Page 28 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

“L ady Ramsbury?”

Annabel looked up from Jasper’s correspondence, grateful for the respite. After yesterday, she was tired of numbers and thinking. “Yes, Stapleton?”

“There is a lady here insisting to see his lordship.” Stapleton looked over his shoulder as though expecting to see the guest waiting. “She is quite insistent on waiting.”

Something in his demeanor, perhaps the way he said lady , made her cap the ink pot and stand. “Speak plainly, Stapleton. Please.”

“She is not the sort who should be in polite company, and I think she should be gone before Lady Lambourn and the young misses return home.”

No matter what he thought, the visitor had already gotten her bluff in. Tongues would wag until dinner if they were seen shoving a reluctant woman out of the house and down the front stairs. “Ask her to wait in the drawing room. I’ll be just a moment.”

Stapleton nodded and left her to check her appearance in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were the only remainders from her late night bent over figures. It would be easy to assume they were from a night spent dancing or at a midnight supper.

Society was the perfect disguise. No wonder Jasper chose it.

Annabel descended the stairs and went to the drawing room. Waiting there was a red-headed young lady wearing far too much rouge for an afternoon in Mayfair, and a dress more suited for evenings in scandalous parts of the city.

“Good afternoon. I’m Lady Ramsbury. How can I help you?”

“Sally Howard, your ladyship.” After a curtsy, Sally handed over a calling card. “The marquess left this with me if I should ever need it.”

The card carried Jasper’s name but Sally’s perfume. Annabel recognized the scent. He’d kissed her but come home smelling of Sally. The servants had laughed.

Annabel drew a deep breath of rose-scented air. “Would you care for tea, Miss Howard?”

“No, ma’am, but thank you.” Sally clutched her reticule on her lap. The velvet was worn slick in places. “They’ll miss me soon.”

“All right, then.” Annabel sat opposite her. “Lord Ramsbury is with the prime minister this morning, and I’m unsure of when he’ll return. Is there something I can do to help, or should I give him a message?”

“He was down at the docks when we met, following a lout from Wales.”

Collins.

“He’s a nasty piece of work, that one, but he’s only in a few times a month. When his ship comes in, he says.” Sally leaned forward. “But he’s here today, and he’s got a gleam in his eye I don’t like. All us girls are staying well clear of him, but he don’t seem to notice.”

Collins is in London.

“When I went to the bar for drinks, I overheard him muttering into his whiskey about teaching a jumped-up queen’s man to keep his titled nose out of Wales. ” Sally looked past Annabel to the window. “The more he drinks, the surlier he gets, your ladyship. Sends a chill down my back. Always has done.”

That description could be Kit as easily as it could be Jasper. If they were lucky, it might even mean Spencer himself.

“I got busy with work.” Sally’s gaze flicked down to her lap. “Begging your pardon, your ladyship. And when I looked up, he was gone. I knew, just knew, I needed to come warn the marquess.”

Annabel looked past the cosmetics and the low neckline and into Sally’s eyes. It would be easy to think all sorts of things. The most obvious was that the girl was devoted to Jasper for a more sordid reason, but Annabel trusted her husband.

He had never given her a reason not to.

There was also the possibility that Sally was in league with Collins and was helping him set a trap. She had Jasper’s card, after all. “Why?”

The look in Sally’s eyes hinted at hard-won wisdom of a world Annabel knew very little about. “His lordship treated me like a lady with a brain in my head. That may not be rare for you, but it is for me.”

“It is rarer than you might think.” No one had seen her worth, perhaps not even Annabel herself, like Jasper. Perhaps she and Sally knew more of the same world than Annabel had supposed. “Thank you for warning us.”

She escorted Sally into the hallway, near the table where calling cards went and where they kept money for messengers who came to the door. “Let me—”

“No, your ladyship. The marquess paid me plenty before. I won’t take more, especially not from you.” Sally leaned forward to whisper, “Your butler thinks I’m here to bring trouble. I don’t want him spreading gossip that there’s a secret you’re paying me to keep.”

Annabel pressed her lips together to keep from laughing over the image of Stapleton gossiping. “I thank you for that.”

She walked toward the front door, but Sally walked toward the back of the house. Annabel caught up to her and escorted her through the hall. Questions bubbled on her tongue, but there was no time to ask them. Perhaps after matters were settled, she could shock Society by inviting Sally to tea.

She opened the door and took Sally’s hand. “Thank you again, Miss Howard. Please look after yourself.”

“And you, your ladyship.” Sally squeezed her fingers. “Men like that won’t be choosy about who they hurt.”

Annabel watched until she left, her eyes on the red dress that had seen better days, but her mind on Sally’s last words. There was a possibility that Collins was in London to find Kit, but Kit had no one else in his life. A man intent on harm would search for the largest number of targets.

