Chapter Thirty-Four

T hey hadn't stayed at the house very long. Taking just enough time to inform Hettie and Honoria of what they'd found, he'd headed out once more with Vincent at his side. Now, he was inordinately grateful for having the foresight to request his presence.

The room, upon their entrance, was unnaturally quiet and still. Rather like a predator lying in wait, Joss thought. It was an apt comparison. Beside him, Vincent was deceptively relaxed, but beneath their coats, both of them were armed to the hilt. It was a necessary precaution when walking into a den of thieves and cutthroats. If they were lucky, they'd get out without having to use any of those precautions, but that wasn't really up to them. They were behind enemy lines. When needs must.

"You're invading my territory, Hound," Ardmore observed from behind his massive desk. The marble top was so heavy it was a wonder the floor could withstand its weight. Not even the laws of science and nature defied his will, it seemed.

"I'm not here for trouble," Vincent said. "Oddly enough, I'm here to solve one of your problems. In return, I hope you will help solve one of mine."

Ardmore shoved back the stack of papers he'd been perusing and then eyed them both speculatively. Finally, after a long moment, he waved a hand toward an empty chair. Only one. Joss knew he didn't qualify as a guest, so he'd be standing. Relegated to the position of lackey.

"I don't have any problems," Ardmore said softly. "Anyone who told you otherwise is mistaken."

"Simon Dagliesh will never be able to pay you what he owes. Contrary to what he might have led you to believe, there is no money. He gets the title, he gets the house—which is entailed—but the money isn't his. It isn't even really in possession of Ernsdale's late wife. It's in trust for her and overseen by the bank with an eye toward caution and moderation."

Ardmore remained silent, likely expecting Vincent to fill the silence with more information. But it was an old trick, and no one played it better than the Hound himself. So the stony silence stretched on interminably.

Then, without preamble, Ardmore uttered a single curse. It reverberated in the silence of the room like a shot. "Lying shite," he finished.

"One of his many sins," Vincent concurred. "I'm prepared to pay his markers."

"You don't know how much they're for!" Ardmore protested. "And why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I need your men to help find him. Mine can search Mayfair and other areas, but we can't very well look in your territory without starting a war. I'm not here to challenge you or to squabble over what bits of the city we get to lord over."

"Thought you was retiring anyway."

"Delegating. Not retiring," Vincent corrected him.

Joss watched the exchange and not merely with idle curiosity. There was the very real possibility that they might have to fight their way out. Ardmore was unpredictable at best. At worst, he was a madman.

"Delegating, hmm? Is that what this giant looming over your shoulder is here for? Because you've delegated to him?"

"He's here because he has a vested interest in the fate of Lady Ernsdale... a fate that is threatened by the continued existence of Simon Dagliesh."

Ardmore stroked the mostly silver beard that covered the lower half of his curiously unlined face. "So that's the way of it... she's sister to your wife, isn't she, Carrow?"

Vincent's only answer was a nod, but Joss tensed, waiting for the other man to say something so heinous that it would be impossible to ignore.

"They seem to have a preference for gutter-born bastards… but then, given what I know of Ernsdale—and I can only assume your wife's late husband was of similar ilk—they are entitled to that preference."

Joss bit back a sigh of relief. It wasn't as if the comment had been entirely inoffensive, it was simply that the offensiveness of it was directed more at Vincent and himself than either Honoria or Hettie. It was that fact which allowed it to go unanswered.

"Find Simon Dagliesh, find out what he has done with the maid he has abducted in effort to force Lady Ernsdale's hand—and you shall be paid in full. It will likely be the only way that you will be paid in full, or at all, for that matter," Vincent countered coolly.

Ardmore, with a simple jerk of his head toward the door, set in motion a manhunt. The bevy of guards shrank down to only two, but those two were roughly the size of mountains. "We work together this once," Ardmore said. "Then it goes back to how it always was. Me on one side of the Thames and you on the other. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Vincent said.

"I'll send word to your club when we find him."

"When . . . not if?" Joss asked.

Ardmore smiled, the expression utterly terrifying. "Oh, yes, Mr. Ettinger. It was always a question of when. Good evening, gentlemen."

*

Hettie was waiting in the morning room with Honoria. Neither of them knew precisely what it was they were waiting for, but there was a sense of dread hanging over them both. The anticipation of something awful lurking—lying in wait—building with every tick of the clock was a feeling they were both far too familiar with.

It had been hours now since Annie had last been seen. Hours in which anything might have happened to the girl. The feeling of responsibility and the awful amalgamation of blame and shame that roiled within her was dizzying for Hettie. On the one hand, she desperately wanted news, and on the other she was so fearful of what that news might be that it defied all reason.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor had her tensing. And when the door opened to reveal a footman holding a simple silver tray with a single missive on it, Hettie instantly knew that it was what she'd been waiting for and what she had been dreading. That sealed note contained Simon's demands... and the conditions by which Annie might be spared whatever fate he had dreamed up for her. There was little doubt in her mind that Simon would be unspeakably cruel if necessary, simply to bring her to heel. While greed was his primary motivating factor, there was the same streak of cruelty in him that had existed in Arthur. Perhaps even to a greater degree.

"What is it, Hettie?" Honoria asked.

Hettie scanned the contents and sighed wearily. "He's demanding that I surrender myself to him in exchange for Annie Foster. Obviously, I cannot do that—not because I am unwilling to aid her but because he cannot be trusted. If I give myself over to him, he will simply kill us both."

Honoria nodded. "Indeed, he would. You need not surrender to him... you need only allow him to think you are. But neither Mr. Ettinger nor Vincent will approve."

Hettie folded the note and placed it in her pocket. "I do not require their approval—but Joss is not yet my husband. If you fear how Vincent will respond, I understand. I would never ask you to jeopardize your happiness with him."

Honoria laughed softly. "Nothing will jeopardize my happiness. It may well jeopardize the peace in our home, but only temporarily. We, my dear sister, are not shy, retiring violets. It is not in our nature to allow men to handle matters for us."

"Primarily because we've never known men who could do so with any degree of aptitude." It was a pithy rejoinder, but it rang with sincerity. They had both seen the worst of men. Perhaps it had jaded them to some degree.

"Indeed. And while these particular men are cut from a very different cloth, sitting idly by while that poor girl suffers torment in heaven only knows what manner is not something either of us could live with. But we cannot do this alone. We will require a small amount of aid... and I know just who to ask."

"Stavers?" Hettie asked. The former pugilist turned butler was a remarkably capable individual. And that capability seemed to carry into every possible sort of situation.

"Not necessarily. He would only attempt to stop us. We will inform him, but not immediately," Honoria replied cagily. "We may not have a battalion of soldiers at our disposal, Hettie, but we are not without allies. There is a veritable army of women out there who feel no small degree of gratitude for us. I am certain that if we were to ask for their aid, most would give it. But there is one in particular who has the necessary skill that we will need for this plan to work."

"You have a plan already? Have you become some sort of mastermind by association now?

"Half-formed plan," Hettie corrected. "And no, I am no mastermind by association or otherwise. But I do know of a way for you to meet him that would not necessitate you go alone. For now, we must secure the assistance we require, and we will work out the particulars on our way. First, we need to go to Vincent's study."

"Whatever for?"

"Weapons," Honoria replied. "He keeps several braces of pistols there and a few blades. We will, both of us, be well armed when we meet with Simon."

Hettie considered that for a moment. Then she gave a jerky nod. "You're quite right. We cannot wait. Foster likely does not have time to waste."