Dangerous Escapade (14 page)

“Would you
mind very much leaving me alone for a while?” begged Kitty suddenly. “I fear I
am about to cry, and I would very much rather not have an audience.”

Ten

Mistress Kitty
did indeed sob out her sorrow in a way that would have been unthinkable to her
when she had been Kit Clareville. But then Master Kit had known few sorrows,
and his heart had been quite untouched. She longed wistfully for those
untroubled days of her boyhood and yet, if offered the chance, she knew she could
never return to the life she had known before loving Debenham.

A tall figure
moved out of the shadow and stood before her. He wore a midnight blue domino
and spoke in her guardian’s low tones. “My little one, forgive me.” He held out
his arms, and she ran into them, feeling them close around her gratefully. He
bent his head, seeking her lips. Even before his lips touched hers, she knew
something was wrong. Instinct rose up and told her this was not the man she
loved. Her very skin crawled at his touch and, when his hot lips crushed hers,
she felt the gorge rise in her throat.

“Let me go,”
she cried, struggling in his iron hold. “Let me go, damn you!”

He laughed. “I
shall let you go when I have finished with you and not before, Master
Clareville.”

She pulled
back her head and stared into his masked face. “You!”

“How
unoriginal. Is that all you have to say?”

“I have
nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, I think
you will find your tongue sooner or later. But now we must be off.”

She opened her
mouth to scream, his fist shot forward, and she collapsed, insensible, against
his breast. Wellbeloved threw her across his shoulder and made his way out of
the garden, to where a travelling coach and team stood awaiting him on the
highway.
 
He tossed her into the interior
and climbed in beside her, nodding to the coachman whose features were muffled
in a thick scarf. The coach moved off, and Wellbeloved sank back against the
dingy squabs, a smile of satisfaction on his full lips.

Meanwhile,
Courtney had gone in search of Debenham, a very determined look on his young
face. He found Debenham presently alone in a small salon, endeavouring to drown
his sorrows in old brandy.

Debenham took
one look at his friend’s face and said, “Have you come here to berate me? Go
ahead, you cannot call me anything I have not already called myself.”

The wrath
faded from Courtney’s face. “You’re a fool, Tony. And brandy won’t help
matters.”

“It has that
reputation, but perhaps you are right. Don’t let me stop you. What did you come
to say to me?”

“Well, since
you will have it, I have just left that sweet creature in the gardens sobbing
her heart out because of something you said to her. She wouldn’t tell me what
it was, but I can guess.”

“I imagine you
might. I allowed my baser feelings to rise to the surface. For which you were
partly responsible. No man enjoys watching the woman he loves encouraging the
attentions of a handsome fellow like you.”

Courtney
shrugged. “Well, it seems to me you have either to get used to it or break this
stupid engagement of yours and marry Kitty. Neither of you seem to be able to
be happy without the other.”

“Most
unfortunately, my sweet betrothed has my word of honour that I shall do no such
thing.”

“Oh? Well, I
can’t pretend to see a way out of this coil, but it’s up to you go and comfort
Kitty. You can’t leave her crying her eyes out over you like this.”

Debenham rose
from the spindle-legged sofa he was occupying and pressed his young friend’s
shoulder. “It shall be done. God knows I never meant to hurt her. Where did you
leave her?”

“There’s a
little arbour, all covered in roses, near the wicket gate into the back alley.”

“But how
romantic. It might almost have been planned for a tender scene.” Debenham’s
voice was mocking, but not unkind.

“Well, if you
want to know, I did ask her to marry me, but she turned me down. I never had
much hope. It’s you she wants.”

“All else I
can give her, but that.” Lord Debenham left his friend reaching for the brandy and
made his way across the ballroom and out into the moonlit garden. Searching the
darkness for the figure of his ward, he was just in time to see the bulk of a
man, burdened with some heavy bundle, thrust open the wicket gate and
disappear. He followed, puzzled but not yet suspicious, and reached the open
gate just as the coach rattled off down the alleyway. He stepped forward,
staring after the coach and trod, unwarily, on some small object that crunched
under his foot.
 
