Chapter Nineteen
Julius balled the newspaper and chucked it at the fireplace. It fell short by several feet. The bloody bastard. He had no right to say such things about Amanda. The Marquess of Hanford was in sore need of a lesson in manners.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of the library. Amanda was a floor above, snuggled up in his bed. He didn’t know if she was tired, or if she were coming down ill, but she’d shown no interest in rising that morning. He’d thought of calling for the doctor, but knew there was a chance he’d exhausted her the night before. He’d used her in ways in which she wasn’t accustomed, and she needed rest.
Now he almost hoped she did come down with a slight cold. Anything to keep her safely tucked in bed and away from the papers.
Someone scratched at the library’s door, and it swung wide. A footman stepped through, followed by Max. The footman bowed. “My lord. You said to show the Baron of Sutton in when he arrived.”
“I know what I said.”
Max arched an eyebrow before thanking the servant and shutting the door. He tossed his hat onto the settee and followed it down. “Working on your charming personality again?”
“This house is infested with indolent servants.” Julius clenched his fists. “I had to relieve a footman of his duties just yesterday. If I’m to be surrounded by the snooping lot of them, the least they could do is their job.”
Max stretched his legs out. “I hope you didn’t call me out on this miserable afternoon just to grumble. I was in the middle of a good book when I received your note.”
“Your fascination with the works of the anonymous “By A Lady” continues to surprise me. Real men don’t read Pride and Prejudice, so consider yourself delivered from shame.” Julius dodged the hat Max threw at his head and settled back into his chair. “Have you read The Times today?”
Max shook his head. “I was too enthralled with Walpole’s Castle of Otranto.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know I only picked up that other novel by mistake.”
Julius pushed himself out of the chair and stalked to the fireplace. He bent and picked up the crumpled newspaper. Dropping it in Max’s lap, he went back to his seat. “Page two. Above the fold. Where everyone will see it.”
Max scanned the article, his lips pinching into a tight line within the circle of his dark beard. “Has she seen this yet?”
“No. But I’ll have to tell her eventually.” If Amanda was starting to poke her toe outside, she would have to be prepared for this new source of scorn. As much as Julius would love to hide the papers, he couldn’t hide her from the venom people would spew.
Max tossed the paper aside. “Is Marcus getting copies of The Times sent to him?”
Julius’s body went slack. “Bloody hell. I didn’t even think about him.” Acid churned in his gut. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Yep,” Max said, altogether too cheerfully. “It’s printed in the largest paper in England, hell, maybe the world, that you’re tupping his sister-in-law. I would definitely make sure that your affairs are in order.”
Julius returned to staring at the ceiling. His good friend would kill him. And then drag him to the altar to make sure he did right by Amanda. Which Julius couldn’t, in good conscience, refuse to do anymore. Circumstances had changed because of Hanford’s article. He would deny his relationship with Amanda, of course. But the only honorable course left was to marry her.
He loosened the knot of his cravat. The idea didn’t send him into cold sweats, but it still set his pulse to pounding. And what would it do to Amanda? He could hide her away in the country, but there were still societal obligations that couldn’t be ignored. A countess had duties.
And he was still thinking of his marriage in customary terms. He had to remember who Amanda was. There would be no callers. No invitations. No balls for her to host. No guests would attend.
Perhaps her life as his wife would carry on much the same.
Max poked through the cigar box on the table next to him and came up with a fat roll. He went to the fireplace and picked up a piece of coal with a pair of tongs. He placed it against his cigar and puffed it to life. “How did Hanford know about your dalliance? It isn’t even common knowledge that you’re here as the ladies’ protector.” Returning to his chair, he plopped down and crossed his legs.
“It has to be one of Marcus’s bloody servants.” Julius glared at the door the footman had come through. “Why he keeps so many of them underfoot I can’t understand. Always spying and gossiping.”
Max tilted his head and blew out a stream of smoke. “But he pays them very well. He’ll be disappointed to learn one of them betrayed him.”
“I should just fire the lot of them.”
Sutton rolled his eyes. “That wouldn’t look improper at all. Now isn’t the time to flaunt your disregard of societal expectations.” He blew a delicate ring of smoke into the air. “Did you call me here to figure out who the informant is?”
