Tempting a Proper Lady (26 page)

There was no doubt in her mind as, hours later, she lay in the bed with Samuel half on top of her, his face buried in her neck as gentle snores shook his body. She toyed with his hair, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about what came next.

This afternoon was all they had. Today or tomorrow, Virgil Bailey would summon Samuel and offer to let him officially court Annabelle.

Had Samuel wanted this all along? He claimed that the courtship would be simply a delaying tactic until Annabelle was safe. That their lessons would stop only temporarily, until Raventhorpe was permanently out of the picture. What if he could not resist the temptation of marrying the woman he had fought so hard to come home to?

No, she could not believe that of him.

He was exactly the type of man she had always dreamed of, a man who could share with her all the pleasures of the flesh and yet still be counted upon when times were bad. A man who would do anything to win his lady.

A man who kept his word.

But both of them knew the truth. They could not continue their relationship if Samuel had to court Annabelle. It was the right thing to do—even if it broke her heart.

Samuel groaned in his sleep and turned his head. His eyes drifted open, and a sleepy smile curved his lips when he saw her. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She almost choked on the word as she reached up to stroke his hair.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“For a little while.”

He frowned. “I must be heavy.”

“No—”

He shifted onto his back, taking the delicious weight from her, but then he dragged her against him, tucking her head on his shoulder. She curved against him as if she'd been made for him. “There. Much better.”

“I was fine.”

“I'm sure you were.” He tipped up her face with a finger beneath her chin and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “You are the finest woman I have ever met.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. “You do not need to flatter me, Samuel. I am already in your bed.”

“That's not what I was trying to do.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “I was speaking from the heart.”

“Oh.” Her insides melted. Such lovely words. But she wanted more. And that determination to make
sure she did things right the second time gave her the strength to resist his sweet words.

Sweet words that did not include the one she most wanted to hear. Love.

She sat up, her insides churning. What they had was so close to what she had dreamed, and yet…“We must be realistic. Things are changing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Annabelle.”

“Blast it, I told you I don't want Annabelle.”

“I know. But you
are
committed to saving her. We both are, which is why we hatched this mad scheme to begin with—so you could keep her safe from Raventhorpe. And I helped you do it. I helped you drive a wedge between them, but now she wants you to court her…” She paused, struggling with a control that was rapidly slipping from her grasp. “I am worried I may end up losing you.”

“Come here, Cilla.” He sat up and tried to pull her into his arms, but she shrugged him off.

“We were fooling ourselves. Or at least I was fooling myself.” She jerked away the covers and stumbled from the bed, tripping over one of the shoes she had discarded earlier. “I thought I could have an affair with you and walk away whole. But I cannot. I will never forget you, and any man who comes after you will pale in comparison.” Naked, she began collecting her clothes, which were scattered around the room.

“I don't want to hear about other men, damn it.” He got out of bed, shoving the covers to the floor. “There won't be any other men.”

“There have to be. I must find a husband, Samuel. And you are not
capable
of giving me what I want. What I need.” She found her drawers and pulled them on, tying them swiftly.

“Love.” He fisted his hands, the mere word setting him on edge.

“I have told you how important that is to me. The longer you pretend otherwise, the harder it will be to walk away from each other.” She bent down to grab her chemise from the floor. “And if you start courting Annabelle, our affair must end. We agreed on that. What if you decide you want to wed her after all?”

He jerked her up with his hands around her upper arms, making her drop the garment. “Blast it, Cilla, that won't happen.”

She gave a violent shrug, shaking him loose, then snatched up her chemise again. “You don't know that. We have no choice, Samuel. We must end this affair now if we are to live with ourselves.”

“God damn it!” He ripped a hand through his hair. “This is why I didn't let myself believe in love all those years. It hurts too damned much.”

“Please accept my apologies for making you feel some sort of emotion!” She jerked the chemise over her head and tugged it down around her hips. “Had you continued the way you were, you would have grown into a bitter old man.”

