Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (36 page)

Deb shrugged a bare shoulder. “Because rejection cut her to the quick. Because she did not want to reveal the identity of her real lover for fear of the consequences from her father, who had encouraged her to pursue the Marquis of Alston. They are but two reasons I can think of. You must admit, to the vast majority of females it is one thing to be seduced by a future Duke, quite another to allow a mere commoner between the sheets.”

Robert Thesiger opened his mouth to refute this, had second thoughts, and said with a crooked smile, “Is that what persuaded you? That you will soon be Duchess of Roxton?”

“Why do you persist with this futile quest for retribution from the Duke of Roxton, a nobleman whose pride and arrogance will never permit him to acknowledge you as his son?” Deb asked calmly, ignoring Joseph’s loud clearing of his throat. “Why do you assume my husband is cast from the same die? Is it because you cling to the absurd notion that to fill the Duke’s shoes his son and heir must also be an arrogant and depraved debauchee as the Duke once was? Can’t you see that my husband has always been the man his father became upon his marriage to the Duchess?”

“Madam, your husband doesn’t deserve the rank thrust upon him by luck of birth. Who can respect a nobleman who’d prefer to live in the obscurity of his estate surrounded by his peasants, his pigs and his sheep rather than take up his rightful place at the helm of society? At Eton he never put himself forward, and yet his peers, those idiotic fawning brats who now make up Society, thrust him center stage as they do now, all because one day he’ll be Duke of Roxton!”

“You ridicule him only because you do not understand him,” Deb answered with exasperated patience. “Would you care to go through life never knowing who are your true friends; if you are chosen on merit, fawned over and praised, not because of who you are but because of what you will one day become? Just because he doesn’t strut about society like an overblown peacock full of his own consequence, lording it over all who are cast under his shadow, but has a natural deference for his social position and the huge responsibilities that will one day be his, you judge him as weak?”

Thesiger shoved his enamel snuffbox in a frock coat pocket, Deb’s line of argument dismissed as credulous sincerity. “Had the Duke done the honorable thing by my mother I’d be heir to a dukedom!” he seethed. “And I tell you this, Madam: I’m no social cripple. I’d know how to use such an exalted position to best possible advantage!”

Yes, for your own self-serving ends and with no regard for others
, Deb thought sadly. Her husband and this man were so dissimilar in every way that it was pointless to continue the discussion. Robert Thesiger was so twisted up with jealousy and resentment that her arguments were incomprehensible and unheard. Nothing she could say would make an ounce of difference to his distorted view of life. It was time she ended this circular discussion before she missed Jack’s performance altogether. And she was reasonably confident mademoiselle Lefebvre would show herself at this concert. If only she knew what the girl looked like. Another glance about her and she was relieved to see the walks were now clearing of spectators and the tumblers and stilt walkers had moved on up the avenue. She signaled to Brigitte and Joseph she was ready to leave and in a gesture of goodwill put out her gloved hand in farewell to Robert Thesiger.

“Good day, my lord. I hope that in time Baron Thesiger’s inheritance brings you some comfort and joy. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my nephew where, I hope, mademoiselle Lefebvre may be found amongst the audience for Mr. Ffolkes performance?”

“I wouldn’t know, Madam,” he said softly, taking a step closer, blue eyes scanning the view over her head. “She has refused to see me these past three months or more.”

“But—Did you not say she would be here today at noon?” Deb asked with a confused frown, a look out over the sea of faces. “And I am very sure she will be because—”

“I don’t care one way or the other,” Robert Thesiger purred, and before Deb could step away, his hand shot out to hard-grip her wrist. He pulled her against him and in one deft maneuver had her back hard up against his torso, her arm twisted tightly into the small of her back. Thus bound together he shuffled them along the walk toward the closest group of circus performers, her capture accomplished before Brigitte and Joseph knew what was happening.

“It’s time to end this charade.” he hissed in her ear, staring fixedly at Brigitte and Joseph who stood as stone in the middle of the avenue, gaze riveted on his face. He glanced at the two burly servants in livery and they too remained fixed, as if awaiting his next move. He caught up Deb’s free hand and with his hand covering hers pressed her open palm hard against the front of her damask bodice. “Made quick work of impregnating you, didn’t he, your diffident Adonis.” At Deb’s gasp of surprise, he sniggered. “Did you hope to keep such momentous news a secret from me, the child’s uncle? For shame!”

