Miss Gabriel's Gambit (25 page)

* * * *

Within the hidden vault, Sylvia exclaimed with delight as she located familiar treasures, keepsakes that she had thought lost forever. Except for the tidiness, it was almost like exploring a pirate’s cave, she thought, as she traversed the narrow chamber. The long, thin room paralleled the small ballroom for its full length. She heard a sound behind her and turned eagerly, expecting to see her brother.

“Look what we have found, Will,” she said, the words dying on her lips as she saw Hugo, his eyes glittering like daggers in the semi- darkness.

“Look, indeed!” He fingered the open jewel case, pulling out the diamond necklace and slipping it in his pocket. “So you have found your uncle’s hoard at last; you are an heiress,” he hissed softly, laughing at her expression of consternation. “Now there is nothing standing in the way. You can marry me now. You will come with me.”

“Of course, Hugo,” Sylvia said, realizing there was no getting past him in the confines of the narrow chamber. She prayed that David would find Will and return in a hurry. There was a look in the earl’s eyes that frightened her. He was beyond reason, beyond sanity. She tried to keep her voice calm, soothing as she picked up a rope of pearls and waved it before him. “It will take but a few seconds to gather a few things. We are quite rich now.”

“Do you think to delay me?” Highslip took the candle from her hand and set it upon the table. “I saw Rutherford. He was with you, wasn’t he?” He shook her by the shoulders. “Wasn’t he?”

She nodded weakly. Without warning, his hand shot out, turning her head with the force of his slap. She slid back, stunned, pulling a box of jade figurines to the floor with a clatter as she struggled to keep herself upright.

“You shall not cheat me this time, Sylvia. I will have you and your fortune.” He steered her out of the vault and through the french doors out into the garden. “By the time I am done with you, you will have no choice you see.” Hauling her by the hand, he pulled her toward the door to the mews. She struggled against him, only to have him slap her once more.

She opened her mouth to scream.

Hugo laughed. “Scream and I will hit you again. It’s a waste of time. No one will hear you, Sylvia. The racket from the ballroom will drown out any sound that you could make.”

Desperate for a way to save herself, Sylvia noticed the basket hanging from the window and deliberately tripped. “Where are you taking me, Hugo?” she asked as loudly as she dared, as he dragged her up roughly.

“To my little love nest on Marylebone Lane,” Highslip declared. “That shall do for now. In a week or so, you shall be glad enough to go to Gretna with me, I suspect. I doubt that Rutherford will want you then, even with a fortune in your pocket. I fully intend to make sure of you, my dear.”

As he pulled her out to the mews, she could only hope that Miles had been listening.

* * * *

David returned to the small ballroom with William in tow. The young man entered the treasure room, clearly astonished at the accumulation of wealth. Sylvia, however was nowhere to be found. As David started toward the garden to seek her out, a small figure barreled through the door.

“Lord Donhill. . . was waiting for my cream cake ... heard him talking. He’s taken her, Lord Donhill,” Miles said breathlessly. “He’s taken Sylvia.”

“Whoa, child.” David knelt and held the boy by the shoulders, trying to make sense of his frantic speech.

“Lord Highslip’s got Sylvia,” Miles said slowly, the tears coursing down his cheeks. “Went out through to the mews ... heard it through the window.”

“Where is he taking her?” David asked. “Do you know, Miles? Tell me exactly what he said.”

The boy nodded, catching his breath, “‘Marylebone Lane,’ he said. You’ve got to help her, milord... He’s a bad ‘un, I know it. Pinches the maids when they can’t do nothin’ about it ... Don’t want him to pinch Sylvia.”

“He will not pinch Sylvia, Miles,” David said, his jaw set in determination. “Not if I can help it. I shall bring her back, never you fear.”

“This is famous! I cannot wait to-” William said coming out of the treasure room. “I heard you talking and I thought you had located Sylvia.”

“Show me the fastest way to the stables, Gabriel,” David demanded.

“What’s wrong?” William noticed his tearful young cousin. “Miles, what are you doing down here? If your mama catches you-”

“Lord Highslip has abducted Sylvia,” David cut in. Miles tugged his arm pointing him to the garden gate.

“Highslip? But I thought-“ William began.

“No time for thinking, Will,” Miles said, directing David to the garden gate. “You can get to the mews same way he did, milord. I’ll show you. This way.”

