The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (58 page)

Reed looked at Jace
incredulously. Was it going to be that easy?

“Where?” Jace asked
tersely.

“First, I must know,
why are you searching for the missing paintings?”

“We think he is the
one who burned down Moreau’s studio last night.”

“
Sal
pute!
” Beauclaire cursed. “I didn’t know.” His
hand shook as he clutched the side of his head in confusion. “Have
all the paintings been burned?” His horror was palpable.

“No. They’re safe.”
Reed jerked his head back toward the apartment. “He’s stored them
in there.”

Hearing Beauclaire’s
whoosh of relief, Reed said, “You know about the paintings?”

“But of course.
Antoine keeps nothing from me.”

“You say you think
you might know where Dubuc has taken his uncle?” Jace was all for
moving this investigation along at a faster pace.

Reed believed it
unlikely the aged art agent could have any real idea where his friend
had been taken or surely he would have done something about going to
get him.

“I think, maybe, at
Mellon or Metton Abbey?” Beauclaire said.

Still skeptical, Reed
asked, “Why do you think he took him there?”

“Two days ago, I
follow Victor to the studio. After he leave, I go in to see what he
did.” He removed a paper from his pocket. “I find this paper on
the floor by the door. He must have dropped it. It had the name of a
place on it.” He unfolded the paper and handed it to Reed. “I
have trouble reading the writing.”

Reed hid his shock.
This man knew where Moreau was and had done nothing! Yet he claimed
he was a good friend!

“I ‘ave been trying
to find out about this Abbey.” He looked exhausted and beaten. “I’m
too old for this kind of…
intrigue
.”
I’ve been following that one around for days and getting little
sleep or time to eat.” He gestured to his legs. “I ‘ave health
problems. I cannot go there myself.” Beauclaire’s voice shook
with emotion. “I fear for Antoine’s life.”

Ah... now he
understood. “We will be on our way within the hour.” Reed assured
the older man. “We have our own reasons for wanting to find
Moreau.”

Beauclaire’s face
brightened. “
Tres bien.
”
He took Reed’s hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Merci beaucoup
. I can never repay you enough.” He
handed them his card. “If you need anything, you ask me.”

Reed took the card.
“Can you arrange to have those paintings removed from Dubuc’s
flat?”

The older man’s face
brightened. He was glad to be given something he could do to help.
“
Mais oui,
I will
get our friends to do that immediately.”

“Good. But if he
returns, do not confront him. He is armed.” At Beauclaire’s
shocked look, he patted Moreau’s friend on the shoulder. “We will
take care of this and let you know when we have news”

“
Oui,
oui. Merci encore.
” He tipped his hat, turned and left
them.

Jace and Reed watched
him limp off with a lighter step.

“I fear his dear
friend, Antoine, may not still be of this world if he’s been gone
for that long,” Jace said
sotto
voce
.

Reed handed the paper
to Jace. “Do you think Dubuc could have meant Melton Abbey, on
Cranridge’s estate?”

Jace grunted. “Awful
writing! Not same quality as in his journals. But yes, could be that
Abbey. Cranridge has been away a long time. That duel was over twelve
years ago.”

“Had no family to
speak of either. Could be a good place to hide someone if the place
has been left untended.” Reed set off toward the main road. “Is
Moirs in Town? Isn’t his father’s estate in the same county?
Maybe he knows what’s happened to the estate since Cranridge fled.”
He was walking fast as he talked. “Let’s just hope Dubuc has a
reason to keep his uncle alive.” He was thinking of the pistols
their man had seen the nephew with earlier. “I’ve just realized.
McCracken said Dubuc didn’t use his brand new curricle. He left in
a barouche-landau with a driver.”

When the man had come
to collect Tally in his curricle, Reed had wondered if it was
borrowed to impress. Last night, in their investigations, they’d
learned that Dubuc had recently purchased it, which had given rise to
speculation as to where he could have obtained sufficient funds.

“For a longer trip.”
Jace understood immediately what Reed was thinking.

