She saw Harry appear, sniffing at the base of the tree Stephen had climbed last night. Oh, dear. Had someone let him out by himself? That was not a good plan—the dog was quite capable of escaping from—No, there were Philip and George. Good.
She took a sip of chocolate, cradling the cup in her hands. Now, in the morning, it was hard to believe last night had not been a dream. But it had indeed happened—the ache in a particular part of her body confirmed it. Stephen had actually been here in this room, in that bed—in her.
The place he’d been most intimately throbbed at the memory, and she shivered with pleasure. She wanted to do it all over again as soon as possible.
To think the same body parts had been involved in her encounter with Brentwood, yet the experiences had been as different as night and day.
The boys were throwing something at each other, and Harry was barking furiously at them. Lady Dunlee would not be happy about the noise. She should go out and stop them. She would, in a moment.
Could she have conceived Stephen’s child?
She’d prayed so hard ten years ago that she wasn’t enceinte. She hadn’t been able to sleep, she’d been so full of dread, and during the day she’d burst into tears with no provocation. It had been such a relief when her courses had started. But now . . .
She laid her hand over her belly. She hoped Stephen’s seed had taken root.
She frowned. There was still the problem of Stephen’s travel. He would be gone so much. Yes, he’d said she could come with him . . . until they had children.
She put aside her chocolate and toast.
She could not put her children through what Papa and Georgiana had put Evie and the boys through—being raised by their older half sister and servants. Well, and she’d missed Papa, too, when she was younger.
But if she stayed home . . . how would she bear the months and months Stephen was gone? She’d pine for him and worry about him.
She looked out the window again. The boys and Harry were no longer in the back garden. Where had they gone? The clouds looked quite threatening. She’d best go see; there was no telling what mischief they could get into. There would be hell to pay if Harry was disturbing Lady Dunlee’s precious Miss Whiskers again.
She got up and shook her skirts out. In any event, a breath of fresh air would be most welcome; she’d always loved the windy, slightly wild air before a storm.
She had the bad luck of running into Clorinda in the corridor.
“How are you this morning, Anne?”
Clorinda looked genuinely concerned. Why? Oh, right—her excuse to stay home last night. “I’m very much improved with sleep, thank you, Cousin. It was a passing upset.”
Clorinda’s face lit with comprehension; Anne’s face, she was certain, lit with embarrassment. Blast, had Clorinda guessed her secret? No, she couldn’t have; she looked amused, not angry.
“So you had troubles of a female nature, did you? Why didn’t you just say so? We all have—or in my case, had—that time of the month.”
“Er . . .” Her “troubles” had definitely been of a female nature—last night’s events would never have occurred if she weren’t female—but her courses for this month had come a week or two earlier.
“I’m sorry I doubted you when you said you were unwell,” Clorinda was saying. She matched her step to Anne’s as they walked down the stairs. “I don’t know why I did. I should have realized you wouldn’t wish to miss seeing your betrothed.”
Anne ducked her head so Clorinda couldn’t see her eyes and her heighted color when the thought popped into her head, completely unbidden—she had seen Stephen, all of him.
They reached the foot of the stairs and Clorinda stopped to pat Anne’s arm. “As Evie may have told you—she said she was going to stop by your room last night—Mr. Parker-Roth was clearly disappointed when he learned you would not be attending the gathering with us.”
“I think Evie did say as much.” Anne couldn’t say for certain what Evie had said—she’d been too overwhelmed by what Stephen had so recently done with her to pay a scrap of attention to Evie’s bibble-babble.
“Oh, yes. He was most out of sorts and left the ball early—and angrily—after speaking to that Lady Noughton. He told his brother he wasn’t feeling well, but the gossip is he left so abruptly because he finally broke with the widow.”
“Oh?”
Was it true Stephen had just now given Lady Noughton her congé? He’d said they’d parted ways in February.
Had he lied? And if he’d lied once . . .
