April Kihlstrom (17 page)

“How could you be so foolish as to get yourself caught?” She flung the words at him, tilting her chin up in the air.

“How could you?” he countered.

“It’s your job to protect me!”

“Do you think I am happy that I can’t?”

On the other side of the door, their captors started laughing, clearly enjoying the argument. Beatrix paused, cocked her head to listen, then nodded to Edmund. She took a breath and started in again, this time with an odd smile upon her face.

“You aren’t even going to try to save me, are you?”

What the devil?! Warily he said, “You’re the one who tore up the papers! We’d have been fine if you hadn’t done that.”

“Yes, but that’s because I thought you’d somehow find a way to overpower those two men and that man behind the desk! I didn’t think you were a coward!”

Again her voice broke on a sob, but she wasn’t crying. Apparently she was playacting. He only hoped there was a plan behind her madness. For the moment, he could only play along.

“You expected me to take on men bigger than I am? All three of them?”

“You never wanted to marry me!”

“You’re right, I didn’t! And if Adams rids me of you, why, I shall count myself fortunate!”

“I hate you!”

With these words, Beatrix picked up the nearest object, a bowl, and threw it against the door so that it hit loudly.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he demanded, advancing with as much noise as he could muster with his boots.

“D-don’t hurt me!” she quavered, not shrinking back in the least.

He stopped and smacked one hand against the other. “I’ll teach you!” he said as he did so.

Right on cue, she shrieked. Then, as if terrified, she cried out, “Please! Don’t hit me again!”

“Then shut up!”

What followed was the most convincing mock sobbing Edmund had ever heard. After several minutes of Beatrix’s crying, they both heard footsteps clomping down the stairs. Still, Beatrix continued until they were both certain their captors were not immediately returning.

Softly Edmund said, “Will you tell me what that was all about?”

Beatrix smiled grimly. “I thought perhaps it would be useful if they thought us at daggers drawn rather than allies. Especially if it confuses Adams so that he can’t decide if it will be more useful to threaten to harm me or threaten to keep me alive if you don’t sign the papers.”

Edmund nodded. He didn’t say what a long shot he thought it was as a plan. He didn’t have one better.

“Have they really not fed you?” she asked.

“They have not. Adams means to have what he wants, one way or another. He says he needs me alive in order to execute the documents he wants me to sign, but I wouldn’t give two shillings for our chances once he has.”

She nodded. “So we must escape as soon as possible.”

“If it’s possible to escape,” he agreed. “I found a length of metal I meant to use when they came for me before, but they said you were downstairs and I was afraid that if I tried and failed to overpower them you would be harmed.”

“Adams did say, when he sent them upstairs, that he hoped you would be sensible. He held a pistol on me and said that if you were not, he would shoot me himself. I have no doubt he meant it.”

Gently she reached out and touched his face. He winced.

“It looks as if they were none too gentle with you,” she said.

“I was lost in my thoughts and foolishly stepped into their waiting carriage. When we arrived here, I was not in a mood to comply with what they wanted,” he said grimly. Then, catching her hand with his, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss in her palm. “I am so sorry I could not be with you last night. That you were left so unprotected. How did they get you out of the house?”

She blushed and looked away, biting her lower lip. “I was utterly foolish. Lady Kenrick took me to stay with her. I slipped out this morning and hired a hackney to take me back to your townhouse—”

“Our townhouse,” he corrected her.

“Our townhouse, to see if you had yet returned. The hackney drove off before I reached the front door and one of those men abducted me right from the steps. He swore you were injured. I said I wanted to get some footmen to bring with us and that’s when he grabbed me. He said,” she added grimly, “that if I did not come with him you would soon be dead. The street was deserted and no one saw or heard us. Had I not been so headstrong—”

Again he cut her short. “Had I not asked my solicitor to draw up a new will, one that benefited you so greatly, you might not have been poisoned. Adams works for my solicitor and grew alarmed by that. I am the one who put you in danger.”

“No.” Beatrix shook her head. “That may have been what caused Adams to act now, but act he would have regardless and I have no doubt he would have used me against you in some manner. Adams seems a man with a strong sense of having been wronged. He would not simply have let it go.”

