Heartless (41 page)

“You gudgeon, why did you bring her here?” he demanded as soon as the door was closed and barred against entry by inquisitive females.

“You have spent little time with Leandra, Adam. That girl was determined to be here and in a few moments, she will be in this room despite that lock.”

Prestwich grunted. “I wanted you to know before we tell her, Vi. This is the latest communication from Captain Taverner.”

“Delivered by the redoubtable Tiny again?”

“No, it was tossed to me by an urchin as I left my club in St James’s Street. He didn’t even linger for payment, just darted into the crowd and disappeared.”

As Greville unfolded the message, he wondered how the man was sneaking messages off his boat. Leandra voiced the question first and now Greville couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. Would a dinghy go unnoticed leaving the yacht? Even in the dead of night, Greville was unsure how it could be accomplished. And the early spring weather—steady rain with intermittent breaks for a meager ray of sun—surely wasn’t conducive to long periods in a small boat on the open sea.

Greville read the message carefully, by now familiar with the captain’s way of communicating something important. He hit on the same thing Prestwich had. The man prosed on about the afterlife. “They’re dead? Both of them?”

“So it would seem,” confirmed Prestwich. “Which means that unless Hart made a will before he died, Leandra is at the mercy of Martin St. Clair. How long do you think she’ll survive when he discovers she might be carrying the new heir to the title and estate?”

Leandra surprised everyone, even herself, by remaining patiently in the drawing room with Aurora and Bri. They chattered about children and Leandra wondered if perhaps her child would be the only link that she’d have to her husband. If he were dead…

She refused to think that. He had to be alive. Her hands strayed to her stomach, a protective shield between her child and the rest of the world. He had to be alive.

Aurora saw the action and reached over to squeeze her hand. “All is well, dear. They will find Hart and Gabriel and all will be well.”

It was at this moment that the men joined them. They heard Aurora’s comment and both groaned inwardly at the news they were about to impart. They had decided it would be best coming from Greville since he was closer to Derringer and Leandra.

“Leandra, can I have a word with you in private please?” he asked.

The ladies rose as one, Bri and Aurora hugging Leandra before following Prestwich from the room. Greville motioned Leandra to sit on the sofa and he took a seat beside her.

Taking her hand, he looked into her large, hope-filled eyes. Lord, how was anyone able to deliver bad news without feeling like the cause of it?

“I have news, my dear,” he began. “Bad news.” Her lip quivered. Sympathy tugged at his heart, prompting him to squeeze her fingers, thus giving him a moment to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “We believe Gabe is dead.” Her eyes filled with tears and her hand tightened in his. “And Hart. The captain implied both were dead.”

Two tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffed and removed her hand from Greville’s. Wiping away the offending moisture, she rose to her feet.

“Well, that is a relief,” she commented, much to her companion’s surprise.

“A relief?”

Leandra turned to face Greville, nothing of her emotions showing in her round features. “In a way, yes. The past months have been... unbearable, Vi. Not knowing whether or not he is alive is much worse than knowing one way or the other. I can now move on with my life instead of enduring this terrible limbo.”

Greville was too shocked by how well she was taking this life-changing news to notice the rather hectic light in the back of her eyes. He smiled and assured her that he and Aurora would help in any way possible.

“Thank you, Vi. And thank you for telling me. Will you give me a few moments, please?”

Seeing nothing odd in this request, Greville left her to her thoughts, thoughts that would have alarmed him horribly had he been privy to them.

Leandra fought tears, fought to stifle the urge to scream, shake her fist at the sky, curse God and all his angels. The fear changed, shifting into helpless rage. It was unfair that her life had come to such a pass.

The rage passed, dwindling to nothing more than a dull ache, a helplessness in the face of things out of her control. Clasping her hands before her, knuckles whitening from the pressure she exerted, she forced her mind to focus, forced herself to face the inevitable.

He was dead. She tried to tell herself that she could move on, that she could make do without his caustic presence to mock her at every turn. Her hands covered the slight bulge of her abdomen for a moment, and she tried to imagine how enjoyable, how peaceful life would be without the chaotic Duke of Derringer.

She failed miserably, dissolving into tears.

A half-hour later, she left the drawing room and approached the study. Raised voices filtered through the wood. Without bothering to knock, she entered the room.

