The Rebel's Promise (25 page)

“My dear child, what on earth …” Lady Harpenden broke off, as the horrible, sickening realisation that she could guess exactly what had happened to Rosie dawned on her. But knowing and hearing her fears confirmed out loud were two very different things.

Rosie did not really need Harry’s support, but he had become quite alarmingly attentive, and she did not want to offend him. As it was, he was glaring at Lady Harpenden in a most unwelcoming manner.

“Your nephew did this to her!” Harry burst out before Rosie could speak, “And he killed my dog!”

Rosie patted his arm, and he mumbled an apology before throwing himself out of the room. Casting a reassuring glance at Rosie, Jack went after him. Rosie took a seat close to Lady Harpenden and said quietly,

“I must apologise for my brother’s heat, my lady, but I am afraid what he says is true. My injuries
were
caused by Sir Clive.”

She proceeded to fill in the details of what had happened, starting with Harry’s forced confession and ending with the violent aftermath of his kidnap. Her ladyship’s face grew increasingly stony.

“But this is villainy beyond comprehension!” she exclaimed in outraged tones, “I am aware that Clive’s estates are grossly encumbered. That he is near breaking point but, pray believe me, child, I would not for all the world, have believed him capable of such conduct. And where is he now? Does anyone know?”

“We do not, my lady, which is why you see me here.” Jack, returning at that precise moment, spoke for the first time since Rosie had come into the room, “And this is where I will stay… at least, until he is found and brought to justice.”

Whilst acknowledging the sense of this, Lady Harpenden’s notion of propriety was, nevertheless, offended at the notion of an unmarried lady and a single gentleman living under the same roof with no chaperone. Something of her thoughts appeared on her face and Jack, his irreverent smile flickering, added,

“I am sharing a room with Tom Drury, my lady. I know you will be considering the potential for bad-minded gossip but, as you can see, Miss Delacourt is in no fit state to present a risk to my reputation.”

Rosie bit back a smile but threw him a reproachful look, which he met with a bland stare. Lady Harpenden had sustained a severe shock and Rosie, who had become genuinely fond of the irascible old woman, did not want to add weight to her cares by subjecting her to Jack’s teasing.

“My lady, you are very welcome to stay here.” She paused, adding sensitively, “There is only a skeleton staff at Sheridan Hall, and the servants will not have been expecting you …”

Lady Harpenden interrupted, “You are very good, my dear, and very diplomatic. Let us not beat about the bush … Sheridan Hall has been shamefully neglected. In short, Clive has gambled away the whole of his fortune and, I gather, mortgaged the estate to the hilt. Do you know the extent of his debts?”

Rosie shook her head, “All I know is that, if he does not secure an extensive sum immediately, Sheridan Hall will be repossessed. He also spoke of owing money to some very dangerous characters, who would do him serious harm if they were not repaid on time.”

“I very much hope they do!” A little of Lady Harpenden’s familiar iron will emerged briefly, “Because if they don’t harm him, you can rest assured … I will! Child, I will leave you now. Thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I fear I would be very poor company, and you must wish me at the devil.” She held up a hand to silence Rosie’s protests, “When Clive is found, we will talk further, you and I. Now, my lord, perhaps you could be useful – rather than merely decorative – and escort me to my carriage?”

Jack, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, rose and, with exaggerated courtesy, offered her his arm. They walked in silence to the waiting vehicle but, as he handed her into it, she turned back and, in a softer voice than he had ever heard from her before, said, “Take care of her, my lord.”

Jack bowed, “That is my intention, my lady.”

Jack was giving Harry a fencing lesson on the lawn, that young gentleman having expressed his determination to learn the sport. From his grim expression, Jack surmised that this new found interest may have had something to do with his desire to rid the world of his sister’s abhorred betrothed. Jack reasoned, however, that the lad needed a distraction and, when the time came, he himself would know how to deal with Sir Clive. He too had scores aplenty to settle with that gentleman.

Jack was explaining the correct grip on the foil to Harry, who was impatient to get started.

“Slowly, scrapper! ‘Tis an art which cannot be rushed. If you are too fierce, your opponent will pink you easily … thus,” he demonstrated a feint.

