Chapter Twenty-Five
The garden of the residence of Lord and Lady Blackwell, Grosvenor Square
Half-past midnight
“I do not swoon.”
“Trust me. You swooned.”
Judith’s head ached, a deep throbbing that started at the base of her neck and outweighed any sense of mortification that Mark held her in his lap. “My stays must be too tight.”
“Do you wish me to loosen them?”
She glared at Mark, eyes narrow, hoping he could see in them her desire to strangle him as she pushed away from him, sliding off his legs to sit next to him.
“I take that as a no.”
“How long did I . . . did I swoon?”
“Long enough for Prinny to leave and everyone else to go into supper.”
Judith looked away, trying to decipher what had happened in the ballroom. “Atkinson left.”
“He did. As if someone had dropped fireworks in his britches.”
“He ruined it. The prince. I should never have suggested he come. Or insisted Lord Anthony not tell him.”
“Prinny is the most unpredictable man on the planet. With the possible exception of his father.”
“Who is mad.”
“Well, there is that. I’m sure he asked, and Lord Anthony would never have lied or misled him”
Judith took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air tinged with the light scents of the summer flowers that stretched along the manicured pathways of the garden.
They sat on a stone bench near the edge of one path, the sounds of the ball wafting over them, blending with echoes from the street and the dozens of carriages waiting for the festivities to end.
Mark remained silent as she listened, a sense of pure despair settling over her.
“It’s all for naught.” Her voice grated. “We are lost.”
He cupped her hand in his, the warmth of his palms oddly soothing to her entire being. “Possibly not.” His words seemed equally calming. “Prinny’s words were a sound caution—”
“Which will infuriate Atkinson. Make him more evil and determined.”
“If there is proof of the blackmail . . .”
“There is not. A man approached Edmund outside that . . . establishment in the Strand. A lad from the Rookeries picks up the payments, but he is merely a runner. He has no information. Believe me. I tried.”
Mark straightened. “That is correct. No actual proof of the vase’s theft exists either. Or Edmund’s visits.”
“If the men there talk—”
“They will not. That has been handled.”
She peered at him, fighting a sense of relief. “You took care of it?”
He grinned and stood tugging her to her feet.
“Of course I did. The men who visit, who work there, all make their way to At Wheel’s End.
Offering unlimited credit to the ones who saw him closes many a mouth.
” He looked around, then leaned over to kiss her forehead.
“Come with me. I have an idea about where Atkinson went.”
“But how—why—”
“Enraged men often make horrific mistakes out of their anger. If he wants to wreak vengeance on Edmund for what he thinks is a royal slight, he will probably up the ante.”
“By doing what?”
“Think about it. If you think someone who you’ve been extorting is suddenly protected from that extortion, what is your next move?”
She blinked. “I do not—”
“You would want to prove them guilty.” Gripping her hand tightly, Mark headed toward a gate at the back of the garden.
“Where are we going?”
He pushed through the gate, then began weaving them through the carriages lined up on Davies Street.
“Your home. I think Prinny had in mind. He does not like people who wish to worm their way into the aristocracy. He is all about the birthright. He probably believes he can prompt Atkinson into revealing himself.”
Judith, still a bit confused and lightheaded, trotted along behind him, trying to regain her bearings.
Although only a few blocks lay between the two houses, she could feel her silk slippers begin to tatter against the rough pavement by the time they reached the front of Sculthorpe Manor where they came to a dead stop, staring at the commotion.
A cluster of men mingled before the house and the front door had swung wide open.
Inside, backlit by the chandelier in the entrance hall, their butler and Epworth stood, each holding what looked like a fireplace implement.
In front of them was the Bow Street Runner, Jeremy Smith, who scribbled on a piece of foolscap with his short but ubiquitous pencil.
Mark took Judith’s arm, urging her forward, as one of the sidewalk men approached them. “Sorry, folks—”
Awareness surged through Judith, and she broke free from Mark, shoving the man back. “This is my house. Get the hell out of my way.” She picked up her skirts and raced up the steps, confronting Smith. “What happened?”
The three stared at her, silent for a moment, then Smith acknowledged her with a nod. “Lady Sculthorpe.”
“Why are you here?”
Smith glanced over her shoulder at Mark, who had followed her up the steps.
“As we discussed, we had men waiting outside the Blackwells’, expecting Atkinson to make a move after the supper.
But one of Lord Blackwell’s footmen came out with the suggestion that the move might take place sooner rather than later.
Which it did. They sent an alert to me, then followed him to a warehouse, where he picked up a package and came here.
He broke in through the servants’ quarters but met with some resistance before we could stop him. ” He nodded at Epworth and the butler.
Epworth’s chin went up. “We were waiting the family’s return. The villain apparently thought we would be asleep with the family out. But he was not as quiet as he tried to be.”
Mark looked down at the poker in her hand. “Is that blood?”
Judith followed his gaze, her hand coming to her mouth.
Epworth sniffed. “Yes, my lord.”
Mark snorted, looking at Smith. “No one messes with Epworth.”
