A Midsummer Night's Sin. Kasey Michaels
in the end, perhaps in ten years, perhaps not for another hundred, it would be money that would decide who held all the winning cards. Money, and charm. Puck, with all modesty, believed he possessed both in considerable measure.
It was a pity he was bound to be tossed out of this house on his illegitimate ear in the next ten minutes by one of the eventual losers.
“My lord, my lady,” he said, bowing to each of them in turn as they entered the drawing room. “Please pardon the intrusion, but I must tell you that something untoward has occurred. Concerning your daughter, Lady Miranda. Please, I would suggest you both sit.”
“Who the bloody blazes are you?” the viscount asked, his clothing looking as if he’d dressed in haste, a betraying crease on his right cheek announcing that he’d just lately had his head on a pillow.
No, no. I would remain anonymous a while longer.
“The bearer of bad news, I’m afraid. Your daughter has been abducted by brigands.”
Well, that neatly served to distract the viscount from more personal questions, as he was immediately too busy attempting to prop up his fainting wife to ask them.
Regina rushed to her aunt’s side, sparing only a moment to glare at Puck before she assisted her uncle in getting the woman to one of the couches near the fireplace.
The next minutes were spent with the requested burnt feathers being waved beneath her ladyship’s nose by her worried niece while his lordship snagged the decanter of gin from the tray Kettering had produced and drank down two full glasses in quick succession.
Puck stood in front of the fireplace, watching everything, missing nothing, and sipped the wine, which was actually quite fine. Good on Kettering. And good on him, knowing the most direct route to any secret lay with making allies of the servant staff.
At last her ladyship seemed recovered enough to sit up, and the viscount demanded that Puck explain himself.
He, in turn, looked to Regina. “Miss Hackett? If you would be so kind as to get us started?”
The look she shot him this time might have had a less courageous fellow ducking behind a chair, but she didn’t waste more than a few seconds on him before sitting down beside her aunt and taking the woman’s trembling hands in her own.
“We were on our way to the soiree, as you know. Mama was very much looking forward to the lemon squares— Oh, I’m sorry. My nerves are still overset, because that isn’t important, is it? We, that is, the coachman seemed to have gotten lost, turned about in his direction somewhere, I suppose, as he looked for a way around the crush of vehicles on every roadway, and we ended up in a fairly isolated street. Somehow, one of the coach wheels found a hole in the cobbles as we tried to turn the coach, and one of the spokes splintered.” She could not hold back a small sob. “Everything just seemed to go wrong.”
“Incompetent idiot! I’ll have the man’s position!” the viscount bellowed.
And you’ll be within your rights, Puck thought, taking another sip of wine. Can’t blame the coachman for my lies, but he deserves the sack for delivering his master’s daughter to that den of iniquity.
“Yes, uncle, but it would only have been unfortunate save for … for those horrible brigands.” Now she looked to Puck, and there was no mistaking what she wanted him to do.
“Mine own coach was passing by the opening to the street, and I heard a commotion, a woman’s scream. I leaped down from my coach and went hotfoot in pursuit of the source of that scream, mine own coachman and grooms assisting me. We arrived on the scene not able to do much more than take charge after the fact, move the ladies to my coach and offer any other assistance I could. But I can tell you the events that transpired as they were told to me by your coachman.”
“Then tell us, damn it!”
“Yes, my lord, I was about to do just that. It would seem that several creatures of the night saw an opportunity present itself to them and acted upon it, surrounding the coach and demanding all jewelry and money the occupants might have on their persons.”
Lady Claire choked back a sob. “But—but there was no money, and those pearls were paste—”
“Claire, that will be enough,” her husband warned tightly. “Continue.”
Puck bowed, pretending a convenient deafness to her ladyship’s admission. “As you can see, Miss Hackett readily gave over her jewelry—pearls you said, didn’t you? And her mother’s jewels, as well,” he added as an afterthought.
Regina obligingly raised a hand to her bare throat. “We took Mama home before coming here. She was overset. Miranda’s pearls were paste? I didn’t— That is, I don’t believe the brigands knew that. They … they seemed much more interested in Miranda. They seemed very taken with … with her looks.”
“Her hair,” Puck explained, drawing on what he’d learned at the ball and marking, for future consideration, the fact that Regina seemed to have figured out for herself why her cousin had been taken. “Her blond hair, her blue eyes, her fair English complexion, her, Miss Hackett tells me, petite stature. Young women of similar description have been going missing in and around London for months now, I understand. It took only a few questions to learn what I am attempting to tell you. A sad, sad story.”
“But … but what about Regina?” Lady Claire asked, looking to her niece with what could only be termed displeasure that she was there and her daughter was not.
“They did not take Miss Hackett here because she is tall, dark-haired. The others taken have been servants, shop girls, the occasional actress or ballet dancer, which is why there has been no great stir in society. But your daughter? She’d be a real prize, my lord.”
The man looked stricken. “I’ve heard … whispers. At my club, you understand. Young girls disappearing off the streets. Nobodies. But things like this don’t happen to people like us! Damn this city!”
“My baby,” her ladyship whimpered. “A prize? Seth! What is this man saying? What has happened to my baby?”
“And yet it is that, dear lady, which we cannot know,” Puck said. “We can only hope for the best.” And that beautiful young virgins bring a higher price at whatever market the bastards plan to sell her, so that she’ll be relatively safe until we find her.
Puck hadn’t said the words out loud, but he felt certain that the viscount had heard them anyway.
“I’ll … I’ll hire a Bow Street Runner. I’ll hire ten of them! But quietly. No one can know she’s gone. We’ll put it out that she’s taken ill … that her mother has taken ill…. We’ll keep this between ourselves.”
“Yes, my lord, that also would be my suggestion. Second only to your daughter’s safety is her unsullied reputation. And now, if you will excuse us, I should think Miss Hackett desires to return to her home and see to her mother’s welfare.”
“Yes, yes,” the viscount said, looking at Regina angrily, as if he, like his wife, was incensed that she hadn’t been the one who had been taken. “Regina, please inform your father that I will call on him first thing tomorrow. The Runners will demand payment before they’ll help us and … and my funds are currently all tied up in the Exchange.”
“Yes, uncle, of course,” Regina said, getting to her feet with more alacrity than might be seemly. “Aunt Claire, I’m so, so sorry. But we must be brave. We’ll find her. I promise we will.”
The woman nodded and then went back to weeping into her handkerchief.
Puck held his arm out to Regina, but before she could take it, the viscount asked the question Puck had so far avoided.
“I failed to get your name, sir, or to thank you for the assistance you have rendered us this evening.”
“There is no need for thanks, my lord. I was simply fortunate to have come along