Rebecca (46 page)

Rebecca sat for a minute on the crate as she tried to summon up the courage to cross on that unsteady bridge. She unbuckled her shoes and tossed them into the hole. Her stockings followed. It did not take long to remove the remains of her dress and petticoats to throw them away as well. When she shivered in her underclothes, she gingerly put her foot on the canvas which filled the space between the wooden slats of the bed frame.

She nearly pulled her foot away, but if she did not try soon, she never would. Even if she slipped and fell, that death was preferable to what she would face when her captor returned. Taking a deep breath, she raced across the shaky surface of her impromptu bridge.

Tears of joy rolled unstopped down her cheeks as she jumped to solid ground on the other side. She could not contain the victorious shout that rang off the walls of the cave. She was free!

With a laugh, she turned and pulled the legs of the bed sharply. Her motion jerked the case of broken glass to fall forward into the hole. Her feet shoved the bed frame in to crash to the bottom of the broken earth which would imprison her no longer.

She had no idea what time it was. Although she had been awakened by her captor, she had no idea whether it was morning or night. It was some time before the ball. She had to get to Foxbridge Cloister before disaster struck again. Nicholas could not sacrifice himself when she was free.

Racing along the tunnel, she paid no attention to the sharp rocks cutting into her feet. She did not get far before she met rising water. A cry flew from her broken heart to her lips. She had beaten one prison wall, but she had another one to best. The water was high along the floor. Could she swim out of the cave? She could not remember how far it was to the exit. Dipping her toe into the chilly water, she knew that, as before, she had no choice.

Rebecca waded out until the pulsating water reached her chest. At that point she struck out, kicking her feet to propel her forward. Half the time she had to fight the motion of the water, then it would aid her as the undertow sucked her toward the exit. Every few inches she would pause and reach up to try to feel for the low entrance of the cave. If she ran into it in the dark, she could hurt herself badly.

All her precautions were well thought out, but she did not take into consideration the strength of the water trying to find its way through that narrow opening. The pull of the water going through that slit caught her in its power and forced her head underwater. Desperately, she fought her way to the surface. Her hands clawed at the slimy walls of the cave. Her chest ached with her need to breathe. Her scream of pain was simply bubbles of air lost among the foam of the waves as her head hit against the stone. All fight left her body which followed the water's flow.

“Ready, my dear?” Nicholas held out his hand to Clarisse. He did not seem to notice the strangled expression on his sister's face as Clarisse put her gloved fingers in his. Tenderly, he lifted them to his lips as he stared into the possessive glitter of her green eyes. She considered herself inviolate as his future lady of Foxbridge Cloister. For a moment, he felt guilt at the sacrifice he might be asking this woman to make unknowingly. Then he knew there was no alternative.

He looked at the ones gathered in a room near the ballroom. Clarisse was an overaged Juliet, pretending to be the sweet maiden she had ceased to be years ago. In her flowing white gown, Eliza was lovely as the Grecian beauty. It was a costume perfect for her slender form. Next to her, Curtis was a blond colonial backwoodsman, dressed in buckskins. Although Nicholas wondered where he had obtained such an outfit, he did not question him. His mother wore a dress dating back a hundred years, which he knew came from the trunks in the attic. His own outfit came from a far earlier time. Dressed as his Elizabethan ancestor, he thought it ironic that tonight it would appear that Sybill was the one betrayed by her spouse. Rebecca, who should have been in that role, was gone, and it was Lord Foxbridge who had his reputed lover by his side. As he had told Rebecca, they had rewritten history. This was not the way they had intended it to be. When they had joked about being Sybill and her husband, they could not have guessed that this tragedy would invade their lives.

They walked in silence into the ballroom. As the guests came along the receiving line, Nicholas greeted them tersely. Questions of how the Wythes were doing or if there had been any news about Rebecca's whereabouts faded into silence as they saw the woman next to him. Even with her mask, no one could mistake the auburn hair Clarisse purposely had left unpowdered. A pall settled over the room, taking the lilt from the music played by the orchestra in the minstrels' gallery and dulling the gaiety of the conversation.

