Midnight Mistress (33 page)

The two left the sitting room. For a moment the room remained empty. Then a side door that had been ajar was pushed open, and an elegant, dark-haired gentleman stepped
through. “You see, I told you there was nothing to worry about. She will stay clear of the docks. And she will go through with the marriage.”

The man beside him stroked his chin, saying nothing.

“She will,” the first man insisted as he nervously raked back his hair. “She has no choice. The line will be ours, as we intended from the first.”

“See that it is. Time is running short, and we need absolute control of the line. Either the chit marries, or I will deal with her as I dealt with her father. And you, my lord, will not be far behind.”

And with that the man known as the Admiral made his way out of the room and rejoined the Jollys’ dinner party.

“Are you sure we should be doing this again?” Meg asked as she pulled her cloak closer and hurried after Juliana along the banks of the Thames. “We had bad luck when we came to the docks alone before. And Grenville made it clear that he considered it unseemly for you to visit the Marquis Line offices.”

“Yes, well, that is why we hired a coach instead of taking one of our own, so that there would be no servants to report back to him. Besides, Grenville does not own me or the line. At least, not for three more days. In any case, he is at Mrs. Pemberton’s recital this evening, listening to the lady massacre Mozart. He will never even know that we went to the offices.”

“And why exactly are we going to the offices?”

Why indeed? It seemed that she had fewer and fewer answers these days. Since her talk with Mrs. Jolly she’d tried to resign herself to her fate. Yet it was important that she make the right choice for her future—for herself, for the Marquis
Line, and, most important, for her child. “Perhaps if I see my old office, I shall be able to give it up more easily. Perhaps all I require is a chance to say good-bye.”

The offices were locked up tight for the night, but Juliana knew the clerk’s secret of jiggling the side door handle in such a way that the latch dropped. Inside, she walked through the deserted offices, savoring the memories of the days she had spent at the helm of this company, helping to continue her father’s legacy. She’d been respected. She’d had her dreams. And she had not yet discovered that the man she loved with all her heart was nothing but a vile traitor.

While Meg searched for a light, Juliana stood next to the wide window in the owner’s office. She could see the clouds building in the distance, foretelling that a storm was on its way. Her gaze wandered to the ships anchored in the Thames, a forest of masts rising and falling in the gentle tide. She felt as if a part of her was coming back to life. She recognized the silhouettes of the Marquis Line ships even in the deepening twilight. The
Silver
, the
Lysander
, the
Jennie Fagin
, and more … she knew them the way she knew the fingers on her hand, and loved each and every one of them.

And already she could see that Grenville was making decisions for them that neither she nor her father would have approved of.

Many of the ships were in port—too many for this time of the season. Her cousin was missing the best trade winds of the year. Perhaps Grenville was waiting on cargo shipments from the north, but it was still pure folly to keep what amounted to half the Marquis fleet in the port at once. Grenville should have had more care with the business, but she was unsurprised that he had not. Ever since his speech at dinner, she’d known he was far more interested in making political connections at the War Office than he was in the shipping business.

The line had been her father’s legacy to her, but she had given it up to an indifferent owner in a time of great danger
and strife. For too long she had been avoiding taking responsibility for her own mistakes and triumphs. She had been letting others steer her course. If decisions were to be made about her life, she was the one who had to make them. Good or bad, right or wrong, socially approved or beyond the pale.

She placed her hand on her stomach, thinking about the baby inside her. She wanted to give her baby an honorable name and a decent life, but what kind of decency was based on a lie? Her father had given her a legacy of courage and honor, of facing life head-on whatever the consequences. Did her child deserve any less?

The first huge drops of rain began to splatter against the window, but she barely noticed. Turning her back on the society she’d always known was a frightening prospect, yet she believed in her heart that it was the right thing. Somehow, she knew it was what her father would have wanted her to do. And for the first time in weeks she was charting her own course.

“Meg, you will likely think me the greatest fool in the world. But I cannot turn my back on my Father’s dream for the price of social acceptance, anymore than I can turn my back on my ch—Meg?”

There was no answer.

Honestly, that girl must get her spectacles checked if she has gotten lost in these offices
. Using the remains of the twilight, Juliana felt along the bookshelves. “It is all right, Meg,” she called out. “I remember keeping a phosphorous box on the shelves … yes, here it is.”

She struck the spark and lit a nearby candle, placing it on the comer of Grenville’s desk.
My desk, soon. And likely to be the only place I’m welcome in a long, long time
. Still, she could feel her spirits rising by the second. The prospect of never attending another of Mrs. Pemberton’s boring soirees, or drinking another glass of warm lemonade at Almack’s, or making polite, vapid conversation with Lord Renquist vastly
appealed to her. She’d made the right choice, she was sure of it. She was—

Her thoughts veered in another direction as she spied a piece of paper on the top of the desk. Curious, she lifted it up to the flickering candlelight. It was a cargo invoice for the
Silver
, one of her father’s largest ships. According to the manifest, Grenville intended to send it out only half full of cargo. Monstrous waste of cargo space, and a foolish move even for the most foolish of businessmen. She was taking back the line none too soon. Curious at what other blunders her cousin was making, she sifted through the rest of the correspondence on his desk. After all, it was still hers by right, and she would be back in this chair as soon as she told him the wedding was off—

Her hand still as she picked up a letter that had been secreted at the bottom of the pile. It bore the signature of Viscount Melville, the First Lord of the Admiralty. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but it appeared to be some sort of naval plan. “Meg, come here at once. I’ve found something very curious on Grenville’s desk, and I—”

Lightning split the sky outside, throwing a man’s shadow on the wall in front of her. Before she could even think to scream, she was grabbed from behind and a cloth was clamped over her mouth and nose. She struggled valiantly, but a gagging scent sucked her down like numbing quicksand. She tumbled into unconsciousness, but just before as the blackness closed around her, she heard a voice speaking as if from a great distance away.

