Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  Phoebe stood. “Who are you, and what do you mean interrupting us so late?”

  Laughter emitted from the man’s lips. “But surely you know me, Your Grace, or shall I have to blindfold you so you listen more closely to my voice?” He brandished a knife, testing its sharpness with, first his thumb, and then slashing it through the fabric on the back of the upholstered chair in the corner.

  Phoebe gasped, her hands instinctively attempting to cover her body. This man had pulled her from her bath. He’d seen what only one other man had ever seen. Her naked body. “How dare you.” She sneered at him.

  Atwater stepped in front of his wife, Tom following suit with Mary. And then Carlisle did so with Olivia.

  “Don’t try and hide, Miss Olivia McGowan, Your Grace. She needs no protection from me, do you pet? No, she’ll help me in my endeavour here before she’ll help any of you. Come on Olivia. For old times’ sake, what?”

  Phoebe looked closely at Olivia. “Olivia, are you, did you, plan this, this invasion? Did you come here meaning to rob us with this vile man? Are you a part of this?”

  “Now, see here, cousin. I do believe, even you, have crossed a boundary with this unsavoury inquisition.”

  “Please, let Olivia speak, Your Grace.” Phoebe didn’t take her eyes from Olivia.

  “No, Your Grace. I did not. I came here tonight to return the silver I was forced to take from this house. I also have jewellery, some of which might belong to Lady Judith.” She looked directly at Wallace. “There are no old nostalgic times between us, Bruce.”

  “Shut up, both of you. And I’ll take that jewellery. Now.” Wallace snatched Olivia’s reticule from her.

  “What is the actual meaning of this interruption?” Atwater, himself, wasn’t frightened, but he feared for the ladies. This was Bruce Wallace, the man who’d tried to kill him at the cheap hotel in Covent Garden. Charlotte Evans’ lover.

  Wallace had been put in the army’s jail until his trial for kidnap and attempted murder was to take place. He must have escaped. That meant soldiers would be searching for him. And Atwater hoped upon hope they would begin the search here at Regent Street.

  “The meaning of this interruption, Your Grace? Why, I’m to be taken back to prison, my trial will not happen until the authorities have the time. Or until they feel like addressing it. I might as well go back with an actual crime on my hands.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mary had stepped forward, her protective tendencies seeming to have gotten the best of her.

  “What I mean, My Lady, is that I am going to kill you. All of you.” His eyes narrowed as he looked around the room eyeing each in turn. “You.” He addressed Carlisle. “Lock the door that leads to the kitchen.

  “Wallace, there must be something you want from me. What is it? Money? A horse? Name it. It shall be yours, and then you leave here and never come back again,” Atwater spoke.

  Carlisle had locked the doors, one on each end of the room. Everyone looked to Atwater for direction.

  “Mr … ah, Wallace, is it?” Atwater said in his most gracious manner.

  “You need to ask, Your Grace? I’ll go to the gallows singing a Highland song. Famous for all intents and purposes. And you, all of you shall be dreaming in your graves,” Wallace supplied.

  “You’re a Scotsman, are you not Duke Carlisle? Though your accent is barely detectable I would venture to say you are from the Edinburgh area? Is that right? But alas, you’ll go to meet your maker, and I’ll be the one to go back to Scotland. Or jail. It makes no difference to me. I don’t mind being imprisoned if the crime was worth it.” Wallace smiled showing a loss of teeth across the top of his mouth.

  “You can be famous, Mr Wallace, only let these people go. Your problem is with me. It is I, who pressed the charges against you. If you let them go, you may do to me what you will,” Atwater pleaded.

  “No!” Phoebe burst out. “Robert. No.”

  “It’s what must be done, my love.” Atwater spoke to his wife, but his eyes sought Tom’s.

  “That would take the fun out of it, Your Grace. See, you will be tied up, in fact.” Wallace threw four lengths of rope to Carlisle. “You. Bind both of these men. Hands behind their backs. “Do it.” He raised his voice against Carlisle’s seeming hesitancy.

  A slow tear coursed its way down Mary’s cheek followed by another and another. Phoebe stood defiant, and Tom and Atwater clenched their fists behind their backs to make their wrists as large as possible.

  There could be a chance, maybe, to wriggle out of the bindings once they were set.

  “I insist the ladies not be bound, Mr Wallace.”

