Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke (30 page)

“Such a shame you could not be made to see reason,” he murmured, his hands lingering insolently upon her ankles. “Such spirit; so independently minded; such strength of character and will. We should have made a formidable pairing, after I had brought you to heel, of course.”

She sent him a derisive look. “I am not a dog.”

“That you are not, my dear. That you are not.” He sighed. “However, much as I am enjoying this little exchange, now is neither the time nor the place to continue with it. Please have the goodness to wait here. I shall be but a moment. My carriage is close by and I shall take you all somewhere more private where we shall be at leisure to continue our delightful discussion.”

“Such a shame the only way you can force a lady to discuss anything with you is by binding her hand and foot.”

Kenton chuckled. “If that is what you imagine, then you do not know me at all.” He nodded towards Annie. “Ask her if you doubt my word.”

“And yet she is now trussed up as well.” Nia raised an insolent brow. “It did not take her long to see your true colours.”

Kenton executed a dismissive shrug. “She was a means to an end; nothing more.”

Annie hissed at him, but if Kenton noticed, he gave no sign. Instead, he doffed his hat at them both and left the barn.

Nia struggled against her bonds as she watched him go; feeling furious and helpless in equal measure. She tried to appear resolute for the sake of the boys but when the ropes chaffed against her wrists and ankles but remained tightly in place she was forced to accept that they were all at Kenton’s complete mercy.

She tried to work out how long she had been there, and how long it would have taken Sean to ride to the Park, conduct a search for his sons and return home to hear news of proceedings from Sophia. Her spirits plummeted when she realised she had most likely not kept Kenton talking for long enough. She had failed her beloved nephews when they were most in need of her protection.

Unless salvation arrived within the next few minutes—a remote possibility at best—they were all going to die.

***

Kenton cursed his bad fortune as he strode off to collect his carriage, assuaging his wounded dignity by telling himself he could not have foreseen this development, could not have made allowances for it, and so his meticulous planning was not at fault. If Annie had played her part right and done as she was told, if the boys had not managed to dislodge their blindfolds, it would not be necessary to kill any of them. Kenton was not a violent man by nature, but circumstances had forced him to become one. He had not been born into poverty and did not intend to live the rest of his life as a pauper, suffering for the sake of his art. He was too talented, too intelligent, too accustomed to the good things in life to make such an almighty sacrifice while he waited for the world to wake up and offer him the acclaim he so richly deserved.

Why society had not already fallen at his feet to pay homage to his artistic skill was a puzzle to which he had devoted many hours of contemplation. He was as good as Trafford—better even—but those fools who had seen his work exhibited alongside Trafford’s were so busy fawning over Trafford himself that they barely spared Kenton’s superior efforts a glance.

That situation could not be permitted to continue, of course. Humiliation still washed through Kenton whenever he recalled the disaster that ought to have been his moment of triumph. That was when he finally ran out of patience and decided to take matters into his own hands. God helped those who helped themselves was the mantra by which he lived his life, and thanks to his courage, his determination and willingness to act decisively, his star was finally in the ascendency.

He had been shocked when Nia Trafford declined his proposal of marriage—truly shocked—at first not believing she was serious. All of his plans had hinged upon her accepting him, and not for one moment had he considered she would prefer to remain single rather than marry a man with his looks, talent and charm. He had gone to considerable trouble to cultivate her friendship and thought she genuinely admired him. He was universally popular with the ladies, though he did say so himself, and could pick and choose which particular ones enjoyed the privilege of keeping him warm at night.

Matrimony was a last resort, albeit a necessary one, if he was to achieve his ambitions. The prospect of being united to Miss Trafford was appealing in many respects, and not only because of the connection to her grandfather. There was just something about her that stirred Kenton’s baser instincts: her innate femininity perhaps, or the detached air that made him want to exert himself in order to secure her regard. Kenton was not in the habit of putting himself out for any female and it still irked that Nia Trafford appeared immune to the very great honour he had accorded her.

