The Homeless Heiress

by Anne Herries

  He wondered how soon the money could be released. He needed it now if his plan were to work. His agents were at their deadly work even now and by tomorrow evening at the latest the Regent should be dead.

  It annoyed him that so much depended on the girl lying so pale and still on the bed. Without her his plan would founder because he did not have sufficient funds, even with the money he had cheated her uncle and others of at the card table. He had been so sure the countess’s money would be his until he learned she had planned to leave it all to a girl he had not known existed until it was too late. Georgie Bridges had refused to listen when he tried to flatter her—but she would not refuse him now. His mouth tightened. He must wait for a few hours longer, but when she woke he would show her no mercy. She would beg him to wed her once he had finished.

  Cursing once more, he turned away, taking the candle with him. The girl could die for all he cared if only he could get her money somehow. Hernshaw might ransom her if he asked, but it would not be enough for his needs. It must be all or nothing. No, he must keep her alive somehow, at least until he had her signature to their marriage. After that, he did not care what became of her—though he could not allow her to have her freedom, of course. She would have to die sooner or later, but he might keep her for his amusement for a while.

  He would fetch some water, see if he could revive her.

  Georgie moaned, her eyes flicking open as she felt something cool touch her face. Her head hurt and she felt as if she had been beaten, her body tender. Someone put a cup to her lips and bid her swallow. She did so, though it hurt her throat as she gulped the water down. She opened her eyes, giving a moan of fear as she saw the face bending over her. She thrust her hand out, knocking the cup away and spilling the water over herself.

  ‘Foolish girl,’ Thierry muttered. ‘I am only trying to help you. Those rogues almost killed you, tying you in that blanket. You were near suffocated when I released you. It is their fault you feel so ill, not mine.’

  Georgie pushed herself up against the pillows. She was in a strange bedchamber, somewhere she had never seen. She struggled to recall what had happened before she lost consciousness, and moaned as she remembered that she had been abducted.

  ‘You did this,’ she whispered, her voice rasping. ‘You told them to take me from the garden. It must have been you.’

  ‘Yes, it was me,’ he growled, glaring at her. ‘You’ve given me a fine chase, girl. If you had married me, it would have saved all this bother. Why did you run off like that? Surely it was not such a bad bargain? I would not have harmed you had you consented like a sensible girl.’

  ‘I would rather die than wed you,’ Georgie spat the words at him. ‘You are evil. You tried to have Richard killed. I hate you.’ She tried to roll across the bed and get up, but found she could not stand as a wave of dizziness swept over her and she fell back to the bed. ‘No, don’t touch me! I am going to be sick.’

  She lurched over to one side, retching on an empty stomach and bringing up the water he had given her mixed with a foul-smelling bile. Thierry turned away in disgust. All thought of seduction fled for the moment. He would leave her to come to her senses for a few hours.

  ‘I would have asked you to wed me in all honour had you not run off,’ he muttered. ‘It is your own fault that I was forced to such measures. The countess had no right to leave her fortune away from me. It should have been mine. I need if for a purpose…’

  ‘You want to help Napoleon Bonaparte regain the throne of France,’ Georgie said, sitting up against the pillows and looking at him warily. ‘Why should I let you take my money for such a purpose?’

  ‘Once you are my wife, it will be my money.’

  ‘But I shall not marry you. No matter what you say or do,’ Georgie declared defiantly.

  ‘You will do as I bid you when the time comes.’ Thierry’s eyes glittered. ‘If you resist, you will be sorry. Besides, I shall return in a little while and when I’ve finished with you no decent man will want you.’

  Georgie gasped and shrank back against the pillows, feeling a shaft of fear strike her. She knew that he meant every word and her mind reeled from the awful threat. She must find some way to prevent him from carrying out his intention. She shuddered with relief as he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him and she heard the key turning in the lock.

