“Delia, no!” cried Lady Harriet, horrified, as she tried desperately to draw her disordered clothing over her chest, still crying in the corner. Her face was stained with tears and humiliation as the futility of her efforts to cover herself or help her friend and almost-sister became evident.
“Harriet!” Lady Delia cried, “Be calm. I will not let him hurt you.”
Mr. Rosewood laughed and settled himself on top of her on the bed. Though her ankles were tied, he lay against her belly, running his hands down her gown and pulling up the hem.
“Though it will be no pleasure for me to take a frigid termagant like you,” he began, “I find that I must in order to punish you for those months of hiding. And little sister can watch, knowing that what you are enjoying will be hers next.”
A wave of nausea swept up from Lady Delia’s stomach at the thought and she gasped at him that she would retch. Rosewood jumped off of the bed as she gagged and turned away from him but he was immediately distracted at the sound of his name.
“Christopher?” came a woman’s voice from above-stairs.
“Yes, my love. Down here,” he called.
“I hear so much shouting,” came the voice as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Gigi walked into the room and saw her lover, next to a dry-heaving Lady Delia and Lady Harriet with her torn gown, still on the floor.
“Good god, Christopher. You really are a pig,” she said. Lady Delia stared at this gorgeous ladybird, dressed in a provocative gown with a bodice that barely covered an inch of her extremely generous bosom. “It hardly seems appropriate to be raping boring virgins when I am above-stairs and perfectly willing?” she said, with one eyebrow raised at the ladies in the room.
“Gigi, my darling,” Christopher said, coming briskly to her side. He moved to make introductions. “Girls, this is Gigi. She is my one true love. And if not for her and her expensive tastes, I might not have found myself in a position where I’ve kidnapped two ladies of the ton to hold for ransom and perhaps enjoy. But she gives me more pleasure than I can tolerate and I must do whatever she asks. And when she asks for a fortune and a new life, I comply.”
Lady Delia turned her head to stare at the courtesan. She certainly was beautiful, but in a cheap and overblown sort of way. Not that it mattered, as Gigi appeared to be quite content with her lot. Lady Delia’s stomach had settled a bit from its revulsion at her guardian’s threats against herself and Lady Harriet, but as she watched Rosewood run his hands along the body of his mistress and whisper to her, she wondered how much time she had before it became too late.
Chapter 35
Lord Durham found the Earl of Blackwell back at the phaeton in Bond Street as he carried the card his sister had dropped in the alley. He was shaking with fear and rage.
“Blackwell! You’re here. Where the devil have you been?”
“On my way to you,” his friend replied and, seeing Lord Durham in such a state quickly asked seriously, “What on earth has happened?”
“Delia. It’s Delia. And Harriet. They’ve been kidnapped.”
“What!”
“I found this card on the ground in the alley just down the street. It’s Harriet’s. They were together and the phaeton’s been abandoned.”
“But why both of them? Do you think it was Rosewood?”
“I’m certain of it. There is no other explanation. And as for Harriet—I imagine they just took her because the two of them were together. And if Rosewood needs money, he probably assumes he can demand an exorbitant amount for them both.”
Lord Blackwell looked sick as he repeated, “Harriet’s been taken.”
“Yes.”
“Good god.”
“I fear I am ill-equipped to deal with this situation. I am too furious to think clearly.” His friend breathed deeply and looked about for the Marquess’ horse, which was tied up haphazardly in front of the shop.
“You have your mount? Excellent. We know that Rosewood is associated with Gigi.”
“Correct.”
“Gigi does not yet know that we are aware of the connection between them?”
“I do not believe so.”
“Then it is clear. They do not expect us to put them together so quickly. We should leave immediately for the house you have leased for Gigi and simply force Rosewood’s location out of her. Or, if we are lucky, he may be there already.”
But the Marquess was already swinging a leg up onto his horse and Lord Blackwell was not far behind.
“I can only pray they do not have another place to go,” the Marquess called out as his friend followed him. They rode through the crowded, darkened streets until the people thinned out and they found themselves in the neighborhood of Lord Durham’s former mistress.
