The Earl's Secret Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  “Sir, I would never allow a scandal to arise regarding Lady Rosamonde.” No one would ever learn he’d already taken her as his wife, and hell, he wished he’d known about all of this before he’d stolen Rosamonde away to Gretna Green. Now, both mother and daughter had been betrothed to the same damned groom and carted away to the Scottish border by other men. “Is, ah, Rosamonde aware of what you’ve told me?” he asked Hillhurst.

  “Yes. She overheard Roth and I arguing over the issue directly before the house party began.” Elbows pressed to the tabletop, Hillhurst steepled his fingers together. “I humbly place my trust in you, Winterly, and you too, Avery, that this information doesn’t get shared with anyone else.”

  “Of course it won’t, Father. My lips are sealed.” Avery nodded firmly, one corner of his lips suddenly cranking up. “Although, can I say, that I’m mightily glad you kidnapped Mother?”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I’m exceedingly glad your father kidnapped me too.” Lady Hillhurst smiled so sweetly at her husband. “I do believe it is time for me to return to Society once all of this mess is sorted. I need to set my injury aside and live my life again, and after all the events of this past week, I now see that more clearly.”

  “You truly wish to visit London?” Hillhurst squeezed his wife’s hand.

  “Yes, provided you are with me. I don’t want to be the one to hold our daughter back once she is wed to Winterly. She will feel great guilt if I remain here while she is enjoying herself in town.”

  “Agreed, and I’ll be with you the entire time.” A beaming grin from Hillhurst.

  A knock broke their conversation and Hillhurst called out, “Come in.”

  A maid in a frilly white cap entered and closed the door behind her before hurrying around the table to the earl and his wife. With trembling fingers, she extended a note to Hillhurst.

  “What do you have there, Mary?” Hillhurst accepted the note. “Speak up, girl.”

  “My lord, I found this note in Lady Rosamonde’s bedchamber. My lady’s bed hasn’t been slept in, and I—I—” A tear trickled down her cheek, a sob tearing from her throat as she pulled a crumpled cloth with an acrid scent wafting from it from the depths of her apron pocket. “I found this too, in the servants’ stairwell. It reeks of Belladonna.”

  The countess gasped, a hand fluttering over her mouth.

  Avery reared back, his chair toppling over.

  Winterly was struck numb, a loud buzz roaring away in his head.

  Hillhurst ripped the seal on the note and scanned the letter. Darkness spread over his face as he read the words, then he snapped a look at the maid. “Search the entire house for my daughter. Ask the butler for his aid, but be warned, do not speak of what you’ve seen with anyone else.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She dashed out the door and closed it behind her.

  Hillhurst cleared his throat, his voice gritty and hard as he muttered, “This note is from Roth, addressed to me. I’ll read it to you all.” A deep breath from the earl. “Hillhurst, I have kidnapped your daughter, my forthcoming bride, just as you kidnapped Elizabeth and stole her from me all those years ago. I expect no recrimination for doing so, not when you have already agreed that I might wed the lady. I shall secure a special license and she and I will speak vows before a priest in three days’ time. I shall ensure that you and your countess receive a letter following the confirmation of it. You are not permitted to raise a scandal over this issue, nor to visit Rothgale Manor until I expressly allow it. Should you attempt to interfere, then I’ll ensure my wife never sets foot within Hillhurst Hall again.”

  “No.” A heartfelt cry tore from the countess.

  “Hell and damnation.” Hillhurst ripped the note in two, strode to the fire and tossed the remnants of it into the glowing flames. Gripping the mantel over the hearth, the earl stared out the window overlooking the lawn.

  Fury consumed Winterly and fisting his hands, he thumped the tabletop as he stood. The fine china rattled. No, he needed to corral his anger and remain calm. Riding to London was no longer on his agenda for the day, but riding to Rothgale Manor was. He had to rescue his lady and ensure Roth paid for his evil and atrocious behavior. Eyeing Hillhurst, he muttered, “Do you think he’s truly taken her to Rothgale or could that just be a ruse?”

