“Indeed.” Eve stood her ground and lifted her chin. “I will pass your best wishes to my husband.”
“I wish you would.” He glanced at Helena, his brief perusal chilling her in a way she didn’t completely understand. “I’m anticipating our first dance after our wedding.”
Now she understood. He was upset that she had refused to see him when he’d called yesterday. “I fear I cannot give you that assurance.” He was not the first persistent suitor she had suffered, but he was the most blatant. “I’m sorry you misunderstood me when we spoke the other day.”
“I think not.”
When she glanced away, trying to break any suggestion of intimacy between them, she caught the eye of the last person she would have wished present today.
Tom was watching her closely, his body poised, as if he would spring across the street to save her.
She turned her attention back to her unwanted suitor. “If you wish, you may call on my brother. He will, I’m sure, help to clarify the situation.”
“I did better than that,” he said. “Your parents have newly arrived in town, and I took the opportunity to call on them this morning.” Not even Helena had heard that yet. Had he set spies outside their residence? Her senses went on alert, the hair on the back of her neck prickling.
“My parents do not have jurisdiction over my movements, sir. I have turned twenty-one.”
He smiled, as if indulging a child’s pet. “I beg to differ, ma’am. One’s parents are always the first to be consulted. Your father was surprised to hear of our engagement, and your mother was pleased.”
“She was?” Helena would have doubted that. Everslade lived too far away for her mother to feel comfortable having her marry him. Unless she had come to some kind of agreement with him, which she would not put past the annoying man. He had been nothing but friendly, not at all persistent. What had changed?
Obviously she needed to consult with Julius. Accordingly, she stepped forward. “If you will excuse me, I am presently on my way to my brother’s house.”
His voice hardened when he said, “To quote your good self, I beg to differ.” Simultaneously he nodded to the driver of a carriage that had drawn up in the middle of the road and snaked his arm around her waist, dragging her close.
What was he about to do, kiss her in public? She would bite him first.
Instead, he whisked her off her feet. Helena lost her breath, did not even have the time to cry out. What in damnation was going on? That was all she could think of as he leaped through the open door of the carriage and dropped her on the seat.
Almost instinctively she made for the far door, lunging at full-length to open it and escape the other side. But the handle refused to give, and Everslade threw himself on top of her, grasping her wrist and wrenching it away. The door on the other side slammed closed, and the carriage jerked into motion.
He still lay over her, and as she opened her mouth to scream, he slammed his mouth on hers, grinding his teeth against her lips. She tasted blood, but he had her too closely bound for her to bite him. She cried out anyway, but he swallowed her sound.
The carriage spun around the corner, and Helena found herself praying the vehicle would overturn. It might shower her with splinters of glass but at least it would stop. Terror and panic rose to stun her, but she was too busy fighting to breathe to force herself back to rational thought.
Clenching her fists, she pounded them against his shoulders, but he gave no sign of having registered her protests. Instead, he took her hands and dragged them down, pushing them to the seat either side of her head.
He drew back, gazing down at her in possessive triumph. “Maidenly protests are all very well, but you will not have that distinction for long.” He glanced down, to where her breasts were pressing against her fichu. “I can wait until tonight. I will not have our first night spoiled by the incessant jolting of a coach, my love.”
Some semblance of rationality returned to her. “Do you often abduct women in the middle of the day?”
“I knew I’d chosen well,” he said with satisfaction.
She would never like green eyes again.
He never took his gaze from her. “You have wit and intelligence as well as beauty. You will be the perfect countess.”
“Not for you.” Should she mention that she was already a countess? Albeit to an earl who refused to acknowledge her. That, she realized, would prevent any contract Everslade wanted her to enter into with him. But it wouldn’t prevent any unpleasantness that would precede it.
Wait—they had changed the marriage laws. “We cannot marry, sir.”
“We can and we will. We are heading for the border, my darling one.” Oh, damnation!
She wanted to spit in his face, had even begun the preparations for it, but she swallowed instead. Everslade had a wild look in his eyes. Although she would certainly bear it in mind for later, if she needed it. “Please let me up.”
“One more kiss.” He suited his actions to his words and gave her another painful kiss before he drew away and lifted up far enough to look out the window. Spots danced before her eyes, and she fought to retain consciousness.
“Ah, we are making good progress.” He heaved his body off hers.
Helena gasped in relief and lay there until her vision cleared and she could be sure of sitting up without fainting. When she did, he stretched out a hand to help her, but she pretended not to notice. Glancing out of the window, she assessed their position. They had reached Spitalfields market, and that was too far for her liking.
Her panic subsided and she began to think. “I’ll need to stop and collect necessary items,” she said calmly.
“I have everything you need. Do you think I would have done this unprepared?”
“Who made you consider this?”
He sat opposite her, which came as a relief, but he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together. “Your father told me you were considering living independently and your mother deeply disapproves. So do I. You have no right to do that, to deprive me of the wife I want above all others. Your mother forbade the match outright. I cannot allow that. I want you too much.”
