by Holt, Cheryl
He set her away and went to the door, and she stamped her foot.
“Jean Pierre!”
He whipped around. “What?”
“You may not take her!”
John reined in his own burst of fury. “Don’t command me, Annalise. You can’t.”
If he was to make the tide, he couldn’t bicker with her. He was meeting Sarah in the foyer—she was probably already there—and they had to ride hard and fast.
He spun and left, and when Annalise called to him again, he kept on as Raven chided, “Let it go, girl. You’re being a nuisance.”
“How can he shame me like this? Am I to relinquish my spot for a pale, sniveling English virgin? Am I not allowed to protest this outrage?”
“Let it go!”Raven stated more sternly.
Momentarily, John heard Raven coming up from behind.
“Don’t mind her,”Raven said.
“I don’t.”
“I’ll handle her.”
“I appreciate it.”
“You’ll be back in a month?”
“Yes. You know how to contact me if there’s trouble?”
“Always. While you’re away, will you consider my request about Bramble Bay?”
“Yes, I’ll laugh about how your cock is dragging you to England.”
“There are worse reasons to return.”
“I can’t think of any.”
They rushed down the stairs, and John was actually excited at the prospect of having Sarah all to himself. There was a hidden, silly elation at the notion of showing her his castle, of letting her see how he’d prospered. He wanted her to be proud. He wanted her to be awed.
But as he marched into the foyer, he was stunned to find that she wasn’t there. He gaped around as if he was blind. There was no Sarah. There were no packed bags.
The butler loitered by the door, distinctly avoiding John’s incensed gaze. John stormed over, intimidating him with his size and presence.
“Miss Teasdale was to meet me here at three,”he snapped. “Where is she?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
“Don’t you?”
The man was obviously lying, and John stepped even nearer.
“You can tell me where she is or I will have Mr. Hook take you down to the cellar for a chat. You can tell him.”
The man gulped in terror. “I don’t believe I’d like to accompany him, sir.”
“I don’t believe you would either,”John agreed.
He wouldn’t torture an old man, but the butler didn’t know that. The threat worked like a charm.
“Mrs. Teasdale may have pertinent information.”
“Where is she?”
“In her room, awaiting your arrival.”
John stomped up the stairs, Raven dogging his heels, as they proceeded to Mildred’s bedroom suite. Her door was closed, and he slammed it open, acting as if he owned the bloody place, which he did.
Mildred was in a chair by the window, staring out at the road as if she was seriously wishing she was on it and heading somewhere far from Bramble Bay.
“Your stepdaughter was to meet me in the foyer at three,”John said, “but she’s not there.”
“I just heard,”Mildred glumly responded. She held out a piece of paper. “She gave a note to the housekeeper, with instructions to deliver it to me a few minutes ago.” Mildred grimaced with offense. “Can you read, Mr. Sinclair? Or must I read it to you?”
“Don’t be smart, Mrs. Teasdale,”Raven fumed. “If you’d care to match wits with John, I’m sure he’s amenable. Trust me: You’d lose.”
John ignored Mildred’s insult and Raven’s reply.
Over the years, he and his mother had lived with various artists and writers, many of whom had been kind to John. He’d been tutored by some great geniuses, including a stint with an Italian count and inventor who’d taught him several languages.
John absorbed details like a sponge. He was brilliantly analytical, able to calculate complex problems and solve intricate tasks as no other person could. He never boasted of his intellect and certainly wouldn’t bother with a dunce like Mildred.
He snatched the letter from her, quickly reading the words penned in a tidy script. There was no salutation, but evidently, it was intended for Mildred.
I can’t behave as you and Mr. Sinclair are demanding. You shouldn’t have let Hedley harm me this way. I can only wonder what my father would think if he were alive to discover the fate you arranged for me. Shame on you, Mildred. Since I can receive no help from my family, I will find it elsewhere.
