Miss Kitty Germaine, Mercer’s mistress, occupied a small, neat house on Henrietta Street. Clad in a filmy, flesh-colored robe, she received Alaric, Will, and Kent in a parlor done in a palette that strategically complimented her brunette coloring. By Alaric’s reckoning, this was a woman with a calculating bent. Despite her classical looks, he sensed a hardness to Miss Germaine, a cynicism that was beginning to etch lines around her eyes and mouth.

The profession of a mistress was, undoubtedly, a difficult one.

“Mercer’s not here,” she said matter-of-factly after they’d been seated. “And to save you the trouble: no, I haven’t the faintest notion where he’s gone.”

“How do you know we’re here because of Mercer?” Will demanded.

“Well, now, are you here for another reason, love? Because I do have a weakness for strapping men.” Her dark gaze encompassed all of them, lingering on Alaric. “And, my, what fine specimens you are.”

“We know Mercer was here,” Will said doggedly.

“He was.” Her shoulders lifted lazily. “Now he is not.”

“He is wanted for murder,” Kent said, “and unless you want to be charged as an accomplice—”

“Murder?” The languidness fled her expression. “The earl?”

“He has attempted to kill me twice,” Alaric said, “and shot another man in cold blood. He is not the sort of protector a woman would wish for.”

Beneath her subtle, artfully applied paint, Miss Germaine’s cheeks paled. “He isn’t—my protector, I mean. We parted ways a month ago.”

“Then why was he here?” Alaric said evenly.

“He said he’d run into a spot of trouble and needed a place to spend the night.” Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t have any cust—company planned, so I let him stay.”

“You have no idea where he’s headed?” Kent said.

“He left before dawn. Didn’t say goodbye.” Licking her lips nervously, she added, “My maid said she looked out the window and saw him with some unsavory characters. Apparently, they all took off in a coach together, and the top was packed with trunks. That’s all I know.”

Alaric didn’t detect any falsehoods. “Why did your arrangement with Mercer end?”

“Money,” she said succinctly. “Specifically, his lack thereof. Some conniver bilked him of his fortune—he’d turn apoplectic whenever he talked about it.”

Alaric exchanged grim glances with the other men. Apparently Mercer had rewritten history to make himself out to be the victim—perhaps he even believed his own false tales, used them to justify all the evil that he’d done. There was no telling what such a man was capable of.

Urgency and frustration filled him. He had to find Mercer, put an end to this chaos.

Then he could start a new life with Emma.

Her poise returning, Miss Germaine said coyly, “Being as selective as I am about my friendships, it has not been easy to find a truly rich and powerful patron.”

“I wish you luck.” Bridling with impatience, Alaric rose. “Thank you for your time.”

“Leaving so soon? Perhaps you’d like some refreshment—”

A pounding sounded on the front door. A minute later, Cooper entered the room, and Alaric’s insides chilled when he saw the harsh set of the guard’s features.

“What is it, Cooper?” he said.

“Mercer’s kidnapped Miss Kent and the dowager,” the guard said tersely, holding out a note. “He’s demanding ransom.”

* * *

The world came slowly into view. In the dim light, Emma made out wooden walls, a shuttered window, a table and stool … she was in a tiny cabin of some sort. And it was ... rocking?

Where am I?

Emma registered that she was laying on a cot. She managed to sit up and get woozily to her feet. She stumbled a few steps, heard the clanking of metal, felt a jerk on her ankle. Looking down, she saw that a manacle and short chain anchored her right foot to the bed.

She and the dowager had been kidnapped.

Memories returned in hazy snippets, accompanied by the sweet, sickening scent of ether. A carriage ride through darkness. Being hauled up a gangway … Yes, she could smell the tang of sea air now. She was on a ship.

Dear God, where was Lady Patrice?

A faint sound made her look up. There was a bunk above her own, a small figure upon it. Standing on her tiptoes, Emma verified with relief that it was indeed the dowager. Other than the rise and fall of her thin chest, the lady lay still as death, the stone of her ring gleaming like blood upon her waxen hand.

“Lady Patrice,” Emma whispered urgently.

No reply. The poor thing was heavily drugged. The bastards—how could they treat a defenseless elderly woman in this despicable manner?

