“Someone should send for the fire brigade,” the cook declared.

“Madam Phoenix won’t want her guests embarrassed,” a buxom maid said urgently. “There are some very important gentlemen inside.”

“I doubt if she wants the house to burn down around her ears either,” someone snapped.

“I’m sure she’ll be out herself soon enough,” the maid said. “We should let her decide what to do.”

Smoke appeared at another window. More screams echoed in the night.

Anthony went toward the tradesmen’s entrance. No one looked at him or questioned him when he entered the building.

Roberta Woods had drawn a rough floor plan of the establishment based on a description given by a woman known only as Daisy. He had studied it earlier, trying to think the way a kidnapper would think.

The most obvious place to conceal a prisoner was the ancient basement. According to the young woman who had recently left her position in the brothel, Madam Phoenix had forbidden the staff to go down into the basement unless specifically ordered to do so.

He went along a hall, searching for the door that opened onto the basement stairs. A familiar-looking, middle-aged man rushed past him, red-faced and nervous. His open shirt and unknotted tie flapping wildly. Anthony ducked his head and angled his face toward the wall, but there was no need to be concerned that the Earl of Pembray would recognize him. Pembray was clearly intent only on escape.

From what Anthony had heard about the formidable Lady Pembray, that seemed wise. That grand dame would be extremely displeased if a mention of her husband’s name in conjunction with a fire in a notorious brothel appeared in the papers.

Two more partially clad men and three women in filmy, near-transparent gowns fled past Anthony. None of them paid him any attention.

He found the door to the basement precisely where Daisy had indicated. It was locked, as she had warned. He took out his set of lock picks and went to work.

47

Faint, muffled shouts of alarm brought Louisa to her feet. She went to the door of the cell and gripped the iron bars. Boots sounded on the stone stairs.

Quinby, wearing his overcoat, came out of the darkness of the stairwell. In the flaring lantern light she could see that his features were set in grim, determined lines.

He had a large, old-fashioned iron key ring in one hand. In his other hand he gripped a revolver.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

“A fire has broken out somewhere upstairs. We can’t risk having the fire brigade find your body here. There would be too many questions. You’re coming with me. You’re going into the river now instead of later.”

He shoved the key into the lock of the cell and twisted. The ancient door opened reluctantly, grating and grinding on its hinges.

A glimmer of anticipation sparked to life within Louisa. A fire meant chaos and confusion. Perhaps she would have an opportunity to attract attention or even escape.

The door swung open. Quinby shoved the gun into the pocket of his coat and reached into the cell. His hand closed around Louisa’s upper arm.

“Hurry,” he ordered, yanking her arm. “There is no time to waste.”

“I trust you do not expect me to run in this gown,” she said. “It is quite impossible. Everyone knows that if you force a woman to move too quickly, her legs become tangled in her skirts.”

“If you go down I will drag you,” he vowed. “The choice is yours. Do not even think of screaming. No one will hear you.”

So much for her puny threat. The only thing she could do was go with him and wait for an opportunity. She reached down, caught fistfuls of her skirts in both hands and lifted them up to her knees.

Quinby’s hand tightened painfully around her arm. He jerked her forward. Her spirits plummeted when she realized he intended to take her out through the door in the wall of the outer chamber, not up the staircase. Her intuition told her that was probably not a good thing.

Quinby yanked her across the outer chamber and shoved one of the iron keys into the old lock that secured the door. The door opened slowly, revealing a stone tunnel. Louisa heard small, skittering sounds. Rats, she thought. A stomach-churning stench wafted out of the darkness.

“Surely you do not intend to go in there without the lantern,” she said.

Quinby paused, torn. He uttered a foul oath and tossed the heavy key ring down onto the floor. Maintaining his grip on Louisa’s arm, he went back to the table to collect the lantern. He was reaching for it when Anthony’s voice rang out from the stairwell.

“Release her, Quinby.”

Quinby reacted immediately. He wrapped an arm around Louisa’s throat and simultaneously whirled to confront Anthony.

Louisa’s back was pressed tightly against Quinby’s chest. He was using her as a human shield. She realized that he had taken out his revolver. The barrel of the gun was not pointed at Anthony. It was aimed at her temple.

She looked at Anthony. He stood at the entrance of the stairwell garbed in heavy boots and rough clothing. He, too, held a gun.

“Stay back,” Quinby gritted, “or I’ll put a bullet through her head. I swear, I will.”

“Let her go, Quinby, and I will not stop you from leaving through that tunnel,” Anthony said quietly.

“She comes with me,” Quinby said. “Drop the gun now or she’s a dead woman.”

“You don’t need her,” Anthony said, moving toward the wooden table. “Whatever you were involved in here is finished. You’re free to go.”

“Stop right there,” Quinby’s voice vibrated with an unstable-sounding fury, “or I’ll splatter her brains against that wall.”

“Very well.” Anthony stopped beside the table.

“Drop the gun on the floor and kick it away from you,” Quinby ordered.

“She’ll only slow you down,” Anthony said gently, “and you need to run for your life, because Clement Corvus knows that you have been serving two masters lately. He is not pleased.”

“Damn you, Stalbridge.” Quinby’s face darkened with rage. “I am my own master.”

“Unfortunately for you, Corvus doesn’t view it quite that way,” Anthony said, “and I doubt that Madam Phoenix does, either. They both see you as a servant, Quinby. Nothing more.”

“I’m not anyone’s damned servant,” Quinby shot back. “My father was a gentleman, you son of a bitch. I may have been born in the gutter, but my bloodlines are better than Clement Corvus’s and every bit as good as yours. Just because my father never saw fit to marry my mother doesn’t change a damn thing.”

“How long have you been Madam Phoenix’s lover?”

“Long enough,” Quinby said, triumphant. “She’s going to marry me.”

“Why the devil would you want to marry a whorehouse madam?” Anthony asked, sounding only mildly curious.

“Madam Phoenix is Victoria Hastings,” Louisa said.

Anthony raised his brows. “I see.”

Quinby smiled coldly. “I’m marrying up, Stalbridge. I know Society will never accept me, but it will accept my children and grandchildren.”

“I wouldn’t count on Victoria Hastings keeping her promise, if I were you,” Louisa cautioned him, “and she certainly doesn’t strike me as the maternal type.”

Quinby smirked. “She loves me. She needs me. She’ll marry me.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Anthony asked. “If so, then you’re a fool.”

“They say a gentleman bleeds just as easily as a bastard,” Quinby pointed the gun at Anthony. “Let’s see if that’s true.”

Louisa heard the frightening rasp of metal on metal. Quinby had cocked the revolver. He must have realized that Anthony would never fire as long as she was in the way.

Horror crackled through her. It was all happening too fast. She did the only thing she could think of. She lurched backward.