The Kidnapped Bride (2 page)

“Saw that I’m not much in the petticoat line, eh?”

“Well, yes. Indeed.” It was true and one of the reasons that flirting with him had seemed so safe. Though he had always responded easily to her overtures, his attentions had seemed entirely dispassionate, sometimes even half-hearted. If she had had any complaint to make, it would be that he had not seemed ardent enough for Sir Nicholas to take him seriously as a rival. She smiled at the irony of that thought and turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We cannot continue this conversation now, my lord. You must take me back to Lizzie at once! I am sure she may be relied upon to say nothing of this if only we may get back to her in time. But if my aunt and uncle get wind of the fact that we have met this morning, that I have been with you in a closed carriage, there will be the devil to pay for both of us.”

“But I wish them to know of it, eventually,” he replied. “Thought you would be pleased. You certainly encouraged me to believe that you held at least a
tendre
for my unworthy self, and you’ve not seemed too terribly taken up by conventions and rules. Thought an elopement would appeal to you, would make the matter dashed romantic.”

He sounded truly disappointed in her reaction, and quick words of angry denial were stifled at birth, for Sarah could certainly understand how he had come to believe such things of her. How to explain to him that she had merely reacted quite idiotically to Society’s lionization of her grandfather’s fortune! That she had only been playing games in a silly effort to discover just how far an accredited heiress could flout the conventions and rules he spoke of without incurring censure. She simply couldn’t do it! Her pride shrank from such a confession, and nothing on earth would make her admit her foolish attempts to stir Sir Nicholas Ashton’s romantic interest. But she did not want to hurt Darcy’s pride either, so she attempted to reason with him.

“I can quite see, my lord,” she said at last, “how my behavior might have led you to believe such things, but I must tell you that the conventions do mean something to me. I should not be happy to flout them so outrageously as you suggest now. Would it not be better for all concerned simply to let this matter rest where it lies? It is, after all, my uncle who has refused your very kind offer, not I. Perhaps, if you are still of the same mind when I come of age….”

“’Fraid I can’t wait four years,” he said apologetically.

She smiled at him. “Well, no, of course not, sir, but you cannot wish to force me into a marriage that I do not desire. You must take me back. This will not do!”

“On the contrary,” he replied, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, the corners of his mouth creasing mulishly. “It will answer very well.”

“You must be out of your senses!” she exclaimed, her displeasure now overcoming any resolution to remain tactful. “I cannot allow you to do this!”

“How can you stop me?” he inquired with simple curiosity. “Can’t just leap out of a moving carriage in the middle of Oxford Street … ah, no,” he corrected himself after a glance into the street, “… Portland Street. Point remains, nonetheless.”

“Of course I shall do no such silly thing,” Sarah retorted, finding his attitude infuriating now. “But the coachman … I have only to—”

“My man, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” She looked at him straightly. “In that case, sir, I shall put my head out and scream until someone comes to my assistance. I should not like to do that, but if you force me to, I must.”

“Oh dear,” he said ruefully. “Believe you would. But success of the venture depends upon no one’s discovering your whereabouts for at least twenty-four hours. Uh … you did follow my instructions, did you not? Said nothing about meeting me to your maid or to anyone else?” She shook her head, gritting her teeth in exasperation. “Good girl. Could have ruined everything. I’m supposed to be in Brighton, you see.” He smiled at her, but without his usual bland insouciance. In fact, it made her a bit uncomfortable. “Sorry you won’t cooperate. Came prepared though. Daresay you won’t like it, but can’t be helped.”

He had reached for her then, and she had not been able to elude him in the close confines of the coach. He had seemed in the past to be mild-mannered, even effeminate, and his contrived, sometimes mincing, attitudes had not prepared her for such strength as he then displayed. Stifling her outraged cries by muffling her head in the heavy blanket while he bound her wrists behind her, he had fastened the cloth gag, pushed her down onto the floor, and then draped the blanket over her. It was a matter of but a few minutes’ work, and by the time the coach turned from Portland Street into the New Road, he was resting one booted foot upon the curve of her backside as negligently as though he rested it upon a bundle of laundry.

