by Liana Lefey
She levered herself up and tugged off her pillowcase. In fact, she’d be damned if she’d stay here another blasted minute. They could all go straight to hell.
Traveling clothes. Brush. Blanket. Parchment, pen, and ink. Her uneaten lunch and the silver that had come with it. The apples she’d saved over the last few days for Primero. Her pistol, taken from its hiding place behind her books. All of it went into her makeshift sack. She dug out her riding clothes from the back of her wardrobe, stripped off her gown, and quickly put them on over her corset. There wasn’t time to braid her hair.
She paused. Money. She’d need money. She had only a few pounds or so in her purse. It would not be enough. Going to her jewelry box, she drew out rings, bracelets—and strand after strand of pearls. How she hated them. Every time she looked at the damned things, she heard her father’s criticizing voice telling her she wasn’t patient enough, mature enough—good enough.
Patience be damned.
She opened her window and peeked out. She was in luck, for there was no one anywhere in sight. Turning, she looked at her room one last time. Sadness filled her, and she closed her eyes. All of her youth had been spent here.
I’ve made my choice. Tales of her “shame” might follow her to France. If they did, she would be ruined there as well. Everything she worked to build there would be destroyed.
No. She would make her way to the Continent and find the Romani that lived there. Their free life appealed to her. Hadn’t she spent time with Patrin’s people every year when they’d camped on Papa’s lands? Hadn’t she practically grown up with his daughter, Talaitha? Hadn’t she taught her how to ride like them? And hadn’t Patrin always teased her and invited her to run away with them?
If Cavendish could do it, so could she. She knew all of their customs and traditions. And she wasn’t afraid of hard work. Cavendish had said they were more friendly on the Continent, anyway. She would have no problem.
Leaving her youth behind her, she stepped out onto the sturdy oak limb. So familiar were the hand- and footholds that she could have scurried down blind. She’d miss that old tree. Perhaps someday another little girl would discover them. She hoped so. Perhaps one of Amelia’s children.
With great care, she made it to the stables unseen. “Come, Primero,” she whispered, taking down his saddle. She laid it on him and adjusted the straps and buckles.
Going to the last stall, she brushed away the blanket of hay covering a box of supplies she’d stowed there. Quickly, she grabbed two small bottles of wine, a whole cheese, and some candles and stuffed them all in a worn leather satchel along with the contents of her pillowcase.
Snatching a battered hat from one of the hooks, she crammed it on her head and took Primero’s reins. Casually, she walked him out, praying she looked like one of the stable hands taking him out for a bit of exercise.
She couldn’t go into London. That would be the first place they would look for her. If they even care. They’ll probably be just as glad to learn I’ve gone. Saves them the trouble and embarrassment of having to get rid of me. Now they can simply say I’ve run away.
The instant they made the open field, she leaped onto Primero’s back and leaned over his neck. Obeying her silent command, he sprang away. Victoria turned him toward the woods. She’d promised Julius she would never return to her little cottage, but those promises meant nothing now.
She would stay the night there and in the morning head south with all speed. There were other ports outside of London. Smaller ones where she could slip away unnoticed. The gown she had stowed in her pack, her pearls, and a letter—which she would pen tonight—would ensure her proper treatment.
Riding in silence, she enjoyed the spicy, clean scent of the wood. The trees were like old friends, and she felt safe here among them. She knew every path here, all the places where the animals lived, and all of its hidden jewels.
Her chest tightened yet again. Don’t be ridiculous. You’d have left it all behind anyway, had you married him.
Soon the wood thinned, and she gazed out at the barren hills sprawled out before her. Glancing back, she looked on the trees one last time. Good-bye.
The wind was gentle, if a bit cool, as she let Primero find his way across the wold. The clouds were low but not threatening. The season for snow had passed. That was something to be thankful for, at least. She’d not prepared for inclement weather.
When the terrain opened and the little valley appeared before her, she smiled. She would be cozy enough tonight with a proper fire, and tomorrow would be the first day of her new, free life.