  She was safe for the moment. Georgie guessed that it was the acrid smell of her vomit that had driven him away for the moment. It was pretty horrid and she could feel her stomach turning in protest. She got up from the bed and moved away, feeling glad that he had at least left her a candle. She went across to the window and glanced out, her heart sinking as she realised that she must be on the second floor of the house. It was a long way down, and if she tried to jump out of the window she might break her ankle. Had there been a tree close enough, she might have climbed into it, for she had often climbed trees as a young girl, but there were none.

  Her head ached and she moved away, feeling that she needed to rinse the bitter taste from her mouth. Thierry had at least brought her water, and she discovered there was also a glass of wine and some cake. She thought the cake might help to settle the bile in her stomach and ate a piece of it, drinking a few sips of the wine. It was easier on her than the brackish water, which she had used to rinse her mouth, and she felt a little better in herself. Her mind was working furiously as she looked about the room, seeking some way she might escape from her captor.

  ‘I won’t let him force me,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I won’t…’ But how to stop him? She looked for a weapon, but the room contained only the basic furniture of a bed, chair and table. She thought it had probably seen better days, but was obviously neglected.

  Where was she? She had no idea how far they had travelled from Bath, because she had been close to suffocating inside that awful blanket and must have fainted. It was probably the reason she felt so unwell now, she reasoned, because her stomach still felt uncomfortable and her head ached badly. Perhaps she was sickening for something?

  She discovered a chest in the corner of the room. Lost in the shadows, she had hardly noticed it at first. Now she was drawn to it, hoping to find something inside the drawers that might help her keep Thierry at bay for a few hours longer. Jenny and Edward would know she was missing. They would tell Richard—but would he come looking for her? She had been nothing but a nuisance to him and he would be annoyed that she had been so careless as to let herself be kidnapped.

  Jenny cared about her. She still had friends, and surely Richard would help in the search if he knew—but she was not sure he was still in Bath. She must find some way of escaping herself.

  If she could just find something to help her… She came across the small porcelain pot in the drawer of the dressing chest and opened it, discovering the old rouge inside. It smelled awful and had a hard crust over the cream, but when she pushed her finger in deep she discovered that some of it was still soft. It stained the end of her finger red and she smiled as she began to hatch the beginnings of a plot.

  It was almost dawn when the small party of men brought their horses to a standstill in the trees at the end of a short drive. The house could be seen clearly at the end of the drive, and a candle was burning in the window of an upstairs room, but there were no lights downstairs that could be seen.

  ‘It looks as if you were right,’ Richard said, feeling a thrill of triumph. ‘The light means someone is here—and it surely must be him, as you guessed.’

  ‘Do you think that is where she is?’ Edward whispered. ‘If we had a ladder, we might climb up and look in.’

  ‘Too much risk of being discovered,’ Richard said. ‘We are four of us and armed. I do not know how many men he has, but I think we should go in and make a fight of it. Take them by surprise.’

  Edward looked at him doubtfully. ‘It would be better if we could somehow sneak her away…’

  ‘Thierry has had her for a few hours,’ Richard said. ‘If he has harmed her
, he is a dead man—if he attempts to harm her I shall shoot, but if he gives her up unharmed we’ll take him alive.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘I shall hand him over to Rawlings and his cronies, though God help him, he might be better off dead.’

  Edward nodded. ‘Well, you’ve more idea of what to expect than I have. I just hope Georgie is somewhere safe and out of it. If she is locked in, we can break the door down once we’ve taken care of Thierry and his rogues.’

  ‘We’ll split up into two groups and go in at the front and the back. If he has men here, they will probably be at the back, and hopefully sleeping or drunk, because they won’t be expecting us. He must think he has got away with it.’

  Georgie was lying on the bed with her eyes closed when she heard the key in the lock. She had smeared the old rouge into her cheeks, forehead and over her neck and hands. There was no mirror so she could not see the result of her work, but the candle had burned low in its socket and as yet there wasn’t much light coming from outside. With any luck it would look as if she had some kind of a fever.

