The Hostage Bride (28 page)

“Such an ill-favored wench,” Brian murmured, glancing to where Portia stood with Olivia in the window. The last lingering light of the afternoon caught her orange hair and fell across her angular countenance, throwing her nose into harsh relief, illuminating her freckles.

“Olivia,” Diana called sharply. “Come over here and converse with Mr. Morse. I don’t know what’s happened to your manners just recently. It’s most unbecoming to huddle in a corner with Portia, who, I am sure, has duties to attend to.”

“My father said
P-Portia
should keep me c-company,” Olivia declared, jumping to Portia’s defense, flushing as much with anger as with the effort of speech.

“My dear, I’m sure your father expects you to show his
guests
the attention due them from a daughter of the house,” Diana said, her tongue acid-tipped. “Mr. Morse wishes to visit the mews. I suggest you escort him. Portia is needed in the nursery.”

Olivia’s eyes, desperate in their appeal, flew to Portia’s face. Portia dropped one eyelid in a slow wink and moved casually to the door of the parlor.

“Lord Granville most particularly asked me this morning to remain with Olivia, madam. I believe he wishes me to act in some sort as a companion for her … just until she’s quite recovered her strength. I’ll fetch a cloak for her at once, if she’s to go outside. Although it’s a very raw evening and I wonder at the wisdom of venturing—”

“Very well.” Diana broke irritably into this sweet commentary. “I hadn’t realized how late it was.” It occurred to her that Cato might well have given the girl his own instructions, and she couldn’t set herself up against his wishes without discussing it with him first.

“If it’s too cold for outside, perhaps my little sister would take a walk through the gallery with me,” Brian suggested. “I’m anxious to renew our acquaintance. It’s been such a very long time. You were little more than a baby, as I recall.”

He had a particularly oily smile, Portia thought with distaste. Oily and utterly untrustworthy. And he was needling Olivia, she could feel it. For whatever reason, Olivia feared him and he knew it. And he was enjoying himself, toying with her.

“What a good idea,” she said, turning back to link her arm through Olivia’s. “Let’s show Mr. Morse the gallery, Olivia.”

This was not what Brian had intended. He considered it beneath his dignity to keep company with this scarecrow, whose status in the household was somewhat less than that of paid nurserymaid. But the temptation to amuse himself with Olivia was too great, and he was confident that he could squash the pretensions of Jack Worth’s bastard once he was alone with the two girls. Olivia after all had never given him any trouble.

In the narrow corridor, he took Olivia’s free arm and drew her firmly beside him, so that Portia was forced to drop behind. Portia promptly slithered sideways between Olivia and the wall and walked crablike with her back to the wall.

Brian ignored her completely. “S-s-so, little s-sister,” he said mockingly, “I w-was hoping f-for a much w-warmer w-welcome.”

Portia’s anger rose as she felt Olivia’s distress. She plunged into battle, drawing his attention forcibly away from Olivia.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, you nasty little man?”

Brian looked so astounded that Olivia forgot her terror for a minute and almost laughed.

“You look like some kind of dung beetle in that black velvet,” Portia continued. “But I imagine you’re so accustomed to occupying the dizzying heights of a dung heap that it feels like protective coloring. Did no one ever tell you that when you have particularly scrawny shanks, black velvet is a mistake. It exaggerates the—”

She broke off and ducked as he swung at her, his face almost purple with astonished fury. “You’ll have to be quicker than that to catch me, Mr. Dung Beetle,” she taunted. “Mr. Slubberdegullion Whoreson, who’s too much of a coward to pick a fight with someone who can give him one back.” She danced backward down the corridor, giving him an obscene gesture, as Brian gobbled for words.

“Cat got your tongue? See, Olivia, this piece of gutter slime is going to swallow his tongue in a minute.” With impeccable timing, she reached behind her and opened the door onto her own chamber. Deftly seizing Olivia by the wrist, she pulled her in behind her and kicked the door shut, throwing the bolt.

Olivia laughed and laughed. She collapsed against the door as it shivered beneath a violent onslaught from the apoplectic Brian Morse.

