Chapter Twenty-Three
Julius leapt from the carriage before it stopped rolling. The moon had emerged from the clouds, and the shadow of St. Katherine’s bell tower slanted across the front of Simon’s. The footman at the front of the club hurried to open the door but wasn’t fast enough. Julius ran into it, leading with his shoulder, and burst through.
He ignored the flare of pain that shot through his arm and raced to the meeting hall where the debate would be held. A crush of men formed a barrier. Pushing his way through, Julius kept his eye out for any flash of muslin. An untidy bun of mahogany hair. Anything feminine.
Men joked and jostled each other, obviously growing impatient for their night’s entertainment. Julius cursed. Amanda could be five feet from him and he wouldn’t see her. He forced his way to the raised stage, pushing men aside, ignoring their shouts of displeasure.
Jumping onto the wood planks, he searched the crowd. No Amanda. No Lady Mary. He breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to think. Amanda was most likely in a waiting room, and there was nothing for him to worry over.
Dunkeld entered the room and made his way to the stage. The throng of men parted before him like waves before a frigate. Size had its advantages.
Climbing the stairs at the side of the stage, Dunkeld asked, “Do you see them?”
A boyish face Julius recognized jogged after Dunkeld. Bertie beamed and stuck a hand out to Julius. “I’m glad you could make it. We’re just about to get started, just as soon as we find our debaters.”
Julius’s fist involuntarily clenched, and Bertie winced. Releasing the young man’s hand, Julius took a step closer. “What do you mean? Where’s Miss Wilcox?”
Bertie flexed his fingers. “Well, I’d left the women in the back study, but they must have wandered away.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, look, there they are now.”
Julius spun and saw Lady Mary holding the arm of Hanford as he led her into the room. The marquess stopped and said a few words with one man, slapped the back of another.
Julius leapt off the stage. He hit the back of a squat man in garish orange pantaloons and bounced off.
Dunkeld steadied him with a hand at his shoulder. “Allow me.” The Scotsman started forward, and bodies either jumped out of the way or were tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper.
Julius followed in the path his friend created. But when they reached Hanford, Julius stepped around Dunkeld and into Hanford’s space. “Where is she?”
Hanford rounded his pale blue eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss Amanda Wilcox.” Planting his feet wide, Julius gripped the lapels of Hanford’s coat. “You will tell me where she is right now.”
Lady Mary’s gaze darted between the two men. “We left her in the back room.”
“She isn’t there now.” Julius shook the man, and was pleased when Hanford let out an unmanly squawk. “Where. Is. She?”
Bertie rushed up to them. “Julius! You can’t manhandle the marquess in the middle of our club.”
Dunkeld placed a palm on the young man’s chest. He glanced back at Julius. “He’s right, you know.”
Smiling grimly, Julius said, “Then you’ll have to excuse us. Lady Mary, please stay here.” Pulling Hanford on to the tips of his booted toes, Julius strode from the room, dragging the flailing man behind him. He headed down the hall to one of the smaller smoking rooms and kicked the door open. He flung Hanford onto a low-lying settee.
Dunkeld closed the door behind them. He jiggled the handle and frowned. “You broke the lock.”
Someone pounded on the door. “This is supposed to be a friendly debate,” Bertie yelled through the wood.
With one hand pressing the door shut, Dunkeld grabbed a low bureau and dragged it to block the frame. “That should give us plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” Hanford jerked on his cravat and pushed to his feet. Julius shoved him back down. Bright red blotches darkened the marquess’s face. “I demand you tell me the reason for this impertinence.”
Julius cracked his neck. “You already know the reason. I’ve asked you twice. Don’t make me ask a third time.”
“This is about Miss Wilcox?” Hanford pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Lady Mary and I left her in the sitting room. I know nothing further.”
“Horse shit.” Dunkeld crossed his arms over his chest, the wool of his jacket’s sleeves pulling taut across the biceps.
“I agree.” Julius bent over Hanford, placing one hand on the man’s knee, the other on his shoulder. The thin silk of the man’s pantaloons provided no protection. Julius dug his thumb into the nerve on the inside of his leg.
Hanford yelped and tried to jump off the settee.
Julius held him down. “That’s usually a man’s first response. To try to escape the source of pain. It gets worse when you realize there is no escape.”
Hanford’s broad forehead glistened in the light. “Sod off, Rothchild. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Dunkeld sighed heavily. He turned sad eyes on Julius. “Can I assume that our order to keep this a stealth mission has been nullified?”
“That would be correct.” Julius dug his thumb in again and tucked his head against one of Hanford’s flailing arms. Liverpool could kiss his arse if he thought he was going to put his investigation over Amanda. Gripping Hanford’s collar, he throttled the man back against the settee. “We know about your crime ring. The businesses you’ve infiltrated. All the men you’ve blackmailed.” Julius doubted they knew a tenth of the people this man had victimized. But it never hurt to bluff.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hanford spat out.