Did he intend to be romantic? Because what he said sounded threatening. “You think you know better than I do?”
“Naturally.” His brows shot up; he appeared surprised she would even ask. “Sometimes a man needs to take matters into his own hands. I took your parents’ displeasure and your brother’s defiance of them as my cue. I have made inquiries, and I discovered your parents’ relations with their son are not as good as it should be. His impulsive marriage has offended your mother. I am of every expectation that they will reconcile, once we are happily married.”
Anger simmered low in Helena’s gut. She bit back her initial response in favor of hard thinking. The carriage doors were locked. When they stopped to change horses was her best chance of getting away, but he might not let her. Instead, she might have to wait until they stopped for the night. Was he mad enough to offer her violence?
Yes. Young and handsome he might be, but he showed a disturbingly autocratic attitude. He probably believed in whipping his spouse into submission. Her flesh flinched in instinctive reaction. Appealing to the various people she met along the way would not help, because they would depend for their pay on Everslade. “My lord, can we not achieve the same ends the traditional way?” He appeared to believe that children should obey their parents; perhaps he was as traditional in outlook.
“We could, but it would take much longer, and by then the rift between your relatives could be permanent.”
“It already is,” she said without thought. Anger rose to blind her. How dare this man even dream of doing this to her? How could he subject her to such indignities? “Our family problems are none of your concern, sir, nor will they ever become so. How dare you interpose yourself?”
He broke into her protestations with a roar. “Be qui
et, madam! By God you will learn to obey me!” Half rising, he swung his hand back and brought it across her face, knocking her sideways.
Blood flooded her mouth so she could not talk properly, and involuntary tears of pain sprang to her eyes. She lay there, eyes closed, forcing herself into as high an alert as she could.
This man was mad, or not far off it. Sadly, not mad enough for anyone to consider admitting him to an asylum, which was where he should be residing. He was full of himself and no doubt accustomed to believing himself the center of the universe.
She must get away, and to do that, she had to keep her wits about her. It would kill her to do it, but she might have to comply with his wishes. But if she spent a night under the same roof as him, he would claim that as proof they were intimate, and on that basis, her reputation could be destroyed. She’d taken chances before, but that was her choice. Having that choice taken away would spell lifelong imprisonment.
She would not stand for that. She would kill herself before that happened.
Chapter 11
The flash of a sword told Tom what Everslade was about. He was across the road as soon as he saw that tiny nod to the carriage driver, who before that moment had only been lingering, rather than showing any evidence of being with any of the people on the street. Dodging oncoming horses and ignoring the alarmed yells that surrounded him on all sides, he had nearly come within reach of the carriage before the driver whipped up the horses and it careened off.
He did not mutter curses; he yelled them, but continued to move, tromping over the piles of horse dung and cobbles until he reached Lady Winterton and her astonished group of manservants.
As the coach nearly took the corner at the end of the street on two wheels, a flash of movement made him whip his head around. Tom showed his teeth in a vicious grin. At least some good had come of his lunge. He had slowed the coach down enough to mark it.
He had no time to lose. Racing to the side of the road, he issued orders rapidly. He pointed at a footman carrying a heap of parcels. “Drop them, run back to your master’s house, and tell him what has happened.” He would not announce the events in the middle of the street. Who knew who was listening? God knew rumors enough would be racing around the city without him adding to them.
He needed a horse. He had to get to her before nightfall, otherwise she was done for. What was the idiotic man doing?
Lady Winterton took her place in the carriage and Tom leaped in after her. “Believe me, ma’am, I mean you no harm. I will see you safely back in your husband’s arms and I will tell him what I saw. We have to catch the ruffian before he does any permanent damage to Lady Helena.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “I have learned you are no friend of his, but I have also learned to think for myself, and I go by deeds, not mere words. I do not forget the good turn you did us. I do not pretend to know why you did so.”
He nodded his thanks. “For the same reason I do this now.” Because, despite his efforts to forget her, to think of Helena as a sister, he was still as in love with her as ever. He had vowed never to repeat his sin, but that did not stop him recalling his happiness before the terrible discovery. Although not a particularly religious man, he found himself praying under his breath. He had faced adversity and danger before but never like this. Would his spirited Helena have the sense to play along with Everslade, and if he did, would she agree to marry him? Stranger things had happened. Had she already accepted him?
When they arrived at the house in Brook Street, a mere ten minutes later, he escorted Lady Winterton inside personally, ignoring the disapproval of the superior person who opened the door to them.
He was not surprised to find a shirt-sleeved Lord Winterton standing in the hallway. He glanced at Tom but said nothing yet.
His wife flew into his arms, letting loose the tears that she had held back until now. He drew her away into the parlor at the front of the house, overlooking the street. Tom remained behind in the hall to issue orders. “If his lordship has not said so, he will require two horses, saddled and ready. In five minutes.”