  She moaned as she heard the door open and then footsteps coming into the bedchamber. She threw her arm out as if in a fever and turned her head further into the pillows, whimpering and moaning. If she could just make him think she was ill, he might leave her alone for a bit longer.

  ‘What is the matter with you?’ Thierry muttered, his voice thick and slurred. He had been drinking for the past couple of hours and was not quite steady on his feet. ‘Crying won’t help—’He broke off as he saw her red face and neck. ‘Good grief! Are you sickening for something?’

  Georgie rolled over towards him, her eyes flicking half-open. ‘Help me,’ she whimpered. ‘I think I have the scarlet fever…it was the gypsy child…’

  Thierry jumped back as if he had been scalded. ‘What child?’ he muttered, suspicious and yet nervous of catching some foul disease. She might have the pox or some other dread sickness. ‘Tell me, what child…?’

  Georgie whimpered and retched as if she was about to be sick again, and he drew back. ‘Water…please help me. I feel so ill…’

  ‘If you are trying to trick me…’ Thierry grumbled. His mind was not as clear as it ought to be and he hesitated, not sure of what was happening. He needed more light here, damn it! He carried his branch of candles to the table near the bed and set it down, peering at her as she lay tossing and turning in the covers. ‘What exactly is wrong, girl?’

  Georgie jerked up and snatched a glass of wine from the table beside the bed, throwing it into his face. He gave a snarl of rage and jerked back, temporarily blinded as it stung his eyes.

  ‘Damn you!’ he yelled as she was off the bed and running for the door, which he had neglected to lock. She wrenched it wider and was about to flee through it when she heard shouting from somewhere at the back of the house and the sound of gunfire. ‘Come back here or you will be sorry!’

  Thierry stumbled after her as she ran from the room, cursing and shouting as he started along the landing. She could hear more voices and another shot was fired and then she saw someone coming up the stairs. In the half-light she could not see his face, but instinct told her it must be Richard and she gave a cry of relief and welcome. He had come for her despite their quarrel. He might think she was a troublesome girl, but he had not let her down.

  ‘Come back here, damn you, girl,’ Thierry cried. ‘I have a pistol. I am warning you, I shall fire.’

  Georgie disregarded his warning, running towards the stairs as swiftly as she could. She heard the sound of a shot, felt the sharp sting as Thierry’s ball found its mark. Her body jerked and she tumbled to the ground at the feet of the man who had just reached the top. She heard the crack of a pistol above her head and then a scream as the ball found its mark. Her senses were spinning as the blackness gathered around her and she sank into oblivion.

  She was not aware of the man who knelt by her side, gently lifting her as the tears ran down his cheeks, or the sound of running feet.

  ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘Yes, just about,’ Richard said, his voice harsh, guttural. ‘I was not in time to stop him. I think he is dead, but you had better see. My aim may not have been true in the half-light.’

  Edward walked further along the landing to where Thierry lay face downward where he had fallen. He turned him over on his back, noting the small round hole where Richard’s ball had struck him between the eyes.

  ‘Dead instantly, I should imagine,’ he said and left the Frenchman, coming back to where Richard was gathering Georgie into his arms. ‘Get her to a doctor, my friend. You can leave me to tidy up here.’

  ‘Rawlings will not be best pleased. He was hoping for information. He says he believes an attack will be made on either the Regent or Wellington at any time now.’

  ‘Well, Thierry will not be taking part in any more plots against the State,’ Edward told him with grim satisfaction. ‘You are a crack shot, my friend. Had it been me, I should probably have winged him. Your shot was deadly.’

  Richard nodded, his expression grim as he cradled the unconscious girl to his chest. ‘I could have wished him to live to answer for his crimes,’ he said. ‘A quick death for him is not enough if she dies.’