Julius gripped Hanford high up on his shoulder. With his fingers digging into the man’s back, he tucked his thumb under Hanford’s coat, found the spot right under the man’s collarbone and squeezed.
He kept the pressure on, even as Hanford shrieked and writhed beneath him. He kept it on until Dunkeld pulled him away.
“I think he’s ready to talk,” Dunkeld said mildly.
“All of you can go to hell.” Hanford wheezed, spittle rolling down his chin.
Julius stepped towards him, and the older man shied away.
“Wait.” Hanford raised a hand, and slumped against the brocade back. “Just wait.”
Bile rose to the back of Julius’s throat. Every second he wasted with this scum could be the second Amanda needed him most. “I don’t have time to wait.”
Hanford shook his head. “I’m not admitting to anything. But if you want to find your woman, I have an idea where she might be.”
Dunkeld slapped a hand around Hanford’s neck. “Did you not understand the man when he said time was of the essence? Stop dancing around the answer.”
“The catacombs!” Clawing at the fingers around his neck, Hanford’s gaze darted between Dunkeld and Julius. “There’s an entrance into them from the basement of this building. It’s a web of pathways. There are entrances to the catacombs from all the buildings on this block. St. Katherine’s used to have an abbey. It’s been torn down and built over by this club and others, but the foundations remain. And the basement entrances. Most of them had been bricked over, but not this one.” He bobbed his head up and down. “I’ll bet Miss Wilcox was taken down there.”
Julius stumbled back. He gripped the back of a chair as chills swamped his body. He locked his knees and prayed he wouldn’t collapse. It had to be the damn catacombs.
Without looking at Dunkeld, Julius said, “Send a message to Liverpool. Tell him what’s happened.” Slowly, he straightened and plodded to the door.
“I can’t leave him until one of Liverpool’s men arrives.” Dunkeld looked from Julius to Hanford, and back again. “If we want to keep this under wraps, we can’t give him time to communicate with his accomplices.”
“I know.” Grabbing the end of the bureau, Julius pushed it aside and jerked the door open. The hallway was empty. “Stay here with him. I need to find Amanda.”
“But …” Dunkeld grabbed his hair and cursed at the ceiling. Gathering himself, he put his fists on his hips and took a deep breath. “I’ll go into the catacombs. You stay here.”
“The woman I’m going to marry is down there. I can’t stay.” Julius ignored his friend’s dropped jaw and ran from the room. He’d never been to the club’s basement before, but it wasn’t hard to find the staircase. He grabbed a candle from a wall sconce and took each step down on shaking legs. He told his body to hurry, but his legs refused, each step closer to the labyrinth of passageways a battle.
He crossed the basement and stood at the entrance to a small archway that had long ago lost its door. The stone steps down were narrow, uneven. Dank air washed over him, and he knew he’d found the catacombs. Sweat ran down his spine. He tried to focus on marshaling his nerve, pushing out the fear.
The fear fought back. With a groan, he descended into the darkness. Of course, there was no question he’d go down and find her, claustrophobia be damned. Because of Amanda, there were some things he feared more than being trapped. A life without Amanda was right there at the top.
He’d been a right arse. Thinking that a woman could trap him. That marriage was another prison. Amanda had shown him just how liberating loving a woman could be. He’d built his own walls, never letting a woman get too close, trying to safeguard his heart. She’d blasted right through them. She was his light guiding him out of the darkness.
And if he didn’t find Amanda alive and in one piece, Julius knew he’d be lost in the dark forever.
***
The skin around Amanda’s wrists burned, but she kept trying to wriggle her hands free from their bindings. The rope her kidnapper had used wasn’t the soft silk or hemp that she was used to. Nor was she accustomed to the panic she’d felt in the ropes when she’d awoken, face down on cold stone, with her arms bound behind her. The feeling of safety Julius created with his knotwork was gone, transformed into terror and pain.
If she survived this, Amanda vowed not to let this piece of filth ruin what she and Julius had found together.
No, she corrected herself, when she survived this. When she got out of here, she would take Julius’s hand, slip a length of rope into it, and let him choose what to do with her. The sense of freedom she had when bound to his bed was something she cherished and would fight for.
Laying on her right side, her back to the wall, she let her head sag to the floor. Everything ached. She rolled her shoulders and peeked at the man who’d taken her. The torch by the door sent flickering shadows over his face. He leaned against the wall of the small chamber they were in, arms crossed, tracing patterns in the dirt with his toe.
Bastard didn’t even have the decency to look abashed. He looked bored as he waited for the partner he’d said was coming. Amanda had asked what would happen to her then, but the man had smiled, told her not to worry.
She worried.
