Chapter Sixteen

May 23, 1818

Rogue's Arcade Club

Mayfair, London

There was a certain comfort and safety in sitting around a table in a private room at his club, surrounded by his brothers-in-arms knowing that they all had a common goal—keeping each other—and their families—safe.

On this night, he'd come to them, even though in doing so he left his wife and son vulnerable, but it was time to force the criminal network's hand. Five rogues, including him, stared at the Egyptian necklace that he'd laid out carefully in the middle of the polished cherrywood table. It had taken much convincing on his part for Charity to give up the hiding place, but in the end, she agreed that if they were to have a chance at any sort of decent, peaceful life, the threats needed to end.

"According to my wife, this piece used to belong to an Egyptian queen in an early dynasty." It didn't matter that he didn't remember the name of the queen or when she ruled. That wasn't the point. What mattered was it was here now, and Lady Stover had claimed an interest in it. He wanted to know why, and how to thwart her, possibly put her down if he had the chance.

Dukes Lockwood and Strathfield exchanged glances as Lord Timelbury and the Earl of St. Vincent stared at the glittering diamonds connected by Egyptian worked silver. Oddly, the eyes of the asp gleamed as if it plotted something vile.

"It has been a long while since I've seen that many diamonds," the earl said in a low voice. "And in light of what's happening, I can't say that I ever want to see such a thing again."

"I don't blame you." Michael nodded at the man who'd just become a father a few months before. "Ever since this damned necklace has resurfaced from my late father-in-law's belongings, there's been nothing but trauma." He tapped a fingernail against the side of his brandy glass. "And worse, the intruder who tried to kidnap my son the other night told my wife that he and his associates killed her father, the man who owned a pawn shop and the person who had the necklace in his possession."

"This story continues to grow horrible legs," Lockwood said as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "I would go home, but the baby has colic, and quite frankly, I needed the quiet for a few hours." He blew out a breath. "Obviously, I love my daughter, but does she need to be so loud?"

St. Vincent snorted. "I understand completely, but I wouldn't trade this time in my life for any other."

Timelbury shot a glance at Michael. "There will be time enough to exchange rueful infant tales later. Right now, we need to decide what the devil we are going to do about Winteringham's problem. He has helped many of the rogues when they were under siege; he deserves our assistance in his hour of need."

"Agreed." Strathfield nodded as he peered over the rim of his wineglass. "This threat has grown for a couple of months, since Lord Rockwell nearly lost his life as well as his wife's. Lady Stover disappeared into the night then, we cannot let her slink away now."

"How?" Michael couldn't help but ask. "She has a host of minions and thugs to do her dirty work. I rather doubt she will be held accountable." He drained his brandy glass. "Aside from hating every man in this club, why has she decided to go after this particular piece?"

"I can help with that." The Duke of Edenthorpe came into the room, and the steady thump thump of his cane followed as he went around the table until he fell into an empty chair. "Ever since Winteringham told me about the necklace, I have been making a few discreet inquiries."

"And?" It was Timelbury who put forth the inquiry as all eyes were trained on the duke.

"Mr. Maitland did indeed have possession of the necklace for many years. Brought it back from a dig in Egypt where a tomb was discovered intact. Shortly after that, a sandstorm as well as violence in the area caused the tomb to be lost, but Maitland took the piece back to London." He nodded his thanks at Strathfield, who shoved a glass of brandy his way. "At some point during Maitland's stints in London, he found a potential buyer for the diamonds, someone we were all familiar with at one time—the Duke of Winthrop."

St. Vincent cursed under his breath. "The same man who tried to drown Twinsfield and his wife?"

Edenthorpe nodded. "Indeed. And the same duke who attempted to kill his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Winthrop, who is now married to one of our members, Alexander Burgess."

"Bloody hell." Strathfield shook his head. "I believe we heard mention of that fellow not long ago during Rockwell's encounter with her. Isn't Lady Stover a cousin to that same duke?"

"She is." Edenthorpe nodded. "From what I've managed to glean, Winthrop desperately wished to buy that necklace from Maitland. A meeting was scheduled, but something occurred during said meeting, something that soured Maitland from going through with the transaction."

Timelbury huffed. "No doubt he found fault with Winthrop's character and decided to keep the piece for himself."

"That could certainly have happened," Edenthorpe agreed with a nod. "However, we all know now that Winthrop required many revenue sources to fund his nefarious endeavors, and if he was thwarted in buying a necklace that would fetch several fortunes when the stones were sold off separately, he would have been quite displeased. His family connection as well as his associates would have been appraised of this."

