Mariel (36 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Mariel rose late to find the others in Ian's house busy with their plans for the day. Phipps and Rosie had left earlier to visit some of the historical sights of London. Although the woman had spoken of the need for the child to learn of her country's great heritage, Mariel suspected Phipps was more interested than the little girl in seeing the castles and cathedrals.

Ian ate a quick luncheon with her, then excused himself. “I have to do some errands today. Mother is very capable of dealing with the solicitors, but she cannot tolerate the senior partners. Whenever she can, she has me meet with them.”

“Of course, you must go.”

“What will you do?”

She smiled as she took his hand. “I will enjoy a quiet day here. We have been so busy, and tomorrow is my appointment with the doctor. I think I deserve some peace.”

Gently, he kissed her. “Don't worry about tomorrow, my love.”

“Don't ask the impossible.” She stroked his smoothly shaven face. “I cannot help being nervous.” With a light laugh, she said, “Go! The quicker you deal with that business, the quicker you will be home to help me wait until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I will hurry.” He bent to whisper in her ear. Her eyes closed in silent delight as his arms enfolded her to him. “I would be happy to do whatever you want to help the time pass more quickly.”

Tilting her face, he kissed her with the passion he found impossible to hide. He drew her to her feet and against him. The soft caress of her body against him urged him to lead her upstairs. In the long weeks since the few nights they had spent in paradise, he had been suffused by the savage yearning to love her again.

“I love you, Mariel,” he whispered.

Instead of stiffening, as she had each time he approached her in Foxbridge, she answered as softly, “I love you, too. I am sorry I have been so distant. Give me time, Ian.”

“All you want, my love.” He could not help smiling as he saw the invitation on her face. “I shan't be long. Tonight, I think you and I have something to talk about.”

Bemused by the kisses he sprinkled on her face amid his words, she nodded. When he released her, she wanted to pull him back to her. She reminded herself that he would be home soon. Then she would tell him the truth about why she had refused to accept his proposal in the past. If he wanted her when he knew the risks, she knew she could pretend no longer. She wanted to be his.

Those pleasant dreams were still with her when she walked out of the house to sit on the bench in the small, front garden. She enjoyed listening to the rattle of the conveyances passing on the street. Accustomed to the wide open spaces of the ocean, she found the city claustrophobic. The late-afternoon sunshine on her face and the aroma of the breeze through the last of the summer blossoms eased that sensation.

They had two more days in London. Then they would be returning to Foxbridge with the final prognosis. If Ian spoke to her tonight about the subject she was sure hid in his heart, there would be dissatisfaction among his parishioners. Mrs. Rivers was only the most verbal of her detractors. Others would be displeased to see a match between Lady Mariel and the reverend.

Sunk deep in her thoughts, Mariel did not notice the carriage, which slowed as it moved along the street. Only when it pulled even with the house did she react. She tensed on her seat by the doorway.

She heard its door opening. A man leapt out, his boots loud on the cobbles. She asked, “Yes? Can I help you, sir?”

He moved closer to her, and her brow threaded with unease. That he did not speak disquieted her. Most of the ones who called at this house knew she could not see them. The guests made a point of speaking or identifying themselves immediately to set her at ease. He merely continued to walk toward her. As he stepped too close, she involuntarily leaned backward. She bumped into the wall of the house.

“Lady Mariel? How are you today?”

“Mr. Muir!” she gasped when his voice identified him as the man who had taunted them at the ball the previous night.

“Yes.” He laughed, before saying in a condescending tone, “Very good, my lady.”

She knew her startled reaction betrayed her. Cooly, she said, “You must excuse me, Mr. Muir. If you wish to apologize to Ian for your beastly behavior, you will have to return later this evening. He is busy this afternoon.” She stood. “If you will excuse me, sir …”

As she turned to enter the house, her nose bumped into his silk waistcoat. Although she was sure he purposely had stepped in front of her, she started to pardon herself. He put his hand onto her arm. Her fear escalated as she tried to tug away from him, and his grip became a painful vise.