He stooped to pick up
the object and found himself holding the remains of a very pretty ivory-mounted
fan, which he recognised without difficulty as a gift from himself that Kitty
had been carrying that evening. His fist closed over the broken ivory, unaware
that the sharp shards were digging into his palm so that bright-red blood
dripped onto the gravelled walk, to leave glistening traces in the moonlight
like the silver trail of a slug.

He turned
swiftly on his heel and strode back through the open windows into the ballroom.
Quite unheeding of the shocked stares of various dancers, he reached his aunt,
who was sitting with Madame de Longueville sipping
negus
and gossiping gently.

She glanced up
into his white face and immediately jumped to her feet. “Anthony, what is it?
What has happened? You are bleeding!”

He glanced
down at his hand impatiently. “That is nothing. Listen, Kitty, has been seized by
the most cursed villain. I must go after them.”

“It is the man
you warned me of?”

“Yes. What he
intends to do with her I do not know, but I dare not leave her in his power a
moment longer than I must.”

“Of course,
you must go, but how?”

“The Duke will
mount me, I am sure. One rider on a swift horse will easily overtake a coach.
There is moonlight and…Oh God, let me be in time.”

The two women
watched as he passed quickly from the ballroom, calling peremptorily to a
passing footman. Lady Horatia was weeping quietly, but her companion was dry-eyed
and ashen. “So, I am punished,” she murmured under her breath. “To find her and
lose her again so swiftly. God is very terrible.”

“What is that
you say?” Lady Horatia wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “My dear, you look
quite ill!”

Madame de
Longueville continued to stare in the direction Debenham had taken, but she
began to talk almost feverishly. “Are you blind? Have you not seen? You said it
yourself in your letter to me. You said she put you in mind of myself at the
same age. Of course, she did! She is my own, my little one, my babe. Torn from
my arms! Oh
Bon Dieu
, they told me
she was dead! And when I discovered the truth, it was too late!”

Lady Horatio
sat as though turned to stone as various pieces of the puzzle fell into place
in her mind. “I always knew there was something. You left school so suddenly.”

The Comtesse
managed a smile. “I was so innocent I did not even know what was happening to
me. The nuns discovered it, of course. I was not the first.”

“It was
Clareville? Brabington, I suppose I should call him.”

“It was part
of the reason his family cast him off. To seduce a maidservant is one thing; to
seduce the daughter of the Marquis de Carcassonne…!”

“Could you not
have married?” Then she shook her head, answering her own question. “You were
already betrothed to Longueville, were you not? I cannot see your family being
willing to exchange an alliance with the illustrious Longuevilles for one with
a penniless younger son.”

The Comtesse
shrugged. “It was impossible. I can only thank the good God that somehow he was
able to claim our child. He did his best for her, I have no doubt. But how I
would have loved her if only…. And now she is snatched by this villain, and I
may never see her alive again!”

Lady Horatia
cried out against such an idea. “Have faith in Anthony, my love. He is not the
man to be baulked by such as this villain. And he loves her.”

“He loves her,
but will he marry her?”

“If we could
get rid of that dreadful girl he has engaged himself to, he would marry her at
once. Anyone can see that.”

“Then she must
be removed,” said Madame briskly, recovering her poise. “I think I know how it
may be done.”

Mistress
Brabington, coming to her senses slowly, was conscious at first of nothing but
the jolting of a carriage being driven at a dangerous pace along uneven roads.
She felt extremely sick, and her jaw hurt where Wellbeloved’s fist had left a
disfiguring bruise. Slowly, she opened her eyes just enough to verify what her
other senses had already told her. Wellbeloved was sitting beside her, his head
resting against the squabs, his hand holding the strap beside him to prevent
his being thrown about the swaying carriage while he held her against him with
one arm. She made a convulsive movement to escape his hold and jerked herself
as far as possible to the other side of the carriage, grasping the door handle
and turning it frantically.
 
He reached
across her and gripped her wrist. “Don’t be a fool, girl. Even if it were not
locked, it could be death to jump from the carriage at this speed. You would
certainly injure yourself, and what would that avail you? You would be all the
easier to deal with.”

