“Yes,” Verity replied faintly. A warm feeling infused her body at this latest bit of insight into Lord Carrisworth’s character. This morning she had learned the reason why he had felt a need to keep people away was so they could not hurt him.
They had reached the door, and Verity was brought out of her musings when Gloria moaned. The countess pressed a hand to her stomach looking decidedly queasy.
Alarmed, Verity let Empress jump from her arms to the floor. She grasped Gloria’s arm. “Are you ill? Shall I take you abovestairs to rest?”
Gloria’s complexion had paled but she managed to smile ruefully. “No, it shall not be necessary, although I thank you for your kindness, dear. This discomfort most likely comes from my gluttony with your cook’s delicious cakes. My carriage is right outside, and I shall do until I can get home.”
Concern for Gloria’s condition made Verity step outside the townhouse and down the front steps. Despite the countess’s protests, Verity walked her to her carriage and waited while the footman helped her into the coach before folding up the steps and taking his place on the back of the carriage.
Gloria gave a weak smile and wave as the vehicle moved out into the line of traffic.
Watching the departing coach with a worried frown on her face, Verity never saw Lord Davies approach. But she did feel the cold steel of the pistol through her thin muslin gown.
“Walk,” he commanded, indicating the direction by prodding her with the pistol.
Too shocked and frightened to do otherwise, Verity obeyed,
Empress, standing in the open doorway, saw the man with the tassels on his boots push Verity into a waiting carriage.
“Miaow!” she shrieked.
Entering the hall, Lady Hyacinth heard the fear in the too cat’s voice, and her hands flew to her chest. “Merciful heavens. Empress—”
But she got no further as the cat raced out the door and down the front steps.
Lady Hyacinth followed her out the door where she saw the cat running down the sidewalk. “Empress! Come back here! Empress!”
Then with utter horror Lady Hyacinth saw where the cat was going. Verity was being forcibly bundled into a closed coach by Lord Davies—there was no mistaking his red hair.
With a lurch the coach pulled away from the curb and took off at a smart pace. The silver-gray cat raced after it and with an incredible flying leap landed in the empty tiger’s perch, all eighteen claws holding on for dear life.
Chapter Eleven
The Marquess of Carrisworth felt sober and refreshed after his bath. He sat in the morning room sipping coffee and planning how he would approach Verity. Thinking to ask her to go with him for a turn around the Park as the day was fine, he had dressed for driving. He was confident he could persuade her to change her thinking even if he had to use his lips to do so.
Digby entered the room and extended a silver tray holding a missive.
Lord Carrisworth accepted the letter and dismissed the butler. When he opened the parchment, the topaz eardrops slipped from the paper onto his lap.
The marquess picked them up, remembering how they had gleamed in the moonlight the evening before against Verity’s creamy skin. How they had sparkled like her brown eyes. How he had brushed them with his fingertips when his hand had moved around to cradle her head as he lowered his lips to hers.
He turned his attention to the brief message.
My Lord Carrisworth,
Thank you for lending me these, but I must return them. As you know, I cannot keep such a gift as it would not be proper to do so.
Verity Pymbroke
Lord Carrisworth gritted his teeth and called himself every kind of fool. While he could not blame her for returning the jewels, as it truly was not done for a lady of genteel birth to accept such a valuable token, her refusal to keep them only served as a timely reminder that Miss Pymbroke would never abandon her strict principles.
Never.
“Digby!” he shouted, tossing the missive and the eardrops on a side table.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said, scurrying into the room.
“Have my curricle brought around at once.” He would go for that ride in the Park alone. Maybe it would clear his head. It was the fashionable hour, and perhaps, the marquess thought quite miserably, he should consider the prospect of acquiring a new mistress instead of a wife.
Suddenly the door to the morning room burst open and Lady Iris stomped in, her wig askew. Lady Hyacinth trailed behind her using one of her shawls to wipe the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.