  “Insist until your heart’s content. As I was saying, Your Grace,” Wallace made his way to Phoebe and held the side of the blade against her cheek, “I mean to kill your loved ones first. And slowly. So you can bask in the full measure of humility I am about to bestow upon you.” He pressed the tip of the knife into Phoebe’s apple cheek, piercing the skin. The tiny drop of blood coursed down her face much as Mary’s tears were doing the same.

  “Oh, and what do we have here? Crying are we? Soon you will surely have something to cry about, My Lady.”

  “Stop. Bruce. This must stop.” Olivia stepped towards him and Phoebe.

  “You do not order me, Olivia McGowan, giving yourself airs. You’ve supped with the peerage as one of their own this eve. It will be the last time.”

  “You must stop. Now.” Olivia ran towards the man, meaning to startle him.

  “Olivia, no,” Phoebe and Mary cried in unison as Wallace drove the blade into her torso. She bent forward for a moment, and then collapsed to the floor. Carlisle went to her.

  “Olivia. Olivia.” He turned to the group. “She needs the doctor.” In the meantime, Carlisle removed his cravat and pressed the fabric against the wound. He looked up at Wallace, “You shall pay dearly for this,” he hissed.

  Wallace wiped the knife clean on the dirty buckskin pantaloons he wore. He threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t you bon ton types understand anything? You are all to die this night. It really makes no difference to me what order it happens in, except for you.” He turned his attention to Atwater. “You shall be last, Your Grace.”

  “You do not frighten any of us with your bullying tactics, Mr Wallace. Carlisle, untie these bindings.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Carlisle, or I’ll finish off your little Olivia right now. Now, if you would care to negotiate, hmm, you might consider, Duke Atwater, calling off the charges you have made against Charlotte Evans. She will be released and will run away with me, of course. Then the two of us shall be out of your hair, so to speak, forever.”

  “The two of you will be out of my hair forever after I press further charges against you, Wallace. Now, Carlisle,” Atwater gestured with his head and lifted his arms behind him as far as he could.

  Wallace stepped in front of Atwater. “If you untie these men, Carlisle, remember what I said. I will kill Olivia. Slowly.”

  Phoebe and Mary were huddled together on the sofa but stood so Carlisle could place Olivia where she would be more comfortable.

  The two women sat at the table. Olivia moaned faintly as she was moved.

  Chapter 23

  “Evans.”

  Charlotte was trying to sleep, something she found that eluded her these days. The more she entertained the idea, the more she was resolved to go to America. She was aware that Bruce would want to go with her, but she wanted a clean start. She wanted to go where no one else would know her or her past.

  She pulled the blanket over her head in an attempt to block out the voices that kept her from her dream planning.

  “Evans.” There it was again. It was the guard. Charlotte lifted herself from the bed and went to the tiny opening that served as a window to her cell.

  “What is it now?” She wiped the sleep from her eyes and smoothed her chignon.

  “You’re to come with me.” The cell door opened. “Put these on.�
�� He handed her the leg shackles. “And don’t try anything cute.”

  “What is this about?” Charlotte squelched the panic that was rising inside her. She hadn’t done murder. That was the only crime that came with a death sentence. Even attempted murder didn’t get the death penalty. Even attempted murder against a Duke or Duchess. Could it be possible that her trial would be now?

  “Move, woman.” The lieutenant was noticeably sharp.

  When she had the shackles on, the lieutenant bound her hands behind her back and let her out of the room. She was guarded more securely than she’d been previously. Something must have happened, a change in protocol, for her to be guarded so thoroughly. They could not lawfully hang her without a trial in which she could defend herself. Then, if the verdict came up guilty, she would ask to be sent to America.

  There was no guarantee that supplied a ticket to America except a second chance. There was absolutely no guarantee that a second chance would be had. And going to America was what Charlotte now desired much more than becoming a Duchess.

  The lieutenant led her to the public sitting room where she’d seen and spoken to Judith and Jorge. Everything was as it had been the last time she’d been in this room some months ago. She had a moment of sadness remembering her little Robert and signing her rights as his mother away.

  But it had been for the best. Lady Judith had promised to write and let Charlotte know details of her child’s life. As long as Charlotte stayed away, Judith would uphold the bargain. But if Charlotte ever tried to see the child, the arrangement would immediately be null and void.

  Not that it mattered much. Charlotte would tell no one where she was headed once she was out of this prison.

  “Sit.” The lieutenant’s hand pushed down on her shoulder.

