The boy stared at him for a long minute. “Paul,” he finally said. “Mommy calls me Paul.”
Why did the name sound familiar? “How old are you?”
The little boy looked down at his fingers. Taking one hand, he covered his thumb and held up four fingers.
“Your Grace. I apologize for addressing you incorrectly earlier, but I thought it best to not address you asYour Grace,” the runner began.
“I understand and I was not insulted. You are Mr. Blume, correct?” Slade asked.
The man beamed, obviously pleased Slade remembered. “I am, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat. “I tied my horse up just beyond the stand of trees,” he said, pointing toward an area further up the road. “If you would like, I can take Paul to the parish constable and explain what happened,” he offered.
“The boy is four. Have an investigator meet me at my home. I would like to take the boy home and clean him up, give him some food, and quiet him down. We have a nursery, and I can employ a temporary nanny until we can determine his true situation.”
“Paul, you do not mind coming home with me until we can find out more about you, do you?” Slade asked. The little boy looked very unsettled.
Bella stepped from the carriage and walked over to him. “Who do we have here?” she asked, stooping to see the little boy on his level.
“P . . . P . . . Paul,” the child stammered.
“Paul, I saw what happened. Did you know that man?” she asked.
“No. He mean to Paul,” the small boy returned.
“Do you have a family?” she asked, squeezing the small boy’s hand.
He nodded. “Miss Mommy,” he added.
“Paul, I am going to take you home with me and we will find your mommy,” Slade said. “Are you all right with that?”
“It will be fun,” Bella said, still holding the lad’s hand. “What do you say?”
The child gave a nod. Slade took the little boy’s other hand, and the three walked to the carriage.
No one saw the dark-headed man wearing the ragged coat, standing behind a tree in the distance, watching.
Fourteen
Randall Leech could not believe his luck—seeing both good and bad. He was still cranky over his failed attempt to teach the boy to steal. He had found himself outed by the brat and had to abandon him in the park, dashing his hopes of using the child with his others to fleece. He had not counted on the boy being more stubborn than afraid of him. Fleecing was a delicate operation, and he found children did a better job of relieving the gentry of their valuables than adults. Angry, he determined he would have the child back—but this time as a sweep. He would teach the child a lesson, too. No one cut in on Randall Leech and got away with it.
The brat was his property now, and he vowed to nab him back. He studied the door of the carriage, recognizing the fancy “N” as being the same as had been on the carriage he and his partner had sent over a cliff a fortnight back. A fission of alarm shot down his spine, but he ignored it, still seething over the park incident. He would make the lofty lord sorry. It would not be hard to tail the well-marked carriage, and if he lost it, he needed to only describe it to find out the right address.
Leech shadowed the carriage into Mayfair until they came to a white, lime-washed brick townhouse on Curzon Street. The four-storied home with the burgundy painted door looked familiar. It was the addressshehad given him. “This could make me life easier!” He let out a sinister laugh and patted the pocket where he imagined tucking the bag of coin for a job well done.
Hiding behind a large tree from across the street, he watched the duke’s carriage stop and saw the lord get out. He saw the brat through the window and itched to retrieve him, but turned his attention to the lord, making himself be patient as he watched the gentlemen help the two women from the conveyance. How easy this would be. The lord had led him straight to his quarry, he thought as he stared at the lady he had been told to seize. His employer did not care what happened to her, ordering him to “Take care of the woman and make sure they cannot find her.” He had plans for her, he did—ones that would line his pockets even more.
The door to the townhouse closed, and he left, intent on following the carriage and retrieving the child, when the door reopened, and his quarry emerged with her maid. He looked up and down the street, trying to decide what to do. Noting the direction the carriage turned, he would take care of that later. However, this opportunity would likely not repeat itself, and he would not let it slip through his fingers. It was mid-afternoon, and he knew from experience that the servants would often cover for each other while they took their meals in the back kitchens. He was taking a chance but hoped no one would notice if he was quick—and Randall Leech was a quick operator. Smiling, he thought about the wagon he had hidden on the mews yesterday. He was ready.
Bella felt tooexcited to return quietly to her room, having experienced soul-stirring kisses that ignited her body to its core. Watching his carriage leave, her body tingled in remembrance of Slade’s heated kisses. Her lips burned with need as she replayed the feel of his full, hot lips on hers, mingled with his faint scent of sandalwood soap.
As he had lifted her from the carriage, Slade’s breath heated the side of her face. “I will see you tomorrow, Bella,” he had whispered. Bella knew she could not sit, read, or do anything else that required her body to be still.
She needed to work off this energy his touch had awakened. “Mary, it is still early. I should like to visit St. James and go to our favorite millinery shop. It would be nice to have a new hat or two when Madame Trousseau visits tomorrow.”
“That sounds like fun, Lady Bella. I will grab my purse and alert Mortimer as to where we are going,” Mary returned.
“I will wait here,” Bella said dreamily, deciding to wait below, against the low brick wall that framed the edge of the walk closest to her house, rather than the top step.
As she stood there, her thoughts turned to the daring kisses he had placed along her neck and décolleté. Lost in thought, she failed to notice the man she had observed in the park walk toward her. The odor from his body and clothes assaulted her. Before she could react, a man’s grimy, thick hand covered her mouth and pulled her behind the Camellia bushes down the side of her house. As he tied her arms with the rope from his pocket, she tried to make noise—anything to attract attention. Bella bit his hand, and he swore, stuffing a large foul rag in her mouth and heaving her onto his shoulder. Carrying her, he ran through the alley that separated her home from the next one.How did this happen? I must get away before he takes me away and I am never found. She had heard of abductions where the women were never found. The thought terrified her. Her feet felt unbound and free, so she began kicking him. The foul-smelling man swore, and with his fist, punched her in the face. Bella struggled to stay awake, but darkness was taking over. Why was this happening? She looked up at the sky. Her last thought was seeing the bright blue sky above and imagining the white cloud shapes to be Slade riding his horse to rescue her. The man threw a nasty greyish cover over her as she slowly lost the battle for consciousness.