A grin flashed across Smith’s face before he turned somber again.
“Indeed.” He checked his notes on the foolscap.
“Atkinson had apparently planned to stash the vase in his lordship’s bedchamber.
He put up a significant struggle when thwarted, threatening everyone until”—he glanced at Epworth—“suddenly silenced.” Smith cleared his throat.
“The package containing the vase has been taken to the magistrate. It will probably be returned to Devonshire by tomorrow afternoon. Atkinson will be tended to by the doctor at Newgate.”
“That will be a change of scenery,” Mark muttered.
Judith tried to scowl at Mark, but her pride in Epworth and their butler pushed out any other emotion. She gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you both.”
Smith folded the foolscap and tucked it into a pocket, along with his stub of a pencil. “I will make a full report to the magistrate in the morning. If we have any more questions, we will let you know.”
Smith trotted down the steps, shooing the other men in front of him, as Mark closed the door. Judith turned to Epworth and the butler, unable to contain her joy any longer. “I thought everything was lost. You saved us!”
They both seemed to glow, and Epworth even raised up on her toes. “It was an unexpected pleasure, my lady.”
The butler nodded. “The blackguard had it coming.”
“You are gems, worth your weight in gold. I will make sure his lordship knows what happened tonight.”
They both smiled, then before her very eyes, they resumed their roles as servants, straightening their backs and forcing their expressions to become staid. Epworth gave her a slight curtsy. “I will meet you upstairs, my lady. I know the evening must have been exhausting for you as well.”
“I will return to my pantry and await the family, my lady. Do you think they will be very late?”
Judith, who suddenly realized she had no idea what stage the ball had reached when they left, looked at Mark.
“They had served the supper and champagne, so they probably will not be much longer.”
She nodded. “I will also wait in the receiving room.”
“Very good, my lady.”
As they turned to leave, Judith touched Mark’s hand. “You do not have to stay.”
He peered down at her, one eyebrow arched. “You have had a private audience with the Prince Regent. You have swooned in the midst of a ball—”
“I do not swoon.”
“And your home has been broken into, a notorious criminal assaulted by your staff, and he has been hauled away by a Bow Street Runner. Do you even dream that I would leave you alone?”
Judith looked down at her hands a moment, her thoughts and heart a jumbled mess.
Pride and gratitude blended uneasily with worry and a touch of fear.
The affair with Atkinson seemed resolved but so much else felt topsy-turvy and unsettled.
Her heart had driven her steadily toward this man who had stood beside her, while her mind sent out too many questions.
She straightened her shoulders, then turned toward the receiving room as Mark followed her, determined to speak her mind and either find peace with their relationship—or step away.
“I have been—uncertain—the last few days, about what has passed between us.” She pushed open the door and entered.
He left the door open a bare crack. “Why have you been uncertain?”
Judith looked up at him, her stomach roiling. “I have”—she pressed a hand to her abdomen—“your family, in a group, can be a bit . . . overwhelming.”
He smiled. “And that was only a few of us.”
“Precisely. And you seemed to be holding Olivia at bay.”
He hesitated, looking away toward one of the windows.
“Mark, I know Rose is dying.”
He snapped back toward her, his expression sharp. “How do you—”
“Her appearance. I thought she seemed oddly familiar that evening, and I finally realized . . . she looks like Edmund did—my Edmund—in the last weeks of his life. She has cancer, does she not?”
The harshness in his face eased, his shoulders sagging. “She does. And I did not want to take Olivia away—take her affection—away from Rose in these last few months. Doctor Oakley has told us both it will not be much longer. Olivia needs this time with her.”
“Does Olivia know?”
“She knows her grandmother is ill. She seems to understand that Rose will not improve, but I do not know if she grasps what that means.”
“That’s a hard concept for a child her age. My Robbie was eight, and it still took him a bit to fully understand. William still does not truly understand that his father is dead. He just knows he is not around.” She touched his arm. “You must be tender with them both.”
“I am trying.” He moved toward her, his gaze soft as he took her hands. “I do not have a great deal of experience being tender. Yet.”
“This does not surprise me, growing up as you did in a household of so many boys.” She paused. “Yet?”
He nodded. “I believe you could change that. Would you like to join that household?”
Judith stilled, as did Mark. He blinked first, his cheeks reddening. “Um . . . I had not meant to say it quite like that.”
She chewed her lower lip a moment. Was he truly asking . . . “How had you planned to say it?”
The red deepened. “Something incredibly romantic, foolish perhaps. Appropriate to a rake who has discovered he has lost his heart to a child and a woman at the same time.”
“Maybe in the nursery then, among the toys.”
“You are the one who has proclaimed all children precious.”
Tears blurred the corner of her eyes. He could not be . . . “So I will come in second place to a child?”
Mark reached for her hands, folding both of them into his and kissing her fingers. “No, my dear. Olivia may have won my heart, but you will always and forever be my first choice—for my life. For my world.” He kissed her, a soft brush against her swollen lips. “For my wife.”