“How could you?” Olivia gasped, wiping her streaming eyes. “How did you dare to say those things?”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Portia scoffed. “I have a much broader vocabulary than that. Just listen to this.” She went to the door and whispered through the keyhole. It was a penetrating whisper but the words were not ones Olivia had ever heard. She didn’t need to be told they were unimaginably indecent, however, and hugged herself as silence fell outside. It was an astonished, incredulous silence and into it Portia continued to speak, softly and utterly fluently, ending with a flourish as she likened the unfortunate Mr. Morse’s male organ to that of a particularly runty piglet’s.

There was no response. Olivia had ceased laughing and
merely gazed in awe at Portia, who leaned back against the door, arms folded, grinning. “That silenced him,” she declared after a minute. “And in future maybe he’ll be a little careful whom he decides to mock.”

“Hell never forgive you,” Olivia said.

“So I should hope,” Portia said cheerfully. “I’d rather roll in a muck heap than have that bully’s forgiveness. Anyway, I’ve only just started on Mr. Morse. By the time I’ve finished with him, he’s not going to know his arse from his elbow.”

Very softly she drew back the bolt and opened the door a crack. The corridor was deserted. “Do you know which is his chamber?”

“We c-can’t go in there.” The terror was back in Olivia’s eyes again and her voice shook.

“He won’t catch us, don’t worry. But do you know?”

Olivia shook her head. “But Bailey will.”

“Good, then you can ask him. Now, come on. We have to go to the privy.” She grabbed up her cloak, slinging it around her shoulders.

“What for?” Olivia asked before she realized how idiotic a question it was.

“Not the usual.” Portia slipped out of the room. “Come.” She beckoned her, took her hand, and ran with her down the passage to the kitchen stairs.

The kitchen was as usual a hive of activity, and no one paid attention to the two girls as they slid through and out into the kitchen yard. The outhouse was at the far end of the kitchen garden, where its product could be put to good use. Olivia, cloakless, shivered as they ran down the path toward the glow of lamplight that hung above the door, but she didn’t ask further questions, merely waited for Portia to reveal her plan.

Portia lifted the lamp off the hook at the door and entered the noisome shed. She handed the lamp to Olivia. “Hold it up high.”

“But what are we looking for?”

“Spiders,” Portia said. “They like the corners of privies. There are some big red spotted ones sometimes, and they bite.”

Olivia had no idea what Portia intended, but she couldn’t
help a little giggle, shivering as a gust of wind banged the door shut and the lantern flickered.

“Ah … here we are. Oh, aren’t you a beauty,” Portia murmured lovingly, as she knelt on the hard-packed earth. “What lovely big spots you have,” she crooned, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket. “There we go, in you pop.” She folded the handkerchief over her treasure. “Now let’s see if we can find another.”

Olivia didn’t care for spiders, but she was utterly fascinated and leaned forward to watch Portia’s painstaking examination of the darkest corners of the privy.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered, hearing a footstep on the path.

“So what? No one’s going to question what we’re doing in the privy.” Portia scooped a second and particularly juicy specimen into the handkerchief.

“I always use the chaise percée in my chamber,” Olivia said doubtfully.

Portia only shook her head and continued with her collecting. When she had half a dozen in assorted sizes, she straightened carefully. She laid a finger on her lips and opened the door. A kitchen maid stood on the path. “Evenin’, miss.” Her eyes widened as Olivia followed Portia, holding the lamp.

“Evenin’, Lady Olivia.”

“G-good evening, Mary.” Olivia handed her the lamp with what she hoped was aplomb and followed Portia’s blithe step back up the path to the lights of the kitchen.

“Find out which chamber the snake has,” Portia instructed, holding her hand carefully against her skirts beneath the folds of her cloak. “And hurry. Because they’re getting restless and I don’t want to get bitten myself.”

Olivia nodded and wandered over to the servants’ table, where Bailey was addressing a platter of sirloin and a tankard of ale. Portia left the kitchen and waited for Olivia at the head of the kitchen stairs. “Well?”

“In the east bastion. But Bailey doesn’t know if he’s in there now.”

“Mmmm.” Portia frowned, nibbling her lip. “That could be awkward.” She examined Olivia carefully. “If he’s in there,
we’ll have to decoy him. It’ll only take a minute. Could you do that?”

“Be alone with him?” Olivia shook her head vigorously.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Portia urged, realizing on some level that Olivia needed to face down whatever demon was embodied in Brian Morse. “I won’t be far away, I swear it.”