“Hell, Princess, can’t you just once keep your pretty neck out of trouble?”

She felt Connor wrap her in a thick cloak to protect her from the rain and cradle her against him as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She snuggled into the warmth of his embrace, the black despair of the last few
months clearing like smoke in the wind. Everything would be all right now. Connor would make it all right. She wanted to tell him that she was only half-alive without him, that she knew in her heart that none of the things they said about him were true, that they were going to have a child, that she had never stopped believing in him, or wanting him, or loving him … She tried and tried to say the words, fighting against the strange lethargy when she finally broke free—minutes, hours or days later, she couldn’t tell which—her eyes fluttered open and she blinked, expecting to gaze into Connor’s brilliant, loving eyes …

But Connor was not there.

Warm lantern light illuminated the cozy bedchamber, while the relentless night storm still raged outside a window. Juliana groaned, feeling woozy and achy, as if she had just consumed a great quantity of wine. But even more painful was the disappointment. It had been a dream. Nothing but another foolish dream. Swallowing her despair, she started to push herself up from the pillows, but froze as she sensed that something was amiss. The curtains on the nearby window were sunny yellow instead of her bedchamber’s royal blue. Unless someone had dramatically redecorated her room while she was sleeping—and shrunk it to half its size—she was no longer at the Jollys’.

“Meg, what is going—” Her words died as she caught sight of the thick cloak that was still wrapped around her body—a cloak that did not belong to her. Memory flooded back. The office … the terrifying shadow … the overpowering scent that still lingered in the back of her throat. She struggled to sit upright on the bed, disturbing the blanket that had been carefully tucked around her. “Meg! Where—?”

“Hush now,” a soft voice nearby said calmly. A young woman moved into view, a pretty blond girl wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes. Juliana blinked, trying to focus her still-blurred vision. She didn’t recognize the girl, but there was something vaguely familiar about her.

“Do not try to rise yet,” the young woman cautioned as she laid a gentle hand on Juliana’s shoulder. “You must give yourself a few minutes to clear your head, and regain your strength.”

“Like … hell,” Juliana bit out as her mind cleared along with her vision. The soft-spoken girl might seem harmless, but she must be part of the kidnapping. Juliana struggled to rise, fighting against the lingering effect of the drug. “Where am I? Where’s Meg?”

“You are in a building near the wharf, in apartments over an old sailmaker. No, do not try to stand yet. Your friend is sleeping in the room next door. She is fine, I assure you.”

“You
assure
me? I’ve been
kidnapped
! I want to see Meg. I want—”

“Lie still.”

The quiet command from the other side of the room brought Juliana to a dead stop. Slowly she turned her head, her heart pounding so hard that she thought it would crack her ribs.

“Hello, Princess.”

A man stepped out of the room’s shadows. His ragged hair was damp and tangled, his face was in want of a razor, and his worn greatcoat and mud-spattered boots would have drummed him out of any gentlemen’s club. Fear and joy flooded through her. He was alive. He was safe. And he had kidnapped her. She gripped the covers, hating him, loving him, wanting him to hold her so hard that it hurt.

“Bastard!”

He wrapped his gloved hand around the bedpost. “Well, I see the drug did not affect your memory.”

“The magistrate will clap you in irons for kidnapping me,” she proclaimed as she struggled to a sitting position.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he spoke first. “In the past these rooms were used by press-gangers, and they have been well equipped to muffle any sound. But please, yell if you like.” He bent closer, his smile hovering
dangerously close to a grin. “God’s teeth, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

Oh, he was despicable! She started to reply, but the girl stepped between them. “Connor, it is not fair to tease her. She needs to recover her wits.”

Juliana had wit enough to see the look that passed between them. Such a look happened only between old friends—or lovers.
He’s brought me to the house of his mistress
, Juliana thought, fury tempering the misery in her heart.
Could any man be more loathsome?

“Rose is right. I’m sorry for this, but you left me no choice. I could not have you going to the authorities with what you’d found in the office. I promise you will not be harmed—”

“You
promise
.” Impassioned, Juliana rose to her feet—and dropped like a stone.

Connor caught her up inches before she hit the floor. “God’s teeth, will you never listen to me?”

She barely heard him. The feel of his arms around her was more intoxicating than any drug. Memories filled her, of the night in Portugal, when he’d held her, loved her, and promised not to leave her. But those words had been a lie, just like everything else. She pushed herself out of his arms and slapped him.

Lucky to the last
, Connor thought as he watched her sink to the bed. If she’d put her full strength behind that punch, she would have likely decked him. He stripped off his leather riding gloves and worked his bruised jaw, knowing it was going to ache like hell in a little while.

Like his heart.

“I know you’ve no reason to trust me. God knows I don’t blame you, but you must listen to me, for your own safety. The truth is—”

She glared up at him, her eyes ablaze with indignation. “The truth? I will tell you the truth. You kidnapped us. And before that, you kidnapped me. At best you are a despicable
spy, at worst a murderer. You lied to me about your past. You used my friendship and regard to further your plots, you deserted me and Jamie in Portugal. Tell me, is that not the truth?”