It had all worked out for the best, of course, just as things almost always did. He had met Arabella Fairstock, purely by chance, soon after he left Trafford’s household at Sean Trafford’s insistence. That was another cause for complaint. He might have pursued Nia a little aggressively, but she was to blame for that. She could not possibly have been serious in her rejection of his suit, was being especially coy when pressed on the matter, and he did not have time for her games. He was a man in a hurry to make his mark on the world and needed Nia to help him do precisely that.

Kenton stopped walking, blew air through his lips and felt his anger reigniting, as it always did when he thought about his ignominious ejection from Trafford’s household. He had left with his head held high, pretending he was leaving through choice, unprepared to let them see just how humiliated he felt by the little tramp’s rejection. A plan to exact revenge had already been incubating in his brain, and he needed to ensure the family thought he bore them no ill-will in order to bring it about. But inside, he continued to seethe. It was not as if he had actually tarnished Trafford’s precious sister’s reputation. Damn it all, he hadn’t laid so much as an inappropriate finger upon her.

Calm again, Kenton continued his walk and returned his thoughts to Arabella Fairstock. As soon as they were introduced he immediately recognised in her a kindred spirit. She was just as ruthlessly determined as he was to make her mark, but her husband had proved to be far less well off than he had led her to suppose when she agreed to marry him. The fool appeared to think it was a love match and that his lack of money would not signify. As though a lady of Arabella’s sensitivity and beauty would marry a man twenty years her senior because she loved him!

Kenton was happy to be of service to her. With the inconvenience of a possessive husband swiftly eradicated, Arabella and Kenton reached an agreement. They would marry as soon as they decently could, Kenton would provide Arabella with all the luxuries in life a woman in her situation was entitled to expect, and in return she would ensure his acceptance into the top echelons of society.

All that was left for Kenton to do was to accrue the blunt he had assured Arabella he already possessed. This time she was taking no chances and although they made ideal bedfellows in every possible respect, she would not agree to become his wife until she had tangible proof of his wealth. Kenton was well on the way to accruing that wealth. Wealth that would ensure his genius finally received the acclaim it so richly deserved. A couple more forgeries and he would be set. And no one—not those troublesome twins, certainly not Annie, not even Nia Trafford, would stand in the path of his ambition.

He thought of Arabella’s husband, and how he had pleaded for his life like the snivelling coward he had been. Gentlemen do not plead, Kenton had wanted to tell him as he broke his miserable neck and then arranged things so it appeared like an accidental death. Having committed murder once, he found himself less reluctant to do so again, multiple times. Even so, a small part of him regretted the loss of Nia Trafford.

He strode along, wishing he could have found a closer place to hide his carriage, wondering if there would be time for a little revenge against Miss High-and-Mighty before he sent her on to the next life. He hardened at the prospect, just as he always had whenever he contemplated becoming intimately acquainted with the chit. What he did not feel was regret at what he must do. She had brought this on herself. No one rejected Tobias Kenton without facing the consequences.

Yes indeed, he thought, as he finally reached his carriage and turned it back onto the track. He had a destination in mind where he could dispose of the meddlesome four and where their remains would not be discovered until he was long gone—if ever. The location was so remote that he would also be at leisure to take his pleasure with Miss Trafford first. He idly wondered if she would follow Sir Edwards’ example and beg for her life, to say nothing of her virtue.

The moment Kenton left the barn, Nia sprang into action. Finally she had reason to be grateful for the man’s arrogance. He was so sure of himself that he had not thought to search Nia for concealed weapons. Fortune had smiled upon her when she picked up Annie’s discarded dagger and absently slipped it into the pocket of her skirt. Somehow it had not fallen out during her mad dash through the trees, and Kenton had not found it, as she was sure he would, when he bound her hands. Her scathing words to him, designed to distract, had had the desired effect.

“Oh, miss, what are we going to do?” Annie wailed.

“Shush, Annie, and allow me to think.”

