He stood, grabbed Charlotte by the hair, and pulled her into a sitting position, then, slapped her. "That was your doing."
He bent down, grabbed her by the waist, and slung her over his shoulder. He carried her to the middle of the room before depositing her onto a hard-back wooden chair. She bit back a cry of pain when he wrenched her arms behind the chair.
"Feel free to scream if you wish,” Dalton told her as he fastened a rope around the leg of the chair, her bound feet, and then around the other chair leg. "We are quite alone in the house, and well above the streets. You will not be heard." Charlotte's stomach churned. She’d seen what he could do, and fear made the nauseous after-effects of the laudanum worse.
"Nor will you be found by your friends or protectors." He bent low again to watch her expression when he added, "We are well and truly tucked away where people know how to mind their own business." He reached out and took her chin in his hand. "Now where is my wife?"
CHAPTER 25
No longer concerned whether the matchmakers saw his actions as particular interest, Lucien sought out Elizabeth, Anne, and his stepmother to determine Charlotte's movements after he last seen her at supper. Each of his inquiries confirmed that no one remembered seeing her dance in the last hour. His neck prickled. It did not escape his notice that the occasion and timing echoed Dalton's experience. Lady Dalton had been spirited away following the supper dance... and he feared Charlotte had as well. The irony would please a revengeful mind.
He spotted Ravencliffe, Clarehaven and Norcross exiting the card room with Lord Montfort and made his way as quickly as decorum and the crowd would permit. As it was, he suspected more than one acquaintance noted his preoccupation as he brushed past without stopping to acknowledge them. By the time he reached his friends they, too, had noticed his haste and moved to meet him.
"Is something amiss?" Ravencliffe greeted him.
"Perhaps." he admitted. "I need to speak with you privately–Lord Montfort, may we use your study?"
"Of course." The older man assessed Lucien's expression and added, "Should I send for authorities?"
"No," Lucien summoned a practiced, social smile. “There is no need. It is a private matter."
"Then I hope it is easily solved." Lord Montfort said as he signaled a footman. "John will show you the way to my study. Feel free to take as long as need be."
Once in the study Lucien quickly explained the situation as it related to Lady Dalton's escape and his concerns for Charlotte. He did not speak of her childhood experiences, only of what she'd found when she called on the lady. Relating the severity of Lady Dalton's condition created tormented images of what Dalton might do to his captive.
"I need to find Dalton and Charlotte as soon as possible. I have searched the public areas of the house, but he could have taken her to the more private rooms... or, I fear, elsewhere entirely."
He paced the room, too on edge to sit still. The three men listening to his story looked at one another their expressions revealing they understood his agitation. "I need you to assist me in searching the house. Should we fail to find her here, as I am afraid we will, I ask that you allow me to borrow a carriage to go to his house." He stopped pacing and faced them, his gaze sharp and his voice bleak. "Dalton is an angry and violent man– and the information he seeks will only make him angrier."
He stared at each of them in turn. "I need not tell you that no one is to know about this. If I don’t return within the hour, inform my stepmother and Charlotte's sister, but no one else, and take them home." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "If I don’t find her at Dalton's I’ll return home and we’ll try to discover where he has taken her."
They left the room, careful not to attract attention, and quietly made their way to the private rooms on the third floor. At the top of the stairs, they split up, Ravencliffe and Norcross taking the hallway to the left, Lucien and Clarehaven the one on the right. The first door revealed a room of combined femininity and regal standing, obviously Lady Montfort's sitting room. The next, as expected, was her bedchamber and next to that, Lord Montfort's bedchamber. Clarehaven's exploration yielded the equally unoccupied guest rooms in addition to those of their two daughters. With the four of them working, it did not take more than a few minutes for them to verify that neither Dalton nor Charlotte were there.
"I will make my excuses to Montfort, then be on my way." Lucien said quietly, "Try to keep my family and Elizabeth unaware of the situation unless and until absolutely necessary."
