Page 39 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

W hen Priscilla opened her eyes this time, her head was clear, but her stomach was upset from the lingering effects of the laudanum.

Or she was hungry. Which made her wonder how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

Feeling much better overall than when she’d awoken the first time, she rolled over and sat up slowly, not wanting the dizziness to return.

When it didn’t, she stood barefoot and shivered when she looked down to find herself only dressed in her night rail and nothing more.

She hugged herself to ward off the chill, and when that didn’t work, she removed the surprisingly soft blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself like a huge shawl.

The room was small and sparsely furnished.

It had a slopping ceiling with boarded-up windows at each end.

The room resembled servant’s quarters in an attic, and it was cold and dark, with no fresh air.

The wooden floors were bare, and she was careful as she paced the room not to get a splinter.

It was hard to judge the time of day without being able to see outside.

And it was hard to tell how long she’d been asleep with the laudanum in her system.

It could have been an hour, several hours, or even longer, perhaps an entire day.

Stopping her pacing, she sat on the edge of the mattress and listened for any sounds that might give her clues as to why that woman had taken her.

Priscilla vaguely remembered the lady telling her what name Priscilla could call her, but her mind didn’t remember.

She listened some more for any sounds and sighed when she heard nothing.

It was as though she were the only one there.

The shaking started slowly. First her fingers, then her hands, then it climbed up her arms and spread throughout her entire body until her insides and outsides shook so hard it hurt.

Even her teeth chattered. But it wasn’t because of the chill—the blanket was keeping her warm.

Her body was reacting to her panic. It was a living, breathing entity, one she couldn’t stop.

Then the tears started, and she wanted to scream.

They dripped down her face like a never-ending gargoyle downspout on Notre Dame Cathedral during a rainstorm. She hated feeling weak and threatened.

What bothered her the most was how worried her parents must be. Did they believe she was dead and would never see her again? Then there was Nick. Did he think the same? Or was he riding around London yelling her name over and over again? Was he looking down every alleyway and inside every tavern?

What were Emmeline and Lilly thinking? Were their husbands with Nick? She hated to think she was causing them anguish and worry. Not that she wouldn’t be worried if the roles were reversed.

The banging of a door and footsteps climbing stairs resonated through the room.

The lock on her door clicked, the door swung open, and in walked the lady from before, dressed much the same.

Dark strands of hair hung outside her hood.

It was the only feature Priscilla could see properly to describe her.

Also with her were two burly men who looked quite frightening.

“I brought you dinner. You must be hungry. Don’t move as I place it on the foot of the bed. As you can see, I brought some bodyguards. I’d hate to have to tell them to tie you up.”

Priscilla would hate that, too. Not a muscle in her body so much as twitched until after the tray sat beside her on the bed. One quick glance at it, and she saw roasted chicken, potatoes, and carrots, as well as tea with several biscuits. “Thank you. ”

“We can talk while you eat.”

Seeing no utensils on the tray, she picked up the chicken leg and bit into the juicy piece.

Whoever this person was, she had a good cook.

And as the woman remained silent through Priscilla’s first couple bites, she thought she might as well start the conversation.

“I don’t remember much about our earlier conversation except you said something about me getting in the way of your plans.

But I don’t understand how. Why am I here?

” She placed a small potato into her mouth.

“Without giving my identity away, let us just say there is a certain gentleman threatening to ruin me if I do something. He has to pay for his threats. I will not allow anyone to dictate what I do or don’t do with my life. He has also warned my associate that he will do the same to him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it has to do with me. I have a very—and I mean very—tiny circle of friends. Other than them, I have my parents. No brothers or sisters.”

“Trust me, you know who I’m talking about.”

Priscilla thought for a moment. It couldn’t be Blackstone, Langford, or Caldwell, as they were married and this woman would have kidnapped their wives if she wanted to hurt them.

The only other men she knew were Nick and Latham.

Honestly, she could be punishing either one of them.

