Vixen v-2

by Jane Feather

  "You've a great many lessons to learn, little sister," he said, breathing rather heavily. "Fortunately, I make a good teacher… maybe a little short on patience, but you'll learn all the quicker, I imagine."

  Chloe was too stunned to reply. Her face throbbed, her wrenched arms were beginning to ache, and the cravat was uncomfortably tight around her wrists. Instinctively, she pressed backward into her corner, in no doubt as to the reason behind this abduction.

  Her eyes slid sideways to Crispin. He was smiling in the way he had when he'd pulled the wings off butterflies as a child. She had once said to Hugo that Jasper couldn't force her to many Crispin. But then she hadn't fully understood the meaning of force.

  The chaise jolted in another pothole and she fell sideways, unable to balance herself with her bound hands. Crispin pushed her upright again. She huddled backward into her corner again and closed her eyes to shut out the three pairs regarding her with the predatory interest of hunters who've finally snared their prey.

  Where was Hugo? But what difference did it matter where he was? Never in a millennium would he connect Denis DeLacy with Jasper.

  Vv here's Chloe, Dolly?" Hugo entered the drawing room before dinner, a somewhat mournful Dante on his heels.

  "Why, goodness me, I thought she was with you." Lady Smallwood put down her embroidery and blinked at her cousin. "I haven't seen her since nuncheon."

  "What!" Hugo impatiently pushed Dante's wet nose away from his thigh. "How could you not have seen her? Is she in her room?"

  "I assumed she was with you," Dolly repeated. "I'm not usually told when you and she go off together." There was a hint of self-righteous grievance in the statement.

  Hugo spun on his heel and ran down to the hall, yelling for Samuel.

  "Eh, what's up now?" Samuel appeared from the kitchen, wiping his mouth with his table napkin. "In the middle of me dinner, I am."

  "Where's Chloe?"

  " 'Ow should I know? I 'aven't seen 'ide nor 'air of the lass since nuncheon. Thought she was wi' you." Sensing Hugo's agitation, he looked perplexed. "You mean she's not?"

  "No, she's not. I haven't seen her since early this afternoon." Hugo forced himself to think clearly, to order his thoughts. Could she have had plans for the evening she'd forgotten to impart… or perhaps chosen not to? Like the Billingsgate affair.

  It was not impossible. But it was unlikely. Chloe was an uncomfortable and incompetent liar. Her mischievous but generally purposeful schemes were never intended to be kept secret for any length of time.

  She'd been going for a drive with Denis DeLacy. Had there been an accident? The curricle overturned? A stumbling horse? A lost shoe? Highwaymen?

  But it was eight o'clock. Chloe had gone driving with DeLacy at two. Six hours! No ordinary accident could have happened in that time. Usually, if she went for a drive in the early afternoon, she'd be home by five o'clock at the latest. If there'd been an accident, then they had three hours leeway in which to deliver a message of some kind. Unless she was lying with a broken

  neck beneath the wheels of DeLacy's curricle… how well did the damn youth drive? Was he reckless? All young men were reckless.

  He thought of his own youth… of the number of times he'd driven a team when he couldn't see straight… of the times when he'd snatched the reins of a stagecoach from the hapless driver and careened down the road with screaming passengers, waving a bottle of burgundy over his head and shooting his pistol in the air.

  Dear God in heaven! How chickens came home to roost.

  "I'm going to Curzon Street," he said, taking the stairs three at a time. A few minutes later he was back, drawing on his gloves, a caped overcoat hanging from his shoulders.

  Samuel, who had discarded his napkin and abandoned his dinner, was in the hall, buttoning up his own coat. "So what's at Curzon Street'"

  "DeLacy's mother's house," Hugo said shortly, opening the door. "I can't think of anywhere else to start." He set off down the street almost at a run, Samuel panting along behind him.

  "Go around to the mews and see if there's a pair of grays and a curricle in the stable," Hugo ordered as they reached the DeLacy mansion. Samuel went off and Hugo banged the knocker.

  The butler opened the door and bowed. "The family are at dinner, sir. May I take your card?"