Or an easy one.

Lady Lambourn, Jane, and Johanna were due home within the hour. If Collins waited out front, he could injure or snatch one of them and disappear into London before anyone was the wiser.

Or he could push his way into the house and lie in wait for Jasper and Kit to return. After all, Frederick and Lawrence had gone with Jasper this morning. That left only Travis and Stapleton here.

Or he could carry out his plan and let Jasper come home to chaos. The best outcome would be chaos. The worst was unthinkable.

He needed to be away from the house.

Annabel hurried to her room and unboxed the first hat she set hands on. She took time to find a matching coat, ensuring she would look presentable and calm, at least from a distance. It took two attempts to find the correct gloves.

Returning downstairs, she struggled into her coat. Her fingers trembled as she pinned her hat.

“Your ladyship, is this wise?” Stapleton said from the stairs. The man had an unnatural way of simply appearing. “If you’ll wait, Lady Lambourn will return with the barouche after tea.”

“I’ll walk.” Annabel fixed him with the glare that was her own unique gift. “You and Travis will be here when Lady Lambourn and the girls return, and you will stay here until Lord Ramsbury instructs otherwise. When he arrives, tell him…”

Her brain whirred. If she said too much, Stapleton would delay her departure or try to prevent it altogether. If she said too little, Jasper would never find her at all.

“Tell him he can find me at home.”

She looked in her reticule to check for the key. It would never do to get to Ramsbury House only to be stranded on the street where Jasper had almost died.

“My lady?” Stapleton opened the door for her. “Please be careful.”

She squeezed his arm as she passed. “It’s nothing but a walk.”

The street was almost empty, given that it was teatime. It would have been the perfect time to get a look at Collins, but Annabel didn’t dare. This only worked if he thought her oblivious.

She quickened her pace. It was also important that he didn’t grab her close to home.

Her breath came easier when she put Grosvenor Square at her back and marched toward Piccadilly. The streets were busier; shops were full of people. Hyde Park was to her right.

Annabel couldn’t see the park and not think of Jasper and the first time he’d kissed her, and their delightfully scandalous ride after the theatre. He’d helped her be brave, time and again. He’d given her the courage to do this.

Though he’d never see it that way. He was going to be furious.

At Piccadilly, she entered the sea of people on the thoroughfare. People shouted to be heard over the near-constant rattle of passing carriages.

Annabel stayed close to the brightly painted and decorated storefronts, dodging patrons as they came and went. Bits of music floated through the doors, teasing her to stop and listen. Food smells, both sweet and savory, set her stomach grumbling over missing tea.

She reached St. James Street deafened and dizzy, yet determined to revisit Piccadilly when she could enjoy it.

The tree-lined street in front of her made her smile, despite the chilling memories of their last visit. The old marquess, Jasper’s grandfather, had meant it to be a place to work away from the social bustle of Mayfair. Jasper wanted to make it a home.

In the distance, the new giant clock at the end of Westminster Palace looked like a toy. Parliament.

Jasper . Annabel’s toes twitched. If she kept walking, if she quickened her pace, she could reach him. She could lead Collins straight to him.

Or the man could catch her in between, leave her dead body in the gutter, and still have time to return to Mayfair to kill her husband.

The traffic here centered on Green Park. Barouches and gigs passed her, the women frowning at her choice to walk alone while the men touched their hats in greeting. The few pedestrians comprised couples and families.

Annabel stood out. As did the triple step of a man with a cane walking behind her. Clip. Clop. Tap.

Clip. Clop. TAP.

Clip. Clop. BANG.

She quickened her steps, one hand in her reticule and panic building as the house key eluded her. When she found it, she clung to it like a lifeline.

There was no stopping to admire the front door or the flowers under the windows. There was only the keyhole and her heart hammering in her ears.

She was inside in a breath. The dark, quiet house wasn’t as welcoming as she’d hoped, and a chill crawled up her back as she struggled to lock the door.

It flew open, shoving her backward as Collins shouldered his way into the hall, a pistol in his hand.

“Hello, Lady Ramsbury.”

Annabel had never been certain what to expect of the man, but it certainly wasn’t someone who could have passed for a Society grandfather. His eyes, though, were hard—like bright stones in a shallow pool, and his leer was just as cold. Looking closer, years of heavy drinking had left a map of broken veins and ruddy splotches across his face. His red and swollen nose looked painful to touch.

“Get out of my home, Mr. Collins.”

He advanced. She retreated, never taking her eyes from his. She found the library by touch and then, continuing backward, the stand where the bust of Plato rested.

She twisted and lifted the plaster likeness. Earlier in life, she had been disappointed to discover the cheapness of the reproduction. Now, as she lifted it over her head and hurled it at her stalker, she was thankful.

