’s voice rose in indignation. “Using a helpless animal to extort money! It’s disgraceful. But you must not delay. Can’t you pay them what they want?”
“That would be impossible. Besides, after being drugged and tricked, I’m hardly going to allow them to blackmail me as well.”
“But Periwinkle, Miles?”
Miles nodded. “Let me take you home, Lu. I’m going to get him back.”
“Not alone you’re not.”
Miles blinked. “What do you mean, ‘not alone’?”
Lucinda’s eyes sparkled with purpose. “I mean to assist you,” she declared. “Rescuing imperiled dogs is practically a sacred charge with the SPCA, you know.”
Miles stared at her. Beyond her poised beauty, he saw the same adventurous girl he knew in his childhood.
“You make it sound as simple as fetching a bonnet from a hatbox. These are dangerous people, Lucinda.”
“All the more reason to remove Peri from their clutches. Fear not, together we can outwit them.”
Her words struck a chord, and Miles asked: “What do you propose we do?”
Lucinda turned her mare around in the direction of Grosvenor Gate. “First, you must tell me everything you know about The Bitter Grip.”