  "Only if Denis DeLacy is in," Hugo said shortly.

  "Mr. DeLacy, sir, is not in." The man stood holding the door with an air of impatient courtesy.

  "Has he been back this afternoon?"

  "No, sir. I understand Mr. DeLacy is spending the evening out of town with friends."

  "Which friends?"

  "I am not privileged to know, sir." The butler moved back, preparatory to closing the door.

  Hugo put his foot in the opening. "Don't be in such a hurry, my good man."

  There was something about his tone and the glitter in his green eyes that caught the butler's attention. "Sir?" he said stiffly, but made no further move to end the conversation.

  "Mr. DeLacy went out in his curricle this afternoon. At that point did you know he was not intending to return?"

  "I believe a message to that effect came somewhat later, sir."

  "How much later?"

  "At around six o'clock, I believe, sir."

  Two hours ago. Clearly he didn't have to worry about an accident. What the devil was going on? Hugo removed his foot, waved a dismissive hand at the butler, and ran back to the street.

  Samuel appeared around the corner from the mews. "Two grays, lookin' fair winded to me," he said, falling into step. "Someone's been pushin' 'em mighty 'ard. The 'ead groom was swearin' worse than the lass's poll parrot. Says it's been two hours since they come in wi' some job ostler who vanished as soon as he'd dropped 'em off. Groom still can't get 'em cooled off proper."

  "Two hours," Hugo repeated. "So the horses came back with a message carried by a stranger that their driver was not returning. Samuel, what the hell is going on?"

  "Seems to me," Samuel said slowly, "that makin' off with the lass is gettin' to be a habit with some folks."

  "Jasper!" Hugo stopped dead in the middle of the street. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, of course. The Congregation. Why on earth didn't I think…?"

  If Denis DeLacy had followed his father into the Con-

  gregation just as Crispin had followed Jasper, then Denis would be bound by an oath of obedience to his leader. Hugo had been so busy worrying that Chloe would hear the truth about himself from her attentive suitor, he'd completely missed the real danger attached to any connection with the Congregation. DeLacy had seemed such an inoffensive lad… but then, hadn't they all- most of the time?

  "Congregation?" Samuel jumped out of the path of an oncoming hackney, shoving Hugo with him. The jarvey leaned down from his box and poured forth a string of obscenities.

  "It's a long story," Hugo said, his mouth grim. "A long story and an old one." He stood frowning, options and speculations chasing each other in his head.

  Where would Jasper have taken her? In London, they'd have to find a priest who'd turn a blind eye to marrying a young girl against her will… and Chloe would make that fact very clear. She'd not go docile to the altar. It would take time to subdue her into an appearance of compliance, and Jasper didn't have that kind of time. He'd want her married and bedded without delay. Once it was done, Chloe's fortune would automatically come under her husband's control. It was the law of the land. What happened to Chloe after that probably wouldn't concern her brother unduly, although it would interest Crispin.

  Hugo remembered the vicious temper Crispin had evinced that day in Manchester when Chloe had run to Rosinante's rescue. He remembered the sullen cowardice of his behavior when Hugo had squeezed the truth out of him on the road to Manchester. Such a contemptible character would enjoy revenge on a helpless captive. And if he was a member of the Congregation-and of course he was-then he would have learned by now the licentious pleasures of the drug-induced trance as he

  pushed o
ut the boundaries of sensation, crossing the thresholds of evil in the crypt. He and Denis would have learned it all by now, even if they were not yet as depraved as their leader.

  They would be taking her to Shipton. Hugo knew it as clearly as if Jasper had told him. In Shipton, Jasper would have his own people, who knew how to keep their mouths shut, who knew what happened if they didn't. In Shipton, he could keep Chloe shut away from prying eyes and he would have his own priest. Jasper had sowed the seeds of his influence widely, using fear, intimidation, bribery, whichever power tool worked the best in each case. He'd have a priest willing to turn a blind eye.

  And they'd have the crypt.

