EscapeWithMe (15 page)

Samantha was not an item in a list of errands. That he had
attempted to think of her as such gave him no high opinion of himself. He had
tried to label the feelings she evoked in him simply the consequence of his
time at sea—mere lust that needed slaking—and while he was certainly fixated on
carnal pleasure in her company, it was more than that.

Owing to her ordeal, he had tried to keep his distance from
her, to return in a week and then assess her state. He had planned to discuss
the ledgers with her when she woke, eat a meal and then be off.

Then he had followed her into the bathroom, knowing she
would be shedding her closely fitted men’s clothes. She had let him watch. He
had struggled with both anger and approval as the smear of powder was scrubbed
from her skin, had all too quickly been ready to shed his breeches and feel her
soapy skin against him. Mary’s interruption was like the clearing of fog and he
forced himself to eat in the other room.

He was braced for when she came in with the towel tucked
around her bosom and a delightful blush on her cheeks, but when she said she
had no other clothes, the outrageous notion that she would be walking the
spaces of his apartment in the nude had been the tipping point.

The things she had said, the indulgent moans, the way she
touched herself. He was intoxicated on her, addicted to the feel of her. His
cock rose eagerly at the memory of her bent over the bed, her hair spilled
across her shoulders and the bed, her posterior bouncing against his hips.

There was no time for this, however much he wanted it. He
retrieved a fresh shirt from the bureau and fetched his breeches from the floor
by the bed. As he dressed, he listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom.
He would never again enter that room without recalling the sight of her
bathing.

When she emerged, once more wrapped in a towel, he was
nearly dressed. He sat to tighten the buckles at his knees.

“I’ve a letter to send to an associate of mine in the city.
He returned from the war as prosperous as I, and he is not burdened with many
scruples. I would meet him when I return to discuss an investment opportunity,
but with Webb watching…”

“You need to make the meeting look innocuous.”

“Precisely,” he said with some pride. “Somewhere public with
many people. I considered the opera house, but I’d prefer somewhere with easier
access to some privacy.”

She perked up with a gasp. “Vauxhall. You can meet him there
in the evening.”

An excellent notion. He considered it as he pulled his boots
on. The pleasure garden was well-attended and drew all classes of Londoners. He
had not been but heard certain walks were darker and more secluded than others.

“But for what reason would I be there? I would find it
difficult to convince Webb that I simply wish to enjoy the garden’s
entertainments.”

Samantha showed him a tight-lipped smile. Damn but she was
lovely.

“I’ll be your excuse. Your mistress demanded that you take
her.”

And devilishly clever. He grinned. “Madam, you are a
treasure.”

Ryder stood and shrugged into his jacket. Samantha crossed
the room and he found his gaze locked on the cleft of her breasts. She reached
to him and his cock jumped in his breeches. She gently straightened and
smoothed his jacket collar.

“Good luck in Lydd. I hope you find good news.”

His hand went to the back of her head before he could stop himself.
Jerking her against him, he kissed her. She was pliant, sweet. Her arms curled
around his shoulders. He held her tighter.

She pulled her lips free, breathless. “You’re hard again.”

He set her from him and barely swallowed a needy sound. “I
wax full in the light of your beauty.”

Her eyes went wide and her reddened lips parted. “Wow, that
was…” She shook her head and dropped her eyes, suddenly bashful. It only made
her more beautiful.

“Was what?”

“Poetic. Romantic.”

The compliment had him smiling, quite smugly in fact. He
very much enjoyed how his words affected her. He lifted her hand and kissed the
back of it.

“Until I return, Samantha.”

“Travel safely.” Another brief kiss and he left.

Before he had her on the bed again.

* * * * *

With a week until she and Ryder visited Vauxhall, Sam began
the task of reading the several ledgers he had obtained from his brother. She
sat at the table in the bedroom with what seemed to be the first ledger,
judging by the dates on its front page, and ate the meal Mary had fetched from
a nearby tavern. Ryder’s half-empty plate had gone into her stomach first and
she was almost done with her own. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

At least she wasn’t wearing a towel anymore. The
indispensable Mary had brought a plain chemise and a green jacket with matching
skirt for her to wear until the seamstress arrived. The skirt was far too short
and the jacket was too tight, but it was a much better alternative to being
naked. Ryder probably wouldn’t mind but she would.

