Midnight Without a Moon

by Emma Wildes

  But where the hell was Jessica?

  Panic he hadn’t felt when he’d seen the engulfing flames circle the doorway of the ballroom started to settle in a few moments later, when he’d searched the terrace and not found her among the lingering guests. Neither could he find her out front with the departing crowd.

  Snapping out orders with uncharacteristic curtness, he sent servants scattering to search the house, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of fear that cut deep into his soul. Into his heart.

  He was terrified his wife was truly missing.

  Chapter 11

  She was horrifically uncomfortable with her hands trussed behind her back and her ankles tied together. Not to mention the fact that the skirts of her beautiful new gown spilled over the seat of the carriage and trailed on the filthy floor, undoubtedly ruining it.

  Which might be the least of her problems, Jessica had to acknowledge, trying to control her rising panic.

  As they racketed across a particularly rough patch of road, the man sitting opposite let out a low curse, barely catching himself before being flung off the cracked upholstery. Even though she was bound, she hadn’t been blindfolded, and she could see the vague outline of his features in the gloom of the vehicle. He was of middle-height, broadly set in the shoulders, and his black hair was thick and tied back neatly from his swarthy face. Elegant evening clothes made him look as if he were indeed one of Olivia’s invited guests, but somehow Jessica doubted now that was the case.

  He was French, of that there was little doubt. When he had conversed with the driver who was now so recklessly guiding the carriage toward an unknown destination, he had spoken with a thick, unmistakable accent. She also had been informed to not make a sound or she would be gagged, which sounded even more uncomfortable, so she had complied, but her nervous terror was escalating. If she made her circumstances worse, well, so be it.

  “What do you want?” she demanded finally, trying to keep her balance as they sped along. Lifting her chin, she stared at her abductor. It had been done so neatly and swiftly, a sudden fire, a well-dressed gentleman grasping her arm and urging her outside to safety as the crowd fled the room, his grip changing to a hand over her mouth and an iron arm around her waist once they were in the mansion’s shadowed gardens. He had dragged her through a gate near the back. The dark, shabby carriage had been waiting, the driver helping him tie her swiftly and toss her inside.

  “Information, Madame.” His voice was slightly nasal, his dark eyes flat and inscrutable.

  “I have none to give.”

  “We’ll see. If you do, I am confident I will hear it.”

  There was a chilling conviction in his voice that made her shiver, remembering Gage’s oblique references to the probable torture of his captured colleagues. Swallowing hard, she strived to conceal her fear. “If something happens to me, my husband will not rest until you are caught and punished, sir.”

  “A risk I will have to take.” The man smiled, a slow curve of his mouth that had nothing to do with humor. “But I am certain you are right. The earl will be distraught to lose such a warm and enthusiastic female in his bed.”

  Recalling the night when the intruder was on the balcony, Jessica flushed, slightly sickened that this man had witnessed their lovemaking. “I am his wife, not simply a lover, and Trenton is anything but a fool. He will come after me, rest assured.”

  “I am prepared for that eventuality.” Brushing back his tailored coat, the Frenchman revealed a pistol tucked into his breeches. “The driver is, of course, also armed. But since he was so valiantly dousing the fire, I doubt somehow your ardent husband will notice you are gone for quite some time, Countess. Following us will not be a particularly easy thing to do. This hired carriage is nondescript, so why should anyone notice it? It is dark, and we left the streets of London an hour ago. We could be headed any direction, couldn’t we?”

  Damn him, he was right, of course. The plan had been well thought out and well executed. Her stomach knotted painfully. “I cannot see why you would go to all this trouble to kidnap a helpless woman. Is it ransom you want? If so, my husband is a rich man. I am sure he will pay it.”

  The man leaned forward slightly then, the wind sighing outside over the pounding of the hooves of the galloping horses. Wheels creaked as the vehicle swayed. “Money does not interest me. You are a thorn in the side of France, Madame. I was sent to remove it. That is my specialty.”

  Gazing at him with what she hoped was limpid innocence, Jessica asked, “What is it that you think I have done?”

