A Heartless Design (30 page)

“I must leave,” she told him. “Will you call a coach for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The servant nodded and disappeared through the great front doors, down to the street. Cordelia waited nervously, praying that Sebastien wouldn’t find her before the footman returned. Several couples were now filtering out of the ballroom, calling for their own carriages or, like Cordelia, for hired cabs.

“This way, ma’am,” the footman said, returning. “He had to park away from the door; it’s crowded tonight.”

“I can manage,” she replied.

“Wait!” he cried suddenly. “He’s driving away! I told him to wait!” He stared in annoyance at a coach rolling slowly down the street.

“Never mind,” she said. “There will be another in a moment.”

And sure enough, another driver pulled his vehicle directly in front of the steps. “Need a ride?” the driver called out, directing his words to the footman, but looking at Cordelia.

“Yes, yes, the lady is your fare!” The footman ran to the door of the coach and opened it for Cordelia. “Here you are ma’am. What address?”

“42 Quince Street,” she replied

The footman bawled the address up to the driver. “Goodnight, ma’am.” He shut the door, and coach began to roll away from the house. Cordelia sagged against the seat.

She didn’t know if breaking with Sebastien would truly work. Her heart ached at the thought of not seeing him again. But if she hadn’t ended their affair, he would have soon enough. It would hurt less this way, she tried to reassure herself.

But what did that leave her? Recent weeks only highlighted how at odds she was with typical polite society. If she had any sense, she would withdraw from it entirely so she wouldn’t have to see the condescending looks of her married friends, or endure the attentions of men who assumed she must be desperate. She did not want any of them. Only Sebastien, a little voice insisted before she could quash the thought. But that was over.

The coach wound through the streets of London, and Cordelia, lost in her own misery, didn’t notice what path it took. But when she inhaled the sharp, salty tang of the Thames, she sat up suddenly. Had the driver gotten lost? They should be nowhere near the river.

Before she could call out the window to find out what was going on, the coach clattered to a halt so suddenly that she was thrown forward onto the floor of the cab. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she hissed. Was it possible the driver was drunk?

As she tried to right herself, the door opened and the driver put a hand in. He did not help her up, but instead grabbed her by the shoulder. “Come on,” he growled. “Get moving.”

“What are you doing?” Cordelia tried to shrug him off, but his grip only tightened. “Where are we?”

“Makes no difference where we are, since you’re not staying here long,” he said, grinning foully. “You’re going aboard.”

Cordelia finally saw that the coach had pulled up at a small dock, where a sleek schooner was held at anchor. Realizing that he meant to drag her onto the ship, she resisted. The man was far stronger than her, though, and he wrestled her out of the coach and held her. She kicked him, hitting his shin, but his hold did not loosen. “Stupid minx,” he growled. “Should have brought a rope with me.”

He dragged her along. Cordelia opened her mouth to scream, but he sensed her move and clapped a hand over her mouth. Then he called out to the ship, alerting them of their arrival.

Someone was evidently on watch, because two shapes appeared on the gangplank. The sailors were on the dock in a matter of seconds.

“So this is our cargo,” one said, laughing. “I like it better than the usual.”

The other didn’t speak, but grabbed Cordelia from the driver, who warned, “Watch out for her, she’ll give you trouble.”

“She can try,” the sailor replied, glancing at her. “But we give trouble, too.”

She quailed at the threat in his tone.

“She’s yours,” the driver went on. “Where’s my cut?”

The sailor produced a small pouch and tossed it to the driver.

The driver opened the bag to be sure, then closed it again and grinned, tucking it into his pocket. “Well, that’s that.” He turned and began walking toward the coach.

The sailors hauled her, still struggling, up the gangplank. On board, her heart sank when she heard a familiar voice.

“Miss Bering! How kind of you to join me.” Hayden stood on deck, looking as pleased as a cat with fresh cream.

“You ordered me kidnapped?” She glared at him.

Hayden put on a mock frown for a moment. “It looks that way, doesn’t it? Why waste time chasing after designs when we could have simply asked for them?”

“There is nothing simple about it,” she said.