“It’s none of your business!”

“It is very much my business. Have you any idea what the birth of a male grandchild will mean for the Roxtons?”

Deb tried in vain to struggle free, but she was pinned against his torso, his hand that pressed against hers now uncomfortably tight on her abdomen. “Let me go before you find yourself swinging from the end of a rope!”

“A grandchild would give the Roxton Dukedom a future—”

“It already has a future in my husband! That is indeprivable.”

Thesiger was incredulous. “Roxton want a son to succeed him who prefers to rusticate on his estates than strut the world stage? Ha!”

“You won’t force the Duke’s hand by taking my child hostage!”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Madam,” he growled, forcing her deep within a group of acrobats who closed ranks about them, dancing and twirling and tumbling, and making an unholy racket. “It’s not a hostage I want. It’s
revenge
.”

A tumbler backflipped, came face to face with Deb and winked with a tobacco stained, almost toothless grin, and then she knew with an increasingly rapid heart beat that these performers were in Thesiger’s pay for the specific purpose of aiding her abduction. The appreciative crowd of onlookers, oblivious to the crime being committed under their very noses, applauded the tumblers’ antics, as they swept Thesiger and his captive along the avenue in a processional that was heading towards the river.

“Look straight ahead,” Thesiger commanded when Deb tried to catch a glimpse of Joseph and Brigitte.

The closeness of the performers surrounding her, Thesiger’s arm about her waist and the fact she had only picked at her breakfast contributed to the feeling of nausea rising within her and which was fast beginning to overwhelm her.

And that’s when it came to her to pretend to faint.

Surely Thesiger would be forced to stop and revive her if he hoped to get her to the riverbank? So without another thought she let her knees buckle, and as her legs collapsed under her she expected Robert Thesiger to catch her in his arms and right her. Actuality was far more frightening.

As she crumpled into the dust of the graveled walk Robert Thesiger’s hold on her slackened and he stepped away. Unable to right herself in time, she fell towards the ground expecting to be trampled by the performers who continued to tumble and make merry while their band of players crashed cymbals together and played their tin pipes a little louder than before, her cry for help unheard and unheeded. She wondered if this wasn’t how Thesiger had planned for her to lose the baby all along; no blame attached to him. Just as blame hadn’t been apportioned to him all those years ago when he had whispered such horrid, foul lies in Julian’s ear about the Duchess and her unborn child.

Yet just as her feet became entangled in the yards of silk of her crumpling petticoats she stuck out a hand and grabbed for the nearest billowing shirt of a sinewy acrobat. His split second reflexes reacted to pull Deb to him before she was trampled underfoot by his companions and he picked her up in his strong arms and carried her the short distance along an avenue that led to the river.

Her stockinged feet in mid air, Deb felt a hard object knock against the ankle of her old kid boot. It was Otto’s pistol. How foolish of her not to remember before now that she had worn her boots specifically because she could carry Otto’s pistol on her person! She was so relieved knowing she had her pistol and grateful to the swarthy faced acrobat for saving her that she made no attempt to struggle or cry out. She merely awaited her opportunity to reach down and remove the pistol from its holster. Her chance came soon enough.

The procession halted at the end of the avenue at the edge of the gardens. Beyond was the Seine where a boat awaited them. overconfident of their success, one of the kidnappers performed a victory tumble and back flipped, over balanced and fell on his buttocks into a hedge. His fellows laughed and did nothing to help him up, the acrobat holding fast to Deb finally setting her on her feet now they were away from the main avenue. Her moment had arrived. As she was put to firm ground she carefully lifted her boot and slipped the pistol from its holster and hid it amongst the folds of her crushed and disordered petticoats, her captors none the wiser as they continued to laugh at the expense of their fellow’s embarrassing fall in the shrubbery.