She heard Mary coming up the stairs and finished her plate
so that Mary could have something to do with it. The servant had been in and
out of the bedroom four times in the last hour looking for some chore to occupy
her time. Sam was feeling a little cabin fever herself. All of
eighteenth-century London was out there and she was stuck inside until she
didn’t attract double takes at how she was dressed. No shirt, no shoes, no
service kind of thing.

“I brought you some tea,” Mary said. She traded Sam’s empty
plate for a saucer cradling a delicate teacup.

“Thanks, Mary.” So far, the ledgers were fairly standard.
Various goods were bought on the Continent, including Calais and Le Havre. She
made a mental note to get ink and parchment for taking notes of the typical
cargo and the merchants who sold them.

“Going well, miss?” Mary asked. Sam looked up at the maid’s
expectant face.

“Fairly well. How about you? You must be feeling strange,
working in a new house.”

Mary smiled uneasily. “Yes, but I’m excited. Mr. West is
much more generous than Mrs. Hayes, I’ve learned. I’ll have more time off and
I’m thinking of visiting my parents.”

“That’s a lovely idea. I’d like to meet them too, if that’s
all right.”

“I don’t think they’d min—Qu-quiet you!” Mary’s face
contorted. Her shoulders went up and her fingers clamped around the tray with
Sam’s empty plate. “I know, I
know
. You told me a hundred times.”

Sam pressed herself back in the chair. “Whoa. Mary?”

“But that doesn’t
mean
anything!”

She stood and gently took Mary’s shoulders. “Tell me what
it’s saying.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ask it to explain,” Sam encouraged.

The maid struggled for the right words. “Wh-who is the pig?”
She twisted out of Sam’s hold. “It just says the same thing.”

“Repeat it for me.”

“‘The pig couldn’t wait and now it’s too late’. Couldn’t
wait for what?” Mary then gasped. Her death grip on the tray loosened. “It
stopped.”

Sam directed the maid to sit in her chair. She took the tray
from her and set it on the open ledger. “When did it start saying that?”

“A little before you and Mr. West woke up. The only time I
get any relief is when I’m occupied with work. I don’t mean to bother you so
much, miss. It’s just—it was driving me mad.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Oh Mary, don’t ever feel like you’re bothering me, especially
when
that’s
happening. I actually have my own rhyme to share with you.
Maybe you’ll understand it?” She popped open the locket, which got a lot of
“oohing” from Mary, and read the stanza to her.

“The owl,” the maid said contemplatively. “I thought Mr.
West might be the owl, but it doesn’t sound like him now.”

Sam nodded. “I thought so too. Do you remember what happened
the first night I spent with Ryder? That man came in the house looking for
him?” At Mary’s nod, she continued. “I think he’s the owl. He was watching the
apartment last night when Ryder and I got here.”

“Ooh, miss, he sounds like trouble,” Mary fretted.

“It also sounds like there’s something I need to know about
him. If you ever see someone watching you or me or the apartment, tell me or
Ryder, okay?”

“Of course, miss.”

From downstairs came a knock. Mary shot to her feet.

“The seamstress. Oh, oh. I’ll get that. You just wait here,
miss.”

“You can call me Sam.” She squeezed Mary’s arm, glad to have
someone who understood some of what she was going through. Mary’s expression
suggested the same.

* * * * *

Like father, like son. William West was a selfish, cold man
and Phillip was well on his way to emulating his father. That Phillip hid from
his pursuit for justice only proved his guilt. He knew his crimes and now he
sought to avoid punishment for them.

Webb would not rest until the son hanged, and then the elder
West would understand true loss, what it had meant to him when Elaine died. She
was an angel and he was a snake, and there was no doubt in Webb’s mind that
William West was to blame for her death.

That Elaine’s son was also tainted with the elder West’s
corrupt influence pained Webb to no end. William had been known to frequent
brothels and Ryder showed the same proclivity. Webb would have preferred that
Ryder had not returned from the colonies to involve himself, but with the war
over and his only family drowning in debt owing to their rotting morality, the
part of his mother in him had sought to save them. No doubt the part of his
father in him would seek to do so by abetting his brother’s crimes.

