Beryl and Betrayal

He would do anything to find his target, even charm the thief’s sister.

As a Pinkerton agent for the New York City office, Levi Montgomery has been searching for a jewel thief, and he is running out of time. In desperation, he disguises himself as the missing thief’s friend to assist Gretta Barrington, Countess of Brinley from England, in searching for her brother. Soon Levi finds himself in a tangled web of deceit, especially feeling his heart skip when he is with the countess—and that is not what he wants.

Gretta doesn’t know if she can trust her brother’s friend, only because she has caught him in a lie. Fearing for her brother’s life, she had no choice but to allow Levi Montgomery to assist her. However, to prevent a scandal, she appoints him her servant. But being a countess, she isn’t supposed to have feelings of desire for her footman.

Will love’s wager be more than they can handle?

“Prepare yourself, my lady. New York’s Newgate Prison is a filthy place for a noblewoman to enter.”

Gretta Barrington, Countess of Brinley, sat rigid on the coach’s seat, staring at the Palladian architecture style, four-story rock building from the window. Inside the coach, the temperature was nice and cozy, but once she stepped out into the weather, the late spring wind would chill her face. Of course, that was preferable to walking into that prison.

For years, stories circled about the horrid conditions and how the prisoners were treated. But in her opinion, if those people were foolish enough to get thrown in such a revolting place, they shouldn’t expect to be served exquisite tea from a China cup during a social luncheon.

Gretta nodded to her uncle. “I’m very aware of how vile the place is. However, I must enter the prison to see if Charles is there. Mr. Murdock claims he found my brother in the Newgate prison, and since we paid the lawyer good money to find him, I must now do my part and see if Charles is truly alive.”

Uncle Reginald sighed heavily. His weak shoulders drooped lower. “My sweet niece. I should be the one going inside instead of you.”

“Nonsense.” Gretta lightly tapped her fingers on her uncle’s arm. If she applied more pressure, the man would surely bruise. “I cannot possibly allow you to walk in there. Not in your condition.”

Uncle Reginald was dying, yet they refused to talk about it. For the man’s sake, they just referred to him as being under the weather. In reality, his body was deteriorating rapidly, and a fly landing on his skin would make him bruise. Her physician was at a loss for how to cure Uncle Reginald’s ailment.

“I shall be fine, Uncle.” She gave him a reassuring smile, even if she didn’t feel as brave as she tried to appear. “I’m certain the guards inside won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Take my pistol, just in case.”

Frowning, she shook her head. Whether her uncle realized it or not, he was also losing his memory. He hadn’t carried a pistol since before she married the earl a year ago. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, I’m certain the prison won’t allow me to carry weapons inside. I shall be fine, I assure you.”

When the coach came to a stop, she scooted to the edge of the seat and waited for the coachman to open the door. She inhaled slowly through her nose, then exhaled through her mouth as she tried to calm her fiercely beating heart. It wasn’t the filthy circumstances that she feared. It was seeing if the lawyer had been correct in telling her that Charles Ramsay was locked away in prison. And if indeed he was, could she get him released?

The door opened, and the driver reached out his hand for her to take as he assisted her out of the coach. Once she stood on the ground, she squared her shoulders, lifted the hood over her hair, and tightened the cloak around her shoulders. She couldn’t stop staring at the menacing building looming in front of her.

She must do this. Charles would do the same for her if the roles were reversed. Then again, why would she be foolish enough to get herself thrown in a place like this? Indeed, her brother had been accused unjustly, and she would do all within her power to get him released, even if it meant selling everything that her deceased husband had purchased over the years—that he hadn’t already gambled away.

She reached up to the heart-shaped ruby necklace around her neck and moved her fingers over the heart-shaped pendant. Frederick had given this to her on their first wedding anniversary. He told her the necklace had been in his family for years. She was certain it was worth a lot of money, but she didn’t have the heart to sell it. However, wearing something this costly in prison was not a good idea, so she hastily removed it and placed it in her wrist purse.

As she approached the tall, iron gates, the two men standing guard gave her a quizzical look. She was certain not many women came by themselves to this type of facility, especially not a noblewoman.

“Good day,” she began her greeting to the guards, but quickly cleared her scratchy throat. “I am Lady Brinley, and I have been corresponding with Mr. Murdock, my lawyer. He spoke to the warden who gave me permission to visit my brother, Charles Ramsay.”

