Royal Regard (41 page)

With a minor shrug of his shoulder, as though
he were discussing the disposition of old clothes, he remarked,
“This would be simpler for me, in point of fact: to sell you. I
accept ten thousand pounds for a possession of little value, and am
left your fortune and no wife to plague me. I appear in France with
the contract I have agreed with your husband, a man of God who has
witnessed our marriage, and a bride unfortunately lost at sea.”

“You will
sell
a countess under the
protection of the King of England?”

“I do hope, my dear, you will prove more
valuable than the ten thousand pounds you are worth to a slaver.
Our marriage will be much more credible when presented by a happy
wife.”

“You believe you can keep me from telling
everyone I know at Court in Paris, including the king? You believe
you can force me to be
happy
?”

He laughed in a way that froze the cooling
air around her, leaving her trembling, her stomach locked in a way
she hadn’t felt since the Russian tundra. “I believe I can force
you to
act
happy. Whether you are or not is irrelevant.
Until you can present yourself properly, you will see no one you
might tell. Even were you given leave to plead your case, your king
will never enter into a war with mine to break a legal contract
over a woman.”

When explained that way, Bella understood she
could not rely on the friendship or loyalty of either king.

“I am sure you will find reason to
demonstrate to Louis how pleased you are with our arrangement,
should I choose to present you at Court.”

“That would be more forgery than your
contract. No one will ever believe you negotiated anything with
Myron when he wouldn’t even talk to you.” Especially since
Wellbridge’s contract had already been certified before the House
of Lords. Fortunately, a split second before she threw that
information at him in a fit of temper, she rethought herself. If
Malbourne’s false contract was worthless, so was she.

“You think me low enough to
negotiate
with a shopkeeper to relieve him of his homely wife? But as
forgeries go, my dear, a very convincing one, written in your
husband’s own hand, signed with his own seal.”

The muffled noises from outside the closed
window shade ran together like the mumbling, stumbling of her
thoughts, trying to put one idea together with the next to find a
way out of this unbelievable predicament.

She gathered up as much detachment as she
could muster. “I would have to be mutton-headed not to see whom I
have to thank for this betrayal. I suppose Michelle has been poking
her nose into my husband’s papers.”

“As she has all our lives, Michelle pokes her
nose into anything I say. Unlike you, she understands what she will
gain by encouraging my esteem.”

More puzzle pieces fell into place, including
the irrelevant fact that she might never be able to confront
Charlotte with her inability to choose proper servants. If Bella
survived, she would never let anyone wait on her again.

“So, Michelle is your lover.”

“Ah, ah, my
duchesse
,” he kissed
Bella’s fingertips before she could stop him, “you will not make so
bold as to discuss my lovers, lest you find yourself replaced by
one.”

A sharp glitter in his eyes cut into her,
shattered glass blades honed to diamond-like precision. Her whole
body trembled at the ruthlessness living in the space between the
shards, and an acerbic response died in her throat. Being
‘replaced’ might not merely end in her sale to foreign marauders.
And he might yet prove worse than a hundred marauders.

His fingers continued caressing her palm and
wrist, increasing the involuntary shaking, which he must have taken
as desire, given his smug smile.

“Your impertinent questions I can forgive
today,
ma chère
. As a commoner, you will naturally have
questions about your role in my household, but do not be tempted to
insolence. Insolence is unbecoming of any wife, least of all a
royal duchess.”

If Wellbridge had said that to her, Bella
would have given him a loud, lengthy lesson on
insolence
that he would remember into the afterlife. She had never before
valued a man who would allow her to yell with impunity, but it was
too late to value him now.

Her nostrils quivered, along with her
shoulders, and she could barely force the words from her lips: “I
do not wish to displease you,
Monseigneur
.”

He kissed her palm, gently closing her hand
around the gesture. “And so we begin our lives together, my pet.
You have not yet disgraced yourself at the
Tuileries
, so I
am sure we shall, as the English say, rub along well together, once
you have been made aware of your duty to
la famille
Fouret
.”

“Can you…” she nearly choked, “explain to me
what my
duties
might be?” She couldn’t help the
half-sarcastic emphasis, but corrected herself after the first
syllable. Malbourne apparently noted her small rebellion, for his
look was enough to have her staring at the floor.

“I can see you will try to be a good girl for
me, my dear,” he said, finally, thumb sliding across her knuckles.
“The accounting clerk could hardly enforce dignity, so I understand
you must be instructed in the obligations of a noblewoman. This is
an inconvenience to me, and a waste of my time, should you prove
too stupid or baseborn to learn, so I must weigh the value of such
a wife. But do not fear,
ma poupée
. Should I allow you to
remain in the civilized world, I shall gently correct your
transgressions until you can be a credit to me.”

She tried to pull away, and he dropped her
hand back into her lap as though it were covered in filth, setting
her off-balance. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping
his fingers, he snapped, “If you do not wish my fond caress,
ma
mie
, you shall not be forced to suffer it. But I can hardly
imagine bands of infidels will be so patient when teaching you
their expectations.”

Tears finally welled up in her eyes, and his
demeanor changed again. He used the handkerchief to wipe her
cheeks, clucking his tongue at her upset, murmuring sweetly in
French, as one might do to comfort a child with a scraped knee.

Her weeping stopped in the face of the sudden
kindness. He was something beyond a lunatic. She couldn’t
anticipate him one minute to another. He rubbed the pad of his
thumb across her lips, tugging her mouth open just slightly.