She’d signed it as Miss Sarah Teasdale, as if she and Mildred weren’t acquainted, as if Mildred needed to be reminded of who Sarah was.
“What does she say?”Raven asked.
“She’s left,”John seethed.
“I didn’t know about this,”Mildred hurriedly said. “I thought she was up in her room. I’m as surprised as you are.”
“Where would she go?”John tersely inquired. His rage was flaring so blatantly that Mildred eased back in her chair, anxious to be out of striking range in case he lashed out.
“If I had to guess, I’d suppose she’s off to speak with Mr. Fishburn.”
“Who is Mr. Fishburn?”
“He’s our neighbor—he was her father’s friend—but he was called away to London on business.”
“Would she go to London to locate him?”
“You could check with Mrs. Patterson. They’ve always been thick as thieves. She might have better answers.”
John’s irate glare fell on Raven, and Raven shrugged, having no idea what Caroline Patterson might confess.
John stormed out, bellowing for Mrs. Patterson, until a servant mentioned that she was on the verandah.
“She has to tell me what she knows,”John spat at Raven. “I won’t brook any nonsense.”
“She’ll tell you. I won’t permit her to refuse.”
They marched outside, and she was sitting at a table, sipping a glass of wine. As they approached, she glanced up, and she looked horridly guilty, as if she’d done wrong and had been expecting to be caught.
No doubt she and Sarah had concocted an escape. But no woman could defy John, especially not when Raven was with him. They were a formidable pair, and Mrs. Patterson didn’t stand a chance.
“Where is she?”John inquired without preamble.
“Where is who?”
She tried to sound innocent, but failed, and John slammed a fist on the table, cracking it, spilling her wine, making her jump.
“Don’t play games with me,”he hissed.
Raven rested a palm on her shoulder, and he leaned down so he was directly in her face.
“You can’t keep her secrets,”he murmured.
“I have to. I promised.”
“This is beyond you and her. You must tell me.”
She frowned, trembling. “I can’t.”
“You can. You must.”
She stared at her skirt, her mind working it over.
John glowered at Raven, not having the patience to wait as she dithered.
“Caroline,”Raven said, “look at me.”
She peeked up. “What?”
“Has Miss Teasdale gone to London?”Raven asked, and she gave an imperceptible nod.
“How did she travel?”
“On the mail coach,”Mrs. Patterson whispered. “I had a few pounds in my purse, and she used them to purchase a ticket.”
With the admission, she flinched, as if terrified John would hit her.
“Is she hoping to find Mr. Fishburn?”Raven pressed.
“Yes. He’s her friend, and she thought he might protect her from…ah…well…”
“Good girl.” Raven patted her on the knee.
Mrs. Patterson peered up at John, then at Raven again. She was shaking so badly she could barely stay in her seat.
“Will she…be all right?”she asked Raven. “He won’t hurt her, will he?”
“No, he won’t hurt her.
I swear it.”
Raven faced John and inquired, “Should I ride with you?”
“No, remain here and keep things under control.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. I’ll be back in a month. When I arrive, the house should be empty of the current occupants.”
“It will be.”
“Be ready to sail.”
“What about Bramble Bay? What about the plans we discussed?”
“I have business with my father. That’s what is next for us. We’ll deal with Bramble Bay later.”
John whipped away and hurried to the stables to saddle his horse and race to London like the wind. Sarah could never escape him—no matter how hard she tried.
The sooner she realized that fact, the better off she would be.
* * * *
Sarah sat at a table in the corner of the dining room. They’d stopped at a roadside inn for exactly thirty minutes, and the driver had warned that he had a strict schedule. There were six passengers, and if any of them were missing when he clicked the reins, they’d be left behind.
She’d ordered a cup of tea and a slice of bread and jam, being too anxious to eat much else.
Before dawn, she’d sneaked from Bramble Bay and hidden away in the village. The mail coach had lumbered by at eleven, and she’d climbed aboard.