"And you believe Lady Stover has actively been searching for this particular necklace to fund her own plans," Strathfield finished in a low voice.

As they all looked at the diamond piece, Edenthorpe nodded.

"My guess is she'd tried to purchase it over six months ago, and when Maitland wouldn't sell—either he'd heard the stories, or he wanted to keep it for his daughter's future—the countess had him killed. Whether as punishment or motivation for the new Lady Winteringham to sell, I couldn't say, but one thing is certain, she is not giving up."

"Neither is my wife," Michael said with pride evident in his voice. "However, we do need a plan, and as we have in a few times past, should we use the necklace as bait to draw out Lady Stover?" Just saying that aloud caused his chest to tighten, for Charity didn't deserve to be put into blatant danger again.

"That is one direction." Slowly, Edenthorpe nodded. "Yet after recent events, if you don't wish to put your wife in jeopardy again, merely offer it up and see who comes running." When Michael frowned, the duke continued. "Announce that you will be at a place we've selected at a specific time. Any interested parties can come for the piece. Let them fight it out."

"While I do what? Stand there with one pistol and one shot? Let them kill me?" He'd survived too much to reach the place where he was at the moment. To say nothing of how valuable everything in his life was.

"Of course not," Timelbury said with a grin and understanding in his eyes. "We will set up an ambush. Make Lady Stover face us and end this once and for all."

"Indeed," St. Vincent said with a definitive nod. "The woman has abject hatred in her heart for all of us, and we—the rogues collectively—have far too much to lose to continue letting her run unchecked through London." His voice broke, and Michael suspected he thought of his babe at home. "We have all gone through hell and back to grasp at happiness for ourselves. Hell, Twinsfield's expecting a babe in under two months, and Broadmoor has a child on the way as well. We cannot let this evil harm our brothers-in-arms."

"Agreed," both dukes said in unison.

He only relaxed slightly. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter."

Strathfield cleared his throat. "Can we assume from your worry that this marriage of convenience you've entered into as a way to protect Lady Winteringham has become something… else?" One of his dark eyebrows rose in question.

"Oh, I…" Heat sneaked up the back of Michael's neck. "She has been… surprising. Having Charity in my life makes me think about things differently, and that inherent vulnerability is damn attractive." He considered his next words carefully. "But she possesses a backbone that has earned my respect." Briefly, he recounted what she'd done to defend his son against the intruder. "Our union has certainly shifted after that."

Edenthorpe exchanged a knowing glance with St. Vincent. "Isn't that how it always goes? If a man is fortunate, a marriage of convenience or an engagement that began without a hint of soft feelings always changes into something else?"

The earl nodded. "Especially with men like us, who have come home from the war broken in some way."

A bit of laughter went around the table.

"So, Winteringham, tell us the truth." Timelbury grinned. Amusement twinkled in his eyes. "Have you fallen in love with your wife?"

Of course, the conversation would eventually come ‘round to this topic. The heat from his neck slipped upward to encompass his face. "Honestly, I am weary of fighting it, so yes. I do believe I am headed down that slippery slope to love once more." He shrugged, for there was no shame in it. "In fact, after I take her to Essex to introduce her to my mother and sister, I would like to embark on a wedding trip, with both her and my son. As a way for all of us to decompress from the horrors we've recently encountered."

"Ah." When Edenthorpe grinned, there was nothing but encouragement in the gesture. "Things are going well between you, then?"

"They are. She is fearful, of course, and she also believes she isn't skilled enough to move within the ton since she isn't part of this world, but none of that matters."

"Indeed, it does not," Strathfield said with a nod. "Though I don't know your wife well, even a nodcock can see she is a quick study and that she has a determination about her that will serve her well in whatever she sets out to do."

"Yes." Michael swallowed down a ball of emotion in his throat as he continued to think about his future. "There are times when I look at her that I yearn to have another child." The admission surprised him, and he couldn't believe he'd said such a thing aloud, but there it was.

Perhaps it was too much for his brain to take in, for with his next breath, he was locked in a memory when he absolutely didn't wish to be.

May 1, 1815

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

Oh, dear God, when will it end?

Michael shoved a hand through his hair. Sarah had been in labor for thirty hours, and there was still no babe to show for the excruciating effort.

Some of those hours he'd been in the room with her, giving her support and encouragement where he could, letting her borrow from his strength when she was able; while at other times, he'd taken to pacing outside the bedroom door. Every once in a while, he'd steal a few hours of sleep, but relief remained elusive. With every beat of his heart, worry for his wife had been shoved to the forefront.