Edmund wanted to kiss her for both her bravery and her loyalty. “We shall get out of here,” he told her. “I don’t know how, but we will.”

Beatrix brushed away her tears with the back of her hand and the next thing Edmund knew, she was offering him the hilt of a knife. “Perhaps this will help,” she said. At his startled look, she added, “A present from my brothers on my thirteenth birthday after I’d had an encounter with the butcher’s son. They taught me how to use it and said to always carry it with me.”

Once again she had surprised him. He ought to be getting used to it by now. As he took the knife, he asked, “Have you ever needed it before?”

“Once. With a gentleman passing through town who thought I ought to be grateful for his attentions.”

Edmund felt his heart ache for a life in which she had ever had to be so afraid. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. He wished he could promise she need never be afraid again, but he was not a man to make promises he was not certain he could keep.

“We will get out of this,” he said again. “And yes, this knife will help. In fact . . . ”

His voice trailed off as he let go of Beatrix and went over to the door. Yes! The hinges were on this side of the door and it looked as if he could use the knife to undo them.

“Brilliant!” Beatrix whispered from behind him.

Edmund grinned but remained focused on the task at hand. Who knew how long they would have before the men returned? They would probably be gone for some time, but he would not count on that. Not when Beatrix’s life was at stake as well as his own.

Over his shoulder he said, “We’ll wait until after dark to leave, but I want these hinges undone now, while I have light to see. You may as well rest. This will take a while.”

He felt her move away, but she did not lie down upon the pallet. Instead he heard her moving all around the room, as if making the same kind of search he had done the day before. He did not tell her it was pointless, that he had already found the one thing that might be of use. She needed something to keep her busy, that much was evident. Better to think she was being useful than to have her feeling helpless.

It was some little while before he heard her give a tiny cry of triumph that echoed what he was feeling as the last hinge came loose. He turned to see her grinning and holding up some fabric.

At his quizzical look she said, “If we overpower our captors, we will need some way to tie them up and gag them so they cannot cry out a warning.”

Edmund found himself grinning in return. “And here I thought I was marrying a meek and docile woman! One who would do my bidding and nothing else.”

Abruptly the smile was gone. Her voice was uncertain as she said, “Is that truly what you want? A meek and docile wife? One who does your bidding and nothing else?”

In two strides he had her in his arms again, hugging her fiercely. “It is what my father always told me to look for in a wife. It is what I thought I wanted.”

She pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyes searching his. “Is that still what you want? Because I don’t think I can be that kind of wife. I think I can be the kind of wife who can make you happy, but I am not a meek and docile woman who will do your bidding and nothing else. I just cannot be that woman.”

Edmund swallowed hard. His voice was more than a little hoarse as he said, “I no longer know what I want.”

She gave a tiny cry and tried to take a step backward. But he would not let her. He tried to choose the right words to explain, to keep her there, close to him.

“When I thought I might lose you, I realized I could not bear the thought. I found myself thinking that my father was wrong about a number of things. Including marriage. I found myself thinking that I would be happier with someone very different from what he would have chosen for me. With a wife who can think for herself. One who is free to make changes in my household. At least so long as she makes my life more comfortable by doing so,” he amended.

Beatrix choked on a laugh.

He smiled as he said, “I do not promise, I
cannot
promise, to be an ideal husband. But I shall try to make you happy. I promise to try not to be my father, thinking I must decide everything. I will even let you live in London, if that is what you wish.”

“Let me live in London?”

She tapped her foot as she said it, but he did not think she was really angry. At least, he hoped she was not.

“I am trying to adjust to this new way of thinking,” he said gravely. “But it will take time and I do not think it will always be easy. But with all my heart, I want to try.”

Now she came fully into his arms again and he wished he could make love to her in this very moment. But they were both far too aware of the danger that waited below. Far too aware of the need to bend all their efforts toward preparing to escape, particularly while they still had light to see. Together they set to work using Beatrix’s knife to cut the fabric into strips that could be used to bind and gag their captors, if it came to that.

