An Undomesticated Wife (24 page)

She hated the hot tears that were filling her eyes. She would not cry. Not here. Not when Mrs. Simpson must be exulting in her control over Regina's husband. Bending her head, she rushed toward the stairs.

Beatty gave a shocked gasp just as Regina plowed into a hard form. Rocked back on her feet, Regina stared up into Marcus's face.

His surprise faded quickly into a frown. “What are you doing
here?
”

Before Regina could answer, a purr came from the sitting-room door. “She came to ask me to speak to you about that worthless duel you have arranged for the morrow,” said Mrs. Simpson.

Marcus glanced from Regina to his mistress. “Jocelyn,” he said tightly, “I shall speak with you later. Right now, I will escort my wife home
where she will stay.
”

Hearing Mrs. Simpson's amused titter, Regina squared her shoulders. She would not knuckle under his orders like a beaten dog when he was risking his life for no good reason, but she would not get into a brangle here in front of his convenient. If she had an ounce of sense, she would let Marcus fry in his own grease. She might have an ounce of sense, but her heart did not.

Beatty rushed into her lady's bedchamber as soon as Regina lit a lamp. Although she wore a frightened expression, the abigail did not hesitate when Regina asked for a simple dress. Even while she was helping Regina dress, Beatty was silent.

Only when Regina tied her white poke bonnet under her chin, did Beatty cry, “You cannot go anywhere. Lord Daniston said—”

“Do you really think I would listen to such a ludicrous order?”

“But he is your husband.”

“Exactly.” Pulling on her gloves, she said, “That is why I must make one last attempt to halt him.”

Regina gasped as she heard hoofbeats in front of the house. Running to the window, she pulled aside the drapes to see Marcus mounting his horse in the light of streetlamps poking through the mist. As her heart thudded against her breastbone, she rushed to the door.

“You must not go out alone, my lady,” Beatty said from behind her. “I shall go with you.”

“There is no need for you to get yourself in trouble.” A reluctant smile pulled at her lips. “You were there when Lord Daniston gave his order. I will take Timmy with me. He was not a witness to that skimble-skamble edict.”

“Timmy?” Her mouth became a straight line of disapproval. “The lad doesn't have the wit to caution you when you take a notion into your head. You need someone with more sense.”

“Bother, Beatty! I shall not risk your position in this household.”

“My lady, I beg you to rethink.”

With a sigh, because pulling caps with her abigail was the very last thing she wanted to endure this morning, she nodded. “Very well, but please do not keep telling me that I should remain here. I must be there.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Hearing Beatty's sorrowful tone, Regina was instantly flooded with remorse. She said nothing, for an apology would convince the abigail to resume her chatter about listening to good sense and obeying Marcus's orders.

She could not.

The Park was oddly empty as the birds began to stir with the first gray light of dawn. Damp scents were splashed up by the horse as Regina steered the carriage toward the Serpentine. She hoped they would meet no one. She was not prepared to smile at one of Marcus's tie-mates who was here to cheer him on in this insanity.

In the dim light, the bushes and trees took on a macabre appearance. Her hands tightened on the reins. She tried to see through mist, but she could see little past her horse's nose.

“I do not see them, my lady,” Beatty said. “Are you sure they were to meet here?”

“Marcus said the duel would be by the Serpentine.”

The abigail shivered as she drew her knotted shawl tighter to her shoulders. “The Serpentine runs the length of the Park, my lady.”

“But we have driven almost its full course and have not seen them.”

“Mayhap they came to their senses and decided not to meet for grass before breakfast. We should go home ourselves.”

Regina looked at the eastern sky. The first shell pink light was brushing it. She shuddered as she realized it was the same shade as the wrapper Mrs. Simpson had been wearing. Mayhap Marcus's prime article had induced him to listen to reason, and he had been on his way to her bed instead of coming here to the Park.

