Despite his attempt to stay away, after a bath, a shave and a change of clothes, Ben found himself on the road back to Beauchamp House some two hours after leaving Sophia and her invitation to visit her chambers.
He was a besotted fool, he thought, as he climbed the steps to the front door, but he didn’t much care. As soon as this business with the forgers was over he would marry Sophia and they’d disappear for a bit where no one could find them.
He’d raised his hand to knock when the door was wrenched open from the inside and he found himself face to face with a stern-looking Lord Kerr.
“Good,” he said without preamble, pulling Ben into the house and shutting the door behind him. “I was on my way to fetch you.”
“What is it?” Ben asked, alarm coursing through him a the other man’s manner. “Where is Sophia?”
He’d known he shouldn’t have left her here, but his damned sense of propriety had made him go back to the vicarage.
“We don’t know,” Kerr said, his jaw tight with anger. “And we can’t find Greaves either.”
At this, Ben went cold. “Damn it.”
“What is it?” Kerr asked. “Do you know something?”
Quickly, Ben explained about Greaves withholding the letter Lady Celeste had left for Sophia. “We both thought it odd, but Sophia was convinced he’d done it out of affection for her. To protect her from becoming involved the investigation into the forgeries. But it’s possible that was just an excuse when she caught him out. His affection for her seemed genuine, but your guess is as good as mine whether it was an act.”
Kerr swore under his breath. “I wish you’d told me about this before. This man has been here with all the ladies for days at a time. And we thought they were safe.”
“And it would appear that they were safe,” Ben retorted, thrusting a hand through his hair. “With the exception of Sophia.”
Following the marquess into the drawing room, he found that the rest of the household—minus Sophia, of course—was gathered there. Gemma, her face pale, was lying on the settee looking much the worse for wear.
“I’m so sorry, Ben,” she said when he entered the room. “I shouldn’t have left her alone. But I only meant to be gone for a moment.”
He hurried to her side. Sophia’s sister looked enough like her that it was painful to look at her for a brief moment, then he got hold of himself and took charge. “Where were you? What happened?”
Gemma explained that they’d gone into the garden to get a breath of air and that she’d come inside to fetch their wraps. “When I stepped inside, Greaves was waiting with a tea tray. It had two cups. And he said he’d been on his way out to bring them to us, since it was chilly out. He insisted I drink mine there since I was shivering. And though I was in a hurry, I drank it so he’d let me go.”
“And then what happened?” Ben prodded. He needed every bit of information Gemma could give him in order to find Sophia. “Did he say anything else?”
“I think he apologized,” she said, shaking her head a little. “And when I started to tremble, he helped me to a chair and told me that Mr. Morgan would see to it that I was compensated.”
Compensated? Ben stared. What could that possibly mean?
“I found her in the chair,” Ivy offered, from where she stood by Kerr’s side. “And she told me that Sophia was in the garden. When I went to look, she was gone. But her walking stick was there, tossed into the shrubbery.”
“And there was no sign of where they’d gone?” Ben asked, his blood racing with fear. If Morgan, who had likely had Framingham murdered, was in involved, then there was no telling what he’d do to Sophia.
“None,” Ivy said sadly. “But I think we can guess where he’s taken her. If Greaves was working for Morgan, then they must be there.”
“We need to search the man’s rooms,” Ben said forcefully, already striding for the door to head down the servants stairs.
“Wait,” Maitland said, following. “I’ll come with you.”
Not waiting to see if he was behind him, Ben kept walking.
Greaves’ rooms were small but tidy. He had a small bedroom that was modestly furnished, and a sitting room that was decorated with a far more sophisticated hand than Ben would have suspected of him.
In a place of prominence on the wall, however, was a framed painting that he recognized as one of the works lost in the Channel crossing.
He stepped closer and saw that on the table beside it was a wooden case, such as he’d seen in Sophia’s studio, made to hold pigments and paints. An idea came to him. “Do you know if Greaves ever showed an interest in art before Sophia came to Beauchamp House?” he asked Maitland, who’d come into the room behind him.
The duke frowned. “He used to chat with my aunt about her own work,” he said thoughtfully. “And I think I recall him saying once that he visited Primrose Green to take lessons on his off day.”
They’d assumed because Ryder was the one Morgan had publicly taken under his wing that he must also be the artist the man had hired to forge the paintings. Then, when the Primbles came into the picture, it had seemed that they were the likely suspects since Celeste might have told Evelyn about her father’s lost art. No one had considered that there was another person—living in Beauchamp House the whole time—who might also have known about the lost paintings. And whose skill with a brush might be every bit as good at copying as anyone at Primrose Green.
“We have to get to Morgan’s mansion,” he said, the possibility of why Greaves might take Sophia there sending a shiver of fear through him. “I think that’s where he’s taken her. And I believe I know why.”
