by Beth Elliott
Richard frowned. ‘I do not care for him above half.’
‘No matter. He is definitely in danger. He must not go anywhere alone.’
‘You mean he is the next one on the list for—?’
Greg’s brows snapped down and Richard turned his comment into a cough.
‘How Lord Liverpool thinks you will make a diplomat, I cannot guess.’ Greg softened his reproof with a slight lift of one brow and strolled away. In the card room he wandered around, inspecting the play at different tables. He stopped just out of sight when he heard the drawling voice of his enemy. The man was seated facing Lord Montallan at a small table a little apart. They appeared to be playing piquet.
Greg could not see where Preston was but he had given him precise orders about engaging Lord Percival in play during the course of the evening. It should be easy enough to needle him by winning, then see what tricks he would employ to win his money back.
‘… Davenport is in the sullens. Knows that with no fortune any more he has no chance of getting her,’ Lord Montallan was saying in a low voice, ‘so I told him I would get her, even marry her if need be, what!’ He gave a snort of` laughter and refilled his glass from the bottle of port on the table between the two of them. ‘After all, she is a considerable heiress.’
Greg dug his fists into his pockets but he remained still and silent, unnoticed by the two men as they kept their eyes on their cards.
Lord Montallan set his empty glass down, selected another card and added, ‘He looked very cast down at that. Pretty little filly, ain’t she? Lively, what!’ He waited for his friend to agree, then went on, ‘Told him we could share her, though – as usual. Gad, George, you should have seen his face.’ He gave a coarse laugh. ‘I swear he had never thought of such a thing. Looked ready to call me out.’
‘You were a fool, Monty,’ came the reply. ‘We have never initiated him into that side of our affairs. We must keep him sweet, while he can still be of use.’
There was the sound of more wine being poured. ‘And then…?’
‘And then,’ said Lord Percival in a voice of venom, ‘he has to … er, disappear. Herring has his orders.’ He set out his cards. ‘My trick, I believe.’
Lord Montallan grunted assent. Picking up another card, he remarked, ‘That fellow is a clumsy brute, but he will do anything you tell him. Er … how much longer is Davenport going to be useful?’
Lord Percival’s voice sank. ‘Tonight. Maybe tomorrow.’
Greg listened, tight jawed. As he suspected, now they had their share of the money from the transport ship, they were going to finish their business in Bath. Before Josiah Whitby arrived to arrest them, Greg wanted his chance to solve the mystery of his brother’s debt and his fatal accident. It was time for Preston to engage Lord Percival in a game of cards to provoke the villain into cheating. Then Greg could force a quarrel on him.
Taking care to keep out of the candlelight as much as possible, Greg moved away looking for Preston. He found him at last, engaged in a game of whist. The players were so absorbed that they were not aware of his presence. Greg could only stand and wait.
Someone came and stood beside him. It was Lord Montallan, who seemed to be looking for a chance to join the game. With an inward curse, Greg turned away and glanced back at the table in the corner. Lord Percival had gone. Keeping his pace leisurely, Greg left the room and headed for the ballroom. He would check on his brother and the girls. His quarry would not get far. The Riding Officers must have reached the town by now.
As soon as he entered the ballroom, Mrs Keating and her son came up to him.
‘Oh, Mr Thatcham, how delightful that you have returned to Bath,’ beamed the kind little lady. ‘We were afraid we would miss seeing you to say goodbye. We leave for London in a very few days.’
Greg bowed over her hand. ‘I shall be in Town again soon, ma’am, never fear.’ He gave her his charming smile. ‘And I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you all again at another ball.’
‘It has been a very pleasant six weeks here,’ she said. ‘Such a delightful group of young people. Lavinia has become quite accustomed to being in Society. But what a pity that Miss Davenport is not able to be here this evening.’
Greg felt a tingle of alarm. Instinct warned him that something was wrong. ‘Is she indisposed?’ he enquired smoothly.
‘Oh no! She very kindly went to see a sick friend of her mama’s and has stayed longer than was planned. Miss Gardiner is expecting to see her at any moment.’
