Chapter Thirty-One
Miss Kitty Germaine, Mercer’s mistress, occupied a small, neat house on Henrietta Street. Clad in a filmy, flesh-colored robe, she received Alaric, Will, and Kent in a parlor done in a palette that strategically complimented her brunette coloring. By Alaric’s reckoning, this was a woman with a calculating bent. Despite her classical looks, he sensed a hardness to Miss Germaine, a cynicism that was beginning to etch lines around her eyes and mouth.
The profession of a mistress was, undoubtedly, a difficult one.
“Mercer’s not here,” she said matter-of-factly after they’d been seated. “And to save you the trouble: no, I haven’t the faintest notion where he’s gone.”
“How do you know we’re here because of Mercer?” Will demanded.
“Well, now, are you here for another reason, love? Because I do have a weakness for strapping men.” Her dark gaze encompassed all of them, lingering on Alaric. “And, my, what fine specimens you are.”
“We know Mercer was here,” Will said doggedly.
“He was.” Her shoulders lifted lazily. “Now he is not.”
“He is wanted for murder,” Kent said, “and unless you want to be charged as an accomplice—”
“Murder?” The languidness fled her expression. “The earl?”
“He has attempted to kill me twice,” Alaric said, “and shot another man in cold blood. He is not the sort of protector a woman would wish for.”
Beneath her subtle, artfully applied paint, Miss Germaine’s cheeks paled. “He isn’t—my protector, I mean. We parted ways a month ago.”
“Then why was he here?” Alaric said evenly.
“He said he’d run into a spot of trouble and needed a place to spend the night.” Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t have any cust—company planned, so I let him stay.”
“You have no idea where he’s headed?” Kent said.
“He left before dawn. Didn’t say goodbye.” Licking her lips nervously, she added, “My maid said she looked out the window and saw him with some unsavory characters. Apparently, they all took off in a coach together, and the top was packed with trunks. That’s all I know.”
Alaric didn’t detect any falsehoods. “Why did your arrangement with Mercer end?”
“Money,” she said succinctly. “Specifically, his lack thereof. Some conniver bilked him of his fortune—he’d turn apoplectic whenever he talked about it.”
Alaric exchanged grim glances with the other men. Apparently Mercer had rewritten history to make himself out to be the victim—perhaps he even believed his own false tales, used them to justify all the evil that he’d done. There was no telling what such a man was capable of.
Urgency and frustration filled him. He had to find Mercer, put an end to this chaos.
Then he could start a new life with Emma.
Her poise returning, Miss Germaine said coyly, “Being as selective as I am about my friendships, it has not been easy to find a truly rich and powerful patron.”
“I wish you luck.” Bridling with impatience, Alaric rose. “Thank you for your time.”
“Leaving so soon? Perhaps you’d like some refreshment—”
A pounding sounded on the front door. A minute later, Cooper entered the room, and Alaric’s insides chilled when he saw the bleak set of the guard’s features.
“What is it, Cooper?” he said.
“Mercer’s kidnapped Miss Kent and the dowager,” the guard said tersely, holding out a note. “He’s demanding ransom.”
***
The world came slowly into view. In the dim light, Emma made out wooden walls, a shuttered window, a table and stool… she was in a tiny cabin of some sort. And it was... rocking?
Where am I?
