Anita Mills (17 page)

She rounded the curve of the long drive and was surprised to see a coach parked on the side while the occupants argued. Since she was certain that Gerald had invited no guests, she instinctively started back toward the house. Running footsteps sounded behind her, and she began to run, too, as they drew closer. At the last minute, she turned around and saw Leach bearing down on her. Her scream was lost in the wind as his hand closed over her mouth and he wrestled her to the ground.

A coachman caught up, and together he and Leach carried her kicking and fighting back to the waiting coach, where they threw her up in the open door. She righted herself and came face to face with her despised husband.

“Basil!”

“Surprised, my dear?” he asked nastily. “I’ll warrant you are not nearly so shocked as I when I found you to be Trent’s latest.” He smiled unpleasantly and leaned to grasp her wrist painfully with pudgy fingers. “But you find me willing to forgive this lapse on your part if you do as you are told.”

“You cannot. Trent—”

“Is consoling himself with the Mantini, my dear, and I doubt he has any interest in you anymore.”

He was disappointed that his news did not inflict the desired pain in her, but then perhaps the chit concealed her feelings better than most. He began to stroke her hand possessively and moved closer.

“Yes, my dear, I think I shall enjoy having you back in spite of this,” he chortled, “for I have not the least doubt that now you know how to please a man.”

“I would not wager on it,” she answered evenly.

“You ain’t increasing, are you?”

“Why?”

“I’ll have no one’s bastard inherit from me, Ellen. But then that’s simple enough to know, isn’t it? I shall just have to wait to take you until I am sure.” He leaned back, quite pleased with himself for thinking of the obvious, and released her hand.

“What if I told you that I have not been Trent’s mistress?”

“D’ye take me for a fool?” he snorted derisively. “There’s not be another reason in the world for a man like him to look at the likes of you.”

“I suppose not.”

“But do not be fretting over it, my dear. Since the story is not known, I’ll not repudiate you. I shall, however, expect the utmost in correct behavior in the future. And,” he added significantly, “I shall expect you to give him the cut direct if you ever chance to see him.”

“Given your circles, Basil, I doubt I shall encounter him.”

“Aye—and he is not given to hanging after his discards, either.”

Her mind worked feverishly while she tried to follow his conversation. “How have you managed to conceal my absence?” she asked suddenly.

“Your Aunt Sandbridge did that for me—gave out that you was suffering from consumption.”

“I have never been ill in my life,” she told him flatly.

“Nevertheless, my dear, you will be pleased to appear fatigued until a recovery is effected.”

She eyed the rotund baron with distaste, mentally com paring him to the tall, muscular marquess like night unto day. Finally, she favored him with a contemptuous shrug. “Well, I daresay that if you insist on appearing in clothes like those, I shall be fatigued.”

He looked down on his coat and waistcoat in alarm and demanded to know, “And what, pray, is wrong with them?”

His aggrieved tone told her that she had found her weapon in repelling her odious husband. She managed to laugh as she allowed her eyes to sweep over the offending garments. “But, my lord, they make you the veriest quiz—they accentuate your roundness, I assure you.”

“Roundness?” he fairly howled in indignation as his florid complexion darkened to the shade of a cooked beet. “Listen, you ingrate,” he seethed as he slapped her hard across her face, “you ought to be grateful that I am willing to take Trent’s leavings.”

“Grateful?” she scoffed. “And why should I be grateful for that? If the story were common knowledge, you’d divorce me. I should like to shout the tale from the rooftops, if you must know.” She could feel the sting where his hand had hit her, but she refused to acknowledge the blow at all. “No, Sir Basil, I am not grateful at all.”

He leaned closer to her and hissed, “One day, dear wife, I shall be teaching you a lesson that you’ll not soon forget. Until then, I have nothing else to say on the subject.” He drew back and turned to stare in sullen silence out his window.

The entire journey back to London was spent in cold silence, with neither party deigning to speak to the other as the hours and the miles rolled by. Occasionally, Brockhaven allowed himself to steal a glance at his wife’s proud profile. Damn the chit! Didn’t she know she would be disgraced if he repudiated her. She ought to be on her knees pleading for his understanding, but she was far from that. He fairly seethed with a sense of ill usage. She was the Marquess of Trent’s cast-off, and yet butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Well, he’d teach the chit a thing or two—once he was certain she was not increasing. And he’d drag her out into society under close guard and show her off.

As Brockhaven’s carriage sped down the London road, Ellen’s disappearance was being discovered back at the Meadows. Captain Deveraux returned and dressed for dinner while thinking Ellen was doing the same. But once in the huge dining room, he waited patiently for the always-punctual girl to appear. The ever-present Edward hovered expectantly by her empty chair ready to begin service of the meal. Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, Gerald nodded to the footman.

