by Terry Long
The man meant to keep her as his prisoner. Ally prayed that Victor would hasten his wife-hunting process. Michael was making her life miserable.
His tyrannical habits were unspeakable. So was his routine.
He’d bury himself in endless piles of documents, ledgers and mental labor. His days came with mapped out instructions, it seemed. He rose with the sun, the only thing he did for himself, actually. Following that, he’d go directly into his study to begin work until he breakfasted, which Abigail said, took place precisely at eight o’clock. Then, he’d return to his study at half past eight and stayed there all day if he didn’t leave for appointments.
His housekeeper, Mrs. Hails, had ordered a parlor maid to tend to their lordship’s study when Ally passed the entrance one afternoon. She had stated rather pointedly about making certain the chore got done before Michael returned from the pugilistic club. Ally couldn’t discern why men considered an abysmal thing such as clouting one’s friends were deemed sophisticated. Abigail had said Michael was something of a Corinthian. It would appear so, if the muscles that strained from his clothing were any indication. The strength emitting from him reminded Ally of a stallion with the pedigree derived from that of a god- a combating one, had the heavens contained such a thing.
Supper seemed the only time she ever saw him, not that she had any protest with the arrangement. But, Ally thought he’d relax with a port or two after his meal, smoke a cheroot, and retire for the night- as ordinary gentlemen did. She found that she was wrong, as he was anything but ordinary.
Last night, according to the light of the moon, it had to be about two o’clock in the morning when she’d heard him move about in his bedchamber, readying himself for bed.
Perhaps exhaustion made him dreadful.
She reached out and plucked the pink bloom, mumbling, “If I could visit you now, Nana, I would take you from the hospital, and we’d go straight home. Even if Dr. Reeves refuses.” At that, a tingle tickled her nose and her eyes blurred with tears anew. “No one shall keep us apart any longer, and certainly, no one will do anything…”
Michael’s broad back came into her vision. Seated high on that enormous monster, he rode past the tall gates of his home, causing her heart to reel with a possibility.
Pushing herself off the grassy earth with calculated movements, afraid he’d appear at any sudden motion, she shook off her dress, her eyes never once leaving the gates.
She was going to see Nana. And she was not coming back.
Ally strode to the stalls with all haste. Hopeful not to spook the animals, she whispered as she started past them. “Hello, there.”
“Hello, milady.”
“Good heavens!” She placed a heavy hand over her chest as she turned to the voice. “You gave me a fright.”
“I’m terribly sorry, milady. I’m Thomason, the stable master.” A tall, hefty man bowed his head low for a moment, his face full of remorse. “Please tell me if there’s something you’d like.”
“Yes, actually, Mr. Thomason, I came to borrow a horse. The smallest you have would be wonderful.” She covered up her nervousness with a smile, hoping he wouldn’t realize she hadn’t donned a riding habit, but planned on, well, riding.
Thomason blinked at her. She supposed he was merely surprised to see her out here selecting her own horse, instead of sending Matthews to do her bidding. If he suspected her plan to escape and refused her a horse…her plan to leave would be shattered.
“I am bored to tears, and would like to make use of a horse for just a bit.” She took a few steps to avoid his quiet scrutiny as well as to hide her trembling hands in her skirts. Stopping in front of a short, spotted mare, Ally smiled and stoked its muzzle. “I think she’s perfect. She isn’t untamed, is she?”
Mr. Thomason followed her and diffidently peeled his gaze from her face. He looked at the animal she chose. “No, milady. All of Mr. Langdon’s prized possessions are tamed, however—”
“I see. May I take her for a ride?”
After clearing his throat, he stated in a lower tone, “I regret to inform you that she is not one to ride on. You see, milord bought her from a farmer who used her to cart goods, but she’s old, not strong anymore.” He nodded and smiled approvingly as he went on, “Milord saved her from an ill-fated death by purchasing her.”
Well! He certainly was good at buying things off, wasn’t he? Ally scolded herself. Despite the fact that he was a callous man, he had compassion for creatures incapable of fending for themselves. The thought made her hate him less.
“So that’s why she isn’t ideal for riding. She isn’t very fast,” she heard Mr. Thomason say. He continued on, proudly going into perfect detail about the day Michael led her home by the bit.
“But she is still able? I do not plan on riding fast.”
“Well, then, certainly! I’ll saddle her. It will just be a few moments.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomason.”
She couldn’t believe her luck! No more than five minutes passed and she was leading the mare about the grounds at a leisurely pace, so no one would take immediate notice she was gone. If they did become aware of her absence, would they pursue her? Lord, she hoped not. She quickened her speed once she darted out of the iron gates of the property.
Though not as swift as Michael’s stallion, this little mare was not that slow, either. She could still trot quite agreeably.
Ally smiled at her good fortune.
Just in that instant, her nerves clattered as much as the ground. Her heart tightened. Please, no. Hooves rattled the earth. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it opened up and swallowed her whole.
“God, please, don’t let it be him.” Though she didn’t want to look behind her, she couldn’t help that her head kept turning. A wobbly gasp escaped when her eyes fell on the vision chasing her in her wake.
