The Renegade Wife

by Warfield, Caroline

  He sank into the squabs next to Charles and waved the note. The carriage pulled away. When it turned a corner, Charles turned the lantern up and closed the shades. “Well?”

  Rand read it through twice and handed it to Charles.

  “It will save you from searching around in the dark,” the duke said.

  “It doesn’t sound right. I can’t tell you specifically, but it doesn’t sound like the woman I knew in Canada.”

  “There is another odd thing,” Charles noted. “The inn she says she lives in is one of the better ones above town. That doesn’t line up with what Drew told us, or what we know of Blair.”

  Rand nodded. “Perhaps he takes better care of her than I thought.”

  Charles gave a particularly unducal snort. “Perhaps pigs will take flight. What are we going to do?”

  “We are going to do nothing. I am going to meet her. She implies a personal meeting.”

  “You’re going to walk into what may be a trap, just because you like the looks of the bait?”

  “I am indeed. What is he going to do? Shoot me? As you said in London, I am here under the protection of the Under-Secretary of State for Whatever the Army Needs. They wouldn’t dare harm me.”

  “Out in the open, no, but—”

  “Not in a respectable inn either. No. I’m going alone.” The last time Rand cared for a woman, really cared for her, she left him for Charles’s title. Excuse me if I’m somewhat wary. In any case, I don’t need an interfering cousin at a private meeting.

  Rand got his way. An hour later, dressed respectably in black, he found the inn easily enough. It lay close to where he and Charles stayed. No one stopped or questioned him when he climbed to the third floor and knocked on the second door. A soft voice bid him enter. What he saw pole-axed him.

  Meggy stood in the center of the room, her hair flowing over her shoulders, her eyes bright, and her body encased in a shimmering blue-green gown. It hugged her breasts and dipped low enough to show cleavage before clinging to the curves of her waist and hips and hanging in waves to the floor where her toes peeked out. A musky scent filled the room, and light seemed to reflect off glass or gilt around her, giving her a glowing nimbus. Rand didn’t examine his surroundings; he had eyes only for Meggy.

  “Rand . . .” she began in a husky voice. All thought stopped.

  Something seemed terribly wrong, but his reproductive organs failed to accept it. Desire seized him in its grip, and he stumbled forward until he stood inches from her.

  “Meggy,” he whispered. “Oh, Meggy.”

  Meggy shivered in her borrowed finery until the door opened and the answer to all her prayers stepped inside.

  Rand paused only briefly, and his intense gaze burned across her skin before he came forward and leaned over her.

  “Meggy,” he breathed, his breath warm on her face. “Oh, Meggy.” She inhaled the scent of port and mint, though her conscious mind took in only his touch and the intensity of his eyes. She forgot Blair. She forgot the garish decorations in the room where she had waited. She forgot that she knew nothing about seduction. With Rand, seduction was not required.

  One large hand cupped her cheek, its graceful fingers splayed across her face while a thumb caressed her lower lip. His other hand settled on her lower back and pulled her closer, sending molten fire through her veins. She melted to her core and leaned against him.

  He took her lips, open mouthed and hungry, yet gentle, begging her to respond. Meggy moaned under the onslaught and opened to him. Her response urged him on, and he pulled her closer, murmuring her name as his kisses found their way to her ear and down her neck.

  The airy silk of Meggy’s dress hung loosely on her thin frame. When Rand began to caress her back, his fingers slipping up to her shoulders and back down to the flare of her bottom, the dress gave way and slipped off her shoulders. He took advantage, his mouth moving down her throat to the swell of her breast. A rush of cold air, however, alerted Meggy, and memory flooded back.

  Blair. Damn. What am I doing to Rand? Lena! Oh God! After a fraction of a second hesitation, she reached over to pull him closer, determined to protect Lena, even if it meant hurting Rand and breaking her own heart.

  That momentary hesitation, however, caused Rand to pull back. He touched her chin gently with one hand and tugged her dress up with the other. “What is this about, Meggy?” he asked before stepping back farther.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, letting the blue silk slither off her right shoulder to her elbow.