“What do you
want with me?” She lifted her chin and met his eyes scornfully. “Please do not
tell me it is all for love of me or any humbug of that nature.”

He laughed.
“No, not love, although you are a pretty piece and I am looking forward
to…er…our better acquaintance. No, I have several motives, among them a desire
to bring your guardian to his knees. But I am obliged to own that my principal
object is quite the usual one.”

“The usual
one?”

“Filthy lucre,
my dear. I am doing this for money. A great deal of money.”

“Ransom? I had
imagined a neater plot.”

“Nor were you
wrong. You, little though you may have guessed it, are on your way to be
married. Oh, not to me, do not concern yourself. I am not a marrying man,
although you may wish I were, for your cousin is not the man I would trust to
…initiate… a gently born female on her wedding night.”

“Brabington! You
realise, I hope, that I will kill myself before I will allow either of you to
touch me?”

He laughed
again. “Killing oneself is not as easy as you imagine, my dear. Do you have a
dagger concealed upon your person, or perchance a vial of poison? Perhaps I
should search you now?”

“No!” At last,
her voice shook with an edge of hysteria. Her tormentor shrugged and settled
back in his corner, satisfied that she was cowed, for the time being at least.

“I recommend
you to try and get some sleep. We have some distance to travel, and you will
need all your energy for the escape you are no doubt designing. You won’t
succeed, but by all means make the attempt.”

She bit her
lip, resolutely quelling the tears of rage and frustration that welled into her
eyes. This man thought her negligible, an easy victim, but he should be shown
his error. Kit Clareville had been in tighter places in his adventurous career,
and his spirit still lurked beneath Mistress Kitty’s fashionable petticoats.
 
She took Wellbeloved’s advice and composed
herself for sleep.

It was almost
dawn when the carriage at last halted. She had dozed fitfully but had been
haunted by dreams not more disturbing than the reality to which she now awoke.

Wellbeloved
produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the door closest to her, and having
leapt down, courteously let down the steps and reached up a hand to help her
descend.
 
She took it, for she was so
stiff and cramped that she almost fell out on to the cobbled courtyard. She was
hustled towards a great arched door that stood open, the hallway lit by the feeble
light of one lamp, which seemed to be moving erratically. As she reached the
figure that held the lamp, she understood the spasmodic movement of the light,
for her cousin Lord Brabington held it, and it was apparent to her that he was
suffering from an unfortunate combination of trepidation, guilt, and chilled
limbs, which rendered him quite useless as an ally to one or the other of them.

Kitty did not
deign to speak to her cousin as she was hustled past him through the hall and
into a drawing room lit by a pair of silver candelabra, much in need of
polishing, but she looked around her in some disgust. She was well aware that
Brabington was in want of money but, until she saw the shabby state of his
ancestral home, she had not realised just how badly he needed to repair his
fortune.
 
Even in the dim light of the
candles, she could see how damp coursed down the wainscoted walls, the crimson
brocade on the chairs was stained and torn, and the gilded mirrors were tarnished.

Brabington
stood by the door, still foolishly holding his lamp aloft, his expression a
combination of truculence and shame. Wellbeloved released his grip on Kitty’s
arm and said, “Sit down, and presently you will be conducted to your chamber.
Whether you enter alone and armed with a key or with company depends entirely
on yourself.”

Mistress
Brabington, recovering her poise now that the danger was tangible and not some
vague unknown, arranged her skirts and sank back with an air of exhaustion. “I
vow I am like to swoon from hunger. Do you intend to starve me into
submission?”

Wellbeloved
tossed an order over his shoulder to Brabington. “Get your cousin something to
eat, dolt.”

Brabington
went out, still avoiding his cousin’s eyes. Kitty deduced that there were no
servants in the house, for she could not imagine that her cousin usually
occupied himself in the kitchens.
 
He
returned within a few minutes with the heel of a loaf, some cold beef, and a
wedge of cheese. He placed the platters on a small table at Kitty’s elbow and
retired once more to the door as though trying to disassociate himself from the
proceedings of the night.