“You may tell Miss Deveraux’ maid that we are waiting dinner for her mistress.”

A few moments later, the maid herself appeared cautiously at the dining-room door. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but she ain’t here.”

“Dash it! It isn’t like her to miss a meal.”

“She went out—one of the downstairs maids saw her,” Edward explained.

“Out? It’s dark!”

“As to that, sir, I believe she left several hours ago. I think we should send out a search party,” the footman offered. “Had I been informed earlier, I would have done so on my own.”

“Well, now we all know,” Gerald muttered tersely. “Set up a hue and cry, though what we’ll find in the dark, I don’t know. And send someone to the village, take lanterns and walk down the road, do what you have to do. No one eats in this house until she is found.” Gerald flung himself into the hall while calling for his cloak and pistol.

Biddle shook his head and looked at his wife. “Never seen him so upset. It begins to look like he’s thrown his hat over the windmill for the gel, don’t it?”

“The marquess’ll never stand for it if he has,” she murmured cryptically before turning her attention to her own tasks. “We’ll have to have a cold collation laid to feed them when they come back, I daresay.”

The search party combed the entire drive, the lane into town, the fields on either side of the road, and finally the village itself. Gerald was becoming frantic. Alex had left the girl in his care. He stomped into the local pub, scattering people and chairs before him.

“The devil’s loose—look at ’im!”

“Naw, ’tis the Cap’n—th’ Devil’s in Lunnon.”

The red glow of the fire and the cheap tallow candles gave an eerie aspect to Gerald Deveratix’ face as he demanded the attention of the assembled drinkers.

“My cousin, Miss Deveraux, is missing!” he shouted above the crowd to be heard. “I need your help.” He lofted a purse that clinked with coins. “This to the man who finds her.”

They all looked at one another. Quality missing? Whoever heard of a missing lady? Something bad must’ve happened to her, but it was going to be hard to find anyone in the chill darkness. Gerald lofted the bag of gold higher. Well, for the size of the purse, they’d give it a try. The men began casting about for wood to use as torches and then moved out into the deserted lane to start the search.

Only the blacksmith hung back for a word with Gerald. Almost diffidently the burly man approached until he caught Gerry’s attention by calling out, “Sor—yer pardon, sor, but ’appen a gent arst fer ’er just t’day.”

“Who?”

“Dunno. A fat’un, qualitylike, but queer.”

“Queer? How?”

“Niver seen none t’ wear nuthin’ like hit.”

Gerald racked his brain for anyone who could have resembled the big fellow’s description and came up empty. None knew her whereabouts to ask about her. They’d been too careful to keep her sheltered at the Meadows. But someone had given her a start in the village that very morning. What was the name she’d murmured—Leach? Damn! He should never have chanced taking her out of the house. He hesitated and then tossed the bag of coins at the smithy. “Here.”

“Here yersel’, Cap’n.” The fellow threw it back neatly. “Don’t like fer nothin’ ter ’appen t’ a lady.”

Gerald’s heart sank with the cold realization that Ellen had met no accident. There could be only one person who would find it necessary to abduct her from Trent’s protection. “Brockhaven,” he half-whispered to himself. “Damn his impudent eyes,” he yelled aloud as he broke his riding whip over the nearest chairback. “If Alex doesn’t kill him over this, then by God, I shall!”

Within the hour, he was riding hell-bent for London, accompanied’ by the still-mending Timms and two manservants. That it was November and cold did not seem to be a consideration for the captain or Timms, and the others had the good sense not to grumble openly. By carriage, they were some six hours from London, but the ride could be cut to less than four on a swift horse. And both Trent and his brother kept horses at post houses on the way.

By three in the morning, they were rousting out the household at Trent’s town house in St. James’s. The affronted butler was about to turn them away when he caught sight of Gerald Deveraux in the lantern light.

“Captain! A fine time to be calling, sir. Thought you was at the Meadows.”

“I was, Crabtree. Where’s Trent?” Gerald demanded brusquely.

“He’s out, sir.”

“Where?”

“I am sure I do not know, Captain.”

“Damn! I have to find him! Now!”

Crawfurd, still clad in his nightshirt, with a wrapper clutched to his chest, appeared over-the stair railing to see to the commotion. “Sir, thought you was at home!”

“Where is he, Crawfurd? I have to reach Trent. Ellie’s missing!”

The valet came down the stairs two at a time. “Miss Ellen? His lordship’ll have a fit.” He caught Gerald’s impatient expression and hastened to answer, “I should look to the Mantini, sir.”

