"I am content." Her chin lifted and her eyes challenged him.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you are. A bird with clipped wings is always content in its cage, n'est-ce pas? Ah, here is my carriage."
The vehicle rounded the corner and stopped. Amberley entered the coach, then leaned out the window, grinning wolfishly. "I bid you adieu, Miss Cothcourt. If you are ever feeling 'lonely', my first offer still stands."
Chapter 4:
In Which His Grace Runs True to Form
"Brandy, Carter, and quickly!" Robin shouted, striding into Brackenwell Hall. "Bon Dieu, but this has been a hellish day! Is the marquis in the library?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Serve me there."
As Amberley entered the room and sank into a chair, de Valiére looked up from his book. "Am I to wish you happy?"
"Non! I have been given to understand that I am not good enough for Miss Saddewythe and I am too good for Miss Cothcourt." He stretched his legs, shoved his hands into his coat pockets and glowered into the shadows of the fireplace.
"There is more to it than that, certainement!"
"Mais oui!" Robin conceded. "Saddewythe said he wouldn't have a beast like me in his family! Beast! His exact word!" Lynkellyn's eyes smoldered.
Carter entered with refreshments. Georges leveled his quizzing glass at the tray of liquors as the butler left. "Perhaps tea would be wiser this early in the day, mon vieux."
"To the devil with your tea, Georges!" Robin poured brandy into a glass, then looked inquiringly at his friend.
"The claret, s'il vous plâit." De Valiére accepted a glass, saying, "And what of Miss Cothcourt?"
"She is the most vexing wench I've ever met! When I offered for her, she started babbling about honor and love, then she refused me!" He sipped his brandy and laughed. "imbécile! She is passing up the chance of a lifetime!"
"Being wedded to you?" Georges sounded incredulous.
"Non, mon ami! I explained the situation and offered her a host of riches and rewards! More wealth than she will ever dream of in her dingy little schoolroom!"
"Une mariage de convenance! That must have been très amoureux!" Georges sipped his claret, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I've no more time for courtship! She's a woman of the world or, at least, she should be if Gleason's report is true. I made her a business proposition, nothing more."
"So what is to be done?" Georges asked after a pause.
"Je ne sais pas, mon ami. Perhaps I shall go back to Paris. At least I have friends there."
"And Cousin Mountheathe shall win after all."
"Yes, damn his soul!" Fury danced in Robin's eyes. "And all because I must needs be Don Quixote, tilting at Giles's windmills. Chivalry is a fool's virtue, mon vieux. Avoid it at all costs."
Georges smiled and went back to his book. Amberley downed his brandy and refilled his glass, brooding into the glowing golden liquid for a long while. Suddenly his head snapped up, reckless danger glinting in his eyes. "I know how to keep Giles from my fortune, Georges! Look you! I've always stood accused of abduction. I'm called scoundrel! Reprobate! Beast! très bien! I shall to run true to form and take what I want! Abduct myself a wife!"
Sipping his claret, the marquis choked. "If you are trying to be funny, mon vieux..."
"I'm serious, Georges. When Lady Saddewythe and her family leave for London on the twenty-eighth, they will have to travel through Epping Forest. I'll await them there, hold up the coach, and carry Pamela off to Brackenwell Hall. I'll have the vicar waiting here to marry us...et voilâ! C'est finis! I have my fortune." He grinned at his friend. "I would welcome your help in this venture."
De Valiére's face drained of all color. "I cannot believe -- surely you cannot be -- c'est diabolique!" he spluttered. "Are you mad?"
"I've just found my sanity, mon ami! I'm not like other men. A girl of good family is never going to wed me in the normal course of events. To win a bride, I shall have to drag her down to my level. Once I have ruined her, Pamela will have no choice but to marry me."
"I would never lend myself to such a stupid, barbarous, unfeeling scheme," Georges said through gritted teeth, his eyes meeting Amberley's with dark anger. "Have you thought of the risks? Highway robbery and abduction are dirty, dangerous crimes. You might be killed in the attempt! If you are caught, your execution will be swift. The English are especially adamant on that point. Even if you succeed, Vicar Stanfield and Monsieur Gleason may not agree to such an improper marriage arrangement. And finally, I do not think Miss Saddewythe is strong enough in mind or spirit to cope with the social nightmare into which wedding you will plunge here!"
