My Fair Mistress (47 page)

“What man?”

“Don’t know. Never seen him afore.”

“Was he dark-haired or light?”

“Dark. He paid me first to watch the lady, then after to keep this letter fer a couple days and give it to you.”

Ethan sprang to his feet, while Hannibal let out a curse.

The brandy churned inside Rafe’s stomach. “What lady?”

“Don’t know. Pretty she were, but pregnant-like. Near big around as my ma just afore she birthed my little brother.”

A stultifying silence fell over the room.

“He weren’t lyin’, were he?” the boy questioned, his worried eyes darting between them. “About the money, that is?”

Refusing to let his fingers shake, Rafe reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a coin. “No, he wasn’t lying. Now, the letter, if you please.”

The boy handed over the missive, then just as quickly snatched up the coin. Biting the corner to check the metal for authenticity, he thrust the money deep into his pocket. Before any of them could say a word, the child ran. Hannibal started after him.

“Let him go,” Rafe ordered.

“But Dragon, he might have more information.”

“Unfortunately, I fear all the information we need will be in this letter.”

Crossing to his desk, Rafe picked up a silver letter opener and slit open the wax seal. He said nothing as he read the words inside.

“Well,” Ethan asked. “Is it him?”

A black sickness rose within Rafe, all his fears having come to fruition. “St. George has her. He wants the journals and money in exchange for her life and the baby’s. He’s given instructions. We ride as soon as the horses can be readied. There is no time to lose.”

Julianna shifted in the hard cane-backed chair in which she sat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Tugging her woolen mantle closer against the damp chill that permeated the narrow two-room cottage, she watched Lord Middleton pace to the window, stare out for a long minute, then pace back.

“It’s cold in here. Perhaps you ought to go out for more wood,” she suggested.

The flames in the room’s single fireplace were burning low, producing little heat against the persistent spring chill outside.

Middleton turned toward her, a sneer on his face. “And perhaps you should shut your mouth.”

She folded her hands over her belly and huddled deeper into her cloak. As she’d learned during the four days since he’d kidnapped her and brought her here, Middleton was wound like a short piece of thread on a large spool, capable of snapping at any instant.

He’d exploded once already when she’d refused to cook meals for them, giving her a savage slap across the face that had convinced her to change her mind. After that, she’d done as she was told, striving to be patient as she prayed for herself and the safety of her unborn child.

He paced to the window again, an annoying habit grown worse over the past couple of days. He was increasingly anxious, she’d noticed. The confinement and stress of the situation were beginning to take their toll.

They were taking their toll on her as well. She knew Rafe would come for her, if for no other reason than the fact that he would never allow harm to come to their child. Nor to her, she admitted, no matter the current state of their marriage.

Until he arrived, though, she had to stay strong, for herself and the baby. Despite the fear that had become her constant companion since this ordeal began, she refused to give in to its crippling effects. She’d also sworn to herself that she would not be worn down by Middleton’s threats, subtle and otherwise.

During one of his more talkative moments, the viscount had told her how he’d hired a few street children to keep watch of her comings and goings. At first, he’d been stymied when Hannibal had begun to shadow her every step. But fate had taken a turn in his favor, he’d told her, when she’d slipped free of her guard and shown up at her townhouse alone. He’d chuckled as he recalled his moment of victory, as he liked to call it. She’d played right into his hands, a perfect little dupe.

So Rafe was trying to protect me all along,
she realized.
If only I had listened.
Of course, it might have helped had Rafe seen fit to express his worries over her safety to her. Then again, she knew herself well enough to realize she might have discounted his concerns, and done as she pleased regardless of the danger.

So now here she was—wherever
here
might be.

Based on the length of the coach ride and the rich, loamy agricultural fields she’d glimpsed out the window on the way, she suspected he had taken her northeast, perhaps to his home territory of Essex, or maybe nearby Suffolk. She couldn’t be certain, though, her surroundings giving her few clues. The cottage he’d chosen was certainly isolated, so much so that she hadn’t seen or heard a single sign of human activity since their arrival.

As she knew, the chance for escape was slim, especially given her current physical limitations. But if an opportunity presented itself, she’d promised herself she would take it, no matter how unlikely success might be.

Until now, Middleton had been incredibly vigilant, his eyes fox-sharp as he kept track of her every movement. During the day he watched her, making sure she had access to implements, including knives and kitchen tools, only when she was cooking. The remainder of the time he kept such items securely out of her reach. When he needed to venture outside, he would bind her wrists with rope and tie her to a chair. At night, he locked her inside the cottage’s only other room, a windowless chamber so tiny the single bed and washstand barely fit inside.

But his diligent attention was beginning to show cracks in its foundation, worry and a lack of proper sleep setting him on edge. Perhaps a subtle bit of goading might nudge him over that edge just far enough to make a mistake. Despite the risk, she supposed it was worth a try.

“He’s not going to come, you know,” she declared boldly. “If Rafe was planning to race to my rescue, don’t you think he’d be here by now?”

Middleton spun to face her. “Oh, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t abandon his wife, especially not with you swollen big as a sow with his brat.”

She forced herself to give a casual shrug. “Ordinarily that would be the case, but you mistake the real circumstances of my marriage to him.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“We took pains to keep it a secret, but I suppose it makes little difference now. Last year I agreed to be Pendragon’s mistress. My brother owed him a great deal of money, you see, gambling debts and such, and well, Rafe and I struck a bargain. My favors in exchange for payment of the debt.”