They’d been traveling for seven hours, the coach slow as a snail, and she was a nervous wreck. She’d constantly peeked out the window, certain Mr. Sinclair would have learned that she’d fled, that he’d come roaring after her like a rampaging highwayman.
But there’d been no sign of him.
Three o’clock had passed without incident. She wanted to relax, to persuade herself that he didn’t care enough to chase after her, but she wouldn’t feel safe until she was locked in Sheldon’s London house.
Suddenly, she noticed someone was standing by her table. She glanced up and blanched with dismay.
“Hello, Sarah,”Mr. Sinclair said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
It took her a moment to recover from the shock. “Oh, no.”
“Don’t make a fuss. Just rise and walk out with me.”
She gaped around the room. It was filled with farmers and weary travelers. If she begged for help, would they assist her?
“Go away,”she warned, “or I’ll scream.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t make a scene.”
He put his hands on his hips in a manner that showed her he had a pistol in a holster at his waist, the weapon shielded by the hem of his coat. He was very calm, his green eyes flashing with temper so he looked capable of any murderous deed.
“What will you do if I refuse?”she asked with disgust. “Will you shoot everyone in the place?”
“Would you like to try me? Go ahead and scream. You’ll see my reaction. You won’t have to wonder about it.”
He appeared different again, like a wealthy brigand: black coat, black trousers, black boots, and a very white shirt that emphasized the ominous effect of the black clothes. The fabric was very fine, perfectly tailored. He was wearing gold jewelry, gold rings, the gold earring dangling from his ear.
He adjusted his coat again, furtively displaying a large knife and the butt of a small dagger shoved up his sleeve.
He was armed to the teeth, equipped for any type of battle. How could she not worry over his true intentions?
He planned that she vanish from England. Would she ever actually make it to France? Was he an insane killer who preyed on young women? Would she be chopped into little pieces and her body never found?
Those sorts of gruesome stories circulated occasionally, but they came from London. The calamities happened to street urchins and trollops who were out in the dark. They didn’t happen to gently-bred females of good breeding and good family who’d grown up at quiet country estates.
The image of him as a brutal felon was so at odds with the man he seemed to be. He exuded menace, but not so she was afraid of him. It was merely that he didn’t like to be thwarted and was livid when his orders weren’t followed.
He was determined that she obey, and she was determined not to, but he was so much more stubborn than she was. How could she fight him? How could anyone?
“How did you find me?”
“Mrs. Patterson tattled.”
“She did not,”Sarah scoffed.
“She did—with no coaxing at all. It was simple to track you.” He nodded to the door. “Let’s go. We’ve missed today’s tide, but that’s the great thing about the ocean. There’s always another tide tomorrow.”
They engaged in a staring match she couldn’t win. Finally, she asked, “You don’t really care about me. Why pursue this?”
“You know why.”
“Because in the absurd fantasy world where you reside, you believe you own me?”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t agree to this. I never have.”
“So? You’re a woman, Sarah, and your eldest male relative gave you to me. I’m keeping you.”
“You. Are. Mad.”
“Your brother is too, but at least I’m offering to support you and to be kind. He bartered you away without a moment’s hesitation. After that little fiasco, you should be a tad more grateful to me.”
“Grateful!”she snorted, and she shook her head. “I won’t meekly comply. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to drag me out.”
“All right.”
He pulled back her chair and drew her to her feet. He was very strong, and she was very petite, so he lifted her with ease. No one who observed them would have noticed anything out of the ordinary.
An arm gripping her waist, he carried her out, her toes brushing the floor, but it looked as if she was walking of her own accord.
In the foyer, the proprietor went by, and she reached out to him.
“Would you help me?”she begged.
“With what, miss?”
“I’m being kidnapped.” At the strange comment, he frowned, and she swiftly added, “I have no idea who this man is. He accosted me inside, and he’s taking me away against my will.”