Chapter 15

Lady Kenrick stared at Lord Rothwood’s friends and they stared back at her. “No sign of Rothwood at all?” she asked in dismay.

“None.”

“Where is Lady Rothwood? Should she not be here with us?”

“No one can find her. One of the servants thinks she slipped out the front door this morning, but that is all I know. I was about to send round to Rothwood’s townhouse to see if she went back there. Will you go and ask? I should remain here in case she returns.”

“Of course. And we’ll send you word the moment we know anything.”

A short time later, out on the front steps of Rothwood’s townhouse, Edmund’s friends regarded each other with grim determination. Lord Burford used the knocker. The moment the door opened he pushed his way inside and handed his hat and gloves to the astonished footman. “We are here to see Rothwood,” he said.

“Lord Rothwood is not here,” the footman stammered.

“Then Lady Rothwood.”

“She is not here, either.”

“Then Henry. Fetch him at once.”

“There is no need. I am here,” an austere voice answered.

The gentlemen turned to see Rothwood’s majordomo standing toward the back of the foyer. He indicated the hallway with his hand. “This way, my lords. I believe Lord Rothwood would not mind if we use the library.”

When they reached the library, Henry was careful to close the heavy doors before he turned and faced Rothwood’s friends, hands clasped behind his back. He spoke before any of them could do so.

“I am grateful you are all here. I have been trying to determine the best course of action. His lordship has now been gone over a day. Her ladyship was extremely ill yesterday afternoon and then left last night with Lady Kenrick. Now I have just been told by one of the underservants that Lady Rothwood may have been seen being abducted from the front steps this morning. Apparently the housekeeper, Mrs. Barnes, thought the girl was imagining things. It took the girl some time to get up the courage to bypass Mrs. Barnes and speak to me directly. I was about to send for the Bow Street Runners, but should dislike to do so if it can be avoided. Until you arrived, however, I had begun to conclude there was no other choice. I hope you can advise me.”

“This girl. Can we speak with her?”

Henry bowed. “I have already sent a footman to fetch her.”

As if on cue, there was a rap at the door of the study. Henry opened it to admit a very young and very frightened girl, still more child than woman.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lord Burford said as Henry closed the door again. “Come here and tell us what you saw.”

She looked to Henry, who nodded, for guidance. Twisting her apron in her hands, she said, “I was cleaning out the fireplace and carrying the bucket of ashes toward the scullery when I looked out the window and saw her ladyship. There was a man and he was dragging her round the corner. I tried to tell the housekeeper. She said I was lying, but I wasn’t, I swear I wasn’t!”

“Did you recognize the man?”

She nodded. “It’s the bloke wot’s walking out with Annie.”

Burford looked at Henry. “Annie?” he asked sharply.

Henry’s voice was grim. “I’ll go and get her myself.” To the girl he said, “You stay here and answer any other questions they may have.”

But there was little more she could tell them other than noting that Annie had been acting very oddly ever since Lady Rothwood had taken ill. “Looking guilty-like. And talking with her fellow at the back door when it wasn’t even her half day off—and she knows we ain’t allowed.”

The men exchanged knowing looks.

“Thank you. We are grateful for your assistance,” Burford said. “Here is something for you for being so helpful.”

He handed the girl a coin and she seemed speechless and awed by her good fortune. “Thank you, m’lord,” she said. “I’d tell you more if I could. Her ladyship, she’ll be all right, won’t she?”

“We hope so,” Burford said grimly. “We hope so. And if she is, it will no doubt be in part because of your help.”

The girl looked as gratified by the praise as she had been by the coin.

And then Henry was there with another maid in tow, one who looked only a few years older than the first. He held her arm tightly and looked intensely displeased. Disdain dripped from his voice as he let go of her and said to Rothwood’s friends, “This is Annie.”

In contrast, Lord Burford gentled his voice as he said, “Come here, Annie. Don’t be afraid of us. We just want to ask you about your gentleman caller.”

