WHAT A WAYWARD LORD NEEDS, page 4
part #2 of LORDS OF HAPPENSTANCE Series
En route to the Trammel’s last campsite, we stopped briefly in an open-air market to take on supplies. While browsing, I stumbled into a stall run by a man who must have been at least ninety-five-years old, selling all sorts of bizarre and interesting trinkets, most covered with the dust of the ages. He didn’t see much foot traffic, probably because the man had four teeth to his name and didn’t speak English, so any tourists finding their way there wouldn’t understand. I humored him, browsed a bit and plucked three small fresco tiles from a basket beneath a table. Near crumbling with age, the paint on the tiles was as vibrant as if they’d been done yesterday. Pretty pieces of art that I’ll hang at home, decorated in the Inca style, each depicting a snake, a jaguar and a falcon. They are an unexpected and delightful memento.
Whatever Bentley thought the “research facility” would look like, he wasn’t prepared for the reality. He glanced at Gibbs. His valet and friend shrugged, his green eyes hooded as the slight breeze ruffled his short blond hair. “Not advanced by any stretch.”
“No, it is not,” Gibbs agreed.
Bentley planted his hands on his hips while he attempted to ignore how bloody hot it was along the river bank, how deuced grimy he felt as his clothing stuck to his body, how relentless the damn sun was that beat down upon everything. He stared at the collection of dried mud huts with their reed and mud roofs. Someone had planted flowers off to one side of the largest of the huts, the vibrant orange, red and yellow blooms giving the modest quarters a touch of home, for those flowers were English in origin and seemed out of place in the rainforest.
“Let’s take a look.” He strode up a pathway lined with river rocks and had all the hallmarks of a tidy housekeeper. Anticipation circled in his gut as he pushed aside a makeshift door made of woven reeds. Then shock overtook him. The interior of what must have been a scientific lab was chaos.
Every table and smooth surface had been flipped. Glass shards glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the many windows, two of which were broken. Books had been flung over the floors, their spines cracked, their pages fluttering in the breeze. Papers lay scattered along the hard-packed dirt floor. Two straight-backed wooden chairs were upended as if flung in rage.
Gibbs snorted. “Obviously, two scientists wouldn’t have left their area in such a state.”
“No.” Bentley nudged a pile of debris with the toe of his boot. A shattered flower pot with the remains of dirt and a long-shriveled flower disintegrated with the movement. “But the question is, who did this and why?” His heart sank. So much for hoping this would be a simple retrieval mission. Where was Lady Trammel?
“Señor, I can help.” Masculine throat clearing at the doorway followed, and when Bentley turned to behold a man of Latin descendent, perhaps in his late twenties, his eyebrows rose.
“You are?”
“Santiago.” The man patted his chest. His soulful brown eyes rounded as he glanced about the wreck of the laboratory. “I helped Lord and Lady Trammel. Here.” He waved at the mess. “Until the men came.”
“What men?” Bentley exchanged a look with Gibbs, who shrugged. “Did they do this to the research fac… hut?”
“Four men. Wearing black. They come here at night with guns.”
“What did they want?”
“I do not know, Señor. They argue with my lady. Manuel tried to fight with a couple.” The man lapsed into rapid-fire Spanish as he continued.
Bentley softly cleared his throat. “English, if you please, or at least slow down so I can follow the tale. Who is Manuel?”
“I apologize.” Santiago waved his hands. “No one listened when I tell them lady was taken. No one cared.”
“I do. That’s why I’m here.” He held the man’s gaze. “Who is Manuel?”
“My cousin.” Santiago took a deep breath and let it ease out. “He worked as the lady’s assistant, with two others.”
“And you did what?” Bentley crossed his arms at his chest.
Santiago shrugged, and the gesture was elegant and at cross-purposes with his sweat-stained clothing that hung off his slender frame. “Errands. Picked up supplies. Did gardening. Cooked food for the camp. Whatever the lady needs.”
He nodded. “And the men who came here? Did they make demands?”
