Enticing the Earl

by Nicole Byrd

  He blinked. Her voice was a distant buzzing. He tried to concentrate, tried to focus on the contessa instead of his increasing misery. “What did you say?”

  “It iz not right, vhy vould she go now? You ’ad just made the proposal!”

  “She does not love me,” he said dully, as if explaining something so obvious as fire burns and rain falls. “She does not want to marry me. I suppose she asked the squire to take her home.”

  “You are being ze ninny, Marcuz!” The contessa shook her head. “Of courze the lady loves you. Do you not zee ’ow she looks at you? ’Ow she is pulled to you? Are you blind?”

  A faint tremor of hope stirred inside him. He was afraid to allow it to take root. “But she never said yes. I thought she was happy, but now it occurs to me”—the words were like huge, jagged chunks of pure agony, and it pained him to pull them out, one by one—“It occurs to me that she never actually said yes. Worse, she has never said she loves me….” The lump in his throat was big enough to choke his own horse. He tried to swallow and found that he could not.

  “Did you forbid ’er to zay the vord?” The contessa gave him a shrewd look.

  “What?” He stared at her.

  “Oh, Marcuz,” she shook her head at him and sighed. “I remember your tricks, my dear foolish man. When we began our tryst, you told me never to forget it was only for amuzement. You bade me not talk of love or commitment, never to think that we vould be together for the long time. Do you not recall? And what did you tell Miz. Smith of the changing names?”

  Marcus groaned out loud. What a fool he was, indeed!

  “But if she does love me, why would she leave?” He felt the first seed of hope put out tiny tendrils, and he was almost afraid to offer it encouragement. Did she really love him after all?

  “That is vhat ve muzt think of,” the contessa suggested. “Because if Madame Lauryn did not go of ’er own volition, Marcuz—”

  “My God!” He jumped to his feet. “If there is any chance of that!” He walked up and down, fear cold within him now, worse than even his despair had been. “You are sure she is not in the house?”

  The contessa nodded. “Oui. I have zearched it all. Zent zervants to the outbuildingz, though why she vould go there—ve looked, but c’est rien. There iz not a zign of her.”

  His lips pressed together into a thin line, Marcus headed back toward the front doors. He walked outside, looking around the front of the house. The gravel drive was too hard packed to offer him any clues, but he walked out to the gates, and there he saw something he had not bothered to take note of in his haste to see his love when he had ridden in.

  A carriage had recently stood here; he saw the indentations in the slightly muddy earth, and signs of the horses that had pulled it. And there, more signs of carriage wheels, and if anything—he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle—the wheels seemed to leave slightly deeper lines in the soft earth, as if more weight might have been added to the carriage.

  Had Lauryn been taken away in this unknown carriage?

  The squire had come on the public stage and hired a smaller vehicle in the nearest town; these were not the marks of his gig, Marcus was certain. To be sure, however, he almost ran back to his stable.

  Sure enough, the squire’s hired gig still sat outside, and his two-horse team were still being tended by the earl’s servants. No, Lauryn had not left with the squire, so they had two people unaccounted for, or three, if Marcus counted his brother.

  Bloody hell.

  His heart racing with fear for Lauryn, most of all, and concern for all of them, Marcus yelled at the nearest groom, “Saddle a fresh horse.”

  “Aye, yer lordship,” the man answered, dropping the brush and hurrying toward the tack room.

  Marcus ran back toward the house. Inside he told the contessa what he had found. “Send a note to Colonel Swift and tell him what we know, and what we fear,” he said.

  “Vhat vill you do?” Her voice was tight with concern.

  “Follow the tracks as long as they last,” he told her. “The drive is muddy, and the tracks will likely blend into other vehicles’ treads on the road. But I must try.”

  After Marcus departed, the contessa went upstairs. She and the squire did not seem to get along; they had a fundamental difference of worldview, Lauryn thought, privately finding it a tiny bit amusing.

