Candice Hern (28 page)

Dear God, what was happening?

She felt as if she were melting. Her muscles had gone limp and were no longer obeying the commands from her brain. She couldn't seem to move though she knew she should be fighting back. Her eyelids had become so strangely heavy that she could no longer keep them open. She was vaguely aware of being slowly engulfed in blackness.

As she lost the last thread of consciousness, she thought she heard a familiar, though muffled, voice.

"And so, Cousin, you shall avoid me no longer."

Chapter 20

"Ah,
chérie
, tonight's lobster mousse was positively divine."

Anatole proceeded to kiss each one of Mrs. Dawson's fingers as she sat close to him on the steps outside the service entrance near the kitchen.

"But, love," she said breathlessly as his kisses moved up her arm, "your veal tenderloins ... that Madeira sauce." She gasped as his lips moved over her shoulder to her neck. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful."

"And your duck liver terrine," Anatole crooned as he nibbled her ear, "wrapped in puff pastry. Ahhh." He traced her ear with his tongue. "Perfection!"

"Your saddle of lamb ..." she whispered as her lips burned a trail up his neck.

"Your raspberry bombe ..." He sighed, kissing her throat.

"Your mushrooms quenelles ..." She moaned, raining kisses on his face.

"Your bavarian cream ..." He panted, hovering over her lips.

"Hold on, love," Mrs. Dawson said abruptly, pushing him away. "What's this?"

Anatole glared at her in frustration, breathing heavily, and then followed her gaze to the alley adjacent to the service entrance. A dark, unmarked carriage stood with its door open while a man approached, carrying what looked to be a woman wrapped in a cloak. The man had his back to them and was therefore unrecognizable. As he stopped at the open carriage door, he lifted his burden a bit higher in order to toss it onto the seat. At that moment the cloak fell away slightly, and a shimmer of gold thread on green silk was caught by the light of the moon.

Mrs. Dawson gasped as she recognized the distinctive fabric she had seen earlier that evening when Miss Townsend had come to the kitchen to check on the last-minute preparations.

As the man hoisted his burden into the carriage, a pale, limp arm fell free, knocking loose the hood that had covered the woman's face.

"
Mon Dieu
!" Anatole sat up straight. "It is Mademoiselle Townsend!" He scrambled to his feet just as the man climbed into the carriage.

"The North Road!" the man shouted to the coachman as he closed the door.

The carriage sped away before Anatole could take more than a few steps. He turned to Mrs. Dawson with a look of horror. "Someone has taken away Mademoiselle Townsend," he said in a confused voice.

"And against her will, I should think." Mrs. Dawson rose to stand next to Anatole. "She looked like she'd fainted. Or maybe she was ..." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God! You don't think—"

"I don't know,
chérie.
" Anatole took Mrs. Dawson in his arms. "I don't know. But we must alert his lordship,
tout de suite
." He planted a quick kiss on her forehead, released her, and dashed down the steps to the kitchen.

As luck would have it, a liveried footman had just entered with a tray of empty champagne glasses. Anatole was relieved to see that it was young Freddie, one of the regular staff. "Freddie!" he shouted.

The young man gave a start as he saw the wild-eyed Frenchman heading toward him.

"Freddie," Anatole said as he gripped the boy's arm, "you must find Mr. Claypool and bring him to me at once!"

"But, Monsieur Anatole," said the footman in a plaintive whine, "I'm supposed ta be—"

"I don't care!" Anatole roared. "It is a matter of life and death!"

The young man looked at him skeptically.

"Miss Townsend's life or death," Anatole added dramatically. That got the boy's attention. All the staff loved Miss Townsend.

"M-miss Townsend, sir?"

"She is in danger, Freddie," Anatole said, his voice tight with emotion. "You must drop everything and locate Mr. Claypool.
Maintenant
!

Freddie hurried out of the kitchen with a terrified look on his face.

