Chance the Winds of Fortune (21 page)

Waltham came to an abrupt halt as he became aware of the other girl lying senseless in the muddy lane, her hair golden, her face pretty. Carefully, he placed the girl in his arms down beside the girl in the road, then stood back to admire the results. He laughed, his head thrown back.

“What the devil do you find so amusing?” a strident voice called out from the carriage. “Certainly not a troop of redcoats, should they happen along to find you standing over an unconscious girl.”

“Over
two
girls,” Waltham replied with a humorless chuckle. “M'lady?” he called to her, his voice raised so she would be sure to hear. “If you please, m'lady.”

“Well, what the devil is it now? Can't you do anything right?” the voice demanded.

“I think you'd better come here, m'lady,” Waltham repeated, leaving her to wonder what was amiss.

“Oh, very well, but it'd better be good,” Kate told him as she climbed down from the comfort of her carriage and stomped across the muddy lane.

Waltham would have gladly given up his gold for just one glimpse of her face when she caught sight of the two unconscious girls. She was actually speechless, he thought, delighting in her predicament.

“Damn!” she swore.

“Ah, is there a problem, then?” he couldn't resist asking, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“You know damn well there is,” Kate spat back, her gloved hands clenched before her as she continued to stare down in bemusement at the two girls who looked so much alike. She'd only seen the chit that once, so how was she to know which one was Lucien's brat? “Lud, but they're almost identical.”

“Which one, m'lady?” Waltham asked. But Kate remained silent. “Hmmm. Pity they're unconscious,” he commented with a wry smile, “or we could've asked which one was the girl we were going to kidnap. Makes it tough, this does. Well?” he asked his benefactress again.

“Well what, damn it? I don't have all of the answers,” she swore in growing frustration. “I suppose we could take both of them. It doesn't really matter which is the real one.”

But Waltham shook his head. “No.”

“No!” Kate screamed in disbelief, her nerves stretched tight.

“I contracted for one female, not two. And one it shall be, or none. I'm not taking on two hysterical females. Which one?” he repeated stubbornly, hoping against hope that she might back down and forget this harebrained scheme of hers.

Kate sighed in exasperation; then suddenly a laugh broke from behind her veil. “Of course. That one!” she cried in triumph, pointing at Caroline Winters. “I remember the blue riding habit. I must admit, however, that I would have selected the other one. She seems more familiar to me for some reason, but I'm not sure. I am sure, though, about that blue riding habit. She's the one I want. Get rid of the other one. I don't want anyone becoming suspicious until we are out of the valley.”

“The first sensible thing I've heard you say,” Waltham said in relief, for he was not at all pleased with the morning's work—especially the body in the ditch.

As Waltham started to pick up the limp form of Caroline Winters, he became aware of the big footman trudging back across the lane, his shirt front smeared with the Earl of Rendale's blood. Waltham looked past him toward the ditch where he knew the footman had been ordered to throw the body. Hadn't taken the bloke long, he thought with a shiver of revulsion that turned quickly to fear when the footman continued toward him, his pace quickening. Waltham swallowed his fear, wishing he'd taken the precaution to reload his pistol, but his fears were unfounded as Rocco dropped to his knees at Waltham's feet.

“Here, be a good lad, and carry this one to the coach,” Waltham told him. He considered that he'd had a very near brush with death, and his relief at being spared caused his voice to come out in little better than a squeak.

“Angel, hurt,” Rocco said in bewilderment.

“I'm going to put this one,” Waltham said, indicating the girl in the green riding habit, “on the side of the road. It will be a while before she wakes up, and even then she'll be so groggy she'll find it hard to even stand up. We should be long gone by then.”

“Good,” Kate remarked. Already, her mind was lingering with pleasure on the scene that would destroy the peace at Camareigh when Lucien discovered his daughter was missing.

“No, Rocco,” Waltham said. “This one. Take this girl to the coach, not that one,” he tried to tell the footman, who persisted in hovering over the girl in the green riding habit.

“Hurt. Angel hurt. Rocco help Angel get better,” he muttered, turning a malevolent eye on the noisy Teddie Waltham, who took a quick step out of reach of the footman's long arm. His expression one of surprised dismay.