Suddenly, Primero snorted and tossed his head. “I know. I’m tired, too, but we must get inside before it gets dark, and I still need to gather firewood.” She touched his flanks with her heels and urged him forward again. He complied, albeit with strange hesitancy. But when he got to the entrance to the path down into the dell, he again balked.
Tired and heartsore, she lost patience. “Primero! What is the matter with you?” Sliding off, she took his reins and led him down on foot. He snorted and dug in his hooves, only moving forward when she tugged.
A moment later as she neared the end of the path, she suddenly understood his reluctance. There just ahead in the clearing stood a man. A very rough, unsavory-looking sort of man.
Cursing under her breath, she began to back away as quietly as possible, withdrawing the pistol from the waist of her breeches and cocking it. Behind her, Primero began to stamp and snort. Turning to quiet him, she marked that his eyes were wide, the whites showing as he sidled nervously.
Without warning, he suddenly reared up on his hind legs and let out a loud neigh, startling her so that she released his reins. There behind him on the path, she saw another man.
Shouts erupted on all sides.
Taking aim at the one blocking the path back up, she fired. Screaming, he clutched his arm—but he did not fall. Hands reached out, snaring in her cloak, tearing her away from Primero, who was doing his best to attack the man attempting to grab his reins.
The one on the path, the one she’d shot, lifted his uninjured arm and took aim at Primero with the pistol in his hand.
Her heart froze. “Run Primero! Run!”
At her cry, the horse rose up on his hind legs and whirled, striking out at the man with the gun, his hooves slashing the air and causing him to back away. Losing balance, the ruffian fell into the dirt just as Primero came crashing back down. The man rolled in the nick of time, just avoiding having his head smashed in as the horse lunged past and back up the path.
One of the other men started after him, but the one who held her shouted for him to stop. “Leave be! He’s gone. Too bad, that. Nice bit o’ horseflesh, that was. Would have fetched a fair price, and we’ll never know what might have been in the other bag. But we have one, at least, and her. Cease your struggles, girl,” he commanded. “There’s no escaping now.”
She answered by tucking her chin and biting his forearm with all of her might while kicking him viciously with her booted feet.
Howling, he only crushed her to himself rather than letting loose. “And that’ll earn you nothing but trouble!” he warned, taking his other hand and cuffing her across the top of her head. “Quiet now, I say!”
Knowing it was useless, she stopped. Better to conserve her strength in the hope of having a better opportunity.
“Right pretty, she is,” said another, coming close and taking her chin in his hands. “We’re going to be good friends, you an’ me.”
His gap-toothed leer wrought panic in Victoria’s heart as she remembered Julius’s warning. God help me! “I am Lady Victoria Lennox, daughter of the Duke of Richmond,” she announced in her haughtiest tone, trying to sound unafraid. “Touch me, and you’ll hang so high the crows won’t be able to find your rotting corpse for the clouds.”
“Oh? A toff, are we?” said the man holding her. Loosing her, he spun her about and grabbed her arm to prevent her from escaping. “What you doing out her
e all alone then, eh?”
“Riding, obviously,” she sneered.
He slapped her. “We’ll have none o’ your heighty ways here, miss. You’re in no position.”
Cheek still stinging, she glared at him.
Looking her up and down, he nodded approvingly. “Aye, you’re a toff, all right. None but a toff would speak so. You’ve just bought yourself a bit o’ time.” Turning, he summoned one of the others. “Tie her up. Take her to the cottage and watch her until I can decide what to do with her. And Horse”—he shot the man a hard look—“you’re not to touch her, you understand?”
“Aye,” grumbled the other man as he came forward with a length of rope.
She had no choice but to let the leering blackguard bind her wrists and lead her down into the cottage. As she entered, she marked with sadness and anger that its homey familiarity had been shattered by the intrusion of these barbarians. They’d made themselves quite comfortable with her blankets and all of the other comforts she’d smuggled in over the years.
