by Anne Gracie
“If the cap fits. . ." he began.
"Then you must wear it," she snapped, "for such considerations have never been mine!"
"You cannot mean you love that contemptible creature." His voice was scornful, but his body was tense as he waited for her answer.
She tossed her head at him. "That, Mr Carstairs, is none of your business!"
"It damned well is!"
"Why?" she demanded, her mouth dry.
They glowered at each other, then he moved with unexpected speed, dragging her against him. He stared down at her for a moment, then crushed his mouth on to hers.
It was a stormy kiss, full of passion and desperation and anger. He gripped her hard, and if she had been aware of his grip she might have told him he was hurting her. But Kate too was lost in the roiling waves of passion and she returned his kiss with equal anguished desperation, clutching him fiercely, returning his every caress with interest.
Eventually they separated and stood there staring into each other's eyes, breathing heavily. Kate's Lips were bruised, but she was oblivious of anything except him. She swallowed, trying to recover her poise. He watched her silently. Eventually the silence became too much for her.
"What did you mean by that?" she said in a low voice. She wondered if he could hear her heart thudding, it sounded so loud to her.
Jack stood, breathing heavily, slowly gathering his wits. He'd given her the chance to repudiate Cole and she hadn't. Nothing was changed. She was still betrothed to her wealthy Cit. He'd be damned if he exposed himself to gratify a woman's vanity. He had done quite enough of that already. He looked down into her eyes. He could see her waiting, willing him to say the words, so she could throw them back in his teeth, no doubt. She was no different from any other woman.
"What did it mean?" he said. "What did it mean? Why, nothing, my dear Kate. A pleasant interlude, that's all." He licked his lips suggestively. “I did say you are talented, did I not?"
Kate felt her throat close as the eyes, which had been blazing with fiery passion a moment before, iced over.
"You beast!" she whispered. His words were a timely reminder. It was the old story of the dog in the manger. But it had been a long, exhausting day, and for once Kate didn't have the energy to deal with the hostility and the anger she saw in his eyes. She was feeling so miserable herself that all she wanted to do was to throw herself against his chest and sob her heart out. Only the mood he was in, he would probably rip it out of her chest and devour it. Or had he done that already?
He laughed harshly. "Haven't you heard, my dear girl? I would have thought a parson's daughter would have been warned many a time that all men are beasts. That's why you like us so much."
"On the contrary, my father taught me to love all mankind, as he did,'' said Kate dully. My father, who loved all mankind—except me.
Jack took her unconscious expression of pain to be caused by his words. He recoiled and his hand reached out to her half pleadingly, but she did not notice.
Kate did not look at him again. She quietly left the room, and went upstairs to bed. She was just blowing out her candle when she realised she hadn't made it clear to Jack that she was not going to marry her cousin. If only he would get it into his head that she would never marry! Stubborn, wretched man! And why was he drinking again? Surely not because he thought she had accepted her cousin? No—why would he, when he had been urging her to go to London and find a husband there?
Oh, well, it was cold, she was tired, and she certainly had no intention of seeking him out when he was in the state he was in, and she in her nightrobe. He would probably kiss her again, and she was feeling so lonely and miserable tonight that she would probably do absolutely nothing to prevent it, and that would be fatal.
She'd had enough accusations of impropriety in her life— she needed no more.
"Have you seen Kate today?" Francis asked Jack.
"No," Jack mumbled. He continued reading a newspaper that had been sent by a friend. He did not even want to think about Kate. It was too distressing, imagining her wedded to Cole, forever out of sight, out of touch. It was no concern of his what she might be doing. He didn't care. He was reading the news instead.
The paper was out of date, but it contained a detailed description of the army's retreat from Spain back to Portugal. Both Jack and Francis had found the news very depressing, containing, as it did, news of dreadful casualties. Jack was particularly affected by the horrendous losses suffered by Anson's brigade. They had fought together at Salamanca, and Anson and many of his officers were friends of Jack's.
