Scoundrel (44 page)

“Don’t even consider running from me,” Lando warned under his breath. His hold on her looked deceptively solicitous, as if she’d lost her balance and he had taken her elbow to steady her. Hidden in the folds of his greatcoat, only Lily knew that he held a knife to her side. He tugged on her elbow and led her to the coach, then opened the coach’s door and ordered her inside.

“She knows,” Lando told Harry, as he nudged her forward.

Lily found herself staring into the barrel of Harry’s pistol.

“Do join me,” Harry said, with an inviting smile. He nodded toward the seat opposite his as she climbed into the coach. “Make yourself comfortable, Lily. I would really prefer not to shoot you.”

Lily felt a shiver run down her spine. Even now, knowing that Harry was in league with a murderer, he looked boyishly friendly rather than dangerous and menacing. The carriage door closed behind her and she settled onto the seat, her gaze riveted on the pistol. “Why are you doing this, Harry?”

“You’re such a clever girl,” he mused. “I thought you would have that figured out by now.” The pistol turned a little to one side as he shrugged. “But you thought you had everything figured out when your husband shot poor, demented Lord Allen, did you not?” His smile grew broader. “I laughed for days over that business. Things could not have worked out better for me. Lord Allen took the blame for Lando’s bungled work, and Remmington relaxed his guard on you. I had almost despaired of taking you alive.”

Still uncertain of Harry’s motives, Lily phrased her question very carefully. “We don’t know each other all that well, Harry. I cannot think of any insult I have dealt you. Why would you want me dead?”

“Ah, such a look of innocence,” he drawled. “You fooled me a long time with your little act. I didn’t realize your involvement in your father’s business until the night of Lady Keaton’s dinner, when you so neatly solved the riddle of my scroll. You were right, by the way. The words translated exactly as you said they would.”

Lily felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Remmington couldn’t know how right he’d been that night, the worries she’d mistaken for possessiveness. She had indeed acted the fool. She wondered if he would ever know. Her gaze went to Harry, and she decided it would be wise to drop her act. She sensed that vehement denials would only weaken her position. “If you didn’t know I was involved, then why did you have your man try to kill me?”

“Oh, you weren’t supposed to die the night of the Ashlands’ ball,” Harry said, as if she should have known that fact. He gave her a look of mock regret. “How could you think such a thing of me, Lily? You are smarter than that.”

Lily remained helplessly silent.

“Not so smart as you think?” he asked. His tone took on a clear note of gloating. “We planned to use you to control your father’s activities, dear girl. As long as we held you prisoner, we knew he would do anything we asked, tell us any information we wanted to keep you safe. It’s obvious that he dotes on you. I thought it a clever plan to turn Crofford into a double agent. That plan changed slightly when I realized you were a cryptographer as well.” He smiled at her again, a winning smile of delight. “You are a very valuable lady. The French will pay me a small fortune when I deliver you to their hands. They are anxious to learn all the secrets you carry in that pretty head of yours.”

Lily lifted her chin so it wouldn’t tremble. “If I am so terribly valuable, why did you try to shoot me at Holybrook House?”

“Ah, that was another of Lando’s bungles,” he said regretfully. “He is a talented assassin, yet he seems to have a streak of incompetence where you are concerned. Not that you were the target that day. Remmington kept such a dose eye on you that we decided it was time to remove him from the picture. Unfortunately, Lando is more talented with a knife than he is with a pistol.” Harry tapped his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I must remember to recommend him to Manton’s for more practice.”

Lily wondered what kind of man could plot to kill his own friend and not show so much as a shred of remorse when he admitted as much. Far from a guilty conscience, Harry’s thoughts centered on ways to turn his hired assassin into a more talented killer. “You have me now,” she said. “There is no longer any reason to kill Remmington.”

“No,” he agreed, “unless he becomes bothersome when you turn up missing.” His hand brushed through the air. “Remmington should be safe enough. He will never suspect I am involved with your disappearance. No one will ever guess that I work for the French. Not even the bothersome Sir Malcolm Bainbridge. Lord Granger proved an effective distraction for Sir Malcolm all these months, yet no one but Lando knows of my involvement. Lando is one of France’s top agents. You should be flattered that they sent the best for you. Lando will be the one to escort you to France, and I daresay the two of you will find much to talk about.”

The thought of Lando escorting her across the Channel made Lily shudder. She began to imagine the vengeance Lando would exact for the scar he bore. “Why
do
you work for the French?” she asked. “What could make a man turn traitor against his country?”