“But it
is
simple. You help us build the
Andraste
, or you don’t see your home again.” He gestured to the men standing on either side of her. “Take her.”

Hands tightened on her arms. She lost sight of Hayden as they moved her below deck. In despair, she realized that she was truly alone. No one knew where she was. Sebastien was the one person who might know how to find her…and she had told him she never wanted to see him again.

Sebastien didn’t sleep well. He
couldn’t forget Cordelia’s words when she announced that he should no longer see her. Whether or not she was correct about the risk involved, the idea of losing her still made him turn cold. He was not pleased at the thought of her shutting herself away in a sleepy seaside town to avoid gossip.

He had to convince Cordelia that she belonged with him, and marrying him wouldn’t be the penance she seemed to consider it to be. He thought he had convinced her that some aspects of marriage could be enjoyable indeed. But Cordelia cherished her freedom more than anything else, and he didn’t know how to make her believe she’d always be able to do what she wanted. Of course, all that convincing was dependent on her actually listening to him. And she had told him in no uncertain terms that she never intended to speak to him again.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror across the room. The image he saw scarcely looked familiar. He’d been running ragged the last few weeks and it showed, at least to his critical eye. Shaking his head, he decided that whatever else was going on with the
Andraste
designs, he had to take care of this one aspect of his life, which was to settle the issue of Cordelia. And that meant swallowing his pride and going to her, despite the fact that she didn’t want to see him.

It didn’t take long for him to dress, and soon he was in his two-wheeler, driving toward Quince Street. The morning was a fine one, nearly cloudless and already warm. He allowed himself to hope that, after their interview, Cordelia might let him drive her to the park. After they became engaged, such an outing would be perfectly acceptable.

When he arrived at Cordelia’s home, however, all pleasant thoughts were driven from his mind. As soon as he pulled up to the door, Jem appeared to take the reins. But from the look in the young man’s eyes, it was not the horse he was concerned about. “Morning, my lord,” he said shortly. “Stiles was hoping you’d come.”

“Stiles?” Sebastien frowned, but hurried up the steps. The door opened before he could knock, and the parlormaid Ivy bobbed a careless curtsy, too distracted to do more. “If you’ll go to the drawing room, my lord. I’ll fetch Stiles immediately.”

Stiles again. Sebastien couldn’t imagine that the man was particularly eager to talk to him, considering their previous encounter. And why did no one mention Cordelia?  Was she ill? But if she was not receiving, the maid would have surely said so.

He only just stepped into the drawing room when he heard the deliberate footfalls of the stocky butler from behind him. He turned to see Stiles, his normally unshakeable air definitely disturbed this morning.

“My lord,” he began, his gravelly voice pitched low, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear him. “It’s very good you came.”

“What happened? Where is Cordelia?” Sebastien demanded.

Stiles looked stricken. “We don’t know.”

“What?” he said in a dangerous voice.

“She never returned home last night. Bond waited up as long as she dared. Sometimes the parties go late. But at four in the morning, she roused me. I sent to the night watch to see if there was an accident, but they knew nothing. Jem went round to all the hospitals, just in case, but she’s not in hospital either. I think it’s the ones, sir. You know…”

Grimly, Sebastien nodded. “At this point, I don’t believe in coincidences.” He took Stiles by the arm. “Tell the other servants not to worry. There’s someone I must see, but I’ll return as soon as I can. In the meantime, keep the household running just as usual, and
don’t
panic.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles nodded. He’d caught the look in Thorne’s eye. He didn’t doubt the gentleman would do everything he could to find Cordelia. He only hoped it would be enough.

Before Sebastien could leave the room, Leona appeared, looking pale and fragile and suddenly very old in the bright light. “Stiles?” she asked, stepping into the room. “Did someone come with new—” She saw Sebastien and sighed. “Oh, it’s you, my lord.” She cast an uncertain glance at Stiles, who interpreted her wordless question.

“I have told him, madam,” the butler said.

“Oh.” Leona seemed relieved. She walked toward Thorne. “You were at the ball last night, correct? When did you last see Cordelia?”

