Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 40

‘You have planned this quite meticulously.’ Emily raised her goblet and let ruby wine just moisten her lips. She had no intention of allowing Nicholas to get her tipsy. But there might be an advantage in fostering his mellow humour and letting him think she was tolerant of his company and his hospitality. The less he thought she was inclined to escape the more likely she was to successfully do so.

The initial shock of having been kidnapped had lessened and Emily had come to the conclusion that expending energy on angry complaints would be foolish. Better, surely, to employ the same craftiness that had been used against her.

She guessed she had now been in captivity for some hours although she had no idea of the exact time. It seemed the only people at the house were the manservant who had opened the door, and a young maid who had shown her to a chamber to make ready to dine.

Despite her fright and simmering anger, Emily had been grateful for the sanctuary it provided. She had been tired and dusty after her headlong trip with Riley and felt unprepared to pit her wits immediately against her captor.

The chamber had been warm and steaming scented washing water had helped to soothe her fraught senses. Emily had dismissed the maid despite the girl’s insistence that she must press her crumpled dress and style her hair. Emily had had no intention of allowing herself to be primped for the benefit of the scheming lecher waiting for her below. She had also wanted the maid gone from the room in order to investigate possible escape routes. But a swift inspection had revealed that every window was sealed and the door had been locked from outside. That discovery had set Emily’s pulse racing alarmingly. In a moment desolation had overwhelmed her and brought scalding tears to sting her weary eyes.

From the moment Riley had departed, leaving her alone with the Viscount and his minions, she had not given up hope that she might soon manage to flee. But it seemed that Nicholas had schooled his servants well. Both his butler and his maidservant had cooperated in her incarceration.

By the time the maid had returned Emily had curbed the craven instinct to wail and plead for liberation and was more composed. With the girl’s encouragement she had freshened herself with the lavender-water and untangled the knots from her blonde tresses well enough to tease them into a plain chignon. Her pride in her appearance had been solely for her own benefit. She had resolved not to appear before Nicholas looking a wreck lest he believed he had managed to cow her. She would not snivel, nor would she outwardly quake even if her insides felt like jelly. She would certainly never willingly do his bidding. Once she had believed he cherished her, and had proved she trusted him by gifting him her body. Now she would fight him with her last breath rather than tolerate even a kiss from him.

As she had followed the girl down the wide carpeted stairway, Emily had been oblivious to her plush surroundings. Her thoughts had been with her parents. She had drawn comfort from the recollection that they had an invitation for this evening. If they returned late from the opera they might retire without ever knowing their daughter’s bed was empty. There was yet time to avert their heartache … and a scandal. But she must get home, and to do that she must pray that Mark came to her rescue in time.

She would remain optimistic, she vowed beneath her breath, her fingers stressfully tightening in her lap. By now Mark would have her note and be immediately suspicious as to Riley’s motives for taking her out of town. He would go to Callison Crescent and, without alerting her parents to her jeopardy, discover she had not returned home. Then he would search for Riley and interrogate the duplicitous pimp until he admitted he had tricked her into going with him, and revealed her whereabouts.

Having thus boosted her morale, she resented the small inner voice that would rob her of such sweet confidence. But what if Mark cannot find Riley? it whispered. Perhaps he might be injured in the pursuit of the villain. And plainly there was a chance he might not yet have returned home to take delivery of her note. He was a leading light of polite society with family, friends and a mistress to occupy his time. He might not return to his own home or bed at all tonight …

Emily forgot her rule to be abstemious. She took a spontaneous gulp from her wine to steady her pounding heart. If only Mark had been at home when she called! Abruptly she deposited the glass on the table, fearing it might shatter in her bone-white clutch. She fought down the panic tightening her chest and gulped in a steadying breath.

A calculating look flew from under her lashes at the man seated opposite her. To keep at bay his advances, she must engage him in conversation. Eventually she might prick his conscience, and persuade him to go home to his wife.

‘You have been deep in thought, my love. Have you concocted a plot to escape?’ Nicholas’s torrid gaze swept over her, lingering where the rapidity of her breathing was straining the buttons on her bodice.

Emily felt her cheeks tingle; he was close to reading her mind. ‘Escape?’ She gurgled a laugh and made a dismissive gesture. ‘Do you expect I might resort to running around aimlessly in the cold and dark?’ Her tone was scornful, yet in truth she would most definitely choose the night, and the unknown countryside, over him.