“Do you believe they would hold the ladies in Sparrow Street?” asked Lord Blackwell as they approached the row of small, neat houses.
“I do not know. But we will find out soon enough.”
The men made their way slowly down the street and had soon appeared in front of the familiar, small, door. The house was quiet and dark and Lord Durham was concerned they had reached a dead end.
“Are you armed?”
“I have a pistol,” said Lord Blackwell. “Have you?”
“I did not think to bring one,” he replied. I must rely on you for any required shooting, though I do hope that none is necessary.”
“As do I. Let us assume that Rosewood is not mad enough to desire violence and is only engaged in kidnapping to avoid being hauled into bankruptcy court.”
“Quite so.” The Marquess heaved a sigh and climbed the stairs. The door was locked, but he extracted the key he possessed to the lady’s house and it turned. Quietly, the men entered the hall and closed the door behind them, listening carefully. The Marquess raised an eyebrow at his friend, inquiring if they should go further. At Blackwell’s nod, he continued forward slowly, hoping to mask the sound of his heavy footfalls.
The entire floor appeared to be deserted, and in a hurry, as the doors were all left open and then men could hear nothing. Shortly, the Marquess reached the back kitchens and found himself looking into a tiny garden behind the house. As he looked out, however, he saw that the bi-folding doors covering the entrance to the cellar were unlocked. Narrowing his eyes, he pointed a gloved finger at the window in a downward direction. The Earl nodded back in agreement. They excited the house through the back door and entered the garden, approaching the cellar doors with slow caution.
As they approached the flat, wooden boards that formed two doors at a low angle to the ground, covering the entrance to the cellar, they heard voices. The Marquess stopped short and motioned.
“I am concerned that Rosewood may be armed,” he whispered to Blackwell.
“I am as well,” he replied. “But I do not think we have any choice, if Lady Harriet and Lady Delia are below.”
“That is true. I will proceed and declare myself armed, attempting to confuse and distract him. You must follow with the gun once you think you have the advantage.”
Blackwell nodded an assent. Durham bent and threw open the door to the cellar.
Chapter 36
Lady Delia heard the door open from where she lay, still tied to the shaky little bed in the cellar of the little house where she was being held. She feared it was Gigi returning with more insults, but then at least she would distract her guardian, who seemed to become increasingly insane by the hour. Mr. Rosewood did not even look up until he heard boot steps that seemed heavier than Gigi’s light tread. He was pacing at the foot of the bed, alternately staring at Harriet or abusing Delia, whichever seemed to occur to him at the moment.
“Gigi, my love, is that you?”
“It is not, you disgusting maggot,” came the rough voice that Lady Delia had been praying for since her abduction.
“Mason!” she shouted, with Harriet immediately echoing. Mr. Rosewood dove for his pistol, which he had left on a table across the room and he grabbed it, pointing it at the Ma
rquess’ belly as he strode down the stairs into the dank room.
“I would not suggest shooting me,” Lord Durham drawled icily. “As it is clear from your desperate and pathetic kidnapping attempt that—“
“Not another step!” screamed Mr. Rosewood madly, waving the gun at the Marquess, who had to duck to see into the room and had not yet reached the final stair. Durham arrested his progress but continued to speak calmly.
“Now, Rosewood, if you wish to extract any financial concessions from me, which is, I can only assume, the only reason you have resorted to the kidnapping of two tiresome young women, I highly suggest refraining from murdering the…’golden goose’ shall we say?”
“Stay back!”
“I will of course, do so, but suggest you contemplate how you expect to extort a ransom from a dead man,” the Marquess continued, looking calmly and raising one eyebrow at Rosewood as he slowly took the final step down into the grim cellar.
“I can marry your wretched fiancé even with you dead!” retorted Mr. Rosewood and Delia cried out from the rickety bed.
“No! I will never marry you with Mason dead!” Lady Delia shouted. “You will have to kill me before I would sign the marriage license!”
