Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

He slammed the book shut. “A. C. Currently with the Home Office. From an old if not ancient family, his principal estate is in north Oxfordshire, near Chipping Norton, not far from the tavern where those letters from the French captains were sent.”

Geoffrey’s mouth had fallen open; he snapped it shut. “ Caudel? Good God—no wonder he’s so desperate to scotch the investigation.”

“Indeed, and no wonder he knew so much about the investigation itself.” Standing behind the desk, fingers lightly drumming, Tony rapidly assembled a plan, checking and re-checking, mentally listing all the necessary orders. He glanced at the three boys, spared them a reassuring smile. “I’ll go after them.”

Geoffrey frowned. “You know where they’ve gone?’

“Maggs has them in his sights—he’ll send word as soon as he passes a hostelery.” Tony spoke to the boys.

“Maggs knows what to do—he won’t stop following Alicia. I’ll head out as soon as I know which road—Maggs and I have a system we’ve used before. It’ll work, so don’t worry that we’ll lose the trail.” He looked at Geoffrey. “I need you to get word to the others, and then wait here with Adriana, Miranda, and the rest—no need for vapors, I’ll bring Alicia back.”

Geoffrey nodded. “Right. Who do you want me to get hold of?”

Tony gave him a list. Dalziel first; Tony wrote a short note summarizing the evidence that Sir Freddie was A. C. He handed it to Geoffrey. “Give that to Dalziel—into his hand, don’t show it to anyone else. Use my name, that’ll get you through his pickets. Then go to Hendon House and tell Jack, then to the club, and tell the majordomo, Gasthorpe. Tell him the others—Deverell’s out of town but the other five—all need to know.”

While he’d talked, he’d risen and tugged the bellpull. Hungerford appeared; Tony ordered his curricle brought around with the bays put to. Without comment, Hungerford left.

Almost immediately he returned. “A message from Maggs, my lord, brought by an ostler from Hounslow. Maggs says it’s the Basingstoke road.”

Having assimilated the fact that Sir Freddie was A. C., which he verified beyond doubt by telling her the details of how his scheme had operated, and of how he’d worked since Ruskin’s death to turn all blame on her, Alicia still didn’t know the answer to her question. She fixed Sir Freddie with a steady gaze. “What do you plan to do now? What do you want me to do?”

“At the moment, nothing.” Reaching out, he lifted a window flap, glanced out, then let the flap fall and looked back at her. “We’ll be journeying through the night. When we stop to change horses, you’ll remain in the carriage, calm and composed. At no time will you do anything to attract attention. You won’t forget that your brother’s future lies in your hands, so you will do exactly as I say at all times.”

She debated telling him that Tony and his friends knew about Ellicot, but decided to hold her fire, at least until she knew more. “Where are we going?” Through the night suggested deep into the country.

Sir Freddie studied her, then shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will hurt to tell you.” His tone was cold, unemotional. “Given how forthcoming I’ve been, I’m sure you’ve realized by now that this last and, I fancy, winning throw of the dice involves your demise.”

She had, but refused to let it panic her. She raised a brow, faintly haughty. “You’re going to kill me?”

He smiled his chilling smile. “Most regretfully, I assure you. But before you waste breath trying to tell me such an act won’t get me anywhere, let me explain how things will appear once you’re no longer about to state your case.

“First, I’m aware of the activities of Torrington and his friends. They really are quite tediously tenacious. Ellicot was an obvious liability—he, naturally, is no longer with us. His family, however, are most likely aware that he had a sleeping partner, so I took care to remove all evidence of my association with him… and replaced it with evidence of your association with him.

“When Torrington and his friends look, they’ll find a circle of evidence that leads them back to you—where their attention should have stayed all along. I’m sure they won’t be happy about it, but they won’t have any choice in laying the blame at your door. I’ve become quite adept at bending society and the upper echelons to my bidding; there’ll be such irritation that you’ve escaped, your guilt will be established by default.

“Naturally, you won’t be there to answer the charges, which will only reinforce them. Your disappearance will be seen as an admission of guilt, one your supporters will be at a loss to counter. When your body is eventually found, as I’ll ensure it is, everyone will conclude that, weighed down with remorse, with the investigation closing in—something you would know with Torrington as your lover—with social disaster of ever-greater proportions looming over you and your precious family… well, you took the only honorable way out for a lady.”

She let contempt infuse her voice. “You said you know of Torrington and his friends and how tenacious they are. My death won’t convince them—it won’t stop their investigation, it’ll intensify it.” She was perfectly certain of that.

Sir Freddie, however, smiled, coldly condescending. “The key is Torrington, and how he’ll react to finding your dead body.”

She couldn’t stop her lashes from flickering.

Sir Freddie saw; his smile deepened. “He’s in love with you, not just a passing fancy, I fear, but well and truly caught. What do you think it will do to him to be the one to discover you dead?”

She refused to react, to give him any indication of what she thought; the arrogant fool had just said the one thing above all others guaranteed to make her fight to the last.

“With you gone and nothing left to save, Torrington will retire to deepest Devon. The others won’t be able to sustain the investigation without him.” He paused, then added, “And that, my dear, will finally be the end of the story.”

She drew breath, but didn’t challenge him; there had to be some way to scuttle his plans. She kept her mind focused on that, refusing even to think of defeat. Defeat meant death, and she definitely wasn’t ready to die.

Leaning her head against the squabs, she went over his plan. He was right in predicting she would do nothing to put Matthew at risk, but the risk came from Sir Freddie. He’d said his men would hold Matthew until they heard from him; if they didn’t… there’d be time to find them and free Matthew unharmed.

She needed to escape and simultaneously take Sir Freddie captive, ensuring he could send no message. Once they’d turned the tables, Sir Freddie would tell them where Matthew was held… she needed Tony for that, but…

In her heart, she was sure he’d come for her. Maggs had been watching; he’d probably realized she’d been kidnapped before she had. Maggs would get word to Tony, and Tony would come. However, she couldn’t rely on Tony catching up with her before Sir Freddie tried to kill her.

She looked across the carriage. Sir Freddie’s eyes were closed, but she didn’t think he was asleep. He was some years older than Tony, a few inches shorter, but of heavier build. Indeed, he’d be described as a fine figure of a man, still in his prime; he’d never looked out of place in Adriana’s court.

Physically, she couldn’t hope to win any tussle, yet if Sir Freddie had any weakness, it was his overweening conceit. He believed he’d get away with everything. If she played to that belief, there might be one moment, almost at the end of the game, when he might be vulnerable….