Font Size
Line Height

Page 16 of One Kiss in the Shadows (Singular Sensation #12)

––––––––

M ay 2, 1819

Rogue’s Arcade

Mayfair, London

Nathaniel came into the large main room of the Rogue’s Arcade club that night with determination running through his veins. Tonight, they would make a plan, and hopefully shortly afterward, they could rid themselves and London of Lady Stover and her threats.

It was uplifting to see many of his club members already there. Twinsfield was missing, obviously, since he was still recuperating after the carriage accident and the effort to keep his heavily pregnant wife calm. The dukes of Edenthorpe and Broadmoor were there, each with a glass of brandy in hand. The Earls of St. Vincent, Hedecomb, as well as Baselford were also in residence, both talking with the Viscounts of Aldren, Beverington, and Winteringham, while Lords Tattingham and Timelbury were laughing and joking on the outskirts. Absent members included the Duke of Lockwood and Lord Rockwell, as well as Mr. Alexander Burgess.

There were a few other lords and gentlemen milling about the club’s interior, but they weren’t part of his core group of friends, for he didn’t serve in the military with any of them. They’d come to the club at various times when headlines in the newspapers had caught Edenthorpe’s eye or had managed to impress St. Vincent, which warranted them receiving an invitation to the club.

With a grin, he approached the grouping of furniture where the men either were sitting or standing about. “Good evening, gentlemen. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Everyone hailed him or raised their glasses in greeting.

Edenthorpe came over and pulled him a bit aside. “Have you ascertained who the traitor is in your staff?”

The last time he’d talked with the duke, he’d expressed his concerns. “My butler and housekeeper have conducted intense interviews with each servant employed in the household. It was determined one of the footmen had been paid a one-time sum of coin to monitor my wife’s whereabouts. Three nights ago, he left employ without notice and is in the wild.”

“Damn. I would have liked to question him.”

“So would I, though I doubt I would have been as lenient as you.” Nathaniel shook his head.

Edenthorpe frowned. “You look like a dog’s breakfast. What has happened?”

Quickly, he conveyed the information about his attacker in the Mayfair park as well as the bricks thrown into his house last night. “Thankfully, Mallory is doing well in her recovery. No permanent damage done, but she’s shaken.”

“Of course she is. These are challenging times.” The duke sent his gaze about the room where all their friends were gathered. “We’ll make progress tonight, though.”

“Indeed.” Nathaniel nodded. “This is going to end. I refuse to have my marriage damaged before it can even come into its own.”

One of the duke’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, does that mean things have changed for you? The union is no longer in name only?”

Heat crept up the back of his neck. “It does. Mallory and I have drawn closer to each other over the past week and through these attacks.” He shrugged. “Her mother may be our largest and most potent enemy, and I can’t help that, for there are real feelings developing between us.”

“It is my belief that the heart doesn’t care about those problems. When we find the person fate has designated as ours, we will fight like hell to keep them.”

Was he in love with Mallory? It certainly felt as if that was true; she was becoming more dear to him as each day went by. As soon as he returned home tonight, he would tell her what he was beginning to suspect, and that added to what they’d already shared last night, would further cement things between them, help them to plan their future.

“We will, which is the reason for calling this meeting tonight.” He rubbed a hand along the side of his face as fatigue crept in. “It seems as though we have been combatting this evil for far too long. It’s time to flex our own might and strength.”

“Then let us get to it.”

“One thing more. Has there been word on Hallerston? Has he been inside the club since he was named a traitor and more than likely Mallory’s father?”

“Not that I’m aware.” Slowly, Edenthorpe shook his head. “Once we outed him and I attempted to confront him, he disappeared into the darkness of London where the criminals reside. I have my theories regarding him and suspect he is Lady Stover’s right-hand man, and one of the men who carry out her orders, and I berate myself for not seeing his true nature sooner.”