“What do you want?” she cried.

“It is a lovely day, Mariel,” answered Muir as he drew her along the short walk to the street. “I thought you might enjoy a ride. That is all. My carriage is waiting. Shall we go?”

“I don't think so. I have a very important appointment tomorrow, and I must prepare myself.” She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp. “Good day, Mr. Muir.”

He laughed. “A short ride through the park will not take much of your time and will allow me to atone for what you so graciously call my ‘beastly behavior.' Please.”

She nodded, knowing she had to let him think he had her fooled. From his eager tone, she was sure he wanted only to cause her more trouble. As he turned her to walk toward the carriage, she went without protest.

He opened the carriage door. At the same time, she pretended to stumble. “My shoe button is loose. May I fix it?” she asked innocuously.

Grudgingly, he agreed. She bent, as if to check the shoe. When he released her, she paused only a moment. Then she exploded from her crouched position to race toward the house. She heard the shouts behind her, but she did not hesitate.

Arms caught her. A hand covered her mouth as she took a breath to scream. Her flailing legs were smothered by her gown while he kept her arms pinned to her sides. She was shoved into the carriage seconds before an order sent it careening down the street. As it rounded a corner, she was rocked from her knees to sit roughly on the floor. Feminine laughter brought her head up as she groped for the edge of the seat.

“Rupert, will you get her up? She is going to wrinkle my best visiting gown.”

Wide hands grasped her waist and lifted her to a seat. She clung to the velvet upholstery as the vehicle continued at a breakneck speed along the streets. When she realized the driver must know these narrow avenues well, she relaxed. Turning to the man next to her, she demanded, “Is there any hope that you will give me an explanation for your continuing beastly behavior, Mr. Muir? Or you, Miss Muir?”

“Lady Mariel,” drawled the woman in the same derogatory tone her brother had used with Ian the previous night, “we don't like you.”

“Isn't that marvelous? We have something in common. I don't like you.” She tucked her messed-up hair under her garden hat. Her fingers caught in the loosened veil, and she realized it was ripped. “Now why don't you take me back to the house?”

“Are you familiar with London, my lady?” asked Muir as he leaned back on the seat. “It is beautiful, indeed, with all the extravaganzas for the queen's diamond jubilee.”

“I have heard that.”

He twisted her face toward him. “Ah, I forget. These lovely eyes see nothing. It is a shame, isn't it, Portia? Yet, it seems so appropriate. How often we have been urged to pray for the halt and the blind! The Reverend Beckwith-Carter and Lady Mariel Wythe.”

Her lips tightened as she pulled away from him. “I understand that remark garnered you a black eye at the ball. For a so-called cripple, Ian has a wonderful left hook. Don't you agree?”

When his hand impacted on her face, she almost fell to the floor. Clutching her reeling head in her hands, she leaned against the wall of the carriage and implored her stomach not to be ill. She listened through the rush of sound in her ears as Portia argued with her brother. That the woman would protest his treatment of her was a surprise.

Then she realized Portia was not complaining about him striking her. They were discussing what they would do to her. Her hand slid along the wall of the carriage as she edged across the seat. The carriage continued at its reckless pace, but it must slow when they reached the more well traveled streets. If she could find the door latch, she might have a chance to escape.

“It is two inches below your hand, my lady,” offered Rupert with a laugh. His arm slipped around her waist and pulled her against the back of the seat.

When his other hand settled familiarly on her breast, she screamed and fought to avoid him. He simply laughed again as he captured her mouth beneath his. Her hands pressed against his chest as he pushed her inexorably into the hard boards she could feel beneath the upholstery.

He growled as he moved away from her suddenly. She backed into a corner of the seat, her arms wrapped around herself in a protective pose. Her breath was rapid from her fierce attempts to free herself. Struggling to control her fear, she listened as brother and sister continued to argue about her fate.

“Enough of that, Rupert.”

“Why don't you just shut up?”

Her sneer was directed at Mariel as she stated, “I don't understand why you would want to touch her.”

