Tender Rebel

by Johanna Lindsey

  “You’re not suggesting—”

  “Not at all,” he assured her, taking advantage of her distracted alarm to bring his knee up to where it just touched hers. “It’s no more than mere speculation bandied about by envious chaps not so well off.”

  The seed had been planted, even if it wasn’t accurate. Two of the wives had died in childbirth, which truly was a tragedy, occurring one after the other. The third had fallen off a cliff, messy business, but the earl certainly wasn’t culpable unless he had it within his power to produce the freak storm that had spooked the lady’s horse and led to her fall.

  “What about Sir Artemus?”

  “Loves to gamble, but don’t we all.” This said with a wink. “And you’d have a ready-made family if you go with him. He has dozens of little tykes—”

  “I was told there were only five children!”

  “Five who claim legitimacy. Yes, you’d have your hands full, and very little help from Shadwell, since he tends to forget the fact that he even has children. Are you planning to have some of your own?”

  The blush did it, so utterly becoming that Anthony’s good intentions flew straight away. His hand slipped to her neck, and without moving, he drew her full against his chest, fingers sliding up into her hair so he could position her mouth to receive his kiss.

  It never happened. She pushed him back so quickly and forcefully that he lost his hold due to surprise.

  “You promised!”

  He sat up, raking a hand through his hair in a manner fraught with impatience and chagrin, yet his voice was a study in tranquillity. “Kindly remember, my dear, that this role of confidant is new to me and will take some getting used to.” And then, with a sideways glance that caught the fury of her eyes, “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t fry me for conditioned instincts. It won’t happen again, you may depend on it.”

  She stood up, faced him, gripping her parasol as if it were a weapon that could hold him off. “If you have nothing more to tell me—”

  Oh, sweetheart, if only you knew that it is my will alone that keeps you safe for the time being. “Fact will have to be sifted from rumor. Give me a week or two—”

  “One week.”

  He leaned back again, propping both arms behind him on the sofa, eyeing her languorously. That she was still speaking to him, still willing to depend on his advice, told him enough. She wasn’t that angry with him.

  “Fix your hair, my dear, and I’ll escort you down to the lake.”

  He choked back a laugh at her murmur of exasperation on finding her coiffure once more disturbed by him. With impatient fingers she tightened the effect, then smashed her bonnet down over it. He did laugh then, gaining a murderous stare from her that only amused him the more.

  But a few minutes later, as they strolled across the back lawn, she was treated to the full brunt of his charm, which had her smiling helplessly again, quite willing to forgive him his lapse. Only it didn’t last, her improved humor. She hadn’t realized how it might look, her having stayed behind, his having stayed behind, while everyone else rode to the hunt. But one look at Justin’s bemused frown as they approached the gathering at the lake, and she was brought up short.

  “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be seen together,” she said in an aside to Anthony as she caught sight of several more of her gentlemen in the party.

  “I would agree if we were anywhere but here, my dear,” he replied. “Here I am a relative of the hostess and quite naturally am expected to socialize.”

  His total lack of concern suddenly annoyed her, for Lord Grahame and Lord Fleming, having arrived for today’s entertainments, had both noticed her as well. Whether they thought there was anything untoward in her tardy arrival on Sir Anthony’s arm, she couldn’t guess. But neither could she help remembering Regina’s friendly warning to the gist that any lady seen to have gained this particular rake’s interest was raw meat for the gossip mills.

  At any rate, his escort down to the lake after they both had missed the hunt couldn’t help her cause, not when the men she was in actuality “courting” would surely wonder about it. Anthony should have known that. He was much more experienced in these things than she was. And so her annoyance was directed solely at him, enough to want to burst his bubble of nonchalance.

  “You know, Anthony, even if I do find myself bored with my husband, that doesn’t mean you’re going to benefit from it.”

  He seemed to see through her deliberate taunt, at least his grin so indicated, and his answer sent a tingling thrill of apprehension down her spine. “On the contrary. You will eventually be my mistress, sweetheart. If I weren’t absolutely certain of that, I never would have agreed to help you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “No! Dear Lord, let me be dreaming!”