“We cannot know everything about everyone.” Nathaniel rested a hand on Edenthorpe’s shoulder. “But we’ve all learned a lesson about trust. Now we’ll go forward and make certain we heavily verify new members.”

“Thank you for that.” The duke led him toward the group of their friends. “We are doing good work with the club and all the causes we champion and support. Let us not lose sight of that, for while England grows, while the world expands, there will be more conflicts, more people looking to take advantage and prey on others. We are the men who stand in that gap.”

Several rounds of “hear hear” went through the room.

Never had Nathaniel been more proud to be part of an organization than he was in that moment. His chest swelled and he grinned at his friends, these men who were closer than a blood relative could ever be. When he raised a hand for silence, the men gathered quieted.

“I believe you know why we are all here tonight.”

There were several nods and grumbles about the room.

“We are no strangers to a mission, especially when that mission is to protect others from harm. Right now, the only mission that matters is putting an end to Lady Stover and her ring of criminals. Whatever enterprise she is heading, we need to take them out. If there are multiple heads, multiple tendrils, I need your promise that you will help track them down and cut them off from the body, like a deformed snake.”

Many of the men present offered their agreement.

“Good.” Nathaniel nodded. He gripped the head of his cane a bit tighter. “Just like fighting against Napoleon’s forces, this will not be easy, but Lady Stover has kept decent people in London in the grip of fear long enough. She has threatened our own families, even harmed them, and that stops now.”

Edenthorpe nodded, for his arm was still in a sling. “She is the cousin of the Duke of Winthrop—both of them—who are happily now deceased for the same reason that we need to take her down. I refuse to have our families linger in danger because this woman wishes to run roughshod over every law-abiding person in Town in her bid for power.”

Applause and cheers followed the statement.

Nathaniel resumed his speech. “Doubt is a luxury we can no longer afford in this matter, men. If you think you cannot survive this fight, both physically and mentally, so be it. No one will blame you for bowing out; this fight is not of your making. None of us created it, so you are welcome to leave without judgment. You are my brothers, and brothers to all. We will understand.” He paused to give everyone a fair chance to beg off. “However, we need to defend the friends we’ve made and the families we’ve formed. Love demands that we hold it safe and defend all of this to the death if necessary.” He took a deep breath then let it ease out. “Regardless of what might be lost or forever changed.”

Every man in that meeting remained focused on him. Expressions were grim, but eyes were bright. Several men nodded.

With a mixture of pride and fear in his chest, Nathaniel glanced at them all, met their gazes, challenged them to uphold everything they believed in. “You are more than my friends; you are my brothers. Your wives are my sisters, your sisters are mine as well. Every one of you knows what is at stake here and what we’re fighting for, so that being said, I ask you. Who is with me?”

Almost at once, every man there in that meeting shot to his feet with a cheer of affirmation.

St. Vincent met his gaze and nodded. “Thank you for sending out the rally cry, Strathfield. We all appreciate it. There is much at stake now, and we all need to meet the challenge.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Agreed.” He held up his free hand for order. “Now, we don’t know where her next target is or where she’s set aside a headquarters, but the first call we’ll make tonight is on the Marquess of Hallerston, and if he doesn’t immediately give up the information we seek, I’m sure some in our numbers have special skills in making a man talk.”

Before anyone could say anything else, an explosion rocked the walls of the Rogue’s Arcade. Suddenly, his world erupted into rubble, fire, and noise. Nathaniel was thrown to the ground. His ears rang and the sound around him was muffled. Shouts and cries around him gave him hope that his fellows were still alive.

With a groan, he struggled into a sitting position. From beneath pieces of what appeared to be ceiling as well as bricks, he felt around on the debris-strewn floor for his cane. Obviously, the candles had been snuffed out as well as the chandelier, but the fires around the room gave off an eerie orange glow. Through the smoke and haze, he could discern the forms of some of the men, but he couldn’t identify them. As the muscles in his left thigh and hip screamed with agony, he slowly staggered to his feet.