“Carrisworth! Verity’s been kidnapped and they’ve got Empress, too!” Lady Iris barked out. “Hyacinth says that bloody miscreant Davies took her away in a closed carriage—”
“I did not say ‘bloody,’” Lady Hyacinth declared hotly. “I never use oaths. So coarse. But Iris is wasting time, my lord. You must go after them. Now. You gentlemen know how to go about these things.” Lady Hyacinth made a shooing motion as if to hasten the marquess on his way.
Perry stood very still, his fists clenched at his sides. His cool and determined tone belied the wave of sheer black fright that had taken over every fiber of his being. “Naturally, I shall go after her. But I must understand exactly what happened so I may determine how best to proceed.” He turned a burning green gaze toward Lady Iris, knowing she would be the more coherent.
Lady Iris reached up and straightened her wig. “Perhaps half an hour past, Bingwood found Hyacinth in a swoon out on the front steps. He got her inside and summoned me. Took forever to bring her around and get the story out of her. It seems Hyacinth was crossing the hall when her attention was caught by Empress. The cat was standing in the open doorway to the front entrance raising the devil of a ruckus. When Hyacinth went to investigate,Empress took off down the street.”
Lady Hyacinth could remain silent no longer. “That is when I saw Lord Davies pushing Verity into a closed coach. And she was without her gloves or bonnet!”
“I’m sure had she known she was about to be kidnapped she would have gotten the damn gloves and bonnet beforehand!” Lady Iris yelled at her sister.
Lady Hyacinth erupted into fresh tears.
“Ladies!” the marquess roared, his control snapping. A half hour ago! Good God, the dastard could have taken her anywhere in that time. Thinking aloud he said, “Davies was recently disgraced at the gaming tables. Although I fail to see what that would have to do with Miss Pymbroke. Despite certain events at Vauxhall I cannot believe he has formed a violent tendre for her which would lead him to whisk her away to Gretna Green.”
“Verity’s got no money so he couldn’t be thinking of compromising her to get his hands on a large dowry,” Lady Iris pointed out. “By Jupiter, I have always thought there was something doubtful about him besides the fact he fancies himself a Dandy. Heard he divides his time between his tailor, the gaming tables, and the theater.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Lady Hyacinth put in eagerly, her tears stopping abruptly. “Why, I was taking tea with Lady Edwina the other day, you know she has the best French cook, and between the most delicious scones she told me Lord Davies was often seen in the company of that actress, my lord, the one you used to ... oh, dear, that is, I mean to say . ..”
Lord Carrisworth sharpened his gaze on Lady Hyacinth. “Do you mean Roxanna Hollings?”
Lady Hyacinth nodded her head, clearly embarrassed at having referred to his lordship’s former mistress.
The marquess’s thoughts raced. Roxanna. Could she have something to do with this? He knew the actress wanted to be his mistress again. With London gossip being what it was, she was most likely aware of his interest in Verity. But why would she be desperate enough to—with a sickening feeling in his stomach Lord Carrisworth remembered that word in the clubs was the Duke of Covington had severed his connection with Roxanna. She was currently without a protector, a situation that might very well make a grasping woman reckless. He must find out what she knew about Verity’s a
bduction.
“Well,” Lady Iris fretted, “do you think you can find her?”
“I shall not rest until I do,” Lord Carrisworth informed her.
All three went out into the hall, the marquess picking up his hat and driving gloves from a table. “Digby!” he called.
When the harried butler materialized and assured his lordship his curricle was waiting for him outside, the marquess turned toward the ladies. “Go home and await word from me there.”
Lady Iris reached out to touch his sleeve. “And Empress, you won’t forget her, will you? Hyacinth said the brave thing ran after the carriage and clung to it as it pulled away.”
“No, my lady, I shall not neglect to bring the little one home,” his lordship assured her, managing a tight smile.
Then he was gone, leaving the ladies standing close together.