  “We can’t be sure until we search the manor, which we will, no matter what Roth has declared.” Hillhurst gritted his teeth as he cast his gaze at Avery. “All care will be needed in infiltrating our neighbor’s residence.”

  “Roth clearly has no idea of the lengths we would go to in ensuring Rosamonde’s safety.” Avery stormed the room from wall to wall.

  “I believe he does, which is why he’s abducted her.” Hillhurst returned to his wife and kneeling next to her wheeled chair, rubbed her chilled hands between his. “Thankfully Roth is arrogant enough to believe we’d follow his decree, which of course we won’t.”

  “We must find our daughter and bring her home.” Tears pooled in the countess’s eyes as she squeezed the cloth used against her daughter before tossing it aside. “He hurt her, and he must pay for doing so.”

  “Agreed, and to hell with whatever scandal comes. We must now think only of our daughter.”

  “We must also come up with a plan.” Winterly had always prided himself on his abundance of patience, but at the moment his patience had been swallowed whole by his fear for Rosamonde. He also couldn’t help but feel angry at himself since he should have walked her to her chamber and not sent her on ahead. If he had been with her, Roth wouldn’t have been able to get his slimy hands on her. Clearing his throat of the thickness swelling it, he mumbled, “I propose Avery and I steal into Rothgale Manor, just the two of us. We must ascertain first if she is there. If she is, and we can sneak her safely out, then we’ll do so. If not, then we’ll return to the hall for further aid and storm the manor with as many men as we possibly can.”

  “That is an exceptional idea.” Hillhurst rose from beside his wife, his gaze moving from Avery to Winterly. “Roth is a very private man and never opens his home, but while he was away in London one year, my wife and I visited his second wife for afternoon tea. There are three wings and over a hundred and fifty rooms.”

  “I’ll never forget our visit to the manor that day.” The countess squeezed her husband’s hand where it rested on her shoulder, her gaze on Winterly and her son. “Lady Roth seemed rather frightened at our unexpected arrival, but she called for tea and we sat in her front drawing room. When she got called away by a servant to attend to an issue, she first asked her butler to show us to the gallery on the second floor. My husband and I wandered upstairs and viewed the portraits of the marquesses who had lived in years gone by. I was fascinated, being the artist that I am. The marchioness soon joined us and I learnt she was a vicar’s daughter, her parents having not long passed away when she met Roth. She was most grateful to him, that he’d asked her to be his wife after he’d not long buried his first wife and his two young daughters from that union. The three of us spoke and enjoyed our afternoon together. Lady Roth mentioned that hers and her husband’s chambers were located on the upper floor of the south wing. We didn’t enter that wing, but my memory is very sharp when it comes to details. I can draw an adequate floorplan which will lead you to the upper gallery, which borders the south wing.”

  “I wonder why Roth rarely permits visitors to his manor?” Winterly stroked his jaw, that thought having always set him at unease. “He must be hiding something.”

  “All I can say is that Roth has always been that way,” Hillhurst added. “Roth is very private when it comes to his home. I’ve simply never known him to be any different.”

  “You both must be exceedingly careful during your coming mission.” The countess shifted a little in her wheeled chair before finding a comfortable position again. “It would be best if you waited until nightfall, so you could use the cover of darkness to shield your presence.”

  “That is exactly wh
at we shall do, Mother.” Avery walked around to the countess and pulled her wheeled chair from the table. He steered her toward the door with a glance over his shoulder. “It’s time for the four of us to retire to Father’s study so Mother might begin drawing the floorplan for us.”

  “Yes, let’s do that.” Winterly wholeheartedly agreed. He and Hillhurst followed the others, and as he trod down the passageway, he made a firm promise deep in his heart, to his wife. I will find you, Rosamonde. I will never let you go.