  “This,” he said, indicating the room and her dress with one hand. “You can’t tell me you keep Lena in a room with red silk coverlets and that painting on the wall.” He glanced over her shoulder. She knew what he saw—a painting of two satyrs having their way with a shepherdess clad only in her hat and garters—and blushed. “What’s going on?” he persisted.

  Meggy shivered. “Please, Rand, he’ll hurt her. He—”

  “Where is the weasel? If he harms Lena, I’ll kill him.”

  “Stop!” she screamed. “You know nothing.” She began to shake uncontrollably.

  “I know more than you think. I know you are thin as a rail. Does he even feed you? I know that powder on your shoulder can’t hide the bruises I see.”

  “But you don’t know—” she began. He has to see reason.

  “Drew made his way to my sister’s house.”

  Her head bobbed up. “You have him? He’s safe?” Joy and hope leapt over her fear and pushed it down, but they didn’t extinguish it.

  “He couldn’t be safer.”

  His words confused her. “But how did he find your sister?”

  Rand put both arms around her shoulders and brought her head to his chest. “Pratt did it. I told him in Gibb’s Mill that my brother-in-law would help him if anything happened to any of you.”

  His brother-in-law. Who are those people, really? Fergus said he came with a duke.

  “Is your brother-in-law a duke?” she asked, her words cushioned by his shirt.

  “He’s a mere earl,” he replied, kissing her hair.

  Dear God! “Were you ever going to tell me that?”

  “Does it matter? What is more important is that he has no patience with those who threaten the helpless . . . and the influence to do something about it.”

  “Perhaps, but when Fergus finds Drew, the law will be on his side.” Meggy pushed against his chest. “You have to leave.”

  “Let me be the judge of what will work. Tell me what’s going on tonight. I presume the plan is to catch me here and cause an uproar.”

  “He’s bringing the constable and preparing to act the outraged husband. They’ll drag you to the magistrate. He’ll say you’ve put me up in this, this boudoir as your lover. He’ll have you jailed. He’ll feed the scandal sheets. He’ll threaten your family.”

  Rand laughed harshly. “My family is not easily threatened.” He led her to the bed and pulled her down to sit next to him.

  “Where is Lena? I need to know precisely,” he asked.

  “You can’t take her from me.”

  “I will take you both, foolish woman. Tell me where to find her.”

  Meggy couldn’t fight him. She told him about the O’Sullivans. He pulled Drew’s map from a pocket, and she cried when she saw her son’s writing. Rand wiped her face with his handkerchief but did not relent. He made her go over it with him until she pointed out both her room and the O’Sullivan’s. He asked questions about the watch, the neighbors, and Blair’s schedule, and she answered as clearly as she could.

  “I’ll get you to safety,” he promised, pulling her closer in a one-armed hug. “My family will hide you until we can figure a way out of this coil.”

  Meggy hung her head. “There is no way. I’m his wife. Those a
re his children to do with as he pleases.”

  Rand put a knuckle under her chin and turned her toward him. “Law and right are not always the same, Meggy. We’ll find a way to protect Drew and Lena.” His eyes searched hers as if begging her to understand, begging her to accept his words, and begging her to accept him. She yearned to do so, her heart taking her where her common sense would not.

  “You are not to fear,” he said with a slight smile.

  He kissed her then, a sweet kiss of encouragement and consolation, nothing like the fiery assault moments before. He leaned his forehead on hers for a moment, and then he kissed her again. For that moment, she felt safe, secure in his care.

  The sound of the door brought safety to an abrupt end. The force of it hitting the wall shook the bed. Meggy jumped up and stared at her husband in anguish when he sauntered in.

  “Caught ya, you wife-stealing bastard. What have you done with my son?”

  Chapter 26

  Blair latched onto Meggy’s right arm so hard Rand knew the bruises would be in the shape of a handprint. He sprung forward only to be yanked back; he kicked and fought, trying to get to Blair to strangle the life out of him until a cudgel left him retching on his knees while his vision blurred. A rough boot rolled him over and landed on his chest, pinning him down.

