To Marry a Marquess (32 page)

"Why, there's nothing wrong—"

As James turned back, his face filled with rage the moment he realized what she had done. He pushed her aside and grabbed the poker to fish the remains of the paper out of the fire. There was nothing left but black cinders. If looks could kill, Victoria thought she was about to die. She held her breath.

"Lord Wendover has William," she replied softly. "We are to wait until he sends another note."

She lied, of course, but she had told some of the truth. By the time they guessed the whole of it, William would be home and she would be long gone. But she could not dwell on the horrid notion of being with Wendover. She had to focus her thoughts on her sweet little William. She would welcome any little creature he put in her bed, if only he would be returned.

Less than a half-hour later, Drake blew into the house like a storm wreaking havoc with anything in its path. "Where is she?" His loud voice bounced off the crimson wallpaper in the front hall. Winston had sent a message, telling him about the sordid happenings and the marquess was fit to be tied.

"You may find her in the dining room," James replied coolly, suddenly appearing in the hall. "We made a call to Bow Street."

Drake fisted his hands at his sides. "Victoria!"

A shudder shot through Victoria's body. Her teacup rattled, and she spilled the hot liquid on her skirt. Sarah peeked up, her eyes puffy from crying. Phoebe rested her head on George's shoulder.

Victoria blinked. The pirate appeared in the doorway. Two long, muscular legs were planted firmly on the floor as if they were holding up the entire room with his hovering stance. His neckcloth was askew and his hands were clenched at his sides. Inky black hair hung loosely around his shoulders and over one eye. His fitted brown jacket made his shoulders look wide and powerful. But it was those piercing gray eyes that froze Victoria to her seat.

"Yes?" She made an extreme effort to hold her chin steady.

He strode toward her and lifted her firmly from her seat. "I wish to speak to you. Now."

She did not fight him, but followed him to the library where he settled her in a wing chair, hovering over her like some dangerous pirate.

"What the devil is going on in that little mind of yours?"

"Nothing," she said, her guilty gaze sweeping the floor.

He leaned over her, straddling her with his arms. "Do not lie to me. You received a letter from Wendover. What did it say?"

"H-he has W-William." She could not keep the shakiness from her voice.

His voice instantly softened. "What else, sweetheart? What did Wendover say?"

Sweetheart.

She peered up at him and saw the
lines
of strain across his face. She did love him so.

"What else, Victoria? What else was in the letter?"

She bit her bottom lip. "I cannot tell you."

"This is no game, Victoria." His nostrils flared. "You will tell me the contents of the letter or else."

Her gaze narrowed. "Or else what?"

"Can you not trust me for once?" He glared back.

But she did trust him now. She just didn't want him hurt.

A numbing silence blanketed the room. The standoff continued. Drake threatened to have her watched day and night until she told him what he wanted. To Victoria's surprise, she ended in her bedchambers, treated like a prisoner at Newgate, with one of the duke's barrelchested footmen guarding her door.

Frustrated, Drake slapped the wing chair with such force, it went careening on its back. He checked his timepiece, then snapped it back into his pocket. His mind raced with fear, because as sure as the ocean was blue, he knew that Victoria had some little scheme that she was not sharing with anybody but herself. No doubt, she would act on it if given half the chance.

Drat!  Victoria paced the floor of her bedchamber.  The nerve of that man posting a guard!  She had bested him once, and she could do it again. 

She glanced at the window and pursed her lips.  Of course!   With a jerk, she started pulling the sheets off her bed. 

It was twelve o'clock when she stood on the street corner, the hood of her dark blue cloak hiding her face. Her heart picked up speed as the clip-clopping sound of a carriage touched her ears. She glanced up at the glossy black door that stopped in front of her. The steps were let down by an ugly-looking footman. She took one last glance over her shoulder before she hitched up her skirts and climbed inside.

"Good afternoon, Lady Victoria.  So nice you could make our little rendezvous." 

Chapter Twenty-One

"W
hat do you mean she has left the premises?" Drake bellowed.  "Gone is more like it!”

He grabbed the sizeable footman who stood guard outside Victoria's bedchambers and shoved him aside. James came bounding up the stairs just as Drake plowed past the door.

Drake's eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of her naked mattress. He spun toward the open window where a light breeze whispered against the curtains.

He stood there gaping. She had done it to him again. He looked at the sky as light ribbons of pink fell against the sinking sun. When he found that woman he would shackle her to his leg and never let her go. They would be married before she knew what happened to her.

At the Boxing Boar Inn, he had discovered that Victoria and Nightham had never been married. Some drunk pretended to be a vicar, only wanting Nightham's coin, but Drake suspected someone else was involved because the man's wife had found the phony vicar dead the very next day. The imposter had two witnesses who had gone along with the jest, as he called it, for a very old friend. But it had not been a jest at all, it was a hoax, and stupid Nightham had never caught on.