  Chapter 13

  Wave after wave of nausea crashed through Rosamonde, her belly churning. She shivered in the windowless bedchamber even though the blanket she’d wrapped around herself was thick enough to keep the chill in the air from seeping into her bones. She’d awoken from the Belladonna as Hobbs had carried her through the front door of Rothgale Manor, Roth marching only a few feet ahead, his hat under one arm and five bloodied fingernail scratches gracing the bald patch atop his head. She’d turned her own hand over and caught the dried blood coating the tips of her nails. When she’d scratched him, she had no idea. She must have done so while under the effects of the Belladonna, lashing out subconsciously.

  Roth’s portly butler had opened the door, then stood aside to allow them entry, the staff member not uttering a word. He hadn’t even appeared surprised at seeing her, or that she was gagged, her hands bound in front of her. When Hobbs set her on her feet, her cloak dragged by the laces around her neck in a stranglehold, and her hair hung in a stringy, tangled mess, her breasts strangely aching.

  Roth strode up the main stairwell, then halted halfway up and peered down at Hobbs with a frown. “Once the lady has bathed and changed, bring her to my chambers. Find my late wife’s maid to attend her. What was the girl’s name?”

  “Mabel, my lord. She aids the housekeeper. I’ll fetch her.”

  “Yes, yes, fetch Mabel after you’ve locked Lady Rosamonde in the marchioness’s bedchamber.” The marquess slid his gray, flinty gaze to her. “The bedchamber which shall be yours.”

  She glared at him in return, wanting to scream and shout, but the gag prevented her from doing anything more than muttering nonsense no one could decipher, let alone hear. Never would she give in without a fight though, not when she had no intention of becoming the next lady of this house. If it was within her power, she’d ensure there’d never be another Lady Roth who ever had to suffer such torture at his hands again. What his late three wives must have gone through during their short lives now seemed more than obvious. He was a tyrant, who must have kept them bound to this house which was why she’d never seen them.

  The marquess smirked. “My lady, there is naught I enjoy more than seeing the fight in a lady’s eyes slowly diminish and die a fast death. Soon enough you’ll understand and accept your fate. I own you, which means I’ll be permitted to punish you as I see fit, beating you to within an inch of your life if I so desire. I’d rather not do so of course, or at least not until you’ve given me a son. Until then I shall punish Mabel whenever you disappoint me. She has thick skin and is used to the beatings.”

  He was a devil dressed in fine clothing.

  “Get on with you. Upstairs.” Hobbs shoved her from behind and she’d stumbled forward.

  While she’d trod up the stairs, she’d noted every inch of the pathway so she could easily find her way back out again when she finally escaped, which she would. Her stubbornness knew no bounds. After Hobbs had locked her inside the marchioness’s chamber, only a lamp on the mantel over the unlit fireplace to provide light, he left with a gloating snicker. He was the devil incarnate number two, right after Roth.

  Hours had passed before the door finally swung open again and a maid entered. She’d wanted to talk to the girl, but the gag still remained in her mouth. She had observed the maid instead. The girl had a terribly scared face, her pale eyes flickering warily toward her seated on a hard-backed chair next to the bed. The maid knelt at the hearth and set to work on lighting the fire. Before too long flames blazed and she added a log to the stack of burning wood.

  Hobbs returned, opening the door wide for two barefoot lads who carried a wooden tub between them. They set the tub in front of the fire, their chins smeared with dirt and their breeches yellowed and torn at the knees. The lads returned within short order and filled the tub with pails of steaming water. One of the boys snuck a look at her under the oily fall of his dark fringe and got a kick up the backside from Hobbs for doing so.

  “Out, Mabel.” Hobbs pointed at the door and the maid scurried out. “Wait in the passageway until I give you leave to enter again,” he issued before closing the door. The man’s dark beady eyes glinted in the firelight as he crossed to her, then gripping her chin, he eyed her bruised cheek. “You mustn’t anger the master,” he muttered. “My lord has never shied away from punishing his previous wives as he saw fit, and he’ll do the same with you. Obey his orders and you won’t have to suffer his wrath again as you’ve already done.”

