EscapeWithMe (17 page)

Ryder’s entire body shook with fury. The heat of his anger
suffused his skin. Samantha made a high gasp and recoiled from Webb. Whatever
passion they had just shared was smothered beneath this violation.

Webb was revolting.

“And what did you expect to find, Mr. Webb? My brother? The
ghost of Simon Carter haunting me?”

“You ran from the crowd. I knew you were hiding something…or
meeting someone.” It was a testament to Samantha’s excellent composure that she
did not react to Webb’s assumption.

“Did it occur to you that we did not desire a chaperone?
This is Lover’s Walk, after all, and it was clear you would not leave us be.”

Webb disregarded his excuse. “Where were you these past few
days? Absconding with your brother to conceal his whereabouts?”

“I tire of your accusations and your harassment. I’ve no
obligation to tell you anything of my acts, or with whom I do them. Merely in
the effort of removing your presence from my life, though with no small amount
of satisfaction do I report that you have no case against my brother. I was in
Lydd this past week to confirm the veracity of your accusations and found it
lacking.”

Webb stepped closer. “I do not believe you. Prove to me that
you were there or that your purpose was as you say.”

“My proof is the testimony of all those with whom I spoke,
including the witnesses you claim so resolutely asserted that my brother bribed
a revenue officer. None of them used such words, only claiming that a gift of
brandy was offered and accepted.” Though Ryder was certain it had been meant as
a bribe, having learned as much from Phillip, no one at the docks knew the
purpose of the exchange.

“I also spoke with the physician who examined Carter and
though he certainly maintained that Carter’s death owed to some substance
ingested, you failed to learn that another had drunk from the same barrel and
lived to talk of it.”

This surprised Webb. He mussed his hair as he had in the
brothel when attempting to detain the wrong brother. “I would have this man’s
name.”

“Carter’s brother-in-law, and he had quite an interesting
description of the brandy. It nigh seared his throat and he could not drink
more than a fist of it.”

“Poisoned, do you not see? It is lucky he’s alive.”

“Lucky indeed, for heavily imbibing over-proof brandy can
just as easily kill a man. Carter had neglected to let it down to its proper
strength and drank himself to death.”

Webb was clearly shocked, for it clearly had not occurred to
him just as it had not immediately occurred to Ryder. Webb was still, his hand
still in his hair.

“Though Phillip gifted the brandy to Mr. Carter, the man
died through no fault of my brother’s actions. Carter’s death was accidental,
and you’ve no case for bringing Phillip to a magistrate.”

“I…I know my intuition is right. I know what kind of man
your father is, and what kind of man your brother is. I shall find more
evidence if I must.” Webb’s voice was desperate. Was the man deranged? What
reason would drive him to such lengths? Had Carter saved his life? Or was Webb
unable to admit defeat?

“Cease this pursuit! What have you to gain by any of it?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Webb bit out. “It’s about
justice. I could not be what she wanted but I wanted her to live, and your
father took her from me. He and his must pay for their sins.” What was he
saying? Was his mind unraveling? How did he know his father?

“Who—”

“I know he killed her, and now her son is just as rotten as
the other. I hope the consumption eats at his black heart until the utmost end
of his miserable life, and that his rotten sons die childless.”

Ryder’s heart nearly stopped. Had Webb known his mother?

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you plan to continue from where your brother left
off. His debts are far from paid. I’ll not sit idly while you form your schemes
and plug your whores—”

Enough of this.

Ryder stepped close to Webb, their noses mere inches from
touching. “You shall not find any such evidence by following me, or perhaps you
merely desired to spy upon us in the darkness? Were you standing there long?
Did you hear her pleasure and wish it had been you with her? Did you—”

Samantha touched his shoulder. “Stop it.”

He bit his tongue. His palms ached where his fingertips dug
into his flesh. He knew that prodding Webb gained him nothing and so stepped
back. Samantha’s hand slid into the bend of his elbow and he led her away.

“I will not stop.” Webb’s voice was hard. “I’ll discover
your crimes, and when I do, you shall hang from the nearest tree.”