“No.” Julius tapped his fingers along his thigh. “Let’s go for a walk.” He scooped Sutton’s hat off the floor and handed it to him.
Sutton looked at his hat, looked at his cigar. “A walk? It’s drizzling outside. You know I don’t like rain.”
“Yes, you’re like a large, annoying cat.” Julius poked his head out the door and called for Reggie. A scrabbling of nails on the stairs was followed by the dog’s black and brown face charging straight at him. Julius held up a hand, and Reg sat down, his body sliding across the waxed wood floor with his momentum. Julius rolled his eyes and looked back at his friend. “Now, find your balls, put your hat on, and let’s get out of here. The walls have ears.”
Clamping the cigar between his teeth, Max tugged his hat down but it insisted on tilting askew. His thick crop of wild black curls didn’t allow for fashion. He grumbled the entire way out to the portico, frowning when Julius attached Reggie’s lead. “Now we’re dog-walkers?”
“Reggie is a fine dog. You should be proud to walk him,” Julius said.
Reggie found the first shrub on the drive and dropped into a low squat. Steam hissed where piss met cold earth. Sutton raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Never mind that.” Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Julius withdrew a folded missive and tossed it at his friend.
Snatching it from the air, Max rested the cigar on the brim of his hat and unfolded the letter. His eyebrows shot to the sky. “You’ve become one of the blackmailer’s victims.”
“In essence, yes.” Julius tugged on Reggie’s lead, and they turned onto the main street. The word victim had never sat well with him. “I’m to cease and desist all investigations or else my predilections will be revealed to the world.”
Max flipped the page over. He jabbed a thick finger at a line. “Is that one true? I don’t remember you and the dowager duchess ever playing.”
“You were in Prussia. That lady was very inventive.” And sweet. “A lot of innocents could get hurt if those stories are revealed.”
“And you.”
Julius shrugged. “You know I don’t care what the ton thinks of me. Hell, in some circles this would only improve my reputation.”
Max carefully refolded the note. “What will you do?”
“Carry on and deal with the consequences as they arise.” He gazed steadily at his friend. “These people must be stopped.”
Max nodded. “Agreed. What next?”
“There are some more offices we can search.” Julius stood. “But first I want to pay a visit to Hanford.”
“And you want me to go with you as an additional sign of force?”
“I want you to stop me from throttling the man,” Julius said. They reached the corner and turned back. “Hanford has irrevocably changed the path of Amanda’s life, without her consent or desire. He’s insulted her and made her a target for contempt. For that, he must pay.”
Grabbing his arm, Max pulled him to a stop. “He’s an old man fighting for his way of life. As doddering as he is, Hanford might not have even realized the consequences of what he wrote.”
Julius wasn’t so sure. The methodical and vicious argument in the man’s article made Julius question the image of Hanford as a mutton-headed fool. And if Julius was mistaken about Hanford’s character, he might have been mistaken about the man being merely an unconscious dupe to the crime ring.
Unless Hanford was cleared of all wrongdoing, Julius wouldn’t underestimate the marquess again.
A hackney lurched past, and Reggie skittered sideways, threading himself through Sutton’s legs.
His friend glared down at the pup. “This beast is an insult to the name dog. Where did you get him?”
“He’s Amanda’s.” Technically her sister’s, but Reggie was a great solace to Amanda. And if that’s all the dog was ever good for, he would be an admirable animal. One to whom Julius would be eternally grateful.
The pup tilted his head, a soft brown ear flipping inside out. Tentatively, he stretched his hind leg up, taking aim.
With a roar, Sutton leapt to the side, the stream just missing his leg. A rhododendron bush wasn’t so fortunate.
Julius beamed proudly. “Look at that. Our Reginald has become a man.”
“He was an inch away from becoming dead.” Sutton grumbled deep in his throat, but the dog ignored him, obviously not taking the man as a threat. Reggie pranced back to the house, Julius in tow.
With a scratch to the dog’s head, Julius handed the lead off to the footman, and he and Max made for the stables.
