Page 18 of One Night in Vauxhall Gardens (Singular Sensation #11)

Harry came out of unconsciousness with a start, and when he couldn’t move his arms, he began to panic, until the sound of St. Vincent’s voice somewhat calmed him.

“Easy, Hedgecomb. We are safe, but only just. God knows how long the reprieve will last.” The words were said in a whisper that made the complete darkness that much more eerie.

“What the hell happened?” The last thing he remembered was going outside his townhouse to enter his carriage, for he was to meet Theresa at Broadmoor’s ball. Pain emanating from the back of his head indicated he’d been hit with a blunt object or perhaps the butt of a pistol and knocked out. The slap of water against the shore as well as the familiar stench of the river indicated they were quite near to the Thames.

“I’m not entirely certain, but if I had to guess, I’d say Lady Stover and her gang ambushed us.” Annoyance wove through the earl’s voice. “Shortly before leaving to join my wife at the ball, I received a missive saying there was trouble at the club. When I arrived there, Edenthorpe’s office had been ransacked, Lord Timelbury had been beaten and left with a dislocated shoulder, while Winteringham looked like he'd defended the club to his best ability. After we dispersed, I was attacked and knocked out on the pavement.”

Harry tried to move his arms and finally realized his wrists had been tied behind his back, and what was more, his arms were tied to St. Vincent’s, who had been put in much the same situation. They were back-to-back and sat on what felt like damp earth outside. “Where are we?”

“No idea. Somewhere near the docks or the Thames if I had to guess.” A grunt issued from him. “Do stop wriggling, Hedgecomb. The bonds are stuck fast and tugging on them will only make them tighter.”

“Right.” As he concentrated on the pounding in his head, he glanced around, trying to discern their location in the dark. A few lights bobbed on what he suspected was water, but they were too far away to hail the people, assuming anyone would come to their aid. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he could make out the hulking structure of perhaps a bridge or a large building. If it was London Bridge, the chances of people seeing them this far below was slim. “I’ll wager we’re near the Thames. That stink is quite distinctive.”

“Indeed.” St. Vincent moved a foot. “The earth is damp and soft meaning we’re near the water line or it comes up this high when the tide is high, so not at the docks.”

“The two of you aren’t stupid, I’ll give you that.”

Harry narrowed his eyes as the flare of a lantern lit the immediate area before being shaded and the flame brought low. “Ah, Lady Stover I presume?” There was a swift and sure dislike building in his gut and chest as he first laid eyes on the woman who had caused so many problems to his friends.

“Who else?” In the dim light, she came forward, and there was something about her scandalous attire that fit the mood. Clad in tan men’s breeches, a loose flowing lawn shirt and a fawn-colored waistcoat, no doubt having her legs free allowed her better movement as she climbed about the riverbank, for that was indeed where they were. Her blonde hair had been pinned back and caught beneath a top hat in brown beaver felt decorated with a brown satin band—her only concession to feminine novelty. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Hedgecomb.”

“Shall we skip the pleasantries?” St. Vincent asked with no loss of the annoyance in his tone. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“Such a grumpy fellow you are tonight, St. Vincent.” She tsked her tongue and moved nearer to them. The man behind her carried the lantern and brought it closer. Only then did Harry spy the silver ladies’ pistol with an ivory butt in her right hand. “Don’t you want to know who I have with me tonight who will bear witness to your demise?”

“I already know who the man in the shadows is. Your lover for many years, isn’t it? The Marquess of Hallerston.” There was a decided growl in St. Vincent’s voice. “Is he the one funding your enterprise or does he do some of the dirty work, so you don’t sully your hands?” The earl moved his shoulders, which brushed against Harry’s. “Surprised the two of you haven’t managed to kill Stover so you can make your relationship legitimate.”

“It’s no concern of yours, St. Vincent.” The man elected to remain in the shadows. Harry couldn’t see his face all that well. “What I bring to her and what she gives to me is no one’s business except our own.”

Harry frowned. “Yet you were once part of the Rogue’s Arcade. Lady Stover despises them and is with you. A conflict of interest, surely.”

“Or motivation,” St. Vincent said as he twisted in an effort to see both of them. “He had a falling out with Edenthorpe, probably thought the duke was in the wrong, wanted payback. During a tryst with Lady Stover, they got to talking and discovered their paths were intertwining and decided to make a go of it with revenge.”

