Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

A nother day was winding down at the seamstress shop, and Bridget was putting the needles and thread spools away when a familiar face popped in through the door.

“Is there a little lady named Bridget in here?” Adam teased as he stepped into the store. “And does she have any particular penchant toward a tin of lemon drops?”

“Adam!” Bridget did away with the formality of his title since no one was around. “I am so happy to see you, but you do not have to bribe me every time you come around.”

“Why not?” he grinned. “I enjoy bribing you. Maybe one day you will succumb to my charms and marry me.”

She blushed, “Adam, as much as I appreciate the offer, I am—”

“Head over heels in love with Lord Hansen,” Adam smiled unaffectedly. “I know dear, it is all over the newspapers as of late. I do not fault you for looking high, but this business with Duke Arlington is troubling. Why does he keep appearing?”

Slumping into a curricle chair, Bridget sighed. “It’s not on purpose, Adam. Every interaction I have had with him was…. a sequence of horrible events.”

“I see,” Adam’s face twisted. “Speaking of horrible events, I made good on my promise to look for Frederick. He is gone, Bridget. The manor house is abandoned and emptied, and word on the street is that your brother fled to some rookeries to hide from his cutthroat moneylenders seeking him to pay his debts.”

Her heart punched against her ribs. Adam’s expression was stark and solemn. Pressing her hand to her chest, she swallowed over the tightness in her throat. “Is he… is he dead?”

“No! Well, not from what I have learned,” Adam’s face fell. “There are so many rumors, some say he took a ship to the Americas or the West Indies, or that he’d fled to the Highlands. But most of the ones I have heard that are credible say he is simply hiding in the rookeries and slums to avoid the moneylenders.”

“Financiers have eyes in every rookery and slum, everywhere,” she said emptily. “They will find him before we do. Do you know where he might be?”

Russet brows lifted high. “Are you thinking of… finding him yourself? Bridget, dear, goodness no. You cannot go anywhere near those tenements. The blackguards will see that you are different a mile away and they will press their advantage.”

“Then what do we do?” Bridget felt ill. “We have to find him, Adam. He might die out there. You know he came back from war with a heart condition.”

“I do,” Adam patted her hand comfortingly. “But while I will try, I do not have the manpower to search every rookery in and around London. Only some with the clout of a duke or the regent himself can do such a thing.”

Dread coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. “I—” She sucked in a breath. “I cannot allow him to die. As painful as it seems, I would rather see him in debtors’ prison than find him cold in a ditch somewhere.”

His expression dimmed even more. “I know it is hard. I won't give up, but we have to face the truth. We could be too late.”

And because she looked like she needed it, he gave her a hug, and since he was much taller, she wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her head against his striped waistcoat. After a heartbeat, his arms circled her, nearly squeezing her, but her grief was more crushing.

“We will find a way, Bridget,” Adam promised, pulling away.

‘Thank you,” she breathed.

After Adam left, Bridget closed the doors and headed home in the darkening dusk. Thankfully, no lord in distress was being assaulted in alleys anymore and she arrived home without any issues—but what the baron had said plagued her mind.

Only some with the clout of a duke or the regent himself can do such a thing.

“Bridget?” Aunt Lydia chimed, opening the door. “Are you all right?”

Jarred out of her thoughts, Bridget nodded. “I am. Why?”

“I heard you enter the yard from the kitchens, but you stopped on the stoop for longer than I believed it would take you to enter,” her godmother began while stepping away. “Ooh, I know that look. You were woolgathering again. What is it about this time, dear?”

Stepping inside, she closed the door and latched it. Bridget undid her coat, hung it, then found a seat. “It is about Frederick, Aunt,” she sucked in a breath, hating that this bad news would upset her frail godmother. “Adam came by today and told me he… Frederick is nowhere to be found because his creditors are looking for him.”

“He fled,” Lydia sighed. “Such a foolish young man. I had such hopes for him to be better off than any of the other scoundrels around. I prayed night and day, but I suppose my pleas went unanswered.”

“He was a different man when he returned from the war,” Bridget looked down at her hands. “He was surly, fidgety, he hardly slept and was out every night drinking. I pleaded with him, Mr. Simmonds, our butler pleaded with him, even his wife tried her hand, but he never listened.”

Clucking her tongue, Lydia stood and went to the kitchen nook, then set a pot on the stove. “I am sorry that this burden is on you, but he made his bed and lie in it he must.”

Biting her lip, Bridget considered her options, and one striking promise stood stark in her mind. The Beast of Brookhaven is forever in your debt .

When he had uttered those words, Bridget had never considered any occasion for her to pull on his promise—heaven knew she had never expected to see the man again, but knowing the bind she was in… maybe it was time for the duke to pay up on his promise.

“Your Grace,” Oliver bowed, his dark figure a contrast to the light morning rays. “You have a visitor.”

Looking up from the ledger on his desk, William sat the quill on its blotter and rolled his neck. The accounts were starting to add up, something he had not seen in a long while. “Tell Lightholder I will be with him shortly, and please send up another carafe. I have a feeling the bloke is three sheets to the wind.”

“It is not Baron Thornbury, Your Grace, it is Lady Bridget,” the valet said unflappably.