‘Is this house yours or have you acquired it simply as a theatre for seduction?’ She inwardly praised herself for sounding so calm when it was hard to keep her teeth from chattering. Her sleek fair head turned this way and that as she studied the stylish furnishings bathed in an ambience from logs burning in the grate. ‘It is a fine stage. Should I be flattered that I merit such lavish treatment?’

Devlin gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I am pleased to know that you are still my proud, intrepid Emily. No tears … no tantrums … you know deep in your heart, my love, that we are destined to be together, do you not?’

‘You have not answered my question, Nicholas,’ Emily scolded breathily.

‘The property was one of many that came to me on marriage as part of my wife’s dowry. But what matter its origins? I’m glad you like it—we shall make regular use of it. It shall be our special place to meet. Perhaps—if you greatly please me—I might eventually make it yours …’

‘How kind. But I’m not sure that I like it that much,’ Emily returned acidly. ‘And I doubt your wife would appreciate the use to which you put her property.’

‘It is no longer her property and we will not speak of her again.’

‘Why ever not?’ Emily demanded pithily. The longer they conversed about his duty to his family, the more confident Emily became that he might relent. ‘Would you deny your wife’s existence? Or that of your unborn child?’

Nicholas forcefully thrust away his plate, making Emily start and drop her fork. It seemed she had softened him not one jot.

‘I suspect you are about to moralise and we both know you are hardly a lady fit to do so.’

‘And you are hardly a gentleman to have reminded me,’ Emily returned. She had expected a reference would be made to their one night of passion and had steeled herself to parry it. Yet she could feel tingling in her face and queasiness in her belly from the shame of it. Her brazen riposte remained blocked in her dry throat.

‘I am not complaining about your passionate nature, my dear, as I’m sure you know.’ Nicholas gave a lascivious chuckle as he noticed the roses in her cheeks spread to her throat.

‘I thought I loved you, Nicholas, and it ill behoves you to mock my sincere emotion. Had I not been so young, and so very naïve, I would have understood that, for you, I was just sport. When I lay with you, I truly believed we soon would be man and wife.’

‘And I truly regret it could not be,’ Nicholas drawled. ‘Alas, you tempted me with your body, my dear, but had no such desirable dowry.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I must say that, for just a few thousand more, I might have forgone an heiress …’

‘I doubt it,’ Emily snapped. His flippancy had fired her anger to such a degree her trepidation was evaporating.

‘I do too,’ he conceded with an impenitent smile. ‘A woman with thirty thousand, and a property portfolio of the same value, has undeniable allure for a man with pockets to let.’

‘You tricked me with lies and promises.You had no intention of marrying me, did you?’ Emily accused.

Nicholas shrugged and spread his hands in a show of insolent apology.

‘Our betrothal was a sham. You proposed simply so you might seduce me.’

Nicholas sighed in irritation and shoved himself back in his chair. ‘Do not make me out the heartless villain.’ He eyed her through lowered lashes. ‘You were ripe for love, innocent yet wanton, and took little persuading that night.’

Emily’s soft lips parted in shock and indignation at such brutal honesty. But then she ought to know by now that Nicholas was careless of wounding her ego. A small corner of her mind acknowledged too that, young or not when engaged, she had been a credulous fool to be so totally blind to his true character. The only consolation was in knowing that she had not been the only one taken in by his lies. He had duped her parents too with his smooth talk of love and honour.

‘You will find I am very different now, Nicholas,’ Emily said coldly. ‘I have no liking for you, let alone any stronger feelings …’

‘Enough!’ Nicholas snapped before Emily could amplify her disgust. ‘I would far sooner treat you gently, Emily … share the pleasure with you.’

‘You are a fool if you think you can get away with this,’ Emily pointed out quite levelly although her moist palms were quivering in her lap. ‘How do you intend to explain away having kidnapped and forced your attentions on a gentlewoman? By now my parents will be worried for my safety. The authorities will have been notified. You will be arrested once the truth is out.’

Nicholas snorted an unconcerned laugh. ‘And who will tell the truth? You? Your parents? The last thing any of you want is for our affair—now or in the past—to be common knowledge. Your reputation would be irrevocably lost and your family would share in your shame.’ The wine goblet performed a balletic twirl between his fingers. ‘You were willing once; who would not believe you were willing again?’ He smiled, almost sympathetically. ‘You would not lie under oath, Emily, and deny we were lovers. You must accept that it is meant to be. Fate and your brother’s folly have happily reunited us.’