“Bravo, St. Vincent. You are quite the detective.” Yet there was no praise in Lady Stover’s voice. “I’ll admit, I never loved my husband, not like I’ve loved Hallerston, so yes, this partnership has been most rewarding on many fronts.” Her grin was quite macabre in the flickering lantern light. “However, his information about the club has helped tremendously, and we are close to destroying every one of the rogues.”

“I doubt that.” The earl persisted. “Do you truly think taking us both captive will go well for you? That you’ll be able to kill us?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes glittered in the dim light. “Especially because no one knows where the two of you are, and the fact your death will come swiftly. In about forty-five minutes, if you must know.” Before either of them could say anything, she brought up her pistol, cocked it, then fired. A grunt and a low groan came from St. Vincent. “A pity, though. It seems your friend might bleed out before that happens though.” Again, she tsked her tongue. “Some men just don’t know when to remain silent.”

Shit. Harry’s chest tightened further. “Talk to me, Leo.”

“The fucking woman shot me in the side.” Pain wove through the response. “God only knows if it hit a vital organ, but it hurts like the devil, so there’s a good chance.”

Laughter from Lady Stover grated over Harry’s nerves. “Let’s move on, shall we?” She came close enough for him to see the smoke still curling up from the nose of her pistol. “Time truly is of the essence now, and there is much to say.” Then she squatted down so she was eye level with both of them. “I will so delight in killing you. Though I hadn’t anticipated some of the rogues to be so strong or fortunate during my attacks, the pair of you have been relatively easy.”

Harry shook his head. This scenario was having a horrible effect on his mind, bringing him right back to those days during the war when he’d been taken captive. It took all his willpower to keep those two halves of him separate. “What the devil is wrong with you?” Worried about St. Vincent, he turned his attention into getting out of this situation.

“Nothing.” Her trill of laughter sounded wildly out of place in this horrible place. “I’m having the best time, but there is something quite wrong with you , isn’t there Hedgecomb, or shall I call you Scarecrow?”

Sweat rolled down his spine, plastering his fine lawn shirt to his back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come now. When you were captured by the French a handful of years ago, you were nearly broken, weren’t you? That, coupled with what you did in the war makes for many ghosts to haunt you, hmm?”

“I haven’t been that man in years.” He tried to ignore St. Vincent’s labored breathing, the metallic scent of blood in the air that mixed with the foul odors from the river, attempted to calculate how much time they had until the earl went unconscious.

“Ah, but none of us are allowed to escape the sins and decisions of our past. You will carry yours to your grave, won’t you? Too bad you will never find peace.”

Anger shot to the forefront. “How do you catalogue yours then? Must be a long list. If I can’t escape mine, neither can you.”

“That assumes I am ashamed of my past, which I am not. I am on a mission.” Lady Stover gestured with her pistol. The man holding the lantern gave it to the marquess. He then uncorked a couple of bottles of brandy and proceeded to dump the contents all over Harry and St. Vincent.

“What the hell?” Harry sputtered, tried to avoid the direct stream. “Are you mad?”

“Of course not, merely driven.” She leaned forward and grabbed him by the chin; her fingers were like a vice as she made him meet her gaze. “You and St. Vincent will be taken out on the water in a few minutes by Viscount Dovington there and then left in a rowboat, which will be tied, quite sloppily in fact, to one of the piers. When the tide comes in, unfortunately with no way to steer the small craft, you will not be able to shoot the bridge. Due to your stationary state, and the unpredictability of the tides combined with the push and pull of London Bridge’s unique structural issues means that unfortunately, the two of you will drown.”

“I think you are wildly underestimating us,” St. Vincent said in a low voice wracked with pain. “With the bridge’s improvements over the past forty years, shooting the bridge isn’t that much of a threat.”

“Ha. I rather doubt that. Plenty of men still drown in those rapids created by the piers and arches. The improvements did little to help and all of London knows it.” She shook her head. “Besides, you are wounded and bleeding out. Both of you are tied up. No one knows where you are. Your bodies will wash ashore by midday, and the news will be in all the papers tomorrow evening. London will be surprised and shocked. Then ultimately, after a brief inquiry, the powers-that-be will consider you idiots and assume you were drunk as you tried to make the run in the dark, no doubt on a dare. We’ll leave enough evidence behind to substantiate this theory.”

Ah, that explained the waste of brandy that was poured all over them. “Do you honestly think anyone will believe that tale?”

“Of course I do, especially when it comes to you, Hedgecomb, the man who has wanted to die for at least a couple of years.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, for there will be two less rogues for me to worry about.”

When he wrenched his chin from her hold, Harry spat on her cheek. “We won’t go down without a fight.”

