Julia Justiss (29 page)

“Then I shall die here, for I will never agree.”

Rupert frowned. “I concede that you have some reason for anger, but I cannot like your attitude. Perhaps
you will require a bit more…discipline to improve it. I’ve found your sex, being subject to flights of fancy and poor judgment, need the same strong hand one must exert with servants and animals. But then—” a gleam sparked in his eyes “—mayhap you enjoy a little…chastisement.”

“Chastisement!” she sputtered. With all he had done, he had the presumption to claim
she
should be punished?

“And you will resist, you mean to tell me? Pray do, my love. Fight me with teeth, fists, nails. ’Twill make burying myself in you again all the sweeter.”

She realized this verbal fencing would gain her nothing. Better to induce him to leave her alone, rest her battered body—and plan how she would escape.

And once she did…She thought longingly of her rapier. She would force the baron to a duel of honor and have her revenge—or die in the attempt. With Kitty established and Jack lost to her, the possibility that she might be wounded or killed was of no concern.

She pushed herself higher on the bed, then gasped. “Oh, my head hurts so! I think…I think I may be ill!”

“Lie still, then,” Rupert advised, looking for the first time uneasy. “The feeling will pass.”

So he did not relish the thought of her casting up her accounts on his pristine breeches?

She moaned again. “It’s…getting worse. Please, may I not have a maid to attend me?”

Though he still looked uncertain, he shook a finger at her. “No trying any tricks. I can’t allow you the use of your
servants until you agree to my terms, but I brought a woman to attend you on the journey back. I’ll send for her.”

A different kind of fear made her stomach clench in earnest. “Where are my people? Have you harmed them?”

“What, do you take me for some sort of barbarian? They were overpowered one by one and removed to the stables, where they will remain confined, but well cared for, until after we leave together.”

Relief made the throbbing in her head ease and she uttered a silent prayer of thanks.

“I shall take care to promote your speedy recovery.” The heated look in his eyes intensified. “After waiting for years, one quick taste will not satisfy me for long.”

If she expired in the attempt, Belle promised herself, “one quick taste” would be all he ever had. “Send the woman, please? I must attend…other needs, as well.”

“Of course, my dear. I’ve had my cook prepare some broth. Later tonight, or surely by morning, you will be ready for me to show you the pleasures that await us.”

She didn’t bother to reply. As soon as the door closed behind him, she twisted at her bonds, ignoring the redoubled throbbing in her head. But he’d done well, and the ropes had no give.

Belle’s hope that she might appeal to the woman Rupert had brought withered almost as soon as the grim-faced crone entered the chamber. Telling Belle curtly that she would have to make do with propping herself over the basin provided, as no one but her master was authorized to release Belle’s bonds, she stood by as Belle relieved herself, making no attempt to help with that awkward maneu
ver. After removing the basin, she fed Belle the broth she’d brought with utterly disinterested precision.

Feeling soiled in body and spirit, after the woman left, Belle lay back, cudgeling her mind for a plan that offered some chance of success. As the night deepened and none occurred, she fought a growing sense of hopelessness.

How could she avoid what Rupert promised for morning? Further protestations of nausea might delay him for a time, but that would buy her at best a day or so. Then a more bitter realization struck her.

Rupert would probably enjoy taking her while she was bound and struggling. Real nausea rose in her throat at the thought of what he might force her to do while she was tethered to the bed, helpless to defend herself or resist.

She fought it and her sagging spirits. If she had to, she could endure even that. Had she not, over long bitter years, perfected the ability to distance her mind from whatever indignities were forced upon her body? She would call on that skill again, if she must. Sooner or later, she would find an opportunity to break free.

Through the long night she girded herself for what would come next. At some point she must have dozed, for when a sharp noise jerked her to full consciousness, pale dawn light pooled at the bottom of the curtains.

The sound came again, a scrabbling noise as if there were a rat in the chimney. Would that he might come out and bite Rupert, she thought with vicious humor.

The noise grew louder. Then a puff of ash issued out of
the hearth, followed by a slight, blackened figure that landed lightly among the fire’s dying embers.

“Jem!” Belle gasped in astonishment.

The boy darted out of the fireplace, batting out the smoldering patches on his sooty clothing. His street-toughened face looked older than his years as he inspected her.

“Knew that bloke be a bad’ un, soon’s I seen him,” he whispered. Quickly he pulled a small knife from his boot and began cutting the ropes at her wrists. “Much as I’d like to stay a spell and give him a taste of me knife, I reckon we best get you out of here afore he comes back.”

“How did you get free?” Belle demanded.

