A Necessary Husband (20 page)

His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “You’re mine, Lucinda. At last, you are mine!”

Black spots edged her vision, and his face began to blur. She struggled to breathe, but she couldn’t seem to pull in enough breath. Everything began to fade…

Meg stood frozen in the shadows of the terrace, her dark cloak hiding her from anyone who might be watching.

Shocked, she watched Malcolm choke Lucinda into unconsciousness and then carry her limp body through the small garden gate and away from the house. She couldn’t even shout for help; she couldn’t even run for assistance.

The man she loved had turned into a monster.

You are not the pigeon I had hoped to snare tonight
.

With fingers gone cold like ice, she crumpled the note he had sent her into a small, tight ball. If not for a trick of fate, she would now be happily riding to Gretna Green in Malcolm’s carriage, determined to become his bride.

What a fool she had been!

A tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped it away. She should never have listened to his promises—his lies. She had gone to him when she was angry at Lucinda, had believed him when he told her that Lucinda had been chasing after him for years. Lies, all lies. And then, afraid that Garrett might drag her back to America against her will, she had been only too
receptive to Malcolm’s suggestion to run away and get married. She had convinced herself that her grandfather would understand.

Why had she ignored the advice of the people who loved her? Because of her foolishness, Lucinda was now in danger.

While
she
stood about, wallowing in self-pity!

She whirled and raced up the stairs toward the house.

Garrett would know what to do.

G
arrett was doing his best not to watch the terrace doors when Meg appeared. He knew immediately from the look on her face that something was wrong. Heedless of the stares she attracted—what was she doing wearing a cloak?—she hurried over to him, her eyes wide with distress.

“Lucinda’s been taken,” she gasped, grabbing his arm.

Alarm roughened his voice. “Damn that Sir James—”

“No, not him. It was Malcolm.”

Malcolm
. The very man from whom Lucinda had sought to protect Meg. Fury smoldered, then burst into flame. “Tell me what happened.”

The duke came over and interrupted just as she opened her mouth to speak. “What the devil
is going on here?” he demanded in a whisper. “Margaret, why are you dressed this way? Everyone is staring!”

Guilt flooded Meg’s face, the same expression she had worn at age three when she had dumped salt into the sugar bowl. Though urgency nipped at his heels, Garrett stepped in and said calmly, “There has been some trouble. Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

A look at Garrett’s set face made Erasmus snap, “Very well—let’s adjourn to my study. Agatha can handle things here.”

Moments later, the three of them were alone in the duke’s study. Garrett shut the doors behind them, then cut right to the heart of the matter. “Lord Arndale has abducted Lucinda.”

“Good God, are you certain?” the duke exclaimed. He paled and slowly made his way to the chair behind his desk. “That is a very serious accusation.”

“I saw it, Grandfather,” Meg interjected. “I was in the garden, and I saw him take her.”

“Perhaps she went willingly,” the duke suggested. “She was angling after a husband, after all.”

Meg shook her head, and her voice trembled as she said, “He put his hand over her throat and choked her until she fell unconscious. She might even be…dead.”

“No.” Garrett’s tone held more certainty than he felt, but he didn’t want to think about the alternative. “She’s not dead. He would have just left the body if she were dead.”

“He said something about waiting too long to get his hands on her—he sounded like a madman,” Meg whispered.

“What were you doing in the garden?” Erasmus asked. “And for God’s sake, why are you wearing a cloak in the middle of your come-out ball?”

Meg cast her gaze to the floor. “I was supposed to meet him,” she admitted in a small voice. “We were going to Scotland to get married.”

“What!” Garrett roared.

“But why?” the duke rasped, sinking heavily into his desk chair. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I thought I was in love,” she replied softly. “And I didn’t want to go back to America. I thought I could stay here in England if I married Malcolm.”

“Foolish girl,” the duke muttered.

“I wouldn’t have forced you, puss,” Garrett choked, stunned at his sister’s narrow escape. “But Lucinda warned me about Malcolm. She said he was evil, and I would never have let you marry him.”

“She warned me as well,” Erasmus said, re
gret heavy in his voice. “And because I didn’t want to limit Margaret’s choice of husband and lose her as I did your father, I didn’t listen.”

“She tried to warn me, too,” Meg said with a sob. “But Malcolm told me Lucinda wanted him for herself, and I believed him. I’ve been so stupid!”

“The important thing is to get Lucinda back before Malcolm harms her,” Garrett said. “Where could they have gone? The trail grows cold as we stand here.”