  His nostrils flared slightly and his eyes narrowed. “I am Gaston Romney, Lady Declan, a servant to the Emperor Bonaparte. My eyes and ears are everywhere, and my information is most accurate. My sources tell me with considerable conviction that, despite your outward appearance of fragile beauty, you possess a keen mind. You work for your government, Madame, and are as dangerous to our imperial cause as any seasoned soldier.”

  “Your cause,” Jessica could not help but say acidly, “is the destruction of other countries. Your beloved emperor is a thug and bully, moving his great armies across Europe for his own glory, ruining towns and killing civilians in his greed.”

  Romney’s brows snapped together in annoyance. “I would advise you to keep such opinions to yourself. You are not exactly in a position where it would be wise to irritate me further. There are things every woman fears. Do not push me.”

  The way his gaze brushed over her body suddenly made Jessica feel a chill finger run along her spine. He was right. Though she had no doubt he meant to kill her, the thought of being raped by this cold, enigmatic man was somehow worse. Turning her head to stare at the shade over the carriage window, she could hear the wind flapping in a faint soft rhythm as despair thickened in her throat.

  * * * *

  Trenton paced across the rug in the Reichert drawing room, his face so tight he could feel the tension in his hardened jaw. Turning, he asked the pale woman sitting on the settee again, “He said nothing to you at all? Please, Dorothy, try to remember.”

  There was a shimmer of tears in her eyes, but Gage’s wife simply shook her head. “He didn’t dance with me but once, the very first waltz. Other than that, I barely saw him the whole evening, Trenton. But,” she added with a slight quaver in her voice, “he would not have simply left me there at the ball without an escort home. He is the epitome of a considerate husband and polite to a fault. I can’t think what has happened.”

  “What has happened,” he said more harshly than he intended, “is that your husband and my wife have both apparently disappeared. And no one seems to have seen either of them leave.”

  It was true. Everyone had been questioned, the mansion and grounds searched, and when Trenton discovered that Dorothy was stranded and bewildered, he’d been slightly relieved, but also further mystified. Too worried himself to be concerned with a possible scandal, it was his mother who urged him to quietly take Dorothy home and continue the search more discreetly. Reluctantly, he had agreed, only because staying at the mansion in Mayfair seemed pointless. Jessica wasn’t there. Where she’d gone was the mystery.

  Dammit.

  “Please tell me,” Dorothy sat white-faced, her fingers coiled around a glass of sherry, “that you don’t think for a moment they disappeared together on purpose, Trenton. They barely know each other. I mean, of course, your wife is very beautiful, and I suppose Gage has noticed that, but—”

  Her doubts were probably understandable, but if there was one thing Trenton was sure of, it was that Jessica was not having an affair with another man, much less his good friend. He turned, giving Dorothy a brief smile. “He loves you,” he interrupted gently, taking in a deep breath, “and I have every reason to believe Jessica truly loves me. No, they might be together, but it has nothing to do with passion.”

  Looking relieved but dubious, Dorothy asked doubtfully, “What other reason could there be?”

  Not certain how much or how little Gage confided
in his wife, Trenton stood silent, feeling bound to a silent male code that forbade him from revealing something that might cause potential tension in the Reichert’s marriage.

  Very pretty in a pale yellow gown that suited her wholesome air and milky skin, Dorothy quietly set aside her glass on a small table, folding her hands in her lap. She asked, “Does this have something to do with his work? Please tell me, Trenton, as it seems we are in this together suddenly. If you will be honest and trust me, I would appreciate it more than you know. I was terribly surprised to realize he has been carrying a pistol when he leaves the house the past few days. However, when I asked him about it, he simply said there has been a rash of robberies near his office, and he wanted to be prepared. I believed him, since he has never lied to me to my knowledge.”

  Now, that was welcome information. “He’s armed?” Trenton said, reaching for his glass of brandy and taking a convulsive gulp. “That’s the best news I’ve had all evening.”

  “Why?” Her eyes slightly dilated, Dorothy stared up at him. “What is going on?”