The proprietor’s frown deepened, and for the briefest instant, she thought he might intervene, but Mr. Sinclair flashed a rueful smile full of apology and regret.
“This is my wife, sir,”he lied.
“Your wife? She’s not wearing a ring.”
“I embarrassed to admit that she removes it.” He leaned in and—as if enormously shamed—murmured, “She runs away, and I’m constantly having to chase after her.”
“Runs away!”Sarah huffed. “I have no husband, and he’s a lunatic.”
“It’s a terrible business, sir,”Mr. Sinclair falsely confessed. “Her parents and I are at a loss as to how we can control her.”
He made a twirling motion by his ear, indicating that Sarah was deranged. The proprietor’s gaze softened, and he patted Sarah on the shoulder. “You should listen to your husband, dear.”
“He’s not my husband!”she insisted more loudly, which only made her sound as crazed as Sinclair had described her to be.
“I’m sorry she bothered you.” Mr. Sinclair slipped the proprietor a handful of bills. “I hope this will reimburse you for any trouble she caused.”
“She was no trouble,”the proprietor claimed, but he pocketed the money.
“Let’s go, darling,”Mr. Sinclair softly crooned. “If we hurry, we can be home in time for supper.”
He flashed another smile at the proprietor, one of masculine exasperation and commiseration, and he lifted Sarah again and strolled out with her. She was so stunned by the exchange that she didn’t protest.
His magnificent white stallion was waiting for him. He tossed her up, leapt up behind her, and they trotted away.
He was grinning, preening, delighted with how he’d bested her.
“I hate you,”she peevishly said.
“You do not.”
“I do.”
“You’re glad I found you
. You’re glad I came.”
“I repeat: You are insane.”
“Yes, I am. I always have been. It’s what drives me. You shouldn’t forget it.”
With a whoop, he kicked the horse into a canter, and she grabbed onto its mane and held tight as they raced away.
CHAPTER TEN
“Tell me, how is London?”
“I don’t know. I’m not from London.”
“But you must have had occasional news.”
“Some.”
Sarah glanced over at the man who’d introduced himself as Mr. Reginald Thompson. In his early twenties, he was punctual, fussy, and verbose. Small in stature, tidy in his clothes and habits, he was accountant and factotum to Jean Pierre Sinclair—or whatever his name was. Sarah still wasn’t sure what she believed.
Mr. Thompson sighed. “I miss England every so often. Not enough to go back, mind you. And I would never leave Jean Pierre.”
They were in Mr. Sinclair’s castle—not a house, but a castle—on the French coast, so he was referred to by his French name rather than his English one. He was two different people, with two different personas, and she couldn’t decide which was the real one and which the façade.
“You’re very loyal to him,”Sarah said.
“Yes, absolutely. If he hadn’t rescued me”—Mr. Thompson fought down a shudder—“I can’t predict what would have happened.”
“Why were you in need of rescue?”
“I was kidnapped by slavers—”
“Slavers!”
“Yes, slavers, and with his being a…well…” His sentence trailed off, as if he realized he was about to divulge more than he should. “Let’s just say that when he jumped aboard the ship I was on, and I begged him to save me, he didn’t hesitate. I owe him my life.”
“It certainly sounds like it.”
“I would do anything for him,”Mr. Thompson passionately gushed.
His gaze could only be described as worshipful, as if Mr. Sinclair was a god who walked on water. At Bramble Bay, Miss Dubois and Mr. Hook had gazed at him the same way. Apparently, he attracted followers as faithfully as honey attracted a bee, and Sarah, herself, hadn’t been immune to his many charms.
Of course that was before she’d been forcibly removed from England and whisked to France against her will.
Mr. Thompson was escorting her to a private supper with Mr. Sinclair. The castle had been remodeled with modern comforts, but it had originally been a fortress meant to propel invaders, so there were odd twists and turns in the halls and on the stairs that made it easy to get lost.
