Chapter Fourteen
Isabel stretched her body against the bed, noting the telltale soreness between her thighs. She smiled, feeling much, she suspected, like a cat who’d just snuck a lap of milk. Jason.
They had made love all night long, and yet she felt more rested now than she had in a long time. She sat upright and searched her room, but there was no sign of her husband. Doubt crept into her. Had he regretted their night together? His admission to her, the truth about his birth, had not changed things for her. She certainly didn’t care who his parents had been. She knew him now, that was all the mattered.
She’d hurt for him and the beleaguered young man he must have been when he’d made the decision to punish himself by not siring any children. The next time they spoke, she would tell him as much. Last night hadn’t been the right time; there had been only murmurs of lovemaking exchanged.
When she had dressed and gone downstairs in search of Jason, she’d been told he was out. He had left a message for her informing her that the Brotherhood had made progress with their investigation; he’d meant to tell her the night before. He’d increased security, which explained the footman waiting outside her bedchamber this morning.
The day passed with no sign of Jason, and she was beginning to feel as if she were prisoner in her own home, as she was scarcely alone. She’d asked if she could take a walk, but had been told no. So, she’d resigned herself to sitting in the parlor reading another instructional manual on fencing.
There came a rap at the door, and in stepped one of the new guards who was currently dressed as a butler.
“A Lady Candace to see you, Lady Ellis,” he said in his deep voice.
Isabel nearly winced. Precisely what had she done to deserve an evening call from her?
“Very well,” Isabel said. “Send her in.” Isabel moved away from the window where she’d been standing, but not precisely looking out at anything.
Lady Candace entered the room, grace personified, at least until Isabel glanced at her face. The smugness was nearly too much to bear, but Isabel forced herself to smile.
“Good evening,” Isabel said. “Lovely to see you again.” She resisted the urge to ask the woman what in heaven’s name had brought her back to Isabel’s door.
“This isn’t a social call,” Lady Candace said. “My father asked me to courier this over to you straightaway.” She held out an envelope.
Isabel might be a novice when it came to some proper etiquette, but she was almost certain that it wasn’t customary to send messages through one’s daughter. She took the note. “Would you care for tea? It’s a little late, but I’m certain the kitchen can prepare some.”
“There isn’t time. My father said you should read that immediately,” Lady Candace said.
Isabel’s pulse sped. She knew for certain that this was not customary. She turned over the envelope and slid a fingernail beneath the brown wax seal, quickly unfolding the letter.
Your Royal Highness Isabel Fiona Rindquest, Princess of Saldania:
We have your husband. Should you prefer to see him before he meets his demise, please accompany my daughter back to my address. I shall await your presence with bated breath.
Yours,
Lord Edward Blakely.
She leveled a gaze at Lady Candace. “Do you know what this says?”
The woman’s face went pale at the severity in Isabel’s tone. She shook her head. “Father does not discuss business with me. He merely requested I bring this to you and then wait for you to read it.”
Isabel nodded. This Lord Blakely was clever. He’d obviously known that Jason had Isabel heavily protected. So, he’d sent his daughter on what appeared to be a social call. The guards would not question her leaving with Lady Candace for a dinner engagement. Jason had told her he was trained, that she wasn’t truly putting his life in danger, and she’d wanted to believe him because selfishly she wanted to be his wife. This was her fault. She had brought this onto him. Well, she refused to allow them to hurt her husband.
“We must leave straightaway,” Isabel said. She grabbed Candace’s arm and pulled her to the door.
“Go where?”
“To your townhome. It would seem I’ve been invited to dinner,” Isabel said.
…
Jason stood in the shadows watching Lord Blakely’s townhome. He’d seen this townhome hundreds of times before, as it was directly next to the late Sir Potterfield’s townhome. But Jason had never paid much attention to the brown brick or white columns of Lord Blakely’s home. Jason had met him on more than one occasion, although they did not know each other beyond colloquial greetings.
The man himself had not left the building for more than two days, although he’d had a handful of visitors. His wife and daughter, however, were in and out as if the door spun on its hinges. The younger Lady Blakely had left not more than half an hour earlier.
He wondered if Somersby or Lynford were having more success with the houses they were watching. Eventually they’d uncover the man and money behind this entire traitorous operation, but so much rode on this being solved sooner rather than later. Namely, the safety of his wife.
One of Blakely’s carriages pulled to a stop and the daughter stepped down, followed by another woman. The second lady turned her head, glancing up and down the street, and Jason swore under his breath.
Isabel.
And then his world went black.
Jason winced against the pain pounding in his head. He didn’t know where he was and couldn’t manage to open his eyes. He tried to sit up, but a great force pressed onto his chest, pinning him down.
“Leave him alone!” Isabel said, and her voice sounded panicked.