  “Rest assured. I do not know precisely myself, my lady.”

  “Then why would you be happy he was armed?”

  It was a logical question. He sighed wearily, the blanket of worry heavy on his shoulders. “Dorothy, I’m sorry, but Gage would not want me to tell you anything that would upset you. When he returns, please ask him these questions.”

  She merely looked at him, a glistening tear escaping down one smooth cheek. “You are so…rattled,” she whispered. “I have never seen you anything but coolly detached. Look at me. I am also shaking.” She held up her hands, and sure enough, they trembled violently. “You fear something awful has happened to Jessica, and for some reason, Gage is involved. You can forget worrying about upsetting me, my lord. As you can see, I am already upset.”

  She was right, Trenton decided abruptly. Whatever truth he knew, she deserved it. “My wife works for your husband, that much I have figured out,” he declared with a humorless smile. “He is a spy. She deciphers coded messages at his bidding, stolen from French agents and brought to him for interpretation. I suspect, though he hasn’t ever confirmed it, that Gage ranks very high in our government. Though he looks mild and civilized, he directs some offensive measures against our enemies that will change history.”

  Startled, Dorothy’s lips parted and her eyes darkened. “A…spy?”

  Trenton added with cynical truth, “There is a problem, of course, whenever one involves themselves in the affairs of war. It is all too easy to become yet another casualty. That fire was deliberately set as a distraction, and it worked marvelously. In all the confusion, someone kidnapped my wife. Let’s hope your husband anticipated trouble, saw them do it, and has gone after her.”

  “Oh, God. Trenton, this is like a terrible nightmare. What are we going to do?”

  That was the infernal problem, the heart of the matter. He wasn’t sure just what they could do. Without a clue as to where they might have gone, his hands were tied. “I guess,” he choked out the unpalatable truth, “we just bloody wait.”

  * * * *

  The place was very old, rotting to its foundations, and undoubtedly a perfect hiding place for a nefarious deed like murder. They had rocked up the rutted, deserted drive, and though Jessica had been grateful to cease the grinding torment of the journey, the abandoned house had looked like something from her worst nightmares. Luckily, her captors apparently had been determined to snatch at least a little sleep, for she had been carried inside like so much baggage and stashed away with about as much emotion.

  Jessica twisted to sit up, her muscles already aching from being tied for hours, her body shivering in the thin silk of her elegant gown. Unceremoniously dumped in the corner of a dank upstairs room, she knew it had to be the very dead of night, for the moonless sky was pitch outside the broken window. Her wrists were raw already, abraded from the tight rope binding them. Her fingers went numb if she didn’t make an effort to wiggle them frequently and restore the circulation.

  Tomorrow didn’t promise to be an auspicious day. So, she decided pragmatically as she sat there in the decaying relic of her prison, it was best if she could escape now.

  Easier said than done, of course.

  First of all, she was trussed like a chicken, bound hand and foot. Secondly, she was fairly sure the seedy coachman slept just outside in the hall, rolled in a blanket in front of the door. The room, too, offered its own challenges, for the floor was so deteriorated that she could see down to the floor below, dim spots that promised a broken body or quick death should a person fall through.

  This wasn’t fair, she thought with a sudden helpless fury. Happiness had been within her reach. How could it be so cavalierly snatched away? Recalling the look on Trenton’s face when she confessed her love still brought a low sweet throb to her chest, his stricken expression both poignant and touching in a man with such usual, easy confidence. And at the ball, too, he’d been so intent, so openly attentive and charming.

  For the first time since she’d been forced into her marriage, Jessica had begun to hope that perhaps her handsome, emotionally aloof husband might actually be falling in love with her.

  Now this. All her fault, as usual, she conceded gloomily as she sat there in the cold darkness. As such, she needed to be the one to fix it. If for no other reason than it was patently unfair to give her love to the man she adored, and then have it snatched away from him. Down deep, Jessica already recognized that he was as vulnerable as anyone, despite his carefully cultivated reputation as an indifferent, skillful lover. His mother’s disapproval hurt him; he didn’t need to say so for her to know it to be true. To be able to warm his heart, like she had always imagined, was in her reach.