He moved her wrists above her head,
restrained by his left hand, and his lips to her ear, soothing,
coddling her growing fear like a puppy that would become a favored
pet.

“I think you will try, for me, to be worthy
of this honor I bestow. And I shall be tolerant of your many faults
until you have been fully instructed in my requirements.” He kissed
her forehead, holding her hands motionless against the squabs, and
she fought the urge to pull away.

When his lips traced her temples, though, and
his tongue drifted to her other earlobe, she whispered, “You are a
monster.”

He pulled back and snapped a shackle about
her right wrist, holding it behind her head, a sneer twisting his
face into lines of revulsion. When he saw the insurrection directed
at him from her no-longer-watery eyes, he held his hand around her
throat.

“Are you so stupid as to insult me before I
have decided what will become of you? Unwise,
mon ange
.”

He squeezed ever more tightly until she was
struggling to push him away or tear his strangling fingers from her
neck. When she began to black out from the pressure, he suddenly
released her to gasp for air, sucking in the dank air of London and
the closed carriage, but even before her hand flew to her throat to
relieve the bruises, his vice-like hand wrapped around her wrist.
As he sat back, he forced her closed fist open, bending her little
finger backward until the slightest pressure would pop it from its
socket.

“You will do better to think how you might
please me, how to earn my forbearance, so I will decide to keep
you.”

Pressing her palm to his sex, he wrapped her
fingers around the rod she was sure he would soon use to punish her
for imagined sins. Even as she considered how she might use this
vulnerability to her advantage, his grasp tightened around her hand
until he could surely snap bone with the least provocation.

“You will not think to hurt me,
mon
chaton
, but only consider my pleasure. For you cannot escape
me, and the punishment for such an act will make you beg for the
chance to service me. You will count yourself lucky to be sold into
slavery if you should think to thwart me in this way.”

Her right hand dug into the tufted leather
seat, almost tearing her fingernails from their moorings. She
couldn’t stop her legs shaking, the chain cold and rattling against
her thin satin slipper, gooseflesh raised as soon as he had bared
her knee.

Eyes shut, bile rising, she let Malbourne
guide her hand up and down his…
Dear God, I will vomit if he…
No, God no. If I soil his carriage, it will not go well for
me
.

She swallowed hard to keep her stomach and
her head, mentally severing her hand from the rest of her body, so
she could think even while he did whatever disgusting… His fingers
moved like a jungle spider up her thigh.

“Do not fear,” he murmured in her ear, “As my
duchess, you shall be treated with all respect due the highest
nobility, will entertain the Kings of France at your table. As long
as you reflect well on your husband,
ma minette
, your life
will not be so difficult to bear.”

He squeezed her hand, by extension his cock,
and groaned against the nape of her neck. “And this I promise, my
lady wife: in the dark, I will not consider how unsightly you are,
but might instead imagine your face and body worth the effort to
give pleasure. I am a fair man. I will allow you to earn my
generosity by displaying proper deference in all things.”

The coach was slowing, but with a suspicious
rolling motion that seemed to align with her heartbeat:
thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump… Thump… Thump.

The carriage lurched to a stop.

Malbourne loosed her hand and peeked out the
side of the window blind, seeking the source and nature of any
trouble. Bella looked around again for a weapon or escape or key
or… miracle.

Malbourne’s lip curled as he opened the
window to the driver, hissing, she assumed to avoid calling
attention to his transportation, “What is happening? Why have you
stopped?”

Bella had no idea if she were in the middle
of the city or the middle of nowhere, or whether the driver knew
she was here unwillingly. But if Malbourne wanted their presence
kept quiet, it behooved her to be as loud as possible. Bella
shouted, “Help! Help me! I need help!”

Malbourne once more hit her across the face
with the back of his hand, her head flying into the unforgiving
wall like it had been hit by a cricket bat, her body slammed
against the door, yanked back by the ankle and wrist chains just
before she might have broken her neck.

Her body went limp against the seat, eyes
rolling loosely in her head.

“On yer way soon, Yer Grace, but it weren’t
the—”

Her body wracked with convulsions, twisting
her stomach, retching, choking on the pain shooting from just
behind her eyes to every extremity of her body.

Just before everything went black, she heard,
“You stupid bitch! You’ve ruined my coat!”

“Making myself bosky won’t
accomplish anything, will it, Blakeley?”

The stillness of the darkening library was
mirrored in Nick’s impassive factotum, who had consented to sit,
but abstained from the drinking, citing the need for at least one
of them to retain all his faculties. Blakeley had no objection to
acting as a clearheaded companion, if only to keep Nick from
seeking out his former associates in the low-class hells.

“Drunkenness is most often the beginning,
rather than end, of one’s problems, Your Grace.”

At Blakeley’s prim look, Nick thought perhaps
he should go to White’s to make himself bosky there.

“May I have Cook send up dinner?”

Nick set down his half-full glass, aiming for
the tray, but hitting the table, almost upsetting the decanter. The
smell of gin rose around them, taking Nick back, inescapably, to a
time in his life when he could still rail against the unfairness of
his responsibilities.

“No, I have to go after her.” Under influence
of the drink, his certainty took only a moment to wear thin. “Do I
not?”

“You are a duke, Your Grace. You do not have
to do anything the king has not ordered.”

While he knew this to be true, his sense of
duty reemerged. “No, I have to go.” He shook his head to try to
clear it. “If I would take her to wife, I must be of use as a
husband, whether she likes it or not.”