The paper criticised Wellington for allowing it to happen. The press were fair-weather friends to Old Hookey, Jack decided. He was a hero when he was winning, and a bungling fool when things were difficult. Disgusted, he tossed the paper aside. After a few moments, he recalled Francis's question about Kate. He hadn't seen her at all that day. No doubt she was avoiding him again, after their clash in the kitchen the previous night.
"She's probably in the kitchen." He got up to pour himself a glass of madeira, but was annoyed to discover the decanter empty. "Carlos!" he bellowed.
Carlos arrived and was dispatched to fetch a new bottle. As he was leaving Francis spoke. "Carlos, have you seen Miss Kate?"
"No senor, she went off for a drive with Sefior Cole this morning."
Both men frowned. “But it is now well into the afternoon. Are you sure she has not returned?" asked Francis.
Carlos nodded lugubriously. "Si, senor, for Mrs Martha and the girls have been waiting for her to come back all afternoon."
The two gentlemen exchanged glances. Jack sullenly shrugged, endeavouring to conceal his concern. "If she wants to spend all day with her betrothed, then it is her concern. She clearly has no concern for her reputation."
"Her betrothed?" said Francis. "She is not betrothed."
Jack shrugged again. "She neglected to inform you? That greasy Cit had the confounded impudence to propose to her yesterday and the stupid chit accepted him."
Francis frowned. "When exactly was this?"
"Yesterday, on the terrace. I caught him with his greasy paws all over her, kissing her. Gave him a leveller." He clenched his fists. "Wish I'd knocked his teeth clear out the back of his head. I would have too, but the wretched girl hung off my arm, screeching that they were to be married, so then there was nothing left for me to do but go away and leave the happy couple to plan the wedding."
Francis's brow cleared, and he tried to hide his twitching lips. His friend was trying very hard to sound indifferent, with scant success. He took pity on him. "She didn't accept him, you know."
"Yes, she did."
"No, she did not. I was here, in the library, when you knocked him down." Francis chuckled. "I was just about to go out and intervene, but you beat me to it, for she was no willing participant in that embrace, I can assure you."
Jack looked doubtful. "Well, she must have changed her mind later."
Francis shook his head. "Not a chance, old boy. After you left, the fellow had the infernal cheek to persist with his suit. I heard Kate refuse him in no uncertain terms, several times. He would have forced himself upon her again if I had not intervened and sent him to the right about with the offer of a little of my own home-brewed." He grinned reflectively. "You should have seen him scuttling off across the lawn. I expect his coachman caught up with him by the time he reached the front gate."
Both men burst out laughing at the thought.
Then Jack sobered abruptly. "Then why the devil did she go driving with him this morning?'' Their glances met. “And why has she not returned by now?'' He ran his hand through his hair.
"I have to tell you, Francis, that I taxed her with it last night and she never denied that she and Cole were betrothed."
"I suppose you did it in your usual tactful manner, didn't you?" said Francis. Jack grimaced.
"In a filthy temper, were you?" said Francis. "Doing your level best to pick a quar
rel?'' He shook his head. "The best way to make a woman do the opposite of what you want is to try and bully her. Especially a woman as spirited as Kate. She probably told you she was betrothed to her cousin to pay you back for your impudence."
He met his friend's eye. "Depend on it, Jack, it was all a hum. If yesterday was anything to go by, the little Farleigh has nothing but dutiful family feeling in her heart for that fellow, and it was pretty strained at that, after the way he tried to push her into marrying him."
"So where the devil is she?" Jack headed for the kitchen, shouting for Carlos, Martha and the two girls. He questioned them as to why Kate had gone for a drive with her cousin when they had not parted on good terms the day before.
'"E came around this morning," said Martha, "with an 'angdog look on 'is face and a bunch of flowers. Said 'e were sorry and would she forgive 'im and let 'im take 'er for a drive." She wrung her hands in her apron. "But that were hours and hours ago, sir, and it ain't like Miss Kate to stay out so long, 'specially with a gentleman."
"Did she take anything with her, Martha?"
Martha looked puzzled. “What do you mean, sir?''
"A portmanteau, a bandbox, something like that."