An amused gleam came into the viscount’s eyes. “Finally, the truth. I did wonder about your unlikely liaison with a mongrel of Pendragon’s ilk. How the two of you…er…came together, so to speak.”

“It wasn’t out of personal desire, I assure you,” she lied. “It was an obligation, no more, no less.”

“Then why the marriage, if he was already getting the milk for free?”

“This…mistake”—she paused, motioning toward her belly—“would be the reason. When he discovered I was with child, he saw his chance to force his way into the nobility. Using my lineage and his wealth, he knew he would be able to procure a title that would otherwise have been denied him. To him, the child and I are irrelevant, since he already has what he wants—a place in the Lords and a peerage.”

“Privileges that cur does not deserve.” Middleton growled, spitting out a curse. “Prinny is nothing but a greedy fool, sullying the greatness of this nation by inviting ill-bred rabble like Pendragon to join the ranks of true peers. It positively disgusts me to think of honorable noblemen being forced to countenance such as he in their midst.”

Of course it isn’t a problem for honorable noblemen to associate with titled rapists and murders,
she reflected with an inward shudder.
At least not to Middleton’s twisted way of thinking.

Glancing toward the sputtering fire, she used the moment to steady her nerves. “So you see, he has little incentive to chase after me. If you are wise, you’ll cut your losses and let me go. If you release me, I’ll promise to say nothing of this…misadventure.”

“Will you indeed?” He barked out a laugh, his voice rife with sarcasm. “How gracious of you, my lady. But you see I have a vested interest in holding you, since I’m in rather desperate need of funds at the moment. If Pendragon won’t pay, then your family will.”

“My family will hunt you down and kill you,” she spat in sudden anger.

“Then they’ll have to stand in line to do it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Just before we left London, I learned that I am being sought for questioning by the authorities. My bloody former father-in-law has gotten hold of some documents that implicate me in the death of my wife. If he has his way, there will be a trial. A murder trial.”

He began to pace. “Of course no one will believe Hurst’s drunken rantings, but there will be enough dust stirred up to make my life quite difficult for a time. How dare they think to jail me, to humiliate me in public? How dare they, any of them, question a man of my stature?
Me,
Burton St. George, Viscount Middleton.”

He ended by thumping a hand against his chest in obvious outrage, his eyes closed in a struggle to regain control of his emotions. When he opened them again, his gaze was a placid blue.

“No,” he said, “should I have need of payment from your family, they will pay and be able to do naught about it. Once I’ve collected the ransom for you, I plan to be on a ship headed for France. I figure I’ll take my chances with Boney, maybe travel on to Austria or Italy. I hear it’s always sunny and warm in beautiful
Italia.

“But despite your doubts, I know Pendragon will come,” he continued. “Today or tomorrow at the latest. Like it or not, you are his wife, and that whelp growing in your womb, his spawn. He’ll come, if for no other reason than pride.” He lowered his gaze to her stomach. “Of course, if you’d prefer, I could try to help rid you of that…thing.”

She shivered, more convinced than ever that Middleton was not quite sane. Instinctively she cradled her arms around her unborn child, shielding it from the monster that stood before her.

He laughed aloud, visibly enjoying her fear and revulsion.

“Thank God Maris found out what you were before it was too late,” she said.

His laughter died, his expression turning nasty. “That’s another matter I always wondered about. Why your innocent little sister took such a sudden aversion to me on the eve of our engagement. She was to be mine, you know. She
was
mine until someone whispered stories into her tender little ears. Was it you? Did you warn her off? Or did Pendragon tell you some sad tale?”

He sauntered closer. “I can see by your face he did. What did he say? Did he reveal what I and my fellows did to that pretty little tart of his? The one he was going to marry? Believe me, she wasn’t worth it, though I did enjoy seeing Pendragon suffer. He actually cried, did you know that? Imagine a grown man weeping over a worthless trollop like her.”

Julianna shuddered, unable to hide the involuntary reaction.

“Bastard’s been set to ruin the lot of us ever since, though I didn’t realize it soon enough. Challoner, Underhill, Hurst, and now me. Well, he won’t win; I’ll make sure of that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“I mean that once I have his money I am going to kill him.”

She sucked in an audible breath.

“I’ve already selected a spot for his grave.” He moved closer and bent over to grab her chin between his hard fingers. “If you don’t watch yourself,” he whispered, a cold smile on his lips, “I’ll do the same for you.”

She suppressed the whimper that rose in her throat.

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze moving over her the way a snake slithered over prey.

Finally he turned away, releasing her chin. “Too bad you’ve grown so disgustingly fat. Otherwise, we could have found far better ways to occupy our time together.”

She shivered, sending up a small prayer of thanks for her pregnancy weight. If she lived through this, never again would she complain about having put on a few extra pounds.

He moved across to the window once more and stared out. A long minute ticked past before he turned, thumping his hands against his sleeves. “Christ, it’s freezing in here and the fire’s nearly out.”

Julianna goggled at the statement, since he sounded as if he were only now noticing the cold.

“I will get some wood,” he declared, crossing to pick up the rope he used to bind her. “I’ll feed and water the horses, too, while I’m out,” he mumbled beneath his breath as he approached.

She tensed in anticipation, hating it when he tied her to the chair, leaving her utterly helpless and alone. She nearly begged him to reconsider but knew her protestations would only make him enjoy the process more. Biting her lip, she remained silent as he secured one of her wrists to the arm of her chair, wound the rope twice around her body, then secured her other wrist to the opposite chair arm.

Then he swept the cutlery off the table and secured it where she could not reach. Tossing his greatcoat over his shoulders, he let himself out of the house without another word.