Candice Hern (29 page)

The face of the normally reserved marquess broke into a huge smile. He reached over and clapped his cousin on the back. "You're a right one, Rob," he said. "Thank you." He cast an uncertain look at Robert "Do you think she would ..." He blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Go to her, Ted."

"Yes. Yes, I'll do that," he said with a distracted look on his face. Suddenly his eyes lit up, and he smiled broadly. "Yes!" He bolted out the door and down the hall.

Robert smiled and shook his head. Well, at least something was turning out right this night. Ted would have his true love, Augusta would replace one broken engagement with an even loftier connection, and Lady Windhurst would have a marchioness for a daughter.

Now, if he could only set his own affairs in order. He must get to Emily!

Robert hurried once again toward the front entrance. The hall was almost empty now, the spectacle having ended. But Sedgewick was lounging against the banister, wearing his evening cloak, apparently waiting for Robert.

"Sedge?"

"I really think I should go with you, Rob. We could take my curricle."

"Thanks, Sedge, but I'll make better time alone on a horse."

As Robert made to leave, Sedgewick placed a firm hand on his arm to stop him. "Rob, I think I should go. Surely you are aware of my ... my interest in Emily. Miss Townsend, that is."

Robert raised his brows in question.

"If you must know," Sedgewick said, "I had actually planned to ask for her hand tonight."

Robert looked hard at his friend. "Do you love her, Sedge?"

"Come on, Rob! You know I don't go in for that sort of schoolgirl nonsense. Miss Townsend and I are both mature, sensible adults who enjoy each other's company. She is also, as you have no doubt noticed, a very attractive woman. And I am quite fond of her, as it happens. I think we'll rub along nicely."

"No, you won't."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You won't rub along nicely because you're not going to marry her."

It was Sedgewick's turn to raise his brows in question.

"You see, my friend," Robert said, "I intend to marry her myself."

"You
what
?"

"Despite your sentiments on the subject," Robert said, "I seem to have fallen in love with her. If I am ever allowed to leave here and bring her back, I intend to marry her."

"Ah." Sedgewick rocked on his heels. "Ah."

"I'm sorry, old man. If you had loved her, it would have been different."

"You know," Sedgewick said, smiling weakly, "there were times when I suspected that there was something between the two of you. A look I would catch now and then. But I thought nothing of it since you were tied to Miss Windhurst."

"And now I am not."

"Just so." Sedgewick looked at Robert, and the famous grin slowly spread across his face. "I suppose I should gracefully step aside, then?"

"It would be best, my friend," Robert said, returning his smile. "Otherwise, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you."

"In that case, consider me gone."

Both men threw back their heads and laughed.

"Now," Robert said, "may I finally be on my way?"

"Of course. Good luck, Rob."

"Thank you, Sedge. For everything."

Robert retrieved his hat from a very impatient Claypool, dashed down the front steps, quickly mounted his horse, and headed off into the night.

Chapter 21

Hugh, Viscount Faversham, called out for the coachman to stop when they had reached a small inn at Hendron. He would have preferred to put a few more miles between himself and London, but he did not want to chance Emily reviving before they stopped for the night. He wanted her unconscious and unable to cry out or otherwise draw attention.

Hugh wrapped Emily tightly in the plain wool cloak, careful to completely cover her evening dress, and lifted her limp body into his arms. He carried her to the entrance to the taproom and called out for the innkeeper. A stout, ruddy-faced man approached and eyed Hugh skeptically.

"Quickly, man, I need a room for the night. My wife has taken ill."

The innkeeper peered down at the brown wool burden in Hugh's arms. Hugh clasped her more tightly to his chest and put on what he hoped was a look of deep concern.

"Aye," the innkeeper said, "we have a room for you. Not our best, mind. Another gentleman has already bespoken the largest room with a private parlor. But I can give you a decent bedchamber, anyway." He turned and shouted for his wife.