The possibility that Wendover had something to do with the fake vicar’s
death was not far from Drake's thoughts. However, it mattered not. All that mattered was retrieving Victoria and William safe and sound.

James peered out the window, an incredulous look blanketing his face. "Hell's bells! She tied the sheets together."

Drake slapped his hand against the frame of the bed. He cursed a blue streak as he stalked from the room and hurried downstairs.

News of Victoria's disappearance spread through the house in no time.

Drake turned to leave.

James stood beside him. "Let me go with you. Father has no need of me here. You do."

"Get your things and let's go."

Victoria trained her gaze on William's slumped shoulders. Dark golden lashes swept across the boys pale cheeks as he slept. How she hated Wendover. Her eyes slowly lifted across the leather seat to meet the man's sinister smile.

"Enjoying yourself, my dear?" He swiftly placed his hand on her knee. Angrily, she flicked it away. His eyes narrowed, and he gave her a swift slap across her cheek. It felt like a crack of a whip, and Victoria's head snapped back.

Her hand instinctively came up to rub the sting away. Tears began to well in her eyes. But she would not cry. She would not give the scoundrel the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her.

"Go ahead and weep, my dear. The sniveling boy will not hear you. I gave him enough laudanum to last an entire day, if not more. Not enough until we arrive in Gretna Green, but then I do have more."

Gretna Green? Did he believe he could marry her in Scotland? It would take days to drive there. The man was mad.

"I suppose you are wondering who that dead man was at the hotel." He raised a brow and chuckled. "The stupid servant did not fetch my dinner fast enough. Ah, but it was fortunate that he also decided to steal my signet ring at the same time, do you not think so, my dear?"

Victoria felt her stomach roll. Had he killed the servant at the hotel to make it look like his own death?

She was a fool to have believed that once she showed her face Wendover would honor his word and release William.

"Lord Drakefield will follow us."

"If he does, he's a dead man."

But Victoria would not give in to defeat. Drake would find them. She knew that now. She did trust him. It was only a matter of time.

Ignoring the earl's glare, she placed her hand protectively on William's forehead. She knew Wendover wanted her inheritance. But the stipulations of her aunt's will stated that she must be married for a minimum of six months for her husband to have access to her sizable trust.

She guessed that Wendover would probably kill her first, pretending she was alive somewhere, saying he sent her off for a little trip to the Continent or some similar lie.

She fought to clear her mind of the horrid thoughts. For William's sake, she had to find a way out of this. If only she had left a letter, telling Drake her plans. But he would find her. Time would be of the essence, and if Victoria knew anything about the Marquess of Drakefield, time was his specialty.

It took Drake and James all night to find anyone who had seen Victoria or the boy. The witness, a drunken Lord Hazelby, had seen Victoria's descent from the window and other attributes of the lady as well. The baron happened to be passing through the neighborhood and had seen the lady in question jumping to the ground from the last knotted sheet.

"Quite a good show," he had said with a hiccup, grinning. "Handsome ankles. And those shiny locks of hers ..." Hiccup. "But it was those legs that got my attention. Long and slim and, well, you know, old boy, they—"

He stopped his informative speech as soon as he caught sight of the marquess's hardened gaze. "I only meant to say that she was rather fetching—"

"You say one word of this to anyone, Hazelby, and I will meet you at dawn. Do you understand?"

The baron gulped at Drake's command. "You can depend upon my utmost discreetness, Drakefield. No need to recall a thing. Saw nothing at all. Not at all."

Less than an hour later, Drake paced the drawing room of his London townhouse, having ascertained that Victoria had stupidly hopped into a carriage only a block from her home. Also, Bow Street had discovered that Wendover hired a carriage from a stable near Cavendish Square earlier that day.

James picked up his drink. "Doubt if Wendover's still in London, if that's the case."

Drake strolled about the room, his jaw tightening. "Gretna Green is always a possibility. If my guess is correct, he wants to marry Victoria to make certain he retains the rights to her inheritance." He paused. "Not only that, I believe Wendover killed Nightham."

"Are you certain?" James asked.

"Nightham was in the way. It makes perfect sense."

James frowned. "Cold-blooded murder?"

"Yes," Drake said, making a fist. "They have almost a day's ride on us. But if I'm wrong, I need you here."

James put down his drink. "I understand, but that does not mean I like it."

A bundle of yellow curls brushed against Victoria's cheek as she swayed in her seat. "Laudanum," she said, her head tingling like tiny pins.

"Yes, my dear," Wendover drawled. "I slipped it into your tea at the last posting inn. It was the only way I could get you here without speaking to anyone."