* * *
Tory paced the beautifully-appointed parlor, her anxious thoughts plaguing her every step in her lovely new surroundings. Rose-colored draperies dressed the long windows that faced the street. Dainty furnishings in matching fabric were both comfortable and decorative.
She’d traded one prison for another.
She ran her fingers over the intricately carved mantelpiece of cherry wood. A large gilded mirror set above the mantle showed her a woman vastly changed from the one who had languished so recently in Millbank. Her clothes were fine, her gown, a pretty confection of blue silk. Her hair was dressed fashionably. The little maid abovestairs had taken great pains in brushing the auburn tresses and curling them reverently about Tory’s face. Her complexion had not yet lost its sallow cast although the perfumed creams set on the vanity in her chamber did much to relieve her chapped hands.
Upon waking the previous morning, the jailer had immediately leered at her and alluded to the passion they would soon share. When an unexpected male visitor came to her that afternoon, offering safety in exchange for certain freedoms, she didn’t hesitate.
She knew what she had to do. The only thing she could do, under the circumstances.
Her new jailer, her “protector,” would no doubt pay a visit on her this coming evening. Payment would be expected for her newfound safety, and there was no one to pay garnish to prevent it.
She rose and crossed to the bookshelves lining the space. Perhaps the last woman kept in these rooms had possessed a mind like her own. She withdrew a thin volume of poetry. Perhaps she too sought entertainment and education from the classics. She briefly wondered what had become of that lady, if she had at last married the man who had kept her or if he’d discarded her in favor of one younger and more amiable.
No matter, Tory thought, a flash of resolve coursing through her, she had a plan of her own. She would escape to her beloved Cornwall as soon as she could, and neither the man who now kept her nor Patrick would intrude on her solitude then.
Patrick, she thought as pain clenched her heart. Would he know that she was no longer at Millbank? Would he be relieved that the woman he’d taken as a wife no longer possessed such charges against her? Or would his relief stem from the fact that she was now conveniently set away from him with no shame brought on his name or that of his titled family. He must have decided she wasn’t worth his effort or his money, as he’d ceased paying her garnish. He’d left her there with nothing, and no means to protect herself.
A tear made its way down her cheek and she dashed it away with a silent curse. She wouldn’t cry for him. He’d deserted her when she’d needed him most. He’d lied to her and taken her innocence through his manipulations. Had he loved her at all? Another tear tracked its way down her cheek. This time she didn’t wipe it away, or the next one.
Every now and then she caught a glimpse of a fine carriage pulling to a stop before one of the other tidy houses lining the street. No doubt the well-dressed gentlemen who alighted were paying clandestine visits upon their own captive ladies. How long would her own blessed solitude last? When would she hear the dreaded crunch of gravel beneath carriage wheels outside her own window?
She shivered and opened the thin book, forcing her attention on the words printed so elegantly within.
* * *
Patrick willed himself to be calm as his father’s carriage rocked to a stop. He and his father alighted the vehicle and walked through the entryway.
Their first stop had been the magistrate’s, to obtain the letter exonerating Tory.
“I can hardly believe that bastard Miller cleared Victoria,” Patrick said.
“They interrogated Miller, son,” his father told him. “He confirmed that he had been mistaken in his assertion of her involvement with her uncle’s troubles.”
“Yes, but I’m surprised. From what I overheard that night in the pub, he was counting on the money he would gain from his so-called citizenly duty.”
“Perhaps he feared you would bring charges against him if he didn’t retract his claim,” the earl said.
“I still intend to,” Patrick said, anger roiling in his gut. “I just want to get Tory out of this place first.”
The earl nodded. “We will.”
The tired-looking man who’d greeted Patrick weeks ago hadn’t lost his wan expression. But as he turned his gaze in their direction, the expression on his face turned comical, his eyes opened wide, his mouth agape.
“M-my lords,” he stammered. “H-how may I—What can I do for you, my lords?”
“We’re here to see to the swift release of one of your inmates,” the earl began. “I believe that Victoria Elliot is the name under which you still hold her.”
Patrick’s father brandished the document the magistrate had signed, declaring all charges against Tory to be nullified. The clerk peered closely at the paper, his mouth working as he laboriously read the words to himself. He turned a look of confusion on Patrick and his father, his heavy brow furrowed above his tired eyes.
“But she’s no longer confined here at Millbank, my lords.”
Patrick felt the floor shift beneath his feet. “What? Tell me where she is, right now!”
The man blinked, then summoned the youth who had fetched the large jailer upon Patrick’s last visit.
“Surprised to see you, my lord,” jailer said to Patrick a few minutes later, as he lumbered up to them. “Ain’t seen you visit but the one time.”
Patrick inwardly winced at his guilt the man’s snide statement evoked. He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing at the smirk on the jailer’s face. “Simms, is it?”
The Jailer nodded and crossed his arms in front of his bulky chest.
“Where’s my wife?” Patrick demanded. “This man tells us she’s no longer an inmate.”
The jailer smiled, a grotesque curl of his thick lips. “The other fancy man come for her,” he said. “Just in the nick of time, I’d wager. Her garnish was all but a memory.”