The lesson was suddenly interrupted by a shout from Joseph, the groom, who, with unaccustomed energy, rushed around the side of the house. His face was beetroot red, his sides heaving.

“Fire … fire in the stables,” Throwing down their swords, Jack and Harry followed him. By the time they reached the stables, the blaze was spreading rapidly.

“Turn the horses out!” Tom yelled above the roar of flames and the desperate, terrified whinnying. Harry rushed to help Joseph do his bidding.

Tom took charge and Harry, Jack and Joseph joined the stable hands and farm workers to form a line – even Mrs Glover lent a hand – passing buckets of water from hand to hand until they managed to swiftly get the fire under control. There was no major damage, due to Tom’s decisive actions, and all of the horses were unharmed.

Stripped to waist, his flesh blackened with ash and damp with sweat, Jack leaned against the wall to catch his breath, while Tom berated Joseph.

“For the Lord’s sake, man, how could you have let this have happen?”

Tom was furious and Joseph’s mouth set in a stubborn, defensive line. Before he could answer, Jack intervened, noticing a nasty, fresh cut on the back of the groom’s thinning pate.

A shadow of premonition began to loom in Jack’s mind.

“What happened to your head, Joseph?” he asked urgently.

Joseph’s scowl deepened, “Aye, sir, well might you ask!” he answered gruffly, throwing Tom a darkling look, “I was minding my business, getting the feed ready when something hit me across the back of the head from behind. I think it must have been that shovel,” He pointed to the offending item, which lay abandoned – as though thrown carelessly aside – on the cobbles. “I fell to the floor … blacked out a bit, like … and, when I came to, the fire had already been set …”

“Set?” Tom’s brows drew together at the implication of what he was saying.

“He is still here,” Jack – the premonition fully formed now into a certainty – echoed Tom’s unspoken thoughts.

Tom nodded grimly, “And hell bent on revenge, if this little stunt is anything to go by.”

Jack’s head snapped round towards to house, his eyes narrowing in alarm. “While we have been occupied here …” he began.

“… who has been with Rosie?” Both men broke into a run before Tom had finished speaking.

Rosie had tried hard to impress on Mrs Glover that she was not actually ill, but that lady was very good at turning a deaf ear to those things which she did not want to hear. Submitting to her insistence that she needed rest, Rosie had been pretending to doze on her bed. Tiptoeing down the stairs after what she hoped was reasonable amount of time, she was heartened to find there was no sign of the motherly little housekeeper and that the whole house was surprisingly quiet. Gathering up her cloak with a guilty look around, she trod quickly out into the garden, the prospect of escaping into the fresh air just too tempting to resist.

An unexpected smell of burning made her think of bonfires and the way, as a child, she would watch the plumes of smoke spiralling into the sky and wonder if they went all the way to heaven. How nice it would be to have such carefree musings today! In addition to the mental scars left by her encounter with Sir Clive, her thoughts seemed determined to focus on her relationship with Jack. She had never doubted her own feelings for him. From the very first moment she saw him, lying under that tree on the hard December ground, she had loved him. That love had never wavered, despite the rage and contempt her subsequent actions had awakened in him. Now that their passion had been rekindled, she was forced to wonder how he really felt about her. He had loved her once; of that she had no doubt. But now? Was she just a warm body that happened to be conveniently close by? She knew that
she
could not engage in the physical act of love without deeper feeling. But it seemed, from her admittedly limited experience, that men could do just that. They appeared, for example, to actually enjoy encounters with ladies of dubious reputation. Thoughts of Lady Cavendish and her practised, scented charms niggled her.

Rosie
thought
Jack might still love her, but she was by no means sure … and theirs had not been an easy romance. Would he think she was worth sticking with, in spite of all the pain she had caused him? Or would he be happier to walk away and return to his wandering lifestyle … or worse, to his sophisticated mistress?

These were the thoughts playing through her mind as she walked towards the rose walk, always her favourite place. Rosie froze in shock as she stepped into the walled enclosure and Sir Clive’s groom approached her. Her instinct was to take him to task for trespassing, but a glimmer of suspicion dawned and, instead, she started to turn away. She was forestalled by his words.

