The Perfect Rake (45 page)

“Have you seen a black carriage pass by in the last half hour, drawn by four bay horses, one with a white foot?”

The old man considered a moment. “Dunno about a white foot, sorry, but there were a black carriage right enough, passed by here like the devil hisself were atop it. Sporting no lights they were, neither. Foolishness this late and when the moon’s naught but a sliver.”

“If you stay here another hour and tell a gentleman with white hair what you told me, he will give you another of these.” Gideon flipped him a guinea and raced on. He could make better speed than a carriage, but even so, he feared for Prudence.

James’s words rang in his head.
Hates Miss Prue…Last time…old devil…nearly killed ’er.

Nearly
killed
her? His mind was heavy with dread even as his body urged his mount to greater speed. Gideon recalled Hope’s careless referral to the way he beat them all, but thrashed Prudence.

If he’d hurt Prudence, her grandfather was a dead man.

He raced headlong into the night, praying for Prudence’s safety and wishing he’d worn spurs and boots to the party.

Rope burned into Prudence’s wrists. She’d struggled surreptitiously for the last hour to loosen the knots and free herself, but her efforts were in vain. Almost. She had not managed to free herself, but she’d gripped the edge of the blanket covering her head. Inch by inch she gathered it, and it was now one big tug away from coming off her. She could run, and she could see. There would be a chance for her to try to escape. There must be.

She waited for her moment. Her arms cramped painfully. She flexed her fingers to get her circulation moving again.

Mercifully, Grandpapa seemed to have subsided. He had said nothing for many minutes now. Nor had the cane come whistling out of the darkness. She wondered if he had fallen asleep. She hoped so, but she dared not risk pulling the blanket off her in case he wasn’t. She couldn’t make a move yet, not until the carriage stopped. It would be madness to jump from a moving carriage in the dark, and she wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

It seemed an age before the carriage finally slowed. The sound of the horses’ hooves changed—the road surface was different. A town? A toll road? Would they be stopping for a change of horses, or to pay the toll? Inconspicuously she flexed what muscles she could, preparing for possible action.

It was a coaching inn. She heard the ostlers come hurrying out, heard the order for fresh horses. There was some slight argument about it, and she heard her grandfather slide across to the other side of the carriage to deal with the innkeeper’s impertinence in delaying him.

With her bound hands she felt for the handle of the carriage door and twisted. It opened. In a flash she tugged the blanket from over her eyes and jumped out into the courtyard of the inn. Her knees buckled beneath her from the last hours of inactivity, and she staggered.

There was a shout behind her. Prudence stumbled doggedly forward, the blood rushing painfully back to her limbs with each step. A golden slab of light spilled across the cobblestones; the door of the inn stood ajar. Inside were people who might help her. Without hesitation she made for the light.

She burst through the door and looked wildly around her. The taproom was almost deserted. Two old men seated by the fire stared at her with mouths agape. A motherly looking woman was wiping down a table with a cloth. There was no one else. Prudence ran toward the woman, uttering noises of distress through her gag.

“Heavens to Betsy!” the woman exclaimed. “Whatever is going on? Look, Arthur, some villain’s tied this poor lady’s hands and stuffed a horrid rag in her mouth.”

A middle-aged man, presumably Arthur, popped up from behind the bar and stared at her.

“’Ow d’ye know she’s a lady?” one of the old men asked.

Prudence cast a frightened glance toward the door. She uttered urgent-sounding noises. Oh, why were these people so slow?

“Look at her clothes, gapeseed!” said the other. “Fine as fivepence she be—or
was,
until somebody ripped that silvery thing she’s wearing. Cost a few quid, that would.”

“Take no notice of these lummoxes, dearie,” said the woman, “We’ll look after you.” She laid a comforting arm around Prudence. “Arthur, she’s shaking like a leaf, poor little thing. I don’t know what trouble you’re in, miss, but you’re safe now. My Arthur will protect you.” She reached to unfasten the gag. “Who’s done this terrible thing to you, dearie?”

Crack!
It sounded like a gunshot in the small taproom. “I forbid you to untie that woman!” Her grandfather’s voice rang out, echoing with the authority and arrogance of generations. Leaning heavily on a silver-tipped ebony cane, he limped into the center of the small, low-ceilinged taproom as if he owned it. His cane was in his left hand, a horsewhip was in his right.

