Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  Cassandra took a deep breath. He was entirely too close for her comfort, but at least he was being reasonable. That was more than she could say of Duncan. She sought for the words that would make him understand her plight.

  “I am sorry, Rupert. I’m certain there are more willing women who would gladly accompany you to Paris. I don’t want the latest fashions, and I’m not entirely certain I even know what a Bourbon palace is. All I want is to go home to Kent and make a home for my mother. I don’t want a husband. So I thought... I mean, I talked to someone who knows, and they said...”

  Cassandra stumbled over the words as Rupert lifted the shawl from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. She was grateful for the length of silk covering her as his hand closed about her upper arm, but it wasn’t sufficient to protect her from the coldness of his grip.

  “Stop prattling, Cassie. We’re married and there’s an end to it. Now, kiss me as a wife ought.”

  She swerved her head to avoid the smell of liquor on his breath, but Rupert caught her jaw with his other hand and pulled her around. She gagged on the fumes, but his grip forced her lips to part. His tongue was a punishment, not a sweet enticement, and she felt a sweeping dread as he crushed her back against the dresser and plundered her mouth. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  As his hand released her jaw, Cassandra jerked her head away and pushed at his chest. “Stop it! Can’t you see I don’t want to be your wife? Let me go now, Rupert, before Duncan steals any more of your money in exchange for favors I don’t intend to give you. I’m trying to help you get the best of the bargain. Why won’t you listen?”

  “Because I have what I want, Cassie. Now, be a good girl and get in bed and I’ll show you that you have nothing to fear from me. I’m said to be an accomplished lover. You needn’t worry about any old wives’ tales of our marriage bed. You’ll be begging for more before the night is done.”

  Rupert kneaded her breasts as his mouth covered hers again. Cassandra knew an instant’s panic as she realized he was thoroughly inebriated. She had meant to argue this out with a rational man, but she knew from bitter experience that a drunken man was beyond reason.

  She reacted insensibly then. She had meant to be calm and sympathetic and agreeable and show Rupert how he was being cheated. But fear and loathing replaced all thought as he jerked her bodice down as if she were a whore.

  With all the strength she could muster, she brought her knee up in a trick her father’s mistress had once taught her. Her aim was poor, but her intent was obvious. Rupert yelped and jumped back, covering his bruised parts as Cassandra shoved from his grasp.

  Not injured severely enough to remain still, Rupert leapt after her, grabbing her arm and flinging her toward the bed with a strength she would not have thought of him. She stumbled on the length of her gown and heard it rip as she fell. Before she could right herself, he was upon her.

  Crushed against the bed by his heavy weight, she screamed. Rupert caught her wrist in his hands and smothered her with his punishing mouth. His hard masculinity rubbed between her legs. When Rupert bit her lip and began to rock against her, she panicked. She fought one hand free and grabbed Rupert’s hair and yanked until he yowled with pain.

  “Bitch! I’ll teach you...” He grabbed her wrist and with his free hand smacked her across the cheek.

  The world whirled and went black for a minute, but the scrape of Rupert’s hand across her bare breast as he ripped at her clothes gave Cassandra strength to fight the nausea. Again she brought her knee up. This time, her aim was better.

  He howled, and she shoved him backward, hearing his thud with satisfaction as he toppled against the washstand. Grasping at her torn gown, she dragged herself from the entrapment of the feather mattress and groaned as she tried to straighten and stand.

  She could hear him staggering to his feet. It was too late to salvage the evening. Far from being rational, her husband was more animal than Duncan, and with a greater power to harm than her brother had ever possessed. It was late to learn that, but with the feral caution of a cornered creature, Cassandra ran.

  There were servants clearing up the wreckage of the public rooms downstairs, but none stood in her way as she fled down the stairs in her tattered wedding remnants. Without orders to the contrary, they merely gaped as she struggled with the huge front door. A tall, cadaverous man stepped out of the shadows to wrench it open for her. With gratitude, Cass fled into the night.