Once back in the ballroom Ravencliffe and Norcross located the Duchess and Elizabeth and asked them each to dance while Lucien took his leave from his hosts.
Lucien thanked Lord Montfort for the use of his study and explained that he had been called away. No, there was no cause for alarm, just a friend who requested his aid. He gave Lord Montfort a conspiratorial smile and raised his eyebrow. "When one over-indulges, one should not attempt to ride home alone on a horse. If I am not returned within the hour, Ravencliffe has offered to see the ladies home."
"Oh-ho," Lord Montfort chuckled. "I see. Glad it is nothing serious, Wolverton."
Lucien collected his cloak from the footman and strode down the front steps to the street. Climbing in, he gave the coachman the direction and they set off at a rapid pace. He arrived at Dalton House to find all the windows dark. Either the servants were all abed, or Dalton had closed the house and taken Charlotte somewhere more private for his interrogation. Dalton might be rash, but he was not stupid.
As he exited the carriage, Lucien did not want to think about how a man of Dalton's disposition would go about questioning a stubborn woman. He strode to the front door and knocked loudly. When there was no response, he descended the steps to the servants' entrance. Leaves had gathered into a shallow pile at the base of the stairs, and the scent of coal fires drifted on the breeze that stirred them at his feet. The un-swept space confirmed that the house servants had decamped– but with or without Dalton?
He returned to the carriage and had it driven around to the Mews at the rear of the property. After confirming the back gate was locked, he climbed the wall and crossed the narrow garden to peer into the ground floor windows. The half-full moon provided little light outside, and none inside. Of the upper floors he could make out nothing at all. It was too quiet.
There was an emptiness to the atmosphere that made Lucien suspect that Dalton had closed the house and fled with Charlotte. Still, he had to be sure. Dalton could as easily have sent the servants away to give the appearance that he was not in residence.
A quick search of the area yielded a rock at the edge of the wall that he used to break the kitchen window. Reaching inside, he opened the latch and pushed up the sash then climbed over the sill. And stood, listening.
Silence. A lingering, slightly stale aroma of some savory dish hung in the air, but the kitchen hearth was cold. That meal had not been cooked today, or even yesterday. Nonetheless, he inspected every room. Dust covers protected the furniture, the rugs rested in rolled columns against the walls, and curtains closed against the light. He swiftly inspected the rooms on each floor. He'd suspected before he began that the house remained empty, but that knowledge didn't ease his sharp disappointment.
The properties that were his wife's inheritance would likely satisfy Dalton's sense as appropriate locations for establishing his rights. The family estate was in Epping, outside the city and a good four or five hours distant. He remembered the other properties were in the city, though he had paid no attention to the addresses when he read the report weeks earlier.
He saw no point in wasting more time in the empty house, nor in exiting through the window. If Dalton returned and found the door unlocked, it would make no difference. When he undid the lock, a fine wire connected to the handle caused the bell in the servant’s hall to ring. Had he been home, Dalton would have known of the intrusion.
Lucien arrived at Wolverton House to find Ravencliffe, Clarehaven and Norcross waiting in
the drawing room with his stepmother, Anne and Elizabeth. All three ladies stood when he entered the room, their faces pale and their expressions hopeful. They subsided back into their chairs and hope altered to distress when they saw he was alone. They waited for him to speak.
He did not waste time with soothing assurances– he had none to give. "Dalton has closed his house. There was no one there. He might have taken Charlotte to his country estate, but I doubt he would have the patience to travel that far."
He turned to Elizabeth. "I gather from Charlotte that you were unaware of his threats against her when he was your neighbor?"
" I remember she told me she’d seen him hurt his wife, but everyone liked him, so I accused her of making up stories. I didn’t know about the tool shed until Charlotte told me of the connection after Lady Ridley’s garden party." Elizabeth shook her head. “She was only eight-years-old.”