The last thing Nia required was Annie wailing, distressing the boys more than they already were. Besides, she had a plan forming, thanks to the convenience of the dagger. Her hands were tied behind her back but it was the work of a moment for her to slide them beneath her bottom and raised legs and bring them up in front of her.

As well as failing to detect the dagger, Kenton had also made the mistake of binding the boys together with a strong rope around their torsos, their arms pinned to their sides, their hands free to dangle helplessly below their bonds. He thought himself so intellectually superior to just about everyone, and that arrogance just might prove to be his downfall.

“Leo, Art,” she said, sending the boys a reassuring smile. “I am going to shuffle across to you and get close enough so you can reach into my pocket. Do you understand?”

They both nodded vigorously.

“Now listen carefully,” she said, as she started her awkward wiggle across the hard earth floor. “There is a dagger in my pocket. I want you to grasp it with your free hands and carefully cut through the rope binding my hands. Do you think you can do that?”

More nods.

“Good boys. We shall soon make Mr. Kenton see that he is not quite as clever as he thinks he is. Then he will be very sorry indeed for what he has done.”

It seemed strange not to be greeted with the loud, simultaneous shouts of agreement or the squabbling Nia had grown to expect when engaged in conversation with the twins. Even though they still seemed terrified, only gagging them could prevent a torrent of false bravado spilling from their lips. But at least now they had a task to concentrate upon, which would help to divert them. Even though Nia hoped soon to have them all free from their bonds; even though they possessed a dagger; she was not foolish enough to imagine they were safe. Something told her Annie’s loyalty was still questionable and, even with the twins’ help, she could not match Kenton’s superior strength.

“Do not on any account, attempt to cut the rope binding the two of you together.” They looked disappointed. “You might cut yourselves by mistake.” Nia had now reached their position and Leo’s hand delved into her pocket. It came out again clutching the dagger. “Quickly now, Leo,” she said, when it appeared that a wordless argument was taking place between the boys to ascertain who would get to do the cutting. “We do not have much time.”

The tip of Leo’s tongue protruded between his lips as he commenced sawing at the thick rope binding Nia’s hands. The dagger was sharp, which ensured quick progress, but one slip of the hand and it could well be Nia’s wrist that was cut instead of the rope. She closed her eyes, trying to banish such defeatist thoughts.

“Aw, miss, what is to become of us all?” Annie wailed.

“Stop that, Annie. It isn’t helpful.”

Nia’s sharp words reduced Annie to snuffling and crying.

“You are doing really well, Leo. Just a little more. I can feel the rope loosening.”

The dagger nicked her wrist, sending a sharp pain spiralling through her. She cried out and felt warm blood spilling over her hands. Leo’s eyes were wide with guilt, and fear, and he stopped sawing.

“It’s all right, Leo. It’s a tiny cut. Keep going. I am almost free.”

A moment or so later, the rope binding her hands fell away.

Well done, Leo!”

Nia delved into her pocket for a handkerchief and tied it tightly around her cut wrist. She felt light-headed, disorientated, but could not allow her own situation to distract her. The lives of everyone in this barn were in her hands. She reached forward and awkwardly untied the boys’ gags, bracing herself for a barrage of words.

“Are you all right, Aunt Nia?” Leo asked, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Leo didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know that.”

“Can we stab that nasty man with the dagger?” Leo asked.

“It’s my turn,” Art protested.

Nia managed a brief smile. So far, the boys did not seem much worse for wear. She sliced through the rope binding them together, watching as they flexed their arms to restore feeling into them. She was reassured to see all their limbs appeared to be in working order. She released her own ankles from the rope that bound them too tightly, and sighed with relief when the blood began to flow freely again.

“What about me?” Annie wailed when no one took any notice of her.

It was actually a good question. Nia couldn’t decide whether to trust Annie and release her or not. In spite of her anger at Kenton’s relationship with another woman, Nia had noticed the way her eyes followed his every movement with total adoration writ large across her face. Would she try to regain favour with her erstwhile lover by warning him about the dagger? Before she could decide, the sound of a conveyance approaching drove all thoughts other than protection of her nephews out of her head.