No matter what his family thought, he wanted Rose and Olivia here. Here they could be cared for as they deserved.
Mark sat a little straighter and used his paper knife to open the first message to Stella. An overdue bill from the milliner. Of course. The next one was a bill from the butcher, also overdue, and with a rude note. A particularly fragrant one—Mark picked up a whiff of tobacco smoke and cheap cologne—held a plea for marriage. The florid words of the declarations of undying love reminded Mark of a drunken poet, and he noted the signature with amusement before setting it aside for the fireplace. Two more bills and several more love notes awaited. Apparently, the men attending the Haymarket were easily entranced.
Then came the missive that caused Mark to still, a slight chill slipping down his spine. It contained five twenty-pound notes and one line:
If this does not keep your tongue quiet, I will find a permanent solution.
No signature followed, and Mark checked the wax seal again—plain and flat. But the amount of money stood out, making him remember something Smith had said. He folded it up, included the bank notes, and set it aside as well. Obviously, hewould have something to speak with Smith about, in addition to whatever Judith plotted out.
Mark drained the rest of his coffee, his mind caught up in all that needed to be done in the meantime. He pulled the necessary cash from a bottom drawer and sorted it out for Stella’s outstanding bills. He wanted to pay these in person, in three cases to confirm they knew about her death, and to make sure that the butcher remained on good terms with the new household staff. A task normally left to the cook, but Mark wanted to get a measure of the man for himself. He folded the cash into each bill, tucked them into his coat along with the threat toward Stella, and stood, ringing for Howe and ordering a cloak and chapeau.
Time for a walk.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, 3 August 1814
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Quarter to eleven in the evening
Judith stared atthe rear façade of the redbrick townhouse, noting that lights still shone through only two windows—one on the third floor and one from a low, ground-floor room, probably the kitchen or housekeeper’s sitting room. In her mind, Judith envisioned the woman, harried but catching her breath as she concluded the day’s accounts and began plans for the morning. Pulling the hood of her black woolen cloak a bit tighter over her hair, Judith waited in the shadows of the hedge surrounding the back garden and kitchen yard, listening for the slightest sound.
Judith knew exactly the extent of the risk this was.This is madness.
But it had to be done. And Judith truly wanted to. Craved it, even.
Despite what thetonthought they knew about her, despite the gossipy whispers that circulated whenever she was in a ballroom or the park, nothing could have been proven without a doubt. She and her lovers had been discreet in that way. Any hint that a young man might be injudicious, and he would never find his way to her bed.
This, however, would be openly declaring her liaison with Lord Mark Rydell. There would be no turning back if this wentawry. And Judith could not entirely claim this was about her family, about securing their future. Not if she were honest with herself.
Because she wanted him. Her desire for him had deepened the more she had looked into Edmund’s business dealings and gambling debts. Rydell had been a thread through it all, and from her distant perspective, she could see that he had done what he could to safeguard her son—not ruin him, as had been claimed—but Edmund had been too foolish for anyone’s aid to make much of a difference. Whatever his reasons, Rydell had tried. That she could achieve her aim of being with him while at the same time helping Edmund added a scintillating thrill to this evening’s adventure.
Judith shuddered a bit inside the cloak, and not only because of the night’s chilled air. She had never engaged in this type of skulking about, and she wondered if this is how blackguards and robbers felt—or maybe illicit lovers destined for a tryst. Shivery, chilled, and anxious, jerking at the tiniest noise.
She found it all rather exhilarating.
The sounds of the night varied distinctly from the ones of the daytime—the distant rattles of hansom cabs, the horses clopping lethargically this time of night. The yowl of a cat. The clunks and clanks of last-minute chores before bed echoing along the mews and alleyways. But all the clamor seemed far away, muffled by a fog that had begun swirling through the streets, moist and gray, carrying with it the smells of the gutters and the river—smoke, horses, tar, and unwashed flesh.
How different from the streets of Mayfair after a ball, with the rush of carriages and the chatter of happy, if somewhat inebriated, voices. This was the London nighttime everyone warned children and young ladies about—everyone from the press to the politicians to the fretful mamas trying to keep their children safe at home.
Judith knew she should be afraid. Instead, she found it alluring, almost addictive.
The light in the ground floor window went out. It was time.
Glancing around again, Judith gathered the hem of the cloak and picked her way along a strip of gravel beside a lower hedge that separated the landscaped flora of the garden from the kitchen yard—her destination. As she closed on the house, the gravel gave way to a muddied area around the steps leading down to the ground floor rooms. In the dimmest of light from the moon overhead, she closed her hand around the door’s latch and eased it open.
On the other side, Lord Mark Rydell waited, holding a single candle. In only his shirt and trousers, his hair unkempt, he loomed like a sinister presence—except for the gleam in his eyes as he watched her, an expression of pure mischievousness. He put a finger to his lips and motioned her inside. He shut the door behind her, then glanced over his shoulder. When he spoke, his words were slightly louder than she expected, making her jump.
“Did anyone see you?” He pointed down the hall toward the kitchen and mouthed,Cook is still awake.
Understanding—she needed to appear secretive but not so much that the servants would not notice—Judith answered in the same volume. “Your neighbor, I think. I saw someone peering out the window. Also two cats, but I doubt they will tell anyone.”
“Cats never give away their secrets.”
Judith put her fingers to her lips, stifling a giggle. This all felt so deliciously naughty, so different from the discreet visits to her own bedroom, that she could not contain a touch of glee.
Mark pointed upward, taking her elbow. “Come with me.”