And still, his heart ached from the unknown. With every passing hour and the babe not making an appearance, he couldn't help but think of what would happen. Would she survive, or wouldn't she? To say nothing of the fact that Christopher was an inquisitive four-year-old, and even though he didn't know what was happening with his mother, he was aware something was not quite right.

She must survive, for us both. I can't lose her.

"How do you fare, brother?"

He looked up from his contemplation of the wood grain in the closed bedchamber door to see his sister approaching. Lucy's peaches-and-cream complexion and her ready smile did much to lift his flagging spirits. Though she'd lost her husband during one of the last battles of the war, making her a widow at eight and twenty, she hadn't let that affect her sunny outlook, and damn but he wished he could learn that secret.

"Not well, if you want to know the truth." It was such a relief to see Lucy that for a moment, he wanted to release the tight hold he had on all the emotions swirling through his chest and simply let her comfort him as they'd done as children. "It's been so long, and nothing much has changed, and it's different this second time."

Absolutely more terrifying.

"The best I can tell you is that babies come on their own timeline." She gave him a brief hug. "But I share your apprehension. Being delivered of a babe is terror inducing even though one is anticipating holding that babe in one's arms."

"I'm sorry. This must bring back terrible memories for you," he managed to whisper, for the shadows in his sister's eyes told him everything he needed to know—she was remembering the time she'd lost her babes… stillborn twins.

"It is not the most pleasant of days, but I will manage. Memories, though sometimes unsavory, merely mean we have lived, or have tried to." She shrugged but grief settled into her expression. "As you can imagine, Albert and I were devastated; the poor man had come home on leave for the birth, and those times aligned. But God obviously had other plans."

That had been a handful of years ago, when she'd been a new bride and hopeful about the future.

"I'm sorry."

"It is all right, Michael. One can't have love without grief, and even though there is the feeling of having dreams die, eventually, there are other dreams, and grief makes room for them in one's heart."

"And those new ones, when achieved, will have greater meaning."

"Yes." Lucy smiled, and there was a touch of sadness there. "But it will be nice to hold another niece or nephew to let me remember when I had that little dream of my own."

"I'm glad you shared this with me. It helps." His chest was as tight as ever, possibly even more so after that story. Nothing was ever guaranteed in this life, and the key to surviving, to knowing happiness was enjoying everything in the moment. "I wish I'd had more time with Sarah…"

If she expired, the years he'd been with her would forever remain treasured in his heart, and he would feel that loss quite deeply.

"No matter how many times I caution you not to think like that, you will. How can you not? You're fiercely in love with her, and let me tell you, I've never been more proud of you than I am right now." His sister's smile was beautiful. "The man you've become—and are still becoming—is much better than the rogue you were before."

"Thank you," he murmured as he shoved his hand through his hair once again.

"Papa would have been proud as well, and he would have adored Christopher." She led him to an ornate chair that rested against the wall next to a matching table. Gently, she pushed him into it. "Mama is quite excited."

"I can't wait for you and Mama to meet this babe." He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands, breathing hard to stave off a wave of anxiety. "Dear God, the wait will kill me." When a scream from within reached his ears, he swallowed to prevent casting up his accounts. "When will it end?" He grabbed handfuls of his hair then rubbed his hands over his face. It was all too much. The enormity of what was at stake quickly overwhelmed him. A sob of desperation escaped. Then another followed. All too soon, he gave up the image of the stiff upper lip of an English gentleman and he cried out his sorrows and frustrations as well as his hopes to his sister, who stood by his side with a hand on his shoulder.

"There is nothing wrong with letting out those emotions," she said then leaned down to buss his cheek.

Eventually, the excess of emotion faded. After he'd mopped his face, he looked sheepishly at her. "Life enjoys knocking me about at times."

"I completely understand." Her next smile was a watery affair. "It will soon be over, though, so you should go inside and be with Sarah. She needs you. This is the most important moment, and she's going to battle with life and death for her chance. You owe it to her to believe in her strength."

"I just wish it would end. I'm not certain how much longer I can wait for an outcome."

"No doubt you will have an answer soon, brother, and I wish for all the best." With a wave, she went along the corridor toward the private family parlor where their mother waited.

With a nod, Michael stood then slowly opened the door to Sarah's bedchamber and went inside.

He came back to himself with a gasp, for Strathfield had shaken his shoulder quite roughly. With a nod of thanks, he wiped at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, grateful that he was wrenched from the memory before he had to witness watching his wife die and being told his second son was stillborn.

