Part 29 (1/2)
Boxly appeared from the shadows.
”Is she asleep?” Kesseley asked.
The butler bowed, then reached for Kesseley's coat. ”Miss Watson has not come home.”
Kesseley yanked himself free. ”But...she never came home?”
”No, my lord.”
Kesseley tore off his hat and threw it against the wall. He ran his hands through his wet hair, then down his cheeks.
Where could she have gone? He had run up and down the streets of Piccadilly looking for her for at least thirty minutes. If she had taken a hackney, she would have been home. Surely she wouldn't have done something so foolish as to walk home on the London streets at night.
He sank onto the sofa, hung his head in his hands and waited. Nothing seemed louder than the quiet tick of the mantel clock. It continued, mercilessly.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Thirty minutes pa.s.sed. Terrifying thoughts began to gather in the corners of his mind. He pushed them back. Thirty minutes pa.s.sed. Terrifying thoughts began to gather in the corners of his mind. He pushed them back.
Tick. Tick. Tick. For a torturous hour. Then Kesseley called for his horse. For a torturous hour. Then Kesseley called for his horse.
The rain fell in sheets, whipped by the wind. It flooded the brim of his hat and soaked beneath his wool coat. He clenched the reins. His wet gloves did little to protect his hands. He navigated the grids of Mayfair to Cavendish Square at a gallop, looking into every hackney that pa.s.sed. ”No, Lady Winslow did not return this evening, my lord,” her butler told him. ”No, a young lady did not come by.”
Nor was the princess at her home in Berkeley Square. The butler said she had stopped by momentarily, then left in the company of Lady Kesseley and a gentleman. What did he look like? Gray hair in a queue, a scar down his left cheek. No, he had not seen a young lady with black hair. No, he didn't know where they had gone.
Kesseley returned home, hoping she had come back.
Just silence. Another hour pa.s.sed.
He could no longer hold back his fears, as irrational as they were. Hurt. Raped. Alone. Dead. The image of brutal masculine hands restraining her smaller ones. Smeared blood on her pale skin. Crying out for help.
G.o.dd.a.m.n it, get a hold of yourself!
There was only one more person she may have gone to.
The rain was almost impenetrable, coming down on Kesseley like bullets. He could scarce see in front of him.
Kesseley tied the beast to the iron gate outside Edward's townhome in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He said a silent prayer and slammed the knocker down so hard the adjoining houses could hear.
Edward opened the door. He wore a collarless s.h.i.+rt and black pantaloons. Ink stained his fingers. His face changed from anger to puzzlement, then back to anger. ”What are you doing here?”
”I can't find Henrietta,” Kesseley shouted above the rain.
Edward grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. A light flickered from the front parlor, casting the shadow of a female form onto the entrance hall walls.
”Is she here?” Kesseley cried.
”No.”
Kesseley's words fell out in a jumble. ”I can't find her. She left the duke's ball and didn't come home. She is upset. I hurt her.”
A thin female stepped in from the parlor. Lady Winslow! Her curls hung loose, all haughtiness gone from her face. She looked almost fragile. Edward took her hand. ”Henrietta's missing.”
Her eyes widened with alarm. She fixed them on Kesseley. ”You never found her! But we thought-”
”Where's Mama? Do you think she went back to her?” He was almost screaming.
”I don't know. We left the ball and went to the princess's. Then Eleanora and the princess went to Lord Damien's home. And I came here. No one said anything about Henrietta. We had a.s.sumed she was with you.”
”Where the h.e.l.l does Lord Damien live?”
”I don't know.”
”How did Henrietta know him? Where did they meet?”
”I didn't know she knew him,” she replied.
Kesseley banged his hand on the wall. ”What the h.e.l.l do you know?”
Edward took a step forward, putting his face less than an inch from Kesseley's. ”Watch yourself.”
”I'm sorry.” Kesseley backed away and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ”Forgive me. I have to go.”
”I'll go with you,” Edward said.
”There are several parties this evening,” Lady Winslow said. Kesseley could hear the fear quivering in her voice. ”I could-”
”No, it's too dangerous out tonight,” Edward interrupted. ”I would feel better if you stayed here.”
”But she could be in trouble,” she cried.
He kissed her cheek. ”We're going to find her. Don't worry.”
He turned to Kesseley. ”Where should I go?”
”I don't know.” Kesseley blurted out his worst fear. ”London Hospital.” Where the bodies were taken.
Lady Winslow stifled a cry in her hand.
”Get a hold of yourself, man.” Edward slapped Kesseley's shoulder, hard. ”I'll wager she rejoined your mama at that Lord Damien's. Go back to your home and see what you can find, an address or something. I'll ride over to the duke's and talk to the footman.”
Kesseley galloped home. He rushed to the parlor and tore open his mother's bureau. One by one, he pulled out each paper until every drawer and shelf was empty. Not a d.a.m.n thing about a Lord Damien. Who the h.e.l.l was this man?
He stumbled to the sofa, quaking. It was two in the morning. In his mind, her eyes were filled with terror in some dark place where he couldn't find her.
The candles flickered and spitted, about to burn out. Something red glinted under the bureau. He got down on his knees and ran his fingers along the floor, feeling cold metal. He slowly pulled out Henrietta's necklace.
He clutched the ruby pendant and held it to his lips.
The front door opened. Kesseley's sharp laugh sounded like something echoing down the halls of Bedlam. He ran out into the entrance hall.
That Lord Damien fellow stood with his mama, her head on his chest as he stroked her hair. When the blackguard saw him, he tightened his arm about her, as if to protect her from her own son.