"If I am killed, the world will not mourn my loss," Robin drawled. "And I hold Stanfield's living. He will perform my wedding ceremony, regardless of the circumstances, if he wants to continue to serve this parish. I shall, of course, pay generously for his services, but if bribery and intimidation do not persuade him, I shall appeal to his sympathy for Pamela's woeful plight. One way or another, he will do as he is told.
"Gleason is merely a legal witness to my marriage. His opinions are of no great import to me; and I don't give a tinker's damn about Pamela's mind as long as she can give birth to my child." Robin sipped his brandy. "I intend to go through with this, Georges. 'Tis my last chance to best Mountheathe. Whether you join me in Epping Forest will make no difference in the outcome of the venture. You must, of course, be guided by your own sense of honor."
Georges leaped to his feet. "Honor! Judging by what I've heard this afternoon, I am the only man in this room who knows what that is!"
"I've told you what I am, Georges!" Robin snarled. "My honor died in an inn on the Scottish border a decade ago. 'Tis greed and a sincere desire for revenge that spur me on."
"I do not like this side of you, monsieur. It disgusts me. You do not care whom you victimize! Perhaps your death in Epping Forest would be a blessing."
"You wish me dead, Georges? Over the insipid Pamela?" Robin's brows rose.
"You will destroy that girl's life! What about her family? They'll turn their backs on her!"
Robin shrugged.
"Non, mon ami, I don't desire your death," Georges said, "but I'll be damned if I can stand the sight of you a moment longer. Maybe, by tomorrow, you will have reconsidered. Mon Dieu! I hope so!" He stalked out of the library, shaking his head in disbelief.
Tossing off the last of his brandy, Robin watched De Valiére go. "I fear you are in for disappointment, mon ami," he muttered as he emptied the decanter into his glass. "I will do what I must do."
He rang for a second bottle and watched the blue and orange blaze dance in the fireplace, sipping his brandy as he perfected his abduction plans and tried to imagine himself married to Pamela Saddewythe.
Unbidden, a vision of Lucia Cothcourt, her blue eyes sparkling with fury, her raven tresses tumbling around her shoulders, rose in his mind to blot out all thoughts of Miss Saddewythe. As vividly as if Lucia was in his embrace at that moment, he could feel the warmth of her, taste the sweetness of her lips. Tormenting desire throbbed through every physical and spiritual part of him, pleading pitifully, bitterly, insistently for her. His blood rushed hot and he ached to enfold her in his arms, to explore her, body and soul.
Robin drained his glass, suddenly in need of fortification. "Damn the wench!" he swore softly. "Damn her! Damn her! Damn her!"
***
Robin spent the next three days preparing for the capture and subsequent wedding of his bride. Informing Carter that he was to be married during a private ceremony in the Green Salon on Saturday, Amberley commanded that food be prepared in advance and stored in the kitchen, then announced that his wedding day would be a holiday for the entire staff, save his valet, Hercules.
Mr. Gleason was ready to witness the wedding ceremony at any moment on Saturday, and, after a great expenditure of charm and persistence on Amberley's part, Georges agreed to lend his cooperation to the scheme, hoping that one relatively cool
head amidst all the lunacy might save a life, Robin's!
On Friday, Robin paid a purposeful call on Reverend Stanfield. Sitting in the vicar's small, sunny drawing room, sipping tea, he announced, "I have a special license and I want you to perform my wedding ceremony on Saturday."
Stanfield nodded. "And who is the bride?"
"Miss Pamela Saddewythe."
"That is strange. I have heard nothing about a betrothal."
Robin smiled "There is no betrothal. I intend to abduct the lady and marry her out of hand."
Stanfield's brows snapped together. "This is, perhaps, a secret engagement? The lady wishes to fly with you in the face of her father?"
"No. I have to marry by Saturday or I stand to lose a great deal of money. Since I have been unsuccessful in securing a willing bride, I have resolved to wed an unwilling one."
Stanfield rose, outraged. "I will have no part in such a scheme!"
"Then I fear you will have to find a new living."
"A new living! But I have served this parish for forty years! This is my home and the people here are like family. I couldn't leave them!" Stanfield's eyes widened with incredulity.