"Though I might want another child, I don't know if I'm strong enough for such a risk. It took much from me the last time," he managed to whisper to the room at large.

"Ah, but therein lies the mystery," Edenthorpe said with compassion in his dark eyes. "Life, by its very definition means taking risks, sometimes daily. No one understands that better than military men, hmm? "

"Yes." Michael nodded as the last vestiges of the memory left him. "Until we can flush out the criminals, nothing could be done. None of us can move forward, and I don't particularly wish to live the remainder of my life looking over my shoulder."

"Understandable." Strathfield nodded. "Go home, Winteringham. We will stay and devise a plan. Once finished, we will contact you."

"Thank you." As he stood, he gathered up the necklace then stuffed it in a hidden, interior pocket of his superfine jacket. "It is good have such close friends."

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

A half hour later, he was ensconced in his study, for while he'd been out, his man-of-affairs had delivered legal paperwork that needed Michael's approval. As he glanced over the several sheets, he nodded. All was well. He intended to pop in on Charity once finished with the paperwork, for she had been out shopping this afternoon and had then had an appointment with her modiste for final fittings on the new clothing she'd ordered. As far as he knew, Christopher and his governess had taken tea with one of his little friends and that boy's governess. Both should have arrived home in good time for dinner in a bit.

Once he'd dropped his signature on all paperwork, he grinned. This ensured that Charity would be taken care of if something should happen to him, and that she would have the raising and care of Christopher should he predecease her. It also meant that the small amount of funding her father left her would be hers as well as the sum he'd given as a settlement. Additionally, she would have complete ownership of the London townhouse. The country estate would go to Christopher, obviously, but he wanted her cared for in the future.

Because, yes, he was falling in love with her.

After closing the leather folio, the unmistakable crash of glass startled him. Seconds later, a brick thudded to the Oriental carpet, landing there amidst shards of glass.

"What the devil?" When no one invaded the study, Michael came around his desk to contemplate the brick. A folded piece of paper had been tied to it with twine. With knots of worry tightening in his gut, he picked up the brick then freed the note. Once he'd laid the brick on the corner of his desk, he savagely unfolded the paper .

Winteringham, we have your wife. If you want to see her alive again, you'll come to the address below, with the tiara alone. No more chances will be given.

"Bloody hell." The daring and effrontery were outside of enough. "Like hell I'll come alone." The address was within a string of warehouses at the London Docks. No doubt Lady Stover was making the setting poetic, since that was where Charity's father had met his demise.

Hot anger surged through his chest as he crushed the note in his hand. If it was the last thing he did, he would rescue his wife once again, and this time, there would be no mercy to whomever was holding her.

Striding out into the corridor, he yelled for the butler and anyone else on his staff that was probably in earshot.

Not long after, a handful of servants had assembled near the foot of the stairs.

"There is no sense dancing about the issue: Lady Winteringham has been kidnapped."

Neelson gawked, while the two maids gasped. "When, my lord?"

"You tell me. How the devil did anyone break into this house again?" He didn't bother to modulate his voice, for he was beyond incensed.

The housekeeper shook her head. Fear reflected in her eyes. "My lady never came home from her outings, my lord. We thought she'd met with friends or that her appointments ran late."

"What?" The facts wouldn't trudge through the mire of his mind. "Yet the carriage had returned. I spied it in the mews when I rode my horse there from being at the club." He glanced at all of them. "Where is the footman she took with her?"

Neelson's face paled. "The carriage came back but the footman didn't."

This didn't bode well. "Is he hurt, then?"

"No, my lord. I found a letter from him on my desk not half an hour past. He gave notice, it seems."

Fuck me. "Then he was a plant, an employee of the enemy." This whole damned time, in his own bloody household! Consternation brewed in his chest while fear played his spine. "Then it makes sense why my wife was taken, snatched from the shops."

Both of the maids burst into tears.

He ignored them in favor of pinning Neelson with his gaze. "Find a trusted footman. I need to send this note as well as a missive to the Duke of Edenthorpe at the Rogue's Arcade immediately."

"Of course, my lord." The butler dashed off with a speed that belied his age .

To the housekeeper, Michael said, "Ready Lady Winteringham's bedchamber. Have supplies on hand with hot water and rags in the event she is wounded, but I promise you that I will bring her back."

Yes, he would rescue his wife one last time, for after that, he wouldn't let her out of his sight, at least not until he told her what was in his heart and implore her to enter into a real marriage with him, regardless of whatever their future held.