His eyes held hers, and they were colder than a snake’s. Alicia sat transfixed, her thoughts tumbling, churning. “Escape” implied…
“The most important thing you need to bear in mind is that there’s another carriage ahead of us on this road. It contains two rather rough men—I wouldn’t distinguish them with the title of gentleman—in company with your youngest brother. Matthew, as I’m sure you know, has a habit of slipping outside when he grows bored with his lessons. He did so, with a little encouragement I admit, this morning, just after you’d left the house. He’s an enterprising young chap, quite capable of evading all supervision when he chooses.” Sir Freddie smiled. “But I’m sure you know that.”
Alicia’s heart lurched; the blood drained from her face. She did know of Matthew’s occasional excursions—just to the area between the house and the street to watch the world rumble by—but since they’d moved to Torrington House, she’d thought they’d stopped. “What do you want with Matthew?”
Sir Freddie’s brows rose. “Why nothing, my dear— nothing at all. He’s merely a pawn to ensure you behave as I wish.” His gaze hardened. “If you do as I say, no harm will come to him. Those two men I spoke of have strict orders, ones it’s to their advantage to obey. They’ll take your brother to a safe place, and wait with him there for word from me. Depending on how matters transpire, I will instruct them either to return him to Upper Brook Street unharmed”—his lips curved lightly, tauntingly, “or to kill him.”
He held her gaze. “The instruction I send will depend on you.”
Alicia fought to met his gaze levelly, to keep her expression impassive, to keep her fear, her panic, at bay. Icy chills ran up and down her spine. Matthew…a vise squeezed her heart even as, instinctive and immediate, she searched for the means to free him. Maggs—he would fetch Tony… she couldn’t work out the how and when, not with Sir Freddie’s cold and sharply observant eyes on her.
She licked her lips, forced her lungs to work. “What do you want me to do?” She frowned. “What is this all about?” Why kidnap her and Matthew if it was Adriana Sir Freddie wanted?
She allowed her confusion and total incomprehension to show in her face.
Sir Freddie laughed.
The sound chilled her to the marrow.
Then he smiled, and she wanted nothing more than to flee. “This, my dear, is about me covering my tracks, an unfortunate necessity brought on by Ruskin. He couldn’t seem to understand that the war was over and the easy pickings with it.”
She stared at him. “You’re A. C?”
“A. C?” Sir Freddie blinked, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten.”
He shifted. With a graceful sweep of his arm, he bowed, the gesture full of his customary elegant charm. Face, lips lightly curved, and manner were all one, but as he straightened, his cold, pale eyes met hers. “Sir Alfred Caudel, my dear, at your service.”
Tony returned to Torrington House midmorning. After reviewing their information, the group had agreed that Jack Warnefleet and Christian, neither of whom had been visible thus far in the affair, should visit Ellicot’s offices and extract by whatever means they could some idea of who was behind the company.
There was a limit to how unsubtle they could be; there was no guarantee of a quick and favorable outcome. Restless, impatient, sensing matters were nearing a head but with nothing he could reasonably do, Tony had returned home.
He’d only just settled behind his desk when the study door burst open and panic—carried by David, Harry, Matthew, and Jenkins—rushed in.
“Alicia!” Matthew shrieked. “You’ve got to go and save her.”
Tony caught him as he charged around the desk and flung himself at him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his gaze locking on the others.
David and Harry had rushed to the desk, gripping the front edge, their expressions as horrified as Matthew’s. Jenkins, close on their heels, was not much better, and out of breath as well.
“My lord,” Jenkins puffed, “Maggs sent us to tell you—Mrs. Carrington was inveigled into a carriage which then took off to the west.”
Tony swore, star
ted to rise. “Where’s Maggs?”
Jenkins struggled for breath. “He’s following the carriage. He said he’d send word as he can.”
Tony nodded curtly. “Sit down.” Lifting Matthew into his arms, he turned his attention to the older boys. “Now, David—tell me what you know, from the beginning.”
David dragged in a huge breath, held it for a second, then complied. The story came out in reasonable order: Alicia visiting the schoolroom, mentioning she was going for a walk—Tony had imagined her out with Miranda and Adriana—the boys then prevailing on Jenkins to take their nature lesson in the park; they’d arrived to find Maggs running toward them, swearing and cursing, watching a black carriage that had passed the boys turn out of the park and roll away to the west. Maggs had pounced on them, given them the message, hailed a hackney, and set off after the carriage.
“All right.” Tony felt none of their panic; he’d spent the last decade dealing with similarly fraught situations. He welcomed, even relished what he recognized as the call to arms; he couldn’t yet see how it related, but he knew a bugle when he heard it. “Did Maggs say who was in the carriage?”
The boys shook their heads. So did Jenkins. “I don’t think he saw who it was, my lord.”
“It was Sir Freddie someone’s carriage.” The mumbled words, spoken around a thumb, came from Matthew.
Tony glanced at him, then sat him on the desk so he could see his face. He pulled up his chair and sat, too, so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “How do you know that?”