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as she stood. “I look forward to watching you die, Hedgecomb.”

St. Vincent stirred. “What of my wife? I want your word you’ll leave her alone.”

“What of her?” A delighted chuckle came from Lady Stover. “I hear she’s increasing again. I hope the shock of your demise won’t send her into a collapse that might harm the babe, but there will be mourning, I’m sure. Women who love as hard and as desperately as the countess will be inconsolable for a while.”

St. Vincent scrabbled for footing. His back pushed against Harry’s, but ultimately, he was too weak. “I will see you dead myself.”

“I doubt that.” She chuckled again as she focused her gaze on Harry. “Being desperate brings me around to Hedgecomb. Your dear fiancée, the woman he believes can’t possibly love you as broken as you are, the woman you only just discovered you have feelings for? Oh, I’ll make sure she’s dealt with as she should have been years ago, especially since she’s flaunting the ruby and diamond jewelry that is rightfully mine.”

Well, damn. She’d noticed. “Last time I checked, you weren’t using it.”

“Bastard!” She drilled the butt of her pistol into the side of his head, and for a few moments, he honestly thought he’d succumb to unconsciousness again, but he fought against it to glare at her.

The urge to cast up his accounts grew strong. When he couldn’t tamp it, he leaned away and vomited all over the ground.

“In the event you wondered? Viscount Dovington is the man who raped your fiancée all those years ago. When he saw you driving her about last week, he grew quite incensed she apparently forgot what happened to her by landing an earl. So he came to me, offered his services, for we both want you dead.”

Harry glanced at the man who was half in shadows. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a ballroom with his blond hair set with pomade and the folds of his cravat in place. This was the man who ruined Theresa’s life? “There is nowhere for you to hide, my friend, for I will see you in hell by the end of this night for what you did to her.”

“What the hell is happening?” St. Vincent demanded, but everyone ignored him.

The viscount leaned down and laughed in his face. “She is damaged goods, Hedgecomb, and doesn’t deserve to become your countess. And Lord knows I don’t need her to name me in the process.”

“She didn’t, you nodcock, because she knew I’d come after you. The one who implicated you was yourself.”

“Shut up.” Then he grabbed one of Harry’s arms and yanked him to his feet, dragging St. Vincent up in the process, helped by the marquess. “Once you drown and I verify it, I intend to tell the right gossips what happened to Lady Theresa eight years ago, and I’ll make certain they know every scandalous and horrifying detail.”

“That you did to her!”

“Oh, I’ll change a few bits, of course. Her reputation will be ruined, and she’ll be forced to leave Town. Perhaps she’ll leave with her sister-in-law. At least they won’t be alone. Hmm?” He shoved them further down the bank.

Only then did Harry spy a small rowboat—a dingy really—tied to a post. Fear poured over him. There were stories, of course, of men trying to shoot the bridge in longboats and how many of those failed. It would prove nearly impossible to do in a rowboat without anyone at the helm or with oars.

“What’s he talking about, Harry?” This time, fatigue sounded in Leo’s voice. It was just a matter of time now before he bled out, but at least it would save him the pain of drowning.

“I…” After all the work Theresa did to put her past shame and humiliation and agony behind her, to accept that she had every right to make the decision she had, finally believed that she had done nothing wrong, it would destroy her after all. “It’s not my story to tell and perhaps in the circumstances, it’s best you don’t meet your demise with that the last thing in your head.”

“Get in the boat.” Lady Stover shoved them toward the rowboat. “Even in this you would protect her, Hedgecomb? No groveling for your life?”

“What is my life without her?” He shrugged the best he could with his hands tied behind his back. “I love her. I promised her that I would protect her no matter what, and I will until the moment I cease to draw breath. What wouldn’t you do for the people you love?”

At least she had enriched his life while he’d been with her, and he hoped that he might have helped her too. He forced moisture into his tight throat. Except… would she mourn for him? Did she return his feelings?

“What is it with you rogues and your belief in the power of love? It will not save you; at least not this time.” Again, she shoved at his shoulder and laughed when both he and St. Vincent tumbled into the rowboat and fell to the floor. “Love does nothing for a person. Only power, money, and position can bring security and leverage. Those are the things worth fighting for.”

Though St. Vincent groaned, Harry righted them as best he could on the floorboards. He glared at the countess and the viscount. “I feel sorry for you both. Eventually, being villains will catch up with you, and you’ll meet your makers. I hope you’ve squared with that eventuality.”