  “What is this about?” Charlotte wanted to know. She feared they might be trying her at this very moment. She’d planned what her defence would be. Each night before she fell asleep, she’d envisioned herself convincing the judges that she’d done nothing that could be proven against her. But, as she waited in the reception room for whoever was coming, her well laid plans fell away from her.

  “You’ll see what it’s about.” The lieutenant left the room, slamming the heavy door shut behind him.

  Charlotte sat alone and tried not to think. What could this be about? She grew even more frightened. What if they decided to hang her after all? It was night time. To her knowledge, no one was ever hanged at night. The example had to be made. There were so few executions that the crowd would turn to a mob if they missed one.

  The door squeaked open, and Colonel Drake walked into the room. He took a seat opposite Charlotte at the table. “Well?”

  She said nothing, only looked at him.

  “Where is Wallace? I saw you speak to him briefly just the other morning when you were having your daily walk. Where did he go?”

  “Wallace? I know not of what you speak, Colonel. Yes, I spoke to Mr Wallace that morning, but only about the inclement weather of late.”

  “You expect me to believe that two days ago you spoke about the weather with your former lover, and now he’s gone, and you know nothing about it?”

  “Bruce is gone?”

  “Yes. Escaped today. Now, let’s try this again, or we can set up the dowsing pool.”

  He was threatening her with torture as a means of getting information from her. Information she did not have. Time was of the essence. She racked her brain. Where would Bruce go? Her head began to throb. She wished she could rub her temples to gain some relief.

  “You have one minute, Miss Evans. Then you shall be taken to the pool.”

  The Colonel sat back.

  Where would he go? And then, as if it had been in her mind the entire time, she made a quick plan.

  “What will be given me if I tell you?”

  “So you know?”

  “I might. He’s told me nothing, but I know him well. I know the way he thinks.”

  “You will not be tortured for an answer if you just give it to me.”

  “No. I want something. And if you consent to it, in writing, I will tell you.”

  “Very well. What are your terms?”

  “If I should be sentenced to prison?”

  “Yes?”

  It was the moment of truth. At the very least, it would get her out of being tortured for information she didn’t have. And she knew they didn’t really want to torture her. It was an idle threat to get her to talk. If she did things right, she could have an entirely new life. She decided to lay all her cards on the table.

  “First, I would like your guarantee, Colonel.”

  “You have my word, Miss Evans.”

  “I should like your word in writing.”

  “Oh, in writing, is it?”

  “Yes, Sir. You see, I have not met a great many men I’ve been able to trust in my life. This guarantee, we’re about to create, concerns my future. I ask you to respect that.”

  The Colonel sighed. “Very well. Lieutenant, fetch me paper and ink. He scribbled out the document and hastily signed. “There. Done. Where is he?”

  “Will you not have the lieutenant sign? As a witness?”

  Once again, Drake let out a huge sigh and slid the page across the table towards where the lieutenant guarded the door.

  “There. It is done.”

  “And may I be given the document?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Evans.” He walked around behind her chair and handed the paper into her bound hands.

  She smirked. “I will read the agreement.”

  “You will tell me where Bruce Wallace is. And you will do so this very instant.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes to appear nonchalant. The only reason Bruce would escape without alerting her would be if he were going to see Duke Atwater. To exact revenge. She prayed it was true and took a slow deep breath.

  “If I were you, Colonel Drake, I should look at Duke Atwater’s townhouse, on Regent Street, for Bruce Wallace. He is a vindictive man.” She exhaled.

  “Atwater? He’s pressing the charges of attempted murder on Wallace.”

  “Yes, and as I said, Bruce Wallace is a vindictive man.”

  “Take her back to her cell, then report back here,” Colonel Drake said to the lieutenant.

  *******

  Olivia was white as a sheet. Carlisle still held his cravat to the wound in her abdomen but realized it was not mortal. It was not even severe. He looked at Olivia with admiration. A brilliant distraction.

  The girl had bunched up her dress in front and bent forward when Wallace stabbed her. It had been a trick, something she must have learned somewhere deep in her past. Something which Bruce Wallace was not familiar with. But Carlisle was well aware of the trick when Olivia put her hand on his wrist. She spoke to him with her eyes, which seemed to say, play along.

  Carlisle sat back from the sofa. He was stooping on the floor. “My man, this young lady needs a doctor.”

  “Well, I daresay that’s too bad. She’s going to die anyway, although I am allowing Duke Atwater two more hours to decide to drop all the charges against Charlotte.”

  “Why are you doing this, Mr Wallace?” Phoebe pleaded.