The Wedding Trap (38 page)

Now was not the occasion, however, to be dwelling upon such topics. Time enough later, once Eliza was safe and sound.

“Prepare yourself to ride, Brevard,” Kit ordered, striding in the direction of his brother’s study so he could apprise Adrian of the situation. “We leave within the hour.”

Eliza’s head ached as if an entire band of monkeys were jumping up and down on it and screeching out their primate lungs. She bounced against the seat as the coach hit a deep rut, only then becoming gradually aware of her surroundings.

She lay prone, one cheek pressed into faded cloth upholstery that held a musty odor, as if the coach had not been used in some while. The wheels creaked, the vehicle swaying on sets of poorly fitted springs.

Count on her cousin, she thought, to be a pinchpenny even when it came to procuring a vehicle he planned to use for a kidnapping. It might have been amusing had the circumstances not been so grim, and had she not been the one currently being kidnapped.

She kept her eyes closed and willed her headache away. Her stomach roiled, nauseous from whatever vapor he had used to subdue her. Sealing her lips closed, she prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself by vomiting. Although it would serve Philip right if she was sick all over his shoes. Casting up her accounts would almost be worth it just to see him fuss and jump around in disgust.

But if she did vomit, whether accidentally or on purpose, he would make her pay later on; she knew him well enough to be certain of that. Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to curl more tightly into herself and discovered, to her horror, that her hands and feet were bound.

“I know you’re awake,” Pettigrew said from where he sat on the seat across from her. “So you might as well quit pretending.”

She shivered but did not reply.

“Go back to being the silent little mouse, if that is what you want,” he disparaged. “It will make no difference to me. You and I will be wed either way. Besides, I think I liked you better when you knew enough to keep your mouth shut. Mother had a way with those slaps of hers, didn’t she?”

Her eyes popped open at that, revulsion loosening her tongue. “I will
never
marry you.”

“Oh, you’ll marry me and don’t think you won’t. I already have a minister lined up who doesn’t care much about consenting brides so long as he’s well paid for his trouble. So you see, your willingness is not of concern.”

She swallowed against her terror. “Where are you taking me?”

“What does that matter? You’ll go
where
I say and do
what
I say until you have served your purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?” she dared to question. “If it’s my fortune you want, I’ll…I’ll give it to you. Just draw up the papers and—”

He turned his malevolent gaze upon her. “If only it could be that simple, but it isn’t. Your fiancé, for one, might have some objection to your giving away your wealth, not to mention those interfering friends of yours. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how the high-and-mighty Lord Christopher treated me that night at the theater. He and the others would see to it that any legal agreements made between us were voided as soon as you were set free.”

He caught hold of the coach strap as they hit another rut. “Of course, all this trouble could have been avoided if you had simply agreed to marry me when I asked. I would have treated you with some respect then, found you a nice little house where you could quietly live out your days.”

“While you went off to spend my money.”

Color rushed into his cheeks, mottling his pallid complexion. He jabbed a finger toward his chest. “
My
money, you mean. I was the heir, that was
my
inheritance you took. It would all have come to me if that stupid old crone hadn’t cut me off. If I’d known she had so much money hidden away, I would have done more to ensure she didn’t change the will.”

“Why
did
Aunt cut you off?” Eliza asked.

He smiled, the expression holding no warmth. For a moment, he paused, clearly considering whether or not to answer her.

Finally, he gave a shrug. “A minor indiscretion while I served as vicar. Seems my benefactor took exception to some yeoman’s lies about my having carnal knowledge of his daughter. They claimed I took advantage of her, when she was nothing but a common little trollop. How was I to know she was only thirteen?”

Eliza bit her lip to hold back a gasp.

“They said there was another girl but she was a whore, gave it away to anyone who would pay her price. In spite of my protests, they forced me to resign my living. When Mother heard, she cut me off.” He grumbled under his breath, “Old witch.

“Anyway,” her cousin went on, “once I am safely in possession of
my
fortune, then I’ll consider what to do about you. After all, it isn’t as if I am really interested in having you for my wife, Cousin.” He leered. “Though we will have to consummate our wedding in order to satisfy all the legalities of our union.”

She quailed inside but did her best not to let it show. “They’ll come for me, you know,” she said.

His face hardened. “Let them come. By the time they do, it will be far, far too late.”

Eliza closed her eyes and prayed he was wrong.

Kit drew up his mount, slowing the lathered animal to a walk. He’d ridden the beast, and others like it, hard throughout the course of the day, pushing for as much time and speed as he could safely manage.

Back in London before he’d set out, he and the other men had met. After a quick debate, the decision was made that Adrian and Brevard would ride north to Gretna Green. Darragh would ride to Dover and make inquiries to see if Pettigrew and Eliza planned to cross into France through Calais. And Kit would head to Southampton, then make the crossing to the island of Guernsey if he discovered evidence that the pair had passed in that direction.

Anyone else would have gone to Gretna Green, and sent Brevard chasing south to the shore instead. But Kit’s gut instincts had called for him to take the less likely course, and he always followed his gut.

To his relief, his intuition once again had proven correct.

At the last coaching inn, while waiting for a fresh horse to be readied, he had questioned the stable hands. When one youth began to describe a slender, brunette lady accompanied by a tall, black-haired scarecrow of a fellow, Kit knew he’d hit the mark. The stable boy recalled them most particularly because the gentleman had given him such a miserly tip for his service. The boy also recounted how the man had yelled at the young lady when she had balked at stepping back inside the coach as they were preparing to depart.