The guard nearest to her lifted his double-chin and narrowed his gaze. “Lady Brinley, are you certain you want to go inside?”

She nodded. “I thank you for your concern, but I must see my brother.”

“And your brother is Charles Ramsay?” The second guard folded his slender arms behind him and rocked back and forth on his boots. “That scallywag deserves to be in prison. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit.”
Gretta’s chest tightened from his mean words. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. “Sir, it doesn’t matter what you think of my brother, I must see him.”

The second guard scratched his unshaven face as his gaze roamed over her attire. “I’d think a fancy lady like yourself would want to stay outside with the fresh air to breathe.”

Both guards laughed heartily as if they shared a wicked secret. Gretta wouldn’t give in. She knew of the prison’s circumstances and was stronger than she appeared. Thankfully, her insecurities hadn’t made themselves known.

“I shan’t be long. Please, let me in.”

The beefy guard shrugged and unlocked the gate, pulling the iron bars open for her. “The warden is just inside that door.” He motioned with his head toward the entrance.

“I thank you, sirs.” She nodded to both men and stepped past the gates.

The closer she came to the front double doors, the faster her heart pounded against her ribs. Her legs trembled, but she pushed forward. Turning back now would only show that she was weak, and she was far from claiming that emotion. Determination to prove herself worthy of the task guided her as she opened one of the doors and stepped inside.

Immediately, she realized the place had no heat. Perhaps having hearths in every room was impossible. Then again, it would be a way for most prisoners to escape. Now, she was grateful she wore her cloak.

She stopped in the middle of the floor as her vision adjusted to the main hall’s dim lighting. From what she could tell, the stone walls were moist and moldy. A foul scent wafted through the air, and she detected urine.

Shivering, she brushed off the concern even as bile rose in her throat. It was futile to think about the conditions of the prison. Her worry needed to remain on her brother.

A tall, robust man walked toward her. He wore the required uniform of the prison guards. This man looked nothing like the two she had conversed with outside only moments ago. In fact, the hearty man appeared that he could actually wrestle a bear and win.

“You must be Lady Brinley,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I’m Felix Chappell. Warden Hadley told me you were coming.” He shook his head. “Although, for the life of me, I don’t understand why.”

“Sir, it’s not your place to understand. I came to visit my brother and will not leave until that has been accomplished.”

His bushy eyebrows arched. “Warden Hadley warned me you were a stubborn aristocrat.”

She didn’t know why the warden would say such things when the man had never met her since they had only corresponded through letters. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to argue with the guards. “Mr. Chappell, will you please take me to see Charles Ramsay? It is imperative I see him today.”

He bowed slightly in a mocking fashion. “If my lady wishes, then who am I to deny her request?”

It irritated her that these men couldn’t take her seriously and seemed to mock the fact that she was from England. Why couldn’t they just let her attend to her business instead of trying to talk her out of it?

This was the very reason her husband had moved them from London to live in New York City, because he couldn’t stand living amongst high society. Now she wondered why the lower class treated her like a gutter rat. Who was worse? London’s high society or New York’s lower class? But it didn’t matter. Most people who had known about Frederick’s gambling issues looked down on her anyway.

The man turned and grasped a lantern from off the main desk, holding it high as he led her down a long corridor. The click from her heeled boots echoed. But then so did the voices of the prisoners crying out for freedom—or to be fed. The cells were rusted badly, proving how old the structure was.

Gretta wanted to cover her ears from the cries, but she held strong to her dignity. How any man could stand to be in this nightmarish place was beyond her. If the stench didn’t make them physically ill, the voices would be what accomplished that ailment.

She dug into her wrist purse and withdrew a lacy handkerchief. She brought it up to her nose in an attempt to make the foul smell disappear. It didn’t work as well as she would have liked, and she gagged.

Try as she might, she couldn’t take all the sounds out of her head or the smell, but she continued to imagine her brother’s face and what words of encouragement she could give him. Of course, she might cry for the first few minutes after seeing him. After all, he had been missing for a little over twelve months. Once she had received word from his landlord that rent had not been paid, she had hired a solicitor to find Charles.

For all this time, they had not heard one word. Then, Mr. Murdock received a missive from someone at the prison asking if he was still looking for Charles because a man with that description and using his name was there.

Gretta’s chest tightened once again. What if it wasn’t Charles? And yet it must be. There couldn’t possibly be more than one man with that name.