Beth swallowed her tears. She was determined not to cry. She ran toward a set of doors at the far end of the room, but as she reached them, Ramsey unlocked the door again. He entered and gazed at her with a smirk. “You waste your breath calling out,” he said. “There’s no one here to come to your aid.” He shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
The sound terrified her. “What do you want? Why have you brought me here?” Beth backed away.
Ramsey crossed to the sideboard. He picked up the crystal decanter and removing the stopper, poured amber liquid into two glasses. “Some sherry to warm you?”
“Where is my sister?” Beth asked hating that her voice shook.
He shrugged. “At Castlebridge, I should imagine.”
She went limp with relief. “Then Jenny is not hurt. Nor William?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
They were safe. Beth straightened her shoulders determined to find a way to deal with this man. He would have weaknesses. A man set on such a course could be easily distracted. “It is not too late to take me home. I will say nothing about this.”
He chuckled. “You think I’d believe that?”
She eyed him coldly her fingers curling into fists, wanting to hit him. “Why have you brought me here?” She feared his answer would terrify her. But she must know what she was dealing with.
He smiled as he strolled over and offered her a glass. When she ignored it, he placed the glass on the table. “Pity, a little wine would ease matters. Be patient, Elizabeth. There is nothing you can do. You will be returned home safely tomorrow. You have my word.”
He expected her to take him at his word? He must think she was featherbrained. “To… tomorrow? Why? I don’t understand.” Perhaps she should play that fool and wait her chance. Her voice obligingly trembled and her hands shook. She clasped them together and surreptitiously glanced at the door. Had he taken the key?
But Ramsey guessed her thoughts. He held the key up before pocketing it again. “If you don’t resist the night will go well for you.”
Go well? He planned to force himself on her. She eyed him. It wasn’t passion which drove him, she was sure. There was no lust in his gaze. Chilled, she edged away from him, her gaze darting around the room. Like the hall, the walls were wainscoted. An ornate frieze surmounted the top of each panel. Where would those doors at the far end of the room lead to? Were they locked? If she ran for them, he would surely grab her, and she didn’t want his hands on her. “At least tell me why,” she said, her throat scratchy and dry.
Outside, the wind picked up, moaning about the house.
Ignoring her, Ramsey went to the fireplace. He struck a taper against the tinderbox and set the fire alight. Stirring the smoldering flames with the poker, he threw on more wood. “There,” he said, rising to his feet, and dusting his hands with satisfaction. “Much cozier.” With a glance of distaste at the sofa, he sat down and crossed his legs. “You shall learn it all in due course.” He picked up his glass and patted the sofa cushion beside him. “Come and join me. We can have a pleasant coze together.”
Beth remained where she was. “Have you escaped from Bedlam?”
He scowled. “Be careful what you say. My mind is as sound as a bell. I have planned this perfectly.”
“Planned what? Is this your house?”
“It is.” His fair good looks and charming manner had completely deceived her. She could see now that there was something cruel and cunning in the shape of his mouth. The strange gleam in his pale eyes unnerved her. A maniacal look of a man convinced he had succeeded in his aims.
“Ghastly place, isn’t it? Should be pulled down, stone by stone. Maybe it will be. There are ghosts here, you know.” His eyes widened, and he shuddered. “The house belonged to a great aunt who recently bequeathed it to me.” He recovered his composure and shrugged his shoulders with a sly grin, and she wondered how she’d ever found him attractive. “But for now, however, it has its uses.”
If Ramsey was a rake, he was not the kind Andrew had spoken of. At the ball, he had been unfailingly polite. He had not flirted with her during their dance, as Mr. Nyeland had done. If he had showered compliments upon her, she would have been wary of him. He had completely fooled her, his concerned, courteous manner masking an underlying hatred, for what or who she did not know. But he felt he now had her in his power and saw no reason to hide it. His fingers coiled into his palms forming a fist. Noting the violence in him, she feared for her life. Her frantic gaze searched the long drawing room for a means of escape. Sometimes these old houses had false panels. If she could get him to leave her alone for a time, she might discover a place to hide.