“Lud, is that still going on? No matter. Her direction, man, out with it!”

“Half Moon. Down by the end.” Crawfurd nodded. “But wait, I am going with you.”

“You’re a valet, man.”

“And I can carry a cudgel with the best of them, sir, if the need be. Besides, if anything has happened to Miss Ellen, there’ll be the devil to pay where my lord is concerned.” Without waiting for Gerald to refuse him, Crawfurd disappeared back into his chamber.

“Devil a bit!” Gerald muttered. “I have not the time to wait. Timms! Have you the Mantini’s direction?”

“Aye, sir!” Trent’s driver limped up behind him.

“Leg still paining you, Timms?”

“Don’t mind it, sir.”

“We’ll take the second coach. You can drive better than you can ride, I daresay. Come on.”

“I am ready, Captain,” Crawfurd announced from the stairs above with as much dignity as he could muster while still tucking his shirttail into his pants.

“Captain Gerry,” the butler remonstrated, “you cannot mean to intrude on his lordship!”

Without answering, Gerald, Timms, and Crawfurd pushed past the scandalized Crabtree and back out into the night.

“Gor!” a footman breathed behind them, “they mean to roust the Devil!”

S
OPHIA MANTINI STUDIED
the magnificent ruby necklace before raising her eyes to the marquess. At first, the high-tempered beauty had been unable to believe that she held his parting gift to her. Her mercenary mind debated whether to make a scene or to accept the fact that their liaison was at an end. He’d been different since he returned to London the week before—inattentive, distant, and preoccupied—so much so, in fact, that he’d shown no interest in sharing her bed. No, it was over and it was time to admit it. Besides, something in his expression told her it would be useless to plead. Well, he’d been generous enough with his money that she had no complaint. She stared a long moment at the handsome, impassive face and sighed.

“There’s someone else?”

“Yes.”

“She must be very beautiful, Alex.”

“Not in the usual way, Sophie, but I find her attractive.”

“And so the dashing Marquess of Trent mounts another mistress,” the singer managed through twisted lips.

“No, Sophie …” He hesitated, picking his words carefully. “You cannot pretend that you expected it to last, my dear. You are no more constant in your affections than I have been.” He gave her a brief, wry smile. “My salad days are over.”

“Am I to wish you happy, then?”

“No. I would it were so simple, but it is not. Goodbye, Sophie.”

He bent to kiss her one last time, brushing his lips chastely against the artfully rouged cheek. Behind him, the door burst open to admit Gerald, Timms, and Crawfurd. Trent spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the rapier he’d left in his coach.

“What the devil—Gerry!”

“Madame, I tried,” Sophia Mantini’s butler explained from behind the captain, “but they would not listen!”

“Signor! I demand an explanation,” she flashed indignantly. “You have invaded my house!”

Ignoring everyone but Alex, Gerald blurted out, “It’s Ellie—she’s been abducted.”

The color drained from Trent’s face and the room spun around him crazily. Time stood still until he exhaled slowly to master the rush of emotion he felt. “When?” he demanded tersely.

“Before dinner, but we did not miss her until we sat down. I set up a hue and cry, but ’twas too late. The smithy said someone had asked about her in the village earlier and she saw someone called Leach when we walked down to Button’s.”

“Brockhaven,” Trent muttered succinctly. “Damn! I should have known. He asked about her the other night. I should have sent warning.” The color flooded back into his face and his blue eyes blazed. “I’ll kill him—I’ll kill the bloody beast! I swear if he has touched her, I’ll carve him like a fat pig,” he shouted as he brushed past the stunned Mantini.

The night air was like a cold bath when it hit him. Gerald caught up with him before he reached his carriage and told him, “I brought the other coach, Alex, and the horses are ready. Do we roust Brockhaven at his house and see if he dared bring her here? He could have taken her to the country, you know.”

“Either way, his servants will know his direction.”

“Are you armed? I brought pistols in the coach.”

“When am I ever not? Aye, I’ve got my pistol, and the rapier’s in my carriage—it discourages impertinences.” He turned and barked to Dobbs, “Hand me my sword and take home the carriage. Alert the household that we must be ready to travel. Crawfurd, go with him and see that all is packed in case I have to flee. And, Crawfurd …”

“Aye, my lord?”

“See that we have enough money to support us in France.” Turning back to Gerald, he was all business now, and his anger had cooled to that deadly calm that inspired awe and fear in his fellows. “I mean to take her away this time, Gerry, and be damned with the consequences. Are you with me in this?”

“You know I am.”

“Then let’s go. Timms, do you remember Brockhaven’s address?”

