Luck Is No Lady(91)

She walked to the settee on wooden legs. The moment she was seated, Portia resumed her pacing while Roderick remained near the door.

“How do I begin?” Portia muttered to herself. “The beginning, of course. You see, everything was fine until we arrived home from the Sherbrookes’ musicale. Lily was the first to exit the carriage, and before I could follow, a large man came out of the shadows, knocked Charles out cold, and scooped Lily up, taking her off to another carriage on the street. They drove off so fast, I barely managed to catch my breath to chase after them.”

“It was all quite dramatic, darling,” Angelique interjected. “Our little Portia would have run after them down the street if I hadn’t stopped her.”

Emma stared. Unmoving.

She could not believe what she was hearing. It was implausible. Impossible.

“What are you saying, Portia? Lily was abducted?”

“Yes! And that is not even the most disastrous part.” As Portia continued to pace, her steps became shorter, more stabbing.

Shock claimed Emma in a frozen grip. “What is the most disastrous part?” she asked, struggling to understand what could be worse than her sister’s abduction. Lily clearly hadn’t been saved, or she would be here now.

Portia waved off her question with a sweep of her arm. “I will get to that. I wanted to go to the authorities right away, but Angelique suggested an alternative.” Portia stopped her pacing and looked pointedly to the dowager countess. “Would you like to explain this part?”

Angelique nodded with a smile. “Certainement.” The lady met Emma’s wide gaze with an odd little smile. “I happen to know of a man who calls himself Nightshade. He is very good at what he does and has a far better chance of tracking down our dear girl than anyone.”

“Nightshade?” Emma asked incredulously. “Who is this man? What exactly does he do? How do you know you can trust him?”

Angelique gave an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders. “No one knows who he really is, darling—that is the point. He is a shadow, an everyman, someone with access to every corner of this city from the gutters of gin alleys to the drawing rooms of St. James’s Palace.”

“I have heard of him,” Roderick spoke up from across the room.

Emma dared to lift her gaze. He stood so strong and steady. The sight of him immediately filled her with contradictory feelings of gratitude and guilt, love and fear.

“Nightshade is known for being able to accomplish the impossible,” he continued. “It is said the man will do anything for the right amount of coin.”

“From what we saw, his reputation is well earned,” Portia declared as she walked toward Emma to crouch down beside her. Her voice lowered as she took up the explanation. “Nightshade was able to confirm Lily had been taken on Hale’s command. She was…sold…to a brothel for the money Father had owed him. By the time Nightshade followed her to the house of ill repute, Lily had already been auctioned off to some unnamed gentleman.”

Sold. Auctioned.

Emma fought the urge to be ill as her stomach twisted in vicious knots.

She sat frozen in place with a vise grip around her chest, squeezing the air from her body. Her every thought was filled with terror and heartache for her gentle sister. And heartrending guilt for not being there to stop it all in the first place.

“Did you say Hale?” Roderick asked. Emma looked up to see his gaze intent on Portia. “Mason Hale?”

Portia glanced aside at Emma before replying. “Yes. Father owed him a debt. We believe he took Lily in repayment.”

“Do you know him?” Emma asked, realizing that possibility for the first time, uncertain if the thought filled her with hope or dread.

Roderick’s expression was stoic and unreadable as he met her questioning look.

“He is an acquaintance.”

Emma wondered at the odd note in his tone even as a tremor ran through her at the intense look in his eyes. Something had changed in him at the mention of Hale. His manner had become more focused, his gaze sharper, though his expression remained unreadable.

Every particle in her body strained to go to him. If she did, if she rose silently to her feet and took the five steps to his side, he would wrap her in his arms. She would feel the comfort of his strength, his protection, surround her.

But nothing would be changed.

Lily would still be missing, claimed by some gentleman who thought nothing of purchasing an innocent girl from a brothel. The idea should have shocked her—that a gentleman would do something so heinous. But she had learned much over the past few months; such things were no longer a great surprise.