Patrick’s mind was reeling. Tory was gone, and it was all his fault! “Who took her?”
“Who is he talking about, son?” the earl asked.
Patrick shook his head. “Who took her from here?” he asked again, grabbing the jailer’s shirt.
Simms shook free and gave a lazy shrug of one shoulder. “His identity ain’t for me to note,” he said. “Her charges was dropped, had a letter with him and everything.”
“Miller,” Patrick spat.
“But how?” his father asked.
“He must have falsified a letter to show these fools,” Patrick bit out.
He turned on his heel and hurried toward his father’s carriage.
“Patrick, wait,” his father called.
Patrick finally halted before the carriage and the earl joined him in the yard. “That son of a bitch took her, Father,” he said in an agonized voice, pointing at the prison. “Miller simply strolled in there and took her from me.”
The earl said nothing to that. The two of them once more boarded the carriage and sat in stunned silence as they rode back to Mayfair. Upon reaching his rooms he bade his father farewell.
“But what will you do, son?” the earl asked, his eyes showing his concern.
“I’ll bring her home,” he said. “Just as I had planned to do.”
His father reached out and stilled him before he could exit the carriage.
Patrick fought his impatience and turned to him. “What is it, Father?” he asked.
“She’s with another, Patrick,” the earl said gently. “Perhaps you should—”
“Victoria would never willingly go to another man,” he said, interrupting the earl. “Don’t you see Father?” His eyes were anguished as he looked at the earl. “She thought that I’d abandoned her, she was just trying to protect herself against that beast Simms.” He raked his hands through his hair in agitation. “I know her. I know her heart.”
After a moment his father nodded and reached out to squeeze P
atrick’s shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call upon Susan and myself if you’re in need of anything, son.” He offered Patrick a smile of encouragement. “And when you find Victoria, bring her to the house. I must meet this woman who has so captured both my son’s heart and his loyalty.”
“Thank you, Father.” He grasped his father’s hand. “Thank you for everything.
As Patrick reached his rooms, he was hardly surprised to note that the door was ajar. No doubt his guardian angels were within. He sighed and entered the sitting room, his shoulders slumped.
“She’s gone to him, Tony,” he said to the man standing in wait for him.
Tony wore his surprise on his face. The woman beside him gasped aloud.
“No!” Emmy cried. “How can you think she would do that?”
Patrick laughed without humor and dropped into the chair beside the hearth. “She’s gone from Millbank, the charges dropped.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and rested his head on the back of the chair, the wound in his side pulled painfully and he welcomed it. He deserved to feel that pain, and more, for failing Tory.
“But how do you know she’s with Miller?” Tony countered. “Perhaps the magistrate . . .”
“Miller had a letter with him, clearly falsified, since my father and I had the true documentation,” Patrick said bitterly. “But Victoria didn’t know that. I never went back there after my first visit. She thought I had abandoned her. She only knew that I hadn’t paid her garnish and Miller was there dangling freedom above her like a morsel of roasted meat to a starving man.”
“You did pay for her, Latham,” Emmy said.
Patrick drove his fingers through his hair. “A lot of good that did, seeing as the money never got there.”
“And what’s your next move, friend?” Tony asked pointedly. “Surely you’re not going to permit that man to keep your wife.”
“Never,” Patrick vowed. “But I don’t know where to find the bastard.”
Emmy giggled then, drawing the attention of both gentlemen.
“Did I not tell you that Mr. Miller used to keep company with me?” she offered with a cheeky grin. “Oh, don’t frown so, Tony. It was just a couple of times, and he was so odious I asked the houseman to tell him I was indisposed.”
“You know where he lives, Emmy?” Patrick asked, cautiously hopeful.
She nodded vigorously, her gold curls bouncing around her pretty face. Patrick bounded to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side, and swept her into his arms. Relief flooded him as he twirled her about the room.
“Do put me down, Latham,” she laughingly chided.
She recited the address and Patrick began to take his leave.
“We’re coming with you,” Tony stated simply. Patrick arched a brow at him, at which Tony laughed. “Do you actually think I’d miss seeing you repay that bastard for everything he’s put you and your Tory through?
Patrick grinned and the three of them left in Tony’s carriage.
* * *
Tory sat at the table in the small dining room, picking at the plate of roasted chicken and vegetables set before her. Candles lit the space, their flames reflected in the polished mahogany tabletop. She wondered again at the apartment’s last occupant, for the items furnishing the place were of high quality. The man who had last installed a mistress in these rooms must have been quite wealthy.
“Victoria, darling,” a male voice called from the doorway of the dining room.
Tory looked up to find Paul standing there, a perfect smile on his boyishly handsome face. She couldn’t return the expression, both her face and body were numb with fear and disgust. How could he stand there, as if it was nothing but natural for him to visit his mistress in a house not far from the home he kept with his wife?
Paul brushed his fingers over his fine tan jacket and stepped farther into the room. “How are you enjoying your accommodations thus far, my love?” he asked, coming to sit beside her at the dining table.
Tory shrugged her shoulders, keeping her true thoughts to herself.
At Paul’s raised eyebrows, she offered him a small smile.