“Hardly.” Lady Stover shook her head. “I will prevail, and once all of you are gone, nothing will stand in my way of owning every corner of London and using it all for my gain and those who are on my side.” With a jerk of her head, the viscount untied the rope that kept the rowboat tethered. “Now, gentlemen, I’m afraid I must bid you adieu. The lads here will take a second boat out and will secure yours to one of the piers. After that, we will wait for nature and the tide to take its course.”

Only then did Harry see the second boat the marquess had climbed into. It was larger than the rowboat. Another man was in the vessel, and he guessed that man would help to row and pilot the craft. The viscount tied the rope of their rowboat to the back of the larger boat then he came toward Harry.

“Once you’re gone, perhaps I’ll pay a call on Lady Theresa, perhaps take what I want from her again. After being with you, I’ll wager she’s got some experience behind her now that will make things more interesting than the first time. And I’ll be sure to remove the rubies from her person, since I know she’s wearing them tonight.”

“If you touch one hair on her head, I’ll make certain your death is a painful one!” Though he struggled, of course Harry couldn’t free himself from the bonds that bound him to St. Vincent.

The viscount laughed as he hopped into the larger boat. “You are quite correct, Lady Stover. Watching this rogue die will be quite satisfying.”

“Indeed.” Lady Stover rested a booted foot on the edge of the rowboat. “Say your prayers and goodbyes, Your Lordships. I am that much closer to meeting my goal. With you and Edenthorpe gone, removing the remaining members of the club should be simple.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting out the fact that the duke was alive. “Fuck off, Lady Stover, and know this. Hell is waiting for you, and even then it will be too good a place for you after everything.”

She laughed, and the sound sent icy chills down his spine. “Enjoy these last moments of life, Hedgecomb. Your threats are useless. I’ll be watching from the top of the bridge.”

In short order, the other boat pulled away from the bank, towing theirs behind it.

As water lapped against the sides and some sloshed over the hull, he sat on the bottom with St. Vincent tied to his back. “I’m sorry,” he said into the darkness. Talking would at least stave off the terror for a bit.

“None of this is your fault.” Exhaustion and pain wove through his friend’s voice. “Will you tell me what happened to Theresa at Dovington’s hand?”

“No. I made her a promise and I refuse to break it.” He stared forlornly into the dark water as they made their silent way over the Thames and toward London Bridge. “If I die, her secret stays with me.”

“Did you mean what you said back there, that you love my sister?”

“Yes. With everything that I am. I don’t know how or when it happened, but it did. With her, I’m the man I was always meant to be, at least she makes me think so.” A wave of sadness came crashing over him. Moisture sprang into his eyes, and he was thankful for the darkness that hid the emotion from the other man. “I love Theresa, and now I won’t have the opportunity to tell her. I regret that.”

St. Vincent poked his palm with a forefinger. “Do shut up, Hedgecomb. We’ve been in tighter quarters than these.” He coughed. “Of course, I might not live to see how we get out of this one, though.”

“You will, and if I need to risk my life to show you that, I will. You need to live for the sake of your growing family.” His voice broke on the last words, for that was something he would never have for himself. “You have much to accomplish yet in this life.”

“No.” St. Vincent shook his head. “So do you. Theresa is waiting for you. She’s expecting you to survive, Harry, and unless I miss my guess, she loves you too.”

He refused to give into that hope. It would make him careless. “Doubtful, but why do you say that?”

“From all I can tell, my sister is happy for the first time in a long while. I can only attribute that to your arrival in her life.” The pain was far too evident in his voice. Then he groaned. “If I don’t make it, you must. I need you to look after my wife, my daughter, and my sister. Hell, even my mother. Protect them, Harry. Don’t let this madwoman win.”

“But you’re not—”

“Be reasonable. No one knows where we are, and even if they did, how would rescue come? It’s an impossible situation.” He paused to draw a few breaths. “If I don’t receive medical attention soon, I’m done for. Already I’m growing weak. Once we’re in the water, it’s over for me.” His voice wavered. “I’m not afraid to die; I made peace with that in the war. But I would have liked to kiss my wife one more time. God, I love her. She’s made everything better, made me better when I never thought it possible.”

“I understand that all too well.” This time it was him trying to comfort the other man with his fingers. “Don’t give up just yet. Life has a way of surprising us, and I’m certain we didn’t survive the war just to die in the damned Thames.”

If only he could believe that for himself.

Ah, Theresa, there is so much I wanted to say to you, but just know I do love you.

Always.