“You aren't blind, sister. Look at her. Even with her useless eyes, she is a beauty.” He chortled maliciously. “You are jealous because your darling Ian wants her more than he ever wanted you.”

“Jealous of that?” She sniffed inelegantly. “She probably is as mad as the rest of her family. Once Jan adjusts to her disappearance, he will be happy to have a normal woman to love.”

Mariel could tolerate no more of their easy assumption that she would sit docilely through their insults. “Ian doesn't want you, Portia. He never will. He thinks you are ill-mannered and stupid.”

When Muir laughed, his sister cried, “Will you allow her to say things like that to me?”

“I did, didn't I?” His voice darkened as he stated, “Why should I defend you when you refuse to let me treat her as I wish?”

“How long after Ian discovers her missing do you think it will be before he shows up on our doorstep? If you have her upstairs in your rooms, I think you will suffer more than a black eye.” Portia snapped, “Find yourself another whore to take as your mistress! I want this woman out of my life for good.”

Mariel listened as Rupert mumbled some sort of agreement. Fear more powerful than before surged through her. The Muirs intended to do more than simply threaten her. They planned to do her harm. Rage overwhelmed her fright. She would not meekly let them do as they wished. With her hands behind her back, she drew off the lovely ring she always wore. Her fingers pushed it down between the cushions. If something happened to her, and it appeared it would, the Muirs would be prime suspects. The police might find the ring if they searched for clues. It would signal she had ridden in the carriage.

From the street came the bilious stench of waste. It grew stronger as the carriage slowed. She could tell they were going through narrow alleys. The sunshine that warmed her face had disappeared. Voices of children followed the carriage. She could hear them begging for alms. Her terror returned as she realized the disgusting part of the city that lay around them.

A rap on the ceiling halted the vehicle. Portia reached past her to open the door. Her sickly sweet perfume was a nauseating contrast to the horrible reek of the streets. When Rupert took Mariel's hand and ordered her from the carriage, she knew resistance would be futile.

She lowered herself carefully onto the small metal step. Her foot was reaching tentatively for the ground when the carriage lurched into motion. A hand in the center of her back pushed her away from the deadly wheels, which churned through a puddle and sprayed her in the seconds before she fell into it herself.

Mariel lifted herself from the water at the edge of the street. As mud oozed around her, she hoped it was only rainwater she had fallen in. She felt fingers on her skirt and batted them away. A childish laugh warned her about the part of London in which she had been abandoned. Pickpockets started young.

Cautiously, she stepped up onto the curb. Using the senses she still possessed, she moved along the narrow, crowded street. It had been wide enough for the carriage to maneuver, so it was not one of the narrowest, most decadent alleys. The Muirs would not think of her again. They had had their enjoyment and had no expectations she would survive to escape this horror.

Her hand slid along the wall of a brick house. Steep stairs leading to its doorway were the only break in the hard surface. Before she had gone more than a few paces, she found herself surrounded by a dozen urchins. All of them pushed their hands beneath her nose.

“I have nothing to give you,” she said sternly. She hoped her demeanor would urge them to leave her alone.

A growl met her words. One, tall enough so his face was level with hers, pushed close. She backed away from the reek of rum on his breath. When he spoke, she could hear his voice was deeper. She feared this older lad was the leader of this gang of young criminals. One of the boys called him “Cap'n.” That no one on the street had come to her aid warned her she could not expect any.

“Pretty lady, think again.” The cold metal of a knife pressed close to her cheek.

Her hands trembled as they raised to her ears. He slapped them away as they were working to remove her jewel encrusted earbobs. With a vicious jerk, he pulled them off painfully. More patiently, he waited for her to undo the clasp at the back of her necklace. He crowed with delight as he accepted the sapphire and gold pendant, which had been in her family for countless generations.

“The rest!” he ordered.

“That is all the jewelry I am wearing. I have no money.”

He lifted her hand and held it before her face. “There be a mark here. Ye be wearing a ring, pretty lady. Don't think ye can be playing Cap for a fool. I want it!”