“Edenthorpe? St. Vincent?” His voice sounded strange and disembodied in the chaos. Sweat broke out on his brow and upper lip. It pasted his fine lawn shirt to his back, for the scene reminded him of the time that he’d been shot and nearly left for dead on that battlefield, but he thrust those images to the back of his mind the best he could. “Broadmoor?”

A couple of them answered his inquiry, but he couldn’t identify the voices due to the horrific scene. “Try to get outside.” His throat was dry, and his lungs hurt while trying to breathe with the acrid smoke in the air. “We’ll take attendance there. If you need assistance, shout.”

Walking proved to be a challenge due to the glass and other rubble. Wooden pieces of the furniture lay scattered all over the floor, and the areas where the ceiling was still intact were obscured due to smoke and fire. It was quite disorienting, but then his military training kicked in and he blocked out everything except for searching for his friends and moving toward the area where the front door had been.

That was when he’d tripped over a pair of legs and went sprawling onto the floor once more. “Damn it.” In the process of feeling for his cane, which was becoming more and more needed in this hellish place, he crawled over to the fallen man, peered close at the body and wrinkled his nose at the metallic smell of blood. “Scarecrow?” His voice sounded like a frog’s croak due to the smoke, then as he peered closer, he discovered the source of the blood. The man’s left arm had been blown off near his shoulder. “Shit.” He was bleeding profusely.

“Strathfield?” The earl clutched at him. “I can’t feel my arm. Why can’t I feel my arm?” Panic had set into his voice.

“It’s gone, Hedgecomb. Remain calm.” Yanking off his cravat, Nathaniel methodically wrapped the stump of the arm as best he could, then he did the same with Scarecrow’s cravat. Once he’d tied it off, he once more shoved to his feet. “We must go. Can you walk?”

“I’ll try.” To the earl’s credit, when he gained his feet, he only swayed slightly. “Christ, it hurts like the very devil.”

“I know. Once we’re free, we’ll send someone for a surgeon. You will survive this.” He had to; they all did. With an arm about his friend’s waist, he kept them both moving across the room for the door.

As they did, people apparently from the street came in, presumably to search for survivors. In the distance, the sound of horse’s hooves and a ringing bell which was found on a fire wagon reached his ears.

In great relief, Nathaniel pulled Hedgecomb out of the burning building and into the relative fresh air of the night. “Come. We must get clear of the structure in the event it collapses.” And he continued to pull the other man with him despite his pain and already battered body.

“I’m losing too much blood,” the earl said from his side. “We both know what that means.” His breathing was labored as Nathaniel pushed him down at the curb of the street. “If I don’t make it, tell my wife I loved her fiercely.”

He pushed that thought away too. “You can tell her yourself. I know you can dig deep and survive this, Scarecrow. We’ve been through worse. Now, spine of steel, man.” To onlookers, those words might sound harsh, but to a military man, they helped him to focus. Then he staggered across the street a bit before flagging down a jaunty young man on a horse. “I am the Duke of Strathfield. Ride over to White’s. It’s just up the road there, and come back with a surgeon. There is a man here who lost an arm tonight that needs immediate tending to.”

“Right. At once, Your Grace.”

His thoughts were off in far too many directions, but he tended to the needs of the scene first. One by one, he gathered his clubmates together and sent them into the street. When he found Edenthorpe, rather worse for wear but basically intact, they both took on the task, working swiftly and silently, keeping their thoughts and opinions internal for the time being.

Winteringham staggered out with a body in his arms.

Edenthorpe waylaid him. “Who is it?”

“Viscount Beverington. He didn’t make it. Back of his head’s caved in.”