* * * *
Roxanna was lounging in bed seemingly without a care in the world when the Marquess of Carrisworth crashed open the door to the room.
“Perry, my darling!” she exclaimed, scrambling out of the bed to hurry to his side. She stopped a few feet away when she saw the seething anger that hardened his features.
“Where has he taken her?” the marquess bit out.
Roxanna’s face was the picture of innocence. “Whatever are you speaking of—”
Lord Carrisworth took a step toward his former mistress. His angry gaze swung over her, and he allowed her to see the contempt with which he held her. “Tell me without the tiniest bit of delay, Roxanna.”
She sputtered, then, realizing the game was over, tried one last tactic. “Ramsgate. The baron is leaving the country and confided in me he was going to take Miss Pymbroke with him. I believed she truly wanted to go, Perry. Some women like a strong man—”
Lord Carrisworth cut her off, his voice cold and lashing. “Be silent! Davies does not care for Miss Pymbroke nor she for him. You must have offered to pay him. The baron, because he has been ostracized from Society, is probably the only man in London who has not heard you are no longer with Covington and therefore not in a position to obtain funds. Although why you thought that ruining the woman I love might benefit you I am blessed if I know. Nothing could have ever induced me to entangle myself with you again.”
Roxanna’s expression became defiant and her face flushed an unbecoming red.
The marquess turned on his heel without another word and quit the room. As he rushed-down the stairs, he could hear Roxanna’s scream of pure fury.
* * * *
It was hard to tell if Verity or Lord Davies was more miserable inside the traveling coach.
They had been on the road without a break for close on two hours. Verity’s initial fear had dissipated and been replaced by anger and determination. She felt confident she could get away from the useless fop sitting across from her if only the carriage would stop bowling over the countryside.
Indeed, she fumed, she had behaved stupidly by allowing Lord Davies to bully her into the coach in the first place. While she remained totally baffled as to why he had kidnapped her since he refused to tell her anything but that they were for Ramsgate, she did not believe for a moment that he was capable of pulling the trigger of the pistol he held on her.
Her chief concern was how to get back to London once away from her captors. She knew from Lord Davies that the coachman was part of the scheme, so trying to persuade him to help her would net her nothing.
Verily rested her head on the back of the seat and wondered if Lord Carrisworth was aware of her disappearance. Would he find it ironic that she had seemingly fled to Ramsgate with another man? Her heart jumped when she realized he most likely had no idea where she had gone. How could he? Dear God, what if she never saw him again? Verity felt panic rise in her chest and forced herself to take a deep breath.
She pushed thoughts of the marquess from her mind. What of Lady Iris and Lady Hyacinth? They would be frantic when they discovered her missing.
Verity glared at Lord Davies. “Pray, when are we going to stop? I have suffered enough with this constant bouncing and jostling. Could you not have at least been considerate enough to hire a well-sprung vehicle for the gross impropriety of this journey that you have foisted on me?”
Instead of answering, Lord Davies shot her a look of loathing and wished Verity Pymbroke at the devil. He had been subjected to her moralizing for the better part of an hour. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and his hand holding the pistol on his victim felt cramped. Worst of all, his cravat, normally a source of pride, was wilting.
He had been seriously considering ordering the coachman to hand over the package he was to deliver at Ramsgate now and set off on his own. “We shall break at the next inn for refreshments.”
Verity tried to keep the excitement from showing on her face. This was it! She would simply excuse herself to take care of a personal need and then run.
What she had not counted on was the burly coachman who pulled out his own pistol when Lord Davies stepped into the Curtis Arms Inn to procure food and drink. Nor had she realized twilight was upon them and, even if she did get away, she would have to find her way back to London alone in the dark. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm her and she swallowed hard.
Still, she thought, climbing down from the coach, it might be the only chance she would have. “Excuse me, but I shall just step around back for a moment,” she told the coachman firmly.
“I’ll go with yer.” The man’s leering grin revealed several missing teeth.
