Ignoring Jack’s orders, Victoire stood up and peeked around the hedge, where in a cacophony of shrieks, sobs, and admonitions to step lively and watch the stairs, guests were pouring out of the ballroom, across the terrace, and down into the garden. Surely the thief had not struck in the midst of the party, but what else could it be?
“Victoire.”
A voice from the side path to her right. She spun around, staring at the odd silhouette of the figure emerging from the shadows. At what she finally recognized as a lean gentleman with the exaggerated balloon-shaped hips of a Tudor gentleman. “Julius?”
“How delightful I found you, my dear. I had hoped you would grant me a dance, but as there seems to be some sort of rodomontade occurring inside, I think it best to depart before more shots are fired.”
Victoire eyed her cousin warily. Somehow, at the first sign of trouble, she had expected him to lead the pack out the door. But perhaps he had, for he was farther into the garden than anyone else she could see.
Or had Julius been ahead of the pack? For all she was inclined to think him a fribble, he might very well be the jewel thief.
“Victoire”—her cousin’s voice sharpened—“I fear it is no longer safe here. Allow me to take you away from this place.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Jack loomed out of the night, pistol in one hand, a sword in the other. “You need to stay where you are, Tarrant, until we’ve searched you. I suggest you hand the jewels over before Conyngham arrives. He’s thirsting for your blood.”
“Did the lady identify me?” Julius inquired with so much sangfroid Victoire could only stare.
“The lady saw nothing but a man, cloaked and masked, as you very well know, but I’ll stake my reputation we’ll find that necklace stuck in one of those fancy pants of yours. Move away from Victoire, if you will.” He motioned with the pistol in his hand.
“Sorry, guv’nor.” Two dark shadows leaped at Jack from behind, one seizing his sword arm, the other his gun hand, wrestling him to the ground.
“Jack!” Victoire leaped forward, only to have Julius clasp her tight as three more shadows erupted out of the dark on the other side, guns, knives, and cudgels at the ready.
A shot brought Victoire’s head back to Jack, who lay on the ground, still as death, a dark pool—blood?—forming around his head. Furiously, she fought Julius with an elbow to his mid-section, a stamp to his foot.
“Hush!” he hissed, but never budged. To Victoire’s astonishment, he glared at the intruders. “If it’s coin you want,” he said, fishing a small leather bag from a pocket tucked beneath the panes of his bulging sixteenth century trunk hose, “take it.” Keeping Victoire fast with one hand, he extended the other, the bag dangling from his fingers.
One of the cloaked and masked man snatched it up, his pistol never wavering. “I thank-ee,” he said. ’Tis always fine to be paid twice for a job. And I’d like to know more about them jewels as well. But for now, if ye’ll be so kind, we’ve a coach waiting at the mews gate. Step lively, if y’ please.” His pistol motioned them toward the rear of the garden.
“Are you mad?” Julius demanded, whipping off his mask. “I am Tarrant, Launsdale’s heir. You can’t kidnap the son of a marquess.”
“We know right well who you are, m’lord. And we’ve orders to take you with us. No more dawdlin’. Or we can shoot you where you stand and carry you out. Now tell me, who’s the cove on the ground?”
Victoire, her eyes fixed on Jack—he couldn’t be dead!—struggled to rally her wits. If these men weren’t hired by Julius, then who . . .?
“He’s Harding, the leader of Harding’s Hellions,” Julius told them. “Not a man you want to cross. His men will be hot on his heels.”
“Fortune smiles,” declared the leader of the bully boys without so much as a blink. He turned to Victoire. “And if you be his wife, our task’s complete —the lot of ’em served up like beef on a silver platter.”
Victoire interpreted a hard squeeze from Julius as a warning, but never would she deny Jack. Jack, who might be dead. Her heart clenched. Head high, she declared, “I am Jack Harding’s wife and proud of it.”
“Take ’em all,” the leader ordered.
Something was wrong. If Julius were truly a thief, then these must be his men, hired to frighten her into turning over money that was no longer hers to give. Yet now it appeared Julius was as much a prisoner as Jack and herself. Jack, who never moved as they slung him onto the carriage floor. Jack, who was bleeding all over her skirt as she attempted to raise his head into her lap.