His homely face broke into a gap-toothed smile, transforming him back to impish boy. “I squalled so loud, they put me in the tack room all by me lonesome, told me they’d leave me hungry until I could mind me manners. Pshaw, what lock ever held the likes of me? Soon’s I knew for sure they was gone, I loped off. Then ’twere only a matter of skulking by the kitchen, listening to that bunch of hatchet-faces ’til I heared where they was keeping you. Have to own I didn’t much like having to scabber down that chimney, but seemed the best way to get in without no one being the wiser.”

She rubbed her raw wrists. “How can I thank you?”

His narrow face softened. “After all you done for me? ’Tweren’t nothing—except for the chimney part. I hopes never to see the insides of one of them again!”

Gingerly Belle got up, relieved to find herself only slightly dizzy and the headache manageable. “You’re sure Rupert’s men are all in the kitchens—none above stairs?”

“None,” Jem confirmed. “I ran my peepers by all the rooms on my way to the roof. Speaking of, there be a big oak on the west side what touches the house. We’ll scarper out the attic window and climb down it, then be through into them woods faster’n a rat can cross an alley.”

“Let me put on some breeches and get my sword.” Much as Belle wished for a bath and something with which to tend her wounds, that would have to wait.

Jem stared at her. “You mean to skewer that bounder? Best let the law handle him, my lady. He’s got enough men with him to collar you quick and take that blade.”

“Not if you sneak back to the stables and release my servants. Do you think you can, though ’tis now daylight?”

His grin widened. “With all them shrubs and trees betwixt here and the stables? I’ll be as invisible as me dear mama’s ghost.”

“I shall wait in the attic. Rupert must be in one of the guest chambers and probably won’t wake for hours. Free Jackman’s soldiers and the others, tell them to seize Rupert’s men and send someone for the constable. Then come find me. I shall deal with Rupert.”

Jem murmured agreement as he walked to the door. “I’ll listen out whiles you get yer togs on.”

When she joined him a few minutes later, dressed and armed, he turned back to her, his narrow face serious. “I ain’t never done nothing more than thieving. But I’ll kill the bastard for you iff’n you wants me to.”

“Thank you, Jem. But that’s a pleasure I plan to attend to myself.”

Accepting her claim without comment, he nodded. “Reckon that’s your right. Be you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

B
LESSING THE CLEAR
, moonlit sky that had followed the previous day’s storms, allowing him to travel through the night, shortly after dawn, Jack turned his weary job-horse onto the carriageway leading to Bellehaven.

The sick feeling that had plagued him ever since Egremont’s warning had driven him to ride scarcely without a stop, pausing only long enough to quaff a mug of ale at the posting inns while the sleep-stupored grooms he rousted readied him a change of mount. Within a few minutes, he would reach the manor and find Belle, perhaps share a laugh over his excess of caution, and finally release the knot of tension in his gut.

Except that no one challenged him as he rode past the gatehouse. Nor did he spy on the heights or hidden near the stables any of the extra men he’d hired.

Perhaps, thinking she no longer needed protection, Belle had dismissed them. But that didn’t seem likely, since Egremont had surely urged a continued wariness while Riverton’s investigation proceeded.

The innate soldier’s caution that had saved his neck on more than one occasion told him to avoid the stables and approach the house by stealth. With silent apologies to his
exhausted mount, Jack tethered the horse among the trees and stole forward.

He had nearly reached the kitchen—from which issued no clanging of pots, scent of coffee, or cheerful voices going about their morning chores—when he heard muffled boot-steps. Slipping behind a shrub, he drew his pistol and waited.

Jack peered into the morning mist, trying to see if the group of men stealthily advancing were Belle’s servants. Then a slight, unmistakable figure approached.

“Jem!” he called in a low voice.

The boy turned and spotted him. “Cor, Captain, you gave me a start! Sure glad I am to see you, though.”

“What’s going on?”

“That nasty excuse for a nob, Lord Rupert, come yesterday and tried to snabble Lady Belle. I helped her get away and freed her people. Now they’re gonna tie up Rupert’s men whiles I meets her and she takes care of
him
.”

Not if Jack had his way. “Bring me to her.”

“Quiet, now,” Jem admonished as he led Jack into the house and up the servants’ stairs. “We don’t wanna give ol’ Rupert time to prepare us a welcome.”

Jack hadn’t realized just how great his fear had grown since riding into Bellehaven until he reached the attic and saw Belle in shirt and breeches, a sword at her side, standing with her back to them as she gazed out the attic window. Relief at finding her unharmed made him dizzy and he couldn’t get her name past the lump in his throat.