She sat down by the cold hearth. “It’s cold in here.”
The bastard grinned at her. “I’ll be pleased to warm ye meself, yer ladyship,” he offered with a mocking bow and a pull at his bulging crotch.
Do not show fear. “As I said before to your leader, you’d be well advised to keep your hands to yourself,” she snapped. “I am a duke’s daughter, not some cheap harlot!”
“Praps, but ye sure don’t look a lady in them clothes,” he reasoned, nodding down at her, his eyes lingering on her posterior, the shape of which was clearly outlined by the breeches she wore. “Ye look more like one o’ the wenches from the village to me.” He licked his lips.
She felt the blood leave her face—and then felt it return in a rush as he let out a raucous cackle.
“You otter be nice to me, yer ’ighness. They call me ’Orse for a reason. I knows ’ow to make a woman squeal,” he said, massaging his crotch as he spoke.
Imitating her sister, Victoria leveled her coldest stare at him. “You’ll be the one squealing when they tighten the rope around your neck. Now, it is cold in here. If you want me to live long enough for your leader to ransom me, you’ll build a fire. At once.” Turning away, she gave him her back, just to show him she was unafraid of him.
After a long, tense moment, he did as she bade.
The door creaked on its hinges a short while later. “Jimboy sent me to take your place.”
“Wot, don’t ’e trust me?” said Horse, looking more than a little put out.
“What do you think?” the other replied, his voice dripping sarcasm.
Cursing under his breath, Horse left. The new man came in, and she noticed he was cradling his arm. It was the one she’d shot.
“Aye, that’s right. Nicked me, you did. ’Tis glad I am that you didn’t have better aim.” He seemed amused rather than angry. He came to the hearth and sat on the other side of it.
Relieved when he kept his distance, she resumed warming her bound hands before the fire. As she stared into the flames, her memory returned to the last time she’d been here. These ramshackle walls had witnessed the culmination of her love for Julius. Now that beautiful memory—all she really had of him, now—had been defiled.
Unable to bear the thought of Julius, she turned her thoughts toward home. Hopelessness settled in her breast. If she’d been ruined before, she would be even more so now—if she even survived. Would Papa still be willing to send her to France?
She stared into the fire for what seemed an eternity as the sun sank, sending shafts of amber light into the room. Looking up, she noticed the curtains she’d made were gone from the windows. Casting about, she saw they’d been torn down and wadded up for pillows.
Sleep. She was so tired, but she dare not close her eyes even for a moment.
Then she realized her guard was snoring gently. She edged toward him as quietly as she could. If she could just reach the knife in his belt and take it without waking him.
The door burst open, and he awakened with a snort.
“Wotch yerself, Geoff,” said Horse, jerking his chin at her as he came in. “She’d have got free or slit yor throat in another minute.”
“What is to be done with me?” she said quickly, ignoring Geoff’s wary gaze as he marked how far she’d managed to scoot toward him.
“Ransomed,” answered Horse shortly. “Found a bit o’ paper in that bag of yors. You’re to write us a note to take to Richmond.”
So, they’d not gotten the bag containing her pearls. God willing, Primero would return to the manor and they’d find it and know that something bad had happened to her. They’d be ready when the messenger arrived.
“Who’s riding?” asked Geoff.
“You,” answered Horse flatly. Clearly, he didn’t approve of their leader’s choice.
“Still doesn’t trust you, eh?” chuckled Geoff. “He’s right, isn’t he? We’d never see you again if you went.”
Horse’s eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits, but he handed Geoff the parchment—her parchment—and the other writing implements. “Just you ’ave ’er write it out. We wants a thousand pounds, or ’is lordship’ll never see ’er again. Once we ’as the coin, we’ll be ’appy to turn ’er ’ighness loose at the next village over. An’ she’s to give you directions as ’ow to get there,” he added before stomping out of the hut and slamming the door.
Geoff brought her the writing tools and placed them at her feet. “I’m going to untie you. I warn you now, if you try anything, I’ll see you regret it.”
