Katy looked up at him with her wide, dark-lashed green eyes. ‘Tick-tock man.’ She reached out to touch it, then gurgled in merriment.
Rosalie saw Alec’s mouth curl into a brief but devastating smile as he patted Katy’s chubby fist and put his watch away. Her heart jumped. So handsome. So beguiling. So false. As if to prove her point, he turned to Rosalie and the smile was quite gone. ‘It appears to me that your duties lie elsewhere, Mrs Rowland. I warn you—and I assure you I mean it—that there’ll be no writing about me or Two Crows Castle. My men will escort you and your companions as far as the hackney stand on Bishopsgate.’
Matt O’Brien was still watching him almost with awe; much use he was in protecting her from Captain Stewart, Rosalie thought in despair. Her chin lifted an inch. ‘We will make our own way, thank you!’
‘You won’t,’ he broke in icily. ‘I want you well clear of this place.’ He swung round and raised his voice. ‘Sergeant McGrath!’ The villainous-looking Scotsman with red hair came up. ‘Find Mrs Rowland and her companions a hackney cab, will you? And make damned sure they get into it.’ Without a further glance at her, he turned and strode off while McGrath led the way along Crispin Street, with Matt O’Brien at his side, eagerly asking questions.
‘I hear your Captain fought like the very devil against the French at Waterloo,’ Matt was saying to McGrath.
You traitor, Matt. Rosalie, holding Katy tight, walked furiously behind, with Biddy chattering away beside her. And she herself was a fool. Today, as Ro Rowland, roving reporter, she’d blundered straight into that man’s stronghold. Twice now she had let him kiss her. She’d twice melted in his strong arms, and, even worse, had wanted more. She shivered at the memory of that powerful body, moulded hard against hers; dear Lord, she had not even tried to resist him!
Her cheeks burned at the recollection of her astonishing stupidity. If Alec Stewart truly was Linette’s seducer—how on earth was she going to tackle him now?
McGrath beckoned a hackney, spoke to the driver, then strolled off. Biddy’s brother said he’d walk, since his next job of work was close by in Fenchurch Street. So just Biddy, Rosalie and Katy got into the cab.
‘Where to, miss?’ asked the cab driver.
‘Clerkenwell. St John’s Church,’ she answered distractedly, fumbling for her purse.
‘No need for that,’ said the cabbie. ‘Your fare’s bin paid.’
‘No! I won’t allow it!’ she exploded with renewed fury. Captain Stewart must have given the necessary coins to McGrath. How dare he …?
‘Suit yerself,’ shrugged the cabbie. ‘Pay me twice over if you wants to throw your money away.’
Rosalie slumped inside the carriage. Biddy was excited by the novelty of the trip and pointed the sights out to Katy through the window. ‘There’s St Paul’s, Katy, see? And there’s the Smithfield market …’
But Rosalie could see nothing except Alec Stewart’s hard, mocking face. She remembered his mouth and how it had branded her with the kind of kiss she hadn’t even known existed.
* * *
Katy had become fretful by the time they reached Clerkenwell. As they climbed out, the clock of the nearby church was chiming one, and Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, was crooning softly to herself, ‘Tick-tock man. Tick-tock man.’
Thus Rosalie would always remember the exact time that she realised what her enemy was capable of. Would always remember, as she held little Katy tight, the moment when Biddy cried out, ‘Lord have mercy, what on earth’s happened here?’
Rosalie swung round to thrust Katy into Biddy’s arms. ‘Look after her,’ she breathed. She was already hurrying towards the house.
The door was wide open. Helen was standing on the steps surrounded by neighbours and little Toby was clinging tearfully to her.
‘Helen.’ Rosalie pushed her way through. ‘Helen, what’s happened?’
‘Oh, Rosalie … Come and see.’
A horrible sick feeling tore at Rosalie’s gut as she followed her friend inside. In the front room the little square-built printing press, Helen’s pride and joy, had been viciously attacked with what could only have been a strong hammer or a pick-axe. Leaden type and pieces of wooden frame were scattered all over the floor.
‘Someone broke in while I was out. They picked the lock. Then—my printing press …’ Helen’s voice broke. ‘Look at this.’
She handed Rosalie a note scrawled in ink. Gossip-raking bitch.
Rosalie felt quite faint. ‘Did no one see anything?’
Helen shook her head. ‘Mrs Lucas over the road went for the constables when she heard the noise, but whoever it was had run off by the time they arrived. Oh, Rosalie, I—I knew I had enemies, but—this? Who could have done something so malicious? How am I going to start, all over again?’
Rosalie was reeling, because she knew somebody who was capable of such a ruthless revenge. Someone who had, quite possibly, kept her locked in his basement to give his men time to do this. Would such a person feel any regret whatsoever for seducing and abandoning an innocent girl? The answer, surely, was no.
She felt physically sick. I’m afraid I’ve found him, Linette.
And, oh, Lord, he was going to be a powerful adversary.
Some hours later Alec was pacing the landing outside the main bedchamber of his father’s magnificent Belgrave Square house.
As soon as he’d seen his unwelcome visitor—Mrs Rowland—off his premises, he’d ridden to give a fencing lesson in Piccadilly, then he had an appointment down at the Limehouse docks with a warehouse owner who wanted to hire a dozen men. Alec always tried to find work for his ex-soldiers if they were fit for it.
He’d got back to Two Crows Castle to find a message for him, written by the Earl’s steward, Jarvis. Master Alec. I’m afraid that your father has been taken ill. The doctor is with him. Please come.
A thousand thoughts had raced through Alec’s brain as he’d urged his horse westwards through London’s busy streets to Mayfair. A thousand regrets. How serious was this? Had his father’s bout of illness been brought on, perhaps, by the shock of evil knowledge? Would his father even want to see the son he’d disowned a year ago?
Jarvis, a loyal old retainer, came out of the bedchamber now, bearing a tray laden with medicinal beakers. ‘Your father will see you now, Master Alec, sir.’
That was something. ‘Is the doctor still with him?’
‘He’s gone, but he’ll call back within the hour. He said there are no physical signs of illness, but your father needs to rest.’
Alec felt a great release of tension throughout his body. But—No wonder he needs to rest, with a young wife who pleads to be taken to every party of the Season. With a young wife who …
No. You must forget that, for now.
Alec