He looked like a warrior: fierce, strong, angry, and ready to tear her to a thousand pieces. Ally turned and stared straight ahead. “God help me.”
Michael thundered beside her. His face tight, eyes raging, he glared her down. Without a word, he tore the reins from her hands and turned them both around in the direction of his home.
“I just wanted—”
“Hush!”
“It would only be for a little while—”
“Silence! Not another word, do you understand?” His eyes blazed into hers with great intensity, yet chilled her to the bones. “You duped my footmen.”
“Your footmen?”
“They were to keep an eye on your whereabouts,” he snapped as if it was a normal occurrence to keep a hostage on his estate grounds. “You don’t follow orders very well, do you?” he asked in a low tone that made her grind her teeth. He sounded so calm, but she knew he was furious. He had to be humiliated, too, as would his servants. She’d have to apologize to them when she returned.
“You’re not going to punish them, are you? It wasn’t their fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t!” he bit out. “They were to keep vigilance on you.”
“Vigilance? Am I to be your prisoner then?” she shouted. “Would you be sensible? Why don’t you just have your brother shackled to you?”
“When I give an order, I desire it be followed.” He didn’t look at her, but stared at the empty dirt road ahead. The muscles in his jaws flexed, so she knew he was still irritated. They entered the gates to his home and went directly to the stable keeper. “You’ll not give her a horse from this moment on. If I ever—”
“It wasn’t his fault. It was my fault. If you must reprimand anyone, it should be me,” she rushed before he said something cruel to Mr. Thomason.
Michael turned to pin her with an incredulous stare, causing the hairs on her arms to stand. “Oh, you’ll get your turn.”
***
Damn, she wasn’t even the slightest bit chastened; she was begging to be punished! What the devil was he supposed to do with this mere slip of a girl? Never in his life had he had to mull over how to
give orders to his people- his property. And now…
Ally gave him a pointed look, opened her mouth to argue, and he, intent on humiliating her, tossed her over his shoulders.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched while wildly kicking her feet and flinging her arms. She pounded on his back. “Put me down, you incorrigible man!”
“Next time, you’ll think twice before disobeying me in front of my servants,” he said as he walked past Matthews in the front foyer. He gave his butler a warning glance to refrain from any remark. Passing servants couldn’t even pretend to hide their astonishment as he climbed the stairs at a deliberate pace. He noticed his wife had stopped hitting him and became something of a limp rag over his shoulder. She stopped her shouting as well.
Michael strode down the corridor, opened her door, and walked over to her bed. “When I am reluctant to trust someone, I take definite measures to ensure myself,” he said tossing her onto the bed, “that nothing goes on under my nose. As a precaution, naturally.”
“Definite measures?” she asked sitting up in bed, her face framed with golden locks that were coming undone. She brushed them aside irritably. “What do you mean?”
Damn, she was looking up at him with those eyes again. Quickly averting his gaze, before she had him give in, he said, “From now on, you will stay in here.”
“Until you’re no longer angry?”
“However long it takes.” He sauntered to the door and took the key from its lock. Then he shut the door.
“No, wait!”
Michael turned the key.
“You cannot do this, you mustn’t! I have to go to Nana! Please, do not do this. Nana needs me.” She tried the knob, rattling it, and banged on the door.
Michael strode back down the corridor to his study. Good God, was her damn dog all she cared about? Surely her maid wouldn’t let the thing starve to death.
It was a good thing he had come back for the document- one that Lord Penn said they didn’t need. Quickly, Michael pulled out his pocket watch. Damn, he was going to be twenty minutes late.
Sighing, Michael picked up the document and thrust it into his coat pocket. He’d never kept anyone prisoner before now. What had made him do that? Shaking his head in bewilderment, he told himself that it was a lesson his little wife would learn all too quickly. He’d let her out soon, he noted silently.
A small smile curled his lips at the earlier sight of Ally trotting along on the mare. How far did she believe she was going to get with that broken pony? She was a silly woman.
Chapter Eight
The golden sun peeked over the horizon in a most ordinary way. Ordinary? Would one really call the vivid pinks and golds of a luminous sunrise ordinary? The image of his delicate captive crept into his mind.
Michael sighed as he guided his mount down the trail toward Somerset Hall, toward her. Perhaps I should not have barred her door. Pushing the thought to the recesses of his mind, he gazed again at the ornate display of colors in the sky. Sunlight reflected off the large windowpanes of his home. I’d kept her door locked throughout the night.
Michael turned his mouth to the side when he remembered the disapproving face of his butler as he ordered Ally’s door bolted again as soon as she received her dinner tray. It wasn’t as if he’d lock her away infinitely. He’d let her out soon enough.
Bounding off the horse, he tossed the reins at a stable boy who caught it nimbly in one hand. Michael made haste to his little captive. She probably still slumbered, as most of England.
He leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time, finding himself at Ally’s door within minutes. An almost fretful feeling washed over him. He took a deep breath.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the key and unlocked the door as noiselessly as he could. The bolt clicked.
He ought to turn and leave now, but he found himself turning the knob. Curiosity prodded him forward at the sight of crumpled bed sheets. Although a voice told him to leave before she woke and possibly hurled something at his head, he disregarded it, and before he knew it, rested his eyes on her sleeping face. She looked peaceful in slumber, and so amazingly innocent.
