“He took my son.” Rage boiled out of me. The tight calm I’d maintained when explaining to Donata what I’d do and the rigidness that had sustained me through the ride fell away. “He took myson. He wants you in exchange, and I will give you to him.”
Denis gazed down at me from two flights above, his eyes in shadow. The hand that touched the railing did not move.
I could barely remain still. Seven men blocked my way to the stairs, but I would barrel through them if I had to. Brewster stood by me, his knife held competently.
Logic told me I’d lose the battle, but I could not afford to. I must deliver Denis for Peter, and this I would do.
Denis lifted his hand from the railing and started down the stairs. “Very well. We will go.”
I rocked back, uncertain I’d heard correctly.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Brewster called up to Denis. “But if you run in with your army, Creasey might dispatch the lad right away.”
“I do know that, Mr. Brewster.” Denis continued down the stairs like a chill fog lowering. “Captain Lacey, you will take me in as though I am your prisoner. We will retrieve Viscount Breckenridge, and then you will leave Creasey to me.”
“Fine,” I turned. “Let us be gone.”
“We’ll go in a carriage.” Denis’s cold tones stopped me. “You must have patience for a few more minutes.”
“I have no patience,” I snarled. “He was taken because of you.”
“I understand this, Captain.” Denis reached the ground floor. His blue eyes met mine. In them I read—regret? I could not say.
“’Tis a mad idea,” Brewster argued. He slid away the knife but kept his hand on it under his coat.
“It is the only idea,” Denis countered. “We need to invade his stronghold in order to reach his lordship, and this is the best way. Creasey wants my head so much that he will risk springing a trap.”
Several bodies stood between Denis and me, so I could not seize him and shake him. “You donothinguntil Peter is safely away with me. Nothing.”
Denis gave me a nod. “Of course.”
After my wild ride across country and through the sleeping city, I chafed to wait one more moment, but it was not long before Denis’s carriage rolled to a halt at the front door. He had been murmuring to his men at the end of the hall, just out of my hearing, and now joined me to leave the house.
Even now, Denis exercised all caution moving from door to carriage. His men surrounded him, and me. He climbed into the carriage first, then Brewster shoved me inside behind him, and hauled himself in to land beside me.
None of the other men followed. They dispersed, flowing to do whatever Denis had instructed them.
“When we reach the wharves,” Denis said as the carriage jerked forward, “we will descend there, and you and Mr. Brewster will walk me the rest of the way. Creasey might simply hand over his lordship, or he might try to hold on to him longer. Regardless, you take him and go, with Mr. Brewster to guard the pair of you. No argument.”
“Agreed.” I folded my arms, the one word sufficient.
“His mum is coming,” Brewster said to Denis. “She wouldn’t stay behind.”
Denis acknowledged this with a nod. “By the time she arrives, she should be reunited with her son.”
I said nothing. Donata might take Peter from my arms and shut the door in my face. I would not blame her. I knew that if I’d extricated myself from Denis years ago, his enemies would not have used my family to snare him. Likewise, if Denis had not required me to deliver the white queen, Creasey might never have paid attention to me.
If Donata turned me out, I’d retreat to Grimpen Lane. I would not disgrace her with a divorce if she did not want that, but she’d never have to see me again.
My heart burned somewhere beneath my fury and fear, but I would have to face one emotion at a time.
Because the streets were deserted, the morning deliverymen just beginning their rounds, we reached Lower Thames Street fairly quickly. The closer to our destination we came, the more I wanted to fling open the door and drag Denis out, hurrying the rest of the way on foot. Only Brewster’s bulk next to me, solid and calm, his shoulder against mine, kept me in place.
At last the carriage halted before the Custom House. Brewster was the first out, reaching back to help me down. He handed me a walking stick I did not recognize, but which made Denis’s eyes flicker. Filched from Denis’s house while we waited, I presumed.
As my stick was in Gloucestershire, I accepted the purloined one without question. Though it had no sword inside it, it was solid oak with a heavy gold head and would make a good weapon. I hefted it as the carriage moved off to await my return with Peter.
Denis would walk between Brewster and me into the lane. We’d guard Denis from anyone shooting at him from the windows—I did not want Creasey to kill him and then decide he had no more need for his hostage.