Chapter Eleven

The dressmaker’s private fitting room was certainly
sumptuous. Very fashionable styles of dress hung on headless busts. Several
seats were available for a high lady’s entourage to gush over her clothes. A
table was laden with little sweets and surely they offered coffee and tea to
wash them down.

Sam wasn’t here for a fitting, though, and she certainly
didn’t have an entourage.

The owner of the dressmaker’s shop was a small, thin man
with an impeccably styled wig and just as impeccably fashionable clothes. Even
so, he looked a little ridiculous. The wig was longer than necessary and his
face powder just a little too thick. He looked as if he could dance with the
ghosts in Disney’s Haunted Mansion.

“Is the fifth of June still suitable? The silk should arrive
in London then.”

Was tomorrow the start of June? She and Ryder were very near
ready for the first smuggling run, having spent most of the past two weeks
gathering buyers for various goods, including brandy, linen, silk, tea and
tobacco. It had been easy for them to solicit merchants under the guise of a
man spoiling his mistress, and what they hadn’t marked for a buyer would be
sold outside London to whoever would pay the highest price at the wholesale
market.

The rest of the last two weeks had been spent together in
bed.

“Yes, quite.”

“Then I will return on the sixth to settle the order.” She
stood from where she had used one of the fancy little noshing tables to write
the draper’s order on a small piece of paper. She still wasn’t used to writing
with a quill and couldn’t jot down the shortest note without getting ink on her
fingers. She had to carry around a plain linen kerchief to wipe her fingers
off. Once her writing hand was mostly clean, she folded up the invoice and
tucked it into her satin handbag.

The draper dipped his head and stiffly swept his hand toward
the door leading to the front of his store. “I must say I am still quite
surprised that your—uh, acquaintance sends you to represent him in this matter.
I had thought Mr. West would be the one meeting me today.”

Samantha suppressed a sardonic glare as she followed him
out. What a sexist idiot. She had been dealing with practically nothing but
male merchants the past two weeks and their obsession with her gender was
getting really old. The guy was buying smuggled silk and he cared about whether
or not the person selling it to him was a woman?

“It’s far less conspicuous if I am the one to visit as it is
only lady’s clothes you sell, and discretion is best for an arrangement like
ours, don’t you agree?”

How many times had she said that?

“Ah yes, quite right, madam. Good day to you.” He dismissed
her as though she were a sale that had no potential and moved on to a young
lady with her mother.

Samantha left the draper’s. Oliver was dutifully waiting
outside with the coach and helped her ascend the coach steps. If she were in a
modern dress and Oliver were a limo driver, she probably would’ve told him she
didn’t need a hand, but with a corset, clunky pattens to protect her shoes, a
wide heavy skirt and a hat pinned to her hair, she’d take all the help she
could get. She loved the dress though, dark-green silk brocade with a white
floral pattern. Even her light-green stockings had matching embroidery.

Ryder loved it when she kept the stockings on.

Oliver shut the door of the coach. “Back to the apartment,
Miss Reed?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. Thanks for waiting while I was in
the shop.” He beamed at her and climbed up to his perch.

The coach lurched into motion and she nearly stuck her head
out of the window like a dog. She didn’t think she’d ever get bored of riding a
coach through historical London. She feasted her eyes on the people, the
storefronts, the houses… It didn’t always look picturesque—or smell great—but
it was still as exciting as her first walk up the Strand.

All too soon they were in a familiar neighborhood and she
sat back. Ryder would be leaving very early the next morning to meet the ship
in Le Havre. They’d load it up with goods the next day and be on their way back
the third day. Even she didn’t know where he had decided to smuggle the
contraband ashore, but if everything went well, she’d see him again in six
days.

Of course everything would go smoothly. How could it not?

The coach slowed and she gathered up her skirt. She’d try to
descend gracefully this time rather than get her panniers stuck in the little
door of the coach. Oliver was at the door and folded down the steps. She held
his proffered hand, found the stair with her foot and then squeezed herself
out. Much better than last time. She hoped Oliver was proud of her.

She shook her skirt straight and Oliver closed up the coach.
“I’ll be returning shortly with Mr. West.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks again, Oliver.” They smiled at each other
and he clambered up to his seat. The coach took off and she turned to let
herself into the apartment.