“I might have been better off.” He scowled as she retrieved her corset. “Don't go yet. John won't be here for another hour.”

She stilled and looked at him. “Perhaps this is better. A clean break.”

“I'm not ready.”

The words sounded as if they'd been ripped from him against his will, and she couldn't stop the tender smile that curved her mouth. “Neither of us are. But it must be done, whether now or an hour from now. The day will not stop simply because we will it to.”

“God damn it!”

She could tell from the frustration on his face that he'd accepted that she meant what she said, though he didn't like it. He stood in the center of the room, stark naked, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he watched her collect and put on her garments. With each piece of clothing she donned, her insides steadied, as if the attire represented the walls she was building inside herself. Finally he stalked across the room and found his trousers, jerking them on.

She finished dressing, but then ran into a problem with her hairpins. They'd scattered all over the room, so she began looking for them on the bed first. Just the memory of his hands raking through her hair, strewing the pins all over the place, made her heart twist. By the time she had finished searching the bedclothes, he stood waiting with a handful of pins he had found on the floor. She scooped them out of his hand, her fingers tingling just from touching him, and went to the bureau to look in the mirror.

“I don't suppose you have a hairbrush—”

A crash came from the other room. Samuel jerked to attention, striding to his coat hanging from a hook
on the wall and digging a pistol out of the large pocket. He waved her toward the corner of the room as he took a position beside the door, attention focused outward.

“Samuel!” someone shouted.

He lowered the pistol. “It's John.” He gave her a quick glance as if to assure himself that she was decent, then opened the door. “In here, John. What's wrong?”

The bearded coachman appeared in the doorway. He glanced at Cilla, gave a nod, then turned his attention back to Samuel. “Raventhorpe has kidnapped Annabelle.”

“What!” Cilla cried.

“That bastard!” Samuel's eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“Bailey invited Raventhorpe to come so Annabelle could end the engagement. The fool left them alone so she could tell him herself.”

Samuel shook his head. “Bailey always put too much store in the honor of noblemen. So he took her then?”

“Mrs. Bailey saw Raventhorpe carrying off Annabelle from the parlor window. Of course those bloody servants are all loyal to him, so none of them stopped him. Mrs. Bailey ran after them and tripped on the stairs. She fell, and then it was all bedlam because she hit her head and injured her leg. Probably broke it.”

“Oh, my heavens!” Cilla splayed a hand over her bosom. “Is she all right?”

“I don't know. Bailey sent a lad around to the
inn to tell you to come,” John said to Samuel. “I think he wants you to go after Annabelle.”

“Absolutely. I trust you brought the rifle?”

“And your other pistol. He looks to have headed north. Most probably—”

“Gretna Green. That scum. Does he really think she will wed him after all that?”

John nodded. “Annabelle delights in her new social status, and being trapped overnight with a man not her husband is enough to ruin her.”

“Doesn't seem like that would matter to Annabelle. No one ever made her do anything she didn't want to,” Samuel said.

“John has a point,” Cilla said. “Her reputation
would
matter to Annabelle, but not for herself. For her mother. She wants Dolly to be able to go about in society.”

“God damn it. So she might marry him to save her mother some grief.”

“Yes.”

“We'll just have to make sure they don't stay somewhere overnight.” Samuel handed his pistol to John. “Take this while I get dressed. I'll be ready in a minute.”

“And what about Mrs. Burke?”

Samuel glanced at Cilla. The regret in his eyes echoed her own. “We can't leave you here. I guess you have to come with us. We'll make up some story.”

“All right. Let me finish getting ready.” She walked over to the mirror and began coiling her long hair into her familiar style. She watched Samuel in the
mirror as he searched out his clothing. So handsome. So strong and sure. Everything a woman could want in a man.

A pang of longing shook her. Their arrangement had come to an end. Never again would she see the inside of this little cottage where she had learned so much. About men. About herself.

The adventure truly had ended.

