Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,58

achieved nothing. Best to wait and see what chances the night might bring.

Dusk had fallen, and Reade’s impatience and temper got the better of him as he stood in the Bow Street room, with Black, watching Rivenstock quiver. The lord’s demands for his solicitor had fallen on deaf ears. It was Reade’s hope when Rivenstock discovered himself one step from a Newgate holding cell, where his title was unlikely to protect him for long, it might loosen his tongue.

Reade rested his knuckles on the table before him. “You won’t enjoy being packed into a cell with cutthroats. They live by a certain code which might not tally with yours.”

“They’ll appreciate that diamond ring, gold fob, and watch,” Black said. “And your pretty waistcoat buttons. Pearl, are they?”

“Why am I here?” Rivenstock rubbed a hand across his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“Give up the names of your gang, and things will go better for you,” Reade said. “Where would Virden take a young woman?”

“He’s taken a girl? How should I know where he’d go with her?” Rivenstock’s attempt at surprise evaporated when Reade grabbed his collar.

His hands tightened, and Rivenstock’s face turned crimson. “Where would he take her? A Soho brothel?”

Rivenstock struggled and gasped. “I can’t tell you! No matter what you do to me. I don’t know!”

“Tomorrow’s meeting. Where is it to take place?”

Rivenstock eyed him aloofly. “I’ll have you know I am a close friend of the Prince Regent.”

Black kicked Rivenstock’s chair, sending it back against the wall. The man clutched the sides, his eyes wide. “Lord Reade would have the Regent’s ear long before he listens to the likes of you.”

The man’s shoulders sagged. “If I tell you, will you let me speak to my solicitor before I go before the magistrate? I am a lord of the realm. You cannot send me to Newgate.”

“Providing you get that far. There’s many a slip between cup and lip.” Reade eyed the overweight, indulgent man before him. His fingers itched to take him apart, but he wasn’t about to waste time on him, and he needed that information. “Answer Black’s questions, and I promise you we will send for your solicitor. Now, the address of the meeting place or our patience is at an end.”

“Cannon Lane, near the West India docks. Noon tomorrow.”

“Tell me about this meeting, you shivering lump of lard,” Black demanded as Reade strode out of the room.

“A matter of business on hand,” Rivenstock unwisely replied. His scream of pain echoed down the hallway after Reade.

Was there a chance he’d find Jo in Cannon Lane? There was nowhere else to look except the brothels, and there were dozens of them. He groaned as he ran to get Ash, who he’d stabled nearby. As he mounted the horse, a paralyzing thought struck him. Business on hand, Rivenstock had said. Their business was sending fair English women to the slave markets of eastern countries. That meant they had a woman in mind. Was it to be Jo?

Reade nudged Ash into a gallop.

Chapter Eighteen

How long had she been in this windowless room? Jo had lost track of time. Her neck and her back ached from being constantly tense. She raised her head from her arms to see if Virden still watched her. He sat with his hands shoved into his waistcoat pockets, looking contemplative. He appeared calmer. Did he think himself safe? She supposed he did, for in a few scant hours, they would board the ship. Panic shortened her breath. Somehow, she must escape. At least try, even if he hurt her. But after a glance at the implacable man, her confidence sank to rock bottom.

“We shall breakfast onboard,” he said in a conversational tone as if they were about to take a pleasant sea voyage. “You can sleep in the cabin as long as you wish.”

“I won’t eat or sleep.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, although her stomach felt hollow, and she was dreadfully tired.

He frowned. “You will. I won’t have you arriving in a bedraggled state. I shall buy you a gown.” He tilted his head and observed her with shrewd eyes. “Green and gold silk. It will become you with your red hair.”

“And to think I once considered you a gentleman.”

Verdin’s eyes burned with fury. She had discovered his weakness. Could she use it to distract him? “I am one,” he snarled. “But English society turns its back on a gentleman’s bastard.”

“They have shown a good deal of commonsense in this case.” Jo