Lucien debated telling them the rest of what Charlotte had seen, unsure if he should add to their fears by revealing exactly how violent the man was. If Charlotte hadn’t told her sister what she’d witnessed, he didn’t feel he should be the one to do so.
"He caught Charlotte spying on him and warned her off," he finally explained to the others. "After he recognized her name some weeks ago, and saw her speaking to his wife, he again warned her to mind her own business." His hand clenched at his side. He shouldn’t have gone along with her plan. He should have known that any man who would beat his wife would seek revenge when thwarted. It was his fault that he hadn’t foreseen that Dalton would not be warned away from confronting her. "When Lady Dalton found the courage to leave, he blamed Charlotte for encouraging her to escape. He believes she knows where Lady Dalton is."
"Does she?" his stepmother asked.
Lucien turned to her and could not lie. "Yes... and no."
The Duchess gave him the unrelenting glare he'd not seen her use since he'd taken on his title. When he was a boy it had released all manner of confessions. She waited, her gaze unwavering. It still did.
"She knows Lady Dalton is on a ship to Canada." he confessed. "She does not know the exact destination."
"Will she admit that she knows?"
Elizabeth spoke up, her voice a sad whisper. "Not willingly."
"Which is why we must find her– and quickly." Lucien agreed.
He turned to his friends. "After Charlotte confided in me, I had my solicitor compile a dossier on the former Albert Franklin. Dalton controls two other properties within the city that were part of Lady Dalton's inheritance and are currently unoccupied."
He faced Elizabeth and Sarah. "I will find and return Charlotte as soon as possible... but if he has taken her to his estate, it may be some days before we can retrieve her. I promise, however, that we will succeed."
He looked to his stepmother and Anne. "Until we do, we must keep word of this from becoming public scandal."
He motioned for Ravencliffe, Clarehaven and Norcross to follow him when he went to the study to retrieve the reports that listed the locations of Dalton's properties. A quarter of an hour later Ravencliffe and Norcross left to check one address while Clarehaven and Lucien hurried to the other.
"I TOLD YOU, I DON’T know where your wife is." Charlotte said. Dalton's eyes held hers as he'd bent to ask his question. Her scalp burned where Dalton had grabbed her hair and pulled her upright before depositing her on the hard wooden chair. Her arms, pulled tightly behind her, ached.
"I’m sorry you remain so stubborn," Dalton said. He straightened back from where he'd peered at her face. "Women are much like children. They are stubborn, willful, and in need of training.” His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down. He gestured vaguely. “Women do have uses once they have been trained, of course. They should be worthy hostesses for their husbands, obediently see to his creature comforts and provide heirs to carry on family name—though I never wanted an heir.” He darted his gaze back to her and added, “If they cannot manage such wifely duties, they are of no more use than whores to ease a man's needs."
He paced slowly back and forth while he explained. "It pains me that I must teach you the proper manners a lady should show before a gentleman." He stopped in front of her again and held up a finger.
"Lesson number one– When a gentleman asks a lady a question, she should answer. Immediately. Truthfully." Then he backhanded her with a blow that rocked the chair and left Charlotte's cheek burning.
"For all her faults," Dalton told her, "Sophronia learned that lesson early." He slowly circled the chair and Charlotte fought the instinctive urge to follow his progress. He stopped in front of her again. "It is only because I love her that I must chastise her when she disobeys or argues."
Charlotte did look up at him then, not hiding the scorn in her eyes, and he shook his head. "You don't understand, do you?” His voice reflected sadness, but his eyes held no emotion. “I love my wife, but because I love her, I must do all I can to help her be the kind of wife she should be.”
He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Unlike most peers, I do not insist she provide an heir.” He let his hands fall back to his sides. “I try to be patient. I take the time to instruct her. I have repeatedly made clear what is expected of her as my viscountess."
He shook his head again. "But she simply does not fulfill her duties properly. I dare not even trust her to do something so simple as plan a dinner party for my friends. She is still like a willful child... and it is well established to spare the rod is to spoil the child."