A
nnabelle awoke in a carriage. She could tell from the movement and the scent of leather and horses. Her head ached, and her tongue felt made of cotton. She groaned, opening her eyes.

“Ah, you are awake.” Richard smiled from the seat across from her.

She realized she was lying down and pushed herself into a sitting position, the blanket that covered her slipping to the floor. Her head spun for a moment, but then settled. “What are you doing? What happened to me?”

“You do not remember? You tried to refuse my suit, my dear. I could not allow that to happen, so I had to take desperate measures.”

She frowned. “I just remember talking to you, and then you took my arm…”

A pinprick, she remembered. Then dizziness.

“What did you do?” She studied his face, so familiar, and yet the look in his eyes that of a stranger. “You did something to me, didn't you?”

“Just gave you a little something to keep you quiet so I could get you out of the house. I had the
feeling you would not come with me willingly.”

“You drugged me? Then kidnapped me?” She jerked aside the curtain to reveal the countryside whipping by, then glanced back at him. “Why?”

“Why? Because you were about to jilt me for that lowborn American! Luckily I still have friends among the servants in your household, and they warned me.” He smiled, and the expression chilled her. “So I came prepared.”

“To kidnap me and hold me for ransom? Are you crazy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ransom has nothing to do with it. We're going to Scotland. I own an estate there, and you're going to marry me.”

“You really are crazy if you think that's going to happen!”

“And you should have a care with your words, Annabelle. You do not want to insult me, not when I hold your life in my hands.”

Another outburst bubbled up inside her, but she clamped her lips shut.

He laughed. “Very good! Obedience is a desirable quality in a wife, and it is rewarding to see that you already know its value.”

“I'm not going to marry you,” she said.

“You are.” He arched his brows, a nasty gleam in his eye. “Do you know what will happen to your reputation once word gets out that you spent the night alone with me on the road to Gretna Green? Or at my Scottish estate? Your reputation will be ruined.”

She shrugged.

“And if your reputation is in tatters, your mother's will soon follow.”

She gasped. “Mama didn't do anything!”

“Her good name would be tarnished because of yours, my dear. And then who in New York society would allow her to darken their door? No, she would be an outcast.”

She clenched her hands into fists in her lap. “I'm sorry I ever told you about that.”

“We all have regrets, my dear.”

 

Samuel walked into Nevarton Chase without knocking, Cilla on his heels and John behind her. A footman stepped forward to stop him. He grabbed the servant by his liveried coat. “Where's Bailey?”

The footman looked as if he would not answer, but Samuel gave him a shake. “Upstairs with Mrs. Bailey,” he said.

“How is she, Jeffrey?” Cilla asked. “I was told she was injured.”

“Took a tumble down the stairs trying to catch His Lordship. Knocked her head pretty good and broke her leg.”

Cilla met Samuel's gaze. “I need to go to her.”

“I'll come with you.” He shoved the servant aside. “Bailey did send for me, after all.”

“Sent for you!” the footman burst out.

John stepped closer and loomed over the shorter man. “Sent for him,” he repeated.

Cilla let out a sigh of frustration. “We are wasting time.” Gathering her skirts, she spun away from them and hurried up the staircase.

Samuel bounded after her.

John remained, calling up to them, “I will stay here and keep the horses warm.”

Samuel reached the landing first, his longer stride carrying him more quickly up the stairs. He reached for her hand as she caught up with him, but she shrugged him off and raced down the hallway. Her rejection stung, but then he remembered where they were. There would be questions as it was about how Cilla came to be with him. They didn't need to expose their true relationship to the entire household.

“Samuel!” She signaled to him from outside a bedchamber at the end of the hall. As he sprinted toward her, she went inside the room.

When he got there, Cilla was seated on a stool beside the bed, holding Dolly's hand. The normally joyful Dolly looked like a pale reflection of herself, her hand limp in Cilla's, a bandage on her forehead. Her blue eyes, normally full of kindness and good cheer, stared straight ahead, dull and lifeless.