It hit him on the chest and shoulder, just enough to push him against the wall in a daze. His pistol hit the floor and fired in a thunderous roar. Annabel shrieked and leapt backward as the balls thudded into the opposite wall, burying themselves in the newly painted plaster.

She made for the back of the house and the servants’ stairs.

Her hat blocked her view, and its wide brim and bright color made her a moving target. She unpinned it and tossed it aside, wincing as the pin pricked her thumb. Blood bloomed across her glove.

She reached the landing and dithered over which direction to go. Collins’s heavy steps on the front stairs made the decision for her.

Hiding the hatpin in the folds of her skirt, Annabel turned toward the rooms at the end of the hall in search of a place to hide until help arrived.

*

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Jasper asked as he tightened his grip on his pistol.

Stapleton, a shotgun in his lap, gave a long-suffering sigh. “Sir. I could hardly lock her in her room like a child.”

Jasper didn’t blame the man for his impertinence. He’d asked the same question at least twice since they’d all climbed into the carriage, not to mention shouting it while standing in the hall.

“Tell me again.” Anything to keep his mind from what could happen to Annabel as they crept down Piccadilly toward St. James Street.

“The…lady knocked on the back door, brandishing your card and demanding to wait until you returned. Since your mother and sisters were expected home, I thought it best to ask Lady Ramsbury for assistance.”

So he’d asked Annabel to meet with Sally in the drawing room, which still smelled of cloying roses.

“After a few moments, she showed the visitor out the way she’d come. I thought the meeting had gone well—they both seemed in good spirits, as much as I could tell—but then your wife went upstairs for her hat and coat.”

And said she was going home.

It was easy to believe she’d been upset after meeting a doxy from the docks who bore his calling card. He’d spent precious moments raging that she’d assumed the worst of him—again.

But then he’d calmed and seen past the superficial. Sally wouldn’t have come to Mayfair on a lark, and the only connection they had was a knowledge of Collins.

If Kit’s campaign to split Collins and Spencer had worked, it would be predictable for the man to travel from Wales to London and confront his partner in crime.

And it would be equally predictable for Spencer, who by now knew his scheme was collapsing, to set Collins loose on his enemies.

Considering those points, if Annabel was fleeing from Collins, she would never return to her family home and risk them. After all, she’d fled Lambourn House rather than risk Mother and the girls. Going to Chilworth Manor or Kennet Hall would require a public coach and waiting for the day of travel.

There was only one home remaining, though it was empty of anything but dust and shrouds. Jasper found himself hoping she considered Ramsbury House her home but praying she hadn’t gone there alone.

“I could run faster than this,” he grumbled as he looked out the window.

“That would be a fine news story. Armed Marquess Dashes through Piccadilly with Bastard Cousin in Frantic Pursuit .” Kit touched the barrel of Jasper’s pistol, encouraging him to lower it. “We also shouldn’t brandish our weapons out the windows.”

Jasper set the gun on the seat between him and Travis and dropped his elbows to his knees. Maybe they would move faster if he didn’t watch. And, indeed, it did sound as though the horses began to make better speed.

If Collins had followed Annabel to St. James Street, God only knew what they would find. If he had caught her before she’d reached the house, they might not find her at all.

Travis put a hand on his arm, which sent his heels to the floor. The clip-clopping steps ceased.

Three sympathetic, yet irritated, faces stared at him.

“Apologies,” he mumbled.

They made the turn from Piccadilly onto St. James, and Lawrence pulled the team to a stop. Kit put a hand to Jasper’s chest, making him wait until last to exit.

“Grown man,” he grumbled.

“Frantic husband,” Kit shot back.

It was a fair warning. As worried as Jasper was about Annabel, he had to keep his wits.

Their small group gathered a great deal of attention. Part of it was likely due to the coach, which was far too grand for a day in the park. Most of it, however, could be attributed to six armed men in the middle of the street.

“Travis and I will go through the back and up the servants’ stairs,” Stapleton said. He took the key Jasper offered—his mother’s spare. “Frederick and Lawrence, you’re responsible for keeping their lordships safe.”

It wasn’t lost on Jasper that his butler had resumed the role of commander and put himself between Collins and escape.

The older man put a hand on his shoulder. “She will be fine, sir. And he will not get past us.”

The remaining four waited until Travis had rounded the corner and disappeared down the alley. Then they walked at a painfully slow pace toward the house in the middle of the row.

As they drew nearer, Jasper grew transfixed by the spot in the pavement where he’d been standing as Raines approached, bent on harming Annabel. His still-soft scar itched under his shirt.

To their left, the door to Ramsbury House stood open. Kit put himself in front of Jasper and stepped forward. Lawrence stopped him, allowing Frederick to take the lead.

“Serves you right, Lord Warwick.” Jasper chuckled.

“Still in front of you.” Kit looked over his shoulder, a cocksure grin on his face.

