The Mistress of Hanover Square. Anne Herries
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a few times, but a cold-blooded murderer he was not.
Northaven had been angry with the men who had once been his friends. He had hated the holy trilogy, as he was wont to call Harry Pendleton, Max Coleridge and Gerard Ravenshead. He hated them because they despised him, believed him worse than he truly was, but with the turn in his fortunes of late much of his resentment had cooled. He would have dismissed the proposition being made to him out of hand, but he was curious to hear more.
‘Supposing I were interested in bringing down Ravenshead,’ he said. ‘What would you be willing to pay—and what do you plan for Miss Royston?’
‘I was thinking of ten thousand guineas. Her fate is not your affair. All you need to do is to deliver her to me.’
The words were delivered with such malice that Northaven’s stomach turned. He imagined that Miss Royston’s fate might be worse than death and it sickened him. He was well aware that Amelia Royston had once thought him guilty of the callous seduction and desertion of her friend; he had allowed her to believe it, but it was not true. A few months previously he might have left her to her fate. He had then been a bitter, angry man, but something had happened to him the day he watched a young girl marry the man she loved—the man she had risked everything to save when she thought he was about to die.
No woman had ever loved Northaven enough to take a ball in the shoulder for him. Susannah Hampton had been reckless and could easily have died had his aim been slightly to the left. The moment his ball had struck her shoulder, Northaven had felt remorse. He had been relieved when Susannah made a full recovery. Something drove him to mingle with the crowd on her wedding day. When her eyes met his as she left the church on her husband’s arm, they had seemed to ask a question. He had answered it with a nod of his head and he believed she understood. His feud with her husband was over.
He had not fallen in love with her. Yet she had touched him in a way he had never expected. He had suddenly realised where he was headed if he continued on his reckless path: he would end a lonely, bitter man. For a while the resentment against his onetime friends had continued to burn inside him, but of late he had felt more at peace with himself.
Perhaps at last he had found the way to redeem himself.
‘Let me think about it,’ he said. ‘Ten thousand guineas is a fair sum—and I have no love for Ravenshead. Give me a few days and I shall decide.’
‘Meet me here again in two days and I will tell you more. We can do nothing over Christmas. Miss Royston goes to Coleridge in the New Year—and that will be our chance…’
Chapter Two
Gerard cursed himself for a fool as he parted from Amelia. He had let yet another chance slip, but after discussing his daughter and her brother the time had not seemed right. If he had asked Amelia to marry him in the same breath as telling her that she ought to think of changing her will, she might have thought he was asking her for reasons of convenience to himself. He had made his circumstances clear so that when he did speak there would be no misunder-standing. He was not in need of a rich wife, though Amelia was extremely wealthy. Her fortune was yet another reason why he hesitated—but the burning problem besetting him was whether her opinion of him would suffer when he told her the truth of Lisette’s death.
To conceal the details from her would not be honest. If they were to come out at some time in the future, she might feel that he had deceived her and there would be a loss of trust. All in all, Gerard considered that he had done what he could to prepare the ground for a future proposal. He felt they were good friends, but he could not be sure that anything of their former love was left on Amelia’s part, though every time he saw her he was more convinced that she was the only woman for him. She was beautiful, charming and the scent of her always seemed to linger, making him aware of a deep hunger within. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Without her…
‘My lord…’ The footman’s voice broke through Gerard’s reverie. He turned as the man approached him. ‘This was delivered for you early this morning, sir.’
‘For me?’ Gerard stared at the parcel wrapped in strong brown paper and tied with string. ‘Was there a card? Do you know who delivered it?’
‘It was a gentleman’s man, sir. I do not know his name, but he said his gentleman had bid him deliver this to you here.’
‘I see…thank you.’ Gerard frowned as he took the parcel. He had left gifts at the homes of some friends in London; however, he had told no one but Toby Sinclair that he was coming here for Christmas. The gift might have come from one of the other guests, but it was more normal to exchange them after dinner on Christmas Eve. He shook the parcel gently and discovered that it rattled. Intrigued, he took it into a small parlour to the right of the hall and untied the strings, folding back the paper.
There was no card, but inside the paper was a wooden box. He lifted the lid and stared at the contents. At first he thought that the doll must be a present for Lisa. However, the head was lying at an odd angle, and, as he lifted it out, he saw that the porcelainhead had been wrenched from the stuffed body. It was broken across the face and the body had been slit down the middle with a knife or something similar.
Gerard felt cold all over. There was something disturbing about the wanton destruction to what had been a pretty fashion doll, the kind that was often used to show off the wares of expensive couturiers rather than a child’s toy.
It could hardly have been broken accidentally. No, this had been done deliberately. He could not imagine who had sent such a thing to him or why. However, he felt that the broken doll was a symbol of something—a threat. The implication was sinister for it must be a warning, though he could not think what he was being warned about or why it had been sent to him at such a time.
Gerard realised that he must have an enemy. His first thought was that he had only one enemy of any note that he knew of and that was the Marquis of Northaven. Northaven had been bitter because Gerard, along with Harry and Max, had ostracised him after that débâcle in Spain, blaming him for the fact that the French troop had been expecting an attack. Northaven had engineered a duel with Harry, which had almost ended in tragedy, but since then none of them had heard much from him. It was as if he had dropped out of sight.
Somehow, it seemed unlikely that the doll had come from Northaven. The man had always denied betraying his friends to the Spanish; he had been prepared to fight any of them in a duel to clear his name—but this doll was something very different. It was meant to disturb, to sow confusion and anxiety—though its message was obscure. Was the sender threatening his daughter?
Gerard felt sick inside as he pictured his daughter being mutilated as the doll had been. Surely the sender could not be threatening Lisa? She was an innocent child who had harmed no one. Besides, what had he done that would cause anyone to hate him to this extent?
‘Gerard…’ Harry entered the room behind him. ‘I thought I saw you come in here.’
‘Yes. I wanted to open this…’ Gerard held the box out to him. ‘One of your footmen gave it to me a moment ago. Apparently, it was delivered earlier this morning.’
Harry looked at the doll, his eyes narrowing as he saw what had been done to it. ‘Good grief! What on earth is that about?’
‘I have no idea. I wish I did.’
‘A threat, do you think?’ Harry’s mouth was a grim white line. ‘To your daughter—or a warning?’
‘Perhaps both…’
‘There was no message?’
‘None that I could find.’
Harry picked up the box and looked inside. Then he saw a small card lying in the discarded paper and string and held it out to Gerard.
‘If you value her, stay away from her. This is your one and only warning and sent in good faith. Ignore it and the one you love may end like this.’ Gerard frowned as he read the words aloud. ‘What can that mean—how can I stay away from