A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (35 page)

She feigned righteous anger. “How dare you imply that I have been less than—”

Before she could finish her tirade Alexander interrupted, “Very well then, you won’t mind if I have a moment with your father.” When she didn’t respond
, he continued. “I’m a businessman, Claire. I study the market and take calculated risks that bring huge rewards. Do not think I conduct my personal life or affiliations with any less stringent guidelines. If I say I have names, I have them, and I will use them if need be.”

Cruel man. Vicious. Unworthy.

“Tell me where my wife is or by all that is holy, I’ll expose your indiscretions, beginning with Pastor Hulings.”

***

Alexander sped to the cottage on the far side of the duke’s property. If Claire were lying, by God, he’d plaster her indiscretions in
The Times
for all of London and half of England to see. He’d called her bluff when he told her he had the names of the men and boys she’d dallied with, but as he’d warned her, he was quite good at calculating risk. Too many men owed him money and favors; the names could be easily gotten and then even more easily spread throughout the countryside.

He had to find Francie, had to save her from the beast who threatened her. Alexander crested a hill and spotted the cottage Claire described. He forced himself to remain calm as he neared, for if he lost his head, he might jeopardize his wife’s safety.

Let her be well. Let her be safe
.

Alexander approached the cottage quietly and dismounted. Where was Crayton’s horse? Had they already left? Or had Claire lied to him? Dread seized his heart as he inched open the door.

The inside of the cottage was dim with late afternoon shadows and he had to adjust his eyes to make out objects. A chair. Vases of flowers. A bed. He squinted and drew near the latter.

“
Francie?”

She shook her head and pulled on a leather strap binding her wrists to the headboard. “No. Please, I beg of you. Please.”

The sight of his wife tied to a bed sickened him. Cursing, he rushed to her and knelt before her. “It’s Alexander, my love.”

She turned to him, a wild,
near-hysteric look in her eyes. “Alexander?”

He touched her tear-stained cheek with great tenderness and even greater caution. “It’s all right, Francie. He can’t hurt you now.”

“Alexander,” she whispered. “He vowed to get me. I fear he’ll be back.”

“No, no, my love.” With a bit of effort, he unbound her hands and pulled her against his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered into her hair. “On my life, no one will harm you.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment and thanked God she was alive. “Where is Crayton now?”

“On his way to Devonshire, I think. A servant came hours ago with a message and he left. He has a gun, he shot Uncle Bernard...and Claire...” she broke off sobbing and Alexander pulled her closer.

“Your uncle is being tended by the physician at this very moment. He arrived at Drakemoor a short time ago.” He paused, debating whether he should tell her the state Bernard had been in. He decided on the truth. “He lost quite a bit of blood.”

“That evil man shot him.”

“And he shall pay. Come, my love, I need to get you out of here.” Alexander lifted her into his arms and carried her from the cottage. Her eyes fluttered shut and she went limp, her face pressed against his chest. He could have lost her today. His heart pounded so hard it hurt to breathe.
He could not lose her
. Alexander lifted Francie onto Baron, climbed behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, Francie,” he breathed into her hair.

He rode with as much speed as he thought she could tolerate. When they were still some distance away, he found an isolated area amidst the trees and stopped. They would rest awhile and then continue their journey to Drakemoor. Alexander dismounted and helped his wife down, then with great gentleness checked her for injuries. His rage grew with each abrasion, each cut, and when he’d completed his examination, he vowed,
“I will kill him.”

Francie pressed his hand against her cheek. Her lips trembled when she spoke. “I thought I might never see you again.”

He placed a soft, reverent kiss on her lips. “I feared you were lost to me forever. My life would be worthless without you. I love you, Francie, with every ounce of breath I possess. I’ve been a fool. An utterly, ridiculous fool.”

Her eyes glistened. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”

He kissed her temple. “That I love you? Or that I’ve been a fool?”

“Both.” Her voice fell to a husky whisper. “I thought I might die and never hear you speak of love. And now that you have, I fear once will never be enough.”

His hand trembled as he caressed her cheek. “That is quite fortunate for me, for I fear I will need to profess it several times a day.” He paused, then asked the question he dreaded most. “Did he hurt you? Did he...force you?”

She shook her head. “No, he did not.”

Relief flooded through him. His wife was safe.

“There’s something I must tell you,” Francie said. “It’s about Claire Ashcroft.” She bit her lower lip, a habit she had when caught in a bout of uncertainty.

He would spare her further upset. “I know she was involved in your abduction. I’ll see she pays for her choice of regrettable friends and ill pursuits.”

Francie worried her lower lip with greater ferocity and blurted out, “She’s my sister, Alexander.”

“Sister?” Surely, he’d not heard right. He searched her face, looking for something, anything, that would claim this word false. Claire and Francie could
not
be sisters. They possessed no like qualities save they were both females. They were as different as...Belmont and Philip, evil and goodness, arrogance and humbleness. Hatred and love.

“Claire is my twin sister. I learned of this today from Uncle Bernard when she discovered my locket. It all makes sense if one thinks about it. She could pass as Lord Belmont’s daughter with her black hair and fair skin. I, obviously, could not.” She raised a hand and fingered a lock of her glorious curls.

“She knows you are sisters?” he asked, still reeling from this latest discovery.

Francie shrugged as though the
matter were of little consequence but he didn’t miss the fleeting pain in her eyes. “I thought she’d come to help me.”

Alexander eased her chin between his fingers and placed a tender kiss on her lips. “She’ll not bother you again. I promise.” Sister or not, he had plans for Claire Ashcroft. What would her father say when he learned she lifted her skirts for men and boys of every station? He’d not take it well, Alexander guessed.

