Lost Lady (5 page)

Head lowered, she didn't answer him. She felt like such a fool because she'd reacted to him so quickly and so totally. Day after tomorrow! she thought. If she was ever to escape his hold over her, she must do it very soon.

“No goodbye kiss?” Travis joked, standing by the door. ‘Nothing to keep me warm out there all alone?”

Grabbing her other shoe, she threw it at him, but this time he ducked before it hit him. He was laughing as he locked the door behind him and went down the stairs.

At least tonight she was too tired to stay awake, but the bed did seem to get larger each night.

She woke to the quiet thunder of what could only be Travis attempting to tiptoe about the room. Keeping her eyes closed, she pretended to be asleep, even when he leaned over her and kissed her cheek. When he seemed to have left the room, she drowsily listened for the now familiar turn of the lock, and when it didn't come she sat bolt upright in bed. After rubbing her eyes twice, she was sure that what she saw was real—the door was wide open.

Not another second was lost as she jumped out of bed, slid the velvet dress over her head, and grabbed her shoes. Ever so quietly, she hugged the door with her back as she left the room and went onto the stair landing. Never having seen the inn except for the inside of one room, she was startled to see how isolated the room was—alone at the head of narrow, steep stairs, and, from the smells, at the bottom seemed to be the kitchen. Craning her neck until it threatened to break, she saw what was unmistakably Travis's leg and high boot near the foot of the stairs. But even as she began to lose hope, a clatter of horses and carriages sounded outside, and a man's voice cried for help. With great happiness, she saw Travis run for the door.

Within an instant she was down the stairs, through the nearly empty kitchen, where the few employees were intent on the activity outside, and finally out into the bright sunlight of the street.

There was no time to spend on the fact that her feet were bare, because she knew Travis would discover her escape very soon. For now she had to put time and distance between them if she was ever to manage her escape.

In spite of her good intentions, her feet began to hurt too badly to ignore them much longer, and people were beginning to notice her. Slowing down for a moment, she saw a dark alleyway between two buildings, and she made her way there, crouching down between several horrible-smelling wooden fish crates. I must think! she commanded herself, because she knew that without a plan she could never gain her freedom.

Sitting on one of the crates, she slipped on her shoes, tying the laces about her ankles. As she did so, she calmed her racing heart and began to consider her alternatives. She needed somewhere to go, a place to hide until she could get a job, and especially a place to hide until that insane American left the country.

Lost in thought, she wasn't aware of the shouts in the street until she was practically looking at Travis, his legs spread wide, hands on hips, his profile to her. It was minutes before she realized that he didn't see her, that he was only shouting orders to the people in the streets. The idea that he'd give orders to strangers renewed her determination to escape this man. Making herself as small as possible, she crouched down among the boxes, praying he wouldn't see her.

Even when he turned and ran down the street, she didn't relax or move, because she felt he wasn't one to give up. No, Travis Stanford was too sure he was right to ever give a thought to anyone else's opinions. If he'd hold someone prisoner, he'd certainly not let that prisoner escape without a fight.

Remaining in her stiff, uncomfortable position, she tried to come up with a plan. First she'd have to get away from the docks, and the way to do that was always to keep the sea at her back. Smiling, she thought that shouldn't be difficult to do and was sure she had half her problem solved. The other problem was where to go when she was away from the docks. If she could find her way back to Weston Manor, maybe Matta, her old maid, would know of some place Regan could go.

Hours and hours seemed to pass, yet the sun was still bright, the noise of the docks still loud. Using all her powers of concentration, she tried to ignore the cramps in her legs, and the ache in her back. Twice she saw Travis go by, and the second time she was close to calling out to him. Perhaps it was the pain in her aching body, but she seemed to remember all too clearly the last time she'd been alone on the docks. Of course, then she'd been wearing only her nightgown, and how could she expect to be treated as a lady when she was dressed as a woman of low morals? Now, wearing the elegant velvet dress, everyone would recognize her as a lady, and they wouldn't dare touch her.