All activity in the kitchen had come to a stop as every member of the staff stared at Anatole in astonishment He turned around and saw them all gaping at him and slammed his fist down on the nearby trestle table with a crash. "Don't stand around like idiots!" he bellowed. "Get back to work!
Vite, vite, vite!
'

* * *

Robert was standing among a group of friends—Lord Sedgewick, Jack Raeburn, Lord Lavenham, Sir John Presley, Lord Palmerston, and a few others—listening with amusement to Sir John's tale of a recent confrontation between two of his mistresses. Suddenly Robert noticed Jack signaling him to look behind him. Robert swung around and was surprised and somewhat amused to see Claypool almost collapsing in relief. The man had obviously been attempting to gain his attention discreetly, but the noise of the crowd had caused his words to go unheard. It was unthinkable for the ever proper Claypool to actually touch Robert to get his attention.

"A word with you, if you please, my lord," the butler said in a harried tone Robert had never before heard him use.

Robert swore under his breath and pulled Claypool slightly aside from the others. "A crisis of some kind, Claypool?"

"Indeed, my lord." Claypool quickly imparted all the details of Emily's apparent abduction as told to him by the two chefs.

"Emily!" Robert felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh, my God."

Lord Sedgewick was suddenly at his side. "What is it Rob? What's happened?"

Robert turned a stricken face to his friend and told him briefly what he'd just learned.

"Good lord." Sedgewick, ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Who could have done such a thing? Who would want to hurt Emily?"

"Faversham!" Robert snarled. "Or Pentwick. But probably Faversham, if my guess is correct."

He began to make his way through the crowded ballroom, following Claypool. The ingenious placement of topiaries meant they could not take a straight path to the nearest exit but were forced to snake their way through the potted shrubs like rats in a maze. Robert sincerely hoped Claypool knew where he was going. Sedgewick was suddenly at his shoulder, hurrying along beside him.

"I'm sorry, Rob." Sedgewick shook his head in confusion as they walked. "I don't understand. Why would her cousin, despicable character though he may be, want to abduct her?"

"Because, my friend, she is an heiress."

Sedgewick stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief.

"Oh, she doesn't even know it, Sedge. But Faversham does." Robert explained about her grandfather's will, the marriage stipulation, and her uncle's trusteeship.

"I suspect," Robert said as they hustled through the crowd, ignoring all guests who attempted to speak with him, "that Faversham has abducted her in order to marry her himself. Recall that my chef heard the directions given to the coachman to head to the North Road. It all makes perfect sense." They had navigated the topiaries and the crowd and were now heading up the stairs out of the ballroom.

"I believe you must be right, Rob," Sedgewick said. "Faversham is forever under the hatches, if rumor is true. He no doubt wants that fortune for himself."

"My notion precisely." Robert turned to face Claypool once they had made the entry hall. "Have my fastest horse saddled and waiting for me at the front entrance in ten minutes. And send Luckett to me."

Robert dashed up the stairs two at a time, leaving Sedgewick behind without a thought. He began stripping off his evening clothes as soon as he entered his bedchamber. Luckett was there before he could remove his waistcoat, silently laying out his riding breeches, coat, and top boots. Robert looked at his valet's unnaturally dour expression and realized the man was almost as upset as he was himself. Of course, he knew what had happened. The entire staff would know by now.

"Thank you, Luckett," Robert said as the valet handed him the buckskin breeches. While he tugged them on, Luckett picked up the discarded garments from the floor and shook them out. Robert sat down on the bed and pulled on his favorite top boots. He did not change out of the lace-edged evening shirt, which looked incongruous with his comfortable blue riding coat. But there was no time to worry about such things. Luckett handed him leather gloves, then a hat and riding crop. The valet had not spoken a word.

"I'll find her, Luckett."

The valet held open the bedchamber door and said in a somber voice, "I'm sure you will, my lord. God's speed."

Robert dashed down the stairs to the entry hall, where Claypool was waiting with his greatcoat. The news of the abduction had apparently spread, and a small crowd had gathered in the hall. Damnation! He had hoped to keep it quiet and escape without a fuss.

As he eased into the greatcoat, Robert spied his grandmother. She made her way to his side, her face unnaturally pale and her mouth held in a tight line. She looked up at him with such pain in her eyes that he almost lost control. He took her in his arms.

"You know what happened?" he whispered.

She nodded against his chest.

"I must go after her, Grandmother."