Martha shook her head firmly. "No, sir, nothing like that." She peered suspiciously at him. "You bain't be thinkin' as Miss Kate's run away, sir? Not Miss Kate. She wouldn't worry us all like that."
She caught his look of doubt and shook her head again. "I've known that girl since she was a tiny babe, Mr Jack, and it's simply not in 'er to sneak off behind people's hacks."
He looked sceptical, but Martha would have none of it. For once her beloved Mr Jack was wrong, and she, Martha, would put him right. "Oh, I admit, she 'as a temper, when it's roused, sir, but to do somethin' like that—never! I'm worried, Mr Jack, summat awful, and I don't like 'er cousin, not one little bit. She shoulda been home long since." Her old face crumpled with concern, and she clutched Jack's coatsleeve.
"Find 'er, Mr Jack. Find 'er and bring 'er 'ome."
"Carlos, saddle my horse," snapped Jack.
"Perhaps the curricle would be better, Jack. Your leg wouldn't stand up to riding for hours, would it?" said Francis.
"Damn my leg. A horse is faster than a curricle. Saddle the roan, Carlos."
"And my chestnut," added Francis.
"Does anyone know which direction they were headed in?"
"Sir, I saw the carriage turn at the gate and head north," said Florence.
"North?" Jack turned and looked at Francis grimly. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"
Francis nodded slowly. "He was damned persistent yesterday. Seemed almost desperate when she refused him so adamantly. But would he force her?"
Jack swore. “If that bastard lays as much as a finger on her, I'll kill him!"
Chapter Fourteen
Darkness was falling rapidly as the two men neared the outskirts of a village. Francis deliberately reined in his mount and after a moment Jack, too, slowed his horse, with obvious reluctance. He'd set a killing pace. Their horses were nearing exhaustion. As the pace slowed, his tension increased—this village was probably their last chance.
Jack's shoulders slumped. His face was grey with pain and anxiety. He'd expected to catch Cole long before now. The longer the search, the less chance they had of catching up. The consequences of that were too appalling to even think of. And of course he could think of nothing else. They must be on the right track; they had to be!
Enquiries had revealed that Cole had exchanged his gig for a hired closed carriage and was heading north. Informants had further disclosed that Cole had his sick sister with him and was conveying her home. Armed with a description of the carriage, Jack and Francis had ridden furiously onwards, enquiring at every village.
The moon rose; its pale beams silvered the countryside. Francis cast a worried look at Jack. It was perfectly obvious that Jack was almost at the end of his tether, and in a great deal of pain. "We should rest up for a short time, old chap. Give the horses a break, you know."
"And leave her a moment longer than necessary in the hands of that fiend?" Jack's tone brooked no argument. "He has kidnapped her to force a wedding. He cannot possibly reach the border in less than two nights. That means he intends to force her, Francis. Tonight. Do you think I can rest, even for a short while, while she is in the hands of that madman?''
"Ah, don't torture yourself, Jack. I agree, the direction seems to indicate he is making for Gretna, but he has no reason to know he is pursued. He has no reason to force her tonight."
Jack opened his mouth to reply when something caught his eye. He wrenched his horse to a halt, backed up and peered down a narrow lane. "Do you see what I see?"
Down the lane, silhouetted against the silver sheen of a small pond, was a shape which could have been that of a travelling carriage. Beside it was a small cottage. Exchanging silent glances, the men quietly walked their steeds down the lane.
The cottage was old and run-down. It was clear from the weeds that surrounded it that no one had lived there for years. They dismounted and crept closer. A figure moved inside, illuminated by a candle. It was Cole, bending over a motionless shape on a pallet on the floor.
The door crashed open. Cole swung round in fright. The high colour drained from his face and his lips began to writhe in a ghastly attempt at a smile as he perceived the face of the large black shape in the doorway. "Er. . .ah. . ."
"Get away from her," said Jack in a soft voice that chilled Cole's bones to the marrow.
Cole scuttled sideways as far as he could.