“Good lad!” David spoke to Will as he started after Miles. “Close the door to the treasure room. The last thing we need is to have it discovered now. Get Petrov to help you craft some tale about your sister’s whereabouts. We want to avoid a scandal if possible. He’s good at that sort of thing.” Miles halted abruptly and looked up at David.

“You said to tell everything Lord Highslip said, ‘n I forgot one part...He said that he will ‘make sure of her.’ How do you make sure of someone, milord?” Miles asked.

“Dear God,” David muttered, breaking into a run and praying that he would find her in time.

Sylvia put a hand to her aching head. As the room gradually came into focus, she saw Hugo’s leering face at the foot of the huge bed that held her. She groaned, realizing that what had happened was not a nightmare but horrifyingly real.

“I was beginning to believe that I had hit you too hard,” Highslip said, rising from his chair. “You were taking your time coming to.”

In a way, it was almost laughable. He made it sound as if Sylvia’s delay in returning to consciousness was an unpardonable social lapse on her part. “My apologies,” she said, shifting upon the lumpy mattress to surreptitiously gain a sense of her surroundings. The pink and gold furnishings were in cloying bad taste and above the bed, a fresco of naked cherubs upon the ceiling were indulging in distinctly un-cherub-like behavior. All around her the heavy scent of old perfume lingered, permeating the carpets and draperies. No particular genius was necessary to realize that this was a Cyprian’s chamber.

Hugo was coming toward her, a mocking smile distorting the shape of his mouth. She pulled back to the corner of the bed, the metallic tang of fear mingling with blood upon her tongue. It was but a small comfort to realize that she was still fully clothed; no telling how long that state might last.

“So coy,” Highslip sneered. “Are you that shy with Rutherford, Sylvia?”

The mention of David’s name acted as an antidote to fear. He would come back and find her missing. Miles would tell him where she was.
Play for every minute,
she told herself remembering one of her uncle’s cardinal rules.
In a timed game, keep your opponent off balance. Let him play the clock.
Time?
She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. “Why did you hit me, Hugo?” she asked, deliberately erasing all expression from her face.

The non-sequitur caught him off guard. “I did not expect you to remain quietly in the mews while I collected my carriage,” Highslip said, seating himself closer to her on the bed. But to his surprise, her countenance remained utterly calm.

“Quite true,” Sylvia said, keeping her voice steady. “I find there is often difficulty with moves made upon the spur of the moment. One cannot think the consequences of impulse through fully. For instance, when I am discovered missing this evening, it will also be found that you have gone. Suspicion, will, of course, fall upon you.”

“And how would you have avoided that?” Highslip asked, feeling somewhat flustered. He had expected screaming, weeping, pleas for mercy. Instead, the woman sounded much as if she were a prosy Oxford don, lecturing him.

“Too much time has passed already,” Sylvia said, choosing her words with care. “Doubtless, people will already be looking for me. If I had planned this, I would have returned to the ball immediately and mingled with the guests. That way, when the disappearance is discovered, I would be able to act as surprised as the rest, thereby averting any inquiry.”

“Ah, but you are wrong!” Highslip declared, his lip twisting in a crooked smile. “Barely a half-hour has elapsed since we left and I have only to drive a few minutes to find myself at Berkeley Square once again. There are some advantages in having a mistress’ residence so close. I fully intended to return to Caroline’s come-out, now that I have you safely hidden away. However, I cannot leave you to your own devices.”

“You do not trust me, Hugo?” she asked, sarcasm creeping into her voice. It was a mistake.

He pulled her to her knees upon the bed. “I trusted you. You were pure, untouched but you forgot that you belong to me. Entirely to me. So beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips nuzzling her throat. “You will always be mine, Sylvia. Only mine.” His fingers went round the slender white column of her neck, tightening in slow pressure. “Remember.”

The sinister sound of his laughter whistled in her ear as his grasp tightened. The glazed, unfocused look in his eyes terrified her. He was utterly out of his head, perhaps insane enough to choke the life from her. “You would kill the golden goose before the egg is laid, Hugo?” she gasped as the room began to spin.

“Quite right.” Highslip shook his head as if clearing it. “‘’Twould be unconscionably foolish to see you dead, before bed and wed.” He cackled at his own wit, then stopped abruptly. “But how shall I restrain you? Rope? ” He let her fall as he rose to rummage through a drawer. “Damme, the bitch took it with her when I gave her her
conge
!”