She half turned and saw him. “Jack!” she cried. But after that first flash of joy in her eyes, her face grew shuttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Egremont sent me,” he replied, dismayed as he watched her change before him from warmly welcoming into the remote, untouchable Belle of the early days of their acquaintance. “He worried Rupert might come here. Jem says he tried to kidnap you. Did he hurt you? Lead me to the villain and I will demand satisfaction!”

She turned to fully face him. His eyes were immediately drawn to a raw, ragged patch beneath her ear that looked like—a burn? “Lord have mercy!” he gasped.

“I believe demanding satisfaction is my right,” she replied. Unsheathing her sword, she nodded to Jem. “Are all my people unharmed?”

“Yes, my lady. The sheriff be sent for and Rupert’s men be soon locked up in the stables.”

“You’ve done well, Jem. Now, let’s finish this.”

Jack stepped in her path. “You mean to fight him.”

Her calm, cold eyes gazed at him without emotion. “’Tis a matter of honor.”

Honor. Sickness punched him in the gut, followed by intense, impotent fury. Rupert must have taken her against her will, damn his black devil’s heart. For an instant Jack thought of asking her to yield him the privilege of combat, but a second look at the implacable hardness of her face convinced him arguing that point would be fruitless.

“Let me stand as your second.”

She paused a moment, considering. “Very well. But only if you agree not to intervene in any way, regardless of what happens.
Regardless.
Will you swear it?”

“I swear.” Though if Rupert’s blade came anywhere close to Belle, Jack knew he couldn’t keep that promise.

Softly they paced down the stairs to the second floor, where Jem nodded toward one of the chambers. Belle kicked open the door and strode in, Jem and Jack behind her.

“Lord Rupert,” she called to the man standing before the washbasin in his shirtsleeves. The baron looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Belle! And Carrington? What is—”

“I have changed my mind about our sharing a relationship. You will be my opponent. Captain Carrington is to be my second. Name which of your men you wish to stand with you and my servants will release him.”

Rupert opened and closed his mouth, clearly still astounded at this reversal of his plans. Finally he seemed to take in Belle’s attire and the drawn sword in her hand. “Opponent? What nonsense is this? Carrington, you can’t mean to be a party to such an outrage!”

“I believe the outrage has already been committed. If the lady wants satisfaction, I intend to let her seek it.”

“See that he has a weapon,” Belle instructed Jem. “How fortunate you selected the most spacious bedchamber, my lord,” she said while the boy plucked Rupert’s foil from his baggage and tossed it on the bed.

Crossing his arms over his chest to confine the sword hand that itched to feel Rupert’s neck under his blade, Jack positioned himself near the door, where he could block Rupert’s flight—or intervene, if necessary.

“If you wish a second, speak now,” Belle added.

“You cannot believe I would deign to fence against
you
,” Rupert said scornfully.

“I shall take that as a no to my offer to await your second. Very well.
En garde
, my lord.”

When Rupert continued to stand unmoving, Belle picked up his sword and tossed it to him. He let it clang to the floor at his feet. Haughtily he stared at her.

“Very well,” she said with a shrug. “If you don’t wish to defend yourself, I shall make short work of this.” Whipping her sword into position, she advanced on him.

Rupert lost a little of his sangfroid. “You can’t mean to attack an unarmed man.”

Belle continued until her sword point nearly touched his chest. “Did you give me a chance to fight before tying me down like an animal?”

A growl issued from Jack’s throat and he lunged toward the baron. Sword still trained on Rupert, Belle whipped her other hand out, commanding him to halt. “Captain, remember your promise.”

Cursing, Jack stepped back and wrenched his own blade from its scabbard. “Very well. But if there’s anything left of him when you’re done, I claim the next round.”

“As you wish,” Belle said, her voice disinterested, her gaze riveted on the baron. “Now, Lord Rupert, I suggest you pick up your sword.”

When still the man did not move, she jabbed the sword forward, slicing open his shirt and drawing a thin trail of red across his chest. With a howl of pain and rage, Rupert stumbled backward.

“Shall I continue to stick you like the pig you are until you bleed to death? Or make a quick lunge and finish you at once?” she asked, as if debating whether to wear a straw
bonnet or a chip hat. “Ah, I think slow will be better.” With another practiced swipe, she cut through his sleeve, grazing his shoulder.

This time, the baron rolled away from her onto the floor and snatched up his foil. “Very well,” he snarled as he regained his feet. “I shall fight. But don’t pretend to call this an affair of ‘honor.’ A tart who spread her legs for the titillation of the crowd like you did at Vauxhall has none to defend.”

“Stay, Captain!” Belle commanded, seeming to sense Jack reaching for his sword even though he stood behind her. “Do not force me to fight you, too. You are ready now, Lord Rupert?”

