Marcus nodded brusquely and showed the doctor to the door.“Thank you, doctor.Send me your bill.”As the doctor’s carriage moved off, Marcus noticed Jackson waiting across the road.He beckoned him inside.
“Thanks again for alerting me to the situation, and for summoning the doctor.I don’t imagine he liked being called out so early.The lady is sleeping off the effects of whatever filthy drug that swine gave her.You will be well rewarded, but first I have another task for you.”
“At your service, m’lord.”
“I’ll be calling on Lord Blaxland shortly.I hope Sims has kept him securely confined.I have a job for him, as well.Your errand is a trip to the docks.”He explained his plan to Jackson.The time he’d spent pacing outside Tessa’s door had not been in vain.
As he showed Jackson out, his aunt made a stately descent down the stairs.“What is all the commotion, Marcus?People coming and going at such an uncivilized hour!And who was that man who just left?He looked like a positive ruffian.”
He grinned.“Good morning, Aunt Maude.He probably is a ruffian, but a good one, I’m sure.”
She snorted.
He continued.“As for the people coming and going, the guest I told you about has arrived and is sleeping in the best spare bedchamber, with a maid watching over her.”
She raised her lorgnette and eyed him indignantly.“Your guest arrived atthisungodly time of the morning?And wentstraight to bed?Was she raised in abarnyardthat she has so little understanding of basic good manners?”
“As you very well know, she was raised at Ferndale, the property next to Alverleigh, remember?I don’t recall if there was a barnyard there, but if there was, I‘m sure she would have played there as a child.Nash and I used to play in our barn, especially in wet weather.”
She stamped her foot.“Do not try that fiddle-faddle on me, boy!I am not in the mood for it, especially at this time of day—I haven’t yet broken my fast.You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“Yes, Aunt Maude.Come into the breakfast parlor and while you drink your chocolate and eat your pastries, I’ll explain.”
#
AFTER HE’D BREAKFASTEDwith his aunt and attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers—without conspicuous success, he had to admit—he headed out.It was not quite noon.“Still there?”he asked Sims when he arrived.
“Aye, m’lord.He came to and cleaned ‘imself up a bit, then I put ‘im upstairs in ‘is bed.I reckon ‘e’ll be sound asleep by now.Or sozzled.”He grinned.“‘E weren’t an ‘appy chappy when I locked ‘im in, I can tell you.The language ‘e used!I din’t know lords could swear like that.Right shocked, I was.”Chuckling, he handed Marcus the key to the bedroom door.
“Good man.”Marcus slipped him a sovereign.“I have more work yet for you and Jackson.I’ll pay both of you when this affair is over.”
He ran upstairs, found the only locked door and unlocked it.Then he knocked.And knocked again, more loudly.After a few moments Blaxland fumbled at the door, swearing angrily.It cracked open a sliver, and a bloodshot eye peered warily out, then it opened fully and Edgar Blaxland stood there, bruised, disheveled and fuming.
“Renfrew, you bastard!What the devil do you want?”
He was clad in a lurid dressing gown tossed carelessly over the crumpled clothes he’d worn at the failed wedding.
He stank of drink.
He wore a plaster crookedly stretched across his nose—Marcus hoped it betokened a broken nose—one of his eyes was swollen and was darkening nicely, and his face bore several cuts and luridly promising bruises.
He stood, glaring at Marcus then as Marcus moved forward, he scuttled back hurriedly saying, “You’ve got a damned nerve, calling here after what you did.Where’s my blasted sister?”
“Safe.”Marcus pushed past him and entered the house.“I want a word with you, Blaxland.”
“Well, I don’t want a word with you—unless it’s to restore my sister to me.”
“You’ll wait in vain then.”
“Dammit, she’s my sister.You have no right to kidnap here, and so I’ll tell the magistrate when I report you for it.”
“Kidnapping is it?I thought it was more like a rescue.But go ahead, report me.I’m sure the authorities will be interested to hear how you were forcing your sister to get married by drugging her.And not for the first time,” he added silkily.
“Drugging!what the devil do you mean by that?”Blaxland blustered.“No such thing.The silly chit took a composer, that’s all.”
“Both times?She told me she had no memory of her last wedding.”
Blaxland’s expression was shifty.“Lies, all lies.She, she drinks, and like all females she has a weak head, that’s all.”