“Miss Reed.” The voice was all too familiar.

Any semblance of a smile vanished to find Mr. Webb
approaching. She hadn’t seen him in full daylight before and puzzled over how
closely his height and build resembled Ryder. He was likely as strong, which
she really didn’t like.

“Ryder isn’t here.” She didn’t bother with any niceties. He
had called her a whore and said he’d hang Ryder if he could. No love lost
there.

He took off his hat as though doing her any kind of honor by
removing it. “I am not here to see him.”

“I can’t imagine why you’re here then.”

“You invited me for tea, if you’ll recall. I’ve come to wave
the white flag.”

Yeah, right. She vaguely remembered teasing him about having
tea and assuring himself that she wasn’t hiding Ryder’s brother beneath her
skirt, but that was before the death threat. Anyway, Phillip had no need to
hide anymore and indeed was moving about London freely.

Webb tucked his hat under his arm. His mouth was set. “Is there
a reason why I cannot join you in your parlor for tea, Miss Reed?”

If she didn’t have tea with him, would he think Ryder was
hiding something in the apartment? The ledgers were in the bedroom upstairs,
and they were definitely incriminating. Hell, the draper’s invoice was still
tucked inside her handbag. He certainly didn’t have immediate access to it but
she was nervous all the same. She wanted to tell him to screw off as he likely
would assume Ryder was hiding something no matter what she said, but she was
curious about something he had said in Vauxhall, something about Ryder’s
deceased mother.

“One cup, that’s it.” She turned and let herself into the
apartment. Mary called a greeting from the back. Webb closed the door and Sam
struggled with the pins holding the hat onto her hair. She had to calm down.

Mary appeared from the kitchen beyond the parlor, all smiles
until she saw the man behind her was not Ryder. Sam wrested the hat from her
head, very aware that the hairstyling Mary had carefully crafted was now
thoroughly messed up. With her back to Webb, she gave Mary a pointed look and
crossed the adjoining parlor to talk up close with the maid.

“We have a guest,” she said loud enough for Webb to hear.
“Please bring out some tea.
Quickly
, Mary.” Sam lowered her voice to a
whisper. “Hide the books upstairs.”

“Certainly, miss.” Mary bobbed her head and first went to
the kitchen to set a pot to boil. Sam turned and pasted a smile on her face.
Webb still stood in the archway between the parlor and hallway.

She gestured to the chairs. “Please have a seat, Mr. Webb.”

He tapped his heels and bowed in silent thanks. He then
chose a seat that offered a view of the front door. Sam forced herself not to
wring her hands and hoped like hell that Mary made that tea as if it were an
episode of
Iron Chef
—fast. She came around Webb’s chair and sat opposite
him. His hat sat on his knee and she took it as a good sign that he wouldn’t be
staying long.

“I must apologize for intruding upon you and the lieutenant
at Vauxhall.” He said it hesitantly, as though he were trying to put it
delicately. Why bother? “I am impressed that you so aptly predicted the
interlude.”

“Apology accepted. I don’t want to talk about that night
anymore.” Webb nodded understandingly. She still found it difficult to remember
with fondness those minutes in the Dark Walk with Ryder despite how passionate
he had been. Webb had likely heard a great deal of their interlude, as he
called it, and didn’t that just make her stomach turn.

Mary discreetly crossed the room and went upstairs. Webb
turned his head slightly at the sound of the maid’s footsteps and kept his eyes
on Sam. She kept her poker face on, though inside she was sighing with relief
that Mary would stash the ledgers somewhere safe.

“With the war over in the colonies, do you know what Ryder
intends for his life now that he’s paid off? I understand from the creditors
with whom I spoke that his father’s business is struggling with the older son
at the helm. Phillip must be having some difficulties replicating his
father’s—ah, successful business practices.” He was fishing for information. It
wasn’t likely Sam would ever meet William West, who was dying of tuberculosis
if Ryder’s description of his symptoms was accurate, so she wouldn’t get a
chance to judge the father’s character, but Webb very obviously hated the man.