“We were going to Gretna Green.” Meg took a deep breath in a clear effort to calm herself. “He said he had made arrangements at an inn along the way.”

“There are several decent inns on the road to Scotland,” the duke said. “But those grays of his are very distinctive, and if he wanted to move swiftly, using his own prime horseflesh would be his best bet.”

“I’m going after her,” Garrett decided. “Give me directions.”

“That’s good of you to offer, my boy.”

“To hell with that,” Garrett snarled. “I intend to marry Lucinda.”

“Oh.” The duke blinked, as if assimilating the information.

“Oh, Garrett!” Meg cried, clearly delighted.

“Then you’d best take Knightsbridge with
you,” his grandfather continued. “He knows the way, and he’ll prevent you from killing Arndale.”

“He can try,” Garrett growled, heading for the door.

“Beat him senseless if you want,” Erasmus called after him, “but don’t kill him. I’ll not have my heir flee the country for ridding the world of that vermin.”

“I’ve been trying to flee this country since I got here, old man,” Garrett replied with a snort. “But I will try to do so of my own will and not the Crown’s.”

“That’s all I can ask,” the duke said. “Good luck to you, my boy.”

“It’s Arndale who needs the luck.” Garrett jerked open the door and went to look for Knightsbridge, simmering rage adding fury to his step.

Malcolm had taken Lucinda, but the Englishman had not bargained on Garrett’s Irish temper or American audacity. Garrett would take her back.

And Malcolm would pay.

Lucinda slowly recovered her senses. At first she thought she was back in her bedroom at Stanton House, but then she realized that the bed was much harder than what she was used to. It even
smelled
different. She wasn’t at home. She
wasn’t any place she knew. With a jolt, she came fully awake and sat straight up in bed.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

The room swam for an instant, then settled, leaving her with a curious light-headed feeling. She raised one trembling hand to her throat, touching the tender flesh with a wince.

“Never fear, dear Lucinda. I left no bruises.”

She jerked her head around at that familiar, dreaded drawl, then instantly regretted the action as the room spun again. When it settled, she found herself looking at Malcolm.

He sat in a nearby armchair, his coat and cravat gone, and his shirt partly unbuttoned. He held a crystal goblet of brandy, and as he swirled it around in the glass, the heavy gold signet ring he wore reflected the light from the nearby fire. His hair glimmered like gold in the flickering of the flames.

The smile on his face was that of a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

“Where am I?” she demanded, her voice much stronger than her body felt.

“At an inn.” He sipped the brandy, never taking his eyes from her face. “Don’t try to call for help. The innkeeper was very sympathetic to my tale about my reluctant bride.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth,” she swore.

His fingers tightened briefly around the gob
let, then relaxed. “Not that I would ever have you, my dear. You are certainly good enough for a mistress, but your bloodline just doesn’t measure up for the wife of the Earl of Witting.”

“Your father has not yet died,” she reminded him.

“He lingers still,” Malcolm agreed carelessly. “But he is bound to go on to his reward any time now. Then I shall be the earl.”

“Don’t you care for your father at all?” Lucinda gasped. “How can you be so cold-blooded?”

“I’m not cold-blooded,” Malcolm said, making a little
tsk
ing noise. “In fact, I plan to show you how very hot-blooded I can be, dear Lucinda.”

“I don’t want you, Malcolm,” she said coldly.

He laughed. “My dear, I don’t care if you do or not.” He placed the goblet on a side table and rose, stretching like a tiger in the sun. “I’ve waited much too long,” he said, approaching her.

“Stay where you are,” she commanded, holding up a hand.

He paused, then laughed. “How fierce you sound, my dear. I’ll have you purring like a kitten in no time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Malcolm, you sound like the villain of a poorly written play. Didn’t you give this any thought? Don’t you think someone is going to come after me?”

“This was just a lucky impulse,” he said airily.

“Then what were you doing in the garden?” The answer came to her when he smiled. “Meg. You were going to meet Meg!”

“Yes, dear Miss Margaret is quite in love with me. We were going to Gretna Green.”

She was glad that her capture had saved Meg from such a fate, at least. “Won’t she miss you?”

“No, I will just tell her that it was too dangerous to go tonight. That word of our plans might have gotten to the wrong ears.” He laughed as he came to stand at the side of the bed. “Who do you think convinced her that you were jealous when you warned her away from me? Really, Lucinda, that was not a very nice thing to do.”

Lucinda stared up at Malcolm, trying to think through the fuzzy-headedness. Meg was safe. Now she had to come up with a way to escape herself. Once she got away, she would marry Garrett and be off to America, far beyond Malcolm’s reach.