William’s brows shot up. “She’s here? Why? After our last discussion, to put it mildly, I’d think she would stay half the continent away from me.”

“So would I,” the valet replied, lips flickering. “Shall I send her up?”

“Please,” William answered. “Do we have any tea?”

“My daughter has some Ceylon,” Oliver said. “Shall I send her up with a pot?”

“Only if dear Lucy does not soak the carpet with the precious brew,” William put in wryly, remembering how clumsy the young woman could be at times.

“I assure you, she will take one step at a time,” Oliver guaranteed him with a bow.

Returning to his books, William settled another column, before he heard the soft footsteps of slippered feet approaching.

He glanced up.

She wore a smart gray dress with a white lace collar. Oddly enough, the severity of the dress displayed her slender, vulnerable femininity to perfection.

“Lady Bridget. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked, returning his gaze to the other column. “Have you come to accept my proposal?”

“No,” she stated flatly. “And you need to give up on such a dream. We will not marry.”

Snapping the ledger shut, he shifted it to the side, leaned forward, and steepled his hands before his chin. “Why did you come then?”

“To seek your help in finding my brother,” she declared matter-of-factly.

His brow arched. “And why would I do that, without incentive?”

Her lips curved. “I frankly remember a certain Beast of Brookhaven telling me he was forever in my debt. I have come to call in that debt.”

William was shocked. Shocked that she had not only remembered his off-the-cuff remark but that she had found the gumption to hold him to his word. “Ah…” he sat back and drummed his fingers on the table. “And where could this brother possibly be?”

“I do not know,” her lips twisted. “But our guess is that he is hiding in the rookeries and slums around London—”

“Dodging creditors, I assume,” William nodded as Oliver opened the door and his daughter carried in the tea tray. He watched intently as the young woman set the tray on the coffee table and curtsied.

“Thank you, Miss Lane. Would you please make her cup,” he nodded toward Bridget.

After telling her how she took her tea, the two left—and William, decisively ignoring Oliver’s pointed stare all the while, asked Bridget, “Tell me about your brother.”

Her shoulders sunk and her gaze strayed to the window, face mired in sorrow and defeat. “My brother fought in the Peninsular War and came back a different man,” she began.

“He started drinking whatever spirits he could get his hands on. He spent on fine whiskey until he could afford it no more, and then moved on to Blue Ruin. He gambled too, and when he lost, which was more than he won, the debts kept piling up.”

Sounds familiar, I too squandered a lot of money via similar means.

“It got so bad that after our parents passed, I left to live with my godmother and he kept on with the manor. Only yesterday, I found that the house is empty and he is gone. He had a heart condition, and I fear he will die out there alone.”

“Possibly drinking himself to death too,” William muttered.

Her eyes darted to him. “Pardon me?”

“Nothing.”

Narrowing her gaze, she continued, “It did not sound like nothing. Did you say he is out there drinking himself to death?”

“It is likely true,” William said. “Speaking as one who almost ended in that same predicament, I can tell you. Well, not truly because I do not know the horrors of war and I can assume whilst my insouciance indulgence came from flagrant disregard for propriety, his might have come from the urge to forget the atrocities he had to commit.”

“You are a rake,” she said flatly. “He is not.”

“Despite that, the tricks to hide from creditors and to still earn money for drink are the same,” William muttered darkly. “And none of them are ones palatable to a gentlewoman’s ears.”

She notched her head up. “Nevertheless, will you help me find him?”

Cocking his head, William replied, “I find it interesting that you did not go to your beloved Lord Hansen for this matter, but you came to me instead.”

Her eyes flew open, and he saw the moment the penny dropped. She went red. Staring at her, all he could think about was how supple she had felt in his arms.

If her face was so soft, he could only guess that beneath that bland gray frock lay the softest, silkiest skin. “Oh, how remiss of me. Have I complimented you on your dress? It is rather delectable.”

“I am not fishing for compliments,” she murmured. “And the reason I did not go to Hansen is because he did not promise me anything. You did, and I expect you to fulfill it.”

Leaning in, he pinned her with a hard, unflinching stare. “You might doubt me, but because of my past, I know the rookeries, I know the slums. But if I am going to search through them, I am going to be risking my life. My life over a simple promise is not fair, is it? I want something more.”

The eyes that met his were wide and thickly lashed, and the color; blue, vivid, and pure, the shade of a summer sky in a painting. She glared. “And I didn’t risk my life drawing the attention from you that night?”

Quick thinker, isn’t she . “Touché.”

“Then what, you won’t do it?” she huffed, standing. “I see that I made a mistake coming here.”

“No, you did not,” his tone sharpened. “ Sit .”

He hid his surprise when her bottom promptly met the seat. With what she was asking of him, he would have to renegotiate their terms.

William was assured he knew the rookeries in London, and he would fish her brother out of whatever hole he had buried himself in, but he needed her loyalty secured first and the only way he could do that was to have her as his fiancée.

With her as his wife, he would receive his inheritance quicker, she would have her brother, and he would give her a hefty sum as thanks for her service. A win-win as far as he was concerned; but she was a stubborn one, and if he wanted to get what he wanted, he would have to convince her.

I may have no choice but to seduce her.

“And what terms would these be?” she asked coldly.

Don't rush your fences, man. Remember, she is an innocent. Go slow.