He remembered all too vividly his last moments with Cordelia. But he said only “I saw her in the front hall shortly after midnight. She had just called for a carriage.”

“Midnight! That’s even earlier than I had thought!” Leona twisted her hands in frustration. “Oh, she could be anywhere! An accident to the carriage, or worse…”

Thorne was sure it was much worse, but he said nothing.

“Please sit down, madam,” Stiles begged his mistress. She complied, wilting onto a chair. Ivy, who had peeked in, immediately left again to fetch tea. Stiles followed her, leaving the two alone. Leona looked again at Sebastien. “It has been an awful morning,” she said candidly.

“It will be a bad day,” he warned. “You can’t let anyone outside the household know that she is gone. Not until I find her, Mrs Wharton.” 

“Lord Dunham already knows,” Leona said quietly. “He escorted me home last night, and was here when the servants alerted me.”

“He’s trustworthy,” Sebastien said. “He won’t spread rumors. But if anyone else asks, you must a have a story ready.”

She looked up at him, considering. Her eyes gained a certain hard light. “I can tell any visitors that Cordelia has gone to Bristol already. She’d been talking about it, and no one will question it if I say she left town a little early.”

“Also send a servant or two to that house, in order to answer questions if they come up. No one who writes to her there should expect a quick answer, so a few days of silence won’t attract comment.”

Leona remembered something. “Oh! There is the matter of Lear. I can only hope that the letters arriving for him are not terribly urgent. Cordelia is usually so prompt when she responds to them.”

Given his distraction, Thorne took a moment to register what the woman said. Then he stared at her. “Wait! You know that Cordelia is Lear?”

“Dear boy, I have eyes, do I not? My brother was a brilliant man, but his bequest to Cordelia would never have allowed us to live as comfortably as we do now. My niece has used the trick for years, not just to supplement her income but to distract herself from boredom. I knew she didn’t tell me because she feared that I would think her pastime unseemly. But as it happens, I’m quite proud of her ingenuity.” Leona paused, tilting her head in consideration. “But how did you learn about it?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We’ve had reason to have several discussions about her activities.”

“Have you? Then you approve of her choices?”

“I don’t know that it makes a jot of difference whether or not I approve. But I couldn’t imagine her any other way.”

Leona sighed. “You said that you will find her. Do you know how?”

“I think so. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power.” Which, to be honest, was rather a lot, even if he weren’t a part of the Zodiac. Thorne was willing to spend thousands to recover Cordelia, and perhaps more to avenge her. He profoundly hoped it would not come to that.

Leona looked up at him. “That is heartening. I think you understand how much she means to me, to everyone who really knows her.”

He stood up. “I do. Wish me luck.” As he left, Thorne turned the situation over in his mind. Whoever was after the plans must have discovered Cordelia knew more about them than she claimed. Taking her was a logical step, if one were ruthless. And if it was Hayden, then ruthlessness would certainly apply. He only hoped that Hayden didn’t realize that she herself was the creator.

He went to Forester first. His friend would understand the gravity of the situation.

“Cordelia…that is, Miss Bering…is missing. I have no proof yet, but I’m sure that she was taken by Hayden.”

“But Hayden already bought the flawed designs. Why would he want
her
?”

Sebastien inhaled. “Because she designed the
Andraste
.”

The look on Forester’s face was almost comic. “Designed…how?”

“Meaning she bloody
made
them. She thought up the ship. She learned what metals to use. She drafted the plans to construct the prototype!”

“But what about Lear?”

“There is no Lear. She created him too, as a convenient shield to hide her own inventions. She used the name when she wanted to communicate with others.”

“Well, that explains why the gentleman was so hard to find.”

“Indeed.” Sebastien recalled how he had wrung the truth about Lear from Cordelia. He hoped that no one else would dream of using the same methods. In fact, he’d kill anyone who tried.

“Thorne?” Forester asked, watching him carefully. “You look furious.”

“I am furious. I should never have let her out of my sight.”

“I don’t think that was really an option, considering who and what she was. Is.”

“I would have thought of something.”