  The cold evening air struck her with the same force as Rupert’s blow, tearing her breath away. She had no wrap to protect her bruised flesh, but already she heard Rupert’s furious shouts behind her. With frantic speed, she raced down the empty street.

  Her only goal was to lose Rupert. Unfortunately, these were the broad gaslit streets of Mayfair and not the narrow alleys of the East End.

  Rupert’s shouts echoed eerily between the tall brick edifices, as out of place in these elegant environs as a jaguar’s cry. He was drunk enough to beat her right here on the street, and not a single window would open to investigate her cries for help.

  Her breath hurt in her chest as she raced faster. The pain in her jaw ached, but not so much as the rasping gasps for air and the sharp pangs in her side as she fought to outrun her pursuer.

  She would never make it. Her narrow skirts hindered her pace despite the tear that had ripped one seam and left the hem flapping. Her thin slippers were already destroyed by the rough stones.

  When she stumbled, she could hear Rupert’s leather shoes clatter close by. If only there were a hackney, some innocent passerby, some witness to protect her from his fury. She took a breath, righted herself, and ran on.

  And collided with a solid masculine chest that teetered, then caught her as he fell back against the gate from whence he had just exited.

  “Dashitall!” The words emerged in a whoosh as they struggled in a dance for balance.

  The curse sounded hazily familiar, and Cassandra dared to look instead of run. In the darkness, she could see little more than a blond halo and broad shoulders, but that was sufficient to jog her memory.

  “Thomas! Thank God, Thomas! Help me. Hide me. Please.” The grating gasp of her own voice terrified her, and Cassandra clung unsteadily to the youngest Scheffing’s coat front.

  “Lady Cass?” Thomas barely had time to identify her before the shouts and pounding footsteps approached.

  Cassandra squealed and tried to break away from the young man’s steadying embrace, but it was too late. Rupert’s ragged curses breached the air. Faint with fear and pain, Cassandra still attempted to seek the gate that Thomas had come through.

  “Let her go.” Rupert almost managed the tone of cold authority that normally served him.

  Cassandra felt more than observed Thomas’ puzzled glance, but the state of her gown told the tale that she could not. He placed her firmly behind his broad back.

  “You’ve insulted a lady.”

  Cassandra shuddered at this dangerous approach. All she needed was the bulk of his physical protection. But Thomas was young and hotheaded and not very sensible.

  Before she could disentangle herself, she heard Rupert chuckle drunkenly, and she cringed.

  “Damned young puppy, that is my wife you’re holding. I ought to call you out for this.”

  “You ought to be shot for what you’ve done to her!” Thomas replied belligerently, even as Cassandra reached to cover his mouth with her hand.

  Realizing that she was acquainted with the young knight-errant, Rupert smiled smugly. “I’ve pistols back at the house. Shall we try them out?”

  “Thomas, no!” Cassandra screamed, breaking from his grip. “He’s drunk! He’ll kill you. This isn’t your argument.”

  “Ahhh, my lovely wife, you’ve gained your voice. Come along now and you can watch the fun. I rather fancy I’ll have to defend your honor more than once in the months to come. You might as well become accustomed to the sight.”

  Rupert caught Cassandra’s arm
and tried to drag her along with him, but she swung wildly with her fist, connecting with his shoulder. He raised his hand to slap her again, but Thomas lunged at him.

  “Run, Cass! Get out of here!”

  She did as told. Perhaps without her there, Thomas could knock Rupert out and escape. It seemed the only sensible thing to do. Even she knew of her husband’s deadly reputation as a duelist. She had thought the worst of the talk to be rumors, but tonight had proved her wrong. Rupert enjoyed violence.

  Jarred by Thomas’s plight, she suddenly had a goal. Wyatt had protected the younger Scheffing in the gaming hell. He would certainly protect him from this worse danger. If she could only just remember which of these elegant streets contained the imposing London town house of the Earl of Merrick.

  Sheer luck steered her down a familiar crossroad. Gas lamps paved the way, but the tall facades of stone and draped windows towered dark and unfriendly on either side of the street. No light beckoned from any but one. That was the one she remembered.