  It was in fact a nightmare, to wake up in a room she had not gone to sleep in, to be unable to recall how she came to be there. Roslynn looked around wide-eyed, praying she wasn’t really awake, yet knowing she was. Stained and peeling wallpaper. A chipped basin of water with a cockroach scurrying up the pitcher sitting beside it, resting precariously on a three-legged table propped in one corner because the fourth leg was missing. A single narrow bed, coarse woolen blanket covering her to her waist. Bare floor, bare walls, bare window.

  How was this possible? She pressed her palms to her temples, trying desperately to remember. Had she been ill? Or had an accident? But all she could recall was last night, if it was last night and not days ago, with the time in between unaccounted for.

  She had been unable to sleep, an annoying happenstance, recurring ever since she had met Anthony Malory. She and Frances had returned from the country three days earlier, but she had been unable to forget the time she spent with Anthony there, nor his unexpected about-face in offering to assist her, rather than seduce her.

  And yet, despite his promise to end his pursuit of her, at least until after she married, he still hadn’t left her alone that day. Oh, he had relinquished her so she could circulate with the other picnickers and work her wiles on her gentlemen, but whenever she noticed him in the crowd, her eyes met his, as if he were constantly watching her. That night, to her chagrin, he danced not once but three times with her, all in the guise of socializing. And he danced with no one else, not even his niece.

  She had been furious when she realized what he was doing, but by then the damage had been done. Lord Grahame, the Earl of Dunstanton, had begged off from taking her to the theater after they returned to London, an engagement he had only made that afternoon. He claimed he had suddenly recalled a previous commitment, when it was so obvious he was simply intimidated by Anthony’s blatant interest in her.

  Yes, she had been unable to sleep last night, full of furious energy, because not one of her gentlemen had called since her return to London, and she didn’t deceive herself that they were merely too busy. Anthony’s innocent “socializing” had seriously set her back.

  So if she remembered all that, how was it possible that she couldn’t remember how she came to be here in this horrid little room? Anthony wouldn’t…no, he wouldn’t. And she doubted Frances had gone mad and somehow arranged this. That left only one alternative, unless she was so ill that this was all part of a delirium, and it was too real for that. Geordie had her. Somehow, some way, he had managed to abduct her right out of the house on South Audley Street in Mayfair, and where she was now was anyone’s guess. Inconceivable, yet what else was she to believe?

  Only there was a part of her that was unwilling to accept that Geordie had won, a part that was too optimistic, hoping there might be some other explanation. So her surprise was genuine when she saw the truth with her own eyes. Her fear was real too, nearly choking her with the tightening of her throat, her palms breaking out in a sweat. Geordie Cameron, in the flesh, walked as nonchalantly as you please into the room, a look on his face that was unmistakable triumph. And after all the things she had imagined would happen if he ever got hold of her, it was no won
der she was so overcome with anxiety that she could do no more than stare at him.

  “Och now, it’s glad I am tae see Mrs. Pym was right, that ye’re awake at last. She’s been sae obliging, sitting outside yer door, waiting tae hear ye stir sae she could come and tell me. She knows how impatient I’ve been, though the coppers in her pocket improved her diligence too. But dinna be thinking she’ll be receptive tae yer blathering, lass, fer I’ve spun her a fine tale, I have, of rescue and returning ye tae the bosom of yer family. She’ll no’ believe a word ye try tae tell her if it differs from my tale.”

  After saying all this, he smiled, reminding Roslynn why she had never been able to abide this particular Cameron. His smiles were never genuine, always jeering or mocking, or more often sly, and they brought out the malicious evil in his icy blue eyes, eyes that could have been lovely otherwise.