Virgil paced by the bedside, throwing concerned looks at his wife. When Samuel entered the room, some of his tension eased. “Samuel, thank God. You need to go after them. You need to go get my Annabelle.”

“I will.” Samuel stepped up to the bed. “Mrs. Bailey, don't you worry. I'm going to catch him. I'll bring your daughter back to you.”

Dolly turned her head and stared at him, a flicker of hope lighting her deadened eyes. “Swear to me.”

“I swear. I won't let him get away with this.”

“How could we not know?” Her eyes reddened
as moisture gathered in the corners. “I thought an earl would be an honorable man. How could we not know of his evil?”

“Some men are very clever,” Cilla said, patting her hand. “Do not blame yourself.”

“I would go myself,” Virgil said, “but Dolly—”

“Stay with your wife,” Samuel said. “Leave Raventhorpe to me.”

“Cilla should go,” Dolly said.

“No, I will stay here with you,” Cilla said, leaning closer.

“No. Do this for me.” Dolly met and held Cilla's gaze, her blue eyes glittering with intent. “Take care of my baby. She's going to need a woman with her. Especially if he…if he…” Her voice broke, and tears overflowed.

“There has not been time,” Cilla murmured, patting Dolly's hand. “He is in a rush to get to Scotland so they can wed. He will not risk stopping.”

Dolly looked at Samuel. “Tell her.”

“She's right.” Samuel clenched his jaw. “A man can accomplish a lot of things in a moving carriage, and he might decide it's better to assure that she's ruined.”

“Samuel!” Cilla bit her lip, glancing with concern at Dolly.

“If I ever get my hands around that varmint's neck…” Virgil muttered.

“He will pay for this,” Samuel vowed.

“Go with him, Cilla. Please. Take care of my baby. She might need a woman to comfort her, and I can't be there, not with this stupid leg.”

“All right.” Cilla looked at Virgil. “Are you certain you do not want me to stay here with her?”

“I can take care of my Dolly. You just go fetch my little girl back.”

“Come on. We should leave right now. He's already got a lead on us.” Samuel grabbed her hand and tugged her from the chair.

“But…should I not…”

“Thank you, Cilla,” Dolly whispered, her expression full of hope.

“Take anything you need,” Virgil said, clapping Samuel on the shoulder.

“I have my carriage, and John knows the way.” Samuel glanced from one to the other. “I will bring her back safely. Come, Mrs. Burke.”

“We will bring her home,” Cilla said. She followed Samuel as he quit the room. Hurrying down the hall to keep up with his long strides, she asked, “Are you certain John knows the way to Gretna Green?”

“Hell yes.” Samuel reached stairs and started down them at a pace that was almost too fast for her to keep up. “He got married there once.”

“Oh.”

 

Annabelle had come to the conclusion that she would have to do something drastic.

Richard had made one huge mistake in her opinion; he underestimated her. He saw her as a pretty, empty-headed doll like most debutantes. But she wasn't like that at all. She was an American girl, born and raised to think for herself. But if he was foolish enough not to realize that, she wasn't about
to tell him. No sirree. If he wanted a feather wit, then that's what she would be.

“I certainly hope you planned for this trip, Richard,” she said. “I simply cannot go without a change of clothing.”

He looked at her in surprise. “We will buy anything you need.”

“Buy! As in factory-made clothing?” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I'm an heiress now, and soon to be a countess if you have your way. I simply can't wear factory-made clothing. We must visit a modiste as soon as possible.”

“Do not be a fool. You will take what I buy you and wear it with pleasure. Or I can keep you naked. It's your choice.”

A shocked blush warmed her cheeks, but it went with the character she was trying to portray. “Richard! I can't believe you said that to me!”

“Believe it.” He took in her body with a covetous gaze that made her want to cringe. She fought the urge to wrap the blanket even tighter around her. She had to play his game.

But when this was over, she would scrub her skin raw.

