In the Garden of Disgrace (33 page)

“Come on,” Adrian said, putting his arm
around the young man’s slumped shoulders and leading him to the
parlor. “Tell me who you have seen and what’s been said. We’re
probably going to have to go to the authorities, and Jillian will
simply have to understand.” The earl looked back at the maid. “You
too, Hannah. We can use all the help we can get.”

*****

“Have you sent someone after the footman?”
Adrian asked as Phillip and he entered the parlor with Hannah
trailing in their wake. “We know for certain he can tell us who
visited Jillian before she disappeared.”

Phillip brightened. “First thing I did, my
lord. But that was several hours after the fact, I’m afraid. I do
not believe Biggs could have gone so far that my messenger will not
have spoken to the man by now and be on his way back with the
information.”

“When do you expect him?”

“Hard to say, but by late morning, I should
think.”

The earl looked to Hannah. “None of your
mistress’ clothing is missing? You detected no preparation on her
part for an overnight outing?”

“No, my lord. And as Mr. Angsley has said,
my lady would not have done so without telling someone.”

Adrian ran his hand through his hair in
exasperation. “What I can’t understand is why she didn’t scream. If
she went against her will, surely she would have made some noise.”
Again to the maid, “Would you have heard her?”

“I’m certain of it, my lord. This is a small
house. I was merely upstairs and down the hall.”

“All right, Hannah, you may go but stay
near. I may need you later.”

Hannah said, “Yes, my lord,” and withdrew,
dabbing at her watery eyes.

The earl turned to Phillip. “Damnation!” he
said through gritted teeth, “there is nothing I hate more than
having to wait, especially when I don’t know if Jillian is in
danger. If this lead produces nothing then we have to go to the
authorities and begin an all out search.”

Phillip nodded. “Would you like a drink?” he
asked, moving to the table where the brandy resided.

Adrian shook his head irritably. “Spirits
will dull my senses right now.”

“You’re correct,” Phillip said, sounding
disappointed. “It’s just that my hands are shaking so badly, I
thought a drink might steady them.”

Preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts,
the earl stared at the young man without seeing him. He began
pacing the room like a caged animal, back and forth, forth and
back, the anxiety he felt threatening to rise and overwhelm him. He
had completed about one half dozen rounds when the door chime rang
out, causing him to pause in his tracks. It was the middle of the
night—very late for the average caller. He glanced at Phillip with
raised brows and, not waiting for a servant to answer the ring,
strode to the entry. Jillian’s cousin came fast on his heels.

Adrian yanked open the door, hope reviving
in his breast, but the person who stood on the step was no one he
recognized, and he was seized by a sense of frustrated desperation.
He turned without speaking, aware that he was rude and not caring,
and allowed Phillip to address the caller.

“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip said, “come
in.”

The earl, in the act of moving away, spun
around to look at the woman more closely. Yes, he believed he had
seen her before—Jillian’s old nemesis who had hidden in the guise
of a friend. Immediately he felt his antagonism rush to the
fore.

As he watched Phillip usher the red-haired
young woman into the parlor, seating her on the settee, Adrian
thought he had never seen a more haggard individual. Meredith
looked as though she had not slept in days, her complexion so
bleached, he wondered if she had been ill. She held a handkerchief
to her mouth which made him assume she was on the brink of losing
the contents of her stomach. She glanced at the earl, and if he
were not mistaken, that was trepidation he saw in her eyes. He let
Phillip open the conversation, choosing to stand to one side while
he took the lady’s measure.

“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip began, sitting in
a chair across from her, “have you thought of something since I
talked to you a few hours ago?”

Again her gaze slid in Adrian’s direction,
and she dabbed at her pale lips with the square of linen she held,
swallowing audibly. “Yes—yes, I have. I…I didn’t want to believe it
could be Lionel…” Her voice broke

“Edgeworth?” Adrian jumped into the
dialogue, moving across the room toward Meredith to stand over her.
His eyes narrowed and she flinched away from him. “That bastard, I
should have realized. Is it he for certain or is this
conjecture?”