His eyes changed. Charlotte could not name it, but it frightened her. Empty of the anger he usually projected, the eerie fire of fanaticism lit his eyes, but for what she was not sure. "Spanking did not improve her behavior." he said. "So, though I am sorry for it, I have had to employ more severe means of making her do as she is told."
Charlotte stared up at him, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice when she asked, "Did you love your first wife, then?"
He said nothing for several seconds.
"Do you know,” He finally said, “I believed shutting you into that shed when I caught you spying would teach you to mind your own business,” Dalton said. "But I see it takes more than threats to teach you not to meddle.
He circled the chair once more. When he stopped in front of her, he said, "I ask you again. Where is my wife?"
Before she could do more than look at him, he hit her again, this time the chair did tip and Charlotte hit the floor, bruising her other cheek and making her ears ring. Dalton lifted the chair back up, then came around to study her burning features. "Do you see what you did?" His question had a false note of sorrow and injured patience. "Had you answered me, I would not have had to chastise you... and you would not have hurt yourself."
Charlotte licked her lip, tasting the blood where it had split. Her face throbbed, her head spun, and she vaguely noticed that she'd lost a shoe.
Dalton walked over, picked up his wine glass, and carefully swirled it. The liquid left thin rivulets of clinging wine along the inside of the glass. As he had obviously meant it to, it made Charlotte again aware of the cotton-dryness of her mouth and throat. He finished the glass with audible gusto, then poured another generous portion and put it back on the table. "I find that wine takes the edge off my sorrow." He said with a faint smile. "And I am truly sorry for what I see I must do."
This time he used his fist.
Pain exploded and air left her lungs when he drove his fist into her stomach. Brilliant lights danced in a blackly swirling whirlpool of agony. She struggled to breathe, to take in air, but her body froze, and her mind screamed in panic. Finally, as the dancing lights flickered and nearly faded to black, her shocked muscles uncramped and air, blessed air, seeped back into her lungs. She blinked, her eyes watered, then the contents of her stomach shifted, and she vomited onto the floor and her lost shoe.
Dalton eyed the floor with distaste before asking, "Where is my wife?
"I told you," she managed to whisper. "I don't kno
w."
"The Thames might not be as swift flowing as the river at home, but it is deep and will be as anonymous as needed if you do not l tell the truth."
He stepped to the table and took another long drink of wine. "And if Wolverton suspects me– and his refusal to grant me access to you makes me suspect he is part of this as well–" He told her, "he will have no proof. You will have wandered off as mysteriously as did my wife." His eyes lit with the fire of revenge. "Yet he cannot accuse me of retaliating without disclosing his role in taking my wife. Which I remind you is against the law."
He fiddled with the glass, holding it up to inspect the wine's color in the light, then saying with assurance, "He will have gone to my residence to confront me personally– but I will not be there." He bowed to her, his hands wide to include the room. "I am here."
He took another sip of the wine. "I suspect he will have come and gone from my home within the hour as he apparently keeps a close eye on you. I will know when he has gone by the simple expediency of a trip wire set at the lower floor doors. Only after he has verified that my household has been closed and is truly empty of servants and master, shall I take you to my home." He surveyed the bare, neglected space of the room they were in with amusement. "Which, you might be interested to know, is connected to this one by way of a secret tunnel." His amusement grew and he chuckled. "It seems my wife's grandfather kept his mistress here and did not wish to be seen visiting her."
His amusement altered to cunning. "Wolverton will undoubtedly learn of the location of this property and search here when he discovers nothing at my home." He looked down at the congealing mess at her feet. "He will suspect you were here, but ..." He smiled again. "Any vagrant might have taken up residence in an empty house... and drunk too much." He leaned near and added. "Oh, and if you did not know, careless people fall into the river more often than one would think." He grinned with satisfaction. "Even if Wolverton dared accuse me, I will not hang– for I am now a peer."
Scandalizing the Duke Page 19
