The Sins of Lord Easterbrook (37 page)

“You dedication is impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The dedication was not to duty but to the little servant on Bury Street. No doubt Miller felt much as Christian did as they rolled through the dark streets toward that house. It might still be spring in London, but these love affairs were entering late autumn. This afternoon with Meadowsun had seen to that.

Christian felt the burden of the decision he had made. The man deserved more than exile and reduced circumstances and even the scandal when the Four
Corners opium trade was exposed. People had been destroyed and almost killed. Serious crimes had been committed. The fullness of it would never be aired now, although he suspected that by the time Hayden was done the sons of the last Easterbrook would know more than they wanted about their father.

He wanted to think that he had not chosen his course to protect any criminal, dead or alive, or even to spare the archbishop from learning of Meadowsun's depravity. The mood in the country was not stable. Confidence in the government and especially the peerage was low. A public airing of all of the Four Corners’ smuggling would only fan the fires of public discontent.

The carriage stopped at Leona's house. He walked to her door with Miller two steps behind.

He had given Leona a full loaf at least, even if his conscience only accepted half of one. All the same she had appeared subdued this afternoon while he brought her back here. Like Miller beside him and like his own heart, she knew what the victory meant to them. Pending loss had drenched the carriage's small space and dulled any relief or contentment in her mission's denouement.

“It appears very quiet,” Miller said. “I see no lamps.”

It did appear quiet. An arrow of grief shot through Christian. A moment of irrational dismay said she had left already. She had slipped away, to avoid a painful parting.

It passed quickly, replaced by a wave of apprehension when there was no response to his knock. Miller instantly exuded alertness and worry too.

“Odd, that,” Miller mumbled. He knocked louder, then cocked his ear toward the door. “Did you hear that?”

Christian had. He grasped the latch. The door swung wide and revealed a chaos of shadows. The sound repeated. A moan, not ten feet away.

“Get a lamp off the carriage, Miller.”

Christian entered the reception hall. His boots poked the dark shadows. Bodies. Two of them. Fighting a surge of panic he bent down and felt the garments. Men, not women. He closed his eyes while relief almost overwhelmed him. He felt their necks and found no pulses.

Suddenly lamplight threw the scene into sharp chiaroscuro, revealing two men who remained in contorted, awkward rest. A third one, however, lifted a hand. The lamp picked out red silk and an embroidered dragon propped against the far wall, then rose to show Tong Wei's face.

Christian strode over to him. A large dark stain on Tong Wei's shoulder showed where he had taken a pistol's ball. Christian bent low to examine the wound.

“I was careless. I thought it was you,” Tong Wei rasped. “There were four. I could not kill them all.”

Christian looked back at the bodies. Whoever these men were, he doubted they had been warned about what waited on the other side of this door.

Miller set the lamp on the floor. “I am going to see about the ladies.”

Tong Wei shook his head. “They are gone. The men spoke not at all. I do not know where they were taken.”

“Miller, help me get Tong Wei into the carriage.”

Miller came over and they began lifting Tong Wei. He gestured for them to stop. “On my lap. They put something there. See it?”

Christian gazed down through the mottled dimness. He plucked the small, flat card, tucked it away, and inwardly cursed his own stupidity. Together with Miller he carried Tong Wei outside.

Miller climbed into the carriage too, bringing his storm of worry and anger with him. Christian checked Tong Wei. The pain of being moved had rendered him unconscious.

“Once we hand him over to the servants and send for a surgeon and the magistrate, you are to bring down my pistols, sword, and foils, Miller.”

“I've a mind to bring down twenty pistols and a dozen swords, sir. And half the footmen, if you do not mind.”

“Rouse them all, but they will not be joining us. I have other duties for them. You might do well to arm yourself, however.”

They rode through the dark city for a tense few minutes.

“Do you know where she is, sir? Miss Montgomery, that is?”

“Yes, I think so.” Christian removed the card that had been left on Tong Wei. “The person who sent those men left his calling card, so I would know.”

He held the card to the window. They passed a gas lamp and its glow washed the card. It was not a calling card of the normal kind but a playing card.

The King of Spades.

He would have liked to bring an invading army, but he could not do that here. Leona had been imprisoned in the least assailable site, right in the heart of Mayfair.

Christian looked up the façade of the large house, to the windows at the top. Was she there, looking out? He thought he sensed her worry, then her love.

Miller felt for his pistol beneath his coat. Christian caught his arm, stopping him. “Do not be rash or I will send you away. I believe that they will both be safe before the night is done.”

Miller accepted that, grudgingly. “If you are wrong, sir?”

“Then do your worst. It is why you are here. Just be prepared to swing for it.”

Their reception was disturbingly normal. It might have been calling hours midweek, and not the dead of night. A butler took Christian's card away. He returned to usher the guest to the drawing room. He glanced askance at Miller.

“My man will accompany me and wait outside the door.”

The butler's vague nod suggested that had not been part of the plan. All the same he brought them up. Miller took a position outside the door, against the wall, hand resting beneath his coat on the pistol. Christian entered the drawing room.

“Easterbrook. Good of you to come.”

“I had no choice, Ashford. You have taken something that is mine.”

The Duke of Ashford smiled lazily from his place
on a settee. “An interesting turn of phrase, your use of ‘taken.’ The temptation is notable. She is a fetching woman.” He gestured to a side table with decanters and glasses. “Port? Brandy?”

“Why don't you tell me what you want? You had men killed to get me here.”