Jason forced his eyes open but was met with only darkness. Fabric brushed against his eyelashes. But he could hear Isabel’s voice.
“The letter said that he would be unharmed if I agreed to come here,” she said. “I demand to see Lord Blakely.”
“We never promised nothing,” a man said, his voice thick with a cockney accent. “We’ll have to kill ’im eventually, since they want you to marry that other bloke.”
Pain radiated from the base of Jason’s skull—the point of impact, he’d guess. The last thing he remembered was seeing Isabel step down from Lord Blakely’s carriage, behind his daughter. They’d lured her here because they’d known he was there. Hiding outside. He’d been careful, but evidently not careful enough, and he’d put his wife in harm’s way.
“Now you two be quiet in here,” the man said. Then a great and heavy door slammed, and his footsteps retreated.
“Isabel,” he whispered.
“Jason!” She moved her hands to his blindfold and peeled it away. “I’m so sorry.”
The look of concern on her face was a knife to his gut. If he ever got them out of this, he’d make things right with her. Treat her as she deserved to be treated. He’d been such a fool.
He sat upright and glanced around the room. Judging by the cobbled stone, they were on the bottom level of the townhome. “On the contrary, I didn’t have any other plans for this evening, and this provides me with an opportunity for entertainment,” he said.
“Stop that. This is not the time for your charming deflections. This is quite serious.” She touched his forehead. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ve had worse.” He continued to scan the room. A heavy door closed them in the dimly lit space.
“He sent his daughter with a letter.”
“So that you could leave,” he said. “She wouldn’t create concern with my guards.”
“That is precisely what I was thinking,” she said. “I had no choice, Jason. I couldn’t allow them to hurt you. I’m sorry I made you marry me.”
“You did nothing wrong, love,” he said.
A chill breezed past them, and Jason caught sight of movement behind Isabel. He primed himself, ready to fight as best he could in his current position, but realized he had seen only a flapping piece of cloth, a window covering.
“A window,” he whispered.
She raced over to see if she could reach it. Her arm stretched up, and she could reach it standing on the tips of her toes. “It is already open,” she whispered.
He motioned her back to his side. “We are directly next door to Potterfield’s townhome. He’s the former leader of the Brotherhood, and his wife will know how to contact Lords Somersby and Lynford. Do you think you can climb out? Maybe you could reach it with that chair.”
She followed his gaze, then nodded. “Of course.” She bit down on her lip. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
He shook his head. “There is no need to worry about me, but we haven’t much time. You must get out and get word to the rest of the Brotherhood.”
She took a deep breath. “I suppose it is time for me to make use of all the training I did on the rope in your room,” she said with a smile.
“Isabel, when you get outside, I need you to make certain the house you go to has a number twelve and a red door. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
She moved the chair over to the wall to better reach the window, and something bumped the heavy door. The men were returning.
“Go now!” Jason said. He pulled himself to his feet even though he hurt everywhere. Blakely’s thugs had obviously hit him in other places besides just his head.
“If I’m gone, they have no reason to keep you alive. They intend to make me a widow,” she said.
“I know that. You let me worry about keeping myself alive. Our best chance is for you to go get help.”
The door swung open, and a large man came in. He caught sight of Jason standing and Isabel on the chair at the window.
“I’ll kill him,” he roared as he faced Jason. The man slammed a fist into Jason’s stomach, and he doubled over in pain.
“Go, Isabel, now.”
She took one final look at him, then jumped and grabbed onto the elevated window ledge. Balancing her hips against the ledge, she brought one knee up, then the other, and launched herself out the window.
The last thing Jason saw was her skirts snagging on something as she jumped free. Potterfield’s wife would know what to do. The man struck Jason again and again. Blood pooled into his eyes, and his remaining thought before he blacked out was that at least Isabel was out safely.
…
Isabel ran as swiftly as she could to the adjacent house and was relieved when she saw the number twelve next to the red door. She knew some of the men were following her; she could hear them shouting. She banged loudly on the door.
“Over here!” one man yelled from not too far away.
Again, she banged on the door. It opened and she found herself facing the barrel of a gun. Instinctively she held up her arms. “I’m Lady Ellis. My husband is with the Brotherhood. He needs help.”
A hand reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her into the house. The door slammed behind them.
Isabel’s heart pounded so fiercely, she could hear it in her ears. She realized the person holding the weapon was a woman about her size, although at least two decades her senior.
“Mrs. Potterfield?” Isabel asked.
The woman nodded as she bolted the door. She rang for a servant and gave explicit instructions to send word to Somersby, Lynford, and several other names Isabel thought she recognized. She tried to calm her breathing. Jason would be saved. Those men, his friends and colleagues, they would not allow anything to happen to him. But they didn’t even know where Jason was. Not yet. They might not get here in time.
“Come this way,” Mrs. Potterfield said.