“Miss Delacourt? Lady Harpenden has asked me to escort you to her. She told me to tell you the matter is urgent.”

Warily, and remaining poised for flight, Rosie said. “Please tell her ladyship I will wait on her shortly …” Before she could finish, another man came up behind her and, unseen by Rosie until the very last minute, threw a heavy cloak over her head, wrapping her in it and lifting her bodily off her feet. Grunting a little as she struggled wildly within its folds, he threw her over a shoulder which resembled an iron girder and turned towards Sheridan Hall. From the musty depths of the cloak, Rosie heard Poulter abjuring him to hurry about it. Sir Clive, observing the encounter from behind the shelter of an elegant fountain, permitted himself a brief, triumphant smile.

The man carrying Rosie appeared to have muscles of steel as, no matter how hard she kicked him, he did not flinch under the flurry of blows. They covered the distance between Delacourt Grange and Sheridan Hall rapidly and, within minutes, Rosie was thrust unceremoniously into the drawing room. She spun round like a little hell-cat to confront her abductors, just in time to see the door slam shut.

A soft, anguished sound drew her attention and she turned back into the room, giving a gasp of horror at the sight which met her eyes. Lady Harpenden was seated on a high backed chair, her hands bound behind her and her feet securely tied to the chair legs. A gag had been stuffed into her mouth, and her breathing was laboured because her nose appeared to be broken.

With an exclamation, Rosie rushed forward and gently removed the gag allowing her ladyship to draw in several deep, ragged breaths. Her blackened and bruised left eye was nearly closed and her right eye registered fear and confusion. She seemed incapable of speech. Rosie untied her hands and knelt to release her feet. She was about to help her up when a guttural, panicky sound rose in Lady Harpenden’s throat. Her eyes – fixed in horror on a point just above the younger woman’s left shoulder – told Rosie everything she needed to know.

“Hello Rosie,” Sir Clive’s voice was level, even conversational, “How nice of you to pay my aunt a morning call. You must excuse her if she has not thanked you suitably … her manners seem to have deserted her somewhat today.”

Rosie got slowly to her feet and turned to face him. Although she was trembling with terror and revulsion in every fibre of her being, she was determined that he should not know it. “Clive, your aunt needs care urgently …”

“Shut your chattering mouth!” The mercurial switch from polite chit-chat to a deranged snarl shocked Rosie, even though she had already witnessed his capricious mood changes at first hand. His mental state seemed to have deteriorated further, a thought which caused an icy finger to draw a line down her backbone.

“I’ve had quite enough with my Aunt Harpenden here telling me what I should and should not be doing. I don’t need to hear it from my bloody insubordinate wife-to-be as well!”

Sir Clive looked awful. His skin was the colour of uncooked pastry, the puffiness of his face accentuated by his hollow, sunken eyes. Even at a distance of several feet, the unwashed, feral smell rolling off his body made her stomach turn. The wild expression she had noticed occasionally seemed now to be a permanent feature and his lips were constantly flecked with spittle, which he kept wiping away on the left sleeve of his coat. The other sleeve was stiff with dried blood and the arm itself hung loosely at his side. Rosie, her mind racing with options for a possible means of escape, decided that she could not rely on the fact that he appeared to be unable to use that arm.

“Since I now have your undivided attention … both of you …” he gave his aunt a mock bow and she moaned uneasily, “Let me tell you what we are going to do next. My Aunt Harpenden,” he turned to Rosie, “Was most surprised to see me here, which struck me as odd. This is, after all,
my
home. We discussed the delicate matter of money in great detail last night, and I believe she has now come round to my way of thinking. Is that not so, Aunt Alberta?” Lady Harpenden nodded her head obediently and Rosie’s heart ached to see this proud woman reduced to such straits. “We had a little … altercation,” Sir Clive snickered reminiscently, “Over how I choose to spend my inheritance, but we have now resolved the matter to our mutual satisfaction. My aunt has most generously agreed to meet my needs from her own fortune! Is that not most bountiful of her, my dear?”

Rosie had been scanning the room for something to use as a weapon, but Sir Clive’s words brought her attention fully back to him. He seemed to require a response, so she smiled weakly.