A rattle of dishes brought his attention around to Annie, Victoria’s maid. There was a steaming teapot, cup and saucer, and an assortment of food on a tray.
“How is your mistress feeling?” he asked.
The maid started and blinked at him. “She must be in poor straights. She asked me to leave the tray outside her door and not to enter under any circumstances.”
“I’ll take it to her. You can put your feet up in the kitchen.” He took the tray. Or tried to, at any rate. Annie didn’t seem inclined to let go.
“There’s no need, sir. I’m sure you have more pressing matters.” Annie tugged the tray back toward her.
“Annie. Let go of the tray.” He used his most intimidating tone.
Annie firmed her jaw and, after another few seconds of playing tug-of-war, released the tray with a rattle of china. “Have it your way, sir. But don’t forget, Miss Victoria does not want to be disturbed. Just give a rap and leave the tray.”
Nonplussed, Garrick stared at the maid. She seemed to be waiting for something, and finally, he nodded. “I won’t disturb her.”
“Very good then. See that you don’t.” Annie pointed a rather threatening finger at him before turning and making her way back toward the kitchens, reluctance obvious in her mincing steps.
He waited until she disappeared before tackling the stairs to Victoria’s room. He owed her an apology. He should have offered one as soon as they’d returned, but he’d been a coward. He let a huffing laugh escape. He’d never been accused of cowardice before. His cohorts in the shadows would have a good laugh over his current predicament.
He hesitated outside Victoria’s door before shifting the tray and rapping lightly. “Are you well?”
No answer.
“I’m going to come in. If you’re truly ill, I should send for a physician.”
A thump sounded on the other side of the door, followed by shuffling feet. “Uh, no, thank you, sir. I merely need sleep. Leave the tray outside and leave. Please.”
Sir? Had Victoria ever addressed him such? Only mockingly, and the voice on the other side held no humor. Garrick examined the tray. Bread and cheese and cured meat. A hefty slice of cake. Whoever was on the other side of the door, it wasn’t an ill Victoria. Was it a French agent? Was Victoria being held hostage or worse?
Garrick’s heart sprinted ahead, but he forced fear out of his head. Noiselessly, he set the tray down and tried the latch. Locked. In as calm a voice as he could manage, he said, “I know you aren’t Victoria Hawkins. Open the bloody door.”
“Wh-whatever do you mean? Of course I’m Victoria.” Whoever was in the room was too poor a liar to be an enemy agent.
“You have until I count to five to open the door.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will break the door down and force the truth out of you. Very unpleasantly.”
He made it to two.
A soft creak signaled her capitulation and revealed a lady who had come to call many times but whose name he couldn’t recall. The bed was rumpled, and a novel lay splayed on the rug. Nothing else in the room raised alarms. Except for the woman who was not Victoria.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“E-Eleanor Stanfield. Lady Eleanor Stanfield.” She shuffled backward until her bum hit the mattress, and she sprawled in a half-reclined position. “Please don’t ravish me.”
The lady was terrified, and as it was partly—all right, mostly—his fault, he tempered his voice and held up his hands in supplication. “I’m not going to ravish you. I’ve been tasked to protect Miss Hawkins by her father. I can’t protect what is not here, now can I? Where is she?”
“Nowhere.”
Garrick sighed. “Lady Eleanor. I know you know where she is. Tell me.”
Lady Eleanor daubed her lips with her tongue, her gaze darting around the room as if the answer lay somewhere between the bed and hearth. “She’s running an errand for me.”
“This late in the evening? Unchaperoned?” His hands curled into fists.
Sir and Lady Hawkins had taken the carriage, which meant Victoria was traveling on foot or in a hack. While he didn’t want to frighten Lady Eleanor into muteness, urgency thrummed through him. He stepped forward and stared into her eyes. “Victoria may be in danger. You need to help me help your friend. Where did she go?”
With the tell of one who was guilty, she couldn’t hold his gaze. “The Bear and the Crown.”
He was familiar with the common house. It sat on the edge of Clerkenwell, a section of London that had been fashionable many monarchs ago. It had deteriorated into a warren full of vendors and artists and printers. While it wasn’t as dangerous as Seven Dials, it was no place for a gently bred young lady, even one as capable as Victoria, especially after dark.
“Why on earth did she go to the Bear and the Crown?”
“To meet a gentleman.”
Her pronouncement made him reel back a step. Had he been blind to the fact she was in love with another? Had his blatant hunger driven her to rashness?
“I didn’t realize she had a special gentleman.” He barely recognized his voice. “Still it begs the question of why he is not calling at the house like a true gentleman.”
“Oh. Well, as to that…” Lady Eleanor fiddled with the lace edging on her sleeve. “Lord Berkwith is not her special gentleman, but… mine.”
“Victoria has gone to meet Lord Berkwith? On your behalf?” At Lady Eleanor’s nod, he ran a hand through his hair. “Why would she do such a foolish thing?”
“She only wished to protect me. You see, Lord Berkwith asked me to elope with him.” Now that the confession had begun, the words rushed out in a torrent. “Victoria didn’t think it wise. She says he should pay his addresses like the gentleman he is, but I had no way to get a missive to him and didn’t want him to think my love is not true, so Victoria went in my place.”
He had many questions but distilled his thoughts to the most pertinent. “How did she get there?”
“She planned to walk until she came across a hack to hire.”
“Did she take anyone with her?” Callum, Henry, and Annie were all at the house, so he was terrified he already knew the answer.
“No,” Lady Eleanor said in a small voice.
“When did she leave?”
“A quarter hour ago. Perhaps a bit less.”
A heartbeat later, he was in motion, taking the stairs two at a time and running for the mews behind the town house. Garrick kept a horse stabled in case Sir Hawkins needed him on urgent business. He saddled the bay gelding in under two minutes and paused for a breath, considering leaving word with Callum, but every second felt precious.
Garrick swung himself into the saddle and pointed the horse toward Clerkenwell. The streets weren’t crowded, and with any luck he’d make up time on her head start.
When—he didn’t allow himself to think in ifs—he found her safe and sound, he was going to sit her down and tell her exactly what he thought of her.
The woman was daft and careless. Loyal and brave. Bold and beautiful. No woman had ever come close to usurping the ridiculous tendre he nurtured for her. He would kiss her again, and this time he wouldn’t apologize.