Rebecca (47 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

As the hours moved sluggishly toward midnight and no one contacted him, it became more and more difficult for Nicholas to maintain his calm, unfeeling image. He began to fear he had confused Rebecca's abductors so much with his sudden interest in Clarisse that they had decided not to continue with their plot. In that case, he was afraid they would have no choice but to slay their prisoner.

Exactly on schedule at midnight by the tolling of the grand clock at the far end of the ballroom, Nicholas signaled the orchestra conductor it was time for the betrothal announcement. He sighed before he turned to the task. So far this night had gained him only the hatred of his friends and family. Nothing else.

When he had ordered champagne poured for all the guests, he raised his glass in a toast to the newly engaged couple. Eliza and Curtis stood on his right while Clarisse and his mother were on his left. He saw his glass tremble as he fought to control his amassing fears. Sternly he stopped it before anyone noticed he was not the happy, carefree cad he was portraying.

Loudly, he called, “Tonight, we have gathered at Foxbridge Cloister to congratulate my sister Eliza on the announcement of her betrothal to Curtis Langston. Let us drink, my friends, to their happiness. May they know only joy in their life together and never suffer the pain of losing the one they love.”

Because he was looking directly at Clarisse as he spoke, no one doubted that he meant her temporary loss, not his wife's permanent one. Although everyone drank, it was without enthusiasm. Nicholas drained his glass, wishing it was possible to find a relief from his agony in the wine. He needed to be fully alert.

It was still early by the standards of this type of formal affair. Perhaps Rebecca's captor did not want to approach him until the guests were more intoxicated. Then he would be able to slip in and out of the house easier. With that in mind, Nicholas ordered more drinks be served to their guests. He was willing to do anything to bring about the time when he could meet with the man who held his wife's life in his control.

Absently, he handed his wine glass to the maid holding a tray of half-emptied goblets. His eyes scanned the room hoping to discover which one had dared to kidnap Rebecca. So few he could dismiss as not fitting the description Eliza had been able to give him. What a limited description it was! A tall man with brown eyes. Too many could be the man hiding behind the mask.

“Thank you, my lord,” came the sound of the young woman's voice. Startled, he turned to look into blue eyes framed by a mask like all the servants wore. They sparkled with merriment as she dipped in a brief curtsy. He could not mistake the love there or the accent which seemed so out of place amid the guests.

A weight disappeared from his shoulders as he felt his heart beat with the first, honest feelings he had known in the past two days. When he started to speak, she shook her head in a quick warning. It took all of his strength not to reach out and pull the woman into his arms. He knew he could not give away the identity she obviously felt needed to remain a secret, so he merely nodded and watched as she crossed the room to the kitchen doorway. His eyes were glued to the gentle sway of the body he knew so well and had feared he would never feel close to him again.

Turning to Clarisse, he said, “Wait here, my dear, with Eliza.” He wondered briefly where the future bridegroom had disappeared to, then recalled Curtis had said he had to run upstairs for a fresh shirt. During the congratulations, he had spilled champagne on his. In mock disgust, he added, “I have to tend to a bit of business. I don't know why these servants must be supervised every minute. Excuse me. I will be right back.”

“Must you go?” she purred. Her fingers ran lightly over his satin doublet. “I had thought now that our duties as host and hostess were over, we could slip away for a bit of fun.” Since he had made it clear to everyone that she was to be his, it was time to make that boast a reality.

Absently, he said only, “Later, Clarisse.” He ignored her frown as he swept her fingers aside and walked away. When he heard Eliza call out to him, he did not pause. He did not want to spark another confrontation with his sister. Enough had been said already that would have to be mended.

Faking a casual attitude he did not feel, he went to the same door that the maid had used. The anger of his guests made it easier to cross the room because no one stopped him to share a bit of conversation as would have been normal at a party.

Opening the portal that had been disguised to appear invisible to the dancers, he slipped through into the dim passageway. He did not need a light to see the joyous smile on the unmasked face of the serving wench. When she held out her arms, he drew her close. With all his hunger for her, he kissed her willing, eager lips.