Greg inclined his head. ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ He hastened to where Lizzie was dancing with Lucas Wilden and unceremoniously hauled her out of the set.
‘Where is Sarah?’
‘Really, Greg, could you not have waited until the end of the dance?’
‘Not one second!’ His voice was urgent. ‘Where has she gone?’
Lizzie gave him a cross look. ‘She met an old schoolfriend of her mother’s, whose sister is an invalid. She went for tea and they sent a message that she would stay to dine.’
Unconsciously, Greg tightened his grip on her arm. She gasped. ‘You are hurting me. Let go.’
He relaxed his hold slightly but shook her arm. ‘Can you describe this friend?’
As Lizzie did so, he groaned. It was certainly the woman he had seen talking to Lord Percival at the concert. Sarah was in danger. ‘The address?’ he snapped, but he knew already. It was Lord Percival’s house. Leaving Lizzie bewildered and alarmed he whirled away towards the door. But before he reached it, James Davenport appeared in front of him.
‘Must speak with you,’ he said.
‘Not now,’ snapped Greg, ‘I have not a moment to lose.’
‘Come with you, then,’ said James, striding alongside him as Greg rushed through the entrance hall and out into the street, coatless and hatless.
‘Time to tell you the full story about that week at Hazelwick’s hunting lodge….’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was completely dark and Sarah was tired and cold. She rubbed her arms but it did nothing to warm her. How long had she been shut up in this room? The house was still completely silent. Surely Lizzie or Prue would come looking for her soon, before anything dreadful could take place. She smothered the apprehension at what might happen to her shortly if nobody did come. She tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry and her head was aching.
It would not do to let herself get paralysed by fear. She got up from her seat on the edge of the bed, facing the door. She picked up her weapon, the chair leg that she had managed to work free. It was better than no weapon and she was determined to inflict as much damage as possible with it.
She went towards the window, which showed as a lighter rectangle against the dark of the room. She peered out. There were lights in a small number of windows in the nearest buildings, but who would hear her if she called? On such a cold, wintry night, anyone at home would be sitting close by their fire. They would certainly not have their windows open.
Sarah shivered. Surely her friends must be getting anxious by this time. Mrs Bourne could not claim she was staying there overnight. She realized now how foolishly she had walked into this trap. And Greg was out of town. He would have been suspicious. Probably, it was because he was out of town that Mrs Bourne had dared to carry out her kidnap. And now what was going to happen? Sarah had a horrid fear that it involved Lord Percival.
Did he plan to compromise her into marrying him? But if he already had possession of all James’s estate, why should he bother to marry her? No, a little voice in her head told her, he just wants revenge because you thwarted him and Lord Percival will not tolerate that. This is to punish you!
Her blood froze at the idea. She clutched the chair leg and paced to and fro, ten steps each way, from the bed to the window and back. It kept her from freezing and it helped her to keep alert. And then she stopped, straining her ears. She could make out faint voices. Her heart began to pound. Quickly she pushed the window open, then hastened on
tiptoe across the room to stand in front of the door.
She watched and listened. She heard a stair creak. Then she saw a line of light appear in the gap at the bottom of the door. A hand fumbled against the lock. As the key clicked, Sarah darted behind the door. The next moment, Lord Percival strode into the room, holding aloft a branch of candles. He looked around.
‘What the devil…? She is not here! Blood and thunder, the window!’ He set the candlestick down on the chest. As he did so, Sarah tiptoed forward, raising the chair leg. She swiped inexpertly at his head, hoping to knock him out. The stick caught him a blow but he whirled round and grabbed the chair leg, pulling Sarah towards him as he pulled at it. She stumbled, panting from her effort. She found her arms held in an iron grip. She looked up to see his lips drawn back in a snarl.
‘You will pay for that,’ he growled. He kicked the door shut. She struggled but could not shake free. His fingers were cutting uncomfortably into her arm. She kicked at his ankle but her boot had no effect against his tougher boots.
