Splendid (43 page)

Woodside felt his insides clench in panic-edged rage. His disposition did not improve when he realized that the two thugs he had hired to snatch Arabella were down here drinking instead of guarding the lady. Someone had interfered with his plans, and he'd bet his life it was that meddling cousin of hers, the new Duchess of Ashbourne.

Damned American chit. She was nobody. Not of aristocratic lineage. She wasn't even a blood relation of the Earl of Worth, only to the countess, and if his memory served him right, Lady Worth had been born a mere miss.

Woodside stalked out of the tavern and back into the reception area of the inn. Pulling himself to his full height, he walked up to the front desk and rang the bell. A stocky man scurried over to help him.

“I think my wife checked in here earlier today,” Woodside said, smiling congenially. “I want to surprise her.”

“What's her name, milord? I could look her up in the register.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I doubt she used her true name.” He leaned forward in a confiding manner. “We had a bit of a spat, you see, and I have come to apologize.”

“Ah, I see. Well, then, perhaps you could describe her to me.”

Woodside smiled. “If she's been here, you'd remember her. Rather petite, with hair the color of fire.”

“Oh, yes!” the man exclaimed. “She's here. In room number three. One flight up.”

Woodside thanked him and started to move away. After only a couple of steps, however, he turned around. “Actually, I really do want to surprise her. Perhaps you could give me a copy of the key to her room?”

“
I
don't know, milord,” the innkeeper said uncomfortably. “We do have a policy of not giving out extra copies of keys. Security reasons, you know.”

Woodside smiled again, his pale blue eyes twinkling merrily. “It would really mean a great deal to me.” He put a few coins on the counter.

The innkeeper looked at the money and then at Woodside, contemplating the likelihood of two unconnected aristocrats appearing in Harewood on the same day. He took the money and pushed the key across the counter.

Woodside nodded his head and pocketed the key, but when he turned around to head up the stairs, his eyes were no longer twinkling. They were two cold chips of ice.

 

Emma and Belle had been holed up in their room for about four hours when hunger got the best of them and they sent Shipton down to the kitchen for some food.

“What do you suppose is keeping Alex?” Belle asked, absently thumbing through the copy of
Hamlet
that Emma had brought down from Sophie's.

Emma resumed the pacing that had been keeping her busy on and off for the last few hours. “I have no idea. He should have been here two hours ago. It should only have taken Bottomley about one and a half hours to get to Westonbirt and another one and a half to get back. All I can think is that Alex wasn't at home. He might have been out visiting tenants. But it shouldn't have taken Bottomley so long to locate him.”

“Well, he'll get here soon,” Belle said, with more hopefulness than certainty.

“I hope so,” Emma replied. “I've already gone and done the hard part by rescuing
you
. The least he could do is get here and rescue
me.
”

Belle smiled. “He'll be here. And in the meantime, we're safe and sound in a locked room.”

Emma nodded. “Although I wouldn't want to be around when Woodside gets here and discovers that you're gone.” She sighed and went over to the bed and sat down beside Belle.

And then, in the silence that was broken only by the sounds of their breathing, they heard the ominous sound of a key turning in the lock. Emma gasped in fright. If it were Alex come to save them, surely he wouldn't sneak up on them. He would probably bang the door down, yelling and screaming at her for being stupid and reckless, but he wouldn't be so cruel as to terrify her this way.

The door swung open to reveal Woodside, his pale eyes glittering dangerously. “Hello ladies,” he said in a menacing monotone. There was a pistol in his right hand.

Neither Emma nor Belle could find any words to express their fear. They both sat there on the bed, huddled together in terror.

“It was silly of you, your grace, to leave your rather conspicuous carriage in front of the church. Or didn't you realize that Lady Arabella and I were planning a wedding tonight?”

“She wasn't planning anything, you bastard,” Emma bit out. “And she'll never—”

Woodside slammed the door shut, strode across the room and smacked her across the face. “Shut up, you little bitch,” he hissed. “And don't you ever question my legitimacy. I am Viscount Benton, and you are a little nothing from the Colonies.”