She nodded and held out her hands. He released her, and she rubbed her wrists. “Give me a moment to take the stiffness out.”
JULIUS STRODE THROUGH the doors of Richmond Manor and brushed past the open-mouthed butler. “It is imperative that I speak with Lord Richmond at once.”
“Of course, my lord.” The man slowly turned to do his bidding.
“Quickly!”
Flinching, the butler threw him a frightened look and scurried off.
“I’ll go and fetch Victoria,” said Amelia, coming in behind Julius.
She had just reached the stairs when Richmond appeared. “What is the meaning of this? What are”—he spied Julius—“what is he doing here?”
“I’ve come to ask Victoria to marry me,” Julius announced. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, Your Grace.”
“We all have, Papa,” cut in Amelia. “Especially me. Victoria is innocent.”
“Innocent?” he whispered, his eyes opening wide. “Do you mean to tell me that—”
“Yes, Your Grace. And I have been a complete fool,” Julius said softly.
The color bled out of Richmond’s face. “The things I said to her…my God, she’ll never forgive me!”
“We must go to her,” said Amelia, tears forming in her eyes.
“We will all go,” answered her father, turning. “Come, Cavendish. She will listen to you.”
“Victoria?” Julius shouted, after his knocks received no answer.
“Victoria, I demand that you open this door immediately,” bellowed her father, beating on the door. “Be reasonable!”
Nothing.
Amelia’s hands went to her mouth. “She’s been so upset—you don’t think she might have…”
Julius planted his shoulder against the door, turned the handle, and shoved with all his might. There was a loud crack as the bolt on the other side split its moorings and gave. He stumbled through, followed by her family.
The bed was still made—save for one pillow out of place. Its pillowcase was missing.
“Her jewelry,” said Amelia, pointing to the empty box on the vanity.
Julius swore. “She’s gone.”
“She asked me to send her to France this morning,” said Richmond. “But that was not to happen until a week hence.”
Amelia began to cry. “We had a terrible argument this morning. She must have decided not to wait.”
“Now, now,” said Richm
ond, patting her shoulder. “She cannot have been gone more than a short while. She might still be on the grounds.” He turned to the crowd that had gathered just outside the door. “I want everyone out looking for her. I don’t care if we have to send the scullery maids out on horseback, I want her found. You”—he pointed to the butler—“organize the men and have them begin looking along the London road. And have someone ask if she’s been seen in the village.”
The servants scattered.
Horseback…“She wouldn’t have gone on foot,” Julius said, turning.
As he strode toward the stables, Charlie ran out, his little face scrunched with worry. He stopped when he saw Julius. “Oh, m’lord. Primero’s just coom back, an—”
“Where is Lady Victoria?”
“That’s just it—she’s not with ’im. ’Is saddle’s on ’im, but no rider. An’ I found these.”
Ice gripped Julius’s innards when he saw the gleaming pile of pearls held in the boy’s grubby hands.
“Oh, my God,” gasped Richmond, taking them from the boy. “What if she’s fallen? Or been accosted?”
“Is he fit to ride?” Julius demanded of Charlie.
“Yes, m’lord. ’E’s tired, but well enough. I’ve just given ’im some hot mash.”
“Bring him out as soon as he’s done.”
“Do you think you can find her?” asked Richmond.
“I will not return without her.”
“Is there anything you need?” asked Amelia, her face pale and pinched.
“Yes. Have the kitchen send provisions. Enough to get us through a night or two. And some blankets. It’s getting cold again.” She turned to do his bidding. “Wait,” he called, stopping her. “I shall want some pistols as well. Just in case,” he added quietly.
She blanched and nodded. Hitching up her skirts, she ran back to the house.
He turned to Richmond. “I think I know where she might have gone. I only hope Primero can lead me back there again.” He saw Richmond’s face darken and said no more. The man wasn’t a fool.
When Amelia returned half an hour later, she was accompanied by two servants bearing a pair of large baskets.