Passing through Kentish Town and skirting Hampstead Heath, the coach turned onto the Great North Road at Highgate and soon rolled through the village of East End, where the driver gave up his last ticket at the tollgate. A quarter hour later they turned onto the rough track leading straight across the Common, and a few miles further on, Sarah felt the coach slow and lurch as it left the rutted track and turned between the high gates of Ash Park, that rather derelict seat of the earls of Moreland and the barons Ashton before them. Some moments later, they came to a halt, and Darcy lifted the blanket.

Sarah was at last able to glower at him as she had been yearning to do for some time. But he avoided her eye, pulling her to a sitting position and assisting her to alight from the coach. For the moment, curiosity overcame anger, and she looked about her. The carriageway from the gate was overshadowed by trees and infested with weeds. Spreading lawns that had not benefited from the application of a scythe in many a long day had made sweeping inroads into the herbaceous borders, and even the densely growing trees seemed shaggy and ill-groomed. The four-story stone house seemed to have resisted the weather and general neglect rather better than the surrounding gardens had done, but it, too, looked gloomy and ill-cared-for.

Darcy waved the coach on around the house and then looked down at Sarah, his gaze traveling from curls she knew must be disheveled down to her wrinkled skirts. She had lost her hat in the struggle in the coach. “Sorry you got mussed,” he muttered ruefully. “It was a pretty dress. And I daresay you’ve not got so much as a comb in your ridicule.” Her eyes widened and she turned sharply in the direction taken by the coach. “Forgot it, eh? Well, remind me later and I’ll send Beck to fetch it. He’s not taking the coach back until morning, so there’s plenty of time. But come along in. I sent word earlier to Matty to expect us for dinner—country hours here, I’m afraid. Should be ready soon. Unless she’s pickled herself in gin,” he added as an afterthought, and scarcely an encouraging one.

He started up the rough stone steps, evidently expecting Sarah to follow him, but she stayed where she was, staring after him indignantly and still finding it difficult to reconcile his present behavior with that of the rather languidly amiable young gentleman she had known in London. He turned to see what was keeping her.

“Come along, Sarah.” Stubbornly Sarah shook her head. Did he not realize that this escapade of his was very likely to ruin her even if she did marry him? She would certainly be refused tickets of admission to Almack’s Assembly Rooms once the grand patronesses of that august establishment got wind of it, because no matter how much had been forgiven her in the past, this sort of nonsense would cause a major scandal!

He moved toward her. Late afternoon sun sliding on dust-filled rays through the trees touched off auburn highlights in his dark, windblown hair. His light brown eyes narrowed against the glare, and she scowled back at him. Darcy was a well-formed but not particularly imposing figure of a man, standing slightly less than six feet tall. He dressed with an eye to style that bordered on the foppish. Today he wore a dark brown frock coat, an orange-and-yellow-striped waistcoat, an intricately tied stock, cream pantaloons, and well-polished Hessian boots with gold tassels. Although his eyes under their narrow brows were set rather too closely together for perfection and his chin was a trifle weak, high cheekbones and a straight, well-formed nose showed his aristocratic breeding.

Of course, Sarah thought ironically, one also tended to note the effects of creeping dissipation. His lordship had been playing deep, drinking too much, getting too little sleep, and generally burning the candle at both ends for quite some time, and it was beginning to tell. Reaching out now, he laid a light hand upon her shoulder and drew her toward him.

Had she been wearing slippers instead of her dark green kid boots, the top of Sarah’s head would have been no higher than the top button of his waistcoat. But she had dressed properly for her supposed shopping expedition in a light walking dress of twilled marigold sarcenet with French kid gloves to match her boots and a chip straw hat trimmed with straw flowers and green silk ribbons. The hat was gone, the dress crumpled and dusty. Her honey-bronze hair was a mass of tangles, and her tiny face was streaked with smears of dirt as well as the suspicion—though she would have denied it indignantly—of a tearstain or two, but there could still be no doubt of her beauty. Blessed with an exquisite figure, she exhibited a natural, lithe grace when she moved. Her face was heart-shaped, and from the widow’s peak of her hairline to her determined little chin, her skin was clear strawberries and cream. Her large, wide-set eyes were oval-shaped and hazel-green, deepening almost to emerald in a certain light or, as now, when she was frightened or angry.