A plump, rosy-cheeked woman of indeterminate age rushed into the taproom. She took one look at Hugh and said, "Oh, dear. What's this, now?" When her husband explained that the woman was ill, she turned and reached out a hand toward Emily. "Poor love," she said, "I'll just help you upstairs with her. Then mayhaps she could use one of my possets? I can just pop down and make one up right quick like and bring it up to you before the cat can lick her ear. Poor dear will be right as a trivet in no time." As the woman spoke, she moved as if to pull the cloak's hood back from Emily's face.

Hugh flinched, clutched Emily more tightly, and stepped back. "You are too kind," he said. "But all she really needs is a soft bed and a good night's rest. It would be best if she were not disturbed."

"Whatever you say, sir," the woman said in the resigned voice of one used to the strange ways of the Quality. "Follow me."

She led Hugh up two flights of stairs and down several short hallways before stopping at a door at the end of a narrow corridor. Hugh's burden was becoming increasingly heavy, and he thought his arms might break if he didn't put Emily down soon. Nevertheless, he was glad for a room so removed from the main part of the inn. He needed complete privacy for what he had in mind.

After fumbling with an enormous ring of keys, the landlady finally opened the door and invited Hugh to enter with a nod of her head. She made as if to follow, but Hugh gave her a piercing glare. "Wait there," he said. After he carefully placed Emily on the bed, keeping her covered, he turned once again toward the door, flexing his arms to alleviate the stiffness.

"I thank you, madam, for your concern, but my wife and I would prefer complete privacy, if you don't mind. I will see to her myself." He held out his hand for the key.

The landlady cocked her head to one side and gazed at Hugh through narrowed eyes. Then she shrugged and placed the key in his hand. "You just call, now, if you need anything," she said as she took a candlestick from a nearby hall table. She lit it from her own candle and handed it to Hugh before she headed down the hall.

Hugh closed the door, then leaned against it and heaved a sigh of profound relief. He had no desire for the innkeeper's wife to note that Emily was dressed in a ball gown beneath the plain cloak. He would go down a bit later and retrieve a small valise he had tucked in the boot of the carriage in which he had packed a change of clothes for himself and a simple muslin gown for Emily. He hadn't thought to bring any kind of bonnet, but he could probably purchase one along the way.

For the moment, at least while Emily was unconscious, he felt safe. Everything was going according to plan. His father was right, of course. This was the only way. Hugh would have to marry Emily in order to keep her inheritance in the family. Hugh realized that Emily had no great affection for him. In fact, he suspected that she despised him. There was no way she would agree to marry him—especially not when that Sedgewick fellow seemed close to the sticking point.

No, this was the only way. He would have to compromise her completely, he thought with a smile.

He walked to the bed and pulled the cloak away from Emily's face. This part of the plan was going to be a pleasure, he thought as he stroked Emily's cheek with the back of his hand. When he thought of all the fusby-faced females whom he might have been forced to seduce, he shook his head in wonder at the good fortune that gave him such a beauty for a cousin. He would have preferred a younger woman, of course—someone more biddable. But there were other advantages to a mature woman, he thought as he pulled the cloak completely away and gazed down at the soft curves revealed by the clinging silk of the ball gown.

Hugh was tempted to undress Emily at that moment and complete her ruin. He sat down on the bed and ran a possessive hand along the length of her body, sucking in his breath as he lingered over the curve of her full breasts and hips.

But, no, he thought as he pulled his hand away with some effort. He would prefer her to be conscious when he took her. He wanted to feel her struggling beneath him, unable to resist his greater strength. He wanted this haughty bitch to squirm under his dominance.

Then, of course, she would have no choice but to marry him.

He laughed as he rose from the bed. He tossed his hat and greatcoat on a nearby chair. He added coal to the grate from a scuttle near the hearth, thinking that he would prefer to accomplish this night's work in a warm room. He found a spill, lit it with the candle, and stoked the coal into a small blaze. He guessed that Emily would sleep for probably another hour. The drug he had used on the cloth held to her mouth would have only kept her unconscious for a short time, and so he had also forced a large dose of laudanum down her throat. She was sure to sleep a while longer, and he wanted to be the first thing she saw when she awoke. But there was certainly nothing to do in this small room for the next hour or so. He might as well head down to the taproom and have a pint or two while he waited.