“Oh, yes. When the lady refused—she is very stubborn,” he added with a grin, “they grabbed her and Manuel. But the lady and my cousin fought like wounded jaguars, so I think from the mess of the camp.”
Bentley’s heartbeat accelerated. Lady Trammel hadn’t left her camp voluntarily. He hadn’t expected that, and it complicated his mission, for at the back of his mind he’d assumed she had been involved in nefarious activity. “Was this before or after Lord Trammel left?”
“Much later.” Santiago frowned. “Mister was nervous when he go away, like he afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I do not know. They didn’t tell me.”
Despite his best efforts, he gave into the building intrigue. “Was Lady Trammel scared?”
“She no show it. She always brave.”
So it would seem, but how far had that bravery gotten her? Was she alive? “Why were you not taken?”
“I was fishing for dinner. When I come back, this is what I see.” Santiago spread his arms to encompass the mess surrounding them.
“Where did the men take your cousin and the lady?”
He shrugged. “Farther down river?”
A flash of annoyance cut through Bentley, followed by a swath of frustration. “Did the men take anything from this lab? Did they visit anywhere else in camp?”
Santiago surveyed the damage with wide eyes. “They look and look, and then rip pages from notebooks. They did not go anywhere else. Took Manuel and the lady.”
“Interesting.” Bentley took another tour of the destroyed lab. Shards of glass crunched beneath his boots. He peered at his valet. “Poke around at the nearest huts and see if you can find any sort of clue as to where she was taken.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“It’s Bentley, and well you know it.” He rolled his eyes. There was no power behind his courtesy title and no reason for Gibbs to keep using it.
The man merely grinned and then exited the hut.
He bent, retrieved a sheet of parchment from beneath broken crockery and a dried inkwell. Once he blew off a trace of dirt, he peered at the writing done in a delicate hand with swoops and curves that only a female could achieve. It had been an unfinished letter, addressed to an “Edward,” but other than an opening line that could have been sent to anyone, Bentley had no idea who the recipient was and what the relationship was. “Santiago, what was the nature of Lady Trammel’s work?”
“Poison, Señor. Lady makes poison.”
Shit. With that confirmation, it was more and more likely she had a hand in the death of Lord Paddington. “What else?”
Santiago narrowed his eyes. “Something she did excited the mister, then he go.” His eyes brightened. “He give me a packet to mail for him. He say it very important I do this immediately. His friend in England would know what to do.”
“His friend—Lord Paddington?” When his companion nodded, Bentley continued, “What was inside?” This was his first real clue.
“Mister say it was research and proof for a duke.” Santiago shrugged again. “Is that important?”
“Absolutely.” But why, and what the devil was in that packet? He held out the incomplete letter. “Who is Edward?”
Santiago’s face brightened. “Lady’s son. He visit once, but was in a bad mood. Argue with mister and lady.”
“About what?” Bentley let the letter slip back to the floor where it fell amidst the rubble.
“He not like them here all the time. Wanted them in England. Very noisy. Then he ask, ‘Why not hunt for treasure like the legends say?’ They laugh and laugh. He leave angry. I not see him again.”
Bentley frowned. “What legends?” Was the son now a major suspect and a lead that he’d not thought of as important back in London? God, Archewyne is going to have my hide. I’ve already mucked up this case. Heat of embarrassment rose along the back of his neck.
“They are only legends, señor. To amuse children, mostly, and stupid white men who have coin to burn.” Santiago snickered. “Everyone know they not true.”
“Humor me.” When the other man looked confused, Bentley tried again. “What legends?”
“Of the lost city of gold—El Dorado. Of a secret, hybrid tribe of Inca warriors who guard the treasure and will rise up to fight again when it is found.” His eyes flashed, whether with amusement or fervor, Bentley couldn’t say.
How the devil did a legendary lost city fit in with Lady Trammel’s penchant for poison making? It made no sense and was most likely idle talk among the people here. Every region had their stories. Hell, people in England continued searched for fabled Camelot among other pieces of Arthurian legend. But he nodded. “Thank you.” Bentley rubbed a hand along his jaw. What he wouldn’t give for a proper bath and a shave. “I need to go down river after these men who took Lady Trammel and your cousin.”
