Captive (26 page)

When she began listening again, she heard him say, “A real lady would have appealed to Sir Fenton’s sense of decency. She would have—”

“A
real
lady would have ended up getting mauled!” Charlotte snapped.

Her angry voice brought his head whipping over in her direction with a grunt of pain. He looked twice, as though he did not believe his eyes any better than he had trusted his ears.

“Cover yourself, Charlotte,” he said through tight jaws.

Charlotte looked down and realized her naked breast was pressed practically against his cheek. She let the sword fall—she had not even realized she was still holding it—and rearranged the slippery fabric to cover herself.

Denbigh rolled onto his knees and rose to his feet, where he stood wavering, obviously dizzy.

Charlotte moved in his direction, as though to help support him, and he stuck out a hand to keep her away.

“Don’t come near me.”

Charlotte gripped the fabric tighter against her chest, holding on to the pieces of her broken heart.

“I cannot believe you actually attacked a gentlemen of the
ton
with a sword,” Denbigh said. “We will be lucky if the story of this does not ruin you.”

“I attacked him because he threatened to attack me,” Charlotte said. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“I was here to protect you.”

“You were knocked senseless!”

He ignored that truth and continued, “What did you hope to accomplish by meeting with Fenton in a darkened walkway?”

“I was searching for proof that Lady Alice did not willingly betray you,” she said.

“From Sir Fenton?” he asked incredulously. “Of all the cork-brained, buffle-headed—”

“I am not finished!” she said, cutting him off
furiously. “I wanted proof that Alice did not willingly betray you, so you would be able to believe in love again. I entertained the misbegotten hope that if you could ever learn to love again, you might love me.”

“Charlotte, I—”

“I no longer care whether you believe in Lady Alice’s fidelity or not. You may wallow in self-pity and bitterness for the rest of your life, if you want to. I’m not going to waste any more of my time trying to heal your heart. Because I know now it would make no difference. You will never be able to accept me for who I am.”

His face muscles had tightened until the skin was stretched taut over the bones. “It is time we returned to the supper box, Charlotte,” he said. “Percy and Olivia will be wondering where we are.”

Charlotte was used to Denbigh’s disapproval. The look on his face now was more than that. She felt her nose begin to burn and the first sting of tears in her eyes.

He reached out to take her arm, and she jerked free of his grasp. “I was not done speaking,” she said in a voice that was sharp because she was fighting hysteria.

“Our false engagement is at an end. I no longer wish even to pretend an alliance with you. I want
the world to know I am looking for a husband. I want the world to know I have rejected you.”

She did not wait for him to reach for her again. She ran. When she looked back, he was not following her.

Lion tried running after Charlotte but took two steps and nearly blacked out. He grabbed hold of a branch at the edge of the gravel path and held on until the stars disappeared and he could focus again. His head still was not on straight after that blow Fenton had given him. And he was losing blood at a slow drip from the small wound on his arm. He should have killed the man when he had the chance.

Since there was no dead body in the vicinity, he had to assume Charlotte had not finished the job for him. Though she had apparently tried. The girl might be bird-witted, but there was nothing hen-hearted about her. She had more courage than most men he knew.

If you admired what she did, why didn’t you say so,
instead of lecturing her for not acting like a lady?
a voice asked.

He did not like the answer he got.

Because I felt a fool for letting Fenton get the better of me. Because I was embarrassed to be rescued by a chit of seventeen
.

It was easier to criticize Charlotte than it was to take the blame for something stupid he had done. While it might be a very human reaction, there was no excuse for his behavior.

He could not blame Charlotte for finding fault with him.

He could not blame her for wanting nothing more to do with him.

She had been on the mark about his feelings, as well. He
was
bitter about what had happened with Alice. And, though he would never have admitted it to another living soul, he might even have indulged in a bit of self-pity.

And he would never have let himself fall in love with her. She was right about that, too.

He was glad she had ended their make-believe engagement. Glad she intended to avoid him in the future. He had never wanted her in his life in the first place. Maybe now things could get back to normal.

He felt a queer tightness in his chest. And an unfamiliar tickle in his throat.

Life would not be the same without Charlotte
Edgerton. It would once again be peaceful … restful … prosaic.

Denbigh snorted derisively. He could as easily substitute dull, boring, and mundane. Or bleak, dreary, and tedious. How about tiresome, insipid, and flat? Or, in a single word, empty.

Before Charlotte, there had been nothing to live for. She had ended his desolation, filled up his barren days, and challenged him to reach out and grab for life, rather than let it pass him by. Without her …

He suddenly realized he did not want to contemplate life without her. What he found even more unimaginable was the thought of some other man touching Charlotte. Kissing her. Holding her.
Making love to her
.

His neck hairs rose, and his body went taut. His hands bunched into fists. He would kill him. He would kill the man who touched Charlotte.

Denbigh looked around and realized he was ready to kill a phantom. Sheepishly, he uncurled his fists. Charlotte would have to marry somebody. He could not imagine her without children. Charlotte would love having children.

He could and would protect her from any gentleman without honorable intentions. But he would have to give her up when the right man came along. Surely someone would.

The man who saddled himself with Charlotte
would have to understand that she needed a firm hand. Not too firm. A tight rein would only make Charlotte fight the bit. A gentle, temperate hand would be better. In moments when one was feeling truly daring, one might give Charlotte her head and see dash and sparkle. Radiance and heat. Rapture and joy.

And Charlotte needed a man who loved her. Someone who would think of ways to make her happy. Someone who would put her needs before his own.

Charlotte needed him
.