  Roslynn had always thought him tall until she met the Malorys, who were much taller. His carrot-red hair had grown shaggy since last she’d seen him, but then she doubted he’d had much time to attend to his grooming with the merry chase she had led him. He wasn’t fat, no, not at all, but there was a beefiness about his body that she knew could overpower her if it came down to her fighting her way out of here. And yet he bore the Cameron good looks, at least when his true self didn’t emerge from behind his expression; looks, sadly, that closely resembled Duncan Cameron when he was Geordie’s age, so testified the only portrait of her grandfather at Cameron Hall.

  “Ye’re awful quiet, ye are,” Geordie prodded her when she continued to just stare at him. “Have ye nae warm welcome fer yer only cousin?”

  The incongruity of that question brought Roslynn back to her senses and dredged forth her anger. That he dared, dared do what she had feared he would! Of course, it was why she was here in London, why she was planning to marry when she didn’t have to, why she had entered into a bizarre relationship with Anthony, accepting him as her confidant when she knew very well she should avoid him instead. But to be proved right! Her fear was forgotten in light of all the trouble and anxiety this greedy blackguard had put her through.

  “Warm welcome?” she snorted. “The only thing I’m wanting to know, cousin, is how you managed it!”

  He laughed, only too happy to expound on his cleverness and pleased that she hadn’t asked why instead. That she knew why she was here saved him the explaining of that, and would save time in convincing her to go along with him. He didn’t like being in England or dealing with English hirelings, and the sooner they were set for home, the better.

  “It was sae easy, lass, sae very easy,” he boasted. “I knew ye’d be trying something once the auld mon was laid tae his grave, only I didna think ye’d be coming here. But I had most of the roads watched, ye see, sae tae England was the only way ye could’ve traveled wi’out my knowing it.”

  “Clever you are, to make such a deduction.”

  His eyes narrowed at her sneer. “Aye, clever, clever enough tae ha’ ye where I want ye.”

  Roslynn flinched, for he was right there. “But how did you find me so quickly, Geordie? London’s no’ such a small town, is it now?”

  “I remembered ye had a friend here. It wasna hard tae find her, and sae tae find ye. But I would’ve had ye sooner if those bloody idiots I hired hadna been such cowards tae turn tail just because the street crowd was bestirred tae help ye that day on Oxford Street.”

  So it had been Geordie’s doing that day she was nearly abducted off the street. But as for the crowd helping, that bit of news elicited a chuckle that Roslynn quickly turned into a cough. She could just imagine the tall tale those two footpads had told Geordie to account for their failure and to avoid his wrath.

  “And then ye left town and I thought I’d lost ye,” Geordie continued with a frown. “Ye put me tae a good deal of trouble and expense over that, lass, that ye did. I had tae send men oout in every direction tae find yer trail, but ye didna leave one, did ye, no’ one that went very far? Only ye came back on yer own.” Here he was smiling again, as if to say it was so typically female to make such a blunder. “And then it was only a matter of waiting—and here ye are.”

  Yes, here she was, and still ignorant of how Geordie had managed it. But his look said he was willing to enlighten her, wanting to in fact, because he was so very pleased with himself in having his plans work out so well, and wanted her to appreciate his cleverness. Oh, she appreciated it all right, like the plague. That had always been Geordie’s problem. He was too clever and sly, like a bloody fox. All his life he had thrived on scheming and plotting the little pranks and accidents he was so fond of. Why should this be any different?

  Perversely, Roslynn decided to take him down a peg instead of boosting his ego further with her avid curiosity. She yawned in the face of his explanations and said wearily, “So now what, cousin?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Are ye no’ the least bit interested in how ye came tae wake up here?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked in a weary tone. “As you said, I’m here.”

  She thought he would burst a seam, he puffed up with such chagrin. “Well, I’ll be telling ye, seeing as how it was the easiest but most ingenious part of my plans.”

  “By all means,” she replied.

  But she gave him another yawn for good measure and delighted in the way his light blue eyes spat daggers at her. He was so easily readable, so petty, and selfish, and hot-tempered. She supposed she ought not to push him anymore. She might have calmed down after her initial shock, but he was still a threat to her. And until she could figure a way out of this, if there was a way, she had best placate him.