“That’s a very dangerous trip, señor.”
“Seems as though everything on my way to get here has had some level of danger, Santiago.” Bentley propped his hands on his hips and stared at the other man. “Would you serve as our guide? You obviously knew Lady Trammel and you’d be the most likely one to puzzle out where she might be.”
The man hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“I’ll pay well. I’ve been sent down here to find the lady and bring her back to England. I want nothing more than her safety.”
“Si.” Santiago nodded with enthusiasm. “I can go as far as Mapire, but then I must return. My wife is with child and due to give birth in a few months.”
Dear Lord, was it expected that he’d spend another few months here in this damned jungle? A thread of panic wound up Bentley’s spine. “Ah, congratulations, my friend. Both pieces are excellent news.”
“Thank you. Fortune is kind.” But his smile was wide. “The journey to Mapire could take weeks. The river is fickle with the rains.”
“It has to be done.” Bentley tamped down a sigh. “Is there somewhere we can overnight here? I wish to get my bearings and map our trip before we leave.”
“Yes, yes. Follow me.” Santiago fairly hopped from the hut in his excitement.
Day Forty-seven
Monday
October 21, 1822
If you hear rumors back home, they’re true. I nearly died. I contracted a damn stomach sickness shortly after we left Ciudad Bolívar, all because I ate questionable food Santiago gave me. Or perhaps it was tainted water. I’ll never know, which means everything I ingest from here on out could put me in the drink again. For seven days, my body was not my own, and having such a disgusting sickness while traveling the Orinoco in a bloody canoe was the most embarrassing thing I’ve done to date. However, two days have passed since the worst of it has gone, and when my strength somewhat returned, bloody torrential rains delayed our momentum. I’m of two minds on this, for on the one hand, I can rest on a proper pallet, but on the other hand, I fear the trail might be lost if we remain grounded too long.
The damn Lady Trammel had better be worth all of this.
Day Forty-nine
Wednesday
October 23, 1822
We have reached Mapire. When I locate Lady Trammel, I will have strong words for her. This damn goose chase I’ve been on has eaten through the remainder of my patience. The crowning glory was waking this morning to find a snake at the foot of my sleeping pallet. Thank God for Santiago, who removed the offender, and he told me it wasn’t all that venomous. If I had died due to snake bite, I swear I’d come back as a ghost and haunt the hell out of Lady Trammel. Suffice it to say, I am not amused.
The sun had been down for two hours by the time Bentley located his quarry. The flames of a communal fire drew him and his party to a tiny no-name village outside of Mapire. He tamped down the impulse to bellow for the lady, for others could be sleeping. The sudden shouting might draw irate villagers wielding poisoned blow darts. It could also bring out a big cat predator. And, after all, he wasn’t an arse.
When a few men came forward in either a welcoming party or to rebuff their presence, Santiago sprang from his canoe and threw himself into a hug with one of the men. Obviously, this must be Manuel, his cousin, and that meant they’d reached the correct place.
“Señor Castlereagh, the lady is in the farthest hut. We bed down outside it?” his guide asked as he approached Bentley’s position with his cousin in tow.
“Sounds good.” Bentley didn’t much care at the moment.
The man continued, “This is Manuel. He has been with the lady since they escaped their captors.”
“Excellent, and I’ll be sure to speak with you on the morrow.” He barely spared a few seconds to shake the other man’s hand. An ominous rumble of thunder sounded close by. As an afterthought, he said, “Find better shelter, Santiago. I’d rather not have you or our supplies soaked.”
“Right away,” his valet responded instead, taking charge in his usual efficient manner.
Bentley nodded. “First, I must see Lady Trammel. I have spent the last forty-nine days following her arse. Now I demand an explanation as to why.”
Without waiting for permission or anything else, Bentley strode past the fire and when he reached the hut in question, he threw back the tarp used as a makeshift door.