There was no one else, Denbigh realized. No one else would be able to love her the way he could. Or give her the freedom she needed to run full out, with only a guiding hand to keep her from jumping fences without looking first to make sure there was no dangerous hay rake on the other side.

Lion put a hand to his temple. Maybe Fenton had hit him harder than he had thought. What was he thinking?

Charlotte hated his guts. Charlotte wanted nothing more to do with him. He would never get her to marry him now.

Assuming he wanted to get married. And could manage to stand in front of another altar waiting for another bride to make her appearance. Knowing Charlotte, she would stop on the way to church to
rescue some carter’s horse from too great a load of beer kegs, and he would be left standing alone again.

Such speculation was moot until he could convince Charlotte that he could accept her the way she was without wanting to change her.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

But he didn’t have any choice. He needed her as much as she needed him. All he had to do was figure out a way to get the stubborn minx back.

He had better return to the supper box before she did something crazy like … Charlotte could do anything. He preferred not to imagine the worst. He would simply hope for the best. He tied a handkerchief around his wounded arm, slipped his domino back on, and arranged his mask so he would not appear conspicuous when he arrived back at the supper box.

He had not gone very far when Percy literally ran into him. “Lion, is that you?”

“Who were you expecting?”

“I ran into someone dressed exactly like you, and when I told him Olivia was missing, he said ‘Olivia who?’ and I could not believe you had forgotten your own sister, so I said ‘Lady Olivia Morgan, of course,’ and he said ‘Oh, Denbigh’s plain-faced sister,’ and then I knew it was not you, so I planted him a facer for the insult to Olivia and—”

Denbigh grabbed Percy’s arms to cut off the
endless recitation, though he was glad he had let Percy get to the part about socking Fenton in the nose. “Did you say Olivia is missing?”

“That’s what I came to tell you,” he said. “I went to get her some strawberries, but when I got back, she was gone. I thought she might have wandered away, but that doesn’t sound like Olivia, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Denbigh headed back toward the supper box where he had left Olivia with Percy hurrying along beside him. Now he had not one, but two missing women wandering the most notorious rendezvous for lovers in London.

“How long ago did you leave Olivia alone?” he asked Percy.

“Oh, a half hour at least.”

Denbigh groaned. “Too long. That is too long for a young lady to be wandering unprotected at Vauxhall.”

“Olivia is not wandering,” Percy said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Didn’t take her staff. Would have taken that if she planned to walk around. Don’t you think?”

“Have you any suggestion what might have happened to her?” Denbigh asked.

“Don’t like to say,” Percy said.

Denbigh stopped and looked at his friend.

Percy lowered his eyes.

“What is it you know and are not telling me?”

“Didn’t think about it at first, but the more I looked and didn’t find her, the more it worried me.”

“What worried you?”

“The gentlemen who stopped me and chatted at length when I went to get Olivia’s strawberries—he is a friend of Braddock’s.”

Denbigh felt his blood run cold. “Do you think Braddock has her?”

Percy met his gaze and said, “Don’t think she’d leave the box alone, Lion. Said she’d wait for me. Wasn’t there. What do you think?”

“Braddock,” he said in a flat, deadly voice. “I’ll kill him this time.”

Lion’s eyes were focused, but his head was pounding. They had nearly reached the area where the long line of carriages were parked for those attending Vauxhall. Denbigh hoped to intercept Braddock there, if he had indeed abducted Olivia.

Percy suddenly looked around and said, “I say, old man. Where have you put Lady Charlotte? Is she lost, too?”

“Charlotte left my company in rather a hurry,” Denbigh said. “If I had to guess, I’d say she probably returned to the supper box.”

“Wasn’t at the box when I last looked,” Percy said.

“When was that?” Denbigh asked.

“Ten minutes ago.”

Denbigh tried to figure how long ago Charlotte had left him, and how long it would have taken her to return to the supper box. It was possible she and Percy had simply crossed paths without seeing each other. It was also possible she had not returned to the box.

He wanted to reverse course and go look for her. But if he had to choose between searching for his sister and searching for Charlotte—and he did—at the moment Olivia was the one in greater danger. Charlotte, he was learning, could be counted on, in the ordinary course of things, to take care of herself.

Denbigh searched the doors of each carriage looking for the Braddock coat of arms. He never saw it, because the door was open. Instead he saw Olivia sitting in a carriage. And Braddock standing beside her.

Olivia saw him. Yet she made no move to escape from the carriage. What had Braddock told her? How had he coerced her into leaving with him? He must have threatened her. He must have given her no choice.

He started running toward her but forebore shouting her name, unwilling to attract unwanted attention. He felt outraged that Braddock had stolen his innocent sister. Incensed at the man’s gall. And terrified for Olivia. What would Braddock do to her? He could hurt her … terrorize her.

He ran as fast as he could, till he was gasping for
breath and his side ached. He watched with furious impotence as Braddock entered the carriage, and it took off at a fast clip through the night.

Lion stopped and leaned forward with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. He was dizzy again, and nauseated enough to fear he was going to cast up his accounts. He took slow, deep breaths to try and settle his stomach and clear his head.

Percy finally caught up to him, huffing and puffing. “I say, Lion,” he panted. “Was that Olivia?”

“Yes. Braddock has her. I’m going after her, Percy. As soon as I can get a fast horse under me. You must do something for me first.”

“Anything.”

“You must find Charlotte and take her safely home for me. Tell my grandmother what has happened to Olivia, and that I have gone after Braddock to bring her home. Ask her to make up some story to tell my grandfather, so he will not worry. His heart is … he is not well. Will you do that for me, Percy?”