Emma held her hand to her cheek, which was fast turning red with the imprint of Woodside's hand. “I am the Duchess of Ashbourne,” she mumbled, unable to stifle her pride.

“Shhh,” Belle implored, clasping her other hand.

“What did you say?” Woodside asked in a silky voice.

Emma stared at him mutinously.

“You will answer me when I speak to you!” he ordered, hauling her off the bed and grabbing her roughly by the shoulders.

Emma gritted her teeth as his grip grew painful.

“Please, let her go,” Belle begged, jumping off the bed and trying to wedge herself between Woodside and her cousin.

“Get out of the way,” he said, pushing her aside. “Now then, your graceless, tell me what you said.” He tightened his hold on her upper arms, bruising her soft skin.

“I said,” Emma gasped, thrusting her chin up in defiance, “that I am the duchess of Ashbourne.”

Woodside's eyes narrowed and then he slapped her other cheek, knocking her down to the floor. Belle immediately rushed to her side and helped her back up to the bed. She stared at Woodside accusingly with huge blue eyes but didn't say anything that might provoke his temper.

Emma tried to gulp down the pain that rocked through her head, but she was unable to prevent a couple of tears from squeezing out of her eyes. She buried her head in Belle's lap, not wanting Woodside to see her misery.

“She irritates me,” Woodside said to Belle. “I find it hard to believe that the two of you are related. I think we shall have to tie her up.” He picked up Emma's maid costume, which lay across the bureau, and quickly tore it into strips. He handed them to Belle. “Secure her hands.”

Belle looked up at him, aghast. “Surely you do not mean…”

“You don't think I'm going to tie her up? She won't kick and scratch you.”

“You coward,” Emma hissed. “Scared of a woman half your size.”

“Emma, I beg of you, please be quiet,” Belle pleaded. She swallowed nervously as she wrapped the cloth around her cousin's wrists and tenderly bound them together.

“Tighter,” Woodside ordered. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Belle pulled at the cloth slightly.

Infuriated, Woodside grabbed the ends of the cloth from Belle and gave them a vicious yank, tying Emma's hands tightly behind her back. He picked up another cloth and moved toward her ankles. “If you even attempt to kick me,” he warned, “I won't wait for my wedding and I will take your cousin right here on the floor with you watching.”

Emma went utterly limp.

“Anthony,” Belle said softly, trying to win him over with reason. “Perhaps we should give ourselves a little time to get to know one another. I don't think that a happy marriage is out of the question. But a forced wedding will not be a very good beginning to our life together.”

“Forget it, my lady,” he laughed. “We'll be married tonight, and that's final. The vicar here doesn't hold a very high view of women, and he feels that their consent is not a necessary prerequisite to marriage. I'm just waiting for the sun to go down before I take you to church. I don't need a crowd of onlookers gaping at us.”

Emma glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky but hadn't started to set yet. She and Belle probably had an hour. Where was Alex?

Woodside tossed another strip of cloth at Belle. “Gag your cousin. I have no desire to listen to her appalling American accent.”

Belle wound the cloth around Emma's head, tying the gag loosely. Luckily, Woodside was staring out the window, and so he didn't notice Belle's gentle treatment of her cousin.

“It's a good thing that I do have this hour or so before we go to church,” Woodside said suddenly, turning his venomous gaze on Emma. “For it will
give me time to devise a plan to completely ruin you, my American duchess. I know it was you who stole the voucher. You left a hairpin on my desk.”

Emma turned away, unable even to look at the man.

“I wouldn't have had to resort to kidnapping my wife if you had kept your nose in your own business—look at me when I speak to you!” Woodside strode to the bed and viciously grabbed Emma's chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Blydon didn't have the blunt,” he bit out. “He'd never have come up with the money, and I would have had Lady Arabella in my bed weeks ago.” He let go of Emma with a brutal push that slammed her head against the wall.

“Anthony, please!” Belle cried out.

Woodside's icy eyes glittered with desire as he turned toward Belle. “Your concern for your cousin is touching, my dear, if sadly misplaced.”