"Since I hold this living, your services toward the community must prove satisfactory to me. If I should find your efforts on behalf of your flock to be wanting..."
"Are you suggesting, Your Grace, that if I do not take part in the monstrous crime you propose, you will turn me out of my home?"
"Without so much as a letter of recommendation," Robin said. "Not that a letter from me would add to your consequence."
Stanfield sank into his chair. "I cannot credit this. What everyone says of you must be true! You haven't a shred of decency or honor!"
"I do, however, have the right to demand that you perform my wedding ceremony on Saturday. I assure you the task will not go unrewarded. I shall raise the income you receive to, shall we say, seven hundred a year?"
Stanfield's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "But that is twice my current stipend!" His mind raced, thinking how wonderful it would be to make his rounds in a bright, shiny new carriage or perhaps to take a trip to Surrey to see his grandchildren, but then he gave himself a mental shake. His mouth snapped closed. "No!" he said. "No, Your Grace. I will not accept your blood money. I cannot perform a marriage ceremony under such circumstances."
Lynkellyn shook his head. "That is very sad, Reverend Stanfield. I intend, you see, to carry out my plan with or without you. I will send to London for a parson as soon as I leave here. It may take a few hours longer, but once I have the girl, that won't matter to me. For her, of course, those few hours alone with me may spell ruin. If I have not married her by Saturday midnight, I shall ravish her and turn her out of my house. Then I shall see to your expulsion from my vicarage."
"You will burn in hellfire for this!" Stanfield's eyes bulged. "How could you think of doing such a thing?"
Robin watched him from beneath hooded lids. "If Miss Saddewythe is ruined, it will be on your head, sir. Had you consented to marry us, the lady's honor would have remained unsullied, but since you have declined -- " He shrugged and rose to leave.
"No! Wait!" Stanfield cried. "If -- if I perform the ceremony, Miss Saddewythe will be safe from scandalous slurs? Dishonor would crush her."
"I promise you, she will be as protected from scandal as I can contrive." Lynkellyn studied his long, white hands.
"And that is not very much protection, is it?"
"No," Robin said after a slight pause, "but it is better than being abandoned in the streets with no virtue, no money, no home, and no family or friends. I fear I shall leave Miss Saddewythe in a sad case, indeed, if you do not help her."
Stanfield stared hard at his elegant visitor. Dressed impeccably in a russet coat of exquisite Parisian cut, tan smallclothes and an amber waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, the duke embodied the word, 'gentleman'. It was difficult to believe his soul was so black.
"You are quite serious?" the vicar pressed him.
"Quite! I shall not relent."
"Then I have no choice but to perform the service. At least it will save the lady from total disgrace, but I don't want your blood money!"
Lynkellyn sat down again. "You shall have it, nonetheless, vicar."
Stanfield sagged into his chair, defeated. "What must I do to aid your design?"
"Above all, tell no one of this business. You will ride over to the Hall immediately after breakfast on Saturday and wait all day, if need be, until I return with my bride. You shall then perform the wedding rites, et voilâ! Your part is done. You may go home."
"But my wife will ask questions. I can't just -- "
Robin held up a calming hand. "Rest easy, Reverend. I shall send you a note early in the morning, summoning you to the Hall. You may send your lady a message at noon, postponing your return, and you will spend the night at Brackenwell, if necessary, until my business is done." He stood, towering over Stanfield, who shrank into his chair. "Don't let the fine clothes and the noble title fool you, Reverend," he said softly. "I am a brigand at heart and I know how to deal with those who cross me. Do not play me false. Good day to you, sir." He bowed and left.
Chapter 5:
In Which His Grace Steals Another Kiss
The simmering disagreement between Lord Saddewythe and his lady over the duke's suitability as a suitor for Pamela finally exploded the day before their London departure. When Nigel told Winifred he had rejected Lynkellyn's offer, she flung up her hands in disbelief. "How could you, Nigel? The man's a duke! He's worth a hundred thousand pounds a year! Pamela would have been the envy of the ton!"
"The man's an adventurer, Winifred. He has ruined himself and he only wants to drag our family into his shame! Well, I won't let it happen."
"My Pamela could have been a duchess if only you were not such a nodcock, my lord!" Winifred stamped her foot in frustration.