Her face grew more pallid, a seeming
impossibility as she looked near death. “When Mr. Angsley
approached me last evening I did not think it was feasible, but
after he left I began to wonder. You see, yesterday Lionel and I
had a disagreement. He said he wanted to leave me, that he still
loved Jillian” she gulped on a sob, “a-and he intended to try and
convince her to go away with him.”

“Seems to me,” Adrian said, unable to hide
the derision in his words, “you could have figured this out almost
at once instead of allowing most of the night to pass before you
decided to be honest. After all these hours, who knows in what way
your husband has tried to ‘convince’ her?”

“He’s not that sort of man,” Meredith said
hotly, evidently finding some of her spirit.

The earl snorted. “Even now you protect him?
Do you think Jillian would go with him willingly for any other than
a legitimate purpose? I can tell you I do not.”

As quickly as her anger came it fled. “No,”
she said quietly, studying the handkerchief in her hands. “Jillian
and I spoke last week. She told me she cared for another,” her gaze
flicked in Adrian’s direction, “and that Lionel was wasting his
time. I believed her then and I still do.”

“Where would he take her, do you know?” the
earl asked. “I understand he keeps another residence in town for…”
He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “At any rate, would
he take her there?”

“In all likelihood,” she said. “At least, I
can think of no other. Lionel lives there now for the most
part.”

“Do you know the direction of this
residence?”

“I discovered it, yes.”

The earl nodded curtly, asking for the
address. When she gave it to him, he turned his attention to
Phillip. “Stay here just in case we’re on the wrong track. I want
you to talk to that messenger. If his report confirms our
suspicion, you may join me if there is time. Hopefully, Edgeworth
won’t be violent.”

Meredith gasped. “Please don’t hurt
Lionel.”

For the first time Adrian was moved to pity.
He eyed the young woman, a victim of her own conniving, and he
finally understood how Jillian might forgive her old friend.
However, his compassion did not include her reprehensible
spouse.

“I can’t make you any promises, Lady
Edgeworth. Your husband has set this scheme in motion, and I’m
obliged to see it through to the end, whatever that end may
be.”

“I can see that,” she said softly, the
expression on her ravaged face one of resignation.

Adrian brought his regard back to Phillip.
“Is your carriage here?” When the young man nodded, he continued.
“I’ll need to borrow it. I came in a hack.”

Five minutes found the earl driving Mr.
Angsley’s phaeton through the nearly deserted streets of Bath in
the hour before sunrise. Jillian had better be all right, he
thought as he smacked the reins over the backs of the matched bays
with an aggression born of fear, or he might once again be forced
to commit murder. In fact, contrary to his previous beliefs on the
matter, the idea, rather than repelling him, had taken on a certain
appeal. He whipped the reins again, this time harder.

*****

Jillian lay on the lumpy mattress, tired but
watchful. It would be morning soon, and Lionel had not kept his
promise to come to her. She supposed she should be grateful for his
neglect, but waiting provided a different kind of torture.

Hours earlier she had tried the door, but an
amused voice on the other side had informed her that the room was
guarded.

“Riley,” she had said, making the words
silky, “don’t you want to come in and keep me company?”

A long pause had ensued while she held her
breath.

“You’re a tricky one, that you are, m’lady—a
beautiful woman temptin’ an old wart the likes o’ me,” Riley
replied, although he sounded less sure of himself. “Lord Edgeworth
would have me hide for certain.”

Jillian released the air in her lungs,
secretly relieved. After all, what would she have done if that
behemoth of a man had decided to accept her invitation?—overpower
him, making her escape?

Hardly.

Now much later, she felt the same relief
over Riley’s refusal. And anyway, it was nearly five o’clock in the
morning. Jillian felt confident that a search for her was in
progress, thus she would be better served to bide her time.