  She offered to show the squire around the grounds; it was a bright sunny day after another night of rain, and getting some fresh air sounded appealing.

  This turned out to be a good move, for when they had some private space, she discovered that the squire had more news to share.

  “You may find this a surprise,” he said, clearing his throat as they walked among the blooming wildflowers and artfully planted shrubs that adorned the rock garden. “That is, I know it has been a short time, but I got to know her after you left. She came up to see about me numerous times, asked if I had ordered dinner, even blessed me out once when I came back to the hotel one night having, ah, overindulged in the spirits a bit, but in a way that seemed to indicate a genuine interest.”

  “Really?” Lauryn lifted her brows. “Of whom are we speaking?”

  “Oh.” The squire looked a bit self-conscious. “Miss Mallard, the hotel owner’s daughter. I know she’s not precisely a lady, perhaps, with her father in trade, but she’s a very ladylike girl, nice manners and very modest and well behaved.”

  Lauryn bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. She thought she could see where this was going now, and she was delighted. “Oh yes, I thought so, too.”

  “And I had noticed her earlier. We’d chatted now and then, you know,” he added. “So it’s not all that sudden, in a way, but…”

  “But?” she prompted, when he paused again and rubbed his boot against one the larger rocks, still seeming to find it hard to get all the words out. Was he afraid of what she would say? “I thought her very nice, myself.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He brightened. “And it was so quiet, without you there, you know, so we began eating dinner together, and I got to know her better. Anyhow, I have proposed, and she has accepted,” he blurted, all in a rush. “And I hope you will not mind. Of course, now, it will not be so bad. I was worried about you and Martha sharing the same house, and perhaps not being happy, but now—”

  “I think it is a wonderful surprise,” Lauryn told him, smiling and leaning to kiss her father-in-law’s cheek. “I hope you both are very happy.”

  He would have a reason to live again, she thought. He could go back to Yorkshire and put the pieces of his life back together. As young as Martha was, and really—the squire was not an old man—there was even the chance of more children. No one could replace her late husband, but if a new son or daughter should be born, it would make the squire and his new wife most happy. She blinked hard for a moment, then smiled most sincerely at him. “I’m delighted for you!”

  He looked both happy and relieved, and they continued to walk and chat.

  Presently, the wind picked up, and the clouds overhead turned darker.

  “It looks as if it might rain again,” Lauryn observed, shivering. She had come outside without a shawl. “Perhaps we should go in.”

  She led the way back toward the house. As she headed for the corner of the building, going first on the narrow rock path, she lowered her head against the breeze and almost stepped into a dark form.

  Gasping, she looked up in surprise.

  Hardly an arm’s length away stood the Asian man she had seen spying on the warehouse.

  Before she could call out, he had one hand pressed hard against her mouth, the other pulling her to him. He smelled of garlic and other spices she did not recognize, exotic, pungent scents. She kicked, but her soft boots did little damage, and his arms had remarkable strength. She struggled against him, but she could not break his hold, and she couldn’t even make enough noise to warn the squire.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw two other forms slip arou
nd them and heard an ominous grunt as the thud of a blow fell. There was the crumpling of a body falling.

  Oh, dear Lord, she thought. Don’t let him be dead, not now, when he is finally ready to start living again.

  And what about her? Would they kill her here, too, when she was so full of love, also taking the first steps toward a heady new life, with a man she loved so desperately?

  Oh, Marcus, she thought, where are you?

  And then lack of air made her lungs ache and her insides go hollow. Stars blossomed before her eyes, and her own knees weakened. She slumped against her attacker, unable even to struggle any longer. Darkness descended.

  She came to once, facedown on a hard seat, becoming dimly aware of the rumble of carriage wheels rolling and feeling herself jostled roughly. Desperate for air, she tried to get a breath, but she also felt instinctively that she must not show that she was awake, so even though her limbs cramped painfully, she did not move, and she kept her eyelids closed. She could feel ropes binding her arms, and something also bound her mouth.