Sylvia’s relief was short-lived. Highslip’s eyes lighted upon a half-empty decanter of brandy. “Ah, there’s an answer!”
Sylvia shivered upon the bed as he picked up the crystal, his eyes gleaming. She had to get him to leave, somehow. There was no telling what his maniacal whims might dictate next. “Liquor makes me sick to my stomach, Hugo. I shall only cast it up,” she said with all the calm she could muster. He made a disgusted face and put the decanter down on the stand beside the bed, knocking down a small vial.

“Yes,” he murmured, picking up the glass container. “This shall do quite nicely.” He opened the stopper and put the vial to his lips, taking a swallow.

Sylvia tried to control her trembling body as he approached her.

“Have a drink, m’dear?” he laughed, a sly look upon his face as he shoved the vial under her nose.

Laudanum, she thought with a sinking feeling, recognizing the smell. Her uncle had taken it in his last months to ease the pain.

“How is it that you are still standing, Hugo, after drinking such a dose?” she forced herself to ask.

The question distracted him for a moment. “Oh, I am quite accustomed to the stuff. Takes far more than a little dribble to send me to the arms of Morpheus, but you m’dear will only require a few drops. Not too much mind, for I do not want a corpse in my bed later, merely enough to keep you from running off.”

Yanking her hair, forcing her neck back, he held the bottle to her lips. “Drink your dose,” he demanded “Or I shall have to knock you unconscious. Take it in your mouth, a good swallow ought to do it!” He pinched her nose, forcing her to gulp.

Tears pricked at Sylvia’s eyes as she felt the liquid go down her throat.

“That’s it. Take your nepenthe and be glad of it, for I will allow you none later when it might dull the pain.” He laughed in anticipation. “For I fully intend to punish you my girl, for your dalliance with Rutherford.”

Hugo threw her upon the bed and for a moment she feared that he had forgotten his intention to return to Caroline's ball. “They shall be looking for me soon,” Her voice grated.

“So they will,” he said, adjusting his hat as he headed to the door. “Wait for me, m’dear.”

“As if I have any choice,” Sylvia muttered to herself as she heard the click of the lock, the sound of his retreating footsteps. She forced herself to rise with difficulty, her legs nearly folding beneath her as she tried to make herself to retch. But anxiety had stolen her appetite days before; she brought up nothing but bile from her near-empty stomach.

 Unsteadily, she rattled at the door in the windowless room. Her sense of disorientation growing, she sat upon the floor trying to plan her next move. The candle on the table began to dance strangely becoming a nimbus of light that illuminated the brandy within the decanter until it glowed like amber.

Shaking her head, Sylvia tried to clear her mind, concentrating upon an imaginary game of chess. The pieces transformed themselves into people. The white knight wore David’s head; the black king was Hugo.
Focus upon something,
she told herself, turning a head so heavy that it seemed to be made of stone. The fluid in the crystal container upon the table sparkled upon the glass facets.
Had Miles heard?
she wondered idly, but that had somehow become unimportant.
So pretty, the way the light was shines upon the liquid. Find a way out, must find a way out.

A thousand thoughts spun out of control, some coming sharply into focus in a moment of profound clarity before whirling giddily out of sight.
So this was why people lived in bottles ... would be glorious if not for Hugo ... He would kill her sooner or later, probably sooner ... utterly queer in the nob... she would never marry him ... Uncle was right ... Don’t think about it ... focus on ... David ... so idiotic to have hidden the truth. Foolish pride ... never to have said, “I love you,” and damn the consequences... Hugo would return and ...so pretty the light ...A weapon ... on the cut glass ... cut ... glass... Glass cuts!

Sylvia reached for the decanter, its weight dragging down her hand. It was too heavy. “You must,” she told herself. “You must.” With supreme effort she smashed it against the headboard of the bed, noticing with detachment that she had cut her finger. She put the bloody gash to her mouth, sucking as she tried to gather her dissembled thoughts.
Too weak to stand against him ... Only one other way out.
A tear ran down her cheek as she thought of David. Sorting through the glass, Sylvia chose a particularly wicked-looking jagged shard. Pulling up the sleeves of her dress, she traced the wavering thin blue lines at her wrist with unsteady fingers.