Were he to discover that Ryder was an accomplice to his
brother’s deeds, Webb would have no choice but to hang them both from the
nearest tree.

He was but one man, however, and could not follow Ryder
about town while also observing his apartment as well as the elder West’s home.
It was increasingly apparent when the maid admitted a young woman who was a
mere seamstress that Phillip West was not here.

The door was nearly shut when the maid spotted him from his
position at the mouth of an alley across the street. Cursing under his breath,
he left the alley and walked away from the apartment. He knew he should have
followed Ryder when he had the chance. Assistance was required and though it would
be costly, he was determined to find justice for the many wrongs the West
family had wrought. Carter deserved that.

Elaine deserved better.

Chapter Ten

Sam was so anxious she could hardly sit still. A simple boat
ride across the Thames and she would be in one of London’s famous pleasure
gardens, where she and Ryder would have a clandestine meeting with a potential
investor in their criminal enterprise.

More than that, it was the locket’s next clue.

Oliver had pulled the coach up to the stairs where watermen
acquired fares to ferry across the river to Vauxhall. From the coach, she could
see the faint glow of the garden’s lights across the water.

“I shall return promptly, sir,” Oliver said. He descended
from his perch atop the coach and hastened to find an available waterman.

Maybe anxious wasn’t the right word. Excited? Utterly giddy?

“You are lovely,” Ryder said. His voice had that edge to it
when he got to thinking of a particular subject. Her cheeks warmed.

He hadn’t said anything yet about the dress and she had
wondered if she looked properly “eighteenth century” in it. It was rather
light, a white muslin dress with layers of silk gauze that she couldn’t stop
stroking. As seemed typical, the sleeves ended at the elbows and were
embellished at the cuffs with even more lace. The bodice closed over her bust
but sloped away as the eye went down to reveal a false vest embroidered with
delicate budding vines that matched the skirt, which unfortunately trailed on
the ground behind her, though the seamstress assured her that was
“fashionable”.

Seemed to Sam like a good way to get dirt on her dress.

“Thank you,” she said. It was difficult to gauge his
expression in the dark coach but she could sense he was watching her. “I know
it’s too late to change the meeting, but you’ve got to be exhausted. Did you
even have dinner?”

Ryder had returned from Lydd covered with dust from the road
only a couple of hours before. He had cleaned up quite well but she could see
the tiredness under his eyes as they left the apartment.

“I am more than fine, and I hear the ham at Vauxhall is
famous. Perhaps we’ll have time to take supper there. Did you have luck with
the ledgers? I hadn’t a chance to ask.”

“I did. I have notes on what Phillip was shipping and from
whom he purchased it. One thing was strange though.”

“Oh?”

“I saw entries for brandy he bought in Calais, but the sales
entries don’t match. They somehow had more brandy to sell than what they
bought. Does that make any sense?”

Ryder didn’t answer immediately and then a loud clap rang
out in the coach, making her jump. “Of course!” He laughed and relaxed into his
seat. “Perhaps Phillip need not remain in hiding.”

“Spit it out already. I’m in suspense.” That got a chuckle
from him.

“Brandy is distilled at a high alcohol concentration. It
takes up less volume and can be let down at its destination to a more drinkable
strength. Phillip purchased over-proof brandy and reduced its strength after
unloading in Lydd.”

“Then he could sell more tubs—maybe even improve his profit
margin.” Sam had to admit it was smart and efficient. “But why is this good for
Phillip now?”

“You’ll recall that my brother gave a tub of brandy to Simon
Carter? I believe I know what happened to the poor man.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. Of course. Simon Carter drank over-proof
brandy and gave himself alcohol poisoning. Phillip hadn’t killed him on
purpose.

The pig couldn’t wait and now it’s too late.

“Ready then, sir?” Oliver called as he ran up. The door of
the coach opened. Ryder alighted first. He then extended his hand to her. Light
thrown by the torches at the river stairs illuminated his face. She slid her
hand against his warm palm. His eyelids were low. His lips tweaked just a
little as though he was suppressing a smile. He guided her from the coach, his
arm sweeping behind her to place the trailing skirt of her dress into her hand.

“This way, sir.” His driver led them to a waiting boat where
the waterman was no doubt anxious to be under way. Many other people, both on
foot and in coaches, awaited a ride across the Thames.