She pulled away and looked up at him, searching his eyes. "I know," she said finally. "I know." She nodded as a look of deep understanding passed between them. She stepped back, glanced around the hall, and glowered menacingly at some of the bystanders, who quickly moved away. "Do you know who did this, Robert?" she asked in a low voice.

"I believe it was Faversham."

"That scoundrel!" she exclaimed. Looking around furtively, she lowered her voice again. "Will you kill him?"

Robert smiled and cupped her cheek. "I'd like to, though I'll try not to. But, so help me, if he's laid one finger on her ..."

"Well, well, my lord. What's all this?" Augusta asked in a sweet voice as she entered the hall, obviously drawn by the increasing commotion. She was trailed by both her parents. Lady Windhurst looked ready to explode with anger. Lord Windhurst simply looked confused.

Damnation. This was all he needed. Robert braced himself for a scene, all the while desperate to make his departure. The carriage was already almost an hour ahead of him. He had to get out of here!

Trying to keep his impatience in check, he said, "I'm sorry, Augusta, but I must leave. We'll discuss it later."

Augusta looked frankly astonished. "You mean you're leaving the ball?
Our
ball? But you can't! What will people think?" Her voice had risen to a shrill pitch which reminded him of nothing so much as her mother.

"Look, Augusta," Robert said, his anger and frustration increasing as precious minutes ticked away, "a woman under the protection of my own roof has been abducted. It is my place to go after her. Her life may be in danger."

"Then send someone else!" she wailed in uncharacteristic agitation.

The inappropriate thought briefly crossed Robert's mind that he was at last seeing the fire beneath Augusta's ice. He had apparently pushed her to the limit. But he no longer cared.

"You don't have to be the one to go," she continued. "Send someone else." She looked around frantically. "Lord Sedgewick, for example."

Robert's eyes followed her to the frowning Sedgewick, whose presence he'd forgotten. He must have been waiting down here the whole time. "No," he said, turning back to Augusta, pulling on his gloves. "It is my place to go, and I am leaving now. I suggest you step aside and let me be on my way before wasting any more of my time."

He turned his back on Augusta and made a move toward the entrance.

"I will not be publicly humiliated, my lord," she said to his retreating back. "If you leave our ball to chase after that woman, then I shall be forced to call off the engagement."

A collective gasp was heard from the gathered crowd. An audible groan followed, which could only have been Lady Windhurst's.

Robert slowly turned back to face Augusta, looked her in the eye, and arched one brow. "Well, then," he said, "I shall expect to see such an announcement in tomorrow's papers."

Augusta started, and her hand flew to her mouth. She glared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then turned on her heel and rushed away. Lady Windhurst gave him a furious look and went after her daughter. Lord Windhurst ran his hands through his bushy hair, shook his head, and followed.

Robert caught his grandmother's eye. The full impact of what had just taken place struck him in that moment as he watched his grandmother trying valiantly to stifle a grin. By God, he was free! He was actually free from that blasted engagement! He flashed the dowager a brilliant smile and made once again for the door, now more anxious than ever to find Emily. He hadn't moved two feet when his grandmother's sharp voice stopped him once again.

"Robert!"

He sighed and turned around. Would they never let him be gone? The dowager cocked her head toward a figure coming down the hall. It was his cousin Ted. True to form, he must have been spending his time in the library rather than in the ballroom. Robert looked back at his grandmother and nodded briefly. He understood.

"Ted!" Robert shouted.

His cousin stopped in his tracks. He took in Robert's attire and said, "What's this, Rob? You going out?"

"Yes, but first I'd like a word with you." He steered Ted back toward the library.

"Sure thing, Rob. What's going on? Has something happened?"

"Actually, quite a lot has happened." He closed the library door. Ted indicated a chair, but Robert shook his head. "No time, Cousin. You see. Miss Townsend has been abducted."

"Good lord!"

"And I'm on my way to try to rescue her. But what has also happened, you see, is that... well... Miss Windhurst and I have decided we would not suit."

"Not suit? You mean—"

"We've called off the engagement."

"By Jove!"

Robert placed a hand on Ted's shoulder. "In fact, I suspect that Augusta is not in the best of spirits just now. She could probably use some comforting. Perhaps a friendly shoulder to cry on?"