Harry didn’t take offense over the question as she’d feared. He merely shrugged. “Very simple. Money. The French have a great deal of it, and I was happy enough to relieve them of a sizable portion. I’ve already replenished the fortune my father squandered. Your abduction will be my last act as a traitor. I can live very comfortably for the remainder of my life on the prize they’ve promised for your safe delivery.”

She could feel an invisible noose tighten itself around her neck. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my town house,” he answered. “I sent my mother and sisters along with most of the servants to my country estate for an extended visit. You will stay in a very cozy room in my basement until your family and Sir Malcolm complete their unsuccessful search for you. When they find your driver’s body, they will naturally assume the worst and give up the search. Then it will be a simple matter to transport you to the coast, where you will board a ship for France. A week or two at most, I should think, then you will become a guest of the French government.”

Lily wondered if she could stir some shred of pity in Harry. She studied his face, his demeanor, but she saw only cheerful determination in his expression. No regrets, no remorse, no feelings whatsoever that he was condemning her to a fate worse than death.

She began to pray that Mr. Milton delivered her note in all haste. Milton clearly thought her crazed to give him instructions that had nothing to do with her invitations. There was the chance that he would deliver the printed invitations and simply discard her message. She had to face the fact that this time Remmington might not come to her rescue.

“I woke up just as the two buggers tried to dump me in the river.” Jack’s hands were tightly fisted. He could barely contain his rage over how easily he’d fallen for the dupe. He’d failed his duty.

Both men braced themselves as the coach rounded a sharp corner. The speed Digsby demanded from the horses made the vehicle lurch to one side. Remmington righted himself and proceeded to load his pistols while Jack continued the tale.

“They’d taken the knife from my belt, but they didn’t know I carry another in my boot.” Jack found a grim smile. “I could tell they were sorry they didn’t slit my throat in the first place, to make sure I couldn’t come back from the dead.”

“Did they say anything about my wife?” Remmington demanded.

Jack shook his head. “I heard only bits and pieces of their conversation. None of it made much sense.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “There’s something you should know of the man who posed as a printer’s apprentice, Your Grace. The man who lured me into the alley had a scar right here.” Jack pointed to his temple. “The night we went to Crofford House, Digsby said that the duchess injured her attacker with a blow to the head. Fool that I am, I didn’t make the connection until after I’d taken care of his hirelings.”

Remmington felt his blood turn to ice. He checked the prime of his pistols, then checked them again. He needed to do something to keep busy, anything to combat his feeling of helplessness.

Was Lily lying in the same alley where Jack had nearly met his end? Was she alone? He knew she was terrified… if she was still alive. He set the pistols aside, half afraid he would shoot himself by accident.

The coach rattled to a stop in front of Milton’s shop. Digsby somehow managed to make it to the entrance of the establishment a moment before Remmington, to open the door without taking it from its hinges as Remmington intended. Remmington crossed the floor of the shop in three long strides.

Mr. Milton stood behind the counter. His eyes widened as Remmington bore down on him, but he hesitated a moment too long before he began to back away. He found himself hauled over the counter by Remmington’s hold on his lapels.

“Where is my wife?”

Milton cringed over the roared question, even as he tried to find his footing. The tips of his shoes dangled a good inch off the floor. “She left nearly two hours ago! Oh, I just knew something was amiss. She acted so strange, and that note—”

Remmington set him down with a thud. “What note? Show me this note.”

Milton scurried over to the counter. His hand trembled as he handed Remmington a sheet of paper. “This is just a copy, Your Grace. I sent the original to her father, just as she asked.”

Remmington scanned the paper. “Do these instructions have anything to do with her invitations?”

Milton looked startled. “Why, no, Your Grace. They have nothing at all to do with her invitations. In fact, she told me just the opposite before she left the shop the first time, then moments later she returned and gave these orders that make no sense. She even acted different.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a man with her, and I just assumed he was her driver. Yet she kept looking over her shoulder at him, smiling the whole while and chattering on, with eyes as frightened as any I’ve ever seen.”

“Did this man have a scar on his temple?”

Milton nodded. “I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I knew right enough that she wanted me to act as if nothing were wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why. She just said that she had to leave town unexpectedly, that it was very important that her note be delivered to the earl.”

Remmington turned away from Milton. He could see Lily as if she stood before him, knew exactly what Milton meant about her eyes. What he didn’t understand was how Milton could look into those eyes and not do anything to help her, how he could allow Lily to leave his shop with a man who terrified her. Milton would probably be dead if he hadn’t.