The butler exchanged a doubtful look with the footman. “He only said one,” the footman said.
Tom shook his head, thought, and then followed the Wintertons into the parlor, pushing past another man who tried ineffectively to bar the door. “We have little time to argue,” he said, as his lordship opened his mouth to speak. “I will go in instant pursuit. You stay here and arrange your formidable troops to follow. Your wife needs you and you may need to consider other strategies. But we must reach her before nightfall, or she could be irreparably ruined.”
“Why would I trust you?”
“Why would I wish Lady Helena harm?” Tom demanded. “For God’s sake, man, I’m not asking for your trust, only that you believe I am capable of performing this task. I swear, I will turn her over to whichever of your relatives you send, and I know them all. But I am here, and I am ready to leave.”
Winterton helped his wife on to a sofa. The redoubtable lady was already recovering, mopping her face and blowing her nose. “You should both go,” she said. “It’s obvious Everslade did not want me.”
“Did she accept his proposal?”
Winterton narrowed his eyes. “What do you think? I advised her to think about it, because I’m an utter fool, but she was firm in her refusal. She did not want him.”
“Well he has her now.”
Winterton studied him, his startlingly vivid blue eyes unfocused, and then nodded. “Very well. I’ve ordered horses and a groom to accompany me, one I would trust with my life. He will go with you.”
“So I have to watch my back?”
“Only if you do anything that might displease me. Take it or leave it. Otherwise, I will go. But if you go in pursuit, I can organize matters here. I have sent a runner to my cousins’ houses and ordered a carriage made ready. When you find her, keep her somewhere safe and send word, if you can. I will send the carriage to you.”
He jerked his head to a green riding coat laid over a nearby chair. “Take that. You are hardly dressed for riding.”
One glance at the gleaming boots standing by the side of the chair told Tom that he and Winterton were approximately the same size. He lost no time thrusting his arms through the sleeves of the coat and stamping into the remarkably practical boots. He found a cocked hat under the coat and crammed it on his head. Once he’d emptied the pockets of his sadly stained and probably ruined town coat, he transferred them to the riding coat, where he found a welcome addition. He drew the pair of pistols from the deep pockets and gave them a cursory examination. They were exactly as he liked—primed and ready for action. He wore his dress sword, which he retained.
“If you need a stronger weapon, I have it,” Winterton said.
“No need,” Tom replied. “I order fancy hilts but serviceable blades.” Shoving his hand into his breeches’ pocket, he drew out a short sheathed blade.
“There is a hidden blade in the side of the right boot,” Winterton said tersely. He strode to the window, where a small writing table stood, and plucked a quill from the inkstand. “Here are the horses,” he said, glancing out of the window.
“I’ll send word if I can. If not, I’ll escort her ladyship back here. She’s as safe with me as she would be with you.”
The realization struck him with the force of a punch. By all that was holy, he was speaking with his own brother. Half brother, it was true, but they shared a father. Except that Winterton was as yet unaware of the fact. Tom could put it off no longer. He would have to tell Winterton, at least. But not now. Explanations would have their time.
He turned back at the door, his hand on the gilded knob. “If I cannot return tonight, I will send word. That is, if he has traveled farther. I advise you to give out that she is safely back home. We’ll find a way to contrive the truth. But I will do everything in my power to reach her in time. I have a man with the carriage. He discarded your livery and
leaped on to the back of the vehicle as it was moving. Since he is a man of great resource, I trust him to do everything possible to stay with it. If he sends a message here, you will know him. His name is Lamaire.”
Ignoring Winterton’s shout, Tom left the room and went outside to mount the very fine mare Winterton had kindly put at his disposal.
* * * *
Helena was becoming heartily bored with Everslade’s company. Once she righted herself, she tucked her hands under her cloak and refused to talk to him. He chose to believe she was sulking and called her charming, before he launched into a monologue of his plans, and since she was disinclined to agree with him, a discourse on his own cleverness.
Helena concentrated on keeping her tongue between her teeth and marking where they were going. As she had presumed, he had everything she would need to eat, drink, and even relieve herself, although she would be damned before she did that in his company. Instead, she preferred to hold her water until she was near to bursting with it. But even then she would not relent.
He kindly gave her his handkerchief to clean her poor face. She had cut the inside of her cheek with her teeth from his vicious blow, but had taken no other harm, except for a split lip from his bruising kisses, which he fondly described as “passionate.”
How she could have ever imagined him handsome she did not understand. Her only solace was that he did not touch her again and he did not force himself on her. She took stock of her poor weapons, which consisted of her shoe buckles, hairpins, and a small fruit knife that she carried in a sheath in her pocket.
Wit and reason were probably her best defenses. She would let him talk himself to a standstill, and then she would try to persuade him not to take such a rash course.
“My love, you will adore my house in Italy. Indeed, I have rarely visited it myself, but it is as if time stood still there. It is quaint, in the countryside, although close to Rome, and a perfect place to honeymoon.”
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