by Lucy Ashford
She struggled and he gripped her shoulders, hard. Her skin was soft and clear, and her lips looked every bit as luscious as he remembered. And even though she was panting with fright, there was no doubt that the proximity of her slender body was having a totally inappropriate effect on his pulse rate, amongst other things...
Abruptly he let her go. She dragged herself unsteadily away and smoothed down her boy’s shirt. ‘You promised,’ she breathed. ‘You promised not to prosecute my friends.’
‘But that was before they roped me up a second time. And if you remember, I said nothing about letting you go free. You’re going to come with me, to Palfreyman’s house. But first of all I want you to tell me exactly what you know about Paulette, your cousin, and I want you to tell me the truth.’
The girl was looking around rather wildly. ‘But...the stable boys, the innkeeper. They’ll all wonder what on earth we’re doing in here...’
‘They’ll guess exactly what we’re doing in here,’ he replied. ‘I told the innkeeper that I’d admired your performance greatly, and I wanted a little time alone with you, in order to arrange a meeting later.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘For our mutual pleasure, you understand.’
Deb felt as though all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Keep him talking; that’s all you can do. Keep him talking, and watch for any chance of escape...She only wished she could banish the rather sick panic churning in her stomach.
‘Well, Mr Beaumaris,’ she said, ‘arranging an appointment with me will do wonders for your reputation, I’m sure.’
He shrugged. ‘Is it so unlikely that a gentleman’s fancy should be caught by a young lady who carries books of erotic prints in her pocket?’
She leaped again for the door, but he was there first. He secured her by pinning her wrists at her sides before saying softly, ‘Do you know, Miss O’Hara, I thought that you rather enjoyed our kiss in the forest.’
The way he looked at her made her insides churn anew. Oh, that kiss. The way he’d made her feel, with that face, that body, that mouth...
She shivered. ‘You are despicable.’
‘So you’ve already informed me. Now—as I said before—I want you to tell me what you know about your cousin. Your uncle Hugh Palfreyman’s only daughter.’
Deb steadied her breathing. Stay calm. Watch and wait for your chance. ‘I know very little about Paulette. I did hear that she married well last autumn, but I’ve no idea who her husband is. We do not, as you’ll have gathered, move in the same circles. What my uncle did to my mother...’
‘So you’ve said. I take it you didn’t realise that Paulette’s husband died this spring?’
She looked astonished. Slowly she shook her head. ‘No. No, I didn’t. How could I?’
He stared at her a moment longer, then glanced at his pocket watch. ‘We’ve been in here long enough,’ he announced with an air of finality. ‘My coach should be ready by now.’
To take her to Palfreyman’s. ‘You—you have a coach?’
‘I do. I had to leave it to be repaired at a local blacksmith’s, yesterday. That’s why I was riding Palfreyman’s horse.’
Beau went to open the door. He expected her to vociferously object again—to struggle, and make one enormous fuss. Instead, she closed her eyes briefly, but then she squared her shoulders and said calmly, ‘Are you going to tell Palfreyman that my men and I kidnapped you?’
‘I see no need.’
‘Are you going to tell my uncle that I’m one of the Lambeth Players?’
‘I’m not.’
This time, he thought he saw something jolt through her—shock? Relief? Certainly her voice was steady enough as she said at last, ‘Are you—going to tell him about the books?’
‘No,’ he said again.
Her eyes widened. ‘Then why take me there? I don’t understand...’
His hand was already resting on the stable door. ‘You will.’
She nodded slowly, biting her lip. ‘I—I have a few possessions here, some clothes.’
‘Bring them with you.’
He went outside, closing the stable door again to shut her in.
Think. Breathe, Deborah. Her belongings were in the loft; swiftly she climbed up there and started packing them into a shabby brown valise that had been Gerald’s. She stopped, hearing the clatter of hooves and the jingle of harness outside, and voices—those of the grooms and that of Mr Beaumaris. Who was giving orders, of course.
