April Kihlstrom (16 page)

“Yes, yes. Go. Find out how Lady Rothwood is doing and come back out to let me know.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Find a way! Especially if she gets worse,” he added.

“It may be a while before I can find an excuse,” she said, trembling at the anger in his voice.

He made an effort not to frighten her. “It’s all right. I understand. Just try to come out to me as soon as you are able. I’ll stay here until you do.”

Now she smiled at him.

He kissed her cheek.

“Go on then. We don’t want them becoming suspicious,” he said, certain she was back under his control.

James certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to wait hours for her, but he knew that wasn’t likely. She would find a way as soon as it was possible to come out and see him. If he was lucky, she’d sneak him a bit of food as well. He ought to have told her about the new powder in his pocket, the one that was supposed to be an antidote to what Annie had given Lady Rothwood the first time around, but instinct told him it would only have alarmed her. With luck, it wouldn’t be needed. Because Annie had disobeyed him. He couldn’t risk losing any more of her trust. No, he’d not mention the powder in his pocket. Not unless he had to.

James found a spot where he wasn’t likely to be seen from the house, but where he could see Annie the moment she came out the back door. And then he settled down to wait.

Chapter 14

Mr. Adams’s clerk was feeling rather confused as he climbed the steps to the Rothwood townhouse. It was most irregular to be calling at such a late hour, indeed to be calling upon a lady at all. Why would Mr. Adams need her to write out the designated document and not Lord Rothwood for her? And why had he said not to bother Mr. Lawton with the matter?

Still, it was not his place to question his superior. If Mr. Adams said such a letter was needed, then such a letter was needed. He only hoped Lord Rothwood did not become angry at him. He rapped sharply with the knocker, hoping it could all be done with quickly so that he could go home to his own family instead of intruding on someone else’s.

An aloof individual answered the door. “Yes?”

“I am here to see Lady Rothwood.”

The other’s eyebrows shot upward and he started to close the door. “She is not available!”

The clerk thrust his foot between the door and the jamb, unable to think of any other way to keep it from closing. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I am from the office of Lord Rothwood’s solicitor and it seems there is a document she must sign.”

The other man paused, then unbent sufficiently to say, “She is not receiving callers tonight. You might try again tomorrow.”

“But it’s urgent.”

“Try again tomorrow.”

He tried to stare the man down, truly he did. Mr. Adams had been most clear in his message that he was to get the letter as soon as possible. But it was abundantly clear that he was not going to be admitted to the Rothwood house tonight, no matter what he said or did. Reluctantly he removed his foot from blocking the door and watched as it was shut in his face.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” he muttered as he went back down the steps to the street. The hackney cab he had taken had already disappeared and there were no others in sight, which meant he would have to walk until he found one.

He consoled himself with the thought that at least he could now go home. There was, after all, no point in sending any kind of message to Mr. Adams until he had the desired letter in hand, which would, he hoped, be tomorrow morning. If Mr. Adams didn’t know, he couldn’t yell at him.

Feeling a touch cheered by this thought, and by the thought of seeing his dear wife earlier than expected, the clerk began to smile and walk just a little faster.

* * *

Maybe it was the waiting all night. Maybe it was frustration when Annie slipped out at dawn and told him that Lady Rothwood wasn’t even in the house any longer. Maybe it was pure folly. Whatever the reason, when James saw a woman step down from a hackney the next morning, impulsively he walked over to her, snatched the cap off his head and said, “Pardon, ma’am, but are you by any chance Lady Rothwood?”

She hesitated. “Why do you wish to know?”

It
was
her! He did not question his good fortune but immediately said, “It’s Lord Rothwood, ma’am. He’s been hurt powerful bad. Asked me to come and get Lady Rothwood, he did.”

She went so pale he was afraid she was going to faint. Then she shook her head. “No. If he were hurt, you’d be asking for footmen to come and bring him back here.”

She was too shrewd, she was. It wasn’t natural.

Lady Rothwood took a step toward the townhouse. He blocked her. “Just come,” he pleaded. “His lordship don’t want no footmen.”

Her brows arched upward. “That’s a pity, but he’s going to get them anyway.”

He looked around, up and down the street. For once there was no one out and about, and the hackney that had delivered Lady Rothwood had already driven away. He had to take this chance. Adams wanted proof she was all right? He’d show Adams Lady Rothwood was all right. And demand to be paid. What happened to her after that would be up to Adams.