“Aye, yer lor’ship.”

Trent swung up into the carriage and Gerald followed. Settling himself opposite, Gerry shook his head. “There’ll be a devil of a dust over this, Alex. You cannot kill him to get his wife.”

“She’s not his wife!” For a moment, his temper flared again.

“The
ton
won’t see it that way.”

“She cannot go to that fat toad, Gerry. I cannot let her!”

“Aye.” Gerald nodded in the darkness. “You promised her.”

“I love her, Gerry—I cannot deny it. I have but come to my senses and realized that I don’t want to live without her. I mean to have her if I have to kill Brockhaven to get her, and then live out of the country for the rest of my life.” Trent’s anger had faded, replaced by a sober determination. “But I will not tell her until I can get her free of him. I have to offer her more than a slip of the shoulder.”

“The scandalmongers won’t know the difference.”

“I will. Gerry, if I don’t have to kill him to gain her freedom, I mean to stay here until I can make the arrangements to marry her. If I do, if for some reason I have to make her a widow, I’ll be coming with you. Otherwise, I leave it to you to see that her arrival in Paris is unremarked.”

“I’d tell her, Alex. I’d tell her what you mean to do.”

“No. She must be free when I make my offer.”

The coach came to a jarring halt in front of the darkened Brockhaven residence. There was no sign of life without or within, but Trent was not to be denied. He leapt down from his coach and began pounding on the baron’s door.

“Open up! Open up! ’Tis the watch,” he shouted.

In a matter of several minutes, lights began flickering at windows as people stirred inside. Finally, the thick panes by the door lightened and grumbling servants could be heard muttering oaths inside before the door swung open.

“Here—here! The watch, you say?”

The still-dressing butler peered out at Alex. Trent pushed past him into the foyer and waited for Gerald and Timms to follow.

“You are not the watch!”

“How very observant you are,” Trent murmured almost apologetically as he leveled his pistol to point it at the man. “But then, I could scarce expect you to open the door if I used my name, could I?” He gestured with his other hand toward the maids and footmen who peered cautiously around corners. “Fetch Sir Basil!” His mouth curved in that strange smile of anticipation, chilling the cowering servants. “Tell him Trent is come to settle accounts.”

“At this time of the morning, my lord?” the fellow protested incredulously. “Can it not wait? Besides, his lordship is not at home.’

“Where is he, then?” Trent tapped the toe of his dress shoe impatiently. “Out with it—where?”

“I believe him to be at his club, sir.”

Trent cocked his pistol and waited while the man squirmed under his cold-eyed stare. “I don’t believe you.”

“I-I am t-telling the truth, I swear! He and Lady Brockhaven had a row and he left some three hours ago! For the love of God, sir, do not point that at me!”

“She is here, then? Where?”

“She is asleep, my lord. But if you were wishful of waiting for his lordship, I will procure some Madeira for you, and you may wait in the book room.”

“Not this morning, I am afraid. No, I have a rather more entertaining reception planned for him.” Turning again to Gerald, his exhilaration at having found Ellen was obvious. “Gerry, you and Timms escort the servants to the cellar and lock them up. And see that the lights in the front of the house are doused in case he should return before I am ready.”

“The cellar?” a maid squeaked in alarm. “There’s rats down there.”

“Then take candles,” Trent snapped. “Come on, there’s little time.”

“You heard him,” Gerald prompted, his’ own pistol trained on a nearby footman. “Move! Alex?”

“I am going after Ellen.”

As he mounted the steps two at a time, he could hear the protests of Brockhaven’s servants behind him. It was pitch-dark in the upper hall, so much so that he could not see the last few treads. Gaining the hallway, he found it so dark that he couldn’t make out the doors. With a curse muttered under his breath, he groped his way around a corner and stumbled against some sort of bench or table. A candlestick fell of and the candle rolled against his foot. He bent, felt around on the floor, and found it. Fumbling in his pocket for his flint, he drew it out and sparked the wick of the taper several times until it caught at last. Then he held the flickering flame up to faintly illuminate the hall and moved slowly from door to door trying to remember the approximate location of where she’d jumped. He picked one that he judged to be in the right area and nudged it open to reveal an empty bedchamber. A glance into the shadows told him what he wanted to know: the valet stand draped with a man’s coat gave proof he’d found Brockhaven’s chamber. He edged over to the window and looked down to the bushes below, marveling at the courage it must have taken for her to have even attempted such a jump. He tried the doors that led off the main bedchamber, discovering an assortment of closets and a dressing room, until he found one locked. Carefully setting the candle in a holder, he turned his shoulder and threw his weight against the door with such force that the casing splintered and the lock gave way, sending him staggering into the tiny room. He righted himself against a bedpost and looked down where a sliver of light from the broken door fell narrowly across the bed.