She turned back to her task. She had Palfreyman’s books and couldn’t leave them, so she pushed them in the bottom of her bag beneath some petticoats, then she scrambled down the ladder just in time to see that he was back. He was carrying a long black cloak draped over his arm, and he held out a black gown, and a black bonnet with a veil.
‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Put these on.’
Her pulse started thudding ominously. Black? He wanted to shroud her in black?
It’s to make you look respectable for the journey, she told herself quickly. Respectable and invisible—dear God, she might as well wear a shroud... She took the clothing from him. ‘What about Ned, my pony?’
‘I’ll pay for his stabling here, until our plans are clarified. Is that your bag? I’ll see to it.’
Deb stood very still. Our plans? What plans?
He was inspecting her again. ‘Now, pinch your cheeks to bring some colour to them—you’re deathly white. Try smiling.’ He leaned closer. ‘Look as if you’re enjoying yourself with me, for God’s sake. And—get those clothes on.’
Chapter Six
Deb got changed—all black, she hated black—then came out slowly into the stable yard, conscious of the grooms and stable boys turning from their work to steal covert glances at her. Just then, Mr Beaumaris—who was rapidly supplanting Palfreyman as her worst enemy—saw her and came to meet her.
What was he intending to do with her, at Palfreyman’s?
‘My bag...’ she began.
‘It’s in the carriage.’ He tugged at her veil sharply. ‘Keep that down.’
The grooms, who were clearly disappointed to see that the subject of Mr Beaumaris’s amorous attentions was swathed up in such a fashion, quickly lost interest in her—but no one ignored Mr Beaumaris. Already, he was striding purposefully towards the extremely fine travelling carriage that stood in the middle of the yard, with two horses harnessed up to it. A coachman in grey livery who’d been checking the horses turned towards him, touching his hat.
‘Everything all right, William?’
‘Indeed, Mr Beaumaris.’
‘Time for us to be off, then.’
‘Right you are, sir.’ William swung himself up on to the driver’s seat, while one of the hovering grooms hurried to open the passenger door. At the same time a packed public coach had just pulled up beside the inn, and three middle-aged women were alighting from it and staring at Mr Beaumaris in open-mouthed admiration.
Yes, he’s handsome, Deb thought bitterly. He was also very, very dangerous. She realised that he was holding out his hand to help her inside, but she ignored it and stepped quickly up to seat herself at the far side. Seeing her bag on the floor there gave her a small sense of relief.
He followed her and leaned out of the window. ‘Drive on to Hardgate Hall when you’re ready, William,’ he called.
The ostlers uttered a shrill warning to all the onlookers, the coachman William urged on the horses and the carriage began to clatter out of the Angel’s courtyard.
Deb sank back into her seat. Mr Beaumaris was sitting less than three feet away. Too close. Far too close. Deb allowed herself to panic quietly. The man was inhuman. Despite his night of captivity in the forest, his coat of fine broadcloth appeared to have survived his ordeal without a blemish, as had his pristine white shirt. He’d tucked those scorche
d ruffles out of sight, and...
He’d reached up to open the window and as he did so, his coat sleeve fell back, to reveal that his wrist was tightly bandaged. She looked swiftly at his other wrist and saw the same. Her pulse began to thud. ‘Your wrists—those bandages...’
He turned those beautiful, ice-blue, ruthless eyes directly on her. ‘When I burned the ropes off, the flames caught my wrists. The skin’s a little blistered, but it’s nothing much.’
Deb gasped aloud. It must be exquisitely painful. She whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
He turned to her, his gaze scouring her. ‘Are you? Am I mistaken to think it was your idea to keep me captive all night?’
She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I didn’t mean you to be hurt.’ She shot a quick look up at him. ‘And you wouldn’t have been, if only you’d been patient. We were going to set you free—eventually!’
‘Perhaps you were,’ he said calmly. ‘But be warned. It’s the sort of thing I neither forgive nor forget.’
She turned away to stare out of the window. Hateful, hateful man. She sat in silence as the countryside rolled by, thinking of her friends and wishing she was with them. Unfortunately, the horses were speeding along the turnpike road towards Hardgate Hall as if they were actually eager to get there.
