Page 48 of Bedding the Marquess
“He does because it is the truth,” said the man in black, making Gideon freeze in place. The seriousness in both his and Oliver’s expressions made Gideon pause, his laughter dying in the air. “He never should have revealed as much, but that is the sum of it.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Oliver answered.
“Impossible.”
“Improbable, but entirely possible,” said the other man.
“And you were his supervisor?” Gideon asked, his mind haltingly beginning to accept what he was being told, more out of desire to do whatever it took to see Caroline safe than true belief in what he was being told.
“For many years until his retirement.”
“If I believe you…if this is truly the reason the women have been taken…then what now? What do we do?”
“You leave this to me and my men,” the man said to both of them, aiming a more pointed look at Oliver. “You cannot interfere in the investigation. I only came to you as a professional courtesy.”
An impossibly tense silent conversation passed between Oliver and his former boss before the man inclined his head to both of them, advised them that he would be in touch, and took his leave, slipping out the door like a shadow into the fading light.
Gideon tore around the room like a caged lion, enraged and helpless, shackled by his ignorance and all the more furious for it. “We are expected to wait while some madmen have our wives? I am to place my trust in this man whom I do not know, while Caro—fuck,Caroline!” He roared in impotent fury and whirled on Oliver, who stood with arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched Gideon’s pacing. “How can you stand there likethat?” he demanded, throwing his arms wide in disbelief. “As if our wives weren’t in mortal danger.”
The muscles of Oliver’s jaw flexed. “Because we arenotgoing to stand here doing nothing. Ramsay wouldn’t have shown up in person and handed over the only pieces of information he had if he did not want me to become involved.”
“But he said—”
“He knows I am the best man for this job, whether or not I am retired. He cannot expressly ask me to become involved—not when I am also the target—but he also knows better than to try to keep me from Emily.” A dangerous shadow crossed Oliver’s face, so dark and menacing and unexpected that Gideon actually retreated a step. “Ramsay does nothing without a reason.” He stooped to pick up the letter that had fallen from Gideon’s numb fingers and held both it and the waxed envelope with the women’s hair. “He’s saved us time and the possibility of injury while we attempted to garner the necessary information. Now, we have a starting point.”
Gideon was nothing short of dumbfounded. His mind struggled to comprehend the entire situation. Suspending his disbelief, however, he clutched onto his desperate need to have Caro back in his arms.
“What do you require of me?”
“It is too dangerous for someone without training.”
“Do you think I give a damn about that?” Gideon thumped his chest and advanced on his brother. “You know I can fight. And you would do anything to have Emily returned safely; I will do the same for Caro. I know you cannot tell me with any honesty that, were the roles reversed, you would sit by and allow me to handle things while you waited for word. Now, tell me what you need me to do.” The last words were bit out in a tone that brooked no further argument.
Oliver turned down his eyes and examined the letter, his thumb tracing the bumpy borders of the black wax seal. Finally, he raised his eyes. The glitter he saw there told Gideon that he had an idea.
Chapter Twenty
“Why is thishappening?” Caroline whispered to herself over and over again as she hung her head and stifled useless sobs. She did her best to remain calm, but every deep, aching cramp of her abdomen released a fresh wave of panic inside of her. It was too soon. Too soon. The babe would not survive if he came this early.
She and Emily had been blindfolded and transported through London’s streets after being bundled up and spirited away from Lady Night’s. They’d been shoved to the floorboards of the carriage, cool metal blades pressed to their exposed throats. Hissed threats to remain silent filled their ears when all they’d wanted to do was scream for help. Caroline had had to bite her tongue so hard to keep herself from crying out that she tasted blood. Were she alone, were she not in mortal terror over the health and wellbeing of her unborn child, she might have screamed, regardless—better to fight for her life than allow this to play out. However, she knew she would never forgive herself if Emily was injured for her actions, and the babe in her belly had already taken a blow.
Please, she continued to pray silently;please be all right.A tiny flutter answered her, no stronger than the wings of a passing bird, but it was there. It gave Caroline hope.
Upon arrival at their destination, she and Emily were shoved down a hallway reeking of lacquer and wood dust, the tang of salt coated the back of her throat, and Caroline knew they werenear the water—perhaps the docks. Soon, they were deposited into a room, their captors sliding a deadbolt home as they left.
As soon as the sound rang out, Caroline ripped the blindfold from her face and blinked into the contrasting darkness of the musty space and the shaft of late afternoon light piercing through the narrow slit of a window some six feet above their heads. They were in a storeroom of some sort, no larger than the formal dining room at Swanleigh House, but devoid of all furniture and comforts. The floor was streaked with grime and dust; a single bucket in the corner was the only item in the room. The exterior walls were made of stacked stone at the base and well-fitted wooden slats the rest of the way to the ceiling.
Emily stood a few feet away, turning in a circle as she, too, examined their surroundings. Caroline thought they were both a sight with their ripped and stained gowns, hair a matted mess, and tear-streaked faces. Simultaneously, they ran into one another’s arms, holding tightly and trembling as each held the other up. They were one another’s support, and neither could waver in this situation, or the other would fall.
They allowed themselves to indulge in their fear and anger for several minutes before—as if through unspoken agreement—they broke apart, dried their eyes, and began searching the room for any weaknesses. They spent what felt like hours scouring the corners for weapons, eyeing the height of the window, and examining the heavy, windowless door for any flaws, but they came up short. Their only method of gauging time was the fading light spearing through the narrow window.
Every so often, a pain would band itself around Caroline’s waist, gripping her from back to front, locking her legs and causing her breath to hiss through her teeth. Emily paused each time and asked her if she was unwell. Each time, Caroline reassured her and vowed to bite back her reaction whenever the next pain came…because she knew it would come. She’d givenup her hope that the cramping she’d experienced following the altercation on the stairs would subside; now, it was a matter of bracing herself for the time when the next one came. As near as she could tell, they struck with no regularity or rhythm, which was both a blessing and a curse. She had learned how a babe was near to birth if the mother’s contractions were consistent and close together, but the irregularity of these also meant they were difficult to predict. She was worried enough; the last thing she wanted was for Emily to become concerned as well. They needed as much composure as possible to weather this situation.
Caroline finally gave in and huddled on the floor. She pulled her legs to her chest as best as she could, crossed her arms around her knees, and rested her head there in the cradle they created.
“Why is this happening?” she repeated, her voice breaking in the cavernous room.
