A shuffle of footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Where are the papers, Terrence?"
"They are in a safe place." The frightened note in Terrence’s voice was audible through the door.
"I want them. Where are they?"
"I-I won’t give them to you. I want to know what is going on. What are you going to do with Miss Stafford-er, Miss Minton?"
Calliope heard a loud thump and the sound of a heavy object hitting the floor.
The door opened and the earl stood tall in the doorway. "Sorry, my dear. But I don’t believe you have any more information for me. And unfortunately for you, you have too much information. But not to worry, you won’t die alone. Terrence, here, will be with you. And your dear James will join you shortly after he gives me the ring."
He gave her an almost fatherly smile. "Goodbye, my dear. Your antics were amusing to watch. It’s a shame we couldn’t get along more companionably."
She shrieked at him through the cloth that was tied over her mouth, as he closed the door and she was once more thrust in the dark. Why hadn’t he put a bullet through her?
At the moment she didn’t care; she was still alive. Calliope wondered what had happened to Terrence. Poor misguided Terrence. Lucinda Fredericks would be the death of him after all.
Calliope worked her hands, trying to free the ropes. It was useless, they were wrapped too tightly, but as she struggled, her left hand brushed her cane and a small ray of hope bloomed. Calliope shuffled the cane’s head back to her hands. A little more. Just a little more. The handle was in her fingers. Twisting it was another matter. She couldn’t get her wrists far enough apart to turn the knob. She needed more leverage.
She sat for a second before the idea came. She moved the cane as quickly as she could until she was sitting on the handle. Grabbing the rod with both hands, she twisted. The joyous sound of a click registered in Calliope’s ears.
She moved the cane around and positioned the blade between her tightly coiled wrists. She started sawing at the cord and nicked a finger. She stopped for a second to reposition when she smelled smoke.
The terror paralyzed her. Fire. She could smell the pungent fumes. Now she knew why the earl had not returned. Instinct kicked into motion and she began furiously sawing at the cords, heedless of the pain radiating from the nicks and cuts to her hands, wrists and arms. Smoke filtered under the door and she screamed into the cloth.
James walked swiftly down the street. He was off his usual stride, too emotionally wound to saunter as usual. He had told the driver to meet him at Holt’s. He couldn’t stay in the carriage one second longer. He was almost there.
Hurt and anger raged through him. Stephen had obviously known Calliope was the caricaturist. It would explain the political cartoons: Stephen could have easily filled Calliope in on the events at Parliament. It would also explain Stephen’s comical reaction when James had shown him the illustration at White’s. What a good laugh they must have had at his expense. No, that couldn’t be right; Stephen had been surprised. Stephen hadn’t known Calliope caricatured James.
But James should have known. All the pieces had been in front of him, but he had never entertained the notion that Landes was a woman. His thoughts muddled together. The stakes of the game were too high and he needed to sort his personal feelings from his professional ones.
What had happened last night? He was thoroughly confused by her.
James maintained the brisk pace. She had never been intimate with Stephen. That was obvious. But why? Was this a part of her caricature scheme? It made sense. It was a good way to get entree into society. And it would explain why she had been a lady’s companion before. But how had she gotten involved with Stephen? That was an especially intriguing question since she was personally tied to Salisbury.
He was going to have answers before he wrung her neck. No, he was going to take her upstairs as soon as he got her to his townhouse. Then he would wring her neck.
Of course, her answers probably would not be what he wanted to hear. She had looked at Stephen like the sun rose and set with him. Perhaps now that he was back she would become his mistress in truth. There was nothing standing in their way.
He didn’t care if Stephen was his best friend. The thought of her with another left a bitter taste. He didn’t know when he had become so possessive, but the feeling wouldn’t leave.
A hackney barreled past and stopped a short distance ahead. Finn jumped out and ran toward him.
"She’s gone, my lord."
"What do you mean, she’s gone?"
"She escaped through the study window while everyone was busy. "
"One of the footmen is in my carriage down the street. Tell him to take your hack to the Adelphi Theatre. She is probably visiting her family. Grab my carriage and wait for me here, I’ll only be a few minutes."
Finn nodded and hurried off. The more James thought about the situation, the less he was sure she was at the Adelphi. Why wouldn’t she have taken one of the footmen? He cursed when he remembered giving the instructions that she couldn’t leave the premises. It had been high-handed of him, but he had done so for her safety.
Why did loved ones always disobey?
James stopped cold.
A vision of her in her dowdy garb standing up to the ton harpies was followed by one of her at Madame Giselle’s, defiant in her shift. Her laughter learning to ride, her bravery in the coach during the chase through London, the passionate look on her face last night… the images coalesced into one thought.
He forced his right foot to take a step. Then his left.
He was in love with her. Now that he acknowledged the emotion, it was apparent to him that such had been the case for a long time. He couldn’t remember ever being as personally interested in a woman before.
It should have been obvious when he looked at the caricature earlier. He had no interest in the ladies of the ton. He abhorred the philandering of the wives and the insipidness of the debutantes. He disliked the games, the gossip, the insincerity.
All along he had known this was where it would lead. Had felt it the first night he laid eyes on her. She was the instrument of his father’s revenge. James would lose the woman he loved in payment for his mother’s death.
He was scared. He freely admitted it. It was the reason he had studiously avoided falling into love after seeing his father’s downfall. What would it be like to watch the woman he loved leave him? James squelched the thought before it took hold. He was nearing Holt’s walkway and he willed himself to proceed up the drive instead of turning around to scour the city for Calliope.
The butler ushered him into the study and Holt dispensed with the formalities. "l know why you are here. There isn’t much time. My spies tell me movement is afoot. You are close. That much is apparent, if the underworld is scuffling about. You should head out of town for the night, and take your ladybird with you."
James resisted the urge to correct Holt for calling Calliope his ladybird.
"Why should I leave? I’d prefer they come after me so I can end this."
"You don’t know with whom or with what you are dealing."
"Yes, I know. It’s one of the Falcons. One of them went rogue."
"Yes." Holt showed no surprise at James’s knowledge.
"Where is your ring, Holt?"
Holt produced it from a hidden pocket in his coat. It was nearly identical to the one in Salisbury ’s cane.
"We found the missing ring."
Holt’s eyes gleamed. "Where is it?"
James pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to him.
"Oh, dear. I wish Stephen had entrusted me with this weeks ago."
"He probably didn’t know if you were involved."
"Yes. But now it may be too late. This is an internal matter and it must be kept that way. Few people know about the Falcon rings and the society."