She shot a resentful glare at Henry, then tilted up her chin and said, “James
is
a gentleman to me. Quite nice he is, and not one to be taking liberties, neither.” She paused, then added, her chin dropping a bit, “I know he wasn’t supposed to be here yesterday but sometimes we get impatient to see each other.”

“Of course you do,” Burford assured her, ignoring the way Henry positively quivered with indignation. “Annie, did James by any chance give you something to put in Lady Rothwood’s food?”

Now Annie looked terrified and would have fled the room if Henry had not been blocking the door. She whirled back around and appealed to Burford. “I didn’t know it would hurt her, honest, I didn’t. He swore it wouldn’t. Said it would just calm her nerves and give Lord Rothwood a bit of a fright. Said it was a practical joke being played on him by one of his friends. I swear I didn’t know it would make her so ill!”

“Which friend?” Burford demanded grimly.

“Dunno. Truly I don’t.”

“Annie, which friend? If you don’t tell us, we’ll have you taken up and charged with trying to murder her ladyship.”

That got her attention.

“He mentioned a man named Adams once, but I don’t know if that’s who gave him the powder to give to me,” she blurted out.

All three of Rothwood’s friends went stock-still.

“Does the name mean something to you?” Henry asked eagerly.

This time it was Lord Hawthorne who answered. “Yes, it does.” He looked at his friends, then back at Henry. “He works for Rothwood’s and our solicitor. And I know how we can find out where he lives.”

“Not just where he lives,” Totham said, “but any other property he might own.” At the startled look his friends gave him, he shrugged his shoulders and explained, “I doubt he’d take Lady Rothwood home with him, but if he has any property close to London, he might take her and perhaps even Rothwood there. Especially if it’s an isolated sort of place.”

Henry nodded. “You’ll be wanting to be on your way. What should I do with this one?” he asked, indicating Annie.

“Keep her here. What we do with her depends on whether or not we find Lord and Lady Rothwood and whether they are still alive and well.”

“Very good, m’lords.”

The three gentlemen were grim-faced and quiet as they rode the short distance to the solicitor’s office. Once there, they barged in on him, not waiting to be announced.

“Where is Mr. Adams?” Lord Burford asked.

“Are you in on it with him?” Hawthorne demanded.

In the outer office, Totham was getting directions from the underclerk, who stammered them out hastily, and when directed, wrote them down with a hand that shook. Never had he been faced with three such angry gentlemen, and if Mr. Adams didn’t like being hunted down in such a way, then he ought to have reported to work today!

Meanwhile, the solicitor was polishing his spectacles. “I don’t know what you mean by being in it with him,” he protested. “In what? And why do you want Adams? What can you possibly suspect him of? He’s the meekest of fellows!”

“Not so meek that he couldn’t arrange to try to have Lady Rothwood poisoned. Or abducted,” Burford retorted.

“And perhaps Lord Rothwood as well,” Hawthorne added. “Both are missing, and we are fairly certain he has one or both of them. Now tell us how to find him!”

“How should I know where he lives?” Lawton protested. “Why should I concern myself with the lives of my clerks? Besides, you must be mistaken.”

“Then why hasn’t Adams shown up for work today?” Totham asked from the doorway. To his friends he said, “I got directions from the underclerk in the outer office. Adams does have a property just outside of London that’s isolated and rather run down. Just the sort of place to hide Rothwood and his bride, if he chose.”

“But why would Adams do such a thing?” Lawton continued to protest.

Burford turned back to him. “Who would have benefited if Rothwood had not wed?” he demanded. “Does Adams do any work for those clients?”

“Well, er, yes, he does handle those accounts, and he himself would have benefited with a small bequest, but surely you cannot be thinking . . . ”

Rothwood’s friends did not wait for Lawton to finish. They were too anxious to find Adams, and hopefully Rothwood and his bride. No matter how fast they drove the horses, it was going to take far longer than they liked to reach Adams’s property. If the Rothwoods were not there, his friends would have to return to London and try to find another trail. And by then it might be too late.

* * *

“How late should we wait?” Beatrix asked softly. “Until they all go to sleep?”

“That’s the plan,” Edmund answered. “But if we see an opportunity sooner we shall take it.”

