Sally MacKenzie Bundle (27 page)

She froze—and felt her corset tighten briefly, then loosen. The wind whistled over her shift.

“What are you doing?!”

“Cracking you like a lobster so I can get to the tender meat inside.” He grabbed her shoulders and jerked her around. He still had a knife in his right hand.

She tried not to panic, but her heart was pounding. It was difficult to get the air to speak.

“Lord Andrew, please. Stop.”

He kept her imprisoned with his weight. She assessed her chances of getting to the door and down the stairs to safety. They were not good. There was no hope of arguing with a knife in such close quarters, and even if she did get free, she would have trouble navigating the old, winding stairs without tripping on her loosened clothing. Pitching headlong down those stone steps would be dangerous indeed.

She glanced at Andrew’s face. Perhaps not as dangerous as staying here with this madman.

“You won’t get away, sweetings, so don’t hurt yourself trying.” He chuckled. “I have much more amusing ways to hurt you.”

“No.” She was losing her battle with panic. Fear made it hard to get even one word out.

“Oh, yes.” He tilted his head, studying her face. “It would be somewhat amusing to have you with your headgear on, but I think we will leave that treat for another day.” He tugged on her ribbons, plucked her bonnet off, and threw it over the parapet. “Today I believe it will be more entertaining to see how you look with the wind in your hair.”

Lizzie craned around to see her poor hat tossed by the winds to land on the grass outside the castle. If only they were above the courtyard. Then Robbie or Meg or one of the other guests would see her bonnet sailing through the air and come investigate.

Her movement was a mistake. The ridge throbbed against her belly.

“Nice.” He tangled his hand in her hair, pulling the pins out and throwing them over the parapet as well. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders. The wind caught it and whipped it around her face. She pushed on his chest. Perhaps she could free herself now.

She couldn’t.

He jerked her dress and corset down. She saw a moment of opportunity and brought her knee toward his crotch. He evaded her easily. Laughing, he pressed against her again. He caught the tip of his knife under the neck of her shift.

“No!”

“Yes.” He pricked the fabric and tore it to her waist, exposing her breasts. He studied them. “Too small for my tastes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Lord Andrew, my brother will kill you.”

“No, I think he will insist I marry you. But don’t worry. I will graciously agree to do so—and then I shall have complete control of your property and your person. Won’t that be fun?”

She bucked against him. He laughed thickly.

“Remember how I said I didn’t bite?”

Whatever was he getting at? “Yes.”

“I lied.” He dropped his knife and bent his head, closing his teeth around her nipple.

Chapter Fifteen

Where the hell was Westbrooke?

Felicity stretched up on her toes to take some of the pressure off her arm. She’d lost all sensation in it. It might as well belong to another person—or to a corpse.

What if no one came? What if she were left here?

She looked at the key lying on the table. She’d thought she’d considered everything. It had seemed a good plan to put it there—more damning evidence when everyone found Westbrooke with her. She reached for it. Impossible. The little feeling she still had in her left arm presented itself as shooting pain. The key wasn’t inches from her fingers, it was feet. No amount of stretching would work.

Damn it all, why had she tried to be so clever? She should have kept the bloody thing in her pocket.

Where the frigging hell
was
Westbrooke? He should have been here by now. Hadn’t Charlotte sent him yet? No, the stupid bitch must have forgotten to play her part. Surely she would remember before everyone left? When she saw Felicity wasn’t there to get in the carriages, Charlotte would recall her role.

She hoped. Charlotte had been behaving in an exceedingly odd manner since they’d arrived at the house party. She’d been nervous. On edge. And then today she’d been the opposite—dreamy, languid, as if her mind were somewhere else.

Where? Felicity frowned. Charlotte had cast more than one look at their host during luncheon. Was there something between those two? Perhaps. That miniature in Charlotte’s room—that was certainly peculiar. And now that she pondered it, Charlotte did have the look of a woman who’d been thoroughly bedded recently. But Charlotte didn’t like bed play. Or, she hadn’t liked it. Had Tynweith changed her opinion?