“And Jared Crayton?”

He tensed. Mention of the man made him want to beat the bastard with his bare fists. He forced himself to relax and provide a reasonable answer. “I shall find him and deal with him.” He would not tell her of the unsavory characters he knew in London who could rearrange a man’s body parts in exchange for a satchel of coins.

***

Francie dreamed she heard hoofbeats, soft and steady at first and then louder, more persistent. It was him! She must escape before he returned. She yanked at the leather strap
that bound her to the bed but could not free herself. She was well and truly trapped.

Jared Crayton said he would send for her. He would abuse her body, scar her soul,
steal all hope for a future with Alexander, employing vileness and cruelty until he broke her. She would rather die. The hoofbeats stopped.

“No!” She thrashed about the bed, kicking and screaming. “No!” She would not give in. “Leave me alone! Don’t touch me, you horrible beast!”

“Francie. Wake up. Look at me, my love.”

Alexander?
Her eyes flew open. Her husband stared back at her, an expression of such concern and heartache on his face, it pained her. “Alexander,” she breathed.

“You had a bad dream,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. No one will hurt you, I swear it.”

She blinked and took in her surroundings—she was in Alexander’s room, in his bed, and he lay beside her, freshly shaved and smelling of spice and mint. His silk robe hung open, revealing a chest that made her light-headed.

“Francie?”

His soothing tone coaxed the words from her. “The dream seemed so real,” she whispered. “I was trying to escape but my hands were tied and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t free myself.”

Alexander’s silver gaze burned into her as he lifted her hand and gently kissed each finger. “I swear, on my word and on my life, no one will harm you.”

“I believe you.” She stroked the jagged scar on his face, wishing she could have protected the little boy he’d once been. “And I swear on my word and on
my life
, no one will harm you.”

His lips twitched. “You will protect me?”

She nodded, warming to the idea of protecting her husband. “I will.” She might require assistance, but there was always George, who could tackle and foil an intruder, as well as the other residents of Drakemoor. They held great allegiance to their master. She’d heard of James’s vow to keep intruders at bay and Mrs. Jenkins’s stockpile of pots and pans at the ready to hurl from windows at unsuspecting interlopers. Even Aunt Eleanor admitted to tucking a kitchen knife in her apron—in the event action became necessary.

The residents of Drakemoor were no weaklings. To be sure, they were ferocious, loyal, and determined. They would protect their lord and mistress from all manner of beast—royal or not. Francie let out a long, calming breath. Indeed, they were safe.

“We’ll catch him and see that justice is done.” Alexander spoke with a steely certainty that made her wonder if the man had already been caught and was at this very moment receiving his torturous due.

“Have you located him?” She pictured broken bones and bruises. And blood—lots of blood.

“Not yet. But soon.”

“Are you certain?”

Alexander’s eyes gleamed. “Very certain.”

She knew that look in his eyes and was grateful it wasn’t meant for her. Jared Crayton
would
be captured. “You aren’t the only one in search of him. Sally’s uncle is on the hunt as well.”

“Sally’s uncle? What the devil are you talking about?”

With all the goings-on of the past several hours, she’d completely forgotten about the uncle. “I’m sorry. Sally’s uncle visited the duke and demanded to see his son. The man must have made a rather strong impression because a servant arrived at the cottage with money and a note for Jared Crayton to flee immediately.”

Alexander sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there anything else you forgot to tell me?”

“Just one more thing. Sally’s uncle is not just any uncle. He’s the stuff of legends.”

Alexander lifted a brow. “Indeed?”

“Sally loved to speak of her mysterious uncle and his gallant adventures.” She lowered her voice. “He’s a pirate.”

“A pirate?”

“Oh, Alexander, why such a sour face? I have it on good authority; the man is a pirate, though not a bad one. He’s what is known as a gentleman pirate.”

“I was not aware there was a difference.”

“Indeed there is.” She pictured a dark and dangerous man with a golden earring and devilish good looks. And politeness, of course. Those looks, according to legend, had stolen women’s hearts from England to the West Indies. “Have you any idea who I’m speaking of?”

Alexander rubbed his jaw and said, “I cannot begin to imagine.”

“His name is Mad Jack.”

“Mad Jack?” He said the name with equal amounts irritation and respect.

“You know of him?”

Pause. “Unfortunately, I do.”

“I thought tales of the man only lived in Amberden. The way Sally spoke of her uncle’s outlandish antics, I often wondered if he could possibly be real or merely the figment of a young girl’s imagination.”

Alexander frowned. “He’s real enough.”

“Truly? You met him?”

Her husband grew distracted at the question
, which told Francie he did indeed know the man. But the look on his face suggested he’d rather not offer details.

“Alexander?”

His frown deepened and when he spoke, his voice contained a hint of anger. “I had a run-in with him a few years back over stolen lace and a trunk of gold.
My
lace and
my
gold. I lost half a cargo ship to the blasted thief.”

Francie peered into her husband’s eyes. “Oh, Alexander. He didn’t harm you, did he?”

He scowled. “Other than my pride? No, he didn’t harm me. I fared much better than most. We struck a deal; I could keep half of my cargo if I agreed to invest a portion of his ill-gotten wealth for a time when he quit the seas.”

Francie laughed. “Oh, but that’s rich! Mad Jack must be quite a businessman.” How many men could strike business deals with the very person they’d stolen from? “Was he terribly handsome?”

Alexander scowled again. “I assure you, I didn’t notice.”