It took only a split second for James to make up his mind and grab her. He clapped one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist, trapping her arms as he did so. As fast as he could, he dragged her into the shadows where no one could see them. When she kept fighting him, he said in her ear, “If you don’t stop struggling and come with me, Rothwood is a dead man.”

Instantly she went still. Her chest heaved and he was not so foolish as to think she was done fighting. But for the moment he had her attention and she was quiet.

“That’s good,” he said approvingly. “We’ve got to get in a carriage to get to him. If you scream or struggle in any way, I’ll knock you out and tell them you’ve gone mad and I’m taking you to Bedlam. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, shaking.

“Good. Now come along easy-like and soon enough you’ll see your husband.”

* * *

Beatrix berated herself soundly. It had been foolish to come back to the house alone, without telling anyone, including Lady Kenrick, where she was going. It had been foolish to take a hackney rather than ask to use Lady Kenrick’s carriage. Lady Kenrick’s coachman would not have driven off before seeing she was safely inside Rothwood’s townhouse. But her staff would have done nothing without her approval, and Beatrix was afraid of Lady Kenrick trying to manage everything today, for she would surely have tried to talk Beatrix out of coming back here or going to Bow Street.

Perhaps it was foolish, but Beatrix had thought to check on Edmund and if he wasn’t here, to return to Lady Kenrick’s townhouse. She had intended to eat and drink nothing while here and to merely speak to Henry or Collins. Now every step took her farther away from both townhouses and she had only herself to blame.

But she could not change what she had already done. The question was, what was she to do now that he had hold of her? If what he said was true, she had to go. She could not let them harm Edmund because she was afraid!

Yet what if she was wrong? What if he wasn’t where this man was taking her? What if he was safely at home by now? That was, after all, why she had been going back there. To see if he had come home overnight.

Her head still ached from yesterday’s illness. She stumbled more than once as this stranger dragged her along. But when she tried to pull away or slow down, he yanked her forward. It was almost a relief that he was able to hail a hackney so quickly. Too quickly. But there was no time to think about that. He thrust her inside, gave some directions to the coachman, then climbed in to join her. She shrank against the squabs, wishing to put as much distance between them as possible.

He smirked. “You needn’t worry, your ladyship. You’re not to my taste. I’m only taking you where we’re going so I can get paid. What happens then is none of my affair.”

Beatrix felt herself relax just a trifle. “Were you lying about Lord Rothwood being where you are taking me?”

The man shook his head. “No, he’s there, right and tight. We caught and delivered him yesterday.”

“What do you want with us?”

“I told you, it’s not up to me. Not my concern. I’m only, as you might say, a hired hand. I don’t know or care what he wants with the pair of you.”

“He?”

The man merely shook his head. “Not up to me to tell you anything. He’ll tell you what he’s willing for you to know. But don’t worry. I haven’t seen as he’s a violent man. Leastwise not with his own hands.”

Those words spoken in such a rational fashion sent a chill through Beatrix. The only thing that gave her any comfort was that in her skirt pocket she’d hidden a knife. Her brothers had taught her how to use it and insisted she always have it with her. She’d thought it nonsense, but they had sworn they didn’t want to have to rescue her again, should anyone else decide to exact payment for family debts from her. What if they weren’t there to rescue her, as they had from the butcher’s son? She’d laughed and told them it was a silly request, but now she was grateful for the habit that had become so ingrained in her.

She thought about using the knife to escape her captor now. But if he was telling the truth and taking her to Rothwood, then she must wait until she or Rothwood could use it to free the both of them. She only hoped they reached their destination before she lost her breakfast right there in the hackney.

In the meantime, Beatrix tried to look as meek and helpless as possible.

* * *

Edmund stood behind the door, piece of metal in hand as footsteps came up the stairs. As if his captors knew what he intended, one called out through the door, “Don’t be trying anything, yer lordship. Yer ladyship’s downstairs and ye wouldn’t be wanting anything to happen to her, would ye?”

They were lying. They had to be. Anything else was unthinkable. But he couldn’t take a chance. He set down the piece of metal and stepped away from the door. He was just in time. The same men as before were waiting to grab him by the arm, one on each side, and march him down the stairs, along the hallway and into the library. Clearly they were taking no chance he might escape!

As they went into the library, Edmund saw Beatrix. She rose to her feet and ran to him. “Are you all right?” she demanded. “Have they hurt you?”

The men let him go but continued to stand by his side, smirking as he hugged his wife. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

His voice was rougher than he intended and he clasped her hard enough to make her gasp. He wanted to shake her, he wanted to throttle her, he wanted to kiss her senseless. But right now he most wanted to get them both out of there.