“If so, on horseback
we might have time to stop Dubuc from killing Moreau. Come on!” He
broke into a run. “We can’t waste anymore time,” he said, as
they reached their horses. “I’m still going to stop by the house
first to warn Mrs. Leighton to steer clear of Dubuc. If we’re wrong
and he hasn’t gone to see his uncle, he might come calling. He’s
gone to a lot of trouble to carry out his plan. Even broken with, and
perhaps killed, the man who raised him. He might decide he needs her
to complete his plans.”

* * *

The minute he
dismounted, the front door to his house flew open.

Joseph ran down the
stairs calling “Mr. Leighton! Mr. Leighton! She’s gone! Our Missy
is gone!”

Inside the hallway, an
agitated Foster was pacing, clearly waiting for him. “She went for
a drive this morning.” Tally’s butler was visibly upset. “That
was hours ago and she’s not back yet.”

“Drive with whom?”
But he already knew. The sick feeling in his gut told him.

“With that Frenchie.
I should have known something was wrong when he wasn’t in that
fancy rig of his. Women may think he has a pretty face but he’s
rotten to the core, you mark my words.” Foster wagged his finger in
the air.

“How long have they
been gone?” Damnation, while they were busy learning everything
they could about the man and then searching Dubuc’s rooms, smug in
their abilities to bring him to justice, the knave had absconded with
Tally.

“Over five hours
ago,” Foster answered tersely.

That
long.
Long enough to do a lot of harm. He didn’t even
want to think about that. The past year of following the Vanisher and
witnessing his utter depravity had taught Reed more than he wanted to
know about the inhumanity of some men, especially against defenseless
young women. Although, the idea of Tally as defenseless didn’t
quite fit, he thought, rubbing his hand over his sore shoulder.

“Do you know where
they were going?” Reed strode to the library. He had to send a note
to Jace immediately.

“Don’t know.”
Foster shuffled slowly into the library behind Reed, looking every
day of his seventy-two years. “He told her he’d heard from his
uncle and was going to take her to see him.”

Damn! They’d have to
speed up their plans and bring along reinforcements. “What about
Mason, did he follow them?”

“No. When Miss Tally
told him she was going to remain at home, he said he had business to
attend to. She’s not his only client. And she did stay in, until
that bloody Frenchman sent his note around.” He let out a harried
breath. “She took Joseph with her, but Dubuc insisted the boy be
let off a little ways outside of Town.”

“Outside of...!”
Noting the almost frantic look in Foster’s eyes, he changed it to,
“I told Mason to keep an eye on Tally today. Why didn’t he do as
he was asked?”

“Because he does what
Missy tells him; she’s the one who hired him.”

Reed grabbed some
foolscap from the desk and began writing. “Can Joseph run this
errand?”

Foster stuck his head
out the door and called for the boy, who appeared immediately.

Reed sealed the note
and sent Joseph off to let Jace know they had a situation that
required much more speed than they had planned for, then set about
putting together a plan and getting his weapons organized. He’d
asked Jace to gather all the Spares on hand. They might need more
help than they expected. Joseph was to deliver a second note to
Reed’s brothers, who were doubtless waiting to hear from him.
They’d helped with investigating Dubuc and Monsieur last evening
and would be waiting to hear what his snooping expedition had reaped
today.

“Where the hell is
Mason when we need him?” he almost shouted.

“Right here.”

“Good! I fear Mrs.
Leighton has been kidnapped and is in grave danger.” Reed told him.
“We think it has something to do with her father’s paintings.”
He picked up his gloves and hat. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“I’m going too.”
Foster said. It was obvious he had no intention of being left behind.

Reed didn’t even try
to dissuade the old soldier. “So long as you can keep up.”

“If I can’t, ye can
tell me where we’re going and I’ll get there a mite slower.”

Tally sat quietly,
gazing out the window of the carriage, watching the farm land go by.
Her mind wasn’t quiet, though. It was jumping about in alarm,
wondering what she had gotten herself into. It had been a trying few
hours and she needed to regain her composure so she could think.

Think!
she silently screamed.
What was
she to do?

Mr. Dubuc and she had
started out in a cordial fashion, with him being his usual charming
self. It was after he once again proposed and she again refused, that
his charm began to slip.