Victoire spared Julius a glance and discovered he was almost as pale as Jack. Unless he was worthy of leading roles at Drury Lane, she was ready to acquit him of whatever was happening to them at the moment.
Victoire smelled the river before she saw it. The tide must be low, the stink of the mud flats pungent. Not good. The Thames had swallowed many a body in its time, and she feared she and Jack were about to join them. But surely not Julius. For during the long ride from Mayfair, she had realized their kidnapper had to be Launsdale, and Julius was his only son. The heir.
Therefore, unless they were all mistaken about the Darrincotes, Julius should not be looking down the barrel of the pistols held by the two highwaymen, one of them the gang’s apparent leader. Was it possible Julius was at odds with his family, preferring to marry her instead of kill her? But even then, surely he was untouchable. Without Julius the ducal title would die out.
The carriage slowed to a stop. The leader jumped out, leaving his cohort to drag Jack out, boosting him over his shoulder before signaling Victoire and Julius to follow. A third highwayman dropped down from the carriage box, holding a torch, which illuminated the deserted scene—a line of ships at anchor, and closest to them, a smaller ship, a gentleman’s yacht, not more than fifty feet long. The three ruffians, still wearing their masks, herded their prisoners toward a gangplank spanning the yacht’s side.
Victoire shivered. Dressed as a boy, she could have managed it easily, but garbed as a Medieval maiden . . . She balked, shaking her head.
She stifled a scream as the third highwaymen gave her the same treatment as Jack, nimbly traversing the narrow gangplank with her dangling over his shoulder.
They were ushered into a finely appointed salon, obviously the luxurious accommodation of a wealthy man of good taste. Victoire squeaked as Jack’s body thudded to the floor, where he lay, unmoving, covered in blood. Dear God,if he was dead, then she had killed him. She, Victoire, la canadienne idiote. It was her fault. If they had never met—
Rough hands seized her, turning her away from Jack, jostling her into place next to Julius before a desk almost fine enough to grace a gentleman’s study. A man looked up from behind the desk. He did not rise.
“Papa?” Beside her, Julius’s silver eyes bulged with what seemed to be genuine surprise.
The marquess held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the jewels.”
“But how . . .?” Julius sputtered.
“How did I know my son and heir was a thief?” Launsdale taunted. “How could I not? The jewels, Tarrant. Now.”
Once again Julius fished in a pocket cleverly concealed inside the gold-embroidered panes that decorated his short, black velvet Tudor pants. He handed over the antique necklace and matching earrings.
Julius? Stunned into silence, Victoire could only stare. The men had been right. Julius the fribble was clever enough to be the master thief.
Launsdale held the gems up to the light from the lantern suspended from the salon’s ceiling. “As I thought,” he said with disgust. “A well-laid trap, my boy. You should have known better—”
“I did suspect a trap,” Julius protested. “I knew they would have the gems surrounded if I waited until after the ball.”
“Ah yes, but did you suspect the gems to be glass?” the marquess inquired smoothly, rubbing a fingernail against the gold setting.
“Glass?” Julius choked out.
“Very fine copies indeed,” Launsdale conceded. “But see here, the gold coating rubs off, and the gems do not have quite enough sparkle.”
“The lantern is dim, you cannot know for certain.”
“I believe our dear Victoire knows,” the marquess said, offering her a smile more frightening than a scowl. “Is it not so, my dear? These gems are not what they seem.”
What point to a lie? Insisting the gems were real would only make her appear a fool and would do nothing to save her. She might as well tell the truth. “Yes. My husband told me they were bait to a trap.”
Julius swore.
“Her lover is surprisingly competent,” Launsdale said to his son. “Until tonight, when he wavered, allowing his bride to distract him from keeping an eagle eye on the bait. So touching. A shame they cannot live to see our triumph, the family wealth restored—”
“You cannot do this—” Julius began hotly. “The money is lost, we must accept it.”
His father brought up a pistol and aimed it at his heart. “I have no desire to lose my only son,” he declared with enough menace to stop Julius where he stood. “Nor do I plan to stand by while scandal rocks the family and you are transported to the Antipodes. Therefore, you are finished as a thief and, no matter your preference in the matter, your cousin and her bastard husband will disappear tonight. Is that clear?”