  He saw Elizabeth standing in the crypt, terror in her drugged eyes as she at last understood what role her husband had devised for her. He saw Elizabeth… but it wasn't Elizabeth, it was her daughter, Chloe, standing by the bier in the light of the altar candles. The daughter in her mother's place… the feud come full circle. How it would please Jasper. Oh, what deep pleasure it would give him to avenge his father's death in that fashion.

  A wave of nausea surged through him, a momentary sense of helplessness… and then came the cold conviction that if he had to, he would kill Jasper as he had killed Stephen.

  When they took Chloe to the crypt, he would be there.

  "We're going to Shipton," he said softly to the waiting Samuel.

  "Shipton!" Samuel whistled. "You reckon that brother of 'ers is mixed up in this, then?"

  "Up to his filthy neck," Hugo said softly. "And I am going to break every corrupt bone in his body. They've

  a six-hour start. If I'm right, Jasper's plans will be centered on the crypt." He was talking almost to himself as he maintained his fierce pace back to Mount Street. "Crispin and young DeLacy will be with him."

  They wouldn't hurt her until after the wedding. If it was necessary, Jasper would use drugs to keep her quiet on the journey. He wouldn't risk drawing attention to his party by marking her in any visible way.

  Drawing comfort from this conviction, he said briskly, "The lass doesn't have the stamina to ride from London to Shipton, so they'll be using a chaise. We should pick up the trail soon enough."

  They had reached the house now and he ran up the steps. "Samuel, are you prepared to ride with me? It's a long haul, but we'll make better time than in a carriage."

  "I'm with ye," Samuel said gruffly. "We startin' out now?"

  "At dawn. They're bound to stop for the night, and if we ride all night, we'll only have to rest in the day. We'll leave at first light and pick up the trail at their first halt."

  They seemed to have been bumping along in the ill-sprung chaise for hours. Late afternoon had given way to dusk, and the chill in the air intensified. No one had spoken for a long time.

  Chloe sat slumped in her corner, every inch of her skin crawling with the awareness of Crispin beside her. Occasionally his thigh pressed hard against hers and she knew it was no accident. How could she face being married to him… sharing a bed with him… doing with him what she had done with Hugo? She felt sick and swallowed desperately, praying her body wouldn't betray her, wishing she had her hands. She felt so helpless without them.

  She forced herself to think clearly, to examine her

  position, hoping that focusing her mind would ease the panic. If they forced her into this marriage, what would happen? What would Hugo do? Could he do anything? People did get divorced. The king was trying to divorce Queen Caroline, although without much success. But it wasn't unheard of. Presumably Crispin would keep her fortune anyway, so perhaps he'd be willing to divorce her.

  His thigh pressed against her again and she knew with sick revulsion that she was indulging a pipe dream. Crispin wouldn't let her go until he'd had enough of her. And not even Hugo would be able to persuade him otherwise.

  What did he think had happened to her? It was well past dinnertime. Would he guess? But how could he? How could he possibly connect Denis with Jasper? He'd assume there'd been an accident of some kind and that she was taking shelter somewhere. It was not unusual with the roads as bad as they were after the snowstorm. He'd wait for a message… how long would he wait before he'd begin to worry in earnest?

  "I can't feel my hands," she said in a small, fierce voice as she fought with her tears, determined not to break down in front of her captors.

  "Would you like your wrists untied?" Jasper inquired almost casually, as if he were offering her a second helping at dinner.

  "What do you think?" she snapped.

  Her brother merely leaned back on the opposite seat and closed his eyes.

  Chloe bit her lip. The ache in her arms was becoming unbearable and the lack of sensation in her hands was frightening. "Please," she said.

  Jasper opened his eyes. "You are an ill-mannered brat," he observed. Leaning over, he caught her chin

  and examined her face in the fading light. "However, I intend to remedy that with all due speed. If you attempt to use your hands again in that fashion, you'll journey all the way to Shipton with your wrists bound day and night, do you understand?"

  Chloe nodded. There seemed no alternative.

  "Untie her." Jasper leaned back again and Crispin pulled her out of her corner, manhandling her across his lap again as he unfastened the cravat. His wandering hands were on her body, and she squeezed her eyes tightly, biting her lip hard to keep herself from screaming abuse at him, struggling to prevent herself from flying at him with nails and fists and feet.