Bother! Verity felt tears of frustration form behind her eyes. The frightening thought that she had underestimated the baron ran through her mind and she shivered.
To one side of the small inn was an ill-kept garden with a few tables and chairs set about. Lord Davies reappeared from inside the inn and motioned them to a table.
Verity bit her lip as the coachman led her to a seat next to the baron, and then took up a position a short distance away, still leering at her.
A serving girl brought out a tankard of ale for Lord Davies and some wine for Verity. Thick slices of bread and cheese and a plate of blackberry tarts were set before them. Verity’s stomach let out an unladylike rumble, but she was too nervous to eat.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Empress jumped up onto the table, rapidly traversed the few steps to Lord Davies’s tankard of ale, lowered her head, and began to drink thirstily, spraying drops of ale in her exuberance. Her long silver fur was matted and small pieces of grass and straw clung to her from her long ride on the tiger’s seat.
“Empress!” Verity cried in astonishment.
Lord Davies rose to his feet. “That blasted cat! How the devil did it get here?”
Empress paused in her drinking to stare at the baron with catly disdain. Then she casually hopped off the table and began inspecting Lord Davies’s Hessian boots. More specifically, the tassels that decorated them.
The baron’s face turned purple. “Oh no, you will not, you vicious defiler of boots!” So caught up was he in his rage at the cat for her previous offense, which he viewed was about to be repeated momentarily, that he forgot his surroundings and his circumstances and pointed his pistol at the feline.
Verity watched in horror as he took aim at Empress. “Stop!” she screamed, then lunged at his arm holding the deadly pistol, causing it to swing wildly to the left. The gun went off, and the company heard a bloodcurdling howl from the coachman who clutched his leg and fell to the ground. The innkeeper and several patrons came running.
A curricle sped into the midst of the calamity; it halted in the yard and its driver sprinted to the scene.
“Perry!” Verity cried and threw herself into his arms.
Lord Carrisworth held her tightly for a moment, and then pulled her away a bit to gaze anxiously into her brown eyes. “You are not hurt?”
“No, my love, I am not. But how ever did you find me?”
Relief surged through the marquess at finding Verity safe. A relief that was heightened by
hearing the words “my love.” He raised a hand to smooth a wayward curl from her cheek. “Go inside the inn. Allow me to take care of some business here, and then I shall drive you back to Town.”
The innkeeper’s wife, recognizing members of the Quality and shooting her husband a dark look for having not done so earlier, fussed over Verity while leading her inside where she could freshen up.
But Verity was impatient to be with the marquess and took but a few moments to wash her face and hands before she was back downstairs.
Lord Carrisworth was waiting for her and smiled at her entrance. “Come, my avenging angel, I shall explain all to you on the drive. We must be on our way. As it is, darkness has fallen, and I fear for your reputation.”
“We cannot forget Empress,” Verity breathed, hardly able to keep from staring into his eyes.
The marquess chuckled. “She seems a bit bosky and is already asleep in the middle of the curricle seat. I shall allow you to move her to the floor.”
Once they were on their way, with a disgruntled Empress at their feet, Lord Carrisworth explained Roxanna’s plan. He told Verity how he had pushed his horses to their limits in order to catch up, fearing he would not be able to do so.
He neglected to tell her of the facer he had planted on the baron’s left jaw. “Lord Davies was quite upset upon finding the package that was supposed to be filled with money contained plain paper. He is for the continent, though, and we shall not be troubled by him. As for Roxanna, after I’m finished talking about her at the clubs, no gentleman will find an interest in her again.”
Verity huddled closer to him on the curricle seat. She did not want to dwell on Roxanna and Lord Davies. There was something she had to say to Lord Carrisworth. Something she had come to realize during the afternoon’s events. Her heart thumped in her chest. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to speak, but he put an arm around her and said, “Try to rest, my landlady.”
Miss Pymbroke's Rules Page 18