  She mumbled through the cloth.

  “If I remove your bindings you must promise me you won’t scream or lash out. If you do, Mabel will be punished.” He narrowed his gaze as he waited for her answer.

  Since she couldn’t escape from this hellhole until she’d had her restraints removed, she nodded her agreement. Patience. She’d need patience, to wait until just the right moment before making her escape. Whether that be an hour from now, two hours, or more. She would bide her time and choose the perfect moment.

  He removed the bindings from around her mouth, plucked the gag free then worked the rope from her wrists.

  She wet her dry lips and winced as her split lip opened again, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Breathing deep, she firmed her resolve. “Roth can’t force me to say marriage vows with him. No priest would allow such a thing.”

  “With enough blunt paid to the priest to keep his mouth shut, it won’t matter whether you speak vows or not. You will be his wife in three days’ time.”

  “And who exactly are you to say so?” She needed to arm herself with as much knowledge as possible. “Are you Roth’s servant, or one of his staff members?”

  “I am his younger brother.” He lifted his chin and stared down his nose at her.

  “Roth doesn’t have any brothers.”

  “I’m a by-blow from his father. The late Marquess of Roth had an affair with—well, with a fair number of the servants in this house. He favored me over the others though since I looked the most like him. I was schooled by a tutor right here at Rothgale. I’m also going to be the one to bed you, not my brother.”

  “Pardon?” Her ears rang. “Did you say—”

  “You heard correctly.”

  “Why would Roth allow such a thing?”

  “My brother, unfortunately, suffered an injury several years ago that left him without the ability to get his third wife with child. When he wed her ladyship, I lay with her, not my brother. Although Roth certainly participates where he can. He has always enjoyed using restraints on his wives, bringing about pain to ensure their full cooperation, sampling what he can when he does, and of course watching the final stages of the bedding.”

  “Are you quite serious?” She couldn’t even imagine such debauchery.

  “I’m simply warning you now that when Roth takes you to his bed tonight, I shall be there too, bringing you an equal amount of pain as well. There may be a little pleasure, if pain is your plaything.” He tugged on the lapels of his austere gray jacket. “Just remember, should you not permit my touch, you’ll be punished for it.”

  “That is scandalously, horrendously, despicably wrong.” Her vision blurred and when he snapped his fingers in front of her, she blinked to bring the room back into focus.

  “I see I’ve distressed you with my words, but it is better you are told now so you might get used to the idea before the bedding. My master is eager for an heir and no one will set that desire aside.” He paced to the door and rested one hand on the handle. “No
one leaves Rothgale Manor alive, my lady, so it’s best you get any thought of escape out of your head.”

  He opened the door and called out for Mabel to return. While he issued instructions to the maid who didn’t appear any older than her, she snuck a look into the darkened passageway lit by a candle within a wall sconce across from her door. The flickering candlelight flared over the face of a guard standing tall in his position on duty.

  The door closed with a clink as Hobbs left.

  Trapped, and this time, not even by a key turning in the lock.

  Shivering violently, she rubbed her chilled arms that even the warmth of the fire couldn’t penetrate.

  “This chamber is always rather chilly. I’ll have you warm in a jiffy, my lady.” Mabel added another log, then tipped rose oil into the tub and swished the water. “Do you need aid in undressing?”

  “I do.” She’d never be able to manage the tiny buttons down the front of her red woolen gown with her cold fingers. She rose from the hard-backed chair, the gray and black tartan blanket she’d wrapped herself in sliding to the floorboards.

  Mabel scooped the blanket up and flapped it over the bed. A dressing table sat against the wall with an oval mirror holding a crack across one corner, while a gray curtain hung in front of the ambry, the folds of it having collected dust in the creases.