The Ravishing One (15 page)

“Captain Donne.” She showed only slight concern at his appearance, employing that unearthly trick she had of smoothing her features to impenetrable stillness. “To what do I owe this honor?”

He moved quickly across the room, seizing her upper arm and pulling her to her feet. The needlework fell to the floor. Her brow puckered in extreme distaste, echoing his own.

“I would dislike hurting you, Fia,” he spoke softly, “but I swear if you raise your voice I will render you unconscious.”

She pulled her arm free, stepping back and challenging him with a scornful look. “I have no intention of raising my voice. What are you doing here?”

He took a deep breath. “I may couch this in the form of a request, but make no mistake, Fia, it is not a request. It is a statement.”

One dark, wing-shaped brow rose. “Pray continue.”

“Will you come with me?”

The humor Kay had described flickered to life in her extraordinary eyes. “Where to? Oxford Street to visit that new French mercer? Or Covent Garden—though, I daresay, the fruits have been picked over by now. Perhaps you’ve in mind an excursion to—”

“I am taking you out of London.”

Her humor faded. “I see. For how long?”

“An extended period of time.”

Did her alabaster skin pale? He thought so, and he noticed for the first time that she wore no cosmetics this morning. The paints and perfumes and salves that created the Black Diamond no longer concealed her.

Why, in all the saints’ names, had she ever covered such flesh with dross powder and paint? The tint of her skin was warm and translucent, as delicately shaded as the pink pearls he’d once purchased on an uncharted South Pacific island.

“Then this is an abduction.”

“Yes.”

She gave a businesslike little nod. “I see. And do I have any say in this? Of course not”—she shook her head at her own stupidity—“if I had a say, and I said
yes, this would be an elopement, not an abduction. Semantics are so very important, don’t you think?”

She was purposefully trying to overset him. He’d seen her do it to a dozen men over the past weeks, catch them with false candor that concealed more than it elucidated.

She moved closer, too close. She did nothing obvious as she had when disguised at Portmann’s masque. She did not touch him, though his body stiffened in anticipation and his skin prickled with a phantom sensation of her hand on his chest.

“So little confidence, Captain. Has it not occurred to you that I might
not
be adverse to going with you?” she purred, a faint tantalizing smile playing about the corners of her lush lips. “Why don’t you simply ask me?”

He caught himself just in time. She would say no and laugh. He saw it in the hard bright eyes that refuted the softness of her mouth.

When he didn’t answer, a shadow of doubt dented her composure—slight but there. She’d expected him to ask her; she did not know how to take his refusal.

“Ah well, then,” she said. “If you’ll be seated, I shall gather a few things and we’ll get started.”

At his start of surprise she regained her mastery of the situation, bright and sharp and clean as a razor’s wounding. “Why … you don’t imagine this is my first abduction, do you?”

A trilling little laugh. “Oh, heavens no! I count it an utterly wasted Season if I am not abducted at least once. Though”—her voice turned reproachful—“most
of my abductors at least do me the favor of telling me how long I can expect to be gone.

“I mean, a schedule would be so helpful. I could then decide whether to cancel that new dress I ordered—not much sense in having an especial gown made for the Bennetts’ fete if I’m not going to be here, is there? And then the wine merchant should be notified to stop delivery for …” Her pause invited disclosure, but when he said nothing she went on in open exasperation.
“However
long.

“Added to which, I was to interview for a new housekeeper this week, meet with the hair stylist, Monsieur Gerard—you realize that if I simply do not show up for my appointment with him I may as well just kiss good-bye any future hopes he will arrange my hair—plus all the other mundane items of daily life that even an abduction cannot gainsay.”

She sighed resignedly. “I suppose not telling me how long you plan to keep me makes it more romantic for you?”

Her words snapped the immobility holding him silent. “This is
not
a romantic tryst!”

She blinked at his angry tone. “Apparently not.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Rape, then?” she whispered.

“God’s teeth, no!” he thundered.

“Oh. Good. What exactly is it, then? I do hope you haven’t any wrongheaded notion that you might hold me for ransom? Because I assure you no one will pay a penny for my return.”