Footsteps approached. Before Emma could return to the cot, the door opened, and a tall blond man holding a lamp stepped inside. As he set the light on the table, its flickering glow gave his handsome face a demonic cast. His cravat was elegantly knotted, his wool overcoat lavishly embroidered. She recognized him from the Blackwood ball—one of the men who had disparaged Alaric’s venture.

“You’re Lord Mercer,” she said, her gaze narrowing.

He smiled thinly and bowed. “Welcome aboard my vessel, Miss Kent.”

“You had better release us this instant.” She angled her chin up. “If you don’t, you’ll regret being born when Strathaven and my brother find us. And I promise you they will.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, Miss Kent. You are my insurance, you see, and my ticket to a new life. I’ve been watching Strathaven, and I know he’ll do anything to have you.” Mercer smirked. “That is, if he hasn’t already had you.”

Emma stumbled back when Mercer came toward her, trapping her against the frame of the bed. His pungent cologne wound into her nostrils, and she shrank away, her skin crawling as he pressed himself up against her.

“I wonder,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek, “what talents could a country miss possess to enthrall a man like Strathaven? I have a mind to see for myself.”

“Get away from me, you bounder!”

Her lungs seized as he fingered a fallen tress of her hair. She felt a revolting poke against her thigh, the thing hard and … sharp? The realization struck her: the object prodding her wasn’t his manhood—but a ... key.

He let her go. “Time to sample your charms later. For now,” he said with a sneer, “I have a welcome to prepare for your duke. He should be arriving anytime now.”

Emma thought quickly. “He won’t fall into your trap. He’s too clever for that.”

Mercer turned a livid shade. “He’ll dance like a puppet on strings if he wants you and his aunt alive.” His manicured fingers curled like claws. “I am dictating the terms now—not him.”

Sensing the crazed fury beneath the polished facade, Emma knew she’d hit upon his weakness. She had to use his vanity to her advantage. Just have to get him closer …

“Strathaven is going to crush you,” she taunted. “You don’t stand a chance.”

She yelped when Mercer grabbed her by the hair. He yanked hard, jerking her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes, which were dilated with fury. She feigned fear, twisting as if to get away from him, angling her hand toward the pocket of his overcoat …

“Shut your mouth, bitch,” he spat. “If it weren’t for the interfering bastard, I’d be a rich man by now. My scheme was brilliant; I stood to make a fortune. But Strathaven ruined it all. Thanks to him, not only did I lose my money—now I have Billings’ underworld criminals after my blood.”

“It’s your own fault.” Almost there … keep him distracted … “You made a bad business decision. You compounded that by trying to murder Strathaven—and by killing Silas Webb.”

“Webb was a spineless fool. He didn’t have the stomach for greatness and would have given me up when he was caught. No,” Mercer said craftily, “Webb left me no choice.”

“What about Strathaven? It’s not his fault you took a reckless risk.”

“Everything is his fault!” Mercer’s eyes were reptilian with hate, his words hissing. He pushed his face into hers just as her fingers closed around metal. “He left me no resort but to flee like some common criminal. Well, he’s going to pay to the tune of fifty thousand pounds. If he doesn’t, I’ll send you and his aunt back to him—piece by lovely piece.”

Heart thumping, Emma let her shoulders sag as if in defeat; at the same time, her hand slipped behind her back, clutching her prize. “You really have thought of everything.”

“I will be victorious. Like a phoenix, I will rise from the ashes on French soil. Who knows?” A nasty gleam lit Mercer’s eyes. “If you please me, I might keep you alive to see to my pleasures.”

Emma swallowed. “But I thought … aren’t you going to ransom me?”

Mercer’s laugh was short and brutal. “I’m going to get my money. And then I’m going to put an end to Strathaven once and for all.”

“You’re a dishonorable cad!” she cried. “Strathaven is smarter than you—he’ll never fall for your trap!”

Mercer shoved her violently onto the cot, her back smacking the thin mattress. Panting, she kept a firm grip on her stolen treasure.

“He already has, you little whore. He’ll bring me my blunt at nine o’clock sharp—and I’ll put a hole through his heart,” Mercer snarled. “And after I deal with him, I’ll be back for you.”

The door slammed behind him, his barked order filtering through. “No one goes in or out—see to that by any means necessary.”

“Wif pleasure, m’lord,” replied a leering voice.

Instantly, Emma sat up. Looked at the key in her hand. Sending up a prayer, she reached for the manacle on her foot.