“You dare to think you can match me?” he sneered.

With that, she attacked, driving the baron, who took a precious second to react to the unexpected swiftness of her advance, toward the corner of the room. “Tart!” he taunted as, marshaling his superior strength, he pushed her back. “Harlot! This is the drab you would sully your name by wedding, Carrington?”

Fury bubbled through Jack at the first epithet, making him grind his teeth as he strained to keep immobile. By the second insult, though, he realized the baron was
trying
to draw him in and force Belle to split her concentration.

Deliberately Jack lowered his sword, making sure Belle saw him. “This lady can finish you without my help.”

Something—gratitude, perhaps?—flashed briefly in her eyes and she gave him a tiny nod. Then she refocused on Rupert, following a straight lunge with a cut over, then a feint as he came toward her, then another lunge to deliver a hard blow high on his sword.

Nearly losing his grip, the baron cried out in pain as he reached down to brace his sword hand. When he looked back up at Belle, a feral anger gleamed in his eyes.

Jack’s hand clenched on his sword, but Belle appeared unmoved. “
Now
are you ready to begin, my lord?”

With a growl, the baron attacked. Jack held his breath, concentrating on the clash of blades to determine how he would intervene to protect Belle, should that become necessary. But despite Rupert’s furious charge, she appeared icily calm. And as she parried his final lunge and counterattacked in a series of moves as ferocious but more precisely executed than the baron’s, totally fearless.

For endless minutes, they challenged each other back and forth across the narrow space—lunge, cut, feint, withdraw, check, countercheck, lunge, the baron’s advantage in height and weight offset by Belle’s superior technique. Until Jack realized Belle was using against Rupert the tactic he’d used on her at Armaldi’s: forcing the baron to fight with all his strength and waiting for him to tire.

Her strategy was succeeding, though the baron, sweat dripping down his face as he fought in teeth-clenched fury, seemed unaware of it. Another few moments and the baron started gasping for breath, his sword arm beginning to droop, his lunges and counters growing increasingly sloppy.

Finally, as if taking pity on Rupert’s deteriorating display of swordsmanship, in a precise series of advances, Belle drove him into a corner, then drew him off balance into a lunge. With a brutal blow that would have done credit to a dragoon, she slashed her sword back, sending him to the floor and the foil flying out of his hand.

Flat on his back, Rupert reached out, fingers scrabbling for the foil that was now out of his reach. Terror filled his eyes as he stared up into Belle’s implacable face.

Suddenly her expression changed, the naked hatred Jack had glimpsed the moment before she stabbed him in their duel filling her eyes. With a snarl, she pressed the tip of her foil against Rupert’s already bleeding chest. He whimpered, the sound between a plea and a sob.

She would strike now, Jack knew, plunge her blade through Rupert’s heart and end it. Exact revenge for whatever indignities he had forced on her bound and helpless body, for Vauxhall and for all she had suffered in the long years of her bondage to Bellingham.

Though having Belle kill Rupert would complicate matters, perhaps force him to remove her from England to avoid the law, his heart urged her to drive the blade home.

Jack gave an involuntary gasp as her hand moved. But instead of finishing off the baron, she flung aside her sword and strode away from him.

“He’s not worth the dirtying of good steel,” she said as she passed Jack, tears gathering in her eyes. “Get him out of my sight before I change my mind. Jem, lend me your knife, please.”

After catching the blade he tossed, she walked out.

Jack advanced, and with the boy’s help, pulled the shaking baron to his feet. Half carrying, half dragging him, they herded Rupert down the stairs.

When they reached the downstairs parlor, Jack shoved the baron into a chair and ordered Jem to fetch his carriage
and coachman. Though Jem shook his head in silent disagreement, he went as Jack bid.

As soon as the boy exited, Jack turned to Rupert. “You have estates in the West Indies, I believe?”

Still breathing hard, Rupert nodded.

“You have just conceived a burning desire to inspect them—and will find them so much to your liking, you shall settle there permanently. I would urge that Belle press charges for kidnapping, but I don’t wish to subject her to the notoriety of a trial. Relocating to the Caribbean might be beneficial in any event, since I understand you’ve had dealings with a certain Mrs. Jarvis which are unlikely to sustain the legal scrutiny they are shortly to receive.”

The baron shrugged, some of his arrogant hauteur returning. “So I pay a madam handsomely to insure a steady supply of unsullied wenches? What concern is it to me how she recruits her tarts, as long as they are fresh and can rut as enthusiastically as Belle?”

Fury long suppressed whipped through him. An instant later, Jack finally took the satisfaction of feeling his fist connect with the baron’s jaw.