She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, although she was aware of the moment they crossed the boundary into Palfreyman’s land, because the coach came to a brief halt while the lodge-keeper hurried to open the gate. Then the coachman was urging the horses on down the long driveway, and Deb found herself gazing at the hall in the distance, remembering how as a child she’d vowed never to set foot in Palfreyman’s domain again.
She’d broken that vow yesterday, in order to steal the books. But how hollow the sense of triumph she’d felt seemed now. As Hardgate Hall drew steadily nearer, she reached down to make sure that her leather valise was still tightly fastened, and when she looked up again, Mr Beaumaris’s eyes were on her.
He said, ‘Best leave all the talking to me.’
‘Very well. But I hope you realise that your friend Palfreyman won’t be in the least pleased to see me—’
His next words knocked her sideways. ‘You think that I’m Palfreyman’s friend?’
She stammered a little. ‘I assumed so, yes. Otherwise, why would you be on your way to—?’
‘On my way to visit him? Because I have a few issues to settle with Mr Hugh Palfreyman.’ He glanced out, as did she, to see that the house loomed close. ‘Enough,’ he finished curtly. ‘You and I will talk later.’
The carriage pulled to a halt in the gravelled forecourt outside Hardgate Hall, and grooms were hurrying out to take the horses’ heads; the gruff voice of Mr Beaumaris’s coachman could be heard, giving them orders. Deb put her hand briefly to her temples.
So Mr Beaumaris and Palfreyman were not friends, but enemies. Did that mean Mr Beaumaris was on her side? Far from it, apparently. Very far from it. She glanced around quickly. The shrubbery was nearby. And so was the wall, over which she’d clambered to freedom yesterday...
‘Don’t even think of it,’ said Mr Beaumaris, then he climbed out and came striding around to her side of the carriage to open the door. As she stepped down, Deb clutched her valise close and was aware of a cluster of curious faces—the grooms and several footmen—all gazing wide-eyed.
Mr Beaumaris was reaching to tug down her veil—again—and then his arm was around her, wrapping her black cloak tighter. ‘Allow me to take your bag.’
She shook her head.
‘Very well,’ he said in a curt voice. ‘But let’s get inside. Quickly.’
A butler came hurrying up.
‘I’m here to see Palfreyman,’ Beau told the man. ‘I should have arrived yesterday, but I was delayed. And I have someone with me, as you’ll see.’ He gestured to the girl swathed all in black and Deb saw the butler’s eyes widen with astonishment.
‘Mr Palfreyman is upstairs, sir,’ he began. ‘In his study—’
‘Then fetch him,’ Beau cut in. ‘We’ll wait through here.’
He guided Deb swiftly into an ante-room, away from prying eyes, and she swung round to face him. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she breathed. She’d seen the looks on the faces of those grooms as she’d climbed down from the carriage. They’d thought she was someone else. They’d thought she was—
‘Stay here,’ he warned. ‘I’m going to have a word with Palfreyman—alone. Don’t speak to anyone.’
And then he was gone. She sat rather weakly on a chair, putting her bag down by her feet. They’d thought she was Paulette. Paulette, all in black, in mourning for her dead husband. Moments later she heard voices outside—Mr Beaumaris and her uncle—and just a few words were enough for her to realise that, as she’d guessed, the two men detested one another.
‘We expected you yesterday,’ Palfreyman was saying. He sounded flustered. ‘And I had no idea that you were bringing her with you. Surely you can imagine the effect all this will have on my wife, and...’
The rest of Palfreyman’s words were lost to her. Mr Beaumaris spoke next, but again she couldn’t hear, then Palfreyman started stammering something that ended with, ‘Paulette is ill. She was overcome with grief when her husband died, and now she’s resting in the country. In Norfolk—everyone knows it...’
‘Wrong, Palfreyman.’ Mr Beaumaris’s voice was clear enough now. ‘What your daughter does to wreck the rest of her life is of no concern to me. But there are matters to be attended to. Business left unsorted.’