‘Which house?’ Mark’s voice was eerily soft as he addressed Jenny, but his eyes glittered hard and bright as ebony stars. A scouting look assessed the vicinity. In the meagre light he could just see that Jenny had directed him to the heart of a London slum. Stumpy terraces wobbled like rows of rotten teeth on lanes that yawned in four directions.

Jenny was wedged between the two men in the curricle. She nodded at a property that looked slightly less dilapidated than its neighbours. A weak lamp was burning in the ground-floor window. ‘I reckon he might be in there gaming. When he’s flush he likes to play dice for big stakes. I came here once before with him.’ She swallowed and her wide dark eyes swung between the two men. ‘You both best be careful. There are coves who hang around with him who’d crack your skulls open soon as look at you.’

‘Can’t Riley fight his own battles?’ Tarquin scoffed, seemingly unperturbed by the idea of a brawl.

Jenny’s top lip curled. ‘He’s a coward who saves his beatings for the girls who work for him. He got that broken nose off his pa for backchat when he was a youngster.’

Tarquin’s lips twitched at the anecdote then, disengaging his elbow from Jenny’s fearful grip, and with a fierce instruction to her to sit tight till he returned, he followed Mark towards the building.

‘If I jump, you’re in big trouble.’

‘So are you,’ Mark returned without bothering to take a look at the man trussed beside him.

Riley wriggled in his bonds and flung himself back against the squabs. ‘Anything happens to me, you’ll never find her.’

‘And if I don’t find her … a great many things will happen to you. That’s a promise,’ Mark said with tranquil menace. His cool demeanour admirably concealed that his anguish was mounting by the minute.

He had long known Devlin for a debauchee, but never before had he believed him capable of such dastardly behaviour. In abducting Emily he had proved himself to be a ruthless criminal too. But how far would he go to assuage his lust? Would he resort to physical violence if Emily resisted his attempt to charm her into bed? Would he ply her with drink and rape her helpless, comatose body? Emily was Devlin’s captive, at his mercy for him to do with her what he would! Mark felt the agony writhe again deep in his gut as vile images of Emily’s torment rotated in his brain.

He loved Emily Beaumont and had wanted to ask her to marry him. Had she been his betrothed she would have been protected by his name. Devlin would not have dared corner her to demand a kiss, let alone more. How would he ever forgive himself if she were harmed? A groaning oath tore from between his lips and he urged the horses to a faster pace. He must find her and there was only one man who could lead him to her. He’d use verbal persuasion to start, but if that didn’t work he’d do whatever was necessary. God only knew the villain beside him deserved a beating for what he’d done to Jenny, let alone his part in this evil plan.

Abruptly he turned his head and a gaze so replete with loathing was levelled at his reluctant passenger that Riley shrank back into the corner of the vehicle. ‘You’re in deep trouble,’ he gritted through his teeth. ‘The sensible course of action would be for you to assist in righting the wrong you’ve done to Miss Beaumont. In a judge’s eyes, it might redeem you slightly and lessen the severity of his sentence.’

‘I’ll swing anyhow if Jenny croaks.’

Mark’s face tautened into bleak lines at the reminder of the disturbance he’d left behind in town.

Jenny had not taken Tarquin’s advice and stayed in the curricle. Instead she had slipped inside—probably to assist and keep Tarquin from harm—when a fight erupted. Riley had had his henchmen with him and, whilst Mark and Tarquin were battling with them, Mickey Riley had noticed his nemesis hovering in the corridor. Realising that Jenny had betrayed him, the ruffian had battered her savagely to the ground. Jenny was rendered unconscious before Tarquin or Mark realised she was in the house.

Within minutes Mark had left Tarquin tending to his limp, bleeding wife and set off towards the Surrey border with Riley cursing and squirming beside him. Now that his bruisers were unable to save him Riley had quietened, but Mark knew that his foxy brain was constantly calculating methods of escape.

‘If you want to jump, go ahead,’ Mark snarled. ‘There’s a good chance it won’t kill you … not straight away, anyhow. The sight of your broken limbs won’t bother me. As long as you’re able to talk, that’s good enough.’

Riley kicked out in frustration at the side of the vehicle, then slouched into the seat with a sullen scowl on his face.

