Chapter 12 #2
Julia had never been the most obedient of women, nor did she believe Nicholas wished to have a wife who obeyed his every wish and had no mind of her own. On the contrary, during the night they spent together, he had told her that he wanted her, with all her stubbornness and determination.
Her father released a heavy sigh. “Your mother will refuse me access to her bedchamber, let alone her bed, if I allow you to put yourself in danger. Wolfingham will likely run me through with his sword!”
“Then take me with you so that I am protected from danger,” she urged. “And please do not ever mention your visits to Mama’s bedchamber to me, let alone her bed, ever again.” She gave a shudder.
The earl chuckled. “How do you think you entered the world, child?”
“I do not wish to hear it!” Julia placed her hands over her ears. “I will be down again in two minutes. Do not leave without me,” she warned.
She began to hum, to keep herself from hearing anything else her father might deliberately say to shock her, as she turned and hurried up the stairs to go and collect the clothes she intended to change into once she was in the carriage with her father.
Hopefully, on their way to rescue Nicholas.
* * *
Nicholas and the lawyer left the Mastersons’ home in the small carriage owned by the family.
It was little protection for a man who was bound and gagged, but Nicholas doubted the kidnappers would attempt to dispose of him before the time of their expected rendezvous.
Not when they had waited almost a week to get their hands on him.
There was very little other traffic about at this time of night, and even if it had been possible for Nicholas to effect an escape, he would not have done so. Whoever the kidnappers were, they needed to be stopped, once and for all.
He had, however, noticed a carriage following some distance behind them shortly after they left the Masterson house. Giles Masterson appeared to be concentrating too intently on maneuvering his own carriage to have noticed. Nicholas could only hope that it carried some of his associates.
The two men in the carriage did not speak again until it had come to a halt and they had stepped down before entering the park.
“I really am sorry to do this to you,” Masterson muttered as he held a lantern aloft to light their way to where the Chinese bridge was situated.
This late at night, there was no one else in the park. Well…no one who wished to be seen, at least. Nicholas could only hope that those following them were close enough to be of assistance when he was finally face-to-face with the kidnappers.
“Susan!” Masterson gasped anxiously.
Nicholas’s gaze sharpened on the three figures now visible standing on the bridge by the lamp being held up by the bigger of the two men.
The third person was indeed a young girl.
Susan looked distinctly worse for wear, her hair bedraggled and her clothes dirty.
But she was alive, and that was all that was important right now.
The men with her wore kerchiefs tied around the bottom of their faces, effectively hiding their features.
“Oh thank God, Susan!” Masterson cried emotionally, having hurried onto the bridge to pull his sobbing sister into his arms.
“Gentlemen,” Nicholas greeted the kidnappers lightly. “As Mr. and Miss Masterson involvement has come to an end, perhaps you would permit the two of them to leave while we conclude our own business?”
“A cocky one, ain’t ya,” the larger of the two men scoffed.
“But he has a point,” the smaller one drawled, his voice more refined, as was his clothing better tailored. “I, for one, have had quite enough of dealing with this young and hysterical female to last me a lifetime.”
Bastard, Nicholas fumed inwardly. Susan was but fourteen years old.
She had been snatched from the love and security of her family, unsure of what her fate would be as she was held prisoner for almost a week.
From the state of her hollow-eyed appearance and filthy clothing, Nicholas did not believe she had been given the benefit of a hairbrush or a change of clothes during that time.
“Well?” he bit out coldly.
“An’ who’s to say they won’t go straight to the orforities—”
“We won’t. I promise you we won’t,” Masterson fervently assured the bigger kidnapper, his arm firmly about his sister’s shoulders as he held her tightly against his side. “I just want to take Susan home and forget any of this ever happened to us.” He gave Nicholas an apologetic grimace.
Nicholas gave a slight nod of understanding and forgiveness before once again turning his attention to the two masked men. “So, are we agreed that the Mastersons shall leave us, gentlemen?”
“Yer an arrogant bastard,” the rougher man accused.
“But of course he is,” the smaller man mocked. “He is an English earl and so believes himself to be better than the rest of us.”
Nicholas believed he might have detected a slight accent in the smaller man’s voice this time. There was also an edge of contempt in his tone when he accused Nicholas of being “an English earl.”
Could his accent possibly be French?
If that was so, Nicholas no longer had any doubts that this situation had come about because of the work he had done, and was still doing, as part of Prinny’s private army.
“I am sure your opinion of me is correct,” he spoke pleasantly. “But the Mastersons have no part of whatever wrong you believe I have done you.”
“Believe? I not only believe, I know what you have done,” the smaller man accused angrily. “My brother ended his life at the end of a rope because of you.”
“Gentlemen, there is a child present,” he chided when Susan Masterson gave a distressed cry before burying her face against her brother’s chest.
“Go,” the smaller man snapped at the brother and sister. “But remember, if you do or say anything to alert the authorities to this situation, I will not rest until I have killed your whole family.”
“Go,” Nicholas echoed in a gentler voice, nodding his satisfaction when the two were allowed to hurry away.
The fact that the smaller man had a slight accent when he grew angry, along with the accusation that Nicholas was responsible for his brother having been hanged, told Nicholas exactly whom he was dealing with.
There was only one man whose capture he had been a part of who had later faced the gallows.
Several months ago, the eight members of Prinny’s private army had commenced trying to discern the identity of a particular traitor who was passing information to the French. That information was of such a sensitive nature that the guilty person could only have been a member of Parliament.
Or someone who worked for one of those members and so was also privy to that information.
Which, it transpired, had been exactly what had happened in this case.
Nicholas had hunted the culprit down, eventually finding him at a port where he was waiting to take a ship to France. Instead of being allowed to leave, he’d been captured by Nicholas and returned to London. The authorities had lost no time in trying the young man before hanging him for treason.
“Jack Beecham, the Earl of Shefford’s secretary, was your brother.” It was a statement, not a question. “Although I doubt that was his true name if he was your brother.”
The other man sneered. “My brother’s name was Jacques, his last name Beauchamp, the same as my own.”
The fact that this man was willing to give up his name did not bode well for Nicholas surviving this encounter.
“You are responsible for the death of my brother,” the smaller man accused as he ripped the kerchief from his face.
The lantern the bigger man still held allowed Nicholas to see that the smaller man did indeed bear a striking resemblance to his younger brother. “I believe his own actions were responsible for his death,” he corrected evenly. “I merely facilitated his capture and return to London to face charges.”
“Knowing he would be hanged,” the other man accused.
“It is the punishment for treason against the Crown—” Nicholas’s reasoning tone was interrupted by gunfire.
At first, he was uncertain who had been shot and by whom, but then the bigger of the two kidnappers cried out before gripping his shoulder with the hand not holding the lantern. Bright red blood instantly oozed between his filthy fingers.
“Nicholas!”
He turned sharply at the sound of that beloved voice, his mouth going dry, his breathing uneven, as he saw a ghostly figure he recognized as Julia running toward the bridge where he and the kidnappers stood. Her gown was pale, her beautiful hair a golden cloud flying out behind her as she ran.
Nicholas’s heart stopped beating when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked beside him, quickly followed by another shot being fired.