He didn’t care that her shirt was wet at the neckline from a washing or that the weapon’s belt slung over a packing crate held more of an arsenal than he possessed. When she spun about and opened her mouth to say something, he held up a hand as all the anger and annoyance from the trip thus far surged through his veins.
“Madam, I have nearly been shipwrecked. I’ve been shot at by natives, almost died in angry river waters, have barely escaped being a crocodile’s lunch. I’ve been molested by a giant spider, suffered the indignity of being attacked from the inside out by an intestinal virus. All to reach this point and find you.” He narrowed his eyes but did note the surprise and horror that sprang into hers that were bright and as blue as the Caribbean in the light from the fire behind him. “I will not, I repeat will not, suffer through any of your cheek or your objections. You are coming with me, right now, and we are going back to your destroyed lab. From there, we will return to England, for I refuse to spend another night in this Godforsaken land.”
Silence brewed between them for the space of a few heart beats. Then she bit her lush bottom lip while amusement danced in her eyes. “That is unfortunate, for the rains are once more upon us, as you can obviously hear as well as feel since your backside is probably now drenched.” A smile lingered in her dulcet tones. “It would seem, that for the time being, you have no choice but to make the best of it, cheek or no cheek.”
He faltered. His jaw opened and closed but no sound escaped. But his anger and annoyance didn’t ebb. It merely ramped, for he was indeed becoming wet. “Where the devil have you been?” he asked, only because it was bad manners to curse out a lady even if his backside was completely soaked.
“Running.” She reworked the buttons on her leather vest, a garment that molded to and cupped her full breasts while his gaze lingered there.
“From whom and why?” Perhaps he would finally have his answers.
“Mass murder. It is of the utmost importance that I continue with my trip. You might be afraid of traveling in the night, but I am not.” When she reached for a leather pack, he shook his head.
“No.” Bentley drew his revolver and came fully into the hut. He trained the nose of the weapon upon her while he devoured her with his gaze. After all, he’d dreamed of this very moment, and as much as he was irritated by her and the situation, she didn’t fail to disappoint.
Along with the leather vest, she’d dressed in a long-sleeved, loose-fitting shirt of ivory lawn, but what was most startling about her were the pair of tan, man’s breeches she’d donned, outlining her slender legs, the bottom portion of which were encased in brown, leather, knee-high boots. He again glanced his gaze at the leather weaponry belt. What the devil did she need the armament for? The red hair he’d dreamed about was done in a tight braid that hung down her back. She exuded confidence.
“No, what?” Ice had entered her voice, and she propped her hands upon the curve of her hips that only served to draw his attention there. The heat of interest curled low in his belly. She was both his dream and his nightmare. He couldn’t decide which scared him more. “You, sir, are intruding where you are not wanted.”
That brought him back to the moment. “Not wanted?” His bark of laughter held a note of bitterness. “I didn’t want to come all the way down here or follow a murderous river, but here I am—because of you.” He glared and she returned the gesture. “I don’t give a shit if you are inconvenienced. I demand explanations.”
Chapter Four
Cora stared at the newcomer—gaped at him, truth be told. Backlit by the rapidly flickering fire that would soon snuff itself out in the rain, the man was scruffy with a full beard and wild gray eyes that were like a violent storm at sea. His square-set jaw, so sharp it could cut paper. His clothes—dirty, sweat-stained, bottle-green jacket and dingy cravat—he wore a neck cloth in the jungle!—and grimy gray trousers fairly molded to a muscular, lean frame by sweat and the rain, and she continued to stare, eating him up with her gaze as if she’d never seen a man before. At least he’d had the sense to wear boots. Some of the snakes in the area were deadly at best.
“Who…” She focused on the breadth of his shoulders, the chest wide enough that she could easily nestle against and borrow from his strength. Snap out of it, Cora! With that mental nudge, she met his roiling gaze. “Who are you?” No one came to visit, and now that she was on the run, anyone and everyone would land in the descriptor of suspect.