Mark reined back as they approached a crossroads. ‘Which way?’

Riley remained uncommunicative. When Mark slid along the seat towards him and repeated his question in a voice of silky steel, the villain jerked his head to the right.

Immediately Mark snatched up the reins, whipped leather over the backs of the horses, and they sped off again into the night.

The meal was coming to an end and with it Emily’s capacity for conversation. She felt exhausted and fearful. Nicholas would feel entitled to strike now he had acted the gallant and wined and dined her. She slipped her unsteady fingers to the dinner knife she had secreted in the folds of her skirts. She hoped she would not need to utilise it, but she had no intention of quietly going upstairs with him!

Oh, where was Mark? Why had he not come to her rescue? Once she had shunned his touch; what would she not give now to rest within his powerful embrace?

Emily dropped the spoon with which she had idly been stirring her syllabub and jumped to her feet. While she had been deep in wistful reverie Nicholas had made his move. He had gained half the length of the table, and his expression was unmistakably predatory. Before she could properly extricate herself from her chair to flee, he was trapping her against it.

With a low chuckle he twisted the dinner knife from her fist, for he had anticipated her defensive tactics. Mockingly he clucked disapproval as he dropped the silver on to mahogany. His hard fingers were tight as manacles on her wrists as he brought his face closer to hers.

Emily’s back bowed as she tried to avoid his lips travelling on her throat. His murmured endearments steamed on her skin and then his mouth pounced, forcing apart her lips, so his tongue could thrust within.

Emily twisted in his grasp, but his unpleasant laugh met her futile attempts to free herself. He was enjoying curbing her struggles, she realised, and she would not knowingly give him pleasure. Abruptly she became still, allowed him to nuzzle at her neck whilst her averted eyes darted to what lay on the table that might serve as a weapon. Her flitting glance returned to the grand silver candelabra. It was quite close and its weight would do far more damage than the dainty porcelain crockery within easy reach. The knife he’d taken from her had skidded some distance on the polished surface, but a fork was tantalisingly near to the fingers she had splayed on the table edge for support.

Swallowing her revulsion at the Viscount’s fingers exploring her bodice fastenings, she forced herself to relax and tolerate a kiss. Coquettishly she twisted her head away. ‘Do you really regret not marrying me, Nicholas?’ she gulped whilst slyly edging sideways. ‘I should like to think that at least is the truth.’

‘Of course it’s the truth,’ he growled on an impatient pant and planted his hot mouth against the rapid pulse at the base of her throat.

Emily squirmed in his grasp, loosening his hold enough to allow her to sidle a step closer to the fork, barely an inch from her outstretched fingers. ‘You’re not just saying it to seduce me more easily?’ she wheedled.

Nicholas raised his head, gazed at her with hot amber eyes. ‘I said I’d rather share the pleasure with you, Emily,’ he answered huskily. ‘I’m not a violent man … but I can be when I’m desperate.’ He cupped her chin in a hard hand. ‘I want you … I’m desperate to have you. Why are you being cruel?’

He made the complaint with such genuine perplexity in his voice that Emily could barely repress a snort of derisive amazement.

‘Be kind to me, my love!’ Nicholas demanded hoarsely. ‘Then I shall be kind to you.’ He tried to prove his point by biting against Emily’s throat with less brutality.

‘I’m afraid I can’t, for you disgust me,’ Emily gasped and, snatching up the fork from the table, used all her might to stab him in the thigh.

Nicholas yelped and tottered back, a hand massaging furiously at the wound she’d delivered.

Emily raced to grab the silver candlestick and brandished it with both hands. ‘Stay away, you vile swine, or I swear I’ll use this on you!’ she cried.

Nicholas gave a final rub to the puncture in his flesh. ‘You little bitch,’ he enunciated slowly. ‘You will certainly pay for that.’ He twisted his mouth into a sneer. ‘And if you think a candlestick will save you, you are a silly little fool.’ He paced purposefully closer, making Emily retreat in time with his advance. ‘You are exceeding all my expectations, my dear. Fight me if you will. I’ll enjoy taming you. I should have told you that it’s the chase … the victory … that I need above all else.’

Just as Emily was rallying strength to launch her missile at him, a noise made her hesitate and whip her head around. But what she saw made her realise that the interruption was a reprieve, not deliverance. The manservant was hovering on the threshold of the dining room. A neutral expression was shaping his brawny features as though it was not uncommon for him to witness a young lady about to fend off his master’s advances with a flaming candelabra.