Emma's teeth clamped down on the gag as she fought to contain her rage. She had never, ever felt as helpless as she did at that moment, but her one shining ray of hope was her knowledge that any plan of Woodside's to shame her would certainly fail. Because Alex trusted her. She knew that now. He trusted her and he loved her, and he would never take Woodside's word over her own.

She just wished he would get here soon, before Woodside could set any more of his nefarious schemes into action.

Chapter 25

A
lex had just enough presence of mind to stop and get Dunford before he and Bottomley headed out to Harewood. One look at Alex's face told him that something was dreadfully wrong, and Dunford wordlessly grabbed his coat and was on horseback within minutes.

The three men rode at an unrelenting pace, and the trip to Harewood took only forty-five minutes. They ground to a halt in front of The Hare and Hounds, and Alex nearly leapt off his horse, unable to contain the fear and fury that were racing through him.

“Hold on a second, Ashbourne,” Dunford cautioned. “We have to keep level heads. Bottomley, tell us everything again. We're going to need to use every piece of information we have.”

Bottomley clutched onto the reins of the three horses, trying to remain upright despite the quivering of his overused muscles. “We was goin' to see her grace's cousins, and when we got there, the Lady Arabella was leavin'. We followed her 'cause her grace said she'd be goin' to some book meetin', this bein' Wednesday an' all.”

“The Ladies' Literary Club,” Dunford murmured. “Belle never misses a meeting.”

“But the carriage went past the meetin' place. Then her grace noticed that it was a strange car
riage so we followed it here. Two big men went inta the inn here carryin' a big bag. I think it was her grace's cousin in it. An' that's all I know. Her grace made me leave right away to come get you, yer grace.”

“Thank you, Bottomley,” Alex said. “Why don't you see to the horses and then go and have a rest. You've earned it. Let's go, Dunford.”

The two men strode into the inn, where a large drunken crowd was spilling out of the tavern, loudly toasting a man standing on the bar. Dunford paused outside the door to get a look at the lucky man. He blinked a few times in surprise and then grabbed Alex's hand. “Ashbourne,” he said suddenly, “isn't that your livery?”

Alex moved back to the door to the tavern. “God Almighty,” he breathed. “It's Ames. He's one of my grooms. Been with us for years.”

“Well, he appears to be toasting your recent demise, so perhaps you'd better stay out of his line of vision.”

Alex's heart plummeted into his stomach. “God help my wife if she's concocted another one of her harebrained schemes because if she gets out of this alive, I'm going to kill her.”

Alex strode over to the reception desk and slammed his hand down on the bell, ringing it furiously until the harried innkeeper finally emerged. He gasped with shock at the sight of yet another aristocrat in his inn, this one even more impressive than the last. “Yes, milord?” he said hesitantly, wisely backing away from Alex's furious visage.

“I believe my wife checked in here earlier this afternoon. I need to see her immediately.”

The innkeeper gulped with an emotion that started with confusion and ended with sheer terror. “
We did have one fine lady check in today, milord, but her husband has already arrived, so she can't be—”

Quick as lightning, Alex's hand shot over the counter and grabbed the innkeeper by the collar. “What did she look like?” he demanded.

The innkeeper started to perspire copiously. “Milord,” he gasped, looking wildly over to Dunford for help. Dunford shrugged his shoulders and started to examine his fingernails.

Alex pulled him up so that his feet left the ground and the edge of the counter pressed painfully into his abdomen. “What did she look like?” he repeated in dangerous tones.

“Red hair,” the innkeeper choked. “Her hair was bright red.”

Alex let go of him suddenly. “You have described my wife.”

“Room number three,” the innkeeper said as fast as he possibly could. “I haven't seen her since she checked in.”

“And the other man?” Alex asked coldly.

“He went up about a half an hour ago.”

Dunford stepped forward. “Could you please describe the gentleman?”

“He was about your height, but a little thinner. Sandy brown hair and light blue eyes. Really light. Barely had any color to them.”