“Damn you!” Julius leaped at his father, shoving the gun up. It exploded, shattering the lamp.
And suddenly the salon turned into a riot of grunts, groans, and falling bodies. A cry of pain—Julius? Someone knocked into her, as he charged for the cabin door. Victoire lost her balance and toppled over, arms flailing helplessly for a handhold in the darkness. Strong arms enveloped her, dragging her from the cabin. Mais non! Launsdale’s men were not going to throw her over the side! Victoire thrust an elbow hard at the person behind her, using his surprise to squirm around and bring up her knee.
“Victoire, it’s me! Oof!” The hands holding her tight fell away.
“Jack?” Mon Dieu, she’d hurt him! But, oh joy, he lived! She grabbed his bent shoulders and held on tight. “I am so, so sorry, truly I am.”
“Victoire,” Jack panted, “you are a great deal of trouble.”
Victoire buried her face in his chest, hugging him tight for a moment before her shoulders suddenly stiffened and she took a step back. “You were pretending,” she accused, feeling very much put upon for the fright she’d endured. Ma foi, she’d thought him dead!
“Only for a short while—long enough to hear Launsdale mocking his heir. And feel the tromp of their feet when Launsdale ran over me with Tarrant in hot pursuit.”
“Oh.” Very well, she might forgive him. “So what do we—”
Shots from above. Shouts. Thuds. A long scream, fading into abrupt silence.
“Jack?” Victoire whispered.
“What Launsdale and Tarrant ran into on deck I can only guess. If we’re lucky, it was our men. If not, that was a dying scream from one of ours, and we’re still in a great deal of trouble.”
Footsteps on the companionway. Friend or foe? Jack flattened his back to the wall, pulling her tight to his chest in an effort to blend into the shadows.
“Mr. Harding, sir?” Tom Dudley called. “Missus? We got ’em all. It’s safe to come up.”
Jack acknowledged Dudley’s words, his sigh of relief blending with Victoire’s. “There was never a time you were not watched,” Jack told her. “It was only a matter of time before the lot of them came to rescue us.”
Victoire, feeling rather small, opted for silence. Was this, then, merely another day in the life of Jack Harding? Together, they climbed up to the deck where Lord Cheyney met them, looking solemn.
“Launsdale?” Jack demanded.
His brother shook his head. Turning to Victoire, he said, “My condolences, sister. I fear you have lost a cousin.”
“Julius?” she gasped, surprisingly appalled.
“Launsdale. But not before he confessed to all the attempts on your life. Including the incident on the stairs. He was villain enough to corrupt his own daughter into murder.”
A look passed between the brothers. “I had reserved that privilege for myself,” Jack said. “Nonetheless, I thank you.”
“And Julius?” Victoire asked.
“I fear he was knocked about a bit before he could convince us he didn’t want a fight. A problem, Lord Tarrant. What say you, Jack?”
Jack stared over the rail at the dark waters of the Thames, the scattering of dim lights along the south shore. “Require his word not to leave town and send him home. Someone must apprise his family of what has happened, and I most definitely do not want it to be I.”
“And the others?” Cheyney asked.
“The River Police, I should think,” Jack said. “I understand Dudley has an old friend there, and this night’s work is best forgot.”
“Take Victoire and go,” Avery told him. “We can handle the rest.”
Jack hesitated, clearly lost in thought before his mouth crooked into a grim smile. “Although some may not credit it, Launsdale died a noble death tonight, while attempting to rescue his son from kidnappers. The family grieves, but is grateful the matter is not worse.”
“No!” Victoire and Avery exclaimed in unison.
“How can you?” Victoire added. “He is a beast, a murderer.”
“He is the son of a duke, nephew to Lord Claude. He is also your cousin. If the family is not to be forever damned, he must become a hero.”
Avery nodded. “Understood. Go, I will take care of it.”
As Victoire settled into what looked remarkably like a fit of the sulks, Jack grasped her hand and led her over the gangway. On the dockside they paused to look back at the ship, illuminated only by moonlight and a few lanterns swaying in the rigging. “No more fear,” Jack said. “It’s over.”
Over. Indeed, it was. And so was her life.