Dangerous Joy (24 page)

She hoped he was. At least she and Miles were on their guard. With a shudder, she remembered the way Rupert had killed Gardeen. Casually, but delighting in the pain and terror it caused Felicity.

She had recognized the warning. If she married him and were docile, she could expect him to behave in a reasonably conventional way. If she thwarted him, he would terrorize something or someone just to spite her.

She shuddered at the memory of those weeks between Rupert's proposal and her grandfather's death, when her grandfather had refused to allow the marriage.

Kieran had fallen down some steps and scraped himself quite badly.

Mrs. Edey had been definite that the boy's father had been trying to stop him from falling, but Felicity had known the truth. She'd thrown herself desperately into convincing her grandfather that she was madly in love and had to marry Rupert immediately.

But then her grandfather had died, leaving her fate in the hands of Miles Cavanagh. She hadn't known then what that would mean. What little she'd known of the man had indicated he was as feckless as her Uncle Colum. She'd felt sure she could bring him around.

"Hah!" she said, looking at her prison.

Of course, it might have gone better if she'd met Miles, as planned, as a demure Irish miss instead of wanton Joy. Even now, she winced at her performance that evening.

Miles had warned her then that he was a dangerous man, not to be crossed.

The next day, she'd thrown his words back at him, referring to herself in the same terms.

They had both spoken the truth, and the danger terrified her. They could end up dragging each other to destruction when all either of them wanted was the sweet tenderness they had shared last night...

A sudden warm movement made Felicity flinch out of her thoughts, thinking Miles had returned. But it was Gardeen that had touched her arm.

She pulled the warm cat into her arms and nuzzled its fur. "Oh, Gardeen. Are you the same come back? Can I read hope into you?"

The little cat just purred.

"Or are you just another black cat of Annie's? Either way, little one, you don't seem to bring me much luck."

Felicity eased out of bed with Gardeen in her arms. Her head seemed a little less obstreperous, and she moved the few steps to the porthole to look out. All she could see from here were rolling gray waves, but there were gulls in the rigging, so they could not be so very far from shore.

Which shore, though?

Such matters were irrelevant. She couldn't prevent Miles from carrying her to England, but when they docked, she would escape and get back to Rupert before he had a chance to do real harm.

How?

She put the cat down and searched the small cabin. In drawers under the bed she found some of her clothes and she slipped out of her nightgown.

Nightgown.

She'd gone to Miles without it. Had he dressed her in it? The thought was disturbing but strangely arousing.

"Feeble woman!" she muttered to herself as she stuffed the nightgown into the drawer in place of the clothing she had taken. She pulled on her shift and the light, front-lacing corset."

The gown, thank heavens, was one of her sensible wool walking dresses, designed to be easily put on alone, to allow her complete freedom of movement, and to be comfortable in nearly all circumstances. When it came time to escape, she'd have as good a chance as possible.

Her hairbrush was there, and so she tidied her tangled curls into a plait, then rolled it into a knot at the back of her head. She pushed in the hairpins, thinking they might be of some use. She couldn't think how, but the bent wires were the closest thing to a weapon she possessed.

Having armored herself as best she could, Felicity searched the cabin thoroughly, looking for weapons, money, or anything that could be turned into money.

She found nothing but a few other items of clothing, a couple of books, and a chamber pot.

As she used it she berated herself for not having a silver-backed hairbrush rather than a wood one. Such extravagances had seemed frivolous, but now such a hairbrush could be useful. Silver was a saleable commodity.

She covered the pot and checked the room again, hoping against hope for a dropped coin in a forgotten corner.

Nothing.

So, what should she do when someone came? She could run through the door...and do what? Jump over the side?

She was desperate for action but, in fact, it made no sense to do anything until they reached port.

She tried to settle to read one of the books, but it was something dull about tribes in America. The other was a history of England under the Tudors. As if she cared.

She prowled the small space, wishing someone would come-even Miles-just to break the monotony.

It was dark, however, by the time she heard footsteps and Miles entered carrying a lamp and a tray. "I'm sure you're hungry."

Felicity resented his distant courtesy. He should be embarrassed, guilty, or pleading his case.

He did not oblige, so she sat on the bed and inspected the meal. Chicken, ham, potatoes, brussels sprouts, and a pudding.

She began to eat.

"I'm glad you're not going to starve yourself."

"I'm going to need my strength."

"Felicity, you will not escape me. Why not just accept it?"

She gave him a scathing look and continued to build up her strength.

He said no more, and she found it gradually harder and harder to swallow. His presence in the tiny space began to overwhelm her.

She looked up and found him staring at her as if he were equally disturbed.

"I love you, Felicity."

It was like a blade in the heart. She took the time necessary to gather the moisture in her mouth, then spat at him. He flung up his hand to block it, but his face paled with shock.

Felicity looked down at the food and made herself continue to eat despite the tears blocking her throat. She was aware that he turned to look out at the rolling sea.

Why was he was even staying here? Probably to guard the knife and fork. She looked at the silver knife and wondered if she were capable of using it on him. But if she'd not been able to shoot Rupert Dunsmore, she surely could not stab Miles.

The mere thought was making her feel sick. Or perhaps it was just the meal on her unsteady stomach. She eyed the jam pudding and decided it was not essential to nutrition and could, therefore, be left.

"I'm finished," she said.

He turned back, once more impassive, and came to take the tray. But instead of reaching for it, he flipped her onto her face, put his knee in her back, and snared her hands.