  Gasping with relief, Cassandra staggered down the street, drawn by the single light in a lower window. Wyatt had to be there. Surely the proper Earl of Merrick could not be out carousing at this hour. Please.

  Feeling her strength waning, Cassandra nearly crawled up the steps between the stone lions and dropped the knocker. Once. Twice.

  It took an interminable time for anyone to answer. Perhaps Merrick had sent all his servants to bed. She didn’t know the hour, but it must be late. Leaning against the wooden panel, she pounded the knocker again and again.

  Finally she heard the echo of boots against the parquet floor. She remembered seeing that floor once when she was a little girl. She didn’t remember the occasion. She just remembered how it shone like polished glass. None of the floors in her home looked like that.

  She almost fell as the door jerked open. A startled masculine gasp and a hard arm greeted her, and she was lifted bodily into the entry. Safe, at last.

  Chapter 8

  “Cassandra!”

  Merrick’s gut lurched as a bedraggled waif collapsed against him. Her silken sunset curls fell in wilted tangles about a delicate jaw misshapen by an ugly, swollen bruise. He fought a silent scream of rage as her dull blue eyes lifted, then closed, and her slender form fell limp in his arms.

  He caught her up and carried her toward the warmth of the fire in the study. Sobered by the sight of bruises marring the pale breast spilling from her torn gown, Wyatt reined in his rage with icy calm.

  Scheffing staggered upright at the unexpected sight of the lost bride who had set off their drinking spree.

  Cassandra’s eyes abruptly opened, and when she saw Bertie, they widened in horror. When Wyatt attempted to set her down, she shoved his arms aside.

  “Thomas! He will kill Thomas! Help him, please.”

  Her words blasted the lingering fumes of brandy from their brains. Merrick reached out and steadied Cassandra, while Scheffing brought her a small tumbler of drink.

  “Here, take this. Catch your breath, then talk.”

  Cassandra attempted to push it away, but Scheffing forced the glass to her lips while Merrick held her. She choked on the burning liquid, but took the second sip more readily.

  “Gently, now. It won’t help to get her drunk. Cassandra, what happened? Where is Thomas?”

  Merrick swallowed his terror. He could feel fear shivering through her. The fiery woman who had swept through a hall of gamblers with a radiant smile shouldn’t know such fear. There was an awareness in her eyes now that hadn’t been there before, and Merrick flinched guiltily as if she had accused him.

  This was her wedding night, or rather, the morning after. The tattered state of her dress left only one inevitable conclusion. He had not thought even Rupert so low as to stoop to rape, but the evidence was damning. The only question remaining was how Thomas had become involved in this.

  Wyatt held her tight. “You don’t have to explain, Cass. Just tell us where Thomas is. We’ll find him.”

  “Down the street. Rupert challenged him. Hurry, please, Wyatt. Don’t let him hurt Thomas.” Straightening her sagging shoulders, Cassandra pushed from his arms. “I’ll go with you.”

  Merrick held her back, studying the black smudges beneath her eyes and the painful swelling of her jaw. “Let me call a maid to take care of you. We’ll find Thomas.”

  “No, it won’t do. You can’t stop Rupert. It’s me he wants. Give me your coat.” Cassandra wearily held out her hand.

  When Merrick hesitated, she pinned her gown with her fingers and started for the doorway. “I can’t stay here. You will have to come with me.”

  That made about as much sense as anything else that had happened this night, Merrick decided drunkenly. Peeling off his coat, he wrapped it over Cassandra’s slender shoulders as they started down the hall. He ought to be calling for maids and a physician, but he sensed Thomas’ danger was immediate.

  They hurried into the frosty night, letting the cold air sweep away the last of the brandy fumes. Between them, Scheffing and Merrick half-carried Cassandra down the street.

  By the time they reached the wall where she remembered leaving Thomas and her husband, there was no one in sight. Cassandra moaned in frustration and wilted against the earl’s arm. She didn’t have much strength left. The pain in her jaw throbbed, and the blisters on her feet made each step one of torture.