"Money and a title without social acceptance cannot be considered a good match for Pamela, Wini. She would be ostracized if she married Amberley! She's a dashed pretty girl! She'll get other offers that are much more suitable. A viscount! An earl! A marquis! Perhaps even another duke, a respectable one, I hope!"
"But Nigel! She's already got a duke!" Lady Saddewythe pleaded
"I have made my decision, Winifred!" Lord Saddewythe crossed his arms, his features set.
In her room, Pamela had her maids unpacking and repacking her baggage time and time again, fearing something indispensable had been forgotten or needed to be added, or to remove some garment suddenly deemed not modish enough for fashionable London.
Since the younger children were to stay in the country, the schoolroom routine remained undisturbed until Friday morning when Honor awoke with a fever. Alarmed, Lucia, notified Lady Saddewythe, who rushed to her baby's bedside, sending immediately for Dr. Halcombe.
The physician diagnosed an inflammation of the ears and left some recommendations and medicines. Lucia and Lady Saddewythe set about making Honor comfortable, but after an hour or so, Winifred reluctantly left to deal with a packing crisis. Lucia found herself solely responsible for Honor as well as her healthier siblings. After a hectic day trying to teach lessons while catering to the needs of the invalid, she mounted a weary vigil by Honor's bed.
Early Saturday morning, Lady Saddewythe found Honor not much improved. She promised an exhausted Lucia some assistance and hurried away to oversee last minute details for the trip. The Saddewythes were supposed to leave at exactly eight o'clock, but due to dawdling and arguments, the carriage was not ready to depart until noon. Nigel climbed into it, begging his ladies to make haste in a voice ragged with anger and frustration. Winifred fled back into the house, insisting that she must look in on Honor one last time and Pamela followed, saying something about a forgotten shawl. Lord Saddewythe groaned.
A few minutes later, Pamela hurried to the coach, saying that she could not find her embroidered silk shawl anywhere and that the trunks would have to be unpacked
again to satisfy her that it was, indeed, within one of them. Her father was about to remonstrate when Winifred rushed out of the house, announcing that they dare not depart.
"Why not?" Lord Saddewythe was thunderstruck. "The house is empty. We've nothing left to pack!"
"Oh, Nigel! Why will you be so difficult?" Winifred stamped her foot. "Honor is sick! I cannot leave her now! She needs her mother at a time like this!" Then Pamela's falling countenance caught her sympathetic eye. "But you need your Season, too, my love!"
"Take Honor with us!" Saddewythe said.
"Well, if I do, I'll need Miss Cothcourt to help me take care of her. Oh, but what will the other children do without a governess? Nigel, we shall just have to take them all to London!"
"But, Wini..."
"My mind is made up, Nigel! You might as well get out of the carriage until the children are ready to go. Order the other coach for them, please, my lord."
"But we've got two coaches going already!" Saddewythe said, aggrieved, as Winifred disappeared into the house. With a resigned sigh, he sent for their last carriage. Meanwhile, Pamela instructed a footman to take all her trunks to her room so that they might be unpacked once more and the missing shawl found.
It was four o'clock before the entire Saddewythe family, their personal belongings, household goods, and servants were ready to depart. Saddewythe wanted to postpone the trip until the next day, but Winifred insisted upon leaving immediately saying that she and Pamela required a day to recover from the journey and they had an appointment with a very exclusive modiste on Monday. She added that it was most unseemly to travel on the Sabbath, in any case.
Nigel rolled his eyes and handed his ladies into the coach. After checking to see that everyone was settled, he climbed into his seat beside Winifred. He was about to give the order to depart when Pamela suddenly stiffened. "Oh, Papa! I have forgotten -- "
Freezing her with a glare, he thundered awfully, "No!" She cringed into the cushioned seat.
Saddewythe signaled to his coachman and his entourage lumbered down the drive. The well-sprung coach carrying Lord and Lady Saddewythe and Pamela led the way. The large, old family carriage followed, bearing the five younger children, Miss Cothcourt, and a small mountain of baggage. An ancient, dilapidated equipage brought up the rear with eight servants crammed inside and six more on top, besides the coachman and another, larger, mountain of baggage.
The Rogue's Revenge Page 5
