Page 56 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
They’d left Brighton that morning at noon and stopped once to change horses in Crawley. Offering their two different coachmen double their fee to get them to London before dinnertime, they had endured the jostling carriages with a hamper of good food and fine brandy.
As they stepped up to the Ashleys’ townhouse at No. 20 Grosvenor Square, they agreed they would not be deterred if the butler were reticent or if Kane and his wife, Gus, were out for the evening. Theywould remain until they returned and speak of these matters.
The butler was accommodating. After all, Clive knew the man and all the Ashley staff because his own townhouse was at No. 16. The butler greeted Clive warmly, sensing the urgency of their matter. The Ashleys were at home, he told them. Then he showed the two to the grand salon.
Langley took a chair facing the back garden. Clive paced before the fireplace. He had figured that whoever had taken Giselle was funded well, to hire three men to abduct her. Money enough to hire a fast coach, most likely two. They had means enough to spirit her away quickly and to obscure points of rendezvous with the organizers. The motive could be many things. Clive did not care what it was. He only wanted her back in his care, his embrace.
Halsey ran his own agents in Dover and Ramsgate, but Hastings was the port town he knew most. He’d spent his childhood there under the watchful eyes of his mother and five doting younger sisters. That Halsey knew the area was one boon, but he also knew—courtesy of the women in his family and those who had graced his bed off and on for decades—the society and the military who ran the town.
Scarcely had Clive had time to calculate where the three Frenchmen now held Giselle when the double doors opened and Kane, Lord Ashley, appeared. Surprised and curious, he also had a worried brow.
As well he should.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Ashley strode in as his butler shut the doors behind him. “An honor to have you. However, I note by the hour, you do not call with any good news.”
Clive took a step toward Ashley. “We’ve run up from Brighton. Madame Giselle Laurant was abducted from my presence from the Old Ship Hotel this morning before dawn. Three men accessed the hotel through the servants’ staircase and entered my rooms with a key to the lock.”
Ashley’s face fell as he took in Clive’s black eyes and bruises on his throat.
“Fortunately,” Clive continued, “Lord Langley and Lord Halsey had scheduled meetings with me previously and arrived in town the day before. Both men called upon me in early morning. Lord Halsey, who parted from Langley and me at ten this morning, has gone to Hastings to investigate as a result of this catastrophe. He knows that town well and thought it best to go ahead of us to find his own agents there. We three probed as best we could early today the facts of the matter in the hotel, and with a local publican who had lodged one of the culprits in his inn.”
Ashley paled. “Hideous news. Please do sit, Lord Carlisle. You both appear to need it, and sustenance as well. I will have my man bring in what we have as a cold dinner for you. Now,” he said as he went for the bellpull and indicated a chair for Clive, “tell me the rest and we will make haste to get Giselle safely back.”
Langley spoke up. “Those of us who work for the prime minister have long suspected that you head a network for Scarlett Hawthorne. We have had clues to that for many years, but of course, none of you has admitted to it.”
“As you have not revealed anything to me, sir.”
“Quite so,” Clive said. “Now, with Giselle gone, that must change. We must learn what you do—not in total, obviously, but at the very least, what you do that hinges on Giselle’s work and her disappearance. Whatever you do complements our own work in the Home Office and Foreign Office. We cannot be at cross-purposes here. Now we must learn what you know to help us find her. If she is yours—”
“She is.”
Clive rejoiced at the man’s admission. “We need not know more from you to help us, but I am very afraid for Giselle’s life.”
“As am I, Carlisle.” Carefully, Ashley had not elaborated on whether he ran agents for the renowned merchant lady in the City.
“I think, sir, we are at first names, don’t you?” Clive said.
“Kane, it will be, from now on.”
Clive and Edward Langley gave up their own names.
Kane gave a nod. “Please note that Giselle is my wife’s dear friend, Clive. We will ask her to tell us what she can, but she will take this news poorly. I ask you to help me break this to her. She is with child once more, and I am devoted to her welfare.”
“I understand,” Clive said with understanding for a man’s desire to protect a woman in any matter, especially one in a delicate condition. A shot of concern zipped through him. His old fear reared its head, that he may not have been so careful of Giselle whenever they made love. Though he had been diligent about withdrawing from her before his own climaxes, he had feared any failure, especially the first night they had enjoyed each other. Since then, he’d been zealous about it. Still he worried. Now more than ever.
“Can you share with me why Lord Halsey has gone to Hastings?” Kane fretted, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “I mean, does he have another reason besides the fact that he knows the town well?”
Clive quickly ran through the reasons. “Most important is that the three who abducted Giselle mentioned the town often as one from which they would take a packet to France. But Hastings,” he murmured, wishing he did not have to speak this next thought, “has another aspect. It is directly across from Boulogne-Sur-Mer.”
“You think they’re taking her to Bonaparte?” Kane ran a hand over his mouth in horror.
“It makes sense,” Clive admitted, his blood boiling with alarm. “Hell if I want to think it.”
“In the midst of the blockade?” Kane argued. “Foolish, deadly to try it.”
Clive pushed his fear aside and stood, one fist grinding into his other open palm. “Some men care naught for danger, believing in their immortality. But I care not for any of that. I say the only thing now is for us to plot how far and how fast three men with a reluctant lady in tow can travel to Hastings. Then how long can it take to searchand hire a boat to the French coast where the Grande Armée resides.”
“We must know, Kane,” Edward, Lord Langley, spoke up, “if you and Scarlett Hawthorne have agents who work along the coast. A few may be watching those who wish to pay for a quaint sail across to France these days. Do French agents here in Britain have that kind of money? Frankly, I haven’t met a rich French émigré in all my life. But do tell us what your information is.”