Last night had seemed too good to be true because it was.
Anne tasted bitterness. She was such an idiot, thinking the King of Hearts could be in love with her. Apparently her judgment had not improved at all in ten years.
“Are you certain you’re feeling quite the thing, Anne? You look rather pale all of a sudden,” Clorinda said.
“No, I’m fine.” Anne did not want to get into a discussion on the subject. “I’ll be better after I take some air. I was just on my way outside to see where the boys are.”
“An excellent idea. A little gentle exercise used to help me when I was in your situation, but do keep an eye on the clouds. And don’t be out too long or get excessively windblown. I wager your betrothed will be over shortly to check on your health.”
Anne nodded. Stephen probably would come by; it would be in keeping with his role of attentive fiancé. She put on her new bonnet—it didn’t give her any of the pleasure it had yesterday.
“Perhaps Evie should go with you. I believe she’s still in her room. Shall I—”
“No, thank you.” Anne did not care to have company at the moment. The twins didn’t count. They were boys—they would most likely not say ten words to her. As long as she wasn’t dying loudly, they’d never notice anything was amiss.
“Enjoy your walk then.” Clorinda headed toward the breakfast room. “But don’t be long; you don’t want to be away when Mr. Parker-Roth arrives.”
Actually she did wish to be away when that occurred—in Inverness, perhaps, or Boston—but she merely nodded.
She sighed with relief the moment the front door was securely shut behind her, and turned her face up to the sky. The wind felt good, even if the damp added to the chill of her heart.
She’d recovered from Brentwood; she’d recover from Mr. Parker-Roth as well.
Ha. This wound was far, far deeper.
She bit her lip. She could not be crying on her doorstep; Lady Dunlee might see. She clasped her hands tightly together as if she could grasp her runaway emotions.
She should not jump to conclusions. The gossips were often wrong, though it was true Stephen had spoken with Lady Noughton last night. He’d told her he had. She’d forgotten in all the . . . excitement of the evening.
What had he said? That Lady Noughton had told him Anne had lifted her skirts for countless men?
Oh, she would like to strangle the woman—and perhaps Stephen as well.
Now where were the boys? Ah, there they were. She heard Harry’s bark and Philip and George’s shouts. They were indeed in the park across the square.
She stepped to the edge of the walkway and then saw a black carriage turn the corner. Would it wait for her to cross? No, she’d swear it was picking up speed. Reckless driver! One would think he’d exercise a little restraint in residential neighborhoods, but likely he was some half drunk young buck. She would wait for the vehicle to pass before attempting to reach the park.
Oddly, the carriage slowed just in front of her. Did the fellow need directions? He would quickly discover she was not at all knowledgeable concerning London streets.
A nasty-looking man with his hat pulled low and a muffler pulled up over his face was on the box and another jumped out of the coach body.
“May I help you, sir?” She did not at all care for the look of the fellows.
“Aye.” The man grabbed her, knocking off her bonnet. “Ye can help me by coming along quiet like.”
She drew in her breath to scream, but his hand, smelling of sweat and dirt, slapped over her mouth. He was strong. He held her so tightly, no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t free herself.
“Got ’er,” he shouted to the man on the box. “I’ll—Ow!” She’d managed to get her teeth into his palm. “The bloody whore bit me. Brentwood’ll have to pay me extra iffen she’s drawn blood.”
“Brentwood don’t have to do nuttin’,” the coachman shouted back. “Hurry up! We don’t want to be found out.”
Anne heard the boys yell and Harry bark. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw them running toward her. If she could just delay a few more seconds . . . but the man was too strong.
“Right,” he said and threw her over his shoulder, climbing into the carriage and slamming the door on her hope of rescue.
Chapter 20
Stephen leapt from the hackney as it pulled up to Crane House. Before he could pay the jarvey, the front door flew open and Clorinda tottered out, her handkerchief clutched in one hand, Anne’s crumpled bonnet in the other.