“You mean the ruffians and the Chinaman? They are inconsequential.” Ashford puffed on his cigar. “I need you to cease your infernal meddling. I am hoping that she means enough to you that you will see the light to protect her.”

“If I do, will you let her go?”

“Eventually. Perhaps.”

“You cannot keep two women imprisoned here forever.”

“It is a very big house, and there are others. I daresay I can keep anyone imprisoned for as long as I choose. A parting letter from Miss Montgomery to your aunt, saying she has sailed back to China, and the world will forget her.”

Not the whole world. Not one man. “You showed your hand unnecessarily. I did not know about you. Meadowsun, yes. My father and Denningham's. Not you.”

“Yes, well, Meadowsun is a snake. He does not plan to be ruined alone, does he? And some of that money you seek came to me, not him, so he found it doubly unfair to have to pay my share back.”

“So he blackmailed you to help him.”

“Not really. Ending our little business would be financially inconvenient. Also, I had no choice once he told me what you knew. I can't have you digging into
the past. The opium would only be embarrassing, but the rest.…”

Of course this was about the rest. Christian went over and poured some brandy after all. He carried it to a chair. This night could only end one way. He might as well satisfy his curiosity.

“I do not think it is even all of the rest that concerns you so much. Just a few years’ worth of shipments between England and France. You had considerable influence in government during the war, Ashford. The Admiralty, wasn't it? I expect you could learn the deployment of the naval service along the French coast if you wanted to.”

Ashford's heavy lids fell half way. “Who would have thought that Easterbrook's strange heir would notice or remember. I always feared that you were more aware of the world than you pretended. You played whist far too well for my comfort too.”

“My father drilled me on such things. He took his station very seriously, and expected me to as well. This is why I do not understand that part of this. The wartime smuggling. The risks and disgrace for all of you could not be worth the profit.”

“The risks were minimal. That is why smuggling is a national pastime in England. Ask anyone in Kent or on Guernsey. In our case, the profits were.…massive. Especially during the war.”

“So was the dishonor. The people will see it as treason, no matter what your fellow peers decide.”

Ashford shook his head and laughed at the memory of it again. “It started out innocently enough. More a schoolboy prank. Our company had seen surprising success
in the East. Your father put a wonderfully simple system in place. A contact in the East India Company in Calcutta served as our agent. He hired shippers like Montgomery to take the cargo. It was so damned easy with the opium. Anyway, there we were at the whist table one night during the war, and Denningham bemoaned the loss of French wine. Well, why not try for some? We went to the western coast, to Gascony.”

“Wine? You smuggled
wine
?”

“At first. Then it grew. Rather decidedly toward the end. It would not do for the world to know how it grew. Hence my problem with Meadowsun. And you. It would be better all around if no one unraveled the history of the Four Corners during the war years.”

Christian stood. He walked over to the windows that looked down on the street below. “You did not abduct Miss Montgomery so we could have this talk. Unless you release her at once, you are forcing my hand. You leave me no choice except to challenge you.”

“I suppose so.”

“That was your goal, I expect. To settle this privately, and technically over an insult to a woman.”

“That would be best.”

“Once you are dead, what is to keep me from revealing everything?”

“Your word as a gentleman. Your duty to your name and family. Your participation at the whist judgments. It would not do for the people to know we are mere mortals, no better than them. You know and accept that.” He sipped his brandy. “But I am not going to die. You are.”

Perhaps so. Ashford's confidence in how this would end charged the chamber.

Christian faced him. “I will not challenge you. However, you may have no choice except to challenge me very soon. Carriages are arriving. Guests are at your door.”

Ashford frowned. He came over and peered out the window. A row of carriage lamps dotted the street, and more moved toward them.

“I'll be damned, Ashford. It appears that some bishops and lords are looking for a game of whist.”

Ashford turned, his face slack with shock. “You damn your own name with this if you accuse me in front of them. You betray your father and your blood and your station.”

Christian looked down at the men filing into the house. “I reclaim my name and accept my station, not betray them. As for my blood, you better than most should have known what you were dealing with.”

Doors slammed and women cried out. Commotion rolled down the narrow corridor between the attic chambers.

Isabella looked over, her eyes large in the lamplight. Leona swallowed her own bile.

“Whatever happens, wherever they take us, Easterbrook will follow,” she said. “He is a very powerful man.”

Isabella did not look convinced. The noise headed toward them. Leona rose and picked up the wooden chair on which she had been sitting. She positioned herself so she could use the chair to good purpose when their gaoler arrived.

She did not think her resistance would save them. This house was as big as Easterbrook's. An important man, perhaps one more powerful than a marquess, owned it. He had hired many men to abduct her. Too many for Tong Wei to stop the invasion.

Her eyes burned while she remembered the bodies in the reception hall. She and Isabella had been pushed past two dead strangers near the door. Only at the last moment, before being dragged into the night, had she seen Tong Wei and the blood that said he had been shot.

The door opened partway. Leona summoned her strength and raised the chair above her head.

“Isabella?”

It was Mr. Miller's voice. Isabella jumped up and ran toward the door. Mr. Miller strode in and pulled her into his arms. Leona let the chair crash to the floor. Her arms and heart groaned with relief.

Their embrace mesmerized her for a moment. Mr. Miller appeared very young, and very grateful and very much in love. He kissed Isabella again and again, gently, carefully, touching her face as if he checked for damage. He appeared as if he had narrowly escaped death himself, and less confident than Leona had ever seen him.

She realized that the three of them were not alone in the chamber. She sensed another presence, on the other side of the door. She looked around its edge. Easterbrook stood there, also watching the two servants, seeing and knowing more than she ever would.