Cheryl Holt (38 page)

There would be no scandal, no wedding to the wrong person, no marriage to a man she didn’t love.

Why, then, was she so irate? So . . . so dissatisfied with the outcome?

“I don’t suppose”—he interrupted her reverie—“that my decision is much of a surprise to you.”

“No, it isn’t.” Which was an unadulterated lie. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would cry off. Since his recuperation, he’d seemed happy with their arrangement, but she had her pride. She wouldn’t let him ascertain how shocked she was.

“But before you give me your answer, there’s one more detail of which you need to be apprised.”

There was more? How could there be? “What is it?”

“A letter was dispatched to me this evening. From the palace.” He paused for emphasis. “I’ve been awarded a title.”

“For your military service?”

“Yes.”

“The rank?”

“A humble baron, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll have a steady income?”

“It provides a small but prosperous estate that’s not too far from my ancestral home in Bristol.” He grinned, and his high spirits were really beginning to grate.

“How wonderful.”

“The circumstance changes many things. If it makes a difference to you, we can forget this conversation ever occurred.”

Wasn’t he the consummate gentleman? As if she could forget his profession of love for another! If she forced him to the altar against his will, how miserable their lives would be!

Besides, his admission was irrelevant. She’d never aspired to being a nobleman’s wife. Had she?

“No, it’s of no import to me,” she fibbed with a straight
face. “Is there anything else?” If he said
yes,
she’d hit him.

“I believe that about covers it.”

With the worst of his confessions over, he looked calm and in control, almost as if he’d been confident she wouldn’t fuss. Why wasn’t he waiting for her to weep and wail?

What if she did emote? What if she refused to meekly accede to his scheme? If she fell to pieces, if she screamed and yelled and caused the biggest commotion London had ever seen, it would serve him right!

Instead, unruffled as she’d ever been, she inquired, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Very.”

She nodded. “Once we go forward, you can’t undo what we set in motion. I won’t take you back.”

“I realize that.”

“How would you like to proceed?”

“I’ll leave town, then your mother can circulate rumors that, since my return to health, our affection has waned.”

He had it all planned out. How civil. How pragmatic.

She yearned to wring his neck.

“That will work,” she blandly remarked.

“Will she be upset?”

Barbara would be so mortified that she might go into seclusion and never again show herself in public, but Felicity continued the pretense. “No. She’ll be very understanding, once I’ve clarified everything.”

“Should we find her and tell her?”

“I’ll inform her tomorrow. When it’s just the two of us.”

“Are you certain you don’t want me there?”

“I’m positive.”

“Well then . . .” His chagrin visible, he trailed off.

“Well, then . . .”

“I appreciate your being so considerate.”

She bristled with temper, but tamped it down. “Might I have some privacy?”

“By all means.”

He appeared pained, as if he was eager to justify his conduct, or might say something even more horrid, and she prayed that he would hold his tongue. If he started spouting Mrs. Smythe’s charms, or listing the reasons he’d picked her over Felicity, Felicity couldn’t predict what she might do.

Thankfully, he left without shaming either of them further.

She listened to the quiet as it settled around her. Off in the distance, she could hear the orchestra playing a quadrille, a woman laughing in the garden.

There was a mirror on the wall, and she went to it, studying her reflection, trying to picture herself as Stephen saw her, as Robert saw her.

Pale, indistinct, she attempted to smile, to be glad for this rapid sequence of events, but she couldn’t exude any joy, and she had no idea why she wouldn’t.

Robert would be hers. The villa in Italy would be hers. She could utilize her fortune to become a major patroness of the arts, could live solely for Robert, the silent, unlauded force behind his genius.

She had a vision of herself, in the background, hovering in the shadows, the hidden impetus that spurred and fed his success. As if she’d been subsumed by him, she was invisible, not a separate individual, but merely an extension of his illustrious self, and the image didn’t fit.

Be careful for what you wish. You just might get it.

The admonition swirled past, and she shoved it away, declining to pay it any heed. Bustling out, she distanced herself from any untoward thoughts.

Robert—her dearest, her darling—would be in the ballroom, searching for her, and she was anxious to share the marvelous news.

He would be elated.

 22 

Stephen reined in his horse at the entrance to Anne’s farm. The gate was open, the residence appearing to be abandoned, and his sense of unease prickled, once again.

Why weren’t there a dozen carriages parked out by the grotto, her rich customers enjoying an afternoon dip in the pool? Why wasn’t she at work? Where were her patrons? Was she ill? Had she sustained an injury?

A thousand frantic thoughts scrolled past, but he pushed them away, refusing to panic until he had a reason.

Throughout his madcap journey from London, he’d been spurred on by the strangest feeling that Anne was in distress. As he’d put mile after mile between himself and town, the impression of foreboding had taken root, and he hadn’t been able to shake it.

He’d told himself it was merely nerves, from his having jilted Felicity, from his going against the wishes of his family and hers. He’d broken away from all that was familiar, all that had formed the circle of his life. What man wouldn’t be apprehensive?

Staring, he prayed to note any sign of activity, and the lack had him racing up the lane. He hurried to the door and
rapped on it, knocking persistently before he heard footsteps. Kate answered, which was odd. When he’d been staying with them, she’d always been in the yard, gardening and puttering away at her projects.