“I can't imagine how you would explain such a sight to people,” she said finally.

“We would not see any people. Once we're married, I'm taking you away to one of my other properties so we can be alone.” He chuckled. “I am looking forward to claiming my bride.”

She wanted to say something but could not think of anything suitably dim-witted that would fool him.
Not when she wanted to tear into him with her nails until she drew blood. She settled for looking out the curtain again at the passing countryside. The sky burned pink with the setting sun. Soon it would be dark. And Raventhorpe in the dark scared her more than anything.

She settled into her seat and prepared to wait for opportunity.

 

As the coach sped along the road, Cilla held on, trying not to remember another time when she and Samuel had been alone in his coach, the night he had taught her how to kiss him. So many memories, so many feelings. Would the simplest things always remind her so vividly of Samuel?

“We will catch up to them, Cilla.”

His voice sounded reassuring, but she could see the banked anger in his eyes. She had learned to read him so well. “I hope we are in time. Raventhorpe is unpredictable.”

“I won't let him have her.”

She looked outside at the passing countryside. “At least it is reasonable to assume that she will not choose Raventhorpe as a husband after this.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“We need a big favor today.”

“We'll find them. And if he's hurt her, he'll answer to me.”

 

A gunshot rang out through the night.

Annabelle cried out and squeezed back against the seat. Richard leaned forward, flipping aside the
curtain to look out at the road. A large dark object fell past the window, rolling away from the carriage as it sped along.

“That was the bloody coachman!” Raventhorpe leaned out the window, looking up toward the coachman's box. Then he slid back into the vehicle. “Someone else is driving, and I'm going to find out who.” He pulled out a pistol and held it ready, then met her gaze. “Do not fear for my safety, my darling.”

“I won't.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then opened the door and eased out, gripping the side of the vehicle. Clearly he intended to work his way up to the coachman's seat. Or was he just going to shoot the poor man? Surely that would be suicide for all of them!

She slid across the seat to the other side of the carriage and opened the window there, then stuck out her head. “Watch out! He's got a gun!”

The driver glanced back at her, but she could not see his face in the dimness of twilight. She ducked back into the carriage and turned to see Richard glaring at her from where he clung to the coach on the opposite side. His sneer promised retribution, but at the moment she was willing to take her chance on the strange driver rather than the familiar earl. Good God, what if she'd married this lunatic?

A shot rang out.

Raventhorpe turned toward the coachman, his expression startled, then lost his grip and fell off into the road. The driver slowed the horses. Moments later the coach came to a halt. Annabelle looked around
her but no weapon appeared. Clutching the blanket, she shrank back into the seat and waited.

The door to the coach opened. A man stood there in a black hat and coat, black driving gloves on his hands. He smiled at her, and only then did she realize he wore a mask.

“Well, hello there. You must be another one of Raventhorpe's collection, destined for some rich pasha's harem, no doubt.”

“What are you talking about?” She took pride that her voice quivered only a little.

“Raventhorpe. He captures innocent women and sells them as slaves overseas. I assume you are here against your will?”

She nodded, too aghast to speak.

“Then 'tis lucky I came along. Excuse me a moment while I go tie up His Lordship before he makes a nuisance of himself.”

“But…who…?”

“Who am I?” He tipped his hat. “Black Bill. Now stay right there while I take care of business.” He closed the door to the coach.

Annabelle stared at the place where he'd been. Black Bill. Maybe she hadn't been saved after all.

She scrambled out of the coach. A few yards away, Richard had gotten to his feet and was searching the brush at the side of the road, cursing a blue streak that shocked even her, a girl raised around coal miners. Black Bill approached him at a rapid pace, pistol at the ready.

“Raventhorpe!”

Richard whipped around. Hatred twisted his features. “Black Bill. Damn you!”

“Hands in the air. Step into the middle of the road.”

“Will you murder me here?” Raventhorpe did as the highwayman bade him, then glanced at Annabelle. “In front of my fiancée?”