From one of the tiny windows, a short time later, they watched their two captors leave the house and head off in different directions. Immediately Edmund went over to the door where he had already loosened all the hinges using Beatrix’s knife.

“Adams must think he’s safe with us locked in here,” Edmund said, as he undid the hinges the rest of the way.

“How fortunate for us that he’s wrong.”

“Well, he’s safe for the moment. Unless he catches us trying to leave, I mean to get us to London and Bow Street to send Runners after him, not try to capture him ourselves. I want you safely back in London before that happens. You can stay with Lady Kenrick while I go to Bow Street. One of the Runners will come back with me to our townhouse to see who might have poisoned you.”

“How long do we wait before we leave?” Beatrix asked.

“We don’t. They might return at any moment.”

When the last hinge came off, he and Beatrix quietly lifted the door and set it to one side. Edmund gave Beatrix back her knife.

“I want you to be able to protect yourself,” he said.

“What about you?”

Edmund retrieved the metal object he’d found and hidden beneath the pallet. “I have this.”

She nodded and stashed the knife safely in her pocket. They both took off their shoes and carried them as they crept silently down the stairs, hugging the wall. Near the bottom of the stairs, they could see an open doorway with light spilling out of it and the sound of a pen moving across paper.

With great care they eased the rest of the way down the stairs and then around toward the back of the house, away from that open doorway. They went through the kitchen and to the back door, which had been left unlocked, and why not? Who would try to enter? And they were supposed to be safely locked away in the attic. Gingerly Edmund opened the door and motioned to Beatrix to go out ahead of him. He left the door faintly ajar behind him, not wanting to risk the sound of the latch engaging if he shut it.

A moment to put their shoes back on and then they were headed across the field to a stand of trees. Neither spoke until they were well hidden from the house.

“We came from this direction,” Beatrix said, pointing to the road.

Edmund nodded. “I think so as well. We shall need to stick to the bushes and shadows. Who knows how soon the man who went this way, or someone else we don’t even know to fear, might come along?”

“Or pursuit from the house,” Beatrix pointed out. “If Adams realizes we are gone, I do not think he will just sit there doing nothing.”

“Very true,” Edmund grimly agreed. “And the less talking, the better. Sound may carry farther than we think out here.”

Beatrix nodded to show she understood and they started moving. They did not run, but neither did they just walk. Not at first, at any rate. Both felt the urgency to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the house they had just escaped from.

The moon, when it rose sometime later, was a double-edged blessing. It was nice to be able to see where to place one’s feet. But it made them more likely to be seen, particularly on those stretches where there were no trees or bushes to hide them should anyone come along the road. It was at those points that they did run until they again reached the shelter of foliage.

Neither of them knew how far they were from London or how long it would take to walk there. They both could recall only that the ride had seemed interminable. So they kept walking, not daring to stop to rest, no matter how tired they were or how much their feet began to hurt.

“Once we get closer in,” Edmund said softly, when Beatrix stumbled for the third time in as many minutes, “we are bound to find an inn or such where we can hire a carriage to take us the rest of the way. We just need to walk a little farther.”

A little farther turned out to be far too optimistic a notion, but Beatrix said not a word. She understood as well as Edmund what was at stake.

Clouds had begun to obscure the moon when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching. Edmund pulled Beatrix deeper into the shadows as he reached for the knife she had given him. Beatrix could feel her heart beating far too rapidly as the horses drew closer. Suddenly Edmund rose to his feet and ran to the road shouting to the coachman to stop.

Beatrix grabbed for him, but she was too late to stop his madness. Fear clutched at her as she watched the carriage slow to a stop. Her heart continued to pound against her chest as three men piled out. Only when she saw them embracing Edmund did she realize who they must be. Letting out a sigh of relief, she emerged from the shadows to join them.

“Lady Rothwood! I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you alive and with Rothwood.”

“Indeed! We’ve been looking all over for the both of you. Did you know one of your maids was being courted by a man helping Adams? You do know, by the by, that it was Adams who kidnapped you?”

“Yes, we know,” Edmund said grimly. “We escaped. But how did you know to come this way?”