Except she no longer had an attachment to Latham.

“So Hollingsworth is trying to ruin you?” she guessed.

“You are a smart one. Perhaps you would like to join me in my business. Between the two of us, we could make a fortune.”

Perhaps if she played at being interested, the woman would let her guard down, and she could escape. “What is your name?”

“As I said before, you may call me Esmeralda.”

“Please call me Priscilla.” Now she remembered the name and how she knew it. Esmeralda was Viscountess Norton. She had previously gone by the name Esmeralda back when she had blackmailed Nick.

“Very well, Priscilla. Do you like money? Nice things? Jewelry?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What lady doesn’t?”

“Do you know anything about Hollingsworth and what caused the rumors?”

She answered truthfully. “Yes. He told me.

“He was so handsome, so approaching him at the masquerade ball was no hardship. After flirting with him for a spell, I almost felt sorry for drugging his drink, but I had a job to do. You see, that is what I used to do—drug men’s drinks.

Now, I have two ladies who work for me doing the task.

That way, no one recognizes me.” She paused, then paced the room.

“The ladies drug the gentlemen’s drinks and take them to a private residence.

Mind you, we do nothing to them, except divest them of their coats, waistcoats, and shirts to make them believe they participated in the debauchery going on around them.

They wake up surrounded by naked or partially naked men, and we persuade them to pay for their secrets.

That is what happened to Hollingsworth.”

Priscilla thought she might cast up her accounts and sighed with relief when she saw a chamber pot across the room.

Nick must have died a thousand deaths when this happened to him.

Believing he was leaving with a lady and waking up in a fog from being drugged to find himself surrounded by unclothed men.

Closing her eyes, she breathed to steady her heart.

She needed to stay calm and feign interest if her plan would work.

“This works? You make money doing this?”

More giggles from Esmeralda. “Yes and yes. We plan who we target ahead of time, learn all we can about them. It’s easy if you set your sights on wealthy rakes—gentlemen who pride themselves on their masculinity.

They fall the easiest and hardest when they find themselves in a gentlemen’s den of iniquity. ”

“I imagine so.” Priscilla paused, studying the food left on her plate. “What would I have to do?”

Vile laughter ricocheted around the room.

“Do you honestly think that I would invite another woman to share my spoils? You are a stupid chit. I’m well aware you only hoped to pretend to join me so you could escape.

” She indicated one of the men. “Take her tray and stand guard outside the door. Oh, and one last tidbit. Long before I meet Norton, your father, the esteemed Duke of Avery, fell to the same scheme.” Her laughter reverberated around the room making Priscilla flinch. “He was one of Norton’s first targets.”

Left alone with her runaway thoughts, Priscilla lay on the mattress with the blanket wrapped tight around her as tears flowed from her eyes. Her father? She couldn’t believe it. How long ago had it happened? Her father would be horrified if he ever found out she knew.

*

Sitting across from the Duke of Avery in his study, Nick accepted a glass of brandy from him.

“My wife is resting. I didn’t tell her of your arrival. She is already on the verge of a nervous collapse.” He downed the entire contents of his glass. “What do you have to tell me?”

“Mr. Whitcomb, the Runner, is investigating Viscountess Norton and her known associates,” Nick stated.

He explained her business and admitted his own involvement with her while watching the duke for any signs of recognition.

Nick would eventually admit to knowing of His Grace’s involvement, but it would be less awkward if the duke would relate his experience of being duped himself.

As Nick spoke, Avery became very still, poured himself a fresh brandy, and downed that one as well.

In all the years he’d known the duke, Nick had never seen him overindulge.

He supposed having one’s daughter go missing was as good a reason as any, not to mention the possibility that one’s past secrets might be exposed.

“What I’m about to say is in the strictest of confidence and doesn’t leave this room,” Avery said as he toyed with the empty glass in his hands. “Many years ago, I was at a gaming club, and I was approached by a young lady named Genevieve.”

“What did she look like?” Nick asked.