Smiling, her confidence somewhat restored, she tried to twist her hair into some semblance of order. Yesterday the French dressmaker and her assistants had worn their hair short, à la greque, and Regan wondered if possibly she should cut hers. Maybe it would give her an added air of sophistication in her new life—whatever that was to be.

Her musings made the time pass, and when she saw that the sun was setting she felt as if she were about to embark on a great adventure. She had escaped the awful American, and she was free to go wherever she wanted.

Slowly, painfully, she left her crouch, shaking her tired legs, and letting the blood return to them as she put her weight on them. As she stood erect, she realized that her feet were cut and the sores inside her shoes were covered with dried blood, which broke apart when she took her first step.

Pulling her courage together, she stepped toward the darkening street. A lady, she reminded herself. She must carry herself like a lady and not let a little thing like lacerated, swollen feet make her limp. If she kept her shoulders back, her spine straight, her chin high, no one would bother her—no one would dare molest a lady.

N
EWS OF A PRETTY YOUNG BIT OF FLUFF WALKING ABOUT
the docks unescorted spread like fire through a dry forest. Men who were too drunk to walk somehow managed to drag themselves out of a stupor and stagger in the direction of the young woman. An entire shipload of sailors just in from a three-year voyage grabbed bottles of rum and ran toward where someone said there was a whole passel of women just waiting for them.

Bewildered, trying very hard not to let her fear show, Regan did her best to ignore the ever-increasing crowd of men gathering around her. Some of them, grinning toothlessly and stinking of fish and worse, stuck out filthy, trembling hands to touch the velvet of her dress.

“Ain't never felt nothin' so soft,” they whispered.

“Ain't never had me no lady before.”

“Think ladies do it the same way as whores?”

Faster and faster she began to walk, weaving away from the hands and the bodies placed in her way. No longer did she think of keeping the sea to her back; all she thought of was escape.

The men of the docks seemed to toy with her just as they had the night she'd been wearing her nightgown, but it was when the young, virile, hungry sailors from the ship found her that the relatively gentle games ceased. When the sailors realized there was only one woman and not fifty as they'd been told, they grew angry, and their anger was directed at this one frightened-looking female.

“Here, let me at her. I need more than a feel of her pretty dress,” leered one vigorous young man, reaching out and grabbing the shoulder of Regan's dress.

The fabric tore all the way to the top of her breast, exposing one fat, soft mound that made the men laugh delightedly. “Please stop,” Regan whispered, backing away from the sailors, only to have three pairs of hands lift her skirt and slip up the back side of her legs.

“She may be little, but there's a lot of her in the right places.”

“Stop larkin' about. Let's have at her.”

Before Regan was aware of what was about to happen to her, just as she seemed to hear Travis's words about men forcing her to do what they had done together, one of the sailors gave her a firm push, and she fell backward over the men behind her. With one futile effort at a scream, she tried to right herself, but the men under her, scrambling away, held her under an ocean of grabbing, exploring hands. Over her, grinning wildly, were the sailors.

“Now, let's see what's under those pretty skirts.”

The man put his hand on her skirt, and Regan kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling. Her arms were pinned above her head by the men behind her, and the second after she kicked her ankles were grabbed, legs pulled wide apart.

“You won't kick me, missy,” laughed another sailor, grabbing the edge of her skirt.

One second he was above her, smiling at her terror, enjoying her struggles against the hands that held her, and the next he was flying through the air, and grabbing his shoulder, which was quickly reddening. The sound of the shot seemed to come after the sailor flew away.

Two more shots rang across the tops of the men's heads before they began to react to something besides their vicious sport.

Regan, still held by the men, was first aware of their silence, and when she felt their grip loosening she kicked out, freeing one leg. The next moment an angry, violent Travis stepped over her, and before the men could comprehend what was happening, Travis grabbed arms, necks, belts, whatever was available, and sent sailors and waterfront riffraff flying through the air.