All eyes remained on the stone-chiseled face of Nicholas Wythe, who had spurned a mask this evening as host of the ball. He wanted to be sure that Rebecca's captor would be able to find him readily. There was no emotion showing on his features to tell his guests whether he was hurting or simply relieved to have the embarrassment of his colonial wife gone from his life. It had not taken long for the story to circulate the shire that Rebecca had tricked her husband into a marriage he did not desire. Although there had been some disbelief that Lord Foxbridge would not want his lovely wife, it was understandable he would have preferred to have her as his paramour, not as the mother of his heirs.

His surprise companion was not so taciturn. Clarisse displayed her delight at being beside the man she had waited for. Nobody could miss the joy in her voice as she slipped her arm through Lord Foxbridge's and chatted lightly with the guests.

When the chords were struck to announce the opening dance of the ball, everyone watched as Lord Foxbridge led his substitute lady onto the floor. Many of those who had most loudly denounced Rebecca Wythe as a simple Yankee and her marriage to Lord Foxbridge a horrible mistake suddenly sympathized with the absent Lady Foxbridge.

For a long, uncomfortable minute, nobody moved to join the two in the center of the room. Then, her face still glistening with the tears she had not been able to halt since Rebecca's kidnapping, Eliza took Curtis' hand and walked out to stand with the other couple. Slowly, the floor filled for the first number.

As they danced the ever-popular minuet, Nicholas noticed that his various partners treated him as if he was inflicted with a dread disease. It was obvious they did not want any more contact with him than necessary. His heartbroken sister refused to take his hand as they went through the pattern of the dance. “Eliza!” he snapped. “Act as if you are enjoying yourself. This whole ball is necessary to satisfy Rebecca's kidnappers.”

She gave him a withering stare. “Is that so? I do not remember any instructions from Rebecca's abductor that ordered you to treat that trollop as if she was your wife. I hope you two had a grand time this afternoon when you were alone together in the room you once shared with your real wife.”

“It's not as you think, Eliza.”

“Isn't it?”

Before he could answer her, she swirled away in the pattern of the dance to join Curtis. Once more Clarisse faced him. Unlike the others, she smiled as she took his fingers in hers. When they came together in the dance, she pressed closer than respectable in an offer she was surprised he had not yet accepted. They had spent the afternoon together in that lovely room upstairs, but he had not done anything but talk to her. When she had made her desires obvious, he urged her to be patient, for the servants were constantly parading in and out of the room.

She gazed up at his face through the wide holes in her domino, which was lace-covered to enhance her large, green eyes. Yesterday Nicholas had seemed so eager to hold her close in his bed. Although he still acted enthralled with her, he had not attempted so much as a kiss when she had been dressing in Rebecca's room. Suspicions stirred in her mind. Nicholas told everyone that he had been forced into this unloving, unwanted marriage, but when she had checked the closet and dressers in the lady's room of the suite, they were empty. Sneaking into the main bedroom, she found Rebecca's gowns neatly hung next to his coats in the large dressing room. There was only one reason why their things would be together like this. They slept together each night.

Over and over she had tried to tell herself that he was doing as he must. Rebecca was his wife. If he wanted a legitimate heir, he had to beget one with her. Many men took their wives to their beds solely for that reason. Once she had conceived, Nicholas might have turned to his devoted Clarisse. It was just made simpler by this most fortunate abduction.

Nicholas tried to maintain a nonchalant expression as he spoke to his guests. It did not take him long to notice that silence surrounded him like an aura wherever he went. His eyes narrowed as he saw his mother was absent. He signaled to one of the servants. “Collins, where is Lady Margaret?”

His fears were allayed when the man said, “She has gone up to her rooms for a fan she forgot, my lord. Do you wish me to get her?”

“No, no,” he answered quickly. He sighed. For a moment, he had feared the kidnappers had thought to take her. The stress was beginning to wear on him as he fought to be something he was not.

Clarisse came over and put her arm securely through his. She moved so the lush fullness of her body caressed him. “Here you are, darling. It would seem almost like you are avoiding me.”