Interesting. If dear Charlotte didn’t do her part, Felicity would see to it that Hartford heard all the details of his wife’s activities. The duke was very possessive. He would not take kindly to Tynweith’s cuckolding him.

Damn.

If Charlotte didn’t play her part, Felicity would be stuck in this dungeon for hours.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A large black spider was crawling over her elbow. She jerked away. The spider kept crawling. She couldn’t feel it. She reached up with her free hand and flicked the creature away. She couldn’t feel the touch of her own fingers.

She could hear though. The silence was heavy, but there was a scrambling in the far corner of the room. What the hell was that? She squinted. Did she see the gleam of a rat’s eyes?

She moaned. She had to get out of here.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. If she called out now, anyone might come to her aid. Mrs. Larson or Lord Dunlee. The plot would be ruined.

She could not let her emotions run away with her. Tynweith had said the party would only stay another half hour. At least ten minutes must have passed since then—more like fifteen. She didn’t have much longer to wait. She just had to be patient.

“I could kill the man.”

“Edward, please. Get hold of yourself.”

“But he’s a frigging idiot, Nell. You heard him.” Tynweith fought to keep his voice down. He could see Lady Dunlee’s avid expression as clearly as Nell could.

“Yes, I heard him. He’s despicable—but he is also a duke
and
her grace’s husband. You have no rights here, Edward.”

“I’ve the right of any gentleman to see that ladies are treated with respect!”

“Shh. Yes, of course. But if you acted on that right, you would cause severe speculation as to your motives—you have never bestirred yourself to defend any other lady’s feelings.”

“I’ve never seen them violated so publicly.”

“And what is more, I don’t believe Charlotte would thank you. She went with Hartford. She didn’t ask for your aid.”

“No, she didn’t.” That had galled him. After last night she must know she could turn to him for protection.

Yet Hartford had not offered her injury, really. He’d merely wanted to exercise his marital rights. He’d been beyond boorish to publicly humiliate Charlotte by advertising his intentions, but that had been his only real sin. Some would not call it a sin at all.

Nell was right. He would have looked extremely odd leaping to Charlotte’s defense. More than odd—suspicious.

Charlotte wanted the world to think any child she might get as the result of this house party’s activities was Hartford’s. This afternoon’s little drama was perfect for her purposes. If she were found to be increasing, all the
ton
would congratulate the duke, especially after Lady Dunlee spread the story of his arrival, as she was sure to do.

This was for the best—but he hated it. To think of the old man pawing Charlotte’s body, putting himself between her lovely thighs…

God, it made him want to puke.

“Are you all right, Edward?”

“Yes.” He turned away from Nell. “Where is everyone? We should be returning.”

“No, Edward. Not yet.”

“Why not? The storm is coming. No one wants to get wet. I can’t imagine anyone cares if we leave a few minutes early.”

“Charlotte may care.”

“What?”

“Think, Edward. If you rush everyone back, we may arrive only shortly after the duke and duchess—sooner if you spring the horses as I can tell you are in the mood to do.”

“So?”

“So you will embarrass the duchess further. You’ll give Hartford another opportunity to entertain our guests with his crude remarks. And if he has engaged in any…activities in his coach, the duchess’s person may show some signs of it—her clothing or hair might be disarranged.” Nell put her hand on his shoulder. “I think she would prefer not to have an audience, don’t you?”

“Damn.” Nell was right. Charlotte would be mortified. He wouldn’t add to her burdens for anything.

“Very well.” He took Nell’s hand and put it on his arm. “Then I am going to have to keep you from Sir George for a while longer, I’m afraid. I need you to prevent me from killing someone—and to tell me when an adequate amount of time has passed so I can haul this collection of cod’s heads back to Lendal Park.”

Robbie strode toward the tower. He wanted to run, but that would have focused everyone’s attention on his behavior and created a scandal. Lizzie was probably fine. Lord Andrew was a blackguard. He might make Lizzie uncomfortable, but as far as Robbie knew, the man had not added raping ladies to his list of sins.

Of course, there was always a first time.