Despair flooded Prudence as she saw the effect of his bullying, aristocratic entrance on the villagers in the inn. They were frozen.

Crack!
The occupants of the room jumped as one person when the whip cracked again. Her grandfather’s two burly henchman stepped into the room after him, a silent message to any who might consider disobeying the man with the whip.

“She is a dangerous madwoman! Move away from her, alewife, for your own safety!” The lash of the horsewhip stirred and caressed his boot like a living thing as he flicked it back and forth.

Prudence shook her head vigorously in denial of her grandfather’s charge. Her eyes beseeched the woman to give her the benefit of the doubt, to defy her grandfather and un-fasten the gag. At least if her mouth were free, she could speak in her own defense.

The woman did not move. Nor did she move away from Prudence. A tiny spark of hope flared in Prudence’s heart.

“I said move away from her!” He regarded the woman as if she were an insect. The lash stirred again.

“I don’t take orders in my own inn,” she responded boldly, giving him back look for look. “What have you to do with this young lady? How do I know you mean well by her?”

Prudence nodded frantically at the woman, to confirm her words. Grandpapa did not mean well by her at all.

“Insolent trollop! I am Lord Dereham of Dereham Court, Norfolk.” He paused to let the words sink in. “And this is my runaway wife, who I am conducting to Bedlam. Now step aside and my men shall conduct her back to the carriage from which she escaped.”

Runaway wife? Bedlam!
The Bethlehem Royal Hospital, where lunatics were locked away. She felt sick, terrified. Could he really mean to lock her up in Bedlam? Once she was shut away there, no one would ever believe her story, no one would ever release her. And in that hellish place, she would indeed go mad. She shook her head desperately at the woman.

“She doesn’t look like a madwoman to me,” the woman said slowly. “And she’s awful young to be your wife. Let’s see what she’s got to say for herself.” Again she reached for the gag.

“Don’t touch her, you fat trollop!” The lash bit into the soft flesh of the woman’s bare arm and as she cried out in anger and pain; he grabbed her and flung her roughly aside. She hit the bar hard.

“Oi! Leave my wife alone, you!” Arthur came forward, his fists bunched menacingly. “I don’t ’old with toffs mishandling women, ’specially not my woman!”

Casually, Lord Dereham slashed him across the eyes with his whip. With a shriek of pain, Arthur fell back, clutching his eyes. His wife crawled forward to help him.

The whip writhed and flickered like a snake. “Anyone else?” The silky threat cowed the silent spectators. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed Prudence by the hair and began to drag her toward the door. She kicked and struggled as hard as she could.

“Come quietly, you little bitch!” he roared and lifted the whip handle to clout her into insensibility.

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you, Dereham!”

The whip handle stopped in midair. Prudence sagged in sudden thankfulness. She knew that voice. Gideon. Thank God, thank God.

Her grandfather turned and regarded the newcomer with outrage. “You’ll
what?
How dare you bluster in here, making threats against me. Who the devil do you think you are?” The lash flickered out, like a striking snake.

Gideon stepped closer. “I am Carradice and I will not stand for violence against any woman, let alone this one.”

“This woman has naught to do with you. She is evil and I—”

“She is my wife-to—”

Chapter Twenty

“One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life:
That word is love.”

S
OPHOCLES

“W
IFE?”
L
ORD
D
EREHAM’S EYES ALMOST STARTED FROM THEIR SOCK-
ets. His face paled, then flushed suddenly with rage. He shook Prudence like a dog shakes a rat. “You foul little slut, I’ll—” He raised the whip again.

“Let her go!” Gideon grabbed Lord Dereham’s wrist, squeezing it like a vise, harder and harder until the bones threatened to crack. Her grandfather swore, and suddenly Prudence was free. She staggered.

“Stand away, sweetheart,” Gideon said gently, steadying her on her feet with careful hands. All his attention was on her.

She tried to warn him, but could only make a muffled sound through the gag. Her grandfather’s whip whistled though the air and lashed Gideon across the back of the head. He barely flinched, just pushed her gently toward the corner of the room.