“Rebecca,” he whispered against her cheek. Her name contained all of his love for her. As much as he had longed for this moment, he could not believe it was not a dream come to haunt him with its sweet ending. Holding her away, he checked her with his eyes to see that she appeared unharmed except for some bruises and a cut on her face. In the dark, he did not see the bandage on her forehead under her hair. He decided her captor had treated her well, unable to guess the mental torture his wife had had to endure. “Rebecca, my love, how did you get here? Why are you dressed like this?”

She laughed softly. “I learned a few tricks from Captain Wythe. I thought it would be better to check what my husband had been doing while I was imprisoned. I hear you have been very busy entertaining Clarisse.”

Tenderly he drew her back into his arms. When his mouth touched hers, they both knew the limitless joy that they could find with no one else. For that brief second, all thoughts of the highwayman and the threat he symbolized disappeared as they clung to the love which was the best bulwark against that insanity.

As he raised his lips, they turned up in a smile. “Did that feel like the kiss of a man who has been loving another woman?”

“It felt wonderful,” she whispered. “I never thought I would feel you close again. I'm sorry I had to sneak about like this. I didn't want anyone else to know I was free, especially my ex-prisonmaster.” Her smile faded. “I got back to Foxbridge Cloister nearly an hour ago.”

“An hour ago? Why didn't you come to me immediately?”

She sighed. “I couldn't. When Greggy's father brought me back here, I was still unconscious. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to find myself in your mother's tender care. She was almost kind to me. As kind as I expect she will ever be. It seems she was worried about me.”

Tilting her chin up, he looked into her eyes. “Would you explain all of this confusing story?”

“I escaped from his prison. While I was doing so, I knocked my head very badly. When I woke, I was here, and Lady Margaret told me that Greggy's father had discovered me washed up on the beach while he was fishing and brought me home. She knew that you should be the first to know, so she told no one. I agreed, and we worked out this disguise.” When she saw him about to ask more questions, she said urgently, “Not now, Nicholas. I will explain later. Now you must take care of Clarisse.”

“She is being taken care of, sweetheart. All the family is looking after her.”

“All the family?” she repeated in fear. “No, you don't understand! He is going to kidnap Clarisse tonight. He's not sure which of us you truly love, so he plans to use both of us to bring you to him so he can kill you.”

Nicholas caressed her cheek. “My dear wife, he won't dare to hurt you again. Once I unmask the blackguard, he will pay in full for this episode.”

“Unmask? Don't you know who—?” Her astounded words were interrupted by a wave of screams and the unique, sharp sound of gunfire. “Oh, no! It's them!”

“Stay here, Rebecca!” he ordered as he ran to throw open the door. When she started to follow, he snapped, “Don't let them see you! If they know you have escaped and can send them to hang, they will become more desperate.”

Reluctantly, she paused and watched as Nicholas opened the door to the ballroom. The noise of the ruckus in the refectory burst in upon them as sharply as the sound of the bullets fired into the ceiling had moments ago. He turned briefly and gave her a smile before slipping out to stand by the wall to evaluate the situation. Going to the door, she peered through the slit left open.

Chaos was already dissolving into order under the stern rule of the masked men who stood in the middle of the room. As Eliza had told them, there were five men dressed in dark colors which would blend well into the night. Hats covered their hair, and masks not unlike those the guests had worn to the masquerade concealed their faces.

“Ah, Lord Foxbridge,” called one of the men. Rebecca gasped as she saw another pressing a pistol to Clarisse's head as they had to hers. Only she knew the terror the redhead was experiencing. She knew also that the leader of the gang of criminals was speaking.

Nicholas pushed aside the terrified people who stood between him and the men. He folded his arms across his chest as he stared coldly at the ones who had invaded his house. When Clarisse called out his name, he paid no attention to her hysteria. Already he had seen that Brody and several of the other men who worked in the house were guarding Eliza and their mother. At that moment, no one else mattered to him.