One of the tumblers exclaimed that before they departed for the river they should have a little fun with their hostage. His suggestion was laughed away as the emotive talk of a drunkard, not to be taken seriously. Yet, when the observation was made that none of them had ever been so close to a titled lady before and that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to discover if a noblewoman’s porcelain skin was indeed as soft as the fine silks she wore, more than one of their number turned lascivious eyes on Deb. The tumbler who had fallen into the hedge offered to have first feel of the girl and he grabbed a handful of Deb’s petticoats and began to tug up the yards of an exquisite fabric he had never before touched, much to the delight and appreciative hoots of his fellows. They urged him on, to lift the gossamer layers to the girl’s thighs where garters held up her fine white silk stockings.

A cheer went up followed by the explosive discharge of a pistol.

The report from Deb’s pistol was deafening. It instantly silenced the tumblers and musicians surrounding her, and then one of their number let out a bloodcurdling scream. The drunken tumbler who had dared to lift Deb’s petticoats had been shot. The ball had pierced the leather of his jackboot. He fell to the ground, writhing in agony, clutching his ankle with both hands while his fellows stared at Deb in horrified silence. The silk of her gown smoldered, the bullet exploding from the cocked pistol searing the top layers of her many layered petticoats, but she was unharmed and had great presence of mind to keep the smoking pistol leveled at her abductors.

Shock gave way to anger tinged with wariness at such outrageous behavior from a female, a lady at that! More than one of the performers wanted to abandon the girl and flee. After all, they had already committed a hanging offense by abducting her. That she had the courage to fire upon them was enough to put paid to their plans. Tumblers and musicians scattered, most running back into the gardens, their escape route to the river blocked by the two burly liveried footmen who had accompanied Deb to the Tuileries. Even the man she had shot managed to hobble away supported by two of his fellows, heaping curses upon her head between his continued whimpers of agony.

The Duke’s servants did not give chase. They had their orders. The safety of the Marchioness was paramount; everything and everyone else was of no consequence. To this end one of the footmen mutely removed the pistol from Deb’s hand, scooped her up, despite her objections that she was quite capable of walking, and carried her to the steps where he sat her gently down. His twin made Deb a formal bow of recognition and then boldly offered her the contents of his hip flask to calm her nerves. Deb was about to tell him she was perfectly calm when she realized that her whole body was trembling and that perhaps a drop of brandy would help settle her and so she gratefully drank of the fiery liquid.

She felt remarkably calm, helped by the gulp of brandy, given she had just foiled an attempt to kidnap her. Unharmed, she did not let herself dwell on possibilities. Yet, despite foiling the kidnapping and the protection of a footman the size of a Russian bear, she did not feel her baby would be completely safe until she had returned to Julian and the safety of the Hôtel Roxton. Her fear was justified when she chanced to glance up the stairs and there on the top step was Robert Thesiger. She gave a start and the footman protecting her went forward, ready to meet any challenge Thesiger cared to throw at him, the pistol leveled and cocked.

Thesiger came lightly down the stairs, passed the footman standing over Deb as if he did not exist, not a glance in Deb’s direction. She watched him follow the line of the ancient stone wall and wondered what held his attention. He did not look left or right but out across the gardens at the fleeing hordes as he stripped off his frock coat, tossed it and his ruffles aside and unsheathed his sword. And then she saw the reason for his preoccupation. Coming along the gravel path was her husband.

~   ~   ~

It was while striding the avenues in search of his brother, over a head taller than those around him, that Julian had caught sight of Deb in company with Robert Thesiger. It brought him up short. He had left her safely tucked up in bed and that’s where he supposed she had remained, sleeping peacefully. And then he remembered something about Jack being involved in a musical performance and he should’ve realized Deb would do all in her power to ensure she did not miss her nephew’s first public appearance. That she was strolling the Tuileries gardens in conversation with his nemesis not only angered him but also brought with it an unwanted sense of trepidation for her safety. He was in no doubts that it was Thesiger who had sought out his wife, and he wondered what mischief the man meant.

He stood in the middle of the crowded avenue as stone, watching them, for how long, he had no idea. He stared at Robert Thesiger, willing him to look up, and when the man finally did their eyes met and Thesiger’s face broke into a grin. It was only then that Julian found his legs and he strode towards them, anger and fear extinguishing all thought of finding his younger brother. His green eyes did not leave his wife and when Thesiger grabbed Deb to him, her back up against his chest and his arm about her waist, she struggling in vain to break free of him, Julian felt a gut-wrenching sense of helplessness for the first time in his life.