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Chapter Seventeen
Dash and Jonesstared down at the bloated body of Yardley floating in the Thames. Yardley’s eyes were open, and his face contorted in an unworldly and ghoulish manner. Yardley deserved his watery grave, but Dash wouldn’t forget the appalling sight for a long time.
Dash should have remained in his office, looking at the ship manifests, but frustration pushed him to get out of his office and into the field. He had decided to help in the search for Roddy on the Upper Pool docks. Dash needed some action before he had to spend another long night at Haversham’s while controlling the urges not to beat Roddy’s whereabouts out of the boxer. Controlling his urges wasn’t his strong point lately. Not since the reappearance of Perdita in his life. Everything was more vivid, more alive, and possible. But underlying fears plagued him, warning that happiness could disappear as it had upon his father’s death.
He had been a saint last night, and he was paying the price. He was tense and irritable, and all he could think about was making Perdita his. He had been pleasuring himself with Perdita fantasies all these years apart. But solo acts could no longer bring satisfaction when he’d had the living sensual woman in his arms, ripe for seduction.
“Beldon, I’ll alert the other men. Do you want to wait and see the cause of death?” Jones asked.
Snapped out of his pleasurable reverie, Dash shook his head. “No, Haversham or his boss is getting desperate and cleaning up messes.” Saying it aloud, Dash felt a frisson of foreboding. Had they killed Roddy? He suddenly needed to see Perdita and reassure himself that she was safe. Today was Wednesday, and the day she spent the afternoon with Aunt Euphemia. The two women had become fast friends. Everyone loved Perdita. He was one damn fortunate man that she was forgiving. He wasn’t sure he could say the same about himself. If Perdita ever betrayed him, he didn’t want to think of his reaction. Still, he knew once she gave her heart that she would hold steadfast. It eased his mind.
The discovery of Yardley’s body was a very good reason to appear at Rathbourne House and discuss the meaning behind the murder of a respected titled peer. Their theory that Haversham would never risk the murder of a peer was wrong. What else had they gotten wrong? His fear for Roddy bourgeoned, and with it, his unease about Perdita. Had Yardley been killed because Haversham’s French connection had discovered that the documents were doctored? But how did it connect to Roddy and his involvement in the plot to assassinate Napoleon? If they only knew what Yardley had taken out of Roddy’s library.
“Have the men dredge the river for other bodies.” Dash’s voice almost broke. They had to search. He refused to consider that Roddy’s body was in the Thames, and what it would mean to Perdita if her brother had been murdered. He suddenly needed to hold Perdita, to reassure her that everything would be fine. Maybe he’d convince himself as well.
“We should pay Vinson a visit. The shock of hearing that his friend was found floating in the Thames may be enlightening.” Dash would have to wait for his reunion with Perdita.
“Let me deliver the news. I won’t mince any words like a gentleman would. And you can be the sympathetic friend and peer.” The glee in Jones’s voice was amusing at this low point.
“Good idea. You can ask the unseemly questions about Yardley’s gambling debts and links to Haversham that aren’t allowed by a gentleman. And if that doesn’t rattle Vinson, I’ll mention the rumors that Haversham blackmails his gamblers.”
“I’m going to enjoy this.”
Dash couldn’t help but chuckle at the reticent soldier’s wide grin, knowing his chance to see Perdita this afternoon was gone. She was attending the opera tonight with Aunt Euphemia and Miss Rothsby. Hopefully, he’d be able to arrive when the opera was finished to escort the ladies home.
“Let’s head to White’s. If my sources are correct, he spends his afternoons there.”
“Have you wondered why Vinson wasn’t blackmailed by Haversham?”
“We’ve had this discussion. There is no evidence that he is being blackmailed. Vinson doesn’t serve on any committees that Haversham or the French must feel are of any importance. Or that has been our working assumption.”
After hours of wasted time trying to find Vinson with no success, Dash was on his way to discuss Yardley’s death and Vinson’s disappearance with Rathbourne. Neither Vinson’s butler nor his man of business could shed any light on where his lordship was. It was highly suspect. Rathbourne would need to use part of his manpower to search for Vinson unless his body had been found in the Thames too.
Dash jumped out of his carriage at Rathbourne House, noting the Clifton carriage on the drive, which was surprising. It was late for Perdita to still be visiting and too early to depart for the opera. Despite the long and frustrating day, happiness flooded him at the chance to see Perdita. He never was happy. Not without Perdita.
He didn’t see Harry, who was in charge of Perdita’s movement. And Dash’s man, a seasoned soldier, rode postillion. He was smarter now in dealing with Perdita. He didn’t demand she stay home, but he could make certain that she was well protected.
The door was opened by Brompton, a stoic quiet man, who, with his outgoing wife, was in charge of one of the most important households in all of England.
“Thank heavens you’ve arrived. Men have been searching for you for hours…”
Had he entered another realm? A verbose Brompton breaking all butler protocols was enough to make a man unsteady. And then fear gut punched him, making it hard not to bend over from the blow. Roddy’s body was found, and Perdita had learned the news and had come to Aunt Euphemia for comfort. “What’s happened?”
Brompton stiffened. “My deepest apologies, my lord, for my outburst. It is just that we all have become attached to Lady Perdita, and the idea that someone would want to harm her…”
Dash staggered, using the door jamb for support from the crushing body blow as the words replayed. Perdita and harm. “Tell me.”
Everything faded; the lights dimmed. He wasn’t aware that he had shouted, but by the sudden appearance of Rathbourne at his side, he must have.
“Steady, man. We’ll find her.”
And his knees buckled and his stomach lurched. He stumbled before he felt Rathbourne’s hand at his elbow. “Let’s get you a drink. You’ve had a shock.”
Dash pulled away. “Don’t mollycoddle me, Rathbourne.”
He followed Rathbourne into his office. His mind was swirling but not in any cohesive manner.
Miss Rothsby stood in the middle of the room, her shoulders hunched as she wept into a handkerchief. And upon seeing him, she rushed toward him and threw herself against him. “You must find her. It’s all my fault. I encouraged her to be a spy. We thought we were so clever.”