Oh, God. Nathaniel gestured to the street. “Lay him down over there near Hedgecomb. We’ve already summoned a surgeon, but will undoubtedly need another one, and doctors. People who can help.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

As the viscount moved off, Edenthorpe wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Fuck me. Beverington was one of our newest members, and the youngest. Who else has been taken this night by cowards?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” He turned to the duke. “Stay here. You have a family to think of.” Not waiting for an answer, he lurched toward the burning building. An image of Mallory appeared in his mind, and for a moment, fear twisted down his spine. Was she safe at home, waiting for him even now? He’d come so close to losing his life without having spoken the words to her when he should have. Life was far too precious to keep them for another time. Hadn’t he already learned that during the war?

Timelbury helped Broadmoor out of the building. The duke was rough, for due to the state of his scrambled mind from his military service and the fact he hardly left his house, he was lost to a nightmare just now. It was a difficult place to be, and Nathaniel’s heart ached for him.

“Broadmoor’s carriage looks to be a block down. Put him in it and see that he makes it home. We can’t lose him to his mind.”

“You have my promise,” Timelbury said softly. One of his eyes was swelled shut and blood matted his hair, but he was upright and talking. He would be all right.

“Then get yourself home and safe.” Nathaniel kept walking until he came upon Baselford, who favored his right leg but didn’t seem to suffer broken bones. “Go home. Reassure your wife. No doubt she’s heard about the fire.” When he glanced back at the street, a couple of men unknown to him were gathered around Hedgecomb, and a bit of relief slid down his spine. Hopefully, they were surgeons that would take care of him.

St. Vincent was the next one out of the remains of the building with a woman in his arms. When he came close to Nathaniel, he shook his head. “One of the courtesans. All three were trapped abovestairs by the fire on the stairs.”

“Survivors?”

Aldren came up behind him with another woman in his arms. “Only one, but she’s struggling to breathe. Some of the footmen and maids helped her out the back door.” The woman in his arms had been burned badly. She was eerily still.

“Damn. Lay them next to the other body near Hedgecomb. Should I go back inside and search for more survivors?”

The earl answered. “It seems the majordomo kept a clear head. He was in an office at the rear of the building that received less damage. I spoke to him in passing. All the staff but one footman made it out.”

“Good.” Nathaniel nodded. With gritty, streaming eyes and tight muscles, he made his way back to the street where his friends had gathered. Most of them were there, in varying degrees of damage, but they were alive. In addition to the young viscount’s death, apparently two other club members that he hadn’t met had also lost their lives. They had been laid next to the other bodies. Hot anger filled his chest for what had happened tonight. “It would seem there was an explosive device of some sort planted in the main room where we all had gathered if the destruction was contained mostly to that area.”

Edenthorpe nodded. “Which means that either Lady Stover had someone sneak in and plant it, or Hellerton did it earlier in the day when the club was closed.”

St. Vincent’s face, streaked with soot, was quite ghastly with the fierce scowl. “I want her dead.”

“As do I,” Edenthorpe said.

Before Nathaniel could say anything, a footman from his townhouse ran up to him. It took a few seconds for him to catch his breath. “Your Grace...” Concern lay etched over his face. “Good God, what happened here?” He glanced around with wide eyes.

He frowned. “Doesn’t matter now. What the hell are you doing here?”

The young man stood to his full height. Fear reflected in his eyes. “The duchess is gone.”

“What?” Was this hellish night a horrid dream after all?

“I was bringing up her dinner on a tray as she requested. As I reached the third floor from the servant’s stairs, two big burly men came up from the main staircase. They burst into her suite and minutes later they carried her out between them.”

Pain exploded through his chest, and it felt as if he’d been hit with a blow. “Did she fight back?”

“Yes, like a tigress, until one of them punched her. She was quiet and limp after that.”

For a few awful moments, Nathaniel swayed and fully thought he would crumple to the ground, but Edenthorpe’s hand on his shoulder kept him rooted in reality. Swallowing to prevent retching, he asked, “What happened then? Did Jennings try to stop them?”

“I’m sure he would have except they’d knocked him out upon forcing their way in. I dropped my tray and went after them, but they never stopped.” The footman shrugged. “I tried to prevent them from putting Her Grace into a closed carriage, but I was decked by one of ‘em and then shoved into the shrubberies. They were gone before I struggled out.”