“Oh, Mr. Parker-Roth, I am so glad to see you.”
Ice filled his veins. Had Brentwood been here before him? “Where is Lady Anne?”
“Gone!” Clorinda shuddered. “With only her poor bonnet left behind. Oh, if only I’d come out with her, perhaps I could have done something.” She hid her face in her handkerchief.
“Stay here,” he told the jarvey. “I may have need of your services immediately.” Assuming he could get any coherent information out of anyone, that is. Obviously Clorinda would be no help. Perhaps Evie or Hobbes had seen something useful.
Hobbes was hovering just inside the door as he’d been the day the twins had gone missing, Charles the footman, by his side. “Thank God you’re here, sir,” he said.
Clorinda, still sobbing, tugged on Stephen’s sleeve. “You will rescue Anne, won’t you?”
“Yes.” He would die trying, if necessary, but the sooner he left, the better. Time was not in their favor. He turned back to the butler. “When did this happen, Hobbes?”
“Only about five minutes ago, sir. We were just about to send Charles here to alert you.”
Stephen looked at the footman. “Did you see anything?”
“No, sir, but I believe the boys may have.”
“I’ll speak to them, then. Where are they?”
“In the blue parlor,” Clorinda managed to say between her tears, “trying to comfort Evie.”
“Very well. Hobbes, send word to my rooms telling my brother and my valet they should come to Crane House at once. And have them bring my horse.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send Charles.”
“Excellent. Take the hackney.” Stephen strode down the hall, Clorinda in his wake. He heard Evie sobbing even before he got to the door. When he stepped over the threshold, he saw the twins, sitting close to their sister and looking very pale and anxious.
“Mr. Parker-Roth!” George saw him first and dashed over, followed closely by Philip.
Clorinda took their place on the sofa, wrapping her arm around Evie’s shoulders. Evie glanced up—she managed to look beautiful even with a red nose and swollen eyes—and smiled at him as if he were Michael the Archangel arrived to vanquish Lucifer.
“They’ve snatched Anne, sir,” Philip said. He was clearly trying hard to be brave as would befit a proper Viscount Rutledge, but his face was white as death and his eyes glistened with suppressed tears.
George nodded. “Philip and I had taken Harry out to the park in the square. We saw Anne come out of the house and step toward the road—and then a black carriage flew round the corner and stopped in front of her.”
“We couldn’t see who they were, sir,” Philip said, “but there were at least two of them.”
“One man had his hat pulled low and his muffler pulled up to his nose,” George said. “The other fellow must have been riding inside the coach.”
Philip nodded. “There wasn’t a crest on the door, at least not on the side we could see, but the man in the coach—the one who actually grabbed Anne—howled how Brentwood needed to pay him more.”
George grinned and said with definite pride, “Anne bit him, sir. She’s pluck to the backbone, isn’t she?”
“She most certainly is.” The ice in his veins dropped about twenty degrees. Anne was now in a carriage with an angry man, likely from one of London’s worst stews. He could only hope the rogue was enough afraid of Brentwood that he wouldn’t harm her. There was clearly no time to waste. “Did you see which way they went?”
“Down Upper Brook Street.” Philip shook his head, looking thoroughly disgusted with himself. “We gave chase, but the coach was too fast. We lost it at Park Street.”
“We wouldn’t have lost it if you hadn’t kept me from dashing across in front of that curricle.”
“The curricle would have hit you; you couldn’t help Anne if you were run over.” Philip glared at George, and then looked up at Stephen. “That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it, sir?” The boy looked completely miserable.
“Of course it was.” Stephen put a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “You both did exactly as you should have. George, it was valiant of you to want to keep after the coach, but you would have lost it in any event. A carriage moves much faster than your legs can.”
George sighed and nodded, but brightened quickly. “We did see it turn right on Park Lane.”