  ‘You must get her to a doctor,’ Edward urged. ‘There is a chaise behind the house, probably waiting for Thierry when he was ready to leave. Take it and find the nearest physician. When he has done his work, take her back to Bath. She cannot travel to my home yet, even if she lives, but we shall go there as soon as she is able.’

  Richard nodded grimly, but said nothing as he carried his precious burden down the stairs and out to the chaise. The men he had brought with him were quick to harness horses, saying nothing as they saw his face. His plan to use the element of surprise had worked well, for Thierry’s men had been sleeping, waking to find themselves prisoners, and only a couple of them had gone for their weapons; they were nursing their wounds and wishing they had never met the Frenchman, who had not yet paid them for their work.

  Richard nodded as his men wished him Godspeed. He would reward them when he had time, but for now all that mattered was to get the girl he loved so much to a surgeon. If she died, he would blame himself, for had he gone to the dance as he’d promised he would never have allowed her to wander outside alone.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Thank God you were in Bath,’ Richard said as Henderson finished tending Georgie’s wound and straightened up. ‘I would trust you to tend her as much as any doctor, and it avoids the scandal as much as possible, though I dare say Jenny will have the doctor to her in the morning.’

  ‘I’ve done what I can with the wound,’ Henderson said, a harsh note in his voice. ‘But it is the first time I’ve taken a ball out of a woman, captain, and I can’t vouch for her life. You are strong and made a good recovery, but she’s a delicate lass…’ He sighed. ‘What were you about to let that devil take her in the first place?’

  Richard flinched at the note of accusation in his servant’s voice. He had endured reproachful looks from his sister when he first carried Georgie up to her bedchamber, but he needed neither of them to tell him that it was his fault Georgie had been taken. He had no doubt in his mind that she had gone outside because she was unhappy—and no one but Richard was to blame for that, because if he had been there with her it could not have happened.

  ‘It was my fault. I do not deny it,’ Richard said. ‘I should have made sure of him before this—and if she dies…’

  ‘We must hope she won’t,’ Henderson said and gave him a hard look before he went out.

  Richard looked down at Georgie’s pale face. Her hair was streaked with sweat and she looked almost lifeless as she lay there, her eyes closed, only a whimper of pain now and then to show that she was still living.

  Richard sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for her hand, carrying it to his lips, stroking it against his cheek as the tears slid down them.

  ‘Forgive me
, my dearest one,’ he said. ‘I do care about you—more than you will ever know—but I was afraid to let myself love you. I am not worthy of you, Georgie. You should have a younger man, one who can be all that you need him to be.’

  He leaned forward, brushing his lips over hers. Georgie whimpered, her eyelids flickering without opening. He smiled and stroked the hair from her forehead. He was needed in London, but he would not leave her until he was sure she was out of danger, and if she died… Richard’s expression was harsh as he realised that the world would seem empty without this girl. She had caused him nothing but trouble, but for him life was hardly worth the living without her.

  Georgie moaned as her eyes flickered open and she stared at the person bending over her without truly seeing who it was. She was aware of the pain in her shoulder, a burning, searing pain that hurt so much she could scarcely bear it. She did not know what was the matter with her for she had been ill for some days now, a fever raging in her mind and body. She was not as hot now as she had been, but the pain was still very bad.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked, the mist clearing enough for her to see that it was a woman who tended her. ‘What happened to me?’

  ‘Oh, my dearest Georgie,’ the woman said and placed a cool hand on her forehead. ‘You are awake at last. I was so afraid that you would die and Richard has been beside himself with fear for you. You looked as if you had a terrible fever, but it was only rouge and I washed it off.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Georgie asked, frowning as she struggled to remember. She knew that something terrible had happened, but for the moment it escaped her. ‘Who is Richard?’ She gave a little cry as the pain stabbed at her shoulder.

  ‘You ask who Richard is?’ Jenny said, looking at her in dismay. ‘He is my brother. Do you not remember him? He rescued you from the streets of London when you were near starving. Surely you must remember? You told me once that you loved him.’