What a sap-skull you are!
she chided herself. Before she had dashed out of the house, she should have checked Marcus's room to see if he had taken the dueling pistols with him. Then, she realized, that might have told her nothing. He had fought a duel before, so he must own another set.

“How can he so want for sense?” she whispered.

Beatty patted her hand. “My lady, our chances of finding them are so small. Why don't we return home? Then you can wait for Lord Daniston to come to you there.”

“And if he doesn't come to me?”

“I pray he will, my lady, but you must show good sense now. If—”

“Look!” Regina cried. “There is someone there!” She slapped the reins on the back of the horse.

The carriage slowed by a short man who was wandering along the path. His clothes showed heavy wear, but his step was jaunty as he raised a pipe to wave to them.

“Have you seen some gentlemen here?” called Regina. “Gentlemen that looked ready to fight a duel.”

“Can't say I have, but there.” He pointed with the chewed end of his pipe. “That be where the gentlemen do their killing.” His forehead rutted. “Or to the left there. Sometimes they be having to choose another spot when they fight over some light-skirt.”

Regina hoped she was not blushing, but warmth oozed along her cheeks as she said, “Thank you, sir, for your help.”

“No place for a lady. Stay away from them fools who be wrapped in warm flannel after a night with a bottle of brandy.”

She nodded as he continued to walk toward the far side of the Park, but said, “Beatty, you look to the left. I shall check beyond that grove of trees.”

“My lady, if you were to come within the line of their fire, you could be killed.”

“I shall be careful.” She climbed down from the carriage and looped the reins over a bush. “You must be, too.”

Regina gave her abigail no time to come to points with her. Rushing across the damp grass, she edged past the bushes and inched between the trees. She resisted calling Marcus's name. If he was in the midst of the duel, she did not want to encroach on his concentration.

A glint of sunlight bounced off blond hair, and Regina rushed forward. “Benjamin! Thank goodness I got here before Marcus did.”

He turned and smiled. “I had hoped you would, Regina.”

“What—?” She gasped as her arms were grasped from behind her. A hand covered her mouth before she could scream.

The memory of fear became real. She tried to pull away from her unseen captor. Benjamin walked toward her, smiling. She could not believe when he laughed lowly. If this was his idea of a hideous joke, she would tell him.

He pulled something from his belt. She did not move as he held a
kumya
inches from her heart. The curved copper knife glittered in the sunshine, but she stared at Benjamin.

“You will not scream, will you, Regina?” he said in a conversational tone. “I have no desire to slice into you with this. Will you scream?”

She shook her head. He made a signal, and the sweaty hand lowered from her mouth. The hands holding her tightened as she shifted to look at a trio of men coming out of the shadows. When one smiled, she realized it was the man she had met by the creek near the cottage. Why had she been so mulish, wandering away from Beatty? More than anyone else, she had known the danger awaiting her at the hands of the servants of the Dey.

Her gaze went back to the blond man she had long considered a friend. This made no sense. “Benjamin, what are you doing with these men?”

“Making sure that my new employer is assured of a good deal while negotiating with the British government.”

“You work for the Dey?” she gasped, not believing the words even as she spoke them.

He raised the curved knife until the point was just below her chin. “Yes, Regina, and now you will, too.”

Eighteen

The small room on the upper floor of his club was empty when Marcus opened the door. Carrying an open bottle of wine and a glass, he went in and closed the door behind him. He sat with his back to the door because he did not wish to be disturbed by anyone or anything, especially his disturbing thoughts.

Dash it! First Sheldon had proven he was a coward by not showing up this morning for their duel. Then when he had gone to Jocelyn's house to have the confrontation he had postponed too long, she had already gone out. Or had she not yet returned from some illicit assignation? The thought of her shock if she had come upon him in her foyer as she was coming home from a night with a new lover had amused him, but his amusement had faded when her butler had coolly asked him to leave a
carte de visite
as if he was nothing but a casual caller. He should be the one to choose the time to end their relationship, not Jocelyn.