He did not miss the small, unwilling note of bitterness beneath the amusement, but he was too furious,
stung far more deeply than he would have imagined possible that she could think him capable of rape, to pay it heed.

“I very much doubt that, milady,” he snarled. “But no, I do not seek ransom for your return. Now, do not ask anything else, for I will not answer. I will only say to you that no harm will come to you as a result of this … this …”

“Abduction?” she supplied.

“Abduction,” he agreed tersely. “In time, you will be returned unharmed.”

“Do you promise?” Until that moment he had not a clue that his proposed kidnapping had afforded her more than a ripple of concern. Now he saw that, for all her bravado, she felt vulnerable.

“I promise.”

“Well”—she turned from him before he could gauge her reaction; her skirts belled gently as she moved away—“if you’ll indulge me a few minutes?”

She crossed to a painted chest at the foot of her bed and tossed up the lid. A moment later she’d hauled out a large leather portmanteau and opened the clasp. “Hm.” She bent over, rummaging within. “Chemise, corset,
echelles
, two underskirts …”

He stared. “You have a portmanteau
ready?”

She nodded without bothering to look at him. “And a small trunk,” she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the closed armoire. A brass-bound traveling trunk rested beside it. “For a few gowns. Can you carry it or would you rather drive round to the back and I can have one of the footman take it down?”

He crossed the room in a few strides. She
must
be mocking him. But a glance revealed a neatly packed portmanteau filled with delicate, lacy … things.

She shut the bag and straightened. “Well?”

With a strangled sound he lifted the valise and stalked over to seize the brass handle of the trunk. He hefted it to his shoulder and turned. She was waiting by the door.

“Do not attempt to raise an alarm, madam.”

“And miss discovering for what reason besides seduction or monetary gain a gentleman”—the emphasis on the word was slight but ironic—“performs an abduction? I daresay not! Come, the maids will be working in the front rooms yet. We can leave through the kitchen.”

Thomas thought of Kay. “No. The library.”

She shrugged and reached for the door handle.

“Wait.”

She turned a questioning look on him.

“You will write a note, telling your family that you have decided to accept an offer to tour the continent.”

Her brows climbed in surprise.

“I would not want them worried.”

He expected her to mock his concern for her stepson but, after a short pause, she only said, “As you will,” and brushed by him.

At her writing desk she pulled a thick piece of paper from a stack. She scrawled a few appropriate lines and folded the paper in half. On the outside she wrote “For Kay.” She left it atop the table and returned to his side.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.” He reached past her and opened the door, making sure the outside corridor was empty before motioning her ahead of him.

Tensely he followed her down the stairs, the valise thumping soundlessly against his thigh and the edge of the trunk biting into his neck. He fully expected her to break into a run at any moment and, fool that he was, he’d ensured that he would be able to do nothing to stop her.

Part of him wished she would, wished she would suddenly lift her skirt and flee, freeing him from this mad plan. She did not.

Another part of him was glad.

At two o’clock the same afternoon, James Barton was heading for the MacFarlane town house. He’d made arrangements with Fia to go driving in St. James Park. He would then take the opportunity to tell her that he was leaving in a few weeks. At the same time he would make an ostentatious show of presenting her with a pair of spectacular diamond ear-bobs. They had belonged to Amelia. Amelia would approve, he thought with a sad smile. She and Fia had maintained a sporadic but affectionate correspondence until Amelia’s death.

It had been to Amelia that Fia had given her invaluable aid seven years ago.

James and Amelia had arrived in London fresh from the colonies. He had been flush with pride, his pockets filled with the income of his shipping company’s first
successes, and avid to introduce his lovely wife to society. They had been taken up by people who brought them to Wanton’s Blush.

There, he’d come to the attention of the Earl of Carr. Urbane, articulate, witty, and self-assured, the earl had cultivated their association, flattered James, but mostly encouraged his gambling.

In a week the profits James had earned during the past year disappeared. Frightened and uncertain of where to turn or how to tell Amelia, he’d taken to the gaming tables with increasing desperation. Soon he owed more than he owned.