They rode across the river with a pair of ladies, not more
than ten minutes, and Ryder helpfully guided all three of them off the boat on
the other side. He then tucked her hand into his elbow and held it there as
they ascended the Vauxhall Stairs. At the top, a lane led directly to a sort of
gatehouse three stories tall and bracketed by long stone walls. The pleasure
garden was enormous.

“I hope you know where we’re meeting him,” she said softly.

His fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Oliver was
helpful in that regard, as well as my correspondence with my colleague. We
shall easily locate him.”

“Is he waiting for us now?”

Ryder pulled a small watch from his vest pocket and briefly
consulted it. “In an hour at nine, a bell will ring to signal the start of some
amusement called the Cascade. We shall meet him then.”

“What’s the Cas—” Her questions stopped as soon as they
passed through the water-gate. A wide gravel lane stretched hundreds of feet in
front of them, neatly lined on either side by trees. To the right was a vast
square in the center of which was an ornate raised bandstand where an orchestra
and organ filled the gardens with music.

To the left was a long colonnade with alcoves sheltering
tables for groups of patrons to eat supper. Beyond the colonnade, she spotted a
domed roof. The supper-boxes looked to encompass the entire square.

What had her attention were the lamps. There had to be
thousands of them,
tens
of thousands, and all multicolored. It was
dazzling and lit up the scene of promenading
fashionistas
.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. They only had an hour before
meeting the investor?

Ryder laughed softly. “Shall I be your guide?”

“Yes, please.”

Her escort first took her to one of the supper-boxes. At the
back of the alcove hung a painting of an oak tree, no doubt to distinguish it
from the other innumerous boxes, and their sour-faced waiter was harried as he
took their order. She sipped at a glass of champagne while Ryder practically
inhaled the famous Vauxhall ham. Between swallows he described the various
walks, including the location of a canopied lane known ominously as the Dark
Walk.

After she downed the last of her bubbly beverage, he took
her to the Rotunda where Roubiliac’s sculpture of Handel stood in a specially
constructed niche, and she realized with a start that she had seen the same
sculpture at a museum in London back in her own time. She had gone along with a
college friend on a free tour. She might have even taken a quick picture of it.

The look on her face must have concerned Ryder, who offered
to get her another glass of champagne. Alcohol certainly sounded like a good
idea. They left the Rotunda and he had her wait in the square of trees with the
orchestra, which was apparently called the Grove, saying he’d return soon.

More supper-boxes were tucked below the orchestra’s
bandstand and a large crowd milled about beneath the orchestra’s balcony from
which a young woman was singing. She concentrated on the music, the lights, and
the miracle that she would get to see such a sight after all her time studying
history in college and then dealing antiques. She’d ignore the reminder that,
while the sculpture and the paintings would last for hundreds of years more,
preserved in museums for people not yet born to ogle, she would not.

She saw Ryder return from the corner of her eye and hoped he
would have something to say to distract her. She turned to accept the
champagne.

But it wasn’t Ryder.

“Madam,” Webb said, bowing his head.

She jumped back. “Holy crap.”

“I apologize for startling you, madam.”

How had she thought it was Ryder? Webb looked very modest in
the midst of all the other patrons in his unembellished brown coat and vest
against the crisp white of his shirt and cravat. Ryder, however, had deigned to
wear an embroidered dark-blue coat over a cream-colored vest rather than his
usual plain black. Even so, Webb’s manner of dress, his height and build, were
just like Ryder.

Even his face resembled Ryder now that she looked at him
closely, though Webb’s hair was darker and his features that of someone closer
to fifty than twenty.

“You are very good at startling me, Mr. Webb.”

“Again, my apologies.” He bowed. “I am relieved that you
have kinder patronage than when I last saw you.”

That was sugar-coating it.

“You’ve really got to stop following Ryder around. He’ll
think you’re either in love with him or planning to murder him.”

His mouth twitched at her attempt at humor. “You know very
well why I tail him, madam. You were there to hear all of it.”

“Well, it’s not my business.”

“Yes, I know the manner of business in which you engage.”

He might as well have called her a whore. “What do you want,
Mr. Webb?”

“Have you seen Phillip West?”

Poor choice of words on his part. Seeing versus knowing
where someone was were two very different things. “I haven’t.”