Nicholas’s face was a mask of fury and a few crude curses were spat out as he strode towards the fellow.

The servant hastened to meet him, now with an intensely apologetic look on his face. Quickly he whispered a message and, in return, received a curt nod, and a muttered instruction from his master.

‘It seems that Mr Riley has returned for some reason best known to himself.’ Nicholas’s tone was rough with irritation. ‘Please excuse me just for a moment, my dear, while I impress on the dolt that he is de trop and very much unwelcome.’ He gave her a subtle smile. ‘I will not abandon you for long, I promise, but be seated again.’ His former suave composure seemed to be restored. A theatrical hand flicked specks from an immaculate sleeve. ‘There is no escape; my servants are utterly loyal to me. So … why not relax and finish your syllabub whilst you wait for my return?’

Nicholas had instructed his manservant to stop the pimp setting foot inside the house. He therefore strode out directly on to the canopied porch with a snapped, ‘I hope you have an excellent reason for this impertinence, Riley …’

‘He has,’ Mark drawled as he emerged from the shadows cast by the eaves. ‘He doesn’t want a bullet lodged in his black heart.’ The duck’s foot pistol was held in a steady hand against Mickey Riley’s chest. Abruptly Mark realigned the weapon so both men were in its range. ‘As for you, Devlin, a bullet strategically placed elsewhere might suit.’ Mark indicated with a wave of the weapon that they should go inside the house.

‘Do you mind telling me what the hell this is all about?’ Devlin blustered, affecting outrage. He sent Riley a purely poisonous look.

‘I think you know exactly what this is about, Devlin,’ Mark responded with icy calm. ‘Where is Miss Beaumont?’

Devlin licked his lips. He had not for a moment anticipated that a knight in shining armour might turn up and scotch his plans to force Emily to become his mistress.

‘I shall quite happily persuade you to answer,’ Mark said. ‘I have enough ammunition to make life very uncomfortable for you both.’

‘Miss Beaumont is presently eating her dinner, Hunter,’ the Viscount uttered quickly. His mind ferreted for explanations as to what prompted this man’s interference. He knew that Tarquin Beaumont and Mark Hunter were friends, but he sensed that Hunter’s involvement might be due to a more personal interest in Emily. Nicholas had been aware that soppy Stephen Bond was sniffing about her, but not that a fellow of Hunter’s stature was in the running for Emily’s affections. It was time to mark his territory, even if in doing so he sullied Emily’s reputation.

He gave Mark a conspiratorial smile. ‘I think you must recall, Hunter, that the lady and I once were betrothed. Alas, it came to nought but we still are passionately fond of each other.’ He spread his hands appealingly. ‘There, I have said it. You are privy now to our secret. It is a delicate situation, but we are both men of the world. I know you would not intentionally ruin a spinster’s future marriage prospects by breathing a word of this to anyone.’

‘No … but you would, and give little thought to the consequences for her and her family,’ Emily uttered in a gruff little voice. She had immediately followed Nicholas from the dining room. So confident was he of his servant’s loyalty and vigilance that he had not bothered to lock her in. Now she moved forward, slowly at first, but her relief at seeing Mark prompted her to skip swiftly to his side.

A strong arm immediately secured her there, heavy and possessive about her quivering shoulders. The hand holding the pistol did not waver from its target.

Devlin’s eyes narrowed on the couple. Emily had quite naturally curved into Mark Hunter’s embrace as though she had done so before. He smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps the two of you have been keeping secrets of your own—’ he began, but his insinuation was immediately curtailed by Mark’s voice.

‘I know you won’t object if we are immediately on our way.’ Mark swung a look between the two men and his lip curled slightly. ‘I imagine the two of you have scores to settle.’ Keeping the gun steady on them, he led Emily towards the door.

‘You must think you’re pretty clever, to get the better of me,’ Devlin gritted in furious frustration as he watched Emily slipping from his grasp.

‘No … not really,’ Mark answered. ‘What I do think is that you’re pretty stupid to think you’d get away with such an outrage.’ Mark suddenly raised the pistol and fired a shot at the brightly flickering chandelier. The chain was severed and crystal and brass crashed to the floor, plunging the hallway into blackness. Swiftly Mark turned and, with Emily fast in his embrace, urged her out into the night.