His Wicked Charm

“Lord Moreland! Thank heavens you’re here. They attacked us!”

“Who?”

“The police, most likely.” She turned to glare at the unfortunate policeman, who began to splutter.

“No, there weren’t any uniforms!” another woman put in.

“It was a gang of ruffians! I saw them. All in black, with masks on.”

“Oh, Ernestine, what rubbish,” Mrs. Ellerby declared. “There weren’t any masks, just caps pulled down so you could barely see their faces.”

“They might as well have been masks.”

“Mrs. Ellerby,” Con said through clenched teeth. “Where is my mother?”

“She’s gone! They drove up and jumped out and grabbed them. The duchess and her girls, all of them—except for Lady Raine.” She gestured toward the women hovering over the thing on the sidewalk.

“Megan!” Con went pale and whipped around.

It was a body. Lilah’s breath caught, and she ran after Con. The women stepped aside at Con’s approach, revealing the woman on the ground. It was indeed Megan, but she was now sitting up.

“Thank God. Megan.” Con scooped Megan up and set her on the low stone wall that edged the property. He squatted down to look her in the eye. “Are you all right?”

“Of course she’s not all right.” Lilah sat down beside Megan. “Why do people always say that?”

Dirt and grit decorated Megan’s dress. There was a large red spot on her cheekbone, and the skin around it had started to swell. The other side of her face was scraped and dirty. Her hat hung down, barely anchored by the long hatpin, along with strands of reddish-brown hair. Her eyes had a glassy look that worried Lilah. Lilah pulled out her handkerchief and began to gently brush the grime from Megan’s face.

“Megan.” Con took one of her hands. “Say something. Anything. Tell me to hush, even.”

That brought a faint smile to Megan’s lips. “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and straightened. “Really. I—I’m just a little woozy. I think I hit my head.” She gestured toward the back of her head.

Lilah twisted around to look and let out a gasp. “Con! Her hair is bloody.”

Con was instantly up and bending over Megan. He pulled out a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently against Megan’s wound. His voice was as gentle as his hand as he went on, “What happened, Megan?”

“I heard someone scream, and I turned around. And I saw these men—they’d grabbed Kyria, so all the others were trying to stop them. I ran to help, but I was too far away. So I picked up some rocks and started throwing them at the man Thisbe was fighting. Olivia was trying to free Kyria. Then he came after me and punched me.”

Lilah saw fury light up in Con’s eyes, but he kept his voice even. “He knocked you down?”

Megan nodded, then winced at the movement. “Yes. I hit the ground. I remember that but nothing afterward. I must have hit my head when I fell. Next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground and Miss Withers here was trying to awaken me.”

Con looked at the other women. “What happened after that?”

“Those men threw all of them in the carriage and took off. They were gone before any of the rest of us could move a muscle. I’m so sorry.” Tears sprang into Miss Withers’s eyes. “I wasn’t any use at all.”

“Which way did they go?”

“Down the side street.” She pointed.

“They turned left at the first street,” one of the other women offered. “Then they were out of sight.”

Con shoved the handkerchief into Lilah’s hand and took off at a run.

“He won’t see them. They must be long gone.” Lilah watched Con as she held his handkerchief to Megan’s head.

“That won’t keep him from trying,” Megan replied, a thread of amusement in her voice. Lilah looked into Megan’s eyes and saw that they were clearer.

Con stopped at the end of the block and stood for a long moment, looking to his left, before he loped back to them. With Lilah’s help, Megan rose to meet him.

Con’s jaw was set and his eyes blazing. “Lilah, take Megan back to the house. I’m going after them.”

“How do you intend to do that?” Lilah asked. “You don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“That sounds excellent,” Lilah said crisply, taking Megan’s elbow and turning toward the carriage. “Find a carriage and head off in the general direction they took sometime ago. No planning, no information, no idea what the duke or any of the other husbands think or why your mother and sisters were taken. I’m sure you will do wonderfully well.”

Beside her, Megan snickered. Con’s face was a study in frustration, but he scooped Megan up and strode toward the waiting hack, saying in an aggrieved tone, “Yes, I know. I’m impulsive and quick-tempered, and you, of course, are logical, rational and right.”

The coach took off as soon as they were settled. Con leaned back against the seat, arms crossed, sunk in a deep study. The driver set a pace fast enough it made Megan wince as they rattled over the cobblestones, but she didn’t protest. When they reached the house, Megan handed back Con’s bloody handkerchief and insisted on walking into the house unaided.

“You are not carrying me in like some invalid. Theo will treat me as if I’m at death’s door.”

They found a thoroughly distressed Smeggars hovering in the entryway. He greeted them with a cry of delight and hustled them down to the Sultan Room. Even before they reached the salon, Lilah heard the agitated male voices. Inside, the room seemed to be filled with large men—standing, pacing, arguing, looking grim.

The butler, adept at gaining attention from years spent in the Morelands’ service, stepped in, announcing grandly, “Gentlemen! The Marchioness of Raine.”

Silence fell instantly and they all swung around to stare at Megan, flanked by Lilah and Con.

“Thank God!” Theo crossed the room in two strides and pulled his wife into his arms, squeezing her so hard she let out a squeak of protest.

“What happened, Con? What’s going on?” Reed came forward. Lilah saw for the first time that his wife, Anna, was also in the room, sitting against the wall. She was still pale, her face stamped with worry.

While Theo fussed over his wife’s injuries, the rest of the men bombarded Con with questions. Lilah left him to the interrogation and made her way to Anna. “How are you?”

The other woman attempted a smile. “Better. The headache’s gone. It usually disappears. But it always leaves me tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest.”

“Thank you. I’ll be fine here. I couldn’t lie down and sleep, knowing they were still out there. I feel so awful that I didn’t go with them. If only I’d realized earlier—”

“You mustn’t blame yourself. If you had been there, how could you have prevented it? It’s far better that you and Megan aren’t missing, too.”

“No doubt you’re right. Tell me what happened. You found only Megan?”

Lilah related to her everything they had done and discovered, a good deal more quickly and in better order than Con was managing with the frantic and furious men across the room. Fortunately, Smeggars wheeled in the tea cart, along with iodine and bandages for Megan’s injuries.

“This is no time for tea,” Kyria’s husband, Rafe McIntyre, protested.