He stepped over the threshold into the dim light of the tower and paused to give his eyes time to adjust. He would not help Lizzie by falling down the old stairs and breaking his neck. He—

What was that? Damn, it sounded like a woman’s moan coming from the dungeon. But Parks had been clear that Lizzie had wanted to see the battlements. That made sense. Lizzie loved heights. She would have no interest in the dungeon unless Andrew dragged her there.

God, is that what the bastard had done? The room held some nasty instruments of torture. Even if Andrew used only the switch…. No, he couldn’t bear to think of Lizzie’s soft white skin marred by a lash. He started for the dungeon. He stopped with his foot on the top step.

All was quiet now. Could he have imagined the sound?

If he’d actually heard Lizzie, shouldn’t he have heard Andrew’s voice, too?

It made no sense. He listened. Nothing.

His nerves
were
stretched tight. Perhaps the noise had been a product of his worry—or perhaps Andrew had muffled Lizzie’s mouth. Bloody hell.

It would take only a moment to run down to the dungeon. But if Lizzie were on the battlements, that was a moment too long.

He did not have the luxury of indecision.

“Stop! That hurts.” Lizzie pushed against Lord Andrew’s shoulders. She screamed, but the sound was whipped away by the wind. Andrew laughed.

“God, I’d hoped I could get you to do that.” He squeezed her breasts hard and laughed again. “I doubt anyone can hear you, but please, scream all you want. I find the sound invigorating.” He grabbed her bottom and pulled her tight against him. “See? I am bursting with vigor. Can you feel it?”

She felt too much. Only her thin shift protected her from his touch. She felt the rough ridge of his pantaloons against her belly; the heat of his palms, of each of his fingers on her bottom. She pushed against his shoulders again. He pulled her tighter still, trapping her hands between them. He whispered in her ear.

“Do you know what will happen, Lady Elizabeth, when I unbutton my pantaloons and lift the hem of your shift?”

He paused. Did he really expect an answer? She shook her head. She was afraid she did know. She remembered Meg’s talk of breaching and blood. She remembered Robbie naked in her room. He had been large, but she had not felt threatened. Now she did.

“I will ram my cock up inside you, my dear, and in doing so I will answer one of the burning questions of this house party—were you really alone in your bed when Felicity came looking for Westbrooke, or were you entertaining a very naked earl?” He bit her earlobe. He was holding her so tightly she did not have room to flinch. “Is the prim and proper sister of the Duke of Alvord still a virgin or is she merely mutton dressed as lamb? I can hardly wait to find out.”

He covered her mouth with his. She kept her teeth clenched—until he twisted her nipple. She gasped with the pain, and his tongue plunged in to gag her.

She fought to control her panic. She needed to keep her wits about her. Surely Lord Andrew must loosen his grip at some point in this process. When he went to open his breeches or pull up her shift, then perhaps she would have a chance to escape.

Perhaps not. She felt his hand creeping up her leg, taking her shift with it. He moved his hips back only enough to get the thin cloth up to her waist, keeping her trapped with his chest. She felt the cold, rough stone of the parapet against her bottom.

“The amusing thing is I can never really know you
are
a virgin, can I? Only that you
were
a virgin. Because in making the discovery, I disprove the statement.” He grinned. “No matter. I assure you, whatever your state at this moment, you will most definitely not be a virgin shortly.”

She felt him fumble with his buttons.

She screamed again.

Robbie took the worn steps two at a time.

What if he’d guessed wrong? What if Lizzie
was
in the dungeon? He should have gone there first. He was wasting precious seconds coming up here.

But Meg had said Lizzie wanted to see the battlements. There was no reason for her to go down to the dungeon. She and Meg had seen that room yesterday—and there was no pleasant view there.

No, Lizzie would definitely have chosen the battlements.

If she’d had the choice. If Andrew had wanted her in the dungeon, her wishes would have been irrelevant. She’d be no match for a man’s strength.

Robbie took a deep breath. He was letting his imagination run amok. Lord Andrew might not be his choice of escort for Lizzie—hell, the blackguard wasn’t his choice to be within sixty kilometers of Lizzie—but the man had never been accused of hurting a lady. Lizzie was safe. He hoped.

Who had made that moaning sound in the dungeon?