“She's all right, Rocco. She's just sleeping,” he tried to reason with the man. “What's wrong with him, anyway?” he demanded of Kate.

Kate had been watching her footman's strange behavior with interest, and now a note of doubt entered her voice as she said softly, “I wonder.”

“You wonder what?” Waltham demanded, trying to regain her attention as she spoke quickly, and unintelligibly, to his ears, to her overgrown footman. Rocco nodded, saying something back to her in a guttural voice before he picked up the girl in the green riding habit, his hands showing unusual gentleness as he cradled her against his chest.

“Get rid of
this
one,” Kate now told Teddie Waltham, who was staring in amazement at the footman as he carried the wrong girl to the carriage.

“He's got the wrong one!”

“I think not,” Kate replied easily, watching as Rocco carefully placed the unconscious girl inside the coach.

“I thought you said she was wearing a blue riding habit,” Waltham persisted, thinking this whole business was crazy. But then, what did he expect, getting mixed up with a madwoman?

“Rocco fancies the one in green,” Kate said matter-of-factly as she lifted her skirts and began carefully making her way back to the carriage.

“And you're going to follow
his
advice?” he asked in disbelief. “God, I knew I should've headed right back down those stairs the minute I saw him open the door,” he added sourly.

“Rocco was quite smitten with the chit yesterday. I've never seen him act so strange before,” Kate explained as she paused at the door of the carriage, glancing back at the bemused Waltham. “So I'm willing to believe that he knows which one is which, especially since I couldn't swear to it. I'll take the chance, Mr. Waltham.”

“Aye, you do that, m'lady,” he agreed, anxious to get the whole affair over with, and the sooner the better.

And so, muttering beneath his breath, Waltham scooped up Miss Caroline Winters and dropped her into the ditch on the opposite side of the road from where Rocco had dumped the gentleman. Only one of the riders' horses was still standing in the road, the others having galloped off when the shot had been fired. Waltham waved his hands and yelled, frightening the horse on down the road, its mane and tail flying as it raced out of sight around the bend. As he approached the carriage he signaled to the coachman, a man he'd known for years in London, who was willing to do a job, keep his mouth shut, and forget he'd ever seen you.

Waltham hopped inside as the coach pulled away, and swinging the door closed, settled down in one of the corners and tried to make himself comfortable. Surreptitiously, he eyed the silent giant in the opposite corner, not caring for the expression in the black eyes when they swung in his direction.

“Hope the girl doesn't die,” Waltham muttered worriedly when he noticed her labored breathing. Hypnotized, he watched the big hand smoothing back a stray curl from the girl's forehead.

“Why the devil should you care?” Kate asked, unconcerned.

“Because, m'lady, if she does, then I wouldn't bet on either of us leaving this carriage in one piece. That mooning footman of yours will more than likely strangle the life out of both of us if he loses his ‘angel,'” he warned her.

Kate brought her thoughts back from wherever she'd had them and became aware of the almost obsessed attention Rocco was lavishing on the senseless girl he was holding so protectively in his arms. “Lud! If 'tisn't Beauty and the Beast,” she said, laughing harshly.

“I wouldn't be so quick to laugh if I was you, m'lady,” Waltham advised, for the skin on his back was crawling, and he'd been too close to danger too often not to recognize it when it was staring him in the face. The sensation was so strong he could almost smell it, and Teddie Waltham was a man who liked to survive.

“Why, you pigeon-hearted milksop. I don't think I've ever run across such a poor-spirited individual before,” Kate sneered at him.

“I just put a hole through a man, m'lady,” Waltham retorted, stung by her contemptuous snort of derision. “But I noticed you stayed safely in the carriage until all the excitement was over. Well, you can be Madame Spunk for all I care, but Teddie Waltham doesn't have to put on a bold face for no one. That's why I'm alive today to be talkin' about letting sleeping dogs lie,” he concluded with a meaningful glance at Rocco.

“Rocco is devoted to me. He obeys my commands better than a dog would. But I'm not as craven as you, so you may rest easy,” Kate said, to bait Waltham. “I shan't let him strangle you while you sleep.”