  But at last he released her and she sat up, shrinking back into her corner, massaging her wrists, her hands stinging with pain as the blood flowed back. She rolled her shoulders back to ease the knot between her shoulder blades and tried to think clearly.

  When did they intend the wedding to take place? Presumably not until they reached Shipton. What methods of persuasion would Jasper use to get her to the altar? And how much could she endure?

  She had no idea of the answer to the latter question and dismally decided that she would find out empirically soon enough.

  It was full dark when the chaise drove into the courtyard of a small inn just outside St. Albans.

  Jasper leaned forward again and again took Chloe's chin with hard fingers. Holding her face steady, he slapped her cheek once. It was not a particularly hard blow, but it was completely unexpected and the tears that sprang in her eyes were tears of shock rather than pain. Denis drew breath sharply and Crispin smiled.

  "That's a reminder, little sister," Jasper said softly. "You will keep your eyes on the ground, your mouth

  shut, and if you take one step out of line, I will give you a beating you will remember for the rest of your life."

  He didn't wait for a response, simply released her and jumped to the ground. The others followed, Chloe, still numb with shock, climbing down last. Jasper put his arm around her shoulders, turning her face toward his chest so that the mark of his hand on her left cheek couldn't be seen. The other two stepped close around him as the landlord bustled out to greet them.

  "My sister is unwell," Jasper said. "I need two adjoining bedchambers and a private parlor."

  The landlord bowed, his nose almost touching his knees, as he assured the travelers of the best his inn had to offer. "And my wife will be glad to assist the young lady to bed, sir," he said, moving backward toward the door. "A tisane should set her up nicely. Will you be wanting dinner, sirs? There's a shoulder of mutton with red currant sauce, and a compote of mushrooms, if it would please you."

  Jasper didn't trouble to respond to this, merely followed their garrulous host upstairs to inspect the accommodations. He kept Chloe close to his side, and she made no attempt to move away. Two adjoining chambers, one with two big beds, the other with only one were presented and approved.

  "No, my sister needs no assistance." Jasper declined the renewed offer of the landlady's help. "Just bring hot water to both chambers and have dinner on the table in half an hour. And bring up a bottle of your best burgundy," he called
as the landlord rushed off.

  "All right." He turned to his companions. "You two can have this chamber, my little sister and I will bear each other company in here." He pushed her ahead of him through the connecting door into the smaller of the two rooms.

  "You're going to sleep in here with me?" Chloe managed finally to find words.

  "Yes." It was a flat affirmative. Jasper glanced around the room and went to the window. The ivy was thick outside, certainly thick enough to bear Chloe's slight weight. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

  "I will not many Crispin," Chloe said, finding her courage. But she flinched as Jasper crossed the room toward her.

  He stopped in front of her and she tried to keep still, to meet his eye. But it was impossible to hold his gaze as his eyes slid over her. Her knees shook as she waited for another blow. Jasper read her expectation and then laughed.

  "You'll do as I bid you," he said almost indifferently, turning away from her as a servant came in with the portmanteau that had been strapped to the roof of the chaise, followed by a maid with a jug of hot water. He waved them away impatiently, cutting off their offers of further assistance. "Just bring the burgundy."

  "You'll find all the necessities in there," he told Chloe, gesturing to the portmanteau. "You may use the screen for privacy."

  Chloe found tooth powder, hairbrushes, clean linen, and a nightdress in the portmanteau. The servant brought the burgundy while she was gathering together what she needed. She stood uncertainly, looking at her brother as he poured the wine. The connecting door between the two chambers was also open and she could hear Denis and Crispin moving about.

  "Are you going to stay in here?"

  "I told you you may use the screen," Jasper said, sipping wine. His eyes ran over her, and he said with a slight smile, "For as long as you behave yourself, I'll grant you that privacy for the rest of the journey. But don't test my clemency too far."

  "Could you at least close the door?" She must keep calm, sound reasonable, refuse to be either intimidated or enraged by Jasper.

  He glanced carelessly toward the open door. "What are you afraid of, little sister?"