Page 82 of From Duke Till Dawn
Snatching up the note, Alex read it. Then read it again. Each time he scanned the words his fury and fear grew, until it was a monstrous thing, big enough to dwarf all of London.
It was a ransom note, written in a barely legible hand and demanding an obscene amount of money in exchange for Cassandra’s life.
“Who delivered this?” he demanded.
“A girl of ten, Your Grace,” Bowmore answered.
“Did no one think to follow her?” Alex shouted.
“Forgive me, Your Grace.” The butler bowed. “We thought she was a beggar child importuning you for charity.”
Alex wanted to bellow in rage, but Bowmore had done exactly as he should have.
What to do? He needed tothink.
Calling the authorities was absolutely impossible. The note had made it clear that any attempt to bring in the law would result in Cassandra’s immediate death.
With an angry roar, Alex swept his arm across a side table, shoving porcelain vases to the ground. They shattered into shards as jagged and cutting as his thoughts.
Bowmore murmured something about cleaning up before disappearing to fetch a broom, but Alex paid the butler no mind.
He wanted to level the city, to rip up every building and corner of London to find her. The thought of Cassandra in danger drove him close to lunacy. What the bloody good was it being the Duke of Greyland when he couldn’tdoanything to help her? He raked his fingers through his hair and tugged off his cravat, flinging it to the ground.
She’d been in his bed, in his arms, not hours ago. Her heart had been in her eyes when she looked at him, and her soul had been in her lips when she’d kissed him. And now—her life hung in the balance.
There was only one thing he could do: play by the kidnapper’s rules. Plunge deep into London’s underworld to make certain that Cassandra came home to him—alive.
Lacey left Cassandra alone in the study for hours, and for added measure the ropes binding her wrists were secured to the chair. However, he seemed to fancy himself her host. Every hour, he’d appear, poking his head in the door and smiling like he was her favorite uncle come for Christmas. He’d been so threatening in Soho, but now, with the prospect of either money or her death on the horizon, he seemed downright cheerful.
“Hungry?” he’d ask. “Thirsty? There’s a shop around the corner that makes a damned fine kidney pie. I can send someone over and have it for you in a trice.”
“Seems a lot of trouble if you’re only going to kill me,” she answered.
He chuckled. “Come now, you’ll think me remiss if I don’t keep you fed. If that duke of yours holds up his end of the bargain, I should say.”
“Mr. Lacey,” she said, “George. You’ve known me for years. Since I was a tyke running barefoot and ragged.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “what a pitiful sight you were back then.”
“I did errands for you, remember?” She sifted through the debris of her memory, dredging up a past she wanted to forget. “You’d give me a ha’penny to deliver messages, or bring you gammon and bread when you were at the card tables late.”
“What’s that word the toffs use?” Lacey scratched his chin. “Entrepreneurial.That’s what you were. Always looking for a way out of the gutter.”
“With all the fond history between us,” she said, attempting to smile despite the fear gnawing holes in her gut, “you can’t mean to have something as petty as blunt stand between us. You wouldn’t send your errand girl to the bottom of the Thames.”
His own grin never wavered. “Ah, but there you’re wrong. It wouldn’t help me to give you a kiss on the cheek and send you toddling off. Sends a bad message.”
“I’d think compassion would show you in a better light.” She gave her most winning smile.
His grin faded, replaced by a look of such cold indifference it froze the blood in her veins. “Been spending too much time with the nobs, Cassie. You’ve forgotten how the underworld works.” He took a step toward her, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his waistcoat. “It’s power what makes you king of the streets. Reward them that does right by you. Crush them that does wrong.” He held up one hand and slowly curled his fingers into a fist, and she felt the vise around her own throat tighten.
“But I didn’t take your money,” she choked out. “Martin did!”
Lacey shook his head mournfully. “As close as a daughter, you were to him. He’ll shit himself with terror when he hears I’ve done you in. He’ll crawl back with my blunt, and maybe I’ll let him go. Maybe I won’t. But he’ll know—everyone will know—you don’t fool George Lacey.” His eyes were hard and pitiless, and there was not an ounce of mercy in the set of his jaw.
He would kill her if he didn’t get what he wanted.
She tried to swallow but couldn’t. A wave of nausea crashed over her.