“What do you mean about his business practices? What sort of
business is he in?” Webb smiled and Sam was struck by how much he looked like
Ryder. Maybe he was actually Ryder’s uncle? William’s illegitimate brother? Is
that why he hated William West so much?

“The import business, Miss Reed. The details would likely
bore you. That dress is quite becoming on you, you know. The green against your
red hair.”

Sam hid a clenched fist under her skirt. He was only
parroting the opinion of his era on the capabilities of the female sex and she
certainly hadn’t encouraged a different opinion, having given off the
impression for the last two weeks that she spent her days shopping, eating and
screwing.

Still, what an asshole.

“Ryder doesn’t discuss his plans with me for his father’s
business. The details
bore me
.” She couldn’t help throwing his words
back at him, which he seemed to enjoy as his smile only broadened.

“No, I suppose not.”

Mary passed through the parlor again and Sam couldn’t help
glancing at the maid, who gave her a subtle nod. Sam tried to excuse her
distraction.

“Is the tea almost ready?”

“Yes, miss. I’ll be out shortly.” Mary disappeared into the
kitchen again and Sam heard the clinking of teacups. When she looked at Webb
again, he was looking at her oddly. She saw something in his eyes she didn’t
like.

“Where is Mr. West? Visiting his father while he has the
chance?”

Sam knew exactly where Ryder was—the bank—but she saw no
reason why Webb should know that. “He comes and goes without telling me his
business, Mr. Webb. You seem to think I know such things.”

“I hardly believe that his driver knows more of his life
than you do.”

Mary emerged with a tray of tea and Sam nearly stood and
cheered. The maid was stone-faced as she set down the teacups.

“Perhaps you should talk with his driver then,” Sam offered.
Webb shook his head when Mary offered him sugar.

“The man refuses to offer anything more than the hope of my
imminent demise, Miss Reed.” Sam couldn’t help a small smile at that.
Way to
go, Oliver.

“Anything else, miss?” Mary asked.

Sam shook her head. “Thank you.” Mary returned to the
kitchen.

For a tense moment, Webb sipped his tea silently and stared
at her. The delicate teacup seemed doomed in his large hands. Sam drank as
quickly as the scalding-hot tea would allow, though she scrambled for a way to
ask about Ryder’s mother.
Hey, remember that time you threatened to kill
Ryder? Why did you say his dad offed his mom?
That so wouldn’t work.

“You know much more than you say, Miss Reed.” Webb’s jaw was
set. She set down her teacup, refusing to lower her eyes.

“What makes you say that?”

“That moment in Vauxhall when Mr. West accused me of an
attraction and you touched his arm. He is possessive, yet he acquiesced to you.
Your relationship is not as casual as you would have me perceive. I believe he
loves you.”

That
got a reaction from her. Her face flushed and
she broke off their staring contest. Damn it.

Webb chuckled softly. “You liked hearing that. How sweet.”

“You’re embarrassing me, Mr. Webb. I told you I didn’t want
to talk about that night.” She picked up her tea again and sipped. Why did Mary
make it so hot?

“Why did your maid go upstairs?”

Her stomach dropped and she paused mid-sip. She wrestled to
keep any concern from her face. “She has many tasks, so I wouldn’t—”

“I know you whispered something to her.”

Sam couldn’t help a brief stutter. “I was just warning her
who you were. She used to work at the—the brothel.”

Webb set down his tea and stood, but Sam didn’t dare hope he
was getting ready to leave. He walked to the stairs.

She hastily set down her tea and went after him. “What do
you think you’re doing?” Oh God. Mary had hidden the ledgers but had she hidden
them well enough? What if he tried to turn out the entire room?

Mary came out of the kitchen, her hands over her mouth, just
as Sam chased Webb up the stairs. He took the steps two at a time while she was
forced to stumble up in her cumbersome skirt. When she came into the bedroom,
he was tossing the bedclothes and searching under the mattress.

“You have absolutely no right to be in here.”

Webb spoke without stopping. “I know she was hiding
something. I shall find it.” He emptied a drawer full of her stockings and
ribbons. How was she going to stop him? He had the strength to make her regret
physically intervening. Ryder wasn’t here and she wasn’t going to ask Mary to
help gang up on him.