  Around Rand, the room filled with men, and he blinked to clear his vision, trying to remain calm and assess the situation. His head hurt like the devil. Two scruffy-looking toughs dressed as Royal Marines leaned on their muskets, leered at Meggy, and watched Rand with amusement. The brute who had disabled him stood with one foot still on his belly and waited for Blair’s guidance. Another oaf stood next to him. Neither appeared to be military; he guessed them to be constables.

  Corporal Martin followed the others into the room. Lust gave him the look of a ravening wolf when he ran his eyes over Meggy’s body and settled his gaze on her breasts. Humiliation nearly suffocated Rand at the sight of her anchored next to Blair by his fist, her breasts barely covered by the silky blue dress, her face suffused with shame while she regarded him stretched out on the floor. I promised to protect her.

  “You all see what went on here,” Blair bellowed. “You’re witnesses! I want him charged. My son’s been missing for two weeks, and this man has the brat.”

  Drew? “I never—” The boot pushed down, stifling his breath.

  “Martin, take your damned eyes off my wife. Tell ‘em. Tell ‘em you saw the bastard.

  He took my son and tupped my wife. I want justice.”

  Rand’s heart sank. If they fabricated a kidnapping case, it might be harder to fight. Would they let Drew testify? Could we keep him from Blair if he did? Pratt will be branded a deserter unless Charles has time to implement his plan. He watched Meggy, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  The constable who had Rand pinned down studied him carefully. “Looks like a gentleman.”

  “He may be a nob, but he’s no goddamn peer o’ th’ realm, if that’s what’s making you weak livered. He can go to jail right enough.”

  The man stiffened when Blair called him weak. “You want us to rough him up? It’s gone past midnight. Magistrate don’t like to be woke up.”

  “Do your damn job, constable. I want him locked in the jail right and tight. If the magistrate can’t see him for a week, even better. Rough him up all you like.”

  Blair, his fist still gripping Meggy’s arm, punctuated his words with a kick to Rand’s ribs. “Told you I’d get you if you messed with what’s mine.” He gave her a shake as if to emphasize what he considered his.

  When the constable pulled Rand to his feet, he groaned and bent at the waist. The constable clamped a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. Rand grabbed the knife strapped to his calf, rose with a fluid motion, and thrust the knife into the constable’s thigh. The man shrieked and let go, freeing Rand to swing around and jab the knife at Blair.

  “Rand, don’t, you’ll hang!” Meggy screamed.

  For a large man, Blair proved to be exceptionally quick. In the second it took Rand to free himself, Blair thrust Meggy in front of himself. Instead of hitting Blair, Rand’s knife nicked the side of her head where the sergeant’s neck should have been. Blood dripped down to her ear and onto her shoulder, bare where the dress had slid away.

  Rand dropped the knife in horror. Hands grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms back. Blair tossed Meggy aside, clamped one big hand on Rand’s neck, and squeezed. “I should kill you now,” he growled, baring his teeth like the leader of a ravening wolf pack, a wicked gleam in his eyes adding to his feral expression. “Well, Megs? Aren’t you going to beg me to stop so I won’t hang?”

  “Don’t Fergus. Don’t do it,” Meggy responded. Her voice sounded hoarse and far away. She leaned against the wall with one hand on the wound on her scalp, blood seeping between her fingers. When Blair yanked his hand away, Rand dragged in air, gasping and choking.

  Blair pushed Rand hard enough that the constables holding him staggered back. “Don’t want to kill him early. Kidnapping might buy him a noose anyway, and I’d pay to watch it. Rough him all you want, but keep him alive. We want his swell family t’ think about seeing him in the prisoner’s dock when I bring charges.”

  Blair watched them tie Rand’s hands in front of him, while Rand’s eyes never left Meggy. She slipped over to the washstand in the corner and snatched up a linen towel. The ladybird who lived there would find her fancy embroidered linen stained with blood when she returned.

