The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,85

rescue my son.”

“You walk into Creasey’s lair, he’ll murder you too, depend upon it. Let me round up some good men and we’ll give them chase. I’ll storm that warehouse and get his lordship out.”

I wanted more than anything to charge directly after the abductors, never stopping until I caught them, but I also knew they’d evade me. They’d planned this for weeks.

Peter was a viscount, a fact that might save him. Creasey wanted Denis, an even more important reason to keep Peter alive. Creasey would do nothing to the boy until I came to them with Denis in tow.

Then I would kill Creasey.

“Round up everyone you can,” I ordered. “Hunt them. If you can find them, for God’s sake do nothing that will make them hurt Peter. Meanwhile, I’m off to London to deliver Denis.”

Brewster’s eyes narrowed. “Have ye run completely mad? His Nibs will never let you, not even to save the lad.”

“He will.” The hard note in my voice made Brewster back a step.

He studied me a moment then gave me a nod. “I’ll do as you like. If ye need me to knock His Nibs to the ground and tie him up, I’ll do that too.”

“Good.” I tossed him the reins of Peter’s horse, then turned mine, and rode without further word back to Grenville’s.

Donata had risen and was in her bedchamber with Jacinthe, discussing what she’d wear for the day. When I burst in, my riding boots coated with mud, she started up in surprise.

“What do you think, Gabriel? The green?” She held out a gown that shimmered in the light. “I think it a bit much for morning, but …” She at last noted my expression, and her words died. “Gabriel, what is it? Peter—”

The fear in her eyes cut me. I saw that she thought him dead, thrown from his horse in a wild ride.

“Creasey has him,” I said in clipped tones.

“What?” Donata stared at me, the gown falling from her nerveless fingers to land at the feet of a white-faced Jacinthe. A terrible silence followed.

Then Donata screamed. She came at me, fists flailing, beating my chest as she cried out. I gathered her up, she striking me again and again, her face red, tears streaming.

“I will bring him back,” I promised as I held her. “I will find him, Donata, and bring him home. I swear to you.”

“Damn you!” Donata broke from me, pounding me with both fists. I scarcely felt the blows. “You did this …”

“I know.” I caught her hands. “I know. If you want me gone, I will go. But first, I will retrieve Peter.”

My quiet determination broke through her hysteria. Donata gulped, her breath coming in sobs. “What will you do?”

“Throw Denis at Creasey and shoot them both.”

Such was my rage. Donata caught my arm. “Make certain Peter is out of danger first.”

“Of course.”

I turned away, preparing to mount a fresh horse and ride forth at once.

“I am coming with you,” Donata announced.

“Lacey?” Grenville appeared in the doorway, flushed and out of breath. “Good Lord, what the devil has happened?”

I explained in a few words, and Grenville’s bewilderment changed to cold fury. “Dear God, the man has gone too far. Do not worry, Donata. We will find Peter, and then London will be too hot to hold Mr. Creasey and those like him.”

“I agree.” The icy control Donata had learned during the years of her unhappy marriage descended on her. “But I am coming along.”

“Of course, dear lady,” Grenville said. “My carriage is at your disposal. I shall have it brought ’round at once.”

Already I was striding past him out of the room. “I won’t wait for a carriage.”

“No, you and Brewster ride for London. We will follow you and meet at South Audley Street. Then we will plan our attack. I will send messages to your magistrate friends and the Runners—every patroller will close in on Mr. Creasey. He’ll not last the night.”

I continued down the stairs, never feeling my injured knee, barely realizing I’d left my walking stick in the stables.

I made no comment on Grenville’s plan. He took over with the smoothness in which he commanded everything, and I knew he’d execute his schemes perfectly.

Meanwhile, I’d ride straight to London and continue with my plan.

Brewster, who hated horses, climbed into the saddle of one without fuss and turned it behind me. I would ride hard, and I could only hope he’d keep up with me.

I REMEMBER little of the journey to London. We rode straight