  Would she ever see Marcus again? Despair washed over her, and she almost sobbed aloud, but a memory of the comfort of his arms about her, the glory of their blissful unions, the simple pleasure of sharing a secret smile when they both found humor in someone’s else’s comment helped her hold onto a kernel of stubborn resolve. No, she must not give up!

  She had found something so precious, so rare—a true kinship of mind and body and spirit—how dare these murderous criminals attempt to take that away from her just as she was about to grasp a whole wondrous new life?

  “Oh, please, God, help me to survive,” she prayed silently. “Pray keep the squire safe, too; he also has a new life before him. Show me the way out of this.” She kept her eyes closed. If they were inside a carriage, she thought there would be little of merit to take note of, and she tried to have patience. It was not as if she had any choice! She had to bide her time.

  It was as Marcus feared; before he had gone very far, it became impossible to follow the muddy trail of the carriage as it blended into other treads from other carriages that had crisscrossed the main road. When he had jumped off his horse for the dozenth time and knelt to try to make out which track might mark the vehicle he sought, he knew it was hopeless. And the sun was higher now, drying up the muddy trails.

  Cursing, he remounted and pushed his heels into his horse’s sides, urging him on. At least now that he was not watching every foot of the road, he could make better time. As he rode, he thought hard. He had two leads, the shop on Two Hen Street and the ship in the harbor. Which was the most likely?

  The ship worried him the most simply because if Lauryn were taken to the ship, and it were to set sail—his heart raced just thinking of the dangers! She could be taken to the other side of the world, or her throat cut and her body dropped into the ocean on the way, and he would never see her again, have no chance of saving her. He could not bear to contemplate such a fate!

  He had to save her. She was his life now. He could not bear to even consider an existence without her.

  He prodded his horse to an even faster gait. The universe could not be so cruel as to show him the possibility of such happiness and then snatch it away again. He would find her, he would get her back, or die trying.

  Lauryn found that lying sprawled across the seat of a small carriage, closeted in such close quarters with several men who did not seem to wash often and who smelled of sweat and unfamiliar spices, while one bounced about on a bumpy road with eyes closed, was a good way to become rapidly nauseated. However, she had a surely dirty cloth bound about her mouth, to keep her from crying out when she awoke, she surmised, so she worked hard at not retching, because that would only make matters worse. She feared they must be riding forever, but at last the carriage pulled up to a stop, and the ride had likely not been as long as it seemed.

  The kidnappers had been talking in low voices among themselves for the last part of the ride, but as they spoke in a strangely accented language that she had never heard before, their conversation was not helpful. Lauryn had no clue what they were about to do, or why they were doing it, which was most frustrating.

  She didn’t know if they were about to kill her—although in that case, why had they not done so back at the hunting lodge? Which brought back frightening questions about what they had done to the squire, but worrying did no good, so she pushed those thoughts away. She had to think of herself and a way to escape. She kept her eyelids resolutely shut, and now she heard her captors scrambling out of the carriage and the door shutting.

  She waited several long minutes to be sure all of the men had climbed out, but when she heard nothing, she allowed herself to carefully open one eye just a slit. There was nothing to see: the curtains were pulled over the small windows. The carriage was small and dirty, likely a hired vehicle, she thought. She was lying sprawled across one of the seats, and she could not even change her position or they would know she was awake, and she thought it more prudent to put off “waking” for as long as she could.

  She tried to hear what was outside the carriage; the door had been left just a little ajar. Where were they? Drawing a deep breath, she smelled dead fish and the scent of brine, and she could make out shouts and whistles that were faintly familiar. She felt herself go cold.

  They were at the docks. Would they toss her into the water? She could swim a little. When she and her sisters were small, they had gone into one of the lakes near her home, and her father had taught them. But with her arms tied, she would sink at once. She shivered with fear. Watching the door, Lauryn struggled to lift her bound arms far enough to allow her fingertips to touch the cloth strip over her mouth. Could she move it a little?