Oh, God.

“I’m truly sorry, Your Grace.”

With a shaking hand, Nathaniel dismissed the apology. “It wasn’t your fault.” Yet as he spoke, white-hot anger rose in his chest, went through his blood. “Where was she taken and by whom?”

“I don’t know.” The footman shrugged again. He was rather green about the gills. “One of ‘em said that her mother expected them within the hour, but to God knows where. They didn’t say much after that.”

“Very well.” Nathaniel nodded. “Thank you, Thomas.” His chest was tight. Memories assailed him, but he tried his best to fight them back. He didn’t have the luxury of losing himself in a nightmare. Mallory needed him. “Go home. Gather the staff and keep everyone safe. Do you hear me? No more lives will be lost this night because of that madwoman.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He huffed out a breath. “Hold, Thomas. I might need your help. Lord knows this damned leg will go out sooner rather than later tonight.”

“My lord?” Confusion lined the younger man’s face.

Nathaniel found Edenthorpe’s gaze. “I should go back in and look for anyone else who may still be trapped.”

The duke shook his head. “There are searchers here as well as the firefighters. Let them do their jobs. Besides, almost everyone has been accounted for.”

Suddenly, his mind went blank, and panic rose in his chest. His breathing came in quick pants. “What do I do? Everything is in shambles.”

“Steady, Strathfield.” Edenthorpe lightly tapped Nathaniel’s cheeks. “Focus.” His gaze was hard. “We are going after your wife. Do you hear me?”

“We?” It was impossible.

“Yes, we.” The duke nodded. “I’m going, young Thomas is going, and so is Aldren.” Then the duke called for the viscount. “He’s scrappy and good at fisticuffs. Additionally, he was clever in the war, so he’ll be a good choice.”

“But, to where?”

“Wherever we need to go. Were there any clues given during your encounters with the thugs?”

Finally, his brain clicked. “That damned man from the attack the other night. He said I would be buried under rubble and her under dirt.” Sour bile rose in his throat, prompting him to turn aside and cast up the contents of his stomach. “Oh, God. Surely her own mother won’t kill her, or worse, would Lady Stover be so cruel as to bury her own daughter alive...?”

Edenthorpe took hold of Nathaniel’s upper arm and yanked him upright just as Viscount Aldren joined their group. “Pull yourself together, Major.” The command in the duke’s voice cut through the haze in his mind to activate the strength hiding deep down inside of him. “We will search every quarter of London and Westminster if need be until we find your wife. And God help anyone who is with her because there will be hell to pay.”

The words energized him. He nodded. “I need a pistol.”

“We’ll stop by my townhouse on the way.”

“To where?”

“The first graveyard in Mayfair, and then we’ll work our way outward. Shouldn’t be difficult because those buggars will need lanterns to show them where they’re digging, so we’ll look for the lights.” Edenthorpe looked at Thomas. The poor footman resembled a frightened rabbit caught in a lion’s den. “Go fetch Strathfield’s carriage and no dawdling.”

Despite his will to remain strong, moisture welled in Nathaniel’s eyes. “Thank you for this. If she’s dead...” He didn’t have the wherewithal to finish the statement. Mallory was his life and his reason for living therein. If she was gone, there was nothing left for him... so he would have nothing to lose.

“We shall cross that bridge if we come to it,” Aldren murmured as he patted Nathaniel’s shoulder. “We have all been where you are, and you have helped more than a few of the rogues out of situations just like this. Everyone has come out right as rain. There is no reason to think that won’t happen with you and your wife.”

He nodded, but at the back of his mind, he knew Lady Stover would prove a most difficult opponent. “Let’s go. I can’t lose her, not after I finally realized how much she means to me.” And he wanted the life—the love—having her in his world represented.

Fight, Mallory, fight.