The pain in her upper arms started to dull as numbness crept into its place. Amanda closed her eyes and tried to collect herself. She was incapacitated and defenseless. There had been a time when she hadn’t wanted to be responsible. Now she wasn’t. Her fate laid in someone else’s hands. She should be ecstatic.
Tucking her knees into her chest, she curled into a ball. She was an idiot. Of course, she was responsible for herself. Just as she’d been responsible for her little sister. Every second that she’d questioned her actions, relived the moment when she’d fought off her father and plunged a knife into his side, all those recriminations were over.
She’d made a decision to protect herself and Liz. She’d taken the responsibility of stopping their father, and she wouldn’t regret it.
She would even repeat it if given the chance. Amanda opened her eyes and pressed her lips together. She would get out of here, even if she had to kill her captor to do so. She circled her wrists as much as the ropes allowed, not stopping when she felt blood trickle down her palms.
Her kidnapper tossed a glance over at her, and Amanda froze. He cleared his throat and spat something Amanda didn’t want to identify onto the floor. Sighing, he peered back down the narrow hallway.
Amanda tugged on her left hand. It shifted an inch. Her blood slickened her wrists, easing the way. She tugged again and bit back a whimper. She was sure she’d lost some skin, but her hand had moved another inch.
Something soft echoed in the distance, a steady beat growing louder. Her abductor pushed off the wall, coming to attention.
Amanda twisted harder. She might, might, have a chance against one man. Against two there was no hope.
Her hand popped free as a second man filled the small doorway. She swallowed back tears, her chest burning. Life just wasn’t fair. It was as though the fates were telling her not to even bother fighting back.
She was going to miss so much. Laughing with her sister. Being a doting aunt to Liz’s children. Enjoying whatever time was left of Julius’s touches.
Her heart squeezed. It was that last one that would be her final living thought. It would keep her warm as the darkness crept in.
The two men talked in low tones before turning towards her. They filled the small chamber, looming over her as they stepped close. A blade glittered in her abductor’s hand.
Yes, she would think of Julius in her last moments, not of pain or fear. She closed her eyes and put a picture of him in her mind.
Someone cursed, and something heavy hit the ground.
Amanda snapped her eyes open, and her image of Julius came to life. He stepped over her kidnapper’s body, grabbed the other man by the hand and twisted his wrist. The ruffian dropped to his knees with a shriek, grabbing for the hand contorted beyond any reasonable angle.
Julius turned ravaged eyes on Amanda. He was as pale as moonlight and looked as though he might cast up his accounts at any moment. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
She scrambled into a seated position. She tried to push to her feet, but her arms weren’t cooperating. “Julius! How did you—”
“Are you all right?” Julius kneed the man in the face and dropped him. He took two steps and lifted Amanda by her shoulders. “Did they hurt you?”
Amanda opened her mouth and caught a flash of silver flying at Julius. She threw herself to the side, pulling Julius with her, and the blade of her kidnapper’s knife scraped off the stone wall.
“Close your eyes.” Julius pushed her into the corner and faced the attacker.
The kidnapper slowly approached, swinging his arm back and forth, his blade in constant motion. The other man stumbled to his feet, cradling his arm.
“What?” Why would she close her eyes? Not with two men intent on doing them harm in the room.
“Please.” Julius’s voice was hoarse, desperate. He kicked the kidnapper in the stomach, and the man fell back a step. “I don’t want you to see me do this. I don’t want the image of the next few moments anywhere in your head.”
She wanted to argue. Tell him that nothing he did would ever frighten her. Or disgust her. But there was no time. So, she nodded and closed her eyes.
And wished she had blocked her ears, as well. The sounds were horrific. The cracks echoing off the stone, noises that could only be bones snapping. The howls of pain. And finally, the silence.
A thumb brushed her cheek, and she threw herself at Julius. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said and stroked her hair. “Will you keep them closed until I say?”
She nodded.
Julius lifted her into his arms and started walking. Amanda rested her head against his chest, felt the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her cheek. His arms trembled beneath her legs and back. She couldn’t imagine what this had cost him.
“You came down into a dungeon for me.” She burrowed deeper into his coat, inhaled his musk.
“I’d do anything for you.” Gently, Julius set her down on her feet. “You can open your eyes now.”
She blinked. They stood at the bottom of a stairwell. A row of skulls had been cemented into the walls around them, a macabre mosaic.
Julius tipped up her chin. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I love you.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I realized as I was searching for you that had Hanford’s letter to the paper about us not been published, I still would want to marry you. You are the only woman who will make me happy. I choose you.” His breath brushed her lips. “Please, choose me back.”
“But the disgrace …”
“Doesn’t matter to me in the least.” He ran his hands up her arms and down her back, as though checking that all her parts were still in the right place. “We will live quite happily at my country estate, away from the censure of society. Away from a bevy of interfering servants. Just the two of us, and whatever family we create.”