Hugh took one more look at Emily and grinned in anticipation. He then walked into the deserted corridor and closed the door behind him. He carefully locked the door, pocketed the key, and headed for the taproom.

* * *

Emily opened her eyes and immediately shut them again. Her head was throbbing. She must have drunk too much champagne. She tried to raise her head but thought better of it and let it fall back onto the pillow. How much champagne had she drunk? It was odd, but she couldn't seem to remember much of anything. She didn't even recall going to bed. Yet she still felt so sleepy. Perhaps it was early morning, and she needn't worry about getting out of bed just yet. Eyes still closed, she tried to remember what had happened last night.

The ball had been a great success. She remembered that much. The ballroom had looked spectacular, she was not too proud to admit. She recalled dancing a few times and she remembered how handsome Robert had looked as she watched him twirl someone or other across the dance floor. She sighed at that remembrance.

Then her eyes popped open. All at once she remembered the footman's message, the empty yellow salon, and finally a familiar voice. Whose voice?

And so, Cousin, you shall avoid me no longer
.

Hugh!

Emily forced herself up onto her forearms. Where was she? She blinked her eyes and tried to make out her surroundings from the dim light of the fire. The room was small, plainly furnished, and completely unfamiliar. She appeared to be alone.

"Cousin?" she said into the dark.

There was no answer. She pulled herself into a sitting position. The pain in her head pounded with such a force that she covered her face with her hands. Once the pain had subsided and she had opened her eyes again, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was then she became aware that she still wore her ball gown. In a panic, she reached up to her throat, but felt her mother's emerald pendant still in place. She breathed a sigh of relief that at least her precious emeralds had not been stolen.

But why had Hugh abducted her?—for clearly that is what had happened—and where was he now? What on earth did he want from her? Her head ached too much to attempt to solve that puzzle.

She stood slowly and began a survey of the room. There was a gentleman's hat and greatcoat lying on a ladder-back chair near the fire. Hugh's? She picked up the hat, but there was nothing distinctive about it—an ordinary beaver—nor did the greatcoat offer any clue to its owner's identity. They must be her cousin's things. Unless he had an accomplice? Good heavens! She really had no idea what was going on, or who was likely to come through that door, she thought in a panic. She must get out of here!

She hurried to the door but found it locked. My God, she was a prisoner. Frantic, she went to the single window, lifted the latch, and flung it open. She hung out the window from her waist and looked around. She was clearly at an inn, as she could see the stables and the kitchens in the light of the moon. Just below her was the kitchen garden. Three floors below! She looked desperately from left to right, but there was not a decent tree within reach.

She bit her lip, determined not to cry, and turned back into the room where she fell facedown on the bed. What could she do? She had no desire to wait patiently for Hugh, or God knows who, to come through the door. Particularly when she had no idea what he could possibly want of her.

Emily's mind raced with notions involving her cousin, even her dreaded uncle, but nothing seemed to make any sense. Of course, none of their behavior toward her had made any sense. She still did not understand why they didn't simply leave her alone, ignore her completely if she was an embarrassment to them.

She rolled over onto her back and sat up against the bed pillows. Her head ached enough from whatever drug she had been given, and any mental effort to understand this abduction only increased her discomfort. But she couldn't let it go. She needed to understand. She caught sight of the hat and greatcoat once again and caught her breath. If a gentleman's things were in her room, then he must intend to share it with her. Oh, my God, she thought. They want to ruin me!

She had to get out of here, she thought frantically. But how? She was unconsciously clutching at the bed linens in her panic. She glanced down at her hands, and all at once an image of her mother came to mind—her mother holding Emily on her knee as she told her the story of her romantic elopement with Walter Townsend, the story of how she had climbed out the window on knotted bed sheets.