Nothing was as he had intended it to be. He lifted the glass toward the window. Sunshine glistened through the red wine. Taking a deep drink, he fisted his hand on the arm of the leather chair.

By Jove, he thought, wine was supposed to bring forgetfulness and a surcease of cares. Although the hour was early, he was most of the way through this bottle, and he still had not found an escape from his troubles.

He would have been the last to label Marcus Aurelius Octavius Whyte as a naïve clod-pate, but he must have been to believe he could have everything just as he wished. Mayhap it would have been possible if Regina had been less charming and less enticing when he drew her into his arms. Now he feared the worst might happen. He might actually be falling in love with his own wife.

No, he would not let that happen. Then he might soon be caught up in the mundane life of a country bumpkin who came to Town for a Season along with his wife and collection of naughty children. Just like his boring father, who could spend a whole day poring over the newspaper and the long letters he received from his friends in the House of Lords. No excitement, no expectations, just the same thing day after day.

Yet, he missed the time he had had with Regina in the cottage. They had worked as a team there, delighting in the love that had overwhelmed him as much as it had her. How was he to guess that his virginal wife would thrill him more than Jocelyn's practiced touch? How was he to have known that all his yearnings now would be for Regina? The thought of Jocelyn's touch and kisses no longer sent any desire racing through him.

His hand clenched on the glass. Dash it! He had not been with Regina since their return to Town, and he craved that ecstasy. Draining the glass, he set it on the table. He stood. That silly pledge he had made to his grandmother would come to an end as soon as he could ride back to Berkeley Square, sweep his wife up in his arms, and carry her to his bed. He would keep her there until both of them were sated.

The door crashed open.

He whirled. “Beatty!”

“My lord!” She clutched the front of her shawl and stumbled toward him, refusing to let the club's footman halt her.

Marcus waved the man aside. Putting his hand beneath her elbow, he guided her to the chair where he had been sitting. “Did Regina send you to me with an urgent message?”

He steeled himself for what he thought he would hear. Regina, suspecting or having discovered that he had gone to call on Jocelyn and not knowing why he went to give Jocelyn a look-in, might be willing to suffer in silence no longer. Such a scene was sure to be the delight of the
ton
, which was looking for some excitement to end the Season, but it could destroy everything he hoped would come to be.

When Beatty shook her head but was unable to speak, Marcus noted that her face was the same gray as her hair. He refilled his glass with wine. He held it out to her, then put it to her lips when she shook as if with a high fever.

Past her, he motioned for the footman to clear the gawkers from the doorway. There would be enough poker-talk about this as it was. He would not give the gossip-mongers, who would pry the truth from the footman at the slightest hint of a rumor, any more ammunition for a volley of scandal aimed at his family.

“What is it, Beatty?” he asked, concern erasing his exasperation.

“Her ladyship …” She pressed her hand to her head. “Oh, my lord, I fear I shall swoon.”

“You will not swoon,” he said sternly. “Perk up, Beatty. Why did Regina send you here?”

Her eyes were hollow with bleak fear as she whispered, “Her ladyship did not send me.”

“Then why—?”

“She's gone, my lord.”

“Gone? You mean she ran away?” He wanted to take back the words as soon as they had left his mouth, but he had seen Regina's despair. Mayhap she had decided returning to the dowager cottage of Attleby Court would be the best way to deal with her—with
their
unhappiness. Was this the price he must pay for not listening to his heart? What a complete block he was!

“She's
gone!
From the Park! Lord Daniston, I fear she has been abducted!”

“What?” he gasped, wanting to have misheard her.

“Not a sign of her, my lord, save for this. I found it in our carriage.” She held out a curiously carved item. “I have never seen the likes of it.”

Marcus snarled a curse as he grasped the powder horn which was decorated with silver filigree. It was nearly the twin to the
guern el barud
that had been dropped when they had seen the Dey's man near Attleby Court. The Dey's men had failed in whatever they had planned that time, but success might have been theirs today.

“How long ago?” he demanded.