Isabel followed her down the wood-paneled corridor. They entered a door on the right. It was a typical gentleman’s study, boasting a large desk and a few shelves. But instead of books, the shelves were lined with a myriad of weapons.
“My husband is a collector. Was,” she corrected herself. “I am still getting accustomed to the fact that he is gone.” Her eyes grew misty, but the older woman did not cry.
“I’m sorry for his passing,” Isabel said.
“He died doing what he loved. He was a hero to this country,” Mrs. Potterfield said, pride radiating off her petite frame.
“Yes, he was.”
“I know your husband. Have since he was straight out of the schoolroom.” Mrs. Potterfield smiled. “He’s smart and strong. He shall survive.”
Although Isabel believed the woman’s sincerity, the words did little to calm her. She glanced around the room. The weaponry ranged from daggers to pistols to swords to a fencing foil. Isabel’s throat tightened. She didn’t think she could be one of those wives who sat at home and waited for notice that her husband had been killed. Especially not because of her.
She grabbed the foil and ran out of the room with Mrs. Potterfield calling her name.
…
Jason was alone. He could no longer see out of his right eye. It was swollen and bloodied.
The stairs leading to the room where he was being held creaked beneath the weight of someone approaching. It was the same man who had been beating on Jason since he’d arrived. He grabbed Jason and yanked him upright.
“Walk or I’ll drag you,” the man growled.
Jason stood despite every bone in his body aching. He wasn’t dead yet. Which meant there was still time to make things right with Isabel. Make things right with his wife. He followed the brute up the staircase and down a corridor. They emerged into the gardens behind the house.
“Yes, yes, bring him out here. I do not wish to have any more blood on my expensive rugs,” Lord Blakely was saying. He nodded with recognition as Jason stepped forward. “Ellis, you’ve certainly looked better.”
“Yes, well, your brute here has spent the better part of the evening pounding my face,” Jason said.
“You were far too handsome in any case,” Blakely said. “Damned annoying, if you ask me. No character to your face, just pretty lines, like a woman’s.”
Blakely’s rotund figure perched on a bench, taking up nearly the entire width of it. His enormous belly was stuffed in a waistcoat, and the cravat at his throat was tied big and flamboyant. The combination made his head look much smaller in proportion. He was the very picture of excess. Too much money. Too much food. Too much greed. And evidently the perception of far too much power.
“It was you this entire time?” Jason asked.
Blakely didn’t even bother to deny it. He merely grinned broadly. “It has been my greatest puppet show yet. Truly, the pieces fell into my lap. Granted we are still missing one.” He glanced around the gardens. “I’m certain she’ll show herself soon enough. Princess?” he called. “We know you’re out there.”
Isabel was here? Why wouldn’t she stay at Potterfield’s where she would be safe? But she did not answer Blakely or show herself.
“Thornton?” Jason asked.
“It took some time for me to uncover that he was the one who had the princess, but once I did, he was easy enough to control. It merely took promises of future positions of power within the new monarchy.” Blakely shook his head. “Fool.”
“And what do you get out of this?” Jason asked.
“I see what you’re doing. Trying to stall me so that I don’t kill you so quickly.” He shrugged his great beefy shoulders. “I can wait. I do want that pretty wife of yours to watch while I make her a widow.”
Jason said nothing and, though he longed to search the garden for signs of Isabel, he kept his focus on Lord Blakely.
“I shall be the new king’s closest advisor,” Blakely said.
“So promises of future power worked on you as well,” Jason goaded.
“Those fools would not have come this far without my plans,” Blakely roared. “I am master architect of this entire scheme. I have no actual claim to the throne myself, but there is certainly no reason why a stupid girl should be England’s leader. That will never do.”
“Isabel is the same age as Queen Victoria,” Jason said.
“True, but Victoria is unmarried and will listen to no one save Lord Melbourne. Isabel shall be safely married off, and I shall control her husband.”
Blakely was mad, that much was evident. The Crown didn’t even have that much practical control. It was primarily a figurehead with Parliament and the Prime Minister running the actual government. But the promise of power and prestige was often too tempting for people to ignore. Jason was weighing what to do next when a flash of light caught his gaze.
Isabel had hidden herself in the large shrubs that bordered the west side of the garden. In her hand, she held a long, thin blade—a sword, perhaps, or a fencing foil, he wasn’t certain. His heart swelled. His warrior princess had come to save him.
Isabel ran over to Jason as Somersby and Lynford jumped from the shrubs followed by several other members of the Brotherhood, all wielding weapons of their own. He knew she wouldn’t have come alone. She gave him her sword. Blakely was far too rotund to make an escape and gave up quickly once his thugs were taken down.
Her hands cupped his face gently. “You look terrible,” she said.
“Thank you. And thank you for coming to rescue me.” He pulled her to him, so very thankful that she was safe and next to him again.