the friendship has turned into something else after all.” She watched as Frazier’s face turned as red as his hair.
“I canna believe it! I willna believe it!” He pointed a stubby finger at her. “You stay right here. I’m off to see that Mulgrew fella, find out what’s become of his man and the damned necklace. See if he knows whether the major made it to France.”
“I don’t want to stay right here!” Charlotte shouted. Without thinking she gripped an empty Chinese vase and hurled it against the wall. Frazier didn’t flinch.
“Spirited, are ye? We might need some of that spirit before this is all over.” He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. “Now, see here, Miss Fallon. I know the major, have known him more than a dozen years. He’s in trouble. If you thought about it past your pride, you’d see I’m right.”
Charlotte shut her eyes. She didn’t want to hear the reasonableness of his words or see the sincerity on his face. It was true when they parted, Bay had promised to escort her home himself. But rich gentlemen were a fickle lot-the letter made it clear he had changed his mind and was without a doubt happily sporting with some French tart. Or two. All the mistakes were probably made in a drunken haste to get back into bed.
But what harm did it do for her to remain here a little longer, until Frazier was satisfied that his employer had in fact meant every word? The Jane Street house was loaded with every luxury, and Mrs. Kelly didn’t seem quite so disposed to poison her now. She had met congenial neighbors, and, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t exactly have a lot to go home to.
“Very well. It’s your hide. Do what you must to assure yourself of Bay’s intentions.”
Much to Charlotte’s shock, he patted her on the head. “Thank ye, lass. I’ll return as soon as I can with news. Please tell Mrs. Kelly all of this, every bit. Show her the letter and tell her my concerns. She might have a word or two to cheer you up.”
Charlotte doubted that. She watched as Frazier sprinted out of the room. Reluctantly she got up and picked up the dreadful letter. She reread it with fresh eyes.
She still didn’t see Frazier’s point of view. The letter was as straightforward as ever to her. My word, Bay even talked about the weather. How banal. But she dutifully went down the stairs to explain the situation to Mrs. Kelly as instructed.
The older woman was rolling out a pie crust. Charlotte took the rolling pin from her as the cook fished her glasses out of her apron pocket and continued to smooth the dough on the marble slab. She was a dab hand at pastry herself. Her pies always sold well at the Little Hyssop parish fair.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Kelly looked up. “Sir Michael says he’s tied up. Don’t you feel his choice of words is rather significant?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Charlotte would not soon forget her delightful humiliation, but she was not about to discuss it with Bay’s servant.
“I agree with Angus. There’s something off about the whole thing.” She carefully folded the letter and put it on the kitchen table. “When you told me he’d gone to France without a word to me, I confess I was surprised. He’s a thoughtful boy.”
“Bay is hardly a
“When you get to my great age, you’ll sing a different tune. He’d never leave Angus behind if he were to go on a trip of any length, either. There is a mystery afoot here.”
“Pooh.” Charlotte rolled the pin with a violent flourish. “If he’s not in France, then he’s with Lady Whitley. Either way, I’m still stuck here against his wishes. And mine. But it’s no skin off my nose if Mr. Frazier is reprimanded. What kind of pie are we making?”
“Chicken. Be a dear and fetch a potato from the barrel, will you?”
The two worked in companionable chatter preparing Charlotte’s lunch. Charlotte was treated to secondhand anecdotes from Bay’s youth, gleaned by Mrs. Kelly from her sister’s letters. Her descriptions of Bay’s grandmother made Charlotte sorry that she would never meet her. No wonder he wanted the necklace back as a reminder of his formidable grandmama. When the pie emerged from the oven, pastry browned and gravy bubbling, Charlotte shared it with Mrs. Kelly right at the basement kitchen table. The hatchet and knives had been buried.
Anne had not come yet today, for which Bay was grateful. His captors had loosened the ropes somewhat after Anne complained yesterday that his skin was rubbed raw. He was on a strict schedule like a nursing baby. Meals were delivered at regular intervals, he was released-and surrounded-as he relieved himself to the taunts of the four grubby men who guarded him. The rest of the time he was left to stare up at the cracked ceiling. If Bay were to take up his paintbrushes again, he would paint a vision of hell to rival the heaven of Charlie’s bedchamber.
He had failed there. Evidently she had not realized his intent when he wrote that horrid letter, nor, apparently, had Frazier. Perhaps she hadn’t even shown it to him but dusted off to Little Lockup in a huff. It was going on three days since the missive was delivered, unless Anne had simply lied and thrown it away. Bay had been so sure Frazier would be suspicious of his sudden disappearance and come looking for him.
Ah, well. He supposed he’d better get used to his situation. Eventually he would escape. He had to. The thought of being bound to Anne for a lifetime was too terrible to contemplate. The shadows from the slatted shutters told him it was late afternoon, too soon for a night’s sleep. He made himself drift off anyway, half-listening for any movements in the house. It was remarkable what utter boredom led to. Bay had already exhausted his repertoire of remembered poetry and Bible verses. It was safer to doze, dreaming of being in Charlie’s arms.
He was awakened from his pleasant dream by Anne’s leather-gloved hand on his bare chest. The room was in full darkness apart from a tallow candle that glowed on the crude table.
He made himself sound petulant. “Where have you been?”
“At the most dreary of musicales. Nothing very tonnish. I’m in mourning, as you know, but my great-aunt invited me to hear her protegee. The shrieking set my eardrums on fire. How have you been occupying yourself, Bay?” she asked with a catlike smile.
“Anne, there really is no need to keep me shackled. I could have accompanied you to hear this songbird. I’m sure we might have found an alcove or a balcony where we could have made our own music.”
“There, there. Perhaps in a week or two, when you’ve proved your ardor again.” She traced his mouth with a fingertip. “Somehow, I’m not quite convinced by your words. Perhaps a kiss will help persuade me?”
She was bending over him, her cloying rose scent filling his nostrils. He opened his mouth to protest, but it was quickly covered by hers. She tasted of sherry and determination. He allowed the kiss to last far longer than he wanted, participating with his own desperate earnestness. She must be convinced of his intentions-it was the only way he could win his freedom. At last she settled back on the edge of the mattress, her face flushed.
“Can we not end this nonsense, Anne? I want you. I want to be inside you.”
“Soon. Another day or two, I promise.”
She left, blowing out the candle on her way out the door. Once he heard the front door close and her carriage move down the street, he let out a bellow. Let her goons think he was frustrated that he hadn’t fucked her. Bay knew otherwise.
The pounding woke her from a sound sleep. Charlotte threw on her gray robe and stumbled down the stairs. Mrs. Kelly was snoring unaware in her room. Irene was due back any day, but would have been no more prepared to answer the door at this hour than Charlotte was.
“Who is it?” she shouted over the incessant thudding.
“Angus Frazier! Open the door, Miss Fallon!”
Charlotte turned the large brass key and pulled the handle. Angus nearly fell into the hallway. His hair and eyebrows were standing at red attention, wild, and his clothes were in a dreadfully rumpled state.
“She’s got him! I followed her tonight to a mean little house in Islington.”
