Page 67 of Rogue’s Holiday

Robbie nodded. “Very good.”

“My Amy’s been makin’ it fresh each day. Can I get ye anythin’ else, Powell?” As an aside, he added, “I won’t be askin’ which one ye are as I could never tell ye and yer brother apart.”

“It’s Robbie.” He was about to tell the man they were fine with what they had when he thought to ask, “Sam, can you think of a high-class brothel in London where one can find exceptional women?”

“Oh, ho! Are ye askin’ for yerself or yer friend?”

“Neither, however, it’s an urgent matter of great importance.”

Sam nodded. “I don’t look for other women with my Amy to come home to, but I do recall ye once speakin’ in glowin’ terms about a place named after a tree.”

Robbie screwed up his face in concentration, his weary mind grasping for what he had missed. “A tree?”

“Aye. I can’t remember the name.”

“Willow House!” Robbie exclaimed, the name suddenly coming into his mind.

“That’s the one.”

“Bless you, Sam. Based upon what we were looking for, that name had quite slipped my mind. But ’tis a possibility.”

Jack dove into his stew.

Sam walked away and Robbie’s mood picked up. “I can’t imagine they would be foolish enough to take Chastity to Willow House. Abigail Darkin has a reputation as a kind-hearted madam who helps girls in distress. She would see through a ruse in a trice. But she might be able to help us. She’ll know where they may have taken Chastity.”

Robbie had lost his appetite for anything but finding the woman he loved. “Finish up; we must be off to Willow House.”

Chastity stood before the fireplace in the bedchamber Miss Abby had given her, looking into the flames burning cheerfully. She was finally warm after being chilled for so long. Light from the paned windows flowed into the room. The furnishings, like the parlor, were tasteful in shades of green, the bed hangings silk. Above the mantel was a painting of a great lady of an earlier century.

A thousand things ran through her mind as she waited for the gown the maid, Emma, had gone to retrieve. As much as she had once loved her costume, Chastity had gladly shed it when she’d been given a hot bath and a robe. She had not allowed them to take Sir Robert’s cloak but had laid it carefully across the chair.

She had narrowly escaped a terrible fate and thanked God it was to Willow House she’d been taken. But what about Sir Robert? He, too, was in danger. Was he, even now, searching for her? The man who had abducted her said he intended to deal with him. She could not bear for her rogue to be hurt, or worse.

Emma burst into the bedchamber. “Here you are, Miss. This is one of the new gowns Miss Abby just received from the dressmaker. She said you might have it. And there are slippers to match!”

“That is so very kind of her,” said Chastity, taking the gown from the maid and holding it up to her. “She has been my savior.” Chastity did not doubt her reputation was in tatters as word would spread throughout Brighton she was missing, if not kidnapped. But at least her innocence and her life had been preserved. It could have been so much worse.

The maid helped her to don the gown of pale blue silk, pulling the laces taut. The slippers were a little large but fit well enough. “Thank you, Emma. Should I go down?”

“Oh, no, Miss. The young ladies will soon be gathering in the parlor and the gentlemen will arrive after that. You wouldn’t want to let them see you. I will bring up a tray and some wine for you. Tomorrow, Miss Abby will find a way to return you to Brighton.”

Aunt Agatha would be frantic with worry. Rose, too, would be frightened, thinking the worst. “I do appreciate your lady’s help,” she told the maid.

“Miss Abby likes to help. You might find some books on those shelves to enjoy,” Emma said, pointing to a bookcase on the far side of the chamber. “I will return soon.”

Chastity went to the shelf of books, novels every one, and took a likely one from the selection. “Sense and Sensibility sounds like a book I should read,” she said, chiding herself for the predicament she was in. It was all those hours she had spent with Sir Robert that had made her a target of a madman’s vengeance. And, in the Pavilion’s gardens, she had succumbed to his kiss. Perhaps if she’d had more sense, none of this would have happened.

Robbie leapt up the short set of stairs to the front door he had stood before at other times when pleasure had been his only purpose. He was vaguely aware of Jack following at a slower pace. It seemed as if years had passed since he’d last been here, so much had changed. He had changed. Now, he wanted only to be assured the woman he had asked to be his wife was safe. He dared to hope the outlaws had brought Chastity to Willow House and not some less worthy place, else she would already be on her back serving the brothel’s clientele. He could not bear to think of it. But Abigail Darkin would recognize an innocent in an instant.

The butler, who was familiar with his face, took his hat and allowed him entry. “Mr. Powell, you were not expected this evening.” Jack followed him in and the butler shut the door. Inside the entry hall, the doorman, a blond giant stood like a sentry, his only purpose to deter any unruly guest, of which there were few.

Robbie handed the butler his new card. “Wilson, I come not as a customer but my uncle and I are here on an urgent matter. I would see Miss Abby in her office at once. A young woman’s life may depend upon it.”

“Very well, Sir Robert, follow me.”

“I’ll wait here for you,” said Jack.

“There is a small waiting room just through that door,” said Wilson, pointing to a door off the entry hall, “where there is brandy and wine.”