She did have her doubts because she could
not be certain anyone had figured out who had taken her. The only
person who had seen Edgeworth had been Biggs, the footman—although
she hoped he had shared that information with Hannah—and he was on
his way to London. If Adrian were back in Bath she would feel
assured that he would discover her whereabouts, but as it was she
wondered if she should be making a more determined effort to
deliver herself from her prison.

Remembering the earl made her ache with
uncertainty. Between bouts of worry over her imprisonment, she
found herself consumed by misgivings over Adrian’s supposed
betrayal. Why would he publicly declare his relationship with her
when he had stated over and over that he wanted to protect her from
further gossip? White’s notorious betting book?—surely Lionel had
lied. She felt exhausted, her thoughts spinning around and solving
nothing, making her head throb in her confusion. Against her better
judgment, she closed her eyes and, relaxing as best she could,
allowed herself to drift.

The sound of a key releasing the lock on the
door brought Jillian into a sitting position. She sent her bleary
gaze across the chamber as the door eased open. Lionel had decided
to make an appearance after all.

The marquess stood on the threshold, wearing
a dressing gown, his hair mussed as though he had been asleep.
“Been waiting for me, my dear?” he asked, pulling the door, but not
quite closing it. “I thought I would be better able to serve you if
I had a little rest. I hope you are well rested also.”

“Serve me?” she asked groggily.

“Come now, Jillian, you know what I mean,”
he said, moving into the room.

All at once she came wide awake. “Lionel, I
would like you to stop and consider. You could be making a mistake
that will ruin not only my life but yours as well.” She watched him
warily as he walked to the end of the bed.

“Do you think so?” he asked quietly, “and do
you think it matters?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

She sidled to the edge of the mattress and
threw her feet over the side because it made her feel less
vulnerable. Lionel moved slowly in her direction, coming to stand
over her, but she tried not to let her unease show, sensing that
would incite him.

“I don’t want the life I have,” he said,
taking hold of a lock of her hair that had come loose from the
ribbon at her neck. He looked at the dark strands for several
moments before his gaze returned to hers. “You intend to fight me,
don’t you?”

Her stomach dropped anxiously. “If you give
me no choice.”

“Why? What could it hurt you now to give me
a few moments of your time, a few moments to make up for all the
years we won’t have together? I loved you, Jillian—I love you
still.”

“Because,” she spat, exasperation overcoming
her fear, “I don’t use my body as an appeasement. And you
never
loved me,” she persisted, tired of him making light of
that precious declaration, tossing the words at her as if they had
meaning when they both knew it wasn’t true. “If you had you would
have married me regardless of the scandal. But now that I’ve come
to understand you better, I would like to thank you for throwing me
over. You did me a great favor.”

Well, she had been known to allow her temper
to cause her trouble, and the hostility that twisted his features
made clear her mistake. He pulled on the hair he still held,
coiling it tightly around his fingers until the heel of his hand
rested uncomfortably against her scalp. Jillian bit the inside of
her mouth to stem the cry of pain that sprang to her lips.

“It would seem reasoning with you will not
benefit me,” he snarled. “So be it.”

He leaned down to take her mouth and,
because of his hold on her hair, this time she could not evade him
as she had earlier in the evening. He tasted of rancid alcohol
consumed many hours earlier, and she felt bile rise in her throat.
He leaned over her, forcing her shoulders onto the mattress as he
covered her with his body.

At that point Jillian knew she should feel
terrorized, almost frozen with fright. Oddly, she grew angrier
instead, and fortunately with that anger came action. Lionel had
not yet found it necessary to pin her arms, so she balled her hands
and did the first thing that came to mind. With all her might she
brought her fists down, one on each ear.

The marquess bellowed in pain, and he let
fly an obscenity as he rolled away from her, clutching his
head.

Jillian used the reprieve to leap from the
bed and dash across the room. Frantically she searched for a
weapon, and her hand lit on a heavy brass candlestick at least
eighteen inches tall which rested on a small table. Grabbing it,
she raised the holder rather forcefully over her head, and the
unlit candle impaled on its spindle sailed behind her, striking the
mantel of the fireplace with a soft, waxy thud.