  Except she was in the grasp of some vindictive, French madman who wished to inflict pain for whatever secrets she might know and finalize his mission with her death.

  The window seemed the only logical option. Even in the black night, she could see the faint, jagged gleam of the broken glass still in the sill. Sitting backwards and using her bound feet to push her along on her bottom on the crumbling floor proved to be a tedious process but was effective. Her silk skirts caught on the rough wood, but she inched along, glancing back every few inches to make sure she wasn’t pushing herself into one of the treacherous openings. It seemed an eternity, but eventually, she was there, faced then with the task of somehow getting her tied legs beneath her and upright. Wobbly at best, she managed to stand and went to work at sawing the bonds off her wrists on one of the shards protruding from the sill.

  Cold air blew in over her bared skin. The low bodice of her gown the height of fashion perhaps, but hardly perfect for a cool, country, autumn night. Shivering, Jessica frantically worked, hoping she made little noise, wincing each time the glass made contact with her skin. Since her hands were bound behind her back, she couldn’t watch what she was doing, and before long, the seeping warmth running over her hands told she was bleeding fairly freely.

  But her bonds had also loosened.

  With renewed energy, she rubbed the weakening rope over the sharp glass until it broke away completely and her hands were free. Jubilant hope shot through her entire body, and she attacked the tight ropes on her ankles with shaking fingers, finding the knots tight but not impossible.

  Moments later, rubbing her abraded wrists, she peered out the window. The countryside lay in quiet slumber, the tangled remains of the park surrounding the abandoned old manor house showing no movement. There was no convenient tree branch to grasp and climb to safety; however, the house was covered in ivy, the narcotic scent of the leaves tickling her nose. Very gingerly, she eased over the sill, careful to avoid the pointed piece of glass that had been her salvation, and grasped one of the vines. Pleased to find it thick and sturdy, Jessica began a slow downward descent, nothing but the slight rustle of her skirts and quickened breathing betraying her escape.

  It was miraculously easy, she decided as
she lowered herself the last few feet into a patch of weedy, wild roses, the thorns doing even more damage to her long skirts. Jerking free, she glanced wildly around, deciding that going back down the rutted drive was a better course, if more obvious a route, than plunging into the woods with no direction. Maybe once on the road, with enough of a head start, she could reach a village and find some help.

  She hadn’t gone two steps before someone grabbed her from behind, a forceful hand coming up to cover her mouth.

  Chapter 12

  His eyes ached and were gritty, which was a small wonder since he’d slept not at all. Sitting at the table, Trenton glanced at the uneaten food on his plate with distaste, and then transferred his attention to the trio of long windows that faced the gardens. It was cloudy and gray outside, reflecting his dismal mood.

  It was mid-morning and still no word. At dawn, he had sent a messenger to the War Office with a sealed message for the Minister himself, but a reply had not been forthcoming. The next message would be delivered in person, he decided grimly, if his wife was not back in his arms by evening. Chafing under his own helplessness and sick at heart, he shoved himself to his feet and stalked to the windows to stare outside.

  Though not a devout man, he found himself praying for Jessica’s return, his hands hard on the sill, his knuckles white he gripped it so tightly. Not certain he deserved it, he nonetheless recognized how much light she brought into his life, and in the short weeks since they had been married, how much everything had drastically changed. He looked forward each morning to the moment she woke next to him and smiled in sleepy recognition of his presence beside her, appreciated the quick wit and teasing comments that were so much part of her vibrant personality, and admired the simple and serene beauty she exuded, both as a woman and a person. He’d been lonely before he married her. It wasn’t something he had ever realized other than having a vague restless dissatisfaction with his careless, superficial lifestyle and transient relationships. Yes, he found her passionate response to his lovemaking a wonderful part of their relationship, but it was only that—a part. The rest was just as important, which was a revelation to a man so well versed in avoiding deep emotion.