Shaking with fear, Regan lay still as, one by one, every hand was taken from her body. Travis straddled her hips, his back to her, a pistol in each hand. “Anyone else like to try for the lady?” he challenged.

Backing away, looking like the untamed, cowardly scum they were, they muttered at Travis for spoiling their fun, but no one openly opposed the dangerous-looking American.

Sticking the pistols into his belt, Travis turned and looked down at Regan, watched her panting with fear, and quickly noted that most of her clothes were intact. With one swift gesture he bent and threw her over one shoulder like a sack of flour.

The breath nearly leaving her, Regan slammed against the back of him. “Put me down!” she demanded.

Travis gave her buttocks one hard smack, which was fortunately padded by the thick velvet, before nodding to the two other men who still held pistols on the cowering crowd, and started back toward the inn.

One of the sailors, the one Regan had kicked in the eye, yelled after Travis that Yanks certainly knew how to treat women, and the others laughed, glad they'd had no fight with the angry man. The sailor Travis had shot limped away, back toward the inner structures of the waterfront.

Regan didn't say another word to Travis as she bounced along in the awkward, embarrassing position, and she was glad her long hair hid her face from passersby, especially people at the inn. By the time he'd climbed the stairs and reached the room they'd shared, she was ready to tell him what she thought of his treatment of her, that he was little better than the ruffians on the street.

But her courage left her when Travis slammed her into the bed so hard she dove through a foot of down-filled mattress, striking the rope lacing below. Gasping for air, she surfaced, pushed her hair out of her face, and looked up into Travis's livid, raging temper.

He didn't give her a chance to speak. “Do you know how I found you?” he said through clenched teeth, the muscles of his jaw working vigorously, hands on hips. “I hired men to walk the waterfront and to report to me when there was a commotion. I knew if I waited you'd show up, and when you did they'd be all over you.” Leaning forward, he snarled at her, “You lasted longer than I expected. What did you do, hide somewhere?”

Watching her face, he saw that his guess had been correct. He threw up his hands in frustration while taking heavy steps across the room. “What the hell am I going to do with you? I have to keep you locked up to protect you from yourself. Don't you have any idea at all what the world's like? I told you what would happen if you left here, but you didn't believe me. No, instead you had to get yourself nearly raped and possibly killed. The first time I found you, you were being chased by men, and now, through your own fault, it's happened again. Did you think it would be different the second time?”

Holding the torn top of her dress together, she toyed with the luscious velvet of the skirt. Her mind was working hard to block out what had just happened to her, to make it seem like one of her dreams. “I thought because I was dressed like a lady, they wouldn't….” she whispered.

“What!” Travis bellowed, then sank into a chair. “I cannot believe anyone could truly, actually think—.” He cut himself off to look at her, so small, probably unaware that she was shivering, a long scrape down the side of her face, and once again he felt possessive about her. “There's no question about it now. Tomorrow you leave with me for America.”

“No!” she gasped, her head coming up. “I can't possibly. I must stay in England. This is my home.”

“You want a home where you're attacked every time you step out the door? You want a repeat of what happened to you today?”

“This isn't the real England,” she pleaded. “There are beautiful people and places full of love and friendship and….”

“And what?” he asked, hard. “Money? Money is the difference between the filth just outside here and the gentility you seem to adore, the gentility that seems to have kicked out an innocent little thing like you. It looks to me like the lovely people you know are about even with the ones tearing your clothes off a while ago.”

Slowly, great tears began to form in Regan's eyes, and as she looked up at Travis he saw her sadness. She needed her dreams, she thought, needed to believe in love and beauty, had to have something to make up for all the emptiness in her life.

Not exactly understanding the thoughts going through Regan's mind, Travis did see her hurt, and her tears made him weak. Instantly, he was beside her on the bed, folding her into his arms, trying his best to shelter her from whatever painful memories haunted her.

“You'll like America,” he said gently, stroking her hair. “The people are good and honest, and they'll like you. I'll introduce you to half of Virginia, and before you know it you'll have more friends than you know what to do with.”