Finding Hanford proved more difficult than Julius had anticipated. His butler said his master was at White’s. The doorman at White’s said the marquess had moved on to Boodles. And the manager at Boodles had no idea where Hanford had gone.
“Back to his house?” Max asked. They collected their horses from the stable and swung into the saddles. Steam billowed from their mounts’ nostrils, and the saddle blankets were as soaked through as Julius’s greatcoat. The rain was only a light drizzle, but the air was heavy with mist.
“Not today.” Kicking the flanks of his horse, Julius trotted up the street. “Let’s check out one of the offices under the Ariadne Corporation before it becomes too dark to see.”
Max rode beside him, the shoes of their horses clopping against the cobblestone. He tucked his chin, and his bushy beard covered his neck and chest like a scarf.
Julius tugged the collar of his greatcoat closer. Beads of water dripped off the brim of his hat. What he wouldn’t give to be warm in bed with Amanda. He regretted leaving her side so early, before she awoke. Usually it felt like an escape slipping out from between the sheets before a woman opened her eyes. That morning he’d had to drag himself from sheer force of habit. The feather bed had been soft and inviting, the woman next to him more so. He’d waited for the usual tendrils of anxiety to coil around him as he’d watched the light in the room soften from pitch black to a soft charcoal. And the agitation had never come.
He’d left anyway.
They arrived at the office of the Society for the Health of London’s Chimney Boys, and tied their horses in front of the stables across the street. The office was a small standalone building on one of the grottier streets of Chelsea. The windows were boarded over, and no one answered their knock.
Max stroked his beard. “No one here to take my donation. You’d think they didn’t care what happened to the lads who risk life and limb to clean our chimneys.”
Julius tried the door. It wasn’t locked, and he pulled it open. Slipping inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust. The only light came from the open door.
A light sparked. Max stood next to an oil lamp attached to the wall, working his flint over a small tinderbox. He lit the lamp and a dull glow fought for dominance with the shadows. Max shut the door and looked around. “This could take a while.”
He wasn’t joking. Towers of documents circled around them. Papers littered the floor. The office was just the one room, no other exits led out. The boarded over windows sent a chill down Julius’s spine, but he wouldn’t turn tail and run like he had in the catacombs. He swallowed. “It looks like whoever was here left in a hurry.” He stepped forward and his boot slipped on a piece of parchment. “Do you think they used this office for storage?”
“I can’t imagine they’d leave incriminating documents lying about.” Max picked a piece of paper off the nearest stack and held it to the light.
The wood porch creaked from the other side of the door. Julius and Max froze, then melted into position on either side of the entrance. Muted voices. A thump. The door eased open.
Julius grabbed the fist on the handle and twisted, throwing the man to the floor inside the office.
“Oi! I know his jacket is hideous, but it hardly deserves a tumble on the floor.”
Max peered around the doorjamb. “Dunkeld? What the hell are you doing here?”
A behemoth of a man filled the entrance. Sinclair Archer, the Marquess of Dunkeld, looked down at the floor. He shook his head, his auburn hair swinging in the low tail tied at his nape. “What I’m not doing is letting someone catch me off guard. How many times have I told you to look to the side before entering a room?”
The Earl of Summerset glared at him from the ground. “I did look. But Rothchild is a shifty bastard. We all know that.” He took the hand Julius held out and hauled himself up. Brushing the dust from his clothes, he turned on his friends. “A fine welcome to Sin and me, and after coming all that way to save your pathetic arses.”
Dunkeld shut the door and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. “I, for one, was glad to escape Scotland. My mother came too close this time to marrying me off. That woman could run Rothchild neck for neck when it comes to craftiness.”
“What are you doing here?” Julius asked. He loved his friends, but Dunkeld and Summerset could bicker for hours like two old hens. It was an art form keeping them on point.
Pulling a lavender handkerchief from his pocket, Summerset rubbed at a spot on his pantaloons. “We got word of the attack on you at St. Katherine’s and came straightaway.”
“Not straightaway. I had to put an end to the engagement my mother arranged for me.” Dunkeld lumbered around the room, peering around every stack of paper. “The foolish woman is convinced I am in dire need of a wife, and she managed to convince my neighbor’s daughter that she was the woman to tame me.”