"If you have touched so much as a hair on her head, you're a dead man," Jack said in that same chilling tone, moving towards the pallet. He laid a gentle hand on Kate's cheek, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.
"What the devil have you done to her, you blackguard?"
"Nothing, nothing on my life, I swear it!" gabbled Cole. "She is not hurt, only drugged."
"Drugged!" said Francis from the open doorway.
Cole started and turned towards the door. "Only a little laudanum, I swear it. . .it was just that she strugg—" He found himself grabbed by his collar and flung against the wall.
"Struggled, did she, you filthy swine?" snarled Jack. "And do I have to ask why she felt the need to struggle?" A rock-like fist slammed into Cole's stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Another one crashed into his jaw with a resounding crack. Then he was ruthlessly dragged up by the hair and shaken like a rat. Blazing blue eyes met his.
"I'll teach you to abduct innocent girls!"
Two more punches smashed into Cole, almost simultaneously. His nose felt as if it had exploded. Cole collapsed.
"Get up, you blackguard," roared Mad Jack Carstairs. "I haven't finished with you yet! Not by a long shot!" He reached down and grabbed the blubbering Cole by the throat. He smiled, a peculiarly sinister smile which sent the blood draining from Cole's face, and said softly, "I'm going to kill you, you know that?"
Cole had always thought himself a big man, but now he found himself dangling by the throat, being slowly choked to death by an enraged madman. He struggled, but it was as if he was a rabbit in the grip of an eagle. His face began to turn purple and his eyes bulged as the powerful hands tightened their relentless grip around his throat.
"Jack. . .?" The faint, wavering voice came from the pallet.
Cole was tossed aside like a bundle of rags. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath like a beached and battered fish. Jack bent solicitously over Kate, his arms lifting her off the dirty pallet until she lay cradled against his chest.
"Are you all right, sweetheart?" A gentle hand smoothed back her tangled curls with infinite tenderness.
"Oh, Jack, I feel so strange," she murmured, trying to sit up.
"No, no, don't try to move, sweetheart. It's all right. You're safe now." He pulled her more closely against him. His arms were hard around her, holding her protecti
vely, whilst he crooned soothing nonsense in her ear, interposing it with small kisses on her hair, her ears, whatever he could reach.
Kate, bewildered, ill and dizzy from the effects of the drug, burrowed into his chest and lay there, clutching him, understanding nothing except that Jack was there, holding her, and that everything was therefore perfect.
Francis watched them, a soft look in his eyes, then a movement to his left caught his attention, and his gaze hardened as he took in the sorry sight of Cousin Jeremiah. Blood was oozing from cuts over his eye, and gushing from his nose and lips. His jaw was beginning to swell and both eyes were puffing up.
Francis's lip curled contemptuously as he took in the snuffling, sobbing creature. Silently he opened the door, and curtly jerked his head. Casting fearful glances towards Jack, who was still wholly absorbed with Kate, Cole lurched to his feet and tottered out. Francis followed.
"Not the carriage, I think," he said softly as Cole headed towards it. "We will need that to convey Miss Farleigh home."
"But how will I get home myself?" Cole whimpered. It was a freezing night.
"I have not the least notion," said Francis coldly, "but once my friend realises you are out here I have no doubt that you will return home snug and cosy enough—in a coffin."
Cole gasped in terror and set off down the rough track towards the main road, stumbling and crashing, casting frequent fearful glances behind him. Francis watched until he was out of sight, and out of earshot, then quietly re-entered the ruined house.
Kate was curled up almost in a ball, cradled in Jack's lap, nestled against his chest like a child. She seemed to be asleep. The eyes of the two men met. Francis's eyebrow rose in a silent question and Jack nodded imperceptibly. Francis heaved a sigh of relief. She was all right, then. Cole had drugged her, but no violence had been done.
He glanced at the pair on the pallet and sighed. Neither of them were in any condition to move tonight. Kate was exhausted by her ordeal and still partly drugged; as for Jack, he might have had enough strength to give Cole a thrashing while his body had been functioning on rage, but now that his anger had died away Francis would hazard a guess that Jack would barely be able to walk.