Felicity struggled but could not move. She tried to scream, but her face was pressed so far into the pillow she could hardly breathe. Something cinched her wrists in moments, then a gag was tied into her mouth. Her legs were bound-not at her ankles, but just below her knees, beneath her skirts.

Pointlessly, she screamed her opinion of the treacherous snake into the lump of cloth in her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Felicity," he said rather unsteadily `I'd much rather we travel in comfort. I can see you intend to fight me, though, and I don't underestimate your intelligence or your courage, so it has to be this way. We're already into the Mersey, and we'll be in Runcorn in a couple of hours. I'll carry you to the carriage as if you're seasick. Once there, however, I'll try to make you more comfortable."

He turned her gently so she was on her side, but arranged her facing the glossy planks of the wall. She didn't even have the satisfaction of glaring at him as he left.

Since it was the middle of the night, there were few people around to see Miles carry a cloak-shrouded figure off the Ellen Jane and into the waiting carriage, for which he could only be grateful.

She kicked and groaned as he had expected, and he covered it by responding, "Ah, but you'll soon feel better, my dear, now we are on dry land... No, I assure you you do not want to go home, for that would mean another sea journey... Well now, I fear you will have to go home one day, but perhaps by then you'll have grown sea legs..."

He'd brought his own carriage over on the boat, with his own men to manage it. He hired horses here to draw them to Nantwich where he could join up with his more usual route from Holyhead. From there, the inns knew him well and would dispense with the postilions.

He definitely didn't want strangers as witnesses to this kidnapping.

Felicity tried her best to resist being put into the carriage, doing it so well that he eventually allowed her to knock her head against the door. That stunned her enough to let him get her inside and dump her onto the seat. Hot, disheveled, and disgusted by what he was forced to do, he called for Hennigan to hurry, and soon they were on their way.

The valet had reluctantly carried Gardeen, who now leapt onto Felicity's lap and glared at Miles just as fiercely as she was doing. Hennigan tucked himself into a corner, back to the horses, dissociating himself from these scandalous goings-on.

Swaying with the movement of the speeding carriage, Miles leaned to unfasten the gag. She jerked away from his touch.

"Dammit, Felicity, stop fighting me or I'll be pulling your hair here."

She froze, glowering.

As soon as he'd plucked the soggy cloth from her mouth, she started swearing at him, using terms he'd hesitate to use himself, "Enough," he said sharply. "Or I'll gag you again."

When she subsided into dark silence, he asked, "Do you want some water? I seem to remember from my recent experience of being bound and gagged that it is required."

He could see how much she wanted to reject the offer, but she nodded. He held the flask of water to her lips and let her drink. He hoped she remembered their first meeting in similar circumstances. What was sauce for the gander could indeed be sauce for the goose.

After a few sips, she shook her head to indicate that she was finished. He recapped the flask. "If you give me your parole, I'll untie you."

Again she shook her head.

"Unless you plan to throw yourself from the carriage, you'll have no chance to escape for a while. I'll re-tie you when we come to a change, if you want."

This time she made no response at all.

Damn the stubborn jade.

Miles was sure this was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Only the thought of Dunsmore, of her married to Dunsmore, kept him to the task.

"I'll tie your hands in front, at least." She resisted but he turned her, unbuckled the strap, then before she had the chance to get the strength back into her stiffened arms, pulled them forward and recinched them in front of her, nudging a fretful Gardeen out of the way.

Both cat and woman hissed and he feared Felicity's hiss was from pain in her stiffened arms. When two tears escaped, he was sure of it. Miles took out his handkerchief to dry her cheeks.

From between clenched teeth, she said, "Don't touch me."

He had to allow her that right, so he put the handkerchief into her hands and settled back into his corner of the seat. She raised the cloth awkwardly to her eyes, then sniffed.

He shot a glance at her. She was furious as much as miserable, and he doubted that pathetic little sniff. What would the cunning woman do next? Absolutely anything to gain her freedom.

Gardeen circled restlessly for a moment, then settled on Felicity's lap under her bound hands and stared at Miles.

What that said about the Tightness of his actions he didn't know.

The road was fairly smooth, and the swaying of the carriage soporific. Miles had not slept more than an hour or so the night before, and it would be dangerously easy to fall asleep now. But he mustn't...

He was jerked out of a doze by the abrupt turn the coach took into the inn in Nantwich. He lurched over and slapped his hand over Felicity's mouth just before she screamed. He dragged her down onto his lap and flung the hood of her cloak over her head so it would look, he hoped;, as if she were sleeping.

She kicked out, landing a solid blow on the carriage door, but fortunately she was only wearing soft slippers. He trapped her legs between his own and kept her head pressed hard against his thighs.

Christ, but it was taking nearly all his strength to hold her.

"Really, sir..." Hennigan protested, white-faced.

"Shut up."

Then, after a thankfully speedy change, they were off again and he could release her. He pushed her up straight, expecting more blistering language.

She seemed more dazed than anything else, however, and just sat there, red-faced and panting, staring at him.

"I'm sorry Felicity. I'll make sure you're gagged before the next change so there'll be no need of that sort of thing."

She started to cry. The effort she made to hold back the tears was as painful as cudgels, and he reached for her.

She shrank back. "I hate you!"

"And I love you."

With a wail of bitter laughter, she turned her head into the satin squabs of the corner and sobbed. Miles had never heard such pain before. He looked at Hennigan, but the valet was staring fixedly out the window, tight-lipped. He looked at Gardeen, who stared back balefully from Felicity's lap.