‘Gad, you little vixen,’ he panted. ‘You have even more spirit than I hoped.’ The snarl had gone now. Sarah watched in alarm as his face took on an altogether different look. A predatory light gleamed in his brown eyes. Then they narrowed as they surveyed her from head to foot. His gaze was insolent, possessive as it lingered on her curves. She was unable to do more than stare at him, refusing to look away. She felt like a mouse in the clutches of a hungry cat.
‘So, Miss Davenport,’ he drawled, a cruel twist to his mouth, ‘at last I have you where I want you. And as I told you once before, we are going to do everything together from now on.’ His eyes flashed an evil spark at her. ‘Everything!’
She eyed him with contempt. ‘Never.’
He threw back his head and gave his braying laugh. ‘Oh, but we will. It will not take long to train you into obedience.’ He checked slightly at her exclamation of disgust. Then he bared his teeth. ‘The more spirit you show, the more I shall enjoy breaking it. You are a more worthy opponent than your brother.’
‘Surely, sir,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘you have done enough harm to our family. And do you think no one will hold you to account for it? You scoundrel!’
The scorn in her voice was like a whiplash. Angry sparks showed in his eyes, his nostrils flared and he brought his free hand down sharply across her cheek. She gasped and turned her head away, blinking back the sudden tears of pain. Her ears were ringing.
‘That silenced you,’ he purred. ‘Lesson one. Never presume to criticize me.’
She kept her head turned away, trying to overcome the dizziness. Even through the pain her brain was working out how to slip out of his grasp. If she could find the chair leg, which he had thrown down after he pulled it from her, she could hold him off. The candles on the chest flickered in the draught from the open window. In their light, Lord Percival’s face looked flat and mask-like except for the large shadow cast by his high nose. His eyes were blazing at her.
‘Look at me.’ he ordered. He shook her roughly by the arm until she did lift her face up. ‘Lesson two. You will obey all my whims,’ His voice was husky. She darted a glance at him. He grabbed her hair and twisted his hand into it, yanking her head back. She opened her mouth to protest and quick as a flash, his own mouth came down on hers. She struggled to keep her lips firmly closed but he would not release her. He kept her in a vice-like grip and forced her jaw open, driving his tongue into her mouth. She uttered a moan of protest but could not stop him. He smelled of spirits and something else, sweet and sickly, that made her want to choke.
Eventually, he raised his head. He was breathing heavily. His eyes were half closed. ‘Let’s have a look at you. God knows, I have waited long enough.’ She shrank back as he put a large hand to the delicate muslin at her bosom and pulled hard. The fabric gave easily and he ripped the whole front of her dress away. Sarah gaped in alarm as he plunged his hand inside her chemise and seized hold of her breast.
He squeezed hard, watching her face as he did so. She bit her lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how horribly he was hurting her. Sarah closed her eyes, willing herself not to scream at the touch of his hands on her soft flesh. Beneath the horror and the humiliation, she still tried to find a way to escape. Otherwise, this could only end one way and she could not endure for him to defile her.
In her desperation, an idea came to her. She put out her free hand towards his face. He was so surprised that he slackened his grip on her breast. Sarah took a step towards him and ran her hand down his cheek. He shifted backwards, looking at her warily. She moved forward another step and again smoothed her hand down his cheek.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he croaked, ‘the wench likes a bit of rough treatment.’ He let her go and tugged at his cravat as if it was suddenly too tight.
Seizing her chance, Sarah pushed at his chest with all her force, sending him backwards on to the burning candles. He gave a roar of rage and alarm but she was out of his reach and rushing for the door. Her one instinct was to escape from this horror. She had her hand on the door handle when she was grabbed from behind.
‘Oh no, you don’t!’ He wound his hand into her hair again, causing her to give a cry of pain.
There was the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs and along the passage. A second later, Greg dived into the room. He looked so fierce she did not recognize him for a moment. Behind her, Lord Percival tightened his grip on her.
‘Stand back, Thatcham,’ he snarled. ‘In any case you are too late to save her. She is mine now. And a willing bitch she is, I assure you.’ He held her pinioned by her hair and with his free hand, he clutched her exposed breast again, giving a shrill laugh.