“I am afraid, Mr. Rosewood, you have little in the way of a chance at success. It appears Lady Delia does not wish to marry you. And, I, if dead, will be unable to pay your price for the release of my sister and fiancé. As far as I can see your only solution is to negotiate with me and put down your weapon.”
“I was not born yesterday, your lordship,” sneered Mr. Rosewood. “I have no interest in negotiating with your type, nor you. Leave this basement, return with a draft for fifty thousand pounds, and I will think about speaking with you at that time. Until then, I have nothing else to say to you.”
“I assure you that will not happen,” replied the Marquess easily. “I take exception to my fiancé and my sister being tied up, you see, especially while they are in the company of sniveling worms. In ugly houses, unchaperoned. I will not, Mr. Rosewood, be leaving.”
“You will do as I say! I am the one with the pistol!”
“And I am the one with the pocketbook, Mr. Rosewood. Now, I tire of this charade and I am growing increasingly displeased with the fact that Lady Harriet and Lady Delia remain bound and uncomfortable.”
“Try to untie them. See what happens.”
“Mr. Rosewood, need I remind you that your entire future depends on their safety and well-being as well as my own? Be reasonable. Put down the weapon and I will consider doing precisely as you ask. In fact, I have brought with me a draft from my bank. I need only fill in the appropriate name and amount.” Mason very gingerly drew from his breast pocket a leather-bound booklet and held it out in front of him.
Mr. Rosewood looked at last as though he had been taken off guard.
“A remarkably intelligent course of action, for someone as colossally stupid as yourself,” he spat. “You can think to bring a pocketbook but you can’t think to bring a pistol.”
“Alas, I am not perfect,” replied the Marquess with easy indifference. Mr. Rosewood stepped forward but did not realize that Lord Durham was not actually on the ground floor of the cellar but one step above. When Mr. Rosewood was within arm’s reach, the Marquess leapt at him, grabbing the gun and twisting it furiously. As he wrested the gun from the kidnapper, he heard Mr. Rosewood’s wrist snap. He screamed and Lord Blackwell came flying down the stairs.
“Delia! Harriet! Are you unharmed?” Lord Durham shouted as he pointed the newly wrested pistol at Rosewood, who was lying on the ground, grasping his broken wrist.
Lady Harriet was weeping quietly in the dark corner and Lady Delia struggled in her bonds.
“Mason, please,” she sobbed.
“You bastard!” Mr. Rosewood shrieked. Then the Marquess brought the pistol straight down onto his temple and he fell unconscious. Since Blackwell was looking in the dark for Lady Harriet, for there was only one low lamp in the room and it was near Delia, he was immediately at her side, untying the bindings.
“I’ll kill him,” he heard Lord Blackwell say as he comforted the Marquess’ weeping sister. “My god, Lady Harriet—“
“Don’t! Just—don’t! Don’t look at me,” she choked. Lord Blackwell saw her torn gown and tried not to notice her lovely breasts as he turned her gently around so that her back was to him. The rage in his belly made his hands shake as he clumsily began to untie her bound wrists. The instant they were free, her hands flew to draw close her chemisette and the Earl removed his coat to wrap around her, his gut twisting with terror at what might have already happened to her.
“Mason!” Lady Delia sobbed. He kissed her as he worked at her ties.
“My darling Delia, I am so sorry,” he said, “I—have you been—“ he couldn’t even bring himself to ask what had happened. He had seen his sister’s torn gown and Delia was lying on the bed with her skirts above her knees and his vision had gone black. Delia clung to him in terror and he could not but move a muscle.
“Mason! Don’t leave me!”
“My darling, I will not, but I must tie up—“
“Do not trouble yourself, Mason,” came Lord Blackwell’s voice. He was already using the bonds he had removed from Lady Harriet to tie up Rosewood, while she begged to leave the awful place.
“I cannot bear to see this room a second longer,” she wept. “Please.”