Darcy looked down into those eyes now, and his own expression was anxious. “No need to be frightened, Sarah. Daresay I’m not much of a fellow, but … not a cad either, dash it! Got no wish to harm you. Assure you. Here, let me take that thing off.” He reached behind her head and unfastened the gag. Then he turned her so that he could reach the bonds at her wrists. A moment later she was free. She licked her lips and rubbed her wrists. There was a red streak across her cheeks from the gag.

“This will ruin me, my lord,” she muttered through still dry lips. “Whatever I have misguidedly led you to believe, I do not deserve such a fate.”

“Perfectly true,” he agreed, urging her gently toward the house. “But, ’fraid I found it necessary to adopt stringent measures to recoup the Ashton fortunes. Earl of Moreland shouldn’t be penniless. Do anything to avoid it.” He smiled down at her. “Must admit though, marriage to you is more palatable than certain other courses I’ve attempted.”

“But I simply cannot marry you this way, my lord!”

“On the contrary, m’dear. This way, you must.” She fell silent, and a few moments later, they stood in the front hall of his house. There was a feeling of chill dampness in the air, giving Sarah the sudden and rather unsettling thought that she had stepped into one of the gothic tales that she and her governess, Miss Penistone, had been so fond of reading and which would, had she known of their presence in her house, have given Lady Hartley a fit of apoplexy. The hall was large and gray and drafty with a wide, stone stairway that swooped up one side to a railed gallery. But opposite the stair, a set of tall double doors opened into a warmer, more pleasant, though shabbily furnished room—the library, decided Sarah, if book-lined walls were any indication. A fire crackling in a fireplace between two pairs of French doors nearly dispelled the gothic gloom, and a huge black dog who lay before it, nose on paws, thumping his long tail, rose lethargically to his feet, stretched, and wandered over to sniff her skirt.

“This is Erebus,” Darcy said conversationally.

Sarah only glanced at the dog. Really, she thought, this was intolerable. Darcy seemed completely indifferent to her plight. Indeed, he behaved almost as though he were merely entertaining her for an afternoon, instead of having forcibly abducted her. Perhaps, if she cried … But the notion was quickly rejected. It would not do to show such weakness. Even the little experience she had had taught her that it was always better to play from strength. Besides, she was not by any means certain that she could simply cry at will. At the moment, she felt more like screaming.

But first things first. She turned to him with melting eyes.

“I should like to tidy myself, my lord. I must look a perfect fright. And, may I please have some water?” Her throat was parched, and her voice, usually low-pitched and melodious, sounded dry and cracked.

“Of course,” he answered hastily, seeming relieved when she did not rail at him. “There is a small saloon the other side of the hall with a cheval glass. I’ll have Beck bring some water.”

“Your coachman?”

“My valet. I am afraid there are few servants here and no maidservants at all. It’s hard enough to keep them in so isolated a spot at the best of times and with money to pay their wages, but with things the way they’ve been, the wenches flat won’t come.” He shrugged. “There’s just Beck and Matty and Matty’s husband, Tom, who looks after the dog and the stables. He and Matty aren’t worth much, but they stay, and that’s what counts with me. Come along. I’ll show you the saloon. Stay, Erebus!” The big dog plopped back down, eyeing their departure with sad eyes.

Darcy took Sarah’s elbow lightly and guided her across the hall to a doorway set beneath the curve of the stair. It opened into a saloon with furnishings as shabby as those in the library. No fire burned here, but the curtains had not been closed either, and golden rivers of sunlight sprawled lazily from two tall, arched windows across the faded carpet. The cheval glass stood against the stair wall where the light was not all that she might have wished, but when she tilted the glass properly, it was adequate. She stared at herself.

“Merciful heavens!”

“It was only to be expected, m’dear,” he observed with a sad grimace.

“Please, don’t call me that,” she muttered grimly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “After treating me so shabbily, you can scarcely expect me to believe that you truly care for me.”

“As you wish.” He bowed. “I’ll find Beck and send him with water and a hairbrush. Can you do your own hair?”