  Blair spun around and was on her in a step. He pulled the towel away and examined her head, separating her hair with two sausage-like fingers. “Nothing. A damned scratch. He could have killed you. Wouldn’t that have been an interesting turn of events?” He began to laugh, a rolling sound from deep down in his chest. “Wouldn’t it?” he asked again, glancing between Martin and the marines, who joined in the laughter.

  The constables gave a yank on the rope that bound Rand. He stood his ground and stared at Meggy who covered her wound with a shaking hand. They yanked a second time, so hard he felt his shoulders pull, and he staggered forward. Behind his back, Blair’s laughter grew more raucous.

  “Come here, wife,” Blair demanded. As they pulled Rand out the door, he heard the loud smack of a wet kiss and heard Blair say, “Well done, Megs. You’ve been a good girl.”

  Fergus’s smacking kiss was thankfully brief. The strutting cock crowed too loudly to waste time doing aught else with his mouth. As it was, his wet lips, slimy tongue, and fetid breath threatened to make Meggy gag.

  He showed his crooked teeth in a triumphant grin. “Well done, Megs. You’ve been a good girl. Maybe you deserve a reward.” He scrutinized her and frowned. “Ye’re too damned skinny by half. Even that ladybird’s dress don’t look good on you.” He said in disgust.

  “I dunno, Blair. I think that dress looks mighty good,” Martin said, licking his lips. Meggy fought back a gag and swallowed her bile.

  She prayed for forgiveness in the direction of the door through which Rand had disappeared. She bled for him, but one thought tempered her remorse. In a choice between her children and anyone—even Rand—she would always choose her children.

  Blair flipped coins to the two marines. “Drink it away if you like, but be sober when the magistrate calls,” he said, clapping them on the back. He slammed the door behind them, leaving only Corporal Martin in the room with them.

  The corporal’s eyes crawled up Meggy from her toes to her legs and across her belly until her skin felt dirty under the intensity of his gaze. He laughed at her face and dropped his eyes to focus on her breasts and the place where the dress threatened to expose them.

  “Take your filthy eyes off my wife’s titties, Martin. No time for that nonsense.”

  “But, Blair, you said—”

  “When you deliver
. Tell me your story again until you have it straight.”

  Martin scowled, but he ravaged Meggy with a hungry leer, before turning his eyes to Blair. His attention left her sick. What did Fergus promise him?

  The corporal recited a tale of pure fiction, of how Blair sent him to the docks to fetch Drew and how he saw Rand grab the boy, drug him with something on a rag, and toss him in a seaman’s bag. Before Martin could go to the boy’s aid, Rand threatened him with his evil-looking repeating pistol. He told the story over and over three more times until Blair allowed that it satisfied.

  “See you remember it. They’ll try to trip you up and get you to change. Just stick to the story like I gave it to you,” Fergus said. “Now get out. I have business with the woman.”

  Martin ogled Meggy and opened his mouth as if to object. He shot Fergus a hateful look instead and stalked out.

  Fergus inspected the room, his mood strange and unreadable. Meggy dreaded the moods she couldn’t predict. “Comfy enough nest Fairweather provides, Megs my girl. Do you think she’s worth it?”

  Meggy wrapped her arms around herself and waited, dreading whatever might come. Visions of Rand helpless on the floor filled her. She squeezed her eyes shut to kill the thought.

  “We’re off to Bristol in a day. If you’re a good girl, Megs, and you help me keep Rand-damned-Wheatly and his thrice-damned cousin from sticking their noses in our business, we might afford a place like this when we get there. More even. Would you like that? Huh?” He watched her expectantly.

  “Yes, Fergus,” she whispered.

  “Louder, woman,” he demanded, taking her chin in the vise grip between his thumb and forefinger and pulling her eyes to his.

  “Yes!”

  “That’s better.” He stared at the painting for a long while, striding back and forth in front of it, before going to the bed. “Comfy nest,” he repeated, running his rough hands over the red satin. “Anything good enough for the colonel is good enough for me.”