“Does Ryder talk about him? Or mention the places he’s
been?”

Time to turn the tables. “You should understand what I mean,
Mr. Webb, when I say that Ryder and I don’t talk very much. You watch the
apartment, don’t you? What do you think goes on in there when he’s with me? Or
do you need an invitation to tea to feel satisfied that Phillip’s not there?”

She smiled, concentrating on the mental image of Ryder and
her on his bed.

Webb’s jaw hardened. “Why did he come here?”

“I can’t be cooped up all the time. I asked him to bring me
and he has, and I see lots of little dark spaces where we can get some
privacy.”

His nose flared as he breathed in. Something of that edge
she often detected in Ryder’s voice was there in Webb’s. “You have quite an
imagination, madam.” He looked at her mouth.

Oh shit. She might have gone too far.

Webb’s eyes flicked past her and he gnashed his teeth. With
a quick pardon he was gone, and she turned around to find Ryder stalking toward
her. He looked like God’s revenge against murder.

Damn that Webb! Ryder had been certain that the man hadn’t
been watching them when they left the apartment, or when they were ferried
across the river. If Webb wasn’t watching, someone else was being paid to, and
therefore extra caution was warranted if he wanted to meet his potential
investor without Webb’s knowledge or interference.

The man had been talking to Samantha. Alone. The desire on
his face had been obvious and if Webb hadn’t departed, Ryder would have laid
the man flat for the way he looked at her.

He handed her the champagne. Whereas she had been content to
sip it before, she downed the entire glass with one toss. “Maybe we shouldn’t
do this tonight.”

“Did he upset you? What was said?”

“He seemed very interested in condemning me for enjoying my
lady parts,” she said, her hands gesturing downward to indicate her commodity.
“And he kept asking about your brother, so I tried to flirt with him to make
him uncomfortable and go away.”

Ryder’s knuckles were surely white. “You did what?”

“It didn’t work.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak and so he checked his
watch. It was nearly time. Taking her arm, he led her north toward the Cascade
and left her empty glass with a passing waiter.

Ryder couldn’t stop thinking of Webb’s expression when he was
speaking with Samantha, like he had been entranced. They took the Cross Walk
north. A surreptitious search found Webb following them not twenty paces
behind. His plain manner of dress was easy to spot.

Had the duke looked at her the way Webb had? Had he known
the beauty and intelligence of the woman he would soon possess? Ryder’s hand
tightened around Samantha’s delicate fingers on his arm. He still hated it,
knowing that before the constables could be summoned to the house, another had
been with her.

Her voice cut through his torturous thoughts. “How are we
going to lose Webb? He’s behind us, isn’t he?”

“That won’t be a problem. Just wait for the bell.” Patrons
were already gathered in front of a curtain concealing a piece of machinery
that for a mere fifteen minutes represented some sort of landscape, a vista
that changed seasonally. Likely the only draw of the contraption was its brief
appearance.

Ryder eased them through the thickening throng of onlookers,
putting greater distance between them and Webb.

“We’re so tall. Webb can still see where we are,” she
fretted.

“Have you seen the height of the ladies’ wigs?”

She snickered and he smiled in spite of his mood. While he
had dressed in the bathroom, the maid had styled Samantha’s hair and when asked
why she wouldn’t wear a wig, Samantha had insisted that her own hair was the
obviously better option. He looked askance at the heavy, shimmering waves of
red hair looped and loosely braided at the back of her head, and had to agree.

Right on time, the nine o’clock bell rang the hour. The
crowd tittered as the curtain was drawn back, and the sudden press of those
seeking a better view afforded the perfect opportunity.

“Escape with me.” He grasped Samantha close and pulled her
through the crowd away from the mechanical landscape. They maintained a brisk
pace eastward between fenced downs thickly planted with various species of
tree. More patrons rushed past them in an effort to attend the nightly
spectacle of the Cascade. Several backward glances confirmed that Webb had not
discovered their absence.

A turn at the back of the gardens and they were en route to
the Dark Walk where his colleague waited at the easternmost end.

“This corset sucks,” Samantha said.
Sucks?
Surely an
American term. “I can’t breathe in it when I’m practically jogging.” He saw the
flush in her cheeks and his eyes traveled down to the bust of her dress.