There was murder in Greg’s face. He advanced a step further into the room, teeth bared. Unable to move, her face contorted with anguish, Sarah stared at him desperately. How long the three of them stood there, she could not tell. The tension was unbearable. The pain from her various injuries throbbed through her body. She could hear Lord Percival’s hoarse breathing and feel his body pressed against her back.
‘Greg,’ she mouthed, looking at him in helpless appeal.
He tensed, his eyes going from her to her captor. ‘Let her go, Percival. You are finished.’
‘You mistake,’ growled the other. ‘Get out of my way or the girl will suffer even more.’ He twisted her head as he spoke. Sarah clenched her teeth and kept silent.
‘There is no escape,’ Greg repeated. ‘Your anti-government activities have been exposed as well as your involvement in stealing the nation’s goods.’
‘You have been very busy,’ sneered Lord Percival. ‘I knew you were trouble. But I do not fear you. I have powerful friends. You will soon discover that you have been wasting your time. Now, stand aside.’
Greg stood there like a rock. In spite of the pain that seemed to be invading all parts of her body, Sarah felt a tiny hope grow. Somehow, he would free her from this revolting creature. She could feel from the rapid rise and fall of Lord Percival’s chest that he was afraid, in spite of his boast. She tried to pull away but at once he clutched her even more tightly to him with his left arm. He pulled something out of his pocket.
‘Thatcham,’ he grated, ‘you have five seconds to get out of my way or I will use my knife on this bitch. When you hear her scream, it will be your fault.’
‘Do not mind me,’ gasped poor Sarah, looking at Greg, ‘just stop him.’
Greg looked even more fierce, but when he spoke, his voice was calm, persuasive. ‘Percival, do one decent thing and let her go now!’ He paused but the only reply was a wild burst of laughter.
‘Very well,’ Greg went on in a cold tone. ‘There is a government agent waiting downstairs with a warrant for your arrest. And there is another matter.’ His face darkened and now his voice was raw with anguish. ‘Davenport has told me what happened when you lost money to my brother and tried to hide it by shooting to startle his horse as he jumped a
fence. It was murder, Percival.’ Greg stepped closer. ‘And I will personally see you hang for it.’
Lord Percival gave a wild cry. ‘Never, never.’ He dragged Sarah with him as he plunged towards the window. ‘I should have killed Davenport.’ he muttered. ‘Too late, all over now. Keep back,’ he screamed at Greg.
Sarah was horrified when Lord Percival swung one leg out over the window sill. Any second now he would fall and drag her out with him. She could hear his frenzied breathing and mutterings. She clawed at the hand holding her against him but he would not let her go. She grasped at the window ledge, panting and desperate not to overbalance.
‘She goes with me. Tell Davenport what he did to his sister….’ screamed Lord Percival hysterically, as he tugged at Sarah. He had both legs over the sill now and was trying to heave Sarah out with him. Greg lunged towards the window and grabbed hold of her arm. Lord Percival, his face contorted with panic, stabbed at Greg’s hands but Greg held on to Sarah. Lord Percival raised his arm to stab harder, but he leaned too far back, his grip gave way and he fell. There was a blood-curdling scream and then a sickening thud as his skull hit the paving stones a long way below them.
Only then did Sarah give way to tears. She clutched convulsively at Greg and buried her face on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her hair.
‘Thank God,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, Sarah, Sarah, I was never so afraid in my life.’
‘You were afraid,’ she sniffed against his wet shirt, ‘what about m-me? He was going to rape me … then he tried to kill me!’
He rubbed a hand across her shoulders. ‘It’s all over now. You are safe.’
She looked up and Greg drew in a sharp breath. ‘Your poor face.’ He pulled out a large white handkerchief and offered it to her. Sarah took it and dabbed at her wet cheeks. She then became aware of the state of her clothes. Urgently she tried to gather the torn dress together but the material had been ripped away and her bosom was completely exposed. She had a lot of red marks and bruises there and winced as she touched them.