“You wrote the note. Why?” She stood watching him. “Why have you brought me here?”
“I have nothing against you, personally, Elizabeth. You are merely a means to an end. We have the rest of the night. We can spend it pleasurably. After all, your reputation has suffered whether we do the deed or not. You may as well enjoy our time together.”
“Enjoy it!” Unable to hide her loathing, she shuddered. She eyed him with distaste, anger trouncing her fear. “With you? I would rather spend the night with a poisonous snake.”
She suddenly recalled her conversation with Mr. Nyeland about snakes. She wished they had danced together again. That he had taken her into supper. A memory she could return to when things got too hard for her to bear.
Outside in the corridor the grandfather clock struck the hour reminding her of the night passing, and with it a chance for her to escape and return to London before word spread that she had disappeared. In the grate, the flames took hold, biting through the wood with a loud crackling noise.
Ramsey drank the rest of his wine. “A fire has also been lit in the bedchamber.”
“Then why don’t you go there and leave me here?”
He eyed her his gaze hardening. How far could she go before he retaliated? Would he hurt her? “Don’t be ridiculous. You will be much more comfortable there with me.”
“Let me go.” To her dismay her voice sounded shrill. She fought to steady herself. This madman must not see her fear. She lifted her chin. “I wish to return to London.”
“My coach has left, remember? And I doubt that’s a good idea, Elizabeth. Your absence will have been noted. Mrs. Grayshott will be busy telling all and sundry about how you sent her on a wild goose chase into the gardens and slipped away with your lover.” With a smile, he reached into his pocket. “Oh, by the way, here is your note to Mrs. Grayshott. I must have forgotten to deliver it.”
Beth’s heart sank. Her fingers itched to slap him, to claw her nails down that smug face. “You have gone to a great deal of trouble. I insist you tell me why.”
“You make a lot of demands for someone in your position.” He tucked the letter back into his waistcoat pocket and eyed her dispassionately. “How impatient you are. If you behave yourself, you shall not suffer unduly. See, how kind I am to you? I give you a choice.” He produced a pack of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them. “We will play a game of faro together. If you win, I will send you back to Harrow Court in the morning untouched. If you lose you will spend the rest of the night with me. You will not be disappointed, I assure you.”
“You certainly will be.” Beth glared at him. “If you lay a hand on me I shall be sick.”
Unfazed, Ramsey beckoned with a finger. “We shall begin our game. And then we will see.”
Beth put a hand to her stomach. “I require the privy!”
He glanced at her with distaste. “Very well. But no tricks. Otherwise my kind offer will be withdrawn. And I shall not be gentle with you.” His gaze ran over her from her head to her feet. “I must say I was delighted to find the duke’s sister-in-law to be so comely. It will be no chore to spend the night with you.”
“The privy, Ramsey!” Beth demanded, hands on her hips to hide her trembling.
He climbed to his feet. “Oh, very well.”
“You don’
t seem to have considered how the duke will deal with you,” she said as he unlocked the door. “Andrew has some dangerous friends.” She thought of the Marquess of Strathairn, who had come to Andrew’s aid once before. But he wasn’t here to help her. She must find a way to outsmart this man.
“It would be wise of Harrow not to retaliate.”
“Of course he will! You are living in a fool’s paradise.” His underlying threat made her quake. What did this devil have planned?
“Let’s see who deals the best with whom.” He pushed her through the door. “Hurry yourself. The hours pass and I am eager to spend time with you.”
Chapter Three
“I remember ’er right enough,” Countess Wallington’s groom said in answer to Marcus’ question. “Tempting armful, but seemed in a bit of a pelter!”
“In what way?”
“Fussing about she was, on the verge of the vapors.”
Then Beth wasn’t eager to be alone with this man. Or might she already have begun to regret her decision? “And the gentleman?” Marcus urged him.
“Didn’t give ’is name, but a swell of the first stare.” He scowled. “Tight fisted.”
“What about the coach?”