Ally stirred and Michael stepped back with much alacrity. Her lashes fluttered open, and when her eyes focused on him, she startled.
“What are you doing in here?” She pulled the sheets all around her, tucking them beneath her weight. The woman acted like a bloody virgin!
He stood taller and tugged at the hem of his coat. “I’m here with an intention to make you an agreement.”
“Great. Another proposal. I’m afraid to ask,” she mumbled, the distrust in her eyes clearly visible, even in the dimly-lit chamber.
Upon hearing the languid reply, the corners of his mouth curved upward. Ah, yes, another proposal. “If you swear on your father’s grave—”
Ally gasped. Her mouth opened as wide as her eyes.
“I apologize.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably at the sight of her horrified face. He’d never been any good at communicating with women. “If you give me your word that you’d not defy me in front of my servants, I will let you out of this chamber…within boundaries.”
She snapped her mouth shut and nodded rather feverishly.
“Now, not so fast. At least look as if you mean it.”
Losing the rigidness in her spine, Ally cocked her head to the side. “I do mean it.”
Michael liked the childlike look on her face: the wide, innocent eyes, the small crease that appeared between her perfectly arched brows, and the slight pout of her bottom lip. “Give me your word,” he said, only because he wanted to look at her a while longer.
Ally sat up, the sheets falling around her waist, forgotten. “I give you my word. I won’t defy you in front of anyone.”
Willing his eyes to stay on her face, instead of descending lower, he said tightly, “Good.”
“Unless we’re alone.” Her eyes were bright with mischief.
He grinned at that. “Of course, imp.”
A small, triumphant smirk danced on her lips as she stared at her hands.
So engrossed in the curve of her mouth, he stood there gazing at her for a moment before realizing what he was doing.
She turned her head to the window. “Did you see the sunrise?” Her eyes grew wide, frantic almost, like she hadn’t meant to ask that.
“I did.”
“How did it look this morning?” she asked, as if she had no control over her tongue. Her cheeks positively glowed red as a beet. She lowered her eyes to stare at her hands that were now twisting the sheets as though determined to wring water from them.
He thought of telling her the truth, but decided against it. “It was nice, as it is every clear morning.” Did she always look this flawless so early in the day? Her skin was so velvety-looking, even in this scarce light. For some odd reason, he wanted to trail his fingers along her pinkened cheeks.
“I see,” she said, appearing to wait for another remark or comment from him.
Michael ran his thumb over the key in his hand. “You may go back to sleep.” He held it up. “You’re free to roam. Within the property line.”
Her eyes followed his hand movement as he slid it back into his coat pocket. After a second of studying his hand, or arm, or whatever the hell her eyes kept drifting to on his person, she lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You should, too. Go to sleep, I mean, since you’ve already seen the sunrise.”
“Is that an invitation?” he asked quirking a brow. His heart began to beat a steady tempo, his cock stirred, and something did a back flip in his stomach, but to his credit, he didn’t jump into her bed.
“No! I didn’t mean it that way.” She grabbed for the sheets, wildly tucking them under her weight. Her eyes went a little wild, too, darting from one end of the bed to the other. “I-I mean, I did- but not here.” She cleared her throat. “What I meant to say was—”
“Settle down, woman,” he snapped rather severely.
He didn’t know why he grew so annoyed, but he promptly gathered himself and decided it best to make haste for the door. He strode out before his carnal instincts got the better of him.
Chapter Nine
Where the devil is Victor? Michael threw down his quill pen and slumped back in his chair. Every muscle in his body, held stiff in the same position for hours, screamed for reprieve. Curses overflowed his completely exhausted, and not to mention vexed, mind. It must have been because he’d barely slept since his brother vanished.
At first, Michael, only mildly frustrated, believed his brother wallowed somewhere in the depths of his cups, so he’d taken no drastic steps in locating the boy. However, after more than two weeks and still no trace of Victor or his throaty bellowing, Michael stopped by the townhouse, only to be told by his valet that Victor hadn’t been home.
Michael wasted no time in sending out Bow Street Runners. Certain that Victor wouldn’t be too keen on being pursued, Michael had asked the runners not to make themselves known once they’ve located him. He ought to leave the boy to his own devices, but Michael simply wanted to know of his brother’s whereabouts. For all he knew, Victor could be lying in a ditch somewhere, or on the bottom of the Thames.
The boy was probably trying to get over the infatuation for his new sister-in-law. For Victor, drinking was the first step he took when displeased with something, insignificant or not. Then when he got too sick from imbibing, he’d end his brandy or whiskey consumption for a while and move on.
“Damn and blast!”
Michael pushed off the chair and shoved his hands into his pockets. A long breath of blasphemy left his lips. He glanced out the window and gazed out at the trees lining his property.
To make matters worse, his pretty little wife strutted around his home, causing all of his servants, both men and women, to gawk at her. For God’s sake, even Matthews, a man known for his minimal words made polite conversation with his wife, smiling from ear to ear. It was outright ridiculous!
