its streets-and we’re going to have to search for Ben there, when they let him ago. The one point in all that in our favor is that it won’t be immediately. The villain will need to meet him first, so the earliest they’ll release Ben will be tomorrow afternoon.”
She searched his amber eyes, read in them a steadfast, rock-solid promise that they would find Ben. She eased out the breath tangled in her throat. “So what now? What do you suggest?”
“We’ll continue to London, but there’s no longer any sense in pushing ourselves or the horses.” He glanced around. “We’ll take a break here-have dinner, a short rest-before taking to the road again. This is an excellent inn- their table is highly regarded.”
She didn’t think she could eat, or if she did, all food would be tasteless, but she’d lectured her brothers often enough over recklessly taking unnecessary risks.
Gervase’s lips eased as if he read her mind. “You’ll be little use to Ben when we find him if you’re fainting with hunger.”
She humphed. “I never faint. But perhaps dinner would be wise.” Now she thought of it, she hadn’t eaten anything substantial since a light lunch the day before.
Gervase took charge, leading her into the inn, sending the coachman and his mate into the main taproom to eat and refresh themselves, then commanding rooms in which he and she could wash away the dust of the road and the day, before retreating to a private parlor where a substantial dinner would be served as soon as they were ready. While it felt odd to have someone else organizing things for her, giving orders for her comfort, he was efficient and effective, and seemed to know precisely how not to step on her toes, how to make it feel perfectly natural for her to metaphorically lean on him, to allow him to care for her. Seductive support-that’s what it was-but in this instance she let it wrap about her.
Shown to a pretty bedchamber, she glanced into the mirror, sighed, and set to work to repair the depredations of the journey. A quick wash revived her; the maid shook out her gown, frankly scandalized at the trousers she still wore beneath.
Redonning her gown, she removed the trousers; arriving in London in such attire definitely qualified as another unnecessary risk. Letting down her hair, she combed her fingers through it, subduing it as best she could, then she twisted the mass back into a knot and secured it, more or less, with her remaining pins.
Returning downstairs to the private parlor, she found Gervase, similarly refreshed, waiting. They sat down at the table and the food was brought in; contrary to her expectations she could taste the game pie well enough, and she was indeed famished.
Between them they accounted for most of what the beaming inn wife set before them. Nevertheless she felt a spurt of relief when, as the innkeeper cleared away their plates, Gervase gave the order for their coachman to make ready and the fresh horses to be put to.
As the door shut behind the retreating innkeeper, Gervase turned to see her wiping her fingers on her napkin. “No need to rush-we’ll be on our way soon enough.”
Laying the napkin aside, she frowned. “How will we proceed when we reach London?” Her head felt clearer- clear enough to ask a question she hadn’t, until then, spared much thought for; she’d been focused on catching up with the carriage and Ben before town.
Gervase had given the matter long and considerable thought. “We’ll go to the Bastion Club.”
She frowned. “I thought it was a gentlemen’s club.”
“It is-or was. But of our seven members, five are now wed, and other than me, no one actually stays there anymore. Christian Allardyce, the other yet to marry, has his own house in town. He only uses the club as a bolt- hole-a place to hide from his female relatives and others who want to hound him.”
“Oh.” Her expression suggested she was intrigued-intrigued enough to fall in with his plan. “So we can go there, and…?”
“Using the club as a base, I’ll organize a search for Ben. I’ll call on whoever’s in London-Christian’s there, I know. I’m not sure about Trentham-or Dalziel.”
“Your ex-commander?”
He nodded. “He has…abilities, facilities, minions we can only guess at that he can mobilize.” Pushing back his chair, he rose.
She frowned; giving him her hand, she let him draw her to her feet. “But will he? Dalziel, I mean. After all, he doesn’t know me or Ben from Adam.”
“That won’t matter to him. It’s the need he’ll respond to-a young boy abducted in these circumstances, then abandoned in London.” He felt his jaw, his face, start to set in stony lines; he tried for impassive instead. “He’ll help-he won’t need to be asked twice.”
She seemed to accept that. He led her to the door. Pausing before it, he met her eyes. “Ready to go on?”
Lifting her chin, she nodded, every inch his Valkyrie. “Let’s get back on the road.”
They rolled into London in the predawn. The sky had barely lightened from the night’s black velvet, the eastern horizon a pale stripe of dark gray pearl. They hadn’t pressed the horses but had made good time; it was between three and four o’clock, the hour in which no one stirred, honest man or villain. The streets were silent as their horses, tired but still game, plodded on.
Madeline sat forward looking out at the sky. Gervase studied her profile, knew she was thinking of Ben, wondering where he was, how he was, whether he was well. Finding Ben; his entire personal focus had drawn in to just that-nothing else rated, not until he had Ben back in Madeline’s arms.
He’d given the coachman directions several times. When the carriage turned into Montrose Place, he leaned out and called softly, “Number twelve-the green gate ahead on the left.”
The coachman drew rein; the carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt immediately before the gate.
Opening the carriage door, Gervase stepped down to the pavement. The house, like all the other houses in the street, stood in darkness. He turned back to Madeline, leaning forward to peer through the door at the shadowy outline beyond the stone wall. “Wait here. I’ll go and rouse them.”
He’d arrived at the club in the dead of night on a number of occasions, so it was no surprise to find his confident knock answered within minutes by a sleep-rumpled Gasthorpe dragging on his coat. What always amused Gervase was that the portly ex-sergeant-major, now majordomo, seemed able to scramble into his clothes and look passably neat in just those few minutes.
“My lord!” A smile lighting his face, Gasthorpe beamed and swung the door wide. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you back.”
“Thank you, Gasthorpe, but I’m not alone. I have a lady with me-the Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne-and we’ll need to use the club as our base.” Gervase met Gasthorpe’s widening eyes. “Miss Gascoigne’s young brother has been kidnapped. We chased the blackguard’s carriage to London, but couldn’t catch it-we’ll need to organize a search come first light.”
At the first sign of trouble, Gasthorpe’s eyes had lit. “Naturally, my lord.” Glancing out into the night, noting the carriage at the curb, he drew himself up. “If you’ll conduct the lady indoors, I’ll have a chamber-the larger one to the left of the stairs-ready momentarily.”
Gervase nodded, relieved he could rely on Gasthorpe’s abilities and his discretion. He turned to the street, then recalled…and turned back to Gasthorpe. “We had to set out on our chase unexpectedly from Helston. We’ve no luggage, no clothes bar those on our backs.” He grimaced. “And we’ve been on the road more or less continuously since the evening of the day before yesterday. We’ll also need to house the coachmen-there’s two of them-for as long as we stay. I suspect we’ll need to race back to Cornwall at some point, and they’re excellent whips.”
Gasthorpe drew himself up. “Leave everything to me, my lord. We’ve been rather quiet of late-it’s a pleasure to see action again.”
In spite of the hour, despite the situation, Gervase grinned; he knew what Gasthorpe meant. Stepping off the porch, he said, “Incidentally, Lostwithiel sends his regards. I’ve left him and his lady holding the fort at Crowhurst.”
“Very kind of the earl-I hope we’ll see him, and his lady, here one day soon.”
Gervase’s grin grew wider. “I’ll tell him.” They truly would have to rethink their use of the club, or Gasthorpe and his helpers would run mad. None were the usual sort of staff; inactivity didn’t suit them.
Returning to the carriage, he helped Madeline to the pavement; she glanced around while he gave the tired coachmen directions to the mews behind the house, then she let him twine her arm in his and lead her up the path