‘So you bring her to my house?’ Palfreyman’s voice was etched with scarcely controlled fury—and fear, Deb thought. Yes—he sounded terrified of Mr Beaumaris.
She could hear Mr Beaumaris’s voice again now, and she strove desperately to catch his words. ‘Listen, Palfreyman,’ he was declaring. ‘You know what will happen if you don’t do exactly as I say. I want you to bring me your daughter’s letters, and anything else at all that sheds light on your daughter’s time in London.’
‘But...’
‘I remember that your wife was obsessed with keeping news cuttings, theatre programmes, party invitations. I want to see everything, do you understand?’
She heard nothing more, because the door to the room she was in opened suddenly. As Deb whirled round, a woman with a thin, pinched face and eyes oddly bright with excitement came hurrying towards her. ‘Paulette?’ she whispered. ‘Paulette? Oh, my darling daughter...’
The dawning of hope in her eyes was painful to see. Deb backed away. ‘No,’ she said, as steadily as she could. ‘No, Aunt Vera, I’m not Paulette. I’m your niece. I’m Deborah, Emily’s daughter—’
She broke off as Vera Palfreyman lunged towards her, tearing the veil from her face ‘Get out of my house,’ she breathed. ‘Get out. You filthy, deceiving creature.’ And she slapped her so hard across the cheek that Deb stumbled and fell, striking her forehead on the corner of a low table.
* * *
She opened her eyes slowly, realising as she looked around that she was lying on a day-bed in a spacious upstairs chamber. The door to the room was wide open and Deb saw a young maidservant standing there, nervously holding a tray.
‘My lady?’ The maid was staring at her. ‘Here is some barley water for you.’
‘Thank you. Please leave the...’
The maid put the tray down and almost ran from the room. ‘...the tray,’ Deb finished. Oh, my goodness. She pulled herself up against the cushions of the day-bed. Her head still throbbed from where she’d fallen against that table, but her mind was quite clear now—which was as well, considering the predicament she was in.
My lady, the maid had called her.
Rising to her feet, she hurried to the window, only to find out that she was at least two floors up. And there was no ivy clambering u
p the wall outside. No escape that way. As for her bag... Where was her bag?
She went to sit on the day-bed again. The servants had thought that she was Paulette, from the moment she arrived. Mr Beaumaris must have known they would. Why was he doing this?
And then the door opened, and he was there.
* * *
When Palfreyman had told him that the girl had fallen, and had to be carried upstairs unconscious, Beau was incredulous. ‘She fell?’
‘My wife...struck her.’ Palfreyman was angry and nervous. ‘She fell against a table. It happened because the girl was insolent.’
Beau had actually felt quite cold with rage. She had apparently recovered, but as he walked towards her, he thought he saw a slight reddening on the left side of her brow, and she was backing away from him, folding her arms across her chest as if to protect herself. He didn’t intend her to be hurt. Actually hurt. But then again, he couldn’t weaken—he had to do what he was doing. Her temporary fragility was surely an illusion. She’s an actress, you fool, he reminded himself. And worse.
He said, ‘Are you all right, Miss O’Hara?’
Her gaze was steady. ‘Do you know where my bag is, Mr Beaumaris?’
That bag... He suppressed an exclamation. ‘One of the footmen left it out in the corridor.’ He went to bring it in, putting it on the floor close to where she was sitting. ‘I’ll ask you again—are you all right?’
He saw her catch her breath. ‘So far,’ she answered, ‘I could say that the last twenty-four hours have been almost the worst of my life.’
‘At least you weren’t forced to spend the night tied up in the forest.’ He sat down, at a safe distance from her, and scrutinised her carefully.
She coloured slightly. ‘That was because of a dreadful mistake. I told you, and I apologise. But all of this—you bringing me here. That wasn’t a mistake. You decided it from the start. You wanted me to look like Paulette and I don’t understand why. Is it some cruel joke of yours? Because you sound as if you absolutely hate her.’