Adams stood behind the desk watching everything and smiling grimly. “You see? Your wife is fine, Lord Rothwood. If you wish to keep her that way I suggest you sign these documents.”

“What documents?” Beatrix asked.

“Never mind,” he and Adams both said at the same moment.

“This does not concern you, Lady Rothwood,” Adams said smoothly. “It is a matter of business.”

Now Beatrix pulled free of Edmund and turned and faced Adams. “If it concerns my husband, it concerns me!”

“Very well, then tell your husband to be sensible and sign these papers,” Adams said, spreading his hands wide.

Even though he couldn’t see her face, Edmund was fairly certain her eyes were narrowing as she advanced toward the desk and snatched one of the papers off the top of the pile. Adams started to reach for it, then changed his mind. He merely watched as she became more and more agitated.

When she was done, Beatrix turned and stared at Edmund, anger flaring in her eyes. “You cannot sign this!” she said. “Not to this . . . this monster!”

Adams looked shocked. “Lady Rothwood! I protest. I am merely asking Lord Rothwood to return to me and my friends what is our rightful due.”

“Your rightful due?” Beatrix echoed Adams’s words but kept her gaze on Edmund.

“What Mr. Adams and his friends would have received if I had not married you by the deadline set in my father’s will,” Edmund explained.

“I see.” She turned toward Adams and ripped the sheet of paper into several pieces and tossed them at him. “Lord Rothwood won’t be signing any of these papers.”

And then, before either of them could think to stop her, Beatrix grabbed the rest of the papers and ripped all of them into pieces, which again she tossed toward Adams.

The man gaped at her, positively gaped at her. “Lady Rothwood, you cannot be serious! You don’t understand what you are doing!”

“I am preventing thievery,” she retorted. “That’s what it would be, you know. Lord Rothwood fulfilled the provisions of his father’s will and is entitled to every penny he has inherited.”

Edmund could not help grinning. Beatrix was magnificent in her indignation. Foolish—and they were probably both going to end up regretting her defiance—but by God it was marvelous to watch!

As for Adams, he seemed stunned into silence, but not for long. His face turned red, then purple, causing Edmund to wonder if the man was prone to apoplexy. Even after Adams found his voice, it quivered. “You have made a very great mistake, your ladyship,” he told Beatrix. “Now I shall have to draw them up anew. And it will take time I can scarcely spare. You shall have to compensate me for that time! And Lord Rothwood is going to sign these pages when I am done.”

She snorted in a most unladylike way. “Why should he?” she demanded.

Now Adams’s voice was steady and full of menace as he answered her. “Because if he doesn’t, I will kill the both of you. But not quickly or easily. I shall start with you, Lady Rothwood, and it will not be pretty or pleasant. Perhaps I shall begin by cutting off your fingers, one by one, until he signs.”

She gasped and Adams smiled in satisfaction. He sat down, clearly feeling he had taken the upper hand. “You have some few hours to think about it,” he said. “Perhaps even overnight. I want you to think about what is at stake while I draw up new documents for your husband to sign.” To Edmund he added, his eyes narrowed and harsh, “You will sign them, one way or another. Speak to your wife and make her see reason because if she pulls the same sort of thing again, I shall make her very, very sorry, indeed.”

Had the two men not been flanking him, Edmund would have lunged over the desk at Adams. Instead he found himself grasped roughly on both sides and yanked backward toward the door.

“You go up them steps first,” one of them said to Beatrix.

“I’d listen,” Adams advised. “They can be a little . . . rough when annoyed.”

With an impatient glare, Beatrix did as she was told, her feet loud upon each step, echoing the rage she must have been feeling. The moment they were thrust into the room and the door shut behind them, Edmund reached for her. Beatrix backed away.

“Where were you last night?” she demanded, her voice louder than he would have thought necessary given the confined space within which they found themselves.

“Here, of course!”

“Well, I was deathly ill and needed you!”

Her voice broke on a sob. Edmund stopped, puzzled. Suddenly Beatrix was nothing like the woman he thought he had married. He was too frustrated and angry himself to try to figure it out.

“Yes, well, I was a little busy trying to find a way out of here, but as you can see, it’s a heavy door, the windows are very high off the ground and they’ve emptied this room of anything remotely useful. At least you have probably eaten within the last twelve hours. I think they are trying to starve me into acquiescing to their wishes.”