“Friends?” she whispered, clinging to him, only now beginning to realize how the experience on the waterfront had upset her. There still seemed to be clutching, greedy hands on her body.

“You can't imagine all the wonderful people in America. I have a little brother, Wesley, who will love you, and of course there's Clay and Nicole. Nicole is from France and can talk French as fast as lightning.”

“Is she pretty?” Regan sniffed.

“Almost as pretty as you,” he smiled, caressing her hair. “And when I left she was just about to have a baby. It's probably months old by now. Of course, she's already got the twins.”

“Twins?”

Travis laughed and held her away from him, wiping away her tears with his fingertips. “Don't you understand yet that I'm taking you to America, not to punish you or because I like kidnapping little girls, but because I have no choice? There's nothing else I can do with you.”

His words, meant to calm her and said in Travis's own special blunt way of calling a problem by its true name, had the opposite effect on Regan. Her uncle and Farrell had said similar things about having to put up with her. She was tired of being a burden to everyone. “Let me up!” she demanded, pushing against him.

“Now what the hell's the matter?”

Twisting her head, she tried to bite his hand on her shoulder.

Travis pushed her back into the mattress and rubbed his hand. “I don't understand you at all. I save your life not more than an hour ago, and now I tell you, as kindly as you please, how I have your own best interests at heart, and you get madder'n hell at me. I don't understand you at all.”

“Understand me!” she gasped, eyes spitting fire. “I wouldn't have had to run away if you hadn't been holding me prisoner, and I wouldn't have needed rescuing if it hadn't been for you in the first place. In a sense, you saved me
from
yourself
for
yourself.”

Bewildered, his mouth falling open, Travis could only gape at her. “Does your mind always work that way? Do you always go down ten different twisted paths before you get to where you want to go?”

“I assume that is an American colloquialism, meant to cover your lack of logic. The fact is that you are holding me prisoner, and I demand to be released,” she said smugly, arms folded, chin tilted away from him.

Travis's anger faded quickly to laughter, which he tried very hard to suppress. Whatever her understanding of logic was, it was far away from the true meaning of the word. He considered explaining again what would happen if he released her, but since she'd been assaulted twice and it seemed to have made no impression on her, he had no desire to try to explain again. Nor would he try painting a glorious picture of America for her. All he could do was to let her see for herself. He also considered throwing open the door and giving her another chance to try to make it out of the docks, or he could pay for a cab to take her wherever she wanted to go.

At this last thought, something inside him tightened. If he sent her away, he might never see her again, this starry-eyed little vixen who seemed to look at the world through her own special pink haze. The thought of the long sea voyage without her to entertain and delight him made him feel very sad.

“You're going to America with me,” he said firmly as he ran his hand along her bare shoulder. He'd felt so guilty about seducing her when she was so innocent that he'd forced himself to stay away from her for two nights, but now the near panic he'd felt all day when he couldn't find her, combined with the seductive image she presented now with her bare shoulder and partially exposed breast, made him forget about logic.

“Do not touch me,” she said haughtily.

“We may disagree about…logic”—he smiled at the word—“but there's one area where we seem to be in complete agreement.”

Regan really tried to keep herself aloof from Travis's touch, but the feel of his hand—that wide, warm, sensual palm running along her neck—was impossible to ignore. She wanted to appear unaffected by what had happened to her, wanted him to think she was courageous and brave, but truthfully she wanted to climb into his lap and hide, perhaps crawl into his pocket. When he had stood over her this evening, pistols drawn, she'd never in her life been so glad to see anyone.

Turning her head to one side, his fingers stroked her neck, and she closed her eyes as his other hand went to the opposite side of her neck.

“You're tired, aren't you, love?” Travis whispered, the pressure of his hands increasing. “Muscles stiff?”

Her nod was barely perceptible as she felt her body relaxing. She had no idea what he was doing, only that by some magic he seemed to be making her body melt. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to Travis, hardly aware when he slipped off her dress and laid her naked body face down on the bed. The gentle, deep sound of his voice added to this new pleasure she was experiencing.