He’d suddenly
demanded, “Who is this Gordon?”

Her first reaction was
‘
Oh oh! Here comes trouble.
’
Then she became annoyed. What right had he to demand anything from
her?

She’d been tempted to
reply, ‘My husband.’ But from once considering Mr. Dubuc a
pacific, even gentle person, she now sensed his volatility, and
answered mildly enough, “A friend of the family.”

“But why does he make
so free of your house?”

“Because it is his.
He is my landlord. He owns both sides of the townhouse.” Not
exactly, his father did, but she felt that, in this instance, she
could play fast and loose with the truth.

“So he is no more
than that to you, your landlord?”

Her instinctive pause
must have signaled that her answer wasn’t so straightforward,
because his eyes flared, hot with anger. Yet he persisted. “So I
still have a chance to woo you?”

“Mr. Dubuc!” She
threw her arms up in exasperation. She felt like boxing his ears! “I
have explained, several times, that I do not intend to ever marry...
anyone
!”
Enunciating with clenched teeth was no easy task. What about ‘I do
not want to marry! Ever.’ was so difficult to understand? Were all
men this intractable when it came to accepting a woman’s rejection?

“But what if Society
were to learn you are living with a man?” he asked in a sly, not so
charming voice.

“Living with him!”
Her hand flattened against her chest. “But that is absurd!
Outrageous! And totally untrue!” He had to be taking a stab in the
dark. Where could he have come by such information? Foster certainly
wouldn’t tell and she had no servants to gossip. Other than Mrs. P,
whom he hadn’t yet encountered… had he?

No. He must have jumped
to the erroneous — if only by a day — conclusion when he met Reed
in her house. And now he sought to use it to force her to yield to
him. “Extortion is such a sordid and nasty practice.” She was
liking him less and less with each meeting. “But the only way it
can work is if you have incontrovertible proof of the deed you are
accusing the victim of and, in this case, that would be impossible
because it never happened. The man has only just returned from
abroad, which is why we moved houses.”

Thank heavens, she’d
insisted they move immediately and hadn’t put it off even for a
day, as Foster had suggested.

She smiled gently at
him, though inside she was seething at his obvious attempt to
manipulate her. “My grandmother has very good standing in Society
and will vouch for my good character. But just so you know, that kind
of coercion would never work with me.” She pasted on a blithe
smile. “I care very little what Society thinks of me. I’d be
content to spend the rest of my days deep in the countryside, not
bothered by people with minds so tiny they would believe your lies.”
Sending him a penetrating look, she voiced her sudden insight. “Now,
if they did that to you, you would not be at all pleased, would you?
You care very much what they think of you, don’t you?”

He’d been about to
interrupt her but now his mouth snapped shut so hard, she heard his
jaw crack. She worried he might resort to violence to get his way. He
was fulminating with fury. Tense silence reigned in the carriage.

Many fraught moments
later, he appeared to have regained control. He rolled his taut
shoulders, sighed and gave her a ‘you-brought-this-on-yourself’
look. He leaned forward and tapped the wall behind the driver with
his walking stick.

“You are becoming a
liability, my dear. Now that I think about it, I can just as easily
woo a beautiful Parisian artist to keep me in style. Indeed, she will
fit into my plans even better.” The vehicle sped up and he sat back
with a self-satisfied smile and made himself comfortable.

She looked around and,
in consternation, noted that they were on their way out of the city.
“Where are we going?”

“To see
mon
oncle
, just as I promised you.” But his smile was not a
trustworthy one.

“And where is he?”

“In Sussex.”

“Sussex! Why, that
will take all day! More than one day!” she exclaimed.

“At least eleven or
twelve hours, I should think, maybe more if the roads are bad,” he
replied calmly.

Her first instinct was
to demand that he stop being ridiculous, to turn around and take her
home. But his gloating smile told her he wanted to see her beg. She
wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She had her pistol and would
use it should she need to do so. She sat back and adopted a serene
expression. Inside, her mind scurried from plan to fruitless plan,
while her heart raced with fear.