  Merrick held her up. “We’ll have to send for a carriage, Bertie. We’ll need to go to Rupert’s and your family, see if they’re there. And Lady Cassandra needs to be taken home.”

  Cassandra shivered at the thought of facing Duncan, but she didn’t object. Duels required seconds. Rupert would go to her brother for support in this. She nodded agreement.

  But when they finally arrived at the Howard town house, it was to discover Lord Eddings had just been called out on an urgent matter.

  “We have to stop them, Wyatt. It’s all my fault. You can’t leave me here. Perhaps we can stop Rupert.” She clutched his coat around her shoulders and met his worried dark eyes.

  Wyatt had donned a cloak earlier, but she could see the gleam of his shirt sleeves and waistcoat beneath the dark material. That seemed to make him look even broader and taller than before.

  “I cannot drag you out again. You need medical attention. Stay here, and we will come back to you as soon as we have word.”

  “No!” Beyond reasoning, Cassandra grabbed his sleeve. She only knew she could not be parted from Merrick. He was the only one who could save her. “You can’t leave me here. Duncan will just send me back to Rupert and all will be for naught. I must go with you. I have to make them understand.”

  She knew she was nearly hysterical, but there was no one in Howard House to aid them. Resigned, Merrick followed her out to the carriage.

  Scheffing had taken one of Merrick’s horses and ridden home to try to stop his brother there.

  Merrick raised his whip and raced across the park toward Rupert’s home.

  As the curricle pulled up to the doorstep, the townhouse door swung open and Lotta raced down the step to meet them.

  “My lady! He’s gone. He’s furious, Jacob—that’s his lordship’s valet—says. I thought he’d gone for you. Oh, thank goodness you’re safe.”

  She would have swept into the curricle after Merrick stepped down, but Cassandra lifted the reins and whip and froze both Wyatt and her maid with her look. “Where did they go, Lotta? They cannot be far ahead of us.”

  The maid glanced nervously at the impassive earl, who reached in and snatched away his whip, but she answered quickly. “To St. James. Not far. Sir Rupert said he hadn’t time for leaving town to do it proper. Jacob says there’s a corner there that’s kind of protected—”

  “I know it.” Wyatt swung back into his seat and removed the reins from Cassandra’s hands.

  She clung to the sides of the carriage as it flew through darkened streets. The night sky was beginning to brighten in the distance, signaling the
onset of dawn, but it was still the blackest night of her life. Never had she imagined this would come to pass of her decision to lead her own life.

  She cried out in fright as the curricle tilted on the turn, but Wyatt righted it with expertise. She grabbed the side and held on as he guided the rig recklessly through the empty streets.

  The early-morning twitter of birds in the park silenced at the intrusion of the horse and carriage. Cassandra swallowed as the gray light revealed a reckless rider careening down a crossroad. A moment later, she recognized Bertie’s stolid figure.

  Merrick recognized him too, and cursed vividly. Either Thomas had not returned home or no one had been able to stop him.

  Reaching a small copse of trees in an out-of-the-way corner of the park, Merrick steadied his horse, threw the reins to Cass, and jumped to the ground before the wheels stopped rolling. Bertie galloped his horse in the same direction.

  Cass tied the reins to a tree and on shaking legs, set out after them. Her pride wasn’t worth another man’s life. Perhaps the drink had worn off by now. Please, just let poor, harmless Thomas be all right. She had been foolish to think she could pit Rupert against Duncan and come out unscathed.

  She could see Bertie leaping from his horse at the edge of the copse and Merrick disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees. The shot sounded before she could reach the path they took.

  No second shot followed. Gasping with horror, Cassandra raced through the forest terrain until she stumbled upon the glade at the center.

  Rupert stood at the far side of the clearing, a pistol smoking in his hand as Bertie cried out and knelt beside the fallen figure of his youngest brother. Merrick approached Rupert and Duncan with fists balled in anger, but Cassandra did not linger to see the outcome. Rupert still lived and Thomas was dead. There was naught for her to do now. She fled back in the direction of the curricle.