Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

N o arrest was made that night, nor the following one.

But on the third night, Roderick MacDonald fell into their trap.

Izzie had been on tenterhooks the entire time, sleeping poorly at night and unable to concentrate by day. She had resolved to try to work on her latest manuscript, as fruitless as the effort seemed, and was heading down the hall toward John Nettlethorpe’s chamber when she heard Archibald call her name.

“Archibald?” Confused, she blinked at her husband, who was jogging up the stairs. He had left for Nettlethorpe Iron only an hour earlier. “What are you—”

“They got him,” he said without preamble.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Got him? Do… do you mean—”

“Roderick MacDonald. As well as William Cooper—”

“I knew his name was Cooper!”

Archibald reached her, and she threw herself into his arms. He hugged her close, cradling her against his chest. “You were right. They nabbed MacDonald, Cooper, and a half-dozen of their henchmen.”

“Do they know who Cooper was working for?”

Archibald shook his head. “Bow Street is questioning him right now. I don’t have much in the way of details. But I thought you would want to know.”

“I do. Thank you for coming to tell me right away.” She felt tears pricking. She truly had the most wonderful husband.

She brushed her damp eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“I believe and hope it probably is. But, considering the lengths these men were going to kill you, we should still proceed cautiously. I wouldn’t just walk out the front door.”

“You’re right, of course.” Izzie sighed. “And I’ll be fine. Lucy and Diana are coming to keep me company this afternoon. I can manage a few more days cooped up inside.”

Archibald’s eyes were sympathetic. “I don’t even know that it needs to be a few days. But let’s confirm they have the right men. Then we can formulate a plan. I want to be there the first time you venture out, along with a good-sized group of my men. Assuming that goes well, we can adjust the level of precautions accordingly.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

He brushed his lips across hers. “I have to get back to the forge. We’ll talk more tonight.”

“Yes. Tonight.”

That evening, Izzie left the Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy mansion for the first time in a week. In addition to the half-dozen men riding on the outside of the carriage she and Archibald took, they were accompanied by an escort of three carriages stuffed with ironworkers ready to come to her aid if there was any trouble.

But the ride was uneventful. With a dozen of his men standing guard, Archibald swept Izzie into the Bow Street Offices.

They were greeted by Thomas Daubney, the Runner who had been assigned to the case. He led them toward the back of the offices.

“The men are about to be questioned,” Mr. Daubney explained. “We need you to confirm if they’re the same pair you overheard in Vauxhall.” He opened the door to a dark, empty room. “If you’ll wait in here, you can watch as I lead them by, and hopefully, you’ll be able to see them without them spotting you.”

Izzie agreed, and she and Archibald settled down to wait in the shadows. After a few minutes, Mr. Daubney walked by, followed by two men being escorted by guards.

Izzie held her breath as they passed in front of the open door. “That’s them,” she whispered to Archibald once they were gone. “I’m sure of it.”

She told Mr. Daubney the same thing, then climbed back into the carriage and was whisked back to the Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy mansion less than an hour after she had stepped outside.

Buoyed by the success of the excursion and their growing confidence that the men responsible for the attempts on Izzie’s life had been arrested, she and Archibald decided to try again the following day. That morning, Archibald accompanied her for a stroll about the green. The walk only lasted ten minutes, and three dozen of his men were fanned out around the square, looking out for any sign of trouble.

It was entirely uneventful, and Izzie started to believe that she was finally waking from this nightmare. They repeated the exercise the following morning and slowly started reducing the number of men guarding the house around the clock. Archibald also brought in an architect he’d worked with before to start planning the modifications that would be necessary to build Izzie’s library.

On the third day, they ventured out once more, this time to The Temple of the Muses, the largest bookstore in all of England. Archibald had arranged for the store to stay open after its usual closing time so they wouldn’t have to worry about potential assassins lurking behind every shelf.

It was Izzie’s every fantasy come true. Archibald told her to buy as many books as she wanted and to get copies of all her favorites. “We need to fill those floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, after all.”

He proceeded to follow her around the store, carrying her books for her while she browsed. Well, that wasn’t quite true. No one man was capable of carrying the number of books she selected. But he carried them for her until one of the clerks came scurrying up the stairs to convey them to the main sales counter below.

Izzie even had the delightful experience of finding her own book in stock in the section dedicated to Gothic novels. Archibald tried to buy all seven copies, but Izzie stopped him. “How will new readers discover my book if it isn’t in stock?”

Archibald sulked but settled for buying three and placing an order for an additional twenty.

Izzie was reaching for a book on a high shelf in the history section when she noticed how dark it was outside. “What time is it?” she asked Archibald.

He consulted his pocket watch. “Half eight.”

She blanched. “Half eight!”

She peered at her husband. His expression seemed almost… jovial.

That didn’t make any sense. She’d been shopping for more than two hours! Surely, he was bored to tears. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, climbing down from the stepladder she had been using.

“Sorry?” Archibald’s brow creased. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t realize how long I’d been browsing. I’m sure you must be finding this dreadfully dull.”

“Not at all,” Archibald said gallantly. At her skeptical look, he added, “No, really. You looked so happy.” He rubbed the back of his head, staring at the floorboards. “I like seeing you happy.”

He stood there holding a stack of books, ears turning pink, and Izzie marveled at the fact that she had only spoken to this man for the first time two weeks ago.

And here she was, falling in love with him.

Because she was certain that the champagne-bubble sensation arising in the general vicinity of her heart was love, not dyspepsia. And really, how could she resist this man? He kissed her like the world was about to end, he threw himself at knife-wielding villains to save her, and then he declared that her florid Gothic novel was the most marvelous thing he’d ever read.

He was building her dream library for her. He even followed her around the bookstore for hours on end, smiling softly and carrying her books!

Really, what chance did a girl stand?

“Well,” Izzie said, blinking back the tears that were suddenly pricking in her eyes, “I’m sure the salesclerks are ready to head home to their supper. Shall we do the same?”

“As you like.” Archibald shifted the stack of books to one arm so he could offer her his other one.

Downstairs, Izzie felt bashful as she noted just how many crates it had taken to hold all the books she had selected. Archibald was speaking in hushed whispers to the store manager. Izzie couldn’t make out all that they said, but she did catch the words, “—hundred pounds.”

“Oh, dear,” she said as Archibald ushered her out to the waiting carriage. “How much did all of this cost?”

He handed her up. Once they were alone inside, he answered, “Less than a tenth of the sum my father has spent commissioning statues of himself as Alexander the Great if it makes you feel better.”

That startled a giggle out of her. She had seen his father’s new statue, after all.

Still… “You don’t think I spent too much?”

“Izzie.” He squeezed her hand. “I was prepared to give you ten thousand pounds a year in pin money. I truly don’t want you to worry about this. What I want is for you to be happy”—he looked down, ears reddening, and added softly—“with me.”

Izzie crawled into his lap and looped her arms around his neck. “I am very happy with you.” She pressed her lips to his.

When she pulled back, he was looking down. “Because I’m so—”

“Thoughtful,” she supplied as he uttered the word “rich.”

Archibald looked up, startled. “Thoughtful?”

She trailed kisses across his jawline toward his lips. “Thoughtful. Kind. Supportive.”

He still looked befuddled. “Me? Thoughtful? Real—”

Her lips claimed his then, and there was no more conversation for some time.

The carriage ride was not long enough for them to finish what they started.

No matter. Archibald carried her up the stairs again, and they made good use of the hulking canopied bed.

Afterward, as she drifted off to sleep, Izzie smiled, glad that the danger had finally passed and her life could return to normal.

But she was wrong.