“Kate, hello.” He hoped his alarm wasn’t obvious.

“Captain Chamberlin! You’re here so soon! Come in! Come in!” She gestured to the front parlor, and as he marched by, she added, “I have to admit, I didn’t believe that harpy, Camilla Warren, would deliver our letter.”

Camilla had written to him? After the drubbing Anne had given her, he couldn’t imagine she’d offer. “What letter?”

“You didn’t receive it?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken with her?”

“No,” he repeated.

She stopped. “Then how did you know we needed you?”

“I didn’t.” Shrugging, he was confused by his burst of intuition. “I simply felt I should be here.”

“And just in the nick of time, too.” She called down the hall, “Pru, guess what? The Captain’s arrived.”

A petite, middle-aged woman bustled in, draped in an apron, a cast on her arm, bruises around her eyes. “Already? My goodness! That was fast.”

Kate made introductions as he glanced about. There was an ancient rifle, a pistol, and some knifes on the table. The knives were dull and likely wouldn’t cut a piece of meat, and the guns were old, rusty, and looked as if they’d explode if fired.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Pru’s brother, Willie McGee, has arrested Anne.”

Anne had mentioned her fear of the villain. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the sofa. “On what charge?”

“Some nonsense about public indecency in the pool.”

“Who would make such an accusation?”

“We suspect that Willie was spying on the bathers.”

“With perverted intent?” He couldn’t avoid the indelicate query. Matters had proceeded far beyond decorum.

“Yes,” both females replied together.

“But we’ve talked it over,” Kate clarified, “and we wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Camilla had a hand in it.”

“She’s capable of treachery,” he agreed, “but she’s a coward. She’d never step forward to complain.”

“Willie would do it for her,” Pru asserted. “You see, my brother fancies himself to be an officer of the law. He assists the magistrate with various tasks, but it’s been rumored that he’ll do anything, if he’s paid enough money.”

It was possible that McGee was in league with Camilla, that he was acting to further her scheme. She’d want revenge for Anne’s having humiliated her, and he should have realized that she might do something horrid.

He was furious with himself. How could he not have recognized the danger for Anne? His sole defense was that he’d been so in love with her, so distracted by his attraction, that he hadn’t been focused on anything else.

A terrible calm flooded him, the sort that washed over him before a violent battle. His perception heightened, his blood pumped more swiftly, his heart pounded. He was like a wolf, a predator geared to strike, and others were wise to keep their distance.

“How long has he had her?”

“A few hours.”

“Where would she be detained?” His mind was whirling with the supplies he would require, the assault he would initiate.

Pru responded, “We have a gaol in the field behind our house.”

He was incredulous. How could such a thing be allowed? “The man has his own private jail?”

“He’s operated it for many years.”

“Without objection?”

“Only from the criminals he’s incarcerated.”

Which meant that there’d been no concern about who was held, or how they were treated, the general consensus being that a felon deserved his fate.

“Has no one ever questioned its existence?”

“Most in the neighborhood feel it’s beneficial, what with Bath being so far away.”

“Where is it located?”

“I’ll show you,” Kate proclaimed.

“No, you won’t,” he countered.

“I can save you time.” Kate was mutinous. “Their farm is the adjacent property. It’s quickest if we walk through the woods.”

“I want my horse. In case I have to give chase.” He went outside, marching so briskly that Kate and Prudence had to run to keep up. “Explain the details of the place to me.”

They both chimed in with instructions about the position of the gate, the grounds, the buildings, the hidden jail.

“How about my pistol?” Kate inquired.

“I have two of my own.” In case he’d been accosted by highwaymen on the road, they were loaded and easy to reach. “And a knife. A big one.”

Seeming abashed, Kate gazed at him. “We were about to go after her ourselves. I wouldn’t want you to think we let him have her without a fight.”

At the notion of the pair confronting the madman, he could barely suppress a shudder. “Good for you, Kate, but I’m glad you didn’t have the chance to intervene.” He stared at the woods, wishing he had magical vision so that he could peer through the forest and detect what was transpiring on the other side. “Will he hurt her?”

“Absolutely.”

As her evidence, Kate pointed to Pru, and he rippled with outrage. “Be prepared for anything, then, when I return.”

“We’ll take care of her. You just fetch her home.”

“I will.” Of that fact, he had no doubt.

He leapt onto his horse, wrenched around, and took off at a gallop.

Willie glared at the bed, where Anne was trussed at the wrists and the ankles. He was breathing hard, sweating from his exertions in tying her to the posts, and he wiped a hand across his lips, seething when he noticed that blood was oozing.

He’d had so much fun whipping her, had taunted and tormented her with the strop, but she hadn’t begged him to stop. Not once. And other than a few whimpers, she’d scarcely cried out, which had deprived him of such enjoyment.

She’d fainted occasionally—at least, it seemed as if she had—and her stupors had extended the flogging, for when he meted out punishment, he liked his prisoners to be awake. He’d had to revive her, either with smelling salts or by tossing water in her face, but with the level of stamina she still possessed, he had to wonder if she’d ever really blacked out.