Waltham managed a tight smile. “I'm sure I'll be havin' sweet dreams with that assurance. Of course, I'd be dozin' even easier had I your assurance, m'lady, that
you'll
not be slittin' me gullet while I'm asleep.”

“Oh, you do have my word on that, Mr. Waltham,” Kate assured him. “For you see, I'm not through with your unique services just yet.”

Feeling satisfied that she had dealt effectively with Mr. Teddie Waltham, Kate now turned her attention to the girl in Rocco's arms. She reached out a curious hand and touched the girl's smooth cheek. It was so smooth and soft, so untouched. This was dear cousin Lucien's daughter.

“Spawn of his seed,” she spat, her viciously spoken words drawing an uneasy glance from a nervous Waltham.

“Well, I have you now, my sweet thing,” she continued. “Oh, to see Lucien's damned face when he learns of your disappearance. What agonies of mind it will cause him, but no greater than mine when I lost Percy. He will suffer and writhe with the torments of a living hell as he wonders what has happened to his precious daughter, knowing he can do nothing but sit and wait and hurt inside.”

Through the veil and slitted mask, Kate's pale eyes glowed with insane pleasure. “Dear Dowager Duchess, how you must be turning in your grave, for one of your prized heirs is about to join you in your cold sleep. You should really have let me and Percy have Camareigh, Grandmama,” Kate said sadly, speaking aloud her most private thoughts. “The proud Duke of Camareigh will rue the day he banished Percy and me from our rightful home. May I burn in hell if I don't destroy him and his precious family. I'll bring Camareigh down around his arrogant head. I swear by all that is holy that I'll have him begging me for mercy before I'm through with the Dominick family,” she promised, her eyes searching the face of the girl who might be related to her by blood, but whose death warrant she would sign as easily as any common criminal's. “I want Lucien to know that somebody has his daughter. That her life, or death, is in that person's hands.”

Kate's eyes caught the flash of a jewel on the girl's dangling hand, and she reached out to grab hold of the small, slender finger. It was a delicate diamond and sapphire ring that had caught her eye. Quite a distinctive ring, and one that Lucien would surely recognize as having belonged to his daughter. With an ungentle hand, Kate pulled the ring from Rhea's finger. She continued to stare at the girl in thoughtful silence, realizing that the ring wouldn't be enough to torture Lucien with. No, she must find something more personal of his daughter's to send to him.

Kate's low chuckle sent a shiver of unease up Waltham's spine, especially when she pulled a slim, deadly looking dagger from its jeweled holder at her waist. With a caressing hand, Kate touched a long curl that had escaped from Rhea's bound hair, and with slow, methodical strokes, sheared the long strands of hair in two. The golden hair curled around her hand like a living thing as Kate gazed at the girl's face, which was as pale and peaceful as a death mask. “Kill her, Rocco,” she said quietly, and in so casual a tone that Waltham had no idea of what the footman had been ordered to do until the big man stirred violently, his unleashed power quivering like a taut bow string.

“Kill her, I say,” Kate repeated shrilly to her loyal footman, who continued to ignore her as he stared down into Rhea's sleeping face. “Damn you! Do as I say, or I'll see you burning in hell, Rocco, so help me I will! It shouldn't be so hard to do. You have killed before, haven't you, Rocco? Kill her!” Kate ordered him again, almost snarling in rage when he looked up at her with his habitual dumb expression.

Waltham watched and listened in silence to the tirade that fell on the footman's head, and even though he couldn't understand a word of it, he could well imagine what was being said. He pressed closer into the corner, wishing he could disappear, and wondered how in the world a Billingsgate boy like himself could have got mixed up with the likes of these two miscreants. But whatever it was being said now, Waltham thought with a nauseating feeling rising in his belly, it wasn't setting well with her ladyship, for she was about to have a fit of apoplexy over the reply. He eyed the hulking footman with new respect. Maybe he wasn't as slow-witted as he looked. He swallowed the tight knot in his throat, anticipating her ladyship's next move and preparing to face her wrath.

“Very well, you may rot in hell for all I care, and believe me, I shall see that you do one day,” Kate spat across the carriage at the footman, who had continued throughout her tirade only to shake his head in the negative.