A wide smile spread across Summerset’s face. “I had a delightful time convincing the chit otherwise.”
“You’re fortunate her father never caught on to your midnight liaisons,” Dunkeld grumbled. “Or there would have been a wedding for sure, and—”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Julius interrupted. “I mean, what are you doing here.” He waved his hands about the office. “And now. How did you find us?”
“Oh.” Dunkeld cleared his throat and looked at Summerset. He, in turn, busied himself straightening the elaborate knot on his cravat. “Well,” Dunkeld said, “after you two were almost killed—”
“Hardly that,” Max said, looking offended.
“—I thought it prudent to put some of my men on you. You know, just to watch and step in if needed.” Dunkeld scratched his jaw. “They’ve kept me updated of your whereabouts.”
“We almost caught up with you at Boodles,” Summerset added. “But then Sin said he had to have a drink and we fell behind.”
“You’ve had men watching me.” Julius breathed out through his nose, trying to keep his temper in check. His friends were only trying to help.
He wanted to plant his fist in their faces.
Sutton stepped forward. “Gentlemen, it’s cold and wet, and I have a book I’d like to finish tonight. Not”—he narrowed his eyes at Julius—“Pride and Prejudice. Can we leave off the bickering and search the office?”
“Fine.” Julius gritted his teeth.
Dunkeld merely grunted.
Picking a piece of paper off the floor, Summerset held it between the tips of two fingers. “What, exactly, are we looking for? A signed confession from the ring leader?”
“How droll.” Dunkeld walked past, bumping his shoulder into Summerset’s.
“And this is blank.” Holding it up to the light, Summerset flipped the paper over. “A lot of the papers on the floor are blank.” He rubbed his fingers together. “And oily.”
Sutton scanned the paper in his hand. “And this looks like racing scores. From eight years ago.”
Julius poked his tongue into his cheek. Grabbing a handful of papers, he examined them. “I don’t even know what these are. They read like a diary.”
“Ooh, anything naughty?” Summerset peeked over his shoulder.
“Will you grow up?” Dunkeld slowly turned in the center of the room. “What is going on here?”
The door rattled in its frame. Julius rushed to the exit and depressed the handle. It didn’t open. He threw his shoulder into it. A harsh chuckle came through the door, followed by several loud bangs.
“Allow me.” Dunkeld pulled him aside and kicked the door with a leg the size of a tree trunk. The wood vibrated but remained shut. He kicked it a few more times. “They must have barricaded it with a boulder.”
“Or you’re not as strong as you think you are,” Summerset said.
“Can the two of you please shut up?” Sweat rolled down his back, and Julius’s shirt clung to his skin. They were trapped. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he didn’t hear if anyone responded.
Striding to one of the boarded-over windows, Julius pulled open the pane. He tested the strength of the planks nailed to the outside wall. There was no give. He pounded his fist against the wood. Whoever had closed up the window had the skill of a carpenter.
“Shh. Everyone be quiet.” Sutton pressed his ear against the door. They all listened to the slight creaks on the porch, the hushed whispers. Something hissed, sounding like a colossus sucking in a deep breath.
“Fuck.” Clenching his fists, Sutton backed up. “Everyone get away from the walls. They’ve set the building on fire.”
“That would explain the oil poured over the floor.” Summerset strode to the corner of the room, his heels clicking on the wood planks. He picked up a rickety chair, tossed it aside. “The papers and furniture make nice kindling.”
Smoke coiled under the edge of the door. It snaked a leisurely path around a stack of papers before drifting towards the ceiling.
“Ideas anyone?” Sutton felt the side wall, and shook his head. “The fire’s been set on multiple sides.”
Dunkeld propped his foot on the desk and unsheathed a large knife from inside his boot. “I’ll work on a window.”
Sutton nodded at Summerset. “Help me with the desk.” They each picked up a side and used it as a battering ram on the door. Sutton yelled over his shoulder, “How’d they know we’d be here?”
Julius ran a hand through his hair, his gaze darting around the small room. The smoke was becoming thicker, scratching his throat, and the walls seemed to sway ever closer. He needed to focus. “They didn’t. Or not us in particular. They know Liverpool’s men are searching all the offices. I think they picked one that would make a good trap and waited. We just happened to be the lucky bastards who walked in.” But would they ever walk out?
