Isabella might have scratched her head were her hands not bound. “But you’ve been slandering Lord Oldman when he’s the captain’s best client.”
“That’s all part of Lawton’s plan. He’s taken over the smuggling business. If the River Police come knocking, he plans to lay the blame at Lord Oldman’s door. I’d heard the gossip about Oldman’s ruthless ways and have been causing trouble for almost a year. I told his secretary where to hire the maids. Then there’s proof Oldman had the smuggled women in his house.”
Isabella felt her temperature rising. “So, for the past year, you’ve known women are being brought to England against their will?”
“Some came of their own accord, wanting work. Some are too scared to make a fuss.” Ethel hung her head in shame. “Lawton would have set me up to take the fall if I’d not gone along with his plan.”
“But the women will testify. The truth will prevail.”
“They can’t testify, miss. Most of them are shipped out of London. Some are sold at auction. Like the ones here tonight.”
“Sold!” Mother Mary! Based on the nature of the crime, it would be impossible to save Ethel from the noose. Indeed, the more the woman spoke, the more Isabella felt like striking her.
But the stomp of heavy footsteps and the rattle of keys stole her attention. The door flew open with such violence the wood hit the brick wall. The beast who’d snatched her from Fortune’s Den appeared.
He smiled, baring his peg-like teeth. “Stand up. It’s time to make yourself pretty. Your father said you’re to do as you’re told, or you’ll find yourself in the auction room.”
Isabella obeyed. She had a better chance of escaping the house than this underground prison. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the conte’s bedchamber.” The thug untied her wrists with rough hands and yanked her to her feet. “You’ve a bath waiting, a pretty red dress and jewels. His cook has made a fancy meal. Happen you’ll be treated like royalty before he has you.”
“What about me?” Ethel cried.
The beast chuckled. “You’ll be sold to the highest bidder like the rest, though you’ll be lucky to fetch ten shillings.”
ChapterNineteen
The Conte di Barasian’s grand mansion stood on the banks of the Thames to the west of Tothill Fields. Carriages lined the narrow country lane outside the high stone wall. Only a few prestigious vehicles had been granted entrance through the wrought-iron gates. Some guests had arrived by barge or wherry, the boats left moored along the elegant walkway at the bottom of the ornate gardens.
Two guards kept watch outside the gatehouse.
So what was the conte celebrating?
Christian’s heart lurched. The answer did not bear contemplating. What if the conte planned to force Isabella to marry him before a room full of noble guests? What if it was too late to save her?
He stood with his brothers and Daventry’s men in the wooded area opposite the conte’s lavish gates. Thankfully, they’d found Daventry and his agents at the Hart Street office discussing Oldman’s fate. Learning of Isabella’s kidnapping, the men had joined the fray. Indeed, Daventry had assembled a small army.
“How much longer must we wait?” Christian’s impatience was like a fire raging in his blood. A fire he’d not temper until Isabella was back in his arms.
“When Gibbs returns, we’ll force the buffoons to open the gate,” Daventry said calmly. “Remember what I said. Once we’re inside, you cannot become distracted.”
Aaron placed a reassuring hand on Christian’s shoulder. “We will find Miss Lawton. She will be returned to you. You have my word.”
Christian looked at his brother, his desperation surely evident. “Your word means everything to me.” Aaron was his hero despite the fact he was wrong occasionally. “Know I cannot lose her. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“I understand.”
Daventry cleared his throat. “This might be a lavish party to celebrate the conte’s arrival. Yet no invitations were sent, and he has no friends in town. So one asks oneself, who are these people, and why are they here?”
Christian had spent the last half an hour piecing together the facts, trying to solve the case and find a reason for the large gathering. Something Aramis said on the journey across town made him question what Snell was hiding in the crates.
“I don’t know how the conte is involved,” Christian began, “but the pendant recovered from Lord Oldman’s home bears an old Norse symbol. The description of the maid, Sarah, suggests she might hail from Scandinavia.”
Daventry narrowed his gaze. “Snell makes frequent trips to Norway.” He seemed keen to pursue this line of enquiry. “Perhaps he ships something other than spring water ice.”
“It’s likely. No one is allowed to inspect the crates.”
“And each crate is large enough to hold three subdued women.”