“Black it was, no crest on the door panel. Thought it odd that no groom or footman was with ’em. Just the coachman. Surly cove ’e was too.”
A liaison, Marcus thought, growing more uneasy by the minute. “What about the gentleman?” he prompted. “Remember anything about his appearance?”
The weary groom wiped his forehead with a cloth. “Fairish. Kind of looks the ladies love. Can’t remember much more, sir. Been a busy few hours what with ’alf the ton eager for their beds. Ain’t those who like to wait neither.”
A rake. But to disappear with a member of the duke’s family? Surely he’d expect repercussions for such an act, whether the lady was willing or not. but why was Beth upset? She should be excited, eager, madly in love. She must have gone willingly. “What about his cattle?” Marcus persisted. Grooms did take note of horseflesh.
“Unmatched. Sorry lot, I thought ’em.”
“Seen any of them before?”
He took off his hat and scratched his head “Can’t says I have… but the chestnut was a prime goer. Dull coat, but a prime piece of horseflesh all the same. White markings on its feet.”
“All four?” Marcus asked as his pulse quickened.
He nodded. “No carriage horse I thought at the time.”
Could be the gelding Marcus had seen at a Tattersall’s auction. If it was the same animal, the thoroughbred had stirred his interest. He’d intended to purchase it, but didn’t make it to the auction. He didn’t know who bought it.
Returning inside, he made his way to the library where a few of his friends might have congregated. The evening was drawing to a close, although guests still remained to chat in the reception rooms. There was no sign of Mrs. Grayshott, fortunately, for he doubted her ability to remain silent. It wouldn’t be he who told her Beth had left with a gentleman, although it was only a matter of time before the story got out.
In the ballroom, the musicians packed up their instruments, while the staff swept up the chalk from the dance floor. Others moved furniture. When the family rose after noon tomorrow, the rooms would be in perfect order.
Marcus entered the library where four of his friends stood around the glowing embers of a coal fire with glasses of whiskey.
“Marcus, where did you get to?” Jason Pomphrey asked as Marcus crossed the Turkey carpet to them. “You missed some very amusing anecdotes and a bit of juicy gossip. Imagine! Lord Knott has proposed marriage to his mistress!”
“That’s good news,” Marcus said. “They’ve been together for years after all.”
“Yes, but why the devil marry her?” Pomphrey shook his head. “Had the best of both worlds. Now he will have a wife always at him for something or other.”
The men fell silent and lowered their gaze to the glasses in their hands. It was common knowledge Pomphrey’s wife was shrewish and made his life difficult.
Marcus poured himself a whiskey from the drink’s tray on the sideboard then came to join them. “Before you take your leave do any of you know who bought that chestnut with the four white feet at Tattersalls a month ago?”
“A month is a long time,” Christian Burnette said with a yawn. “Can’t remember what I did yesterday.” A trifle disguised, but well within his limits, he said his farewells and made his way slowly to the door.
Herbert Gratton followed declaring the same aim. He turned at the door. “I believe it was Ramsey. I remember thinking at the time that the ramshackle baron shouldn’t have the gelding. Too good for him. He’s in Dun territory it’s said. His stable is appallingly kept.”
Ramsey! Marcus remembered seeing him earlier. Fair and good-looking, Ramsey fitted the groom’s description. “Anyone see him tonight?”
“I did, but not since he danced past me with the pretty debutante, Miss Harrismith,” Lawson said.
“Know his address?” Marcus asked idly.
Herbert chuckled. “I can see you’ve developed a yen for that horse.” He turned to Frederick Lawson. “Doesn’t Ramsey live in King Street?”
Frederick nodded. “Yes. When he’s in Town.”
Marcus tossed back his whiskey. “Well I’m for bed. Coming gentlemen?”
“Ramsey has a house down Twickenham way, inherited it from an aunt a year or so ago. Might be there if you don’t find him in London,” Frederick said as they went in pursuit of their hostess to compliment her on another excellent ball. “Only reason I know was because he told me while in his cups and losing at cards. I might have won it.” He shrugged. “But then he began to win. I lost a fortune that night.”