“My dear sister,” Lord Durham plucked Delia off the bed and carried her to where the Earl had his arm around his sister’s waist and was staring down at Rosewood. “We shall go immediately. Simon, with Rosewood tied up and unconscious, we can simply leave him here and return later to collect him and place him on a ship to Australia or with the magistrate. There is no rush to do so now.”
“Agreed. I have tied together his wrists and ankles. It’s extremely unlikely that he will be able to escape from this before we can return.”
“Quite.”
Lord Durham carried Delia up the stairs and the Earl helped Harriet, who was stumbling slightly with the Earl’s heavy coat still tightly pulled around her, but refusing the Earl’s offer to carry her. Her horror at her state of undress was all consuming.
Chapter 37
When the party at last arrived at Durham House, Lady Harriet fled for her chambers and called for her maid immediately, while the Marquess sent Miss Henry to her as well. He personally carried Lady Delia up the stairs to her chamber and had word sent to Lady Burke to come immediately to Durham House. Lady Delia was so cold she was shivering and could not get warm. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was smudged with purple and she looked so white, he was afraid at times that she had stopped breathing.
“Delia,” he whispered. She moaned and tears leaked out of her eyes.
“I was so afraid,” she said. “It was my fault! I should never have tried to deposit the manuscript! And poor, darling, Harriet! She is so terrified and it’s all my fault! That horrible man—“
“She will recover with your help, my love,” said the Marquess. “She is a strong girl. You must not feel so badly. It was my fault for refusing to go with you to the publisher. I should have known you would not so easily ignore your obligations.”
“Mason…what if you had not come? He was going to—“
“Don’t speak of it!” said her betrothed harshly. “I will kill him.”
“No,” she moaned. “I could not bear to lose you.”
“You are safe now.”
He then called for Amelia to bring a hot bath and once the copper tub was full, he dismissed her from the room. Amelia looked ready to argue but his lordship had nearly shouted at her to get out. “I will care for my own fiancé! She needs more help than you can give her. Go see that Lady Harriet has everything she needs. Now.”
Mason carefully pulled off Delia’s soiled gown and tossed it to burn in the fireplace. He never wanted her to see it again, or be reminded of that terrible day. She would never wear it again. Nothing
that would remind her of the trauma would be permitted. He slowly eased off her undergarments, despite her protests.
“Hush, my love,” he said. “I will bathe you.”
“But—“
“You are not strong enough and are so cold.” He gently lifted her into the steaming bath and immediately began to wash her. The hands, which were soiled from trying to untie her bonds in the dirty basement, were submerged in steaming water and he massaged her back with a soft cloth. Then he bent to kiss her tear-stained face. Her glorious hair, so tangled and bedraggled from being dragged from the alley, he smoothed and gently combed. With every stroke, he vowed to murder Rosewood repeatedly, just as soon as his precious Delia was warm and safe in her bed.
“Mason.”
“Yes, my precious, darling, love?”
“I knew you would come for me.”
“Of course I would.”
“When can we be married? I am so afraid Christopher will force me—but he must agree—I cannot bear to be in this state of unknowing any more.”
“Oh my sweet, we will be married tomorrow if you wish. And I have something to tell you.”
Lady Delia looked at him through swollen eyes and asked what he would say.
“Christopher Rosewood is not actually your guardian. He lied. He has no power over you and can never hurt you again.”
Lady Delia’s violet eyes opened wide for the first time since the ordeal.
“He isn’t? But how were we all so fooled!”
“You were not fooled. Your actual guardian is the new Earl of Ellsworth, naturally, your cousin, Augustine Harcourt. But Rosewood had influenced your father to give him a legacy, which permitted him to be present for the reading of the will, during which you were judged too aggrieved to attend. He was then able to claim to be your guardian, knowing that your true guardian would not be present to claim his duties for a period of several months. He recollected, I am assuming, that within that time he could coerce you into a marriage. Or at least compromise you—“ Mason choked. He could not bring himself to utter the word ‘rape,’ “such that your guardian was not in a position to refuse the match.”
A Lady Compromised (The Ladies) Page 20