Lawrence fell in behind, and the long barrel of his rifle floated into Jasper’s peripheral vision. “I know you’re worried about her, sir. But if I say fall , you do it.”

Jasper nodded and drew a deep breath as he stepped over the threshold.

A pistol lay on the floor between the library and the stairs, surrounded by a sprawl of rubble that had once been the bust of Plato. A large, bloody handprint circled the walnut orb at the base of the baluster.

Annabel had put up a fight. Jasper exhaled and smiled. Of course she had. “Stepping over the mess would have slowed her,” he said. “She went up the back stairs.”

“She did at that.” The voice came from above.

Collins wasn’t much taller than Annabel, which made her the perfect shield. Rather than a pistol at her head, he held his thick black cane across her throat.

She looked ready to chew nails. Her hands were fists at her side.

Jasper worked his tongue against his teeth to moisten his dry throat. Nothing would be helped if his command cracked in the middle. “Mr. Collins, release my wife.”

“I need you to listen,” the man shouted back, his words slurred. “And I think you’re more likely to do what I want if I have your lady wife with me.”

He weaved on his feet. Jasper wasn’t sure if was due to a day in the pub or the blow to his head, which left a bloody trail through his graying hair.

All Jasper needed to do was keep him occupied so he didn’t hear Stapleton and Travis on the back stairs.

And keep him from harming Annabel.

“All right.” Jasper tightened his hold on his pistol. “What do you want?”

“I want that bastard there out of Wales and leaving me alone.” He nodded toward Kit. “And he needs to take that French bitch with him.”

“You need to watch your language in front of the lady,” Jasper said. This was his home and his wife. He wasn’t going to cower and comply. “But tell me why, out of everything you could ask, you want that.”

“I had a good scheme there. No one was getting hurt, and we weren’t causing trouble for anyone but Her Royal Highness in whichever castle she wants. Men were able to feed their families and have a few quid in their pockets.”

“Until you blow the mine.” Kit’s words landed like stones.

“Closing an empty hole won’t do nobody harm,” Collins sneered. “We’ll have a few weeks on a picket line and maybe come out the better for it.”

Annabel flinched every time he spoke, which only served to make Collins tighten his hold.

“A mine is never empty, Abel,” Kit said. “You know that. And you also know that death adds legitimacy to any strike and urgency to any negotiations. Are you certain Spencer means to keep this bloodless?”

Collins blinked at them.

How long will it take Stapleton and Travis to get up the stairs? How will I know when they are there?

“He’s not a man to trust, Abel.” Kit sounded calm, but his hands were shaking.

“Says the man who wants to stretch my neck for murder.” Collins lifted Annabel’s chin to a height that made Jasper lose his breath.

Something in her fist caught the light, like jewels under a chandelier in a ballroom. That made no sense. The only jewels she kept at home were her wedding ring and her hatpin.

“Dear God,” Lawrence muttered. “She wouldn’t.”

She would, if pressed. The only option was to keep everyone, including Annabel, calm.

“I want to see you get a fair trial for something everyone in Cardiff believes you did, given the stories we’ve heard.” Jasper spoke to Collins but focused on his wife, willing her to wait. “Spencer will weave a tale that lays everything at your feet.”

“Either path, I hang.” Collins used his body and the pressure from his cane to steer Annabel toward the stairs. “So you and the bastard earl are going to let me out of this house and out of London, and I’ll leave her ladyship at the Welsh border.”

“Or you can tell the prime minister about Spencer’s plan to create a coal shortage and hold the country hostage.”

Collins paused halfway down the stairs. “You have been busy.”

I have a brilliant wife .

Jasper kept his face to Collins, using the turn of the stairs to move closer, even by the smallest step. This situation was deteriorating. “There are alternatives to hanging.”

He was certain he was wrong. He hoped he was lying to the man. What was more, he hoped Collins didn’t know he was lying.

The man’s mouth flattened into a thin line, and his eyes hardened. His knuckles grew white.

And then he was screaming and shoving Annabel away, reaching for both his arm and his foot at the same time. Annabel was a waterfall of blue muslin tumbling down the stairs. The crack as she struck the banister echoed through Jasper.

The hatpin was still vibrating in Collins’s shoulder as he raised his cane and roared, signaling a charge down the stairs. Stapleton and Travis came into the upstairs hallway, weapons at their shoulders. Lawrence and Frederick raised their guns from below.

Jasper rushed to Annabel’s side. On his knees, he put his arm up to block the blow, should it arrive.

“Alive!” Kit shouted as he put himself between their private army and the man they’d hunted for months. “We need him alive.”

There was a thunder of steps and shouts on the stairs. Collins thudded against the plaster more than once, spewing profanity. Jasper didn’t care about any of it.

Annabel wasn’t moving.