Greville stood in the center of the room gesturing frantically and shouting at Sir Adam Prestwich. Prestwich stood passively, though clearly annoyed if his narrowed eyes were any indication. Aurora glared at both gentlemen while Bri gestured just as wildly at Greville. Her voice was nearly a screech as she strove to be heard above Greville’s deep voice. Leandra would have found the tableau amusing had her world not just shattered beneath her feet.

Aurora became aware of her first. She signaled her husband, who fell silent and flushed with embarrassment. Prestwich turned sympathetic eyes on her and Bri rushed forward to hug her.

“I am so sorry, my dear. And no doubt Vi made a terrible mess of telling you. He is such a clunch sometimes.”

“Is that what has everyone so upset?” asked Leandra.

“Well, no,” replied Bri. She glanced at her husband uncertainly. Leandra noticed the look of warning on his face and wondered what it meant.

“I demand someone tell me what is going on.” They remained stubbornly silent. “I enter a room to find a group of well-bred people behaving like children, all because of me, and I think I have a right to know why.”

“I’ll tell you, Leandra,” Aurora offered, voice low and soothing. She ignored the warning looks from the gentlemen. “Bri and I read the letter from Captain Taverner and we are unsure he meant to imply that Hart is dead. The man writes in such an odd fashion that we have decided not to give up hope of finding Hart alive.”

Leandra’s brows lifted. “Indeed? I am relieved. What was the shouting about then?”

“Someone didn’t think we ought to tell you,” Bri said hotly, shooting a darkling look at her husband.

The duchess glanced at the baronet curiously. “Why ever not?”

“It matters little now,” Prestwich replied, clearly annoyed with the whole display of temper to which he had just been treated. “Since we all know, now we decide what to do about it.”

Greville inserted, “Perhaps we should call Bruiser and Tiny.”

Prestwich sighed, rubbing one hand tiredly over his face. “Tiny is in France already, searching. When I told him the duke was dead, he looked at me with what I can only describe as pity and took his leave, informing me as he went that he would find
Heartless
and bring him back alive.

“As for Bruiser, do you know where he is? I went by Derringer’s townhouse and the man wasn’t there. Has he left his employ, do you know?”

Greville frowned. “I would not have thought the man would do so until all threat on Hart was diminished. Why wasn’t he at the Crescent with Hart in the first place?”

“How do we know he wasn’t?” Prestwich asked. His gaze swung to Leandra.

She shook her head. “I met no one named Bruiser. Is he someone my husband would have introduced?”

Both men shook their heads, though Greville hesitated. “With Hart, one never does know what to expect, though we think he would have introduced the man as his valet. You might not have believed him.”

“Why not?”

Greville exchanged a look with Prestwich. “Bruiser does not look like a valet. He looks like the former pugilist that he is.”

A silent “oh” formed on Leandra’s lips.

The men continued, Leandra silent witness to their plans. Hope rose and mingled with fear in her breast. A strange excitement tingled along her spine. They would find her husband, return him to his rightful place, and punish the ones responsible. Though she’d be happy just to have him back.

“So when do we leave, gentlemen?” she asked, unable to help an eager smile.

Everyone in the room, as one joined entity, turned to stare at her incredulously. Prestwich was the one to reply. “What do you mean
we
?”

Leandra strode over to the chair behind Prestwich’s large desk. She sat down and smiled all around. “It is my husband who is missing and I am determined to find him. If you gentlemen would like to accompany me, I will allow it. If not, I will be setting sail tonight for France.”

“How do you even know he is still in France?” asked Prestwich.

“Where else would D’Arcy take him? The man thirsts for revenge and he will do it where he can feel the most satisfaction, and where he can dispose of Hart with very little trouble. Since the war with Napoleon, the French government will not be overly curious about the body of an Englishman turning up unexpectedly somewhere in their country. I doubt they would even report it.” Her smile disappeared, replaced by a look of grim determination. “If Hart is alive, I will find him. Either help or stay out of my way.”

Greville shared a look with his wife. He nodded. “Very well. We go. But I still think you should stay here with Rory and Bri. Hart will skin me alive should anything happen to you.”

“Rory and I will take care of everything here,” inserted Bri. “Some rumors have started concerning Derringer’s disappearance and we will simply tell everyone the truth.”

“Surely you cannot be serious?” Prestwich exclaimed, giving his wife an incredulous look.