“Splendid. I’ll—”
“What’s going on?” Nick burst into the room. “The footman said something about Lady Anne being abducted.” He caught sight of Evie. “Zeus, Evie, don’t cry. We’ll find your sister.” He sat down next to her and likely would have snatched her out of Clorinda’s arms if he hadn’t had an audience.
“Brentwood has taken Anne, Nick. I want you to stay here and lend the ladies your support.” He knew better than to mention the twins, but they also needed a sensible fellow like Nick around.
Nick frowned. “Don’t you need help?”
“I believe I’ll do better on my own, but I’ll be sure to send word if I can use your assistance. I’ll tell MacInnes when he gets here to check all Brentwood’s holdings to see if he’s gone to ground at any of them. I somehow doubt it, but we need to be sure.”
Nick nodded. “MacInnes was right behind me. He should—”
Hobbes appeared at the door. “Your valet and horse are here, sir.”
“Splendid. Then I’m off to have a very thorough chat with Lady Noughton.”
“God-speed,” Clorinda said. “We’ll be waiting to hear you’ve found Anne safe and can bring her home.”
Stephen nodded and left, hoping he’d be able to do exactly that, but with the head start the miscreants had—
No, he would not entertain such thoughts. He would be successful—he had to be.
Anne’s heart raced. She tried to throw open the window and scream for help, but it was nailed shut. Damn. What could she—
The vehicle careened around a corner; she grabbed a hand strap to keep from being thrown from her seat. If she were lucky, they would crash and, if her neck wasn’t broken, she could escape.
“Ye may as well sit still; yer not goin’ anywheres.”
Her abductor glowered at her from the other side of the coach. He’d removed his muffler and hat; it was not an improvement. A scar ran through his right eyebrow, and his nose resembled a cauliflower. He must be a former pugilist.
He held up the hand she’d bitten. “Yer lucky ye didn’t draw blood, ye know.” He crossed his arms. “That and Brentwood said he wants ye in good order.”
She nodded—there really wasn’t anything to say to that—and stared at the window. She couldn’t actually see out it, since the curtains were nailed down, too, but it was better than staring at her captor. She busied herself praying for a broken axle or a herd of cows to block the road.
Unfortunately, nothing occurred to detain or delay them. The coachman appeared to be
skilled with the ribbons. They avoided capsizing and had now settled into a fast, steady pace—too fast for her to try leaping from the carriage.
She tightened her grip on the hand strap. “Where are we going?”
“To Brentwood, o’ course.”
“To Lord Brentwood’s estate?” She relaxed slightly. Brentwood’s estate was not so far from Crane House. She could—
“No.”
Her heart sank. “Then where?”
“Ye’ll find out when ye get there.”
She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She couldn’t panic—she had to come up with a plan.
Eww. The carriage smelled of old vomit, sweat, and dirt. The squabs were so flattened they might as well not have been there and the springs—they hit a bump, and she felt the jolt from her seat to her head.
It would be nice to know where she was going, but it wasn’t essential. “Away” was the only direction that mattered once she arrived at wherever Brentwood was. Surely she could find some soul to take pity on her and offer her sanctuary until Stephen could come fetch her. And he would come—his honor, if nothing else, would demand it.
She regarded her companion again. Could she convince him to assist her? “Neither my father nor my fiancé will be happy you’ve abducted me. If you take me back now, I promise no one will be the wiser.”
The man spat into a corner. “Brentwood will.”
She swallowed and tried not to show her revulsion. “My father will deal with him.”
“Yer father ain’t in England.”
Too true. “But my fiancé is.”
The villain finally looked uncomfortable. He shifted on his seat. “Brentwood said Parker-Roth would be happy to get his freedom back.” He looked her over. “Stands to reason. Why would the King of Hearts want to marry a scraggy female like ye?”
Why indeed? She pushed her own doubts aside. “Perhaps he wishes to marry an earl’s daughter.”
The man snorted. “Crazy Crane’s get? I don’t think so.”
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