Dunkeld was chiseling at the edge of the window where board met wall. Sutton and Summerset had found a rhythm trying to pummel down the door. And Julius was standing like a lackwit in the middle of the room.
He needed to help his friends, get out of here, and get back to Amanda.
And he had nothing.
The blade snapped in Dunkeld’s grip. Coughing, he kept his fist wrapped around the handle and punched at the boards.
Julius covered his mouth and nose with the elbow of his sleeve. His eyes watered. He stumbled forward, thinking to help at the door, and tripped over a chair. The back snapped off. Julius blinked down at it, an idea forming.
Grabbing the legs, he smashed it against the wall until the seat broke off and he held one leg. The end of it narrowed to the slot that had inserted into the seat. Striding across the room, he nudged Dunkeld aside. “Stop. You’ll break your hand.”
“Better than burning to death.”
Sutton doubled over, wheezing. “Oh, the smoke will kill us first.”
Placing the slotted end of the leg at the edge where window met plank, Julius shoved with all his might.
Dunkeld grunted and took the leg from him. With the handle of his broken knife, he hammered on the blunt end. The slot wedged under the board a millimeter. Julius hoped. But tears were running down his cheeks, his eyes were burning, and it was hard to see.
“Hit harder,” Julius yelled.
One watery blue eye rolled Julius’s way, glaring. Dunkeld’s blows shook the walls. The leg slid another inch, the board arching around it.
“A little further in and we can use the leg as a lever.” Julius bent and gripped his knees, coughing. His head started to spin.
“Got it.” Dropping the knife handle, Dunkeld wiggled the leg until he was satisfied, then pressed the side of it against the wall and pushed. One of the boards snapped away from its nail. Cool air wafted in through the opening, and Julius greedily sucked it down.
“Over here,” Dunkeld called to Sutton and Summerset. He tore away the remaining boards.
Sutton poked his head through the window. “There are flames climbing the wall about two feet over. We have to move quickly.”
As one, Dunkeld and Sutton linked hands and bent low. Summerset planted his jeweled boot onto the makeshift step, and they heaved him up and out.
“You should go next, Sutton.” Julius didn’t want to leave any of his friends behind.
“We don’t have time to argue,” Dunkeld growled. “Get your arse out of here.”
Grinding his jaw, Julius obeyed. He couldn’t deny he was desperate to escape the prison. And arguing further would only put them all in more danger.
He gripped the windowsill and stepped into their hands. They heaved him through the opening, and Julius landed in a heap on the other side. Summerset dragged him away.
Sutton rolled out next. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and stumbled back a step.
Dunkeld’s head appeared in the window. Reaching his arms through, he jumped. His chest got wedged in the opening, and he swore.
Sutton and Julius each grabbed an arm and heaved backwards. Dunkeld’s massive body inched forward, then popped free like a cork from a bottle of champagne. The three of them tumbled to the ground.
“Move,” Sutton croaked. He crawled away from the fire, and Julius and Dunkeld followed. Summerset stood in the middle of the street, a small pistol in his hand. Firelight glittered off its pearl grip.
Neighbors had begun to gather. A bucket brigade formed and they attacked the fire. It hadn’t yet spread to the surrounding buildings.
Dunkeld staggered to his feet. He pointed at Summerset. “You had a gun in your pocket this whole time? Why didn’t you use it?”
“I don’t think shooting at a fire kills it.” Summerset surveyed the crowd like a hawk eyes a hare. “They’re probably watching. Saw that we escaped.”
Julius placed a hand in the mud and pushed himself to his feet. “It doesn’t matter. They would have known by morning that they’d failed.”
“They meant the attack to stop the investigation,” Sutton said. “Trying to intimidate us.”
“Anyone feeling intimidated?” Julius looked each of his friends in the eye, saw the same resolve he felt. The dirtier these people played, the harder he would come for them.
Sutton held out his hands, palm up. He turned his face to the skies. “I won’t complain about bad weather ever again. The damp slowed the spread of the fire. The rain just saved our lives.”