It sounded wonderful. A peaceful life, loving the man of her dreams. Being loved by him in return.
Yet she hesitated. “A lord needs heirs. What if I can’t have children?”
“You know I don’t care about that.” He cupped her cheek. “Besides, every couple will face problems. It comes down to who you want to face those problems with. We’ll face them together.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Though we’ll have a devil of a good time trying for those heirs.”
She nodded, warmth radiating through her body.
“That’s a yes?” Julius asked.
She nodded again.
Julius whooped and planted a kiss on her lips. He broke away smiling. “First, let’s get the hell out of here.” With a hand at her elbow, he pulled her up the stairs. “Second, I’m going to see the archbishop for a special license as soon as I apprise Liverpool of what I’ve learned.”
Amanda flew up the stairs beside him, her feet barely touching the ground. “We don’t need a special license.”
“I don’t want to wait.” He pushed through a wood door and dragged her through a storage room. “I think three days should be enough time to get you an adequate dress.”
Amanda pulled to a stop in an empty kitchen. “I don’t care about a dress. But I do want my sister to be there.”
Julius frowned. “Damn Marcus and his continental tour.” He blew out a breath. “Fine. I will wait. And I’ll write to Marcus and tell him to get his arse home.” He took her hands, and his eyebrows drew together. Julius looked down. Cursing, he whipped his handkerchief out of his coat pocket. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”
Amanda examined her wrists. The right one was red and inflamed, a thin streak of dried blood stretched from the palm of her hand to her thumb. The wounds on her left wrist were worse. The bleeding had slowed, but dark red beads still oozed from the deep gashes left by the rope.
Julius folded the white linen into a long rectangle and wrapped it around her left wrist. He tied a neat knot with the two tails and clamped his hand around it, providing pressure. He glared back the way they’d come.
Amanda patted his chest with her right hand. “You can’t kill them twice.” Her hand paused. “They are dead, right?”
“They’re dead,” Julius said grimly.
“Then let’s get out of here.” Amanda led him to the staircase. “I want a hot—” She sucked in a breath. “Lady Mary! She’s with Hanford.”
“She’s fine. And Dunkeld is with Hanford.” Julius rubbed small circles on her lower back.
Amanda released her breath and nodded. They continued up the stairs and stepped into the hall. Fine paper covered the walls and an oriental rug ran the length. They were back in the club’s public space. A muted roar met their ears, followed by some boos.
“Bertie must have found someone to replace you and Hanford.” Julius peeked under the handkerchief, checking her wrist. He applied more pressure. “It sounds like the club’s members are getting their entertainment.”
Tiptoeing down the hall, Amanda peered through open doors into the empty rooms they passed. She stopped in front of a set of closed double doors, just as another chorus of boos erupted from behind it. “That’s the members being entertained?” She swallowed. “I’d hate to hear them when they don’t find something diverting.”
“It’s just how this lot are.” Peeling the door open an inch, Julius looked through. “At least this crowd won’t pelt you with rotten tomatoes if they don’t like what you have to say.” He waved at her to come close.
Amanda pressed her eye to the opening. And gasped. “It’s Mrs. Fry. They’ve let her speak.”
“Yes, but they wanted to hear from you. She’s a poor substitute.” Julius smiled down at her. “Then again, I am biased.”
Amanda looked from his dear face, to her bandaged wrist, to the crowd jeering behind the door. Mrs. Fry beamed at the club members, obviously unperturbed by her reception. She smiled, and argued, and stood her ground. And the men didn’t look so scary anymore.
Smoothing down her skirts, Amanda nodded. She could do this.
Julius’s brow knotted together. “What …?” His forehead cleared. “You don’t have to go up there. After what you’ve been through tonight, no one could expect it.”
“I want to.” Amanda pulled her sleeve over her bandage and scraped at the dried blood on her skin with her nail. Want might be a step too far. But it was something she felt she needed to do. For herself. For Mrs. Fry. And for the thousands of people out there who screamed and shouted over the injustice in the world but had nobody to hear them.
Julius tidied her hair, pinning loose strands back into her bun. He brushed dirt from her gown. “I’ll be in the front row. If you need anything, or just a friendly face to look at, I’ll be there.”
“I know.” Amanda squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. Pulling open the door, she stepped into the meeting room and headed for the stage. She could feel Julius behind her, and it was enough.
Mrs. Fry saw her coming and her eyes lit up. She waved for Amanda to climb the steps. “Gentlemen, I have a friend here who can tell you her own experiences with the English penal system. A first-hand account of how we, as a nation, allow the mistreatment of the young and innocent. Please welcome Miss Amanda Wilcox.”
A flood of cheers and boos crashed into Amanda. Heart in her throat, her gaze fled to Julius. The steady look in his eyes soothed her and her pulse rate evened out. She could do this.
With her head held high, Amanda climbed onto the stage and faced her fears.