Olivia swallowed, squared her shoulders. “You p-promise?”

“I promise. Come on. They’re doing spidery things all over the place.” She set off down the corridor, and after a hesitation, Olivia followed.

They stopped outside the door to Brian Morse’s chamber. Portia flattened herself against the wall behind the door and gestured to Olivia that she should knock.

Olivia simply stood there, staring at the door, paralyzed, unable to raise her hand. The silence lengthened, then Portia leaned round and banged loudly on the door. Olivia jumped back, white faced.

The door flew open. Brian Morse surveyed his visitor with his little pebble eyes. “Well?”

“D-Diana”
It was such an effort it came out more like a screech than anything resembling normal speech. Olivia pointed wildly in the direction of Diana’s parlor, standing with her skirts gathered up, ready to flee if he made a move toward her.

Brian didn’t bother to engage her further, merely banged the door closed at his back and strode away. Olivia stepped back so that she was blocking any view of Portia should he for some reason look back, but he didn’t, and as soon as he’d rounded the corner of the corridor, Portia darted out from hiding.

“Here, take these and put them in his bed! Be quick. I’ll stay here and keep watch. I’ll whistle if someone comes.” She held out the handkerchief with its wriggling occupants as she opened the chamber door with her free hand.

“Go on!” she urged as Olivia still stood there.

Olivia swallowed, grabbed the handkerchief, and darted into the chamber. Portia stepped into the doorway, her eyes darting up and down the corridor. “Pull back the covers at the bottom of the bed,” she instructed softly.

Olivia’s heart was thumping so violently she could barely breathe. But she followed Portia’s instructions and untucked the sheets at the foot of the bed, lifted them, and shook the wriggling contents of the handkerchief onto the bottom sheet.

“Now tuck the sheets in again tightly,” Portia directed.

Olivia deftly retucked the sheets, then she gave the bed a little pat for good luck, giggling with a mixture of nervousness and excitement, and rejoined Portia.

“There, that should do it. They’ll settle down in the warmth, and when the toad gets into bed they’ll gravitate to the warmest, most humid spot available. And guess where that’ll be.” Portia grinned wickedly. “He’ll wake up in the morning covered in great red bites in all the most inaccessible places.”

“Are they poisonous?”

“Not lethal,” Portia replied solemnly. “I did say I wouldn’t kill him.”

“Oh, I wish I could see it.” Olivia hugged herself.

“Watch him at the breakfast table.” Portia grinned.

B
rian paused outside Diana’s parlor and automatically
straightened his doublet, readjusted the fall of lace on his shoulders. He still hadn’t recovered from his experience with Jack Worth’s bastard. No one had ever insulted him in such fashion before, not even during his sojourns in the vilest taverns, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He couldn’t imagine reporting the incident to Granville or Diana. How could he possibly admit that a bastard guttersnipe had so routed him? How could he possibly repeat what she’d said? And the worst of it was that Olivia had heard. That pathetic brat had witnessed his defeat. Somehow, he would be avenged upon the bastard, but in his own time and in his own fashion. He was good at vengeance. He had a long memory and when it came time to strike it was all the sweeter.

He knocked and opened the door to the parlor, bowing low. “Lady Granville … how can I be of service?”

She looked up from the letter she was writing and smiled in some surprise. “Why, how delightful of you to keep me
company, Mr. Morse. I own life can be a little dreary these days. We have so few visitors. Who would pay social calls to an armed camp?”

She made a little moue of discontent. “Of course, my husband must do what he thinks best, but I do so long for civilization sometimes. A little stimulating conversation, the opportunity to dabble in fashion again. Why, you know I have no idea what the latest court fashions are.” Her hand passed in self-deprecation over the skirts of her elegant gown. “I dare swear you must think me a positive dowd.”

“Why, no indeed, my dear Lady Granville.” Brian took a seat on the sofa beside her. “You are the very picture of elegance. No one at court could hold a candle to you.”

Diana laughed musically. “You flatter me, sir. But pray don’t stop.” She touched his hand. “Give me news of the court. How is the dear queen managing in this adversity? I do so wish I could be with her to lend her my support. And the poor little princess, Henrietta. Such a fragile child. She must be feeling it very badly.”