“Get him!” her grandfather roared, and the two burly henchman leaped at Gideon. He ducked and swung a punch that landed with a crunch on the shorter man. Blood spurted from the man’s nose, and he staggered back.

His partner struck Gideon a two-handed blow on the back of the neck, and Prudence watched, horrified, as her beloved staggered under the impact, then without turning, rammed his elbow backward. It connected audibly with the man’s ribs. The man tried to grab his ear. Gideon responded with a mighty punch to the stomach. The man grunted and kicked out. Gideon slammed another punch to the head, then a third to the jaw.

Prudence yelled helplessly through the gag as the second man came rushing across the room, an iron poker raised. She kicked a stool into his path, and the man went sprawling on the flagstones. The poker clattered to the ground. She darted forward and kicked it out of his reach. The man scrambled to his feet just as Gideon felled his partner with one last, frightful punch.

“Come on then, my bucko,” Gideon beckoned him, his fists raised. A faint smile lingered on his lips, and his eyes were lit with a devilish glint. It looked almost as if he enjoyed this appalling brawl, she thought incredulously.

The man took one step forward, then hesitated.

“Go on, you filthy coward—get him!” roared Lord Dereham, spittle and rage dripping from his lips. He lashed at the man with his whip.

The man stepped back, out of range. He glanced at Lord Dereham, then at Gideon, then at his partner, sprawled bloody and insensible on the taproom floor. He shook his head. “Get ’im yerself, m’lord,” he said. “I’ve ’ad enough o’ this business.” And he left, ignoring Lord Dereham’s shouts of outrage.

Gideon, his chest heaving and blood welling from a cut above his eye, stared across the room at Lord Dereham. Slowly, the light of battle faded from his eyes. He lowered his fists reluctantly.

“I cannot in all decency fight a man of your age, sir,” he said. “Let us agree that there has been enough violence tonight. Admit defeat, and you may leave here unmolested, though I would gladly see you hanged for what you have done to Prudence.” His fists clenched again, and he took several deep breaths before he continued. “But I am young and in my prime, and you are more than sixty and but recently recovered from injury.” He glanced at Prudence and added in a softer voice, “She has suffered enough distress this night. You are her grandfather, after all. We will be related.”

Prudence felt unbearably moved by his gallantry. Oh, what a beautiful man he was!

“Will be related? You’re not wed yet?”

“No, but we shall be as soon as possible. So,
pax
, Dereham?”

Prudence felt her eyes flood.

Lord Dereham shrugged and gave a grunt that seemed to indicate assent. He stumped toward the door, scowling but silent. Gideon watched for a moment, then reached for Prudence’s gag. “I’m sorry I took so long, love. Are you all—”

Slash!

The whip cut across his hands, narrowly missing Prudence’s face.

Gideon pushed her behind him and advanced on the old man, a murderous light in his eyes. He was pale, his mouth hard and unsmiling. His dark eyes glittered with a fierce and implacable rage. Prudence had never seen him like this. She wanted to call out to him, but the gag was still in place. She wanted to help, but her hands were still tied. She watched helplessly as her grandfather limped across the room in an insane rage, whip lashing furiously at the man she loved.

Crack!
“Admit defeat, would I?”

Gideon ducked as the lash swung above his head but did not stop his advance.

Slash!
“Give in to an insolent puppy?”

The lash cut his ear. Gideon moved forward.

Smash!
The whip missed Gideon and sent a tankard of ale spinning across the room.
Slash!
At his face again. The old man was trying to blind him, he realized.

Nothing could blind him now, Gideon thought savagely. The old man had had his chance.

“Too
old
for a fight, am I?”

With a hiss, the lash snaked out at him again, and this time Gideon lifted his arm to receive the full brunt of it. He heard Prudence whimper as the lash slashed into him, but Gideon made not a sound. He bared his teeth in a grim smile, lowered his arm, and yanked hard. The whip flew out of the old man’s hand. Behind him Prudence made a small, muffled sound.

Gideon calmly unwrapped the lash from his forearm and took the handle in his hand. “Fond of the whip, aren’t you, Dereham? You’re very skilled with it, we’ve all seen that.” He cracked the whip an inch in front of the old man’s nose. Lord Dereham stumbled backward.