“I trust you are the same fool who dared to stop my wife's carriage and spirit her away. You are bold, sir, to enter this house when you hold Lady Foxbridge against her will.”

The man placed his gun under his dark coat and moved toward the unruffled Lord Foxbridge. Around them, the guests were beginning to wonder if Nicholas Wythe had anything but ice in his veins. He did not react as if this interruption was more than a simple inconvenience.

“Welcome, Lord Foxbridge,” said the man who wore a domino over his face. “Once again you have arrived too late. We now have your mistress as well as your wife.”

“Let her go. We are face to face. Let's settle this like men, instead of cravens who hide behind the skirts of a woman.”

The onlookers did not have to see the man's face to know that he was enraged by the insult. The stiffness of his body showed the anger he was trying to control. “My lord, I promise you we will settle this as men. I hold your women primarily to insure your cooperation, although I admit there have been some auxiliary benefits I have enjoyed by having Lady Foxbridge to myself.” He laughed as he pulled an item from a pocket. Tossing it to Nicholas, he added, “I thought you might be interested in seeing this.”

Nicholas unrolled the piece of cloth, which he instantly recognized as the embroidered inset that had been in the bodice of Rebecca's gown when she had left for Beckwith Grange. His teeth clenched as he wondered what his wife had had to endure in captivity. Only the fact that he knew she would not have to face such again kept him calm enough to protect her. As he folded it again, he said, “You have made your point, sir. Release Clarisse. There's no need for her to face your rape, as well.”

Clarisse screamed in undisguised terror. From the moment these brigands had stormed into the room and pressed a gun to her temple, she had known she was in the hands of the same man who had taken Rebecca. Until now, she had not considered what she would face past the horror of this attack.

Around the room, cries of fright echoed hers. The guests were aware that to join in the confrontation taking place in the middle of the floor was to invite their own deaths. No one was prepared to do that with the possible exception of Eliza, but a single glance from Nicholas quelled her attempts to evade her guardians. Richard Carter began to step forward, but he also was ordered sharply back. He acquiesced because to continue could cost Clarisse her life. He had to trust that Lord Foxbridge knew what he was doing.

Nicholas repeated, “Release Clarisse, sir. You do not need her. I will negotiate with you solely on the premise that you hold Rebecca and that she is alive.”

“I don't need Miss Beckwith, Lord Foxbridge, but I will take her because it will make you more miserable to know that your beloved mistress is mine.” He chuckled. “I doubt if Lady Foxbridge will be thrilled to see her rival when I take this one to where I am keeping your wife.” His voice lost all suggestion of amusement. “If you want them back, be at the dueling green at sunrise tomorrow. Alone! Bring anyone with you, and your ladies are dead! You will receive your instructions then.”

“Instructions?”

“I will explain no further, my lord. Just remember it is not you who controls the fate of your ladies.” He withdrew his pistol once more. Unerringly, he pointed it in the direction of the two Wythe ladies. It must have been a signal to his men, for they moved toward the entrance.

“Nicholas!” Clarisse screamed once before her captor placed his hand over her mouth. She was pulled through the door and put of sight along the passageway.

Calmly, the leader warned, “Follow us, Lord Foxbridge, and they both die. Not easily and not quickly, I assure you. I will see you in a few hours. Until then, my lord, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you a good evening.”

His exit was as dramatic as his entrance. With a whirl of his cape, he raced through the door. No one moved to stop him, for to do so sealed Clarisse Beckwith's death warrant. Instead they turned to look at Nicholas, who still stood in the center of the room holding the bit of material he had been given.

Lady Margaret shook off Brody's hand. The way she hurried across the room belied her years. “Son, I must speak to you!” she whispered. “It's about Rebecca!”

“Not now!”

She grasped his arm as he was about to turn away. Viciously she stated, “Yes, now, Nicholas. You must know the facts before you make a rash decision.”

For the first time, he looked into her blue eyes. “I know the truth,” he said. “Does anyone else?”