“I wonder if he has seen the fire yet,” Francis continued in his joyful tone. “Do you think he’s heartbroken?” His laughter echoed menacingly in the room, and Maria fought the need to shiver.
Devastated. Merely the thought of all that she had lost made her eyes burn with tears. Now, however, was not the time to dwell on her feelings. She could scarcely feign sleep while weeping.
Instead, she focused her attention on memorizing the precise way in which she lay, the fold of her skirts, her hair, and the exact position of her limbs. When she carried out her plan, it must be flawless, or she would not retain the element of surprise.
She’d listened to Francis’ movements, knew when he put his pistols down and when he carried them close.
“There,” he said reverently, the sound creeping along her skin. “Now, don’t move until I get back!” His harsh laughter grated along her nerves.
There was a shift of fabric and the scrape of wood against wood, and the room fell silent.
Maria hesitated, then cracked one eye open. She was in a dimly lit attic that was shockingly furnished for onlyoneservant—the space was designed for at least two—with a writing table and chair placed in a far corner. As much as she might like to learn more about the room in which she was held, she hadn’t much time.
Careful to observe where, precisely, she lay, she rose unsteadily to her feet, pin prickles tingling over her aching body. Her head spun in a wave of dizziness, and she quickly steadied herself.
With wobbly steps, she reached the writing table and retrieved her dagger and the loaded pistol he’d left behind. Her breath came fast, and her pulse raced, her stomach swirling with the fear of being caught.
Francis had his weapon, and she did not know from which direction he would return. If she wished to take him by surprise, she hadn’t a choice but to lure the man in, and she could not do that by standing foolishly by when he entered.
Before she carried out her plan, however, shemustknow…
Steadier now, she crept silently to the small, murky dormer window and peered out into the cloudy day. Carriages trundled along the cobblestoned street, finely dressed people strolled along the walk, and governesses guided children toward the green. It was, indeed, a familiar street, bustling with activity, and yet so very far from her reach. Grosvenor Square.
Maria’s chest tightened and her blood ran cold as realization dawned. She was in the house directly beside Jasper’s!Thiswas how Francis was getting inside—through the attic. And Lady Cartwright must indeed have aided him in keeping silent while the servants were abed on the other side of the wall.
She must have paid her servants a substantial sum for them to keep herguest’s presence secret while she was alive. No doubt Harris and his men would glean that information from their interrogations, but by then it might be too late.
Francis was frighteningly adept at hiding himself and his movements; if Maria’s plan failed, there was a possibility that she would never be found.
With that troubling thought, she carefully positioned herself on the floor once more, adjusting her limbs, hair, and skirts just so. She hid her weapons among the folds of her skirts, closest to the hand that lay curled on the floor.
Her abdomen tightened with anxiety even as hope attempted to show itself. She was grateful for the dim light and cloud cover out of doors, for it lowered the chance of Francis noticing any part of her that mightn’t be in the correct place.
Every part of her body protested with pain and tingling numbness as she settled into position. Deepening her breaths, she focused on returning her body to a state of feigned sleep.
* * *
“Thankyou all again for joining me,” Jasper said thickly. Christ, but his body was afire with worry.
He stood in his parlour, facing his sister, her family, Maria’s friends, and a select few of Maria’s paid staff who had offered their services—in addition to those among Harris’ staff currently on shift. Each of them sat or stood around the parlour’s seating area, leaning against the wall or a piece of furniture, waiting expectantly for more information.
The room was pregnant with fear and sorrow, and filled with the soft sounds of Thomas’ occasional grunts and clicks.
Jasper cleared his throat. “I realize that I am not in charge of this case, nor is it my place to insert myself in the Bow Street women’s business. And for that I apologize. Once Maria is found safely, I shall most happily return command to the exceptionally talented Miss Huntsbury.” He clasped his hands in front of himself to hide their tremble. “For the moment, however, we must devise a new plan of action.”
“Have you not had the Home Office searching this whole time?” Juliana asked, her dark brows puckered in a puzzled frown.
“As a matter of fact,” Jasper groused, “we’ve come to learn that the local magistrate—Sir Ludlow Vaughan—is the man who aided Francis in his escape from the noose. They’ve been planning a coup not only to gain Francis the dukedom, but also to be rid of our prime minister.”
“But that’s outrageous!” Juliana exclaimed.
“Holy hell,” Mr. Percy Baxter muttered.
“Indeed.” Jasper nodded. “Miss Huntsbury has assured me she will deal with the man.
A knock sounded at the parlour door, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. The tall footman bowed deeply and swallowed convulsively, his neck and cheeks growing a deep crimson.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but an urgent parcel just arrived for you.”