  She pushed it up so she could bring her teeth to bear on the ropes on her wrists. Gnawing at the ropes, she tried to loosen the knots. The ropes were tight, biting into her skin, and the knots seemed secure.

  Oh, damn, damn, she thought.

  Then the sound of footsteps near the door forced her to hastily pull the gag back into place and lie down as she had been, shutting her eyes quickly. She heard the door pulled open, and the chatter of more foreign words.

  To her alarm, they were wrapping her in some heavy cloth, and then two of them grabbed her shoulders and feet and it was all she could do not to shriek against her gag as they lifted her with ungallant force out of the carriage.

  She was carried like a roll of carpet quickly across the docks. Lauryn thought of screaming for help, but she was now so muffled in fabric that she doubted anyone would hear her. And anyhow, the gag across her mouth prevented her from making any noticeable outcry.

  Worse yet, the folds of cloth around her allowed very little air to reach her. She was gasping for breath—was this how they would kill her, instead of the watery grave she had feared? The enveloping folds were suffocating and she fought for breath, but a deeper darkness was descending once more.

  Marcus made up his mind as he approached the out-skirts of town and rode straight for the docks. The image of that ship, poised to sail away, kept haunting him. The shop would be there, he told himself. The ship was too easily moved and should be checked out right away. As he rode toward the harbor, however, he had time to appreciate that the ship, sitting out in the water, would also present special challenges. One might find several ways to sneak into a building without being noticed, but trespassing onto a ship was another question altogether.

  He stopped at the hotel and left his horse and then walked the last couple of blocks to the docks so he could approach quietly. His heart seemed to skip a beat when he saw to his intense relief that yes, the Blue Dragon still sat at anchor in the same spot.

  Now, what to do?

  He walked casually among the bustling sailors and dock-workers, at last finding a man with a wooden leg who was selling hot apple turnovers from a cart at the far side of the dock.

  Waiting till the man had a lull in his trade, Marcus went up and bought a pastry, tipping him
generously.

  “Ta, gov,” the man said, winking.

  “Guess you get a good view of the goings-on from here,” Marcus said, trying to make his tone light.

  “You could say that, gov,” the vendor agreed, wiping his hands on his greasy apron.

  “You seen anything odd about that ship?” Marcus took the last bite of the turnover and pointed to the one he meant, licking his fingers.

  “The China blokes? They don’t talk much, ’cept to each other, and who can make that out.” The man shook his head.

  “What have they got on their ship?” Marcus persisted. “You seen what comes and goes?”

  “Not much,” the vendor told him. “They took some boxes off. Took a rug on today, sorta peculiar, I thought, but who knows about foreign blokes, you know?”

  “I know,” Marcus agreed, but he felt a icy shiver up his spine. A rolled up rug would hide a body, living or dead…

  He had to work fast!

  Could he get more information, even official help? Who had replaced the murdered Harbor Master? He proceeded to the office to find out that the replacement was a short man with a stutter who was still trying to figure out the ins and outs of his position.

  “Ah, my lord, I’m n-not sure that we can go aboard a sh-ship of a foreign nationality and search without more cause—”

  “But I have cause!” Marcus almost shouted. “They may have abducted my fiancée, you idiot!”

  “But we have no real evidence, your l–lordship,” the Harbor Master told him, without meeting his angry gaze. He glanced through a stack of papers. “I will have to check my regulations and get b-back to you.”

  “Regulations be damned,” Marcus muttered. He strode out of the office, knowing only that he would have to find Lauryn himself, and fast.

  But coming out of the building, he almost collided with Colonel Swift, and his spirits lifted at once.

  “There you are!” the colonel said. “Thought you’d be here. I got the note from the contessa and I came at once, with some of my men.”