In the meantime, he stood much too close to her, close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath, and he was half naked. Not a good situation at all! She looked around the room, at any place but him, and noticed her reticule still hanging from her wrist. It was a miracle she had not lost the tiny bag when he had carried her off.

An idea struck. Now, if she could only make it work…

Out of concern for the duke, she had taken one
of his vials of laudanum and slipped it into her purse in case he had an attack during the ball. If she could somehow get the laudanum out and slip it into Malcolm’s brandy, he would fall asleep, and she could escape!

There were obstacles, however, one being Malcolm himself. He stroked a hand over her hair, then let his fingers graze her bare shoulder as she frantically sought an idea that would get her off the bed and away from his touch.

“Do not fight me,” he murmured as she shrank from him. “You will only hurt yourself.”

She rolled to the other side of the bed and was on her feet before he could blink. They stared at each other across the expanse of the coverlet, Malcolm amused, Lucinda defiant.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I only want what you have been promising me all these years. It’s not polite to tease a man, you know.”

“I haven’t promised you anything,” she said hotly. “I may have been seduced by your charm when I was a young girl, but I know the real you, Malcolm. I would rather bed a leper than lie with you!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Have a care what you say, Lucinda. I have better uses for that mouth than spitting at me.”

Revulsion churned her stomach. “Don’t you understand, Malcolm? I am refusing you.”

“Don’t
you
understand, Lucinda?” He came
around the end of the bed, stalking her until she backed up against the bureau. “I don’t care. I will have you tonight, and it is up to you just how difficult you want to make this on yourself.”

Lucinda swallowed hard as he reached out to hold the top of the bureau, trapping her between his arms. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply. “You smell delicious,” he breathed.

Fear wrung a small sound from her throat. Malcolm pulled back and looked at her, his pale blue eyes almost compassionate except for the lust that lit them. “What ever is the matter, dear Lucinda?”

She had to be clever. She had to get herself out of this. “My nerves are overset. Perhaps some brandy…”

“Of course.” He stroked his hand over her cheek. “Help yourself, my dear. But do not think of trying to escape—my man is just outside the door.”

She nodded, her hands shaking as he stepped back and allowed her to cross the room to the brandy. A soft sound made her whip her head around. Malcolm smiled seductively as he pulled the tails of his shirt from his breeches and unfastened the last of the buttons.

“Hurry, my dear,” he purred. “I grow impatient.”

She nodded, then reached for her bag.

“What are you doing?” he barked.

She jumped. “Just taking off my reticule, Malcolm.” She tugged open the strings on the bag before making a show of slipping it from her wrist and placing it on the table beside the brandy bottle. As she did so, she tipped the tiny bottle of laudanum into her palm.

“All right then,” he said. “But be quick about it. I am very eager to claim what’s mine.”

She made a show of uncorking the brandy bottle and refilling the single goblet, letting the clink of the bottle on the glass disguise the small pop of the stopper on the laudanum bottle. She put down the brandy bottle and tipped the laudanum bottle against the edge of the goblet.

Malcolm grabbed her wrist and jerked her around to face him, the laudanum bottle gripped in her captured hand. “What’s this?” he demanded. “Are you trying to poison me?”

He shoved her hard against the wall with one hand on her throat, the other clenched on her wrist. Then he ripped the vial from her hand and threw it into the fire. The glass shattered, and the fire flared as her last chance at escape burned to ashes before her eyes.

“You will regret that,” he hissed, shoving his face close to hers as she struggled for breath beneath his punishing fingers. “I didn’t want this to be difficult, but you have made the choice.”

He tightened his fingers around her still-tender throat, and tears stung her eyes.

He used his free hand to fondle her breasts, his gaze locked on hers. “Now listen to me. You will remove your clothing and lie down on that bed and spread your legs for me as a woman should. And you will take me—and anything I want to do to you—with silence, do you understand?”

He was going to rape her now, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could only hope to get out of this alive.

The door crashed open and slammed hard against the wall. Garrett burst into the room, his eyes fierce. Knightsbridge followed, casually stepping over the body of the unconscious man in the hallway.

“Say, Kelton,” Knightsbridge said, “you will have to show me how you do that—” He stopped short just inside the doorway as he caught sight of the occupants of the room. “Good Lord, Arndale, have you lost your senses?”

Malcolm released Lucinda and turned to face the two men. “Gentlemen, you interrupt.”

“That’s my fiancée you’re fondling,” Garrett snarled.

“The devil she is!” Malcolm exclaimed. “She’s my mistress, you know.”