Heartened by the fact that he was definitely on the correct trail, Kit composed hurried messages for Darragh, Adrian and Brevard, and sent them off with runners. He also wrote a note to be express-delivered to Violet, whom he knew must be worrying herself ill back in London.

Now on the road again, he raced fast, knowing he was no more than an hour behind Eliza and Pettigrew. If he caught them before they set sail, he could put a quick end to Pettigrew’s vile plans. But even if he missed them, he would find Eliza. He would never stop searching, not until he held her safe inside his arms.

Chapter Twenty-two

The sea crossing was rough and miserable and, unlike in the coach, Eliza had not been able to keep from being violently ill. Despite the agony of her queasy, churning stomach, a part of her had been glad of her suffering since her illness kept Pettigrew at bay.

Had she not been sick, she feared he might have decided to force himself upon her to consummate their “union,” as he called it. The idea of him touching her in such a manner only increased her nauseated state. Given that, she didn’t begrudge the long, cold hours spent inside the tiny cabin belowdecks, her head bent over a wooden bucket. In her estimation, her miserable state had been worth every last wretched heave.

Morning sun was just lightening the sky when their ship docked and Pettigrew came for her. Disgust wrinkled his face as he sniffed the squalid atmosphere, his eyes raking over what she knew must be her wan complexion and disheveled appearance. If she looked as dreadful as she felt, she must truly be a sight.

He led her to an inn, where he procured a bedchamber for himself and his “wife.”

A maid brought her hot water, towels and a comb for her hair. Eliza had no idea what excuse Pettigrew had used to explain her lack of luggage and other traveling amenities. A meal arrived not long after, and was set upon a small, drop-leaf table near the fireplace.

“Clean yourself up,” Pettigrew ordered once the maid had gone. “I am going to find the minister and make sure everything is in order for the ceremony. Be ready by the time I return.”

“And how long will that be?” she said with more spirit than she felt.

“Midday most like, so I suggest you get some rest while I am out.” A crude, ugly light shone in his gaze. “You’ll be needing your strength for later.”

She shuddered as he let himself out the door, the key scraping audibly in the lock. If she’d had any doubt, his last words assured her that he meant to force himself on her tonight. He would have to take her against her will, she promised, since she would never let him touch her any other way.

Ignoring the fatigue that dragged upon her like chains, she went to the door and rattled the knob, confirming that it was indeed well barred. Then she crossed to the window.

Peering out, her heart sank as precipitously as the sharp drop beneath, the land sloping off toward a rough, rocky shoreline that led straight to the sea.

Cousin Philip had chosen her prison well. She wondered how long he had been planning this. Some while, she decided, since he already had the minister under his control.

She considered banging on the door and yelling but didn’t know if he had hired a guard—one of the men from the ship, perhaps—who was willing to see she did not gain help from any of the inn staff.

Dejected and weary, she crossed to the washstand and rinsed her face and hands. The maid had also left a toothbrush and tooth powder, which she used to scrub her teeth. Mildly refreshed, she moved to the table, dropped onto the single, hard wooden chair and studied the tray of food. She knew her efforts were not aided by starvation and so forced herself to eat a few bites of bread, and drink some hot tea.

The last of her nausea eased, hunger surprisingly replacing the ache in her stomach. Picking up a knife, she reached out to cut a tiny wedge of cheese, then paused, her interest caught by the implement. In speculation, she turned the knife over in her hand, then gazed again at the window.

No, she thought, shaking her head at the wild idea that popped into her mind. Trying such a thing would be sheer folly. But what other options did she have? Kit and the others would be searching for her, she knew, but they might not reach her in time. Either she should act now or wait meek as a lamb for Cousin Philip to return.

Knowing she had not so much as a second to waste, she hurried to her feet.

“I’ll have that key now.” Kit fixed the innkeeper with an implacable stare as he pushed a pair of coins across the wooden bar top between them.

“You’re her brother, you say?” The man eyed the coins assessingly.

“That’s right.” Kit added another coin to the pile, then one more when the first few failed to elicit results.

The innkeeper’s large fist came out and scooped up the money. Unhooking a key from a nail beneath the bar, he passed it to Kit. “Wouldn’t want to keep a man from his family, now would I?”

Without acknowledging the man’s lascivious wink, Kit folded the metal key into his palm and strode toward the stairs.

“First door at the top of the steps,” the older man called after him.

Kit knew Eliza was alone and presumably locked inside, the innkeeper having previously volunteered the information that her
husband
had taken her up to their room, then had come back down and gone out.

Kit didn’t believe it. Surely they couldn’t already be wed, unless the ship’s captain had performed the ceremony on the voyage over. But if the man had, Kit thought, silently reaffirming his vow, Eliza would not remain a bride for long.

Up the stairs he went into a narrow, dimly lighted hallway. Crossing to the first door, he fit the key into the lock and gave it a turn. The door swung open on silent hinges.

He expected to see Eliza. Instead the room appeared empty, the window sash full open, cheap gingham curtains billowing inward on a stiff, salt-scented breeze. Shadows crowded the room, the morning sunshine grayed by a band of dark, lumbering clouds that were rolling in from the sea.

He scowled, his gaze flying to the bed, which had been stripped free of its linens. Walking forward, he moved to investigate. To his left, the floorboards creaked ever so lightly, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.

Acting on pure instinct, he shifted on the balls of his feet and flung up an arm. He took a glancing blow to his shoulder from the china washbasin that had been intended to crack open his skull.