That was when Carr had requested a private interview. He proposed that James “do him a favor” and in return Carr would see that his gambling debts were paid. The nature of this favor was never spelled out, but James knew with certainty that it would be questionable. He’d asked for a day to consider it, which Carr, with a knowing smile, had granted.

Finally, he’d confessed to his bemused and horrified wife. For some reason she in turn had confided in Carr’s preternaturally self-possessed daughter. What transpired between them remained their secret forever. He knew only that Fia gave Amelia a cameo. A gorgeous diamond-studded piece of jewelry. Given. Freely. Without condition.

He never understood why. As far as he knew, Fia Merrick had never exhibited such magnanimity before nor was she to do so again. But then, he never pretended to understand that enigmatic woman. The idea of taking valuable property from a child offended every
ideal James held dear. But eventually, Amelia had convinced him to accept it. The proceeds had been nearly enough to cover his debts. Paying off the rest of his notes had taken him a full year.

Eventually he had come to appreciate the extent of the debt he owed Fia Merrick. The rumors surrounding Carr exceeded James’s original fears. The Earl of Carr was a pitiless puppeteer who extracted an ever growing price from victims.

Then, this spring, James had arrived in London and received a note from Fia. He’d gone to her immediately. When he heard her story he vowed to aid her in any manner he could, agreeing to her proposed plan without hesitation. If he had any regret, it was only that he could not explain his actions to Thomas Donne.

He halted the carriage before Fia’s residence and climbed down. A footman opened the door and bade him enter. Kay, Fia’s stepson, was in the hall. He greeted James with a look of surprise.

“Captain Barton, I’m afraid if you are looking for Lady Fia you are in for a disappointment. She’s gone.”

“Oh?”

“She’s on a trip to the continent.” The boy smiled. “Shopping.”

James frowned.

“I am so sorry,” Kay said politely. “I would have expected she would have told you, as one of her dearest friends, but from what her note says I gather her decision to leave was somewhat impromptu.”

There was something wrong here. Why would Fia
leave the country now, especially without leaving him an explanation? “Left a note, did she?”

“Yes.” Kay nodded. “Gunna delivered it to me.”

“Gunna didn’t go with her?”

“No.” Kay smiled wryly. “And she isn’t at all pleased about it. Been grumbling all day about Lady Fia’s strong-willed ways. I believe”—he leaned in confidingly—“that they had something of a set-to about it.”

“I see.” He made his voice unconcerned, not wanting to alarm the boy.

“It isn’t only you she’s neglected to remember,” the boy offered as a salve to what he assumed was James’s wounded pride.

“Really?” James asked, slightly amused in spite of his concern. “Who else has our Lady Fia left wanting?”

The boy colored. “Oh! I daresay it’s not the same thing at all. There was a gentleman here this morning; he’d made a wager with Fia and now it looks like it may be some time before he’s able to collect his winnings.”

“A wager?” James murmured distractedly, his thoughts racing to account for Fia’s sudden absence. “Who was this gentleman?”

“A Mr.… Donne.”

Apprehension touched James’s spine.

“Do you think there’s something amiss, sir?” A note of alarm had entered Kay’s voice.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I know Captain Donne quite well. I was just wondering whether he’d won his bet.”

The boy relaxed. “I couldn’t say, sir. Gunna didn’t mention him.”

“I see,” James said. “I’d best be getting on, then. I’m sure Lady Fia will have written me a note and I’ve only to return home to find it. Thank you.”

He bade Kay good-bye and took his leave. At the curb, he mounted the carriage thoughtfully. He disliked Thomas and Fia disappearing on the same day. He disliked even more that Thomas had told Kay that he and Fia were engaged in a friendly contest, for though assuredly they were in contest, he doubted the term “friendly” in any way applied.

Most of all, he disliked that Thomas had taken the
Alba Star
out of dry dock before the work on her was complete, leaving James a note claiming he’d been contracted to pick up some cargo in France and paid a princely sum to do it if he left at once.

But then, Gunna, who had been Fia’s dragonlike guardian for as long as James had known them, had spoken to Fia about her shopping trip. She and Fia had even had something of a quarrel about it.