* * *
Whatever it was that Greaves had used to make her lose consciousness had left Sophia with a dry mouth and a groggy head. She became aware of both as she woke up in the back of a moving cart as it bumped over a bit of rough terrain. Her hands were bound, as were her ankles, and though her head wasn’t covered, there was a blanket draped over her whole body that prevented her from seeing where they were headed.
The memory of Greaves overpowering her was disturbing enough, but more troubling was the fact that she had no notion of why he would do such a thing. As with most servants, he’d been good at being always at the ready without revealing much about his own personality. He had always, she’d known, had a soft spot for her. But to her shame, she’d accepted it as just another instance of her outward appearance bringing her undeserved praise. It hadn’t occurred to her until he’d kept the letter from Lady Celeste, that his affection might run to something more sinister. Or that it could be a ruse to make her think he was more harmless than he was.
Her mind raced as she tried to remember just what he’d said about his reasons for hiding the letter. But nothing she could recall would have alerted her to the fact that he was planning to kidnap her. He’d said he was trying to keep her safe, and it had seemed at the time that he was sincere. Ben had even thought so.
At the thought of Ben, her gut clenched. What would he do when he discovered she was missing? She wished again that she’d been more forceful about making him stay that afternoon. If he’d been there, she would never have gone into the garden at all. Much less found herself bound and gagged in the back of a cart.
She heard the driver telling the horses to slow, and then the cart rolled to a stop. She waited in fear for Greaves to come for her, but rather than the butler, when the blanket was ripped away she saw two large footmen. One look at the blue and red livery they wore told her exactly where the butler had brought her.
They were at Morgan’s mansion.
The larger of the footmen hauled her from the cart and when her ankle refused to hold her weight, he muttered a curse and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She schooled herself against the indignity of being held against the man’s body, especially when the memory of Ben cradling her against his chest was still fresh in her mind. As she bumped against his back, she tried to see details of the house and was strangely relieved to see that at the very least she was correct about the location. Bits of decor and wall hangings, familiar from the ball less than a week ago, told her she was indeed in Morgan’s home.
Finally, after what felt like ages, the footmen, and Greaves, who had been walking behind them as if he were any guest being ushered in to see the master of the house, entered what looked from Sophia’s upside-down perspective, to be the drawing room.
None too gently, the footman who was carrying her bent forward and deposited her, bottom down, into a chair. As he did so, her elbows went in opposite directions. And she realized that the rope knotted around her wrists wasn’t as tight as it had been. Something about the bouncing journey from the cart to the house must have loosened it.
“This one can’t stand,” he said with a grunt to his master, who stood surveying the newcomers like so much driftwood coming on to shore. “Something wrong with her leg.”
And having said his peace, he and his fellow left the room, and shut the door behind them. Clearly, Morgan must ask for many such odd tasks from his servants, she thought grimly. They didn’t seem particularly upset or concerned that their master had just had them bring a kidnap victim into his home.
“What have you done, Greaves?” Morgan asked, looking from Sophia to the butler of Beauchamp House, who had come to stand beside her chair.
“I’ve brought the reason for all your troubles,” Greaves said plainly. “It goes against the grain, but now, I want you to do me the courtesy of letting me leave unharmed.”
“You damned fool,” Morgan growled. “This is the last thing I needed. Do you know how many people will be looking for this woman? She’s all but betrothed to the son of the Duke of Pemberton! I wanted her separated from him, but not like this. It’s why I sent for the bloody bishop to chastise him. Now you’ll lead the authorities right to my door.”
“And you see how well your scheme to tell the bishop worked,” Greaves returned, unrepentant. “Lord Benedick’s kind never thinks authority applies to them. You know how the quality are. It’s why I threw my lot in with you, sir. You represent the new way of doing things. Where men rise based on their talent and their determination, not by accident of birth.”
“That’s as may be, Greaves,” Morgan said, his florid face looking, if anything, redder, “but you’ve got to play within the rules of the game. You can’t simply kidnap their women and expect them to go away. We had a good scheme worked out. You’re a talented artist, and I appreciate all you’ve done for us, but your time with this operation is at an end. This only proves it.” He gestured to Sophia as if she were a prime example of the butler’s failings. “Now I’ve got to rid myself of both of you. Which will only bring more suspicion my way if I don’t take care of it the right way.”
Artist? Sophia’s brain teemed with the possibilities the industrialist’s remark ignited. Was it possible that Greaves was the forger? It seemed impossible, though the man had always seemed to be interested in her work. And had spoken fondly about Lady Celeste’s painting. She considered the matter as she continued her attempt to unravel the knot at her wrists.
At his words, Sophia saw Greaves stiffen. “What do you mean? I thought if I brought her to you it would make you see how important I am to you. You may think me too stupid to have realized it, but I know what you and Framingham were planning.”
Morgan stopped in the middle of his path to the bell pull. “I’m not sure what you think you know, Greaves…”
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Sophia saw the butler bring a pistol from beneath his coat. “I know that you were planning to have me killed,” he said coldly, leveling the gun at Morgan’s chest. “And I know that I stopped Framingham before he could carry out your orders.”