“The house is lovely, Paul,” she allowed, her voice flat to her own ears.
Paul’s gaze fell to the plate of food before her, and he clicked his tongue to see the amount of food left untouched there.
“Is the food not to your liking, Victoria?”
“It’s quite fine, Paul,” she said. “The cook you engaged is more than competent. I’m afraid I’m not very hungry. Do you wish for me to ring and have a plate brought for you?”
“I ate at home,” he said with a shake of his blond head.
He stilled and gazed at her face. Tory could read the intent in his eyes, the lowering of the lids, the slumberous and lazy inspection.
“I’ve missed you, my love,” he said, taking her hand in his. “You don’t know what it’s been like for me today, knowing that you awaited me here in these rooms. Knowing that you would at last be mine as you were always meant to be.”
Tory stiffened and slowly withdrew her hand. “I’m not feeling well,” she said, a convenient bit of truth.
His face screwed into a scowl, his bottom lip protruding. “You look incredibly fit to me,” he pouted. “I’ve waited all day. Would you deny me now?”
Tory looked about the room, avoiding his gaze as she sought to conjure up an excuse as to why he shouldn’t expect his payment tonight. She couldn’t bear to dishonor the vows she took with Patrick in Gretna Green. Even if her marriage was a false one, it was true in her heart. God help her, she still loved Patrick, even though he wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn’t stomach the notion of lying with Paul. She didn’t love him. Hell, she couldn’t even stand to be near him.
“Victoria,” Paul whined, grabbing her hand again. “You’re mine now.”
“I’m married, Paul.”
Paul’s demeanor changed with lightening speed. He dropped her hand as if it burned him and came swiftly to his feet. “And where is your husband?” he demanded, his face twisted in a scowl. “Why didn’t he see to your freedom as I so easily did?”
Tory had no answer to his question. She had no idea why Patrick had left her there in Millbank save for her assertion that he was ashamed and well rid of her. She fought the tears that threatened and came to her feet. She twisted her pretty blue skirt in her hands in an effort to calm her riotous nerves.
“I need more time, Paul,” she said, trying a different tack. “For weeks I was in that . . . horrible place and I’m only just now adjusting to the happy fact that I’ll never set foot there again.”
Paul’s face changed yet again, looking once more like the boy she remembered from Cornwall. Her relief was short-lived, however, as he stepped closer and reached out his hand to brush her bare arm.
“I know it’s been difficult, my love,” he said, running his fingers up and down her arm. “I’m sorry to add to your discomfort.”
Tory swallowed and fought the urge to cringe away from his touch. She wouldn’t do anything to antagonize him now.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her head bowed in what she hoped was a show of submission.
“There now,” Paul returned, wrapping her in his arms. “I’ve known you and loved you for far too long to ever hurt you. I’ll wait to make you mine, Victoria.”
Tory closed her eyes to shield her relief from his gaze. Paul held her closer and ran his hands over her curves as she fought a shiver of revulsion.
“God, you’re incredible,” he said. She didn’t miss his obvious arousal pressed to her belly. “When I take you, I wager it will surpass my wildest dreams.”
Tory said nothing, simply easing her body slightly away from him. His fingers brushed over the fine silk of her dress, his touch brushing over the swell of her bosom.
“I trust your gowns please you?” he asked. “I had quite a time choosing them.”
Tory merely nodded at his words, recalling the delight with which Patrick had seen to s
uch purchases on their honeymoon. Was she always destined for such care? Had she always been meant to be kept in one way, or another?
“Ah, you don’t know what I’ve endured, my love,” Paul went on, brushing her hair away from her cheek. “My wife is a cold creature. A harridan.”
She didn’t feel a modicum of sympathy for him. This man and the Paul from her childhood were surely not the same person. That Paul from long ago was dead, if he’d ever truly existed at all.
“I’ve had to take many lovers these past months,” he confided in her ear. Tory’s eyes opened in surprise. “My wife can’t satisfy me,” he said with a shrug. His gaze ran over Tory again, hot now. “But you, my love. You will more than satisfy my every need.”
Tory swallowed and held herself still. Paul seemed to take her revulsion as reticence, and chuckled lightly.
“We have all the time in the world,” he told her, patting her cheek.
He dropped a lingering kiss on her brow. She clenched her hands into fists in an effort to keep from wiping away its memory as Paul took his leave. She said a silent prayer for the man’s continued patience and made her way into the small parlor. Withdrawing a piece of foolscap from the dainty desk, she penned a note to Patrick, a note that would free him from any obligation toward her and assure her freedom as well.
Dear Patrick,
I am sorry for all the trouble you have had to endure these past weeks because of my uncle’s illegal actions and associations.
Please be assured that I’m free from that horrid place and will no longer be an encumbrance in your life. I’ll no longer hold you to the vows you gave in Gretna Green.
If you will have the necessary papers drawn up, I’ll sign them.
With gratitude, Victoria
Tears dampened her cheeks as she finished the note that would effectively separate herself from her husband forever. It was for the best. She was certain he didn’t want her in any case. Otherwise, he would have seen to her continued protection. He would have gone back to visit her at Millbank, to reassure her in some way.
That Determined Mister Latham Page 25