“Avoid you, Clarisse? Never, sweet one,” he responded automatically. He could not forget for a moment the role he was to play if he was to gain Rebecca her freedom without bloodshed.

She gasped as he whirled her into his arms and, pushing aside her mask, kissed her as he had yesterday. All around them erupted sounds of shock and horror as the guests viewed the evidently undisturbed Lord Foxbridge holding his mistress while his wife faced death in some unknown location. Clarisse reveled in the dual pleasure of Nicholas' kiss and the guests' reaction. No one would doubt that Clarisse Beckwith was the one truly loved by Nicholas Wythe.

“Enough of that!” came an angry male voice.

With obvious reluctance, Nicholas released her. He did not let her leave his side as he put his arm very possessively around her slender waist. Turning, he looked at the man who had spoken. “Enough of what, Curtis?” he asked quietly.

The slighter man sputtered at the lack of remorse on his host's face. He would never have guessed Nicholas felt so little for Rebecca. He had seen the two of them side by side since he had become a permanent guest at Foxbridge Cloister. They had seemed inseparable and very much in love. Like all the others, he had been fooled by Nicholas' superb acting. This woman was the one he had wanted all along, and he was taking advantage of this unfortunate incident to cement his relationship with Clarisse.

“Have you no sense of decency, Nicholas?”

The dark-haired man laughed satanically. “None, my friend, it would seem. I have let myself be caught in a marriage with no love while the woman who waited patiently for me had to suffer. No decent person would have allowed that to continue. Now there is no reason for it to go on. Rebecca is gone. Clarisse is here.”

“You can't be serious, Nicholas!” interjected a third voice.

He gazed at Richard Carter's enraged face. Their neighbor had shown his friendship to Rebecca from the first moment they met at the village fair. Coolly, he answered, “I am not used to being called a liar in my own house, Carter. Would you be willing to repeat that in the morning on the dueling green when we face each other over our bare swords or guns? I will be sure to check my weapon this time, to make sure it's not jammed.”

“No, no,” he said hastily. Carter was a gentle, easygoing man who had no desire to meet his friend in a battle to the death. It hurt him to see the woman he wanted as his wife in Lord Foxbridge's arms, but he would not come between them. Clarisse's happiness was too important, more important than his own. He did not like seeing her used as Nicholas' mistress. “I didn't mean it like that. I just wondered if you had thought through what your actions mean.”

“I know exactly what I am doing, and I did not think that Lord Foxbridge was required to explain his every action to those around him.” For the first time since any of them had known him, he had assumed the pompous airs that his brother had been so fond of using to subdue those who displeased him. Looking at the woman who was staring triumphantly at those who had belittled her so often, he asked, “Would you care to dance, sweet one? I find I tire of this conversation.”

“Of course, Nicholas.” She placed her other hand over the one on his arm as they moved to the dance floor.

Behind them, Carter queried aloud, “What in hell is wrong with Nicholas? He has never acted like this before. You would think he was delighted Rebecca is gone.”

Curtis replied, slowly, “There can be no doubt any longer that he never cared for her. I thought when I saw him with Clarisse yesterday, he was looking merely for a bit of diversion to forget his pain. It's more than that. He spent most of the afternoon locked away with her in his suite. I think we were fooled by his feigned devotion to Rebecca. Yes, he fooled me quite effectively.” He glanced at the puzzled man by his side. Uneasily, he smiled. “Excuse me, Richard. I think Eliza is looking for me.”

“Curtis?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Rebecca is still alive?”

He shrugged and shook his head sorrowfully. “If she isn't dead, she's going to wish she was when she returns to find her husband has bedded Clarisse. Can you imagine anything worse than discovering the one you love has caroused while your life is in danger?”

With a sigh, Richard whispered, “No.” His gaze settled on Clarisse, who was laughing in Nicholas' arms. Tightly he growled, “I need something to drink.”

“That sounds like the best suggestion tonight.”

As the two men walked to where wine waited, neither could be unaware of the sense of foreboding hanging over the ballroom. Rebecca's life might depend on the man who brazenly was kissing his mistress. Nicholas' behavior was a portent for disaster for Foxbridge Cloister.