Ellen turned over at the sound and then readjusted her position in her sleep. Her dark, hair spilled over the pillowcase and into the shadows, and her closed lashes lay like black fringe against white cheek while her bared arm cradled her head. He stared reverently for a moment before reaching to touch her face lightly and trace its contour with his fingertip. “Sleepyhead,” he murmured affectionately. “Ellie.”

Instead of opening her eyes beneath his touch, she recoiled and shut them tighter, screaming out, “Aiiieee, aiiiieeee!”

“Shhhh, Ellie, it’s me! It’s Alex! You are safe!” He shook her awake and dropped down beside her to cradle her against him. “You are all right, Ellie. I’ve come for you.”

Her eyes opened wide to stare in disbelief before she let out a sob and turned her head into his shoulder. It was no dream. She could feel the heavy wool of his cloak against her cheek and the pressure of his strong arms about her. He was there in the flesh, cradling her, rocking her gently, and making soothing sounds into her hair. She began to cry with relief.

“Ellie, Ellie, it’s all right, love.” He smoothed her hair against her head and held her close. “Gad, girl, but you gave us a fright. I should have stayed at the Meadows with you and he’d not have dared to be so bold.” Slowly, her shaking subsided, but she made no move to push away from him. “He didn’t hurt you—I mean, he didn’t …” He could not bring himself to ask outright if Brockhaven had forced his attentions on her.

She shook her head against his shoulder and gave a watery chuckle. “No. He said he wanted to be sure I was not increasing first. He thought I—that I have been your mistress.”

“Filthy swine!” He ruffled her hair to hide the intense emotion he felt for her. “Listen, Ellie, I am taking you to a safer place.”

“I cannot stand him, Alex.”

“I know, I know.” He was loathe to release her, but time was short. “Come on.” He eased off the bed and pulled her up with him. “You’ve a long way to go before you are missed again. Here …” He pulled out his handkerchief and began dabbing at the tear streaks.

Her eyes filled again and she threw herself against his chest again. “Oh, Alex, I am so very glad you came for me. I cannot repay—you cannot
know—”

“Shhhhh, Ellie, I understand,” he murmured low. “It’s

all right. I have you safe.” He gently disengaged her arms and tilted her chin up to look at him. “I’ll not let him have you, I promise—word of a Deveraux.” He frowned slightly and dropped his hand. “You know, don’t you, that I’ll do what I can to stop the scandal, but things may get unpleasant. I can take you away, but I may not be able to stop the gossip.”

“I can bear it,” she sniffed. “Brockhaven thinks I am your mistress anyway.”

“Well, we know differently, and that’s what really matters, isn’t it?”

“I see you have found her,” Gerald observed as he walked in with a branch of candles, “and by the looks of it, you’ve turned her into a watering pot.” Ellen moved self-consciously away from Trent and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as Gerald drew closer. “Hallo, Ellie. A devil of a time you’ve given me, my dear. I have not yet had my dinner.”

“Oh, Gerry, thank you!” Heedless of her nightdress, she hugged him gratefully. Trent watched with an arrested expression as his brother’s arms closed around her tightly.

“Enough of that.” His voice sounded unusually harsh even to his own ears. “There’s no telling how much time we have, both of you. Gerry, you will take her ’round by the house and get whatever funds Crawfurd has collected and then you will take her to Dover and catch the packet to France.” His eyes traveled to Ellen and his gaze softened perceptibly. “And this time, my dear, I think you should have a decent wardrobe. Gerry will roll up the contents of the closets in the bedsheets and drop them down to Timms, who waits outside. They’ll be more than a trifle creased, but I expect we’ll find a French maid to press them.”

Gerald nodded. “And you, Alex?”

Trent fingered the rapier he’d brought with him. “I intend to wait for Brockhaven.”

The gesture was not lost on Ellen and she paled. “Alex—no! You cannot force a quarrel on him for my sake. You’ll be disgraced and have to flee.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, my dear. Either way, I mean to join you at Dover and see you off to Calais. It’s my quarrel now, Ellie. The cur came to
my
house to get you.” He caught her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, brushing them lightly. She drew back as though burned. “Best get dressed, unless you plan on traveling in that fetching but rather chilly nightdress.” He stepped out into Brockhaven’s chamber and listened for a moment. “I think ’tis safe to go out by the stairs this time, my dear.”

“Alex,” she tried desperately, “I despise Brockhaven, but I cannot let you do this for me. I would rather stay here than bring scandal to your name.”