  “It was the maid, ye see, a clever lass I hired tae get inside the house. It was a simple matter of making certain one of the regular maids didna show up fer work and substituting my lass, claiming she was there tae take the other’s place, being as she was sick.”

  Roslynn’s temper sparked at this. “And just what have you done wi’ the puir lass that didna show up for work?”

  “Dinna fash yerself, cousin.” His humor improved again now that he had her full attention. “She wasna harmed, save fer a wee bump on the head, and I’ve already sent a man tae release her, seeing as how yer absence will be known by now anyway. But as I was saying, wi’ my hireling inside the house and in a position tae serve ye, she only needed tae wait until ye ordered something tae eat or drink afore ye retired, sae she could slip a sleeping draught in it.”

  The milk! The bloody warm milk she had asked for last night, hoping that it might help her sleep, never dreaming she would sleep so soundly she wouldn’t even wake up for her own kidnapping!

  “Aye, ye can see how it was done now, canna ye?” Geordie chuckled. “As soon as the lass was able, she slipped my men inside the house and hid them and went on home herself, her part over. Then when all the live-in servants had retired and the house was quiet, my men simply carried ye oout and brought ye tae me, and ye didna wake even once.”

  “So what are yer plans now?” she asked tightly, taunting. “Surely ye’ve something despicable in mind?”

  “I’ve found me a mon of the cloth who’s been persuaded he doesna need tae be hearing yer ‘I do’s’ tae perform a wedding fer us. The gin-soaked sod’ll be here as soon as my men can discover what alley he crawled into last night. But it willna be long now, cousin. And dinna think tae be causing a stir while we wait. Mrs. Pym will be keeping an ear open, and she’s just outside the door.”

  As she watched him leave and heard the lock click on the door, she thought about calling him back. If he knew that both Nettie and Frances were aware of her abhorrence for him and that she would never willingly marry him, might he reconsider? But it was his rampant greed that held her tongue. Marrying her would bring him a fortune, and since he had gone this far, it was likely he could go the next step in eliminating anyone who opposed him. As it stood now, his plan could be to simply lock her away somewhere, and none would be the wiser. He could as likely have a “regrettable acci
dent” planned. But it was a certainty that he wouldn’t keep her alive if he knew she had friends who would disclaim a marriage between them, and they would be in danger too if she named them.

  So where did that leave her? Married to the blackguard, was the loathsome answer. Hell’s teeth, not while she still had her wits about her. But panic was beginning to take hold. Not long, he had said. How much time did that give her? Even now the drunken reverend could be arriving. And where the bloody hell was she anyway?

  Her eyes flew back to the window and she threw off the covers, rushing to the opening. Her heart sank as she saw the two-story drop, with nothing below to break a fall. No wonder Geordie had taken no precautions in boarding up the window. And if she tried to call out it for help, the deceived Mrs. Pym would have the door open in a flash, and Roslynn would no doubt find herself bound and gagged for her efforts.

  Briefly, she thought of reasoning with Mrs. Pym, but only briefly. The woman probably thought she was insane or something. Geordie was clever that way, his schemes well thought out, to cover all possibilities. He would leave nothing to chance, not with the fortune he had so long coveted at risk.

  Hastily, she surveyed the room again, but only the water pitcher would make a likely weapon, and that only against the first person to come through the door. She had no guarantee that person would be Geordie, no guarantee either that the pitcher would hurt him enough to render him unconscious, or that he would be alone.

  The window, then, was her only chance. It faced a lane of some sort, an alley really, though wide enough for traffic to get through. But there was no traffic. It was utterly deserted, dark and shadowed, as the buildings on each side rose far enough to hold back the daylight. Sticking her head out the window, at each end of the lane she could see streets brightly lit, wagons passing, a child running by, a sailor strolling arm in arm with a garishly dressed woman. A good shout could probably draw someone’s attention. Neither end of the lane was that far away. But a good shout would draw Mrs. Pym’s attention too.