Fortunately, Frederick was extremely wealthy, and didn’t seem too dismayed. Should he call first at the baron’s townhouse? It would be shut up and Marcus considered it more likely that if Ramsey had taken Beth, it would be to Twickenham. He would hardly risk being seen with her here in London. Servants did talk. “Know the address?”
Frederick shook his head. “A few miles past Richmond on the river. Old stone house on about thirty acres. Ramsey said it should be pulled down. Said it was haunted.” Frederick chuckled. “Told him I didn’t believe in ghosts, but he seemed unnerved by it.”
Now he had an address, Marcus was eager to be off. He accepted an invitation to dinner Saturday next and cards at White’s the following week. He moved off toward the staircase with a backward wave.
“Hope you persuade him to part with it,” Herbert called after him as Marcus took to the stairs. “You’ll take far better care of that horse.”
After Marcus claimed his hat and coat from the footman, he hurried to his home a mere block away. He raced up the stairs into his bedchamber and called for his valet. With Burn’s help, a bare twenty minutes later, dressed in his riding clothes, he carried a lamp to the stables in the mews behind his townhouse. All lay in darkness, the horses shuffling in their boxes, the sweet smell of fresh hay, saddle oil and horses greeting him. He hung up the lamp and removed Zeus from his stall.
“Ready for a canter?” He patted the chestnut’s glossy neck as he put on the bridle. Zeus tossed his head and pawed the ground, always eager for a run. A few moments later, Marcus rode down the lane and headed for the pike road leading out of London. He considered the quickest way to Twickenham was through Richmond. He glanced up at the sky where the waning moon struggled free of clouds. The breeze freshened and a bank of indigo clouds hovered on the horizon alerting him to a change in the weather. He hoped they would not advance too fast. With a bit of luck, once he’d crossed the bridge at Richmond he could follow the river. He should be able to find the place.
As he cantered through the dark streets, the Townhall clock struck two. Beth had been gone for hours. He tightened his jaw. Maybe he would be too late to save her from Ramsey’s seduction. But not too late to get her discreetly away and returned to her family,
after he took Ramsey apart limb by limb. What if she welcomed the baron’s attentions? He would be blundering in where he wasn’t wanted. But his loyalty to Andrew and his opinion of Beth’s character, brief as it was, made him ride on.
On the floor above, Ramsey, his hand gripping her arm, pulled Beth along the corridor, and shoved her through a bedchamber door. He slammed the door shut behind her. As she stood on the dingy gray carpet she struggled with relief that he’d left her alone, and the fear he would soon return. Then, taking stock, a fledgling hope arose that she might yet escape. But to where? The paneled walls closed the bedchamber in and made the room stuffy and confining. An air of sadness hung over it, emphasized by the faded damask that dressed the windows and the bed, an enormous monstrosity of carved walnut. More of the same heavy furniture lurked in corners. The room thick with dust, smelled musty.
Beth discovered the commode in the adjoining dressing room. A basin of water and a towel on the dresser had been left for her. Surprised to find it, and then that the water was still warm, she washed her face. But the attempt to make herself feel better failed. She gazed into the Cheval mirror, barely taking note of her appearance, her desperate thoughts on a way to escape. A flash of white appeared in the corner of her eye. Beth swung around. But there was no one there. She hurried back into the bedchamber. It was empty.
Beth’s blood ran cold. A white gown and a bridal veil had been carefully laid out on the bed. She was certain it hadn’t been there when she came in, surely she would have seen it. “Is anyone here?” she called her voice hoarse. Goosebumps prickled her arms. Rubbing them she went to the fireplace where a wood fire smoldered. Above the mantel hung a long gilt-framed mirror the glass mottled. Warming her hands at the fire, she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She glanced up. In the mirror, a girl in a white dress appeared as though through a mist. For a moment, Beth’s throat closed over. She froze. Then she swung around. There was no one in the room. Was her imagination getting the better of her? She swallowed. “Is anyone here?” she rasped out.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 39
