Her hostess hesitated, as though trying to find a logical reason to separate the guest of honour from one of the guests brought to honour her.
But the gentleman in question settled the matter for them. He was making his way across the room towards them, moving with a dancer’s grace as though he was walking in time to the music. He bowed slightly to his hostess, and favoured her with a smile that made the old lady’s face turn an even more shocking shade of pink. ‘Lady Keddinton, such a lovely evening. It is good to be warmly welcomed, after such a long time away from England.’
His voice was low and smooth, and as captivating as his person. He spoke precisely and with a faint unidentifiable accent, as though English was his second language and not his first. Verity drank in each word. She studied the man as minutely as courtesy would allow, fearing that she would not get another chance. Once Aunt Felicity noticed her interest, she would be sure to send Lord Salterton away. And then Verity would never know if the small scar upon the lobe of his ear was because it had been pierced to hold a ring.
Now he was turning to look at Verity again. She dropped her eyes quickly so that he would not catch her staring. ‘And I must say the company is charming, as well. I beg you, do me the honour of presenting me to your friend, for I have few acquaintances here and wish that were not the case.’
He wished to meet her? Now it took all her control to maintain the thin veneer of polite interest that hid her true desires from Aunt Felicity. It would be a bitter disappointment if her instant attraction to the gentleman prevented his invitation to future gatherings.
Lady Keddinton’s smile turned frosty. She could not very well cut the man, when he was being so perfectly civil. ‘Lady Verity Carlow, may I present Lord Stephen Salterton.’
When the turn came for her to speak, her poise failed her and Verity stammered as though she were just out of the school room.
And Lord Salterton was polite enough to pre tend he did not notice the fact. He said, ‘Would you do me the honour of another dance, Lady Verity?’
She thought again of her brother’s warning, and felt quite ridiculous for it. It was not even a waltz, and she was in a public place with a man that her hostess knew well enough to introduce. Dancing with Lord Salterton hardly fell under the class of associating with strangers. It would be no more forward than dancing with Alexander had been, and considerably more pleasant. ‘Certainly, sir.’
He offered her his arm, and led her out onto the floor. It was amazing that something so simple could be so affecting. She had walked thus with him in the quadrille. But not as his partner. Now it was as if he had claimed her for his own. As they moved through the form of the dance, she was barely aware of the others in the room with her, only the man at her side. Perhaps it was because he did not speak. In a less skilled dancer, she would have suspected that he required full attention for counting the steps. But this man seemed to be focusing solely upon her, watching her as she moved, gazing into her eyes as they met and turned. And he sighed ever so slightly, each time they parted. Was he too shy to speak? She did not think so. There had been nothing in his gaze to indicate the fact, as she had watched him.
But his reticence made her want to draw nearer.
‘It is a lovely evening, is it not?’ She spoke to fill the silence between them, and felt in credibly gauche for it. Could she not have come up with something more interesting to say to a man that had been every where? Although what about her could possibly entertain a man so worldly, she had no—
‘Yes. Delightful.’ He looked straight at her as he said it, so she was sure that the comment was in tended as a compliment to her and had nothing at all to do with the dance.
‘Thank you.’ And that had been a remarkably stupid response. If he’d meant anything other than what she assumed, it would have made no sense at all.
His lips twitched a little. He knew exactly what she’d thought, and her answer amused him. ‘You’re most welcome.’
Welcome to do what? His response had proved her perceptions were correct. And now, though he appeared to answer her in kind, he had included an invitation to something, she was sure. He wanted something from her. Or wanted her to want something from him. Or he meant something else entirely that she did not understand.
Oh, how she wished Diana was here to explain. Although it was probably best that she was not. Diana would have glared from across the room, dismissed him with a snap of her fan, and packed Verity off to home before either of them could manage another cryptic exchange.
He gave another smile and an exasperated sigh, as if to say, ‘You are not particularly skilled at flirtation, so I shall be forced to help you.’
And then, he said aloud, ‘It is a lovely night. But it is most oppressive in the ballroom. Perhaps a turn around the garden would be pleasant.’ He spoke the words with such deliberate slowness, that she was sure he meant…
Where I mean to kiss you sense less, as soon as we are out of sight of the house.
‘No,’ she said, suddenly and firmly. ‘I do not think that would be wise at all. I do not like gardens.’ Which was not only untrue, but another exceptionally odd statement.
‘You do not like gardens?’ He smiled again, as though her at tempted set down were but another joke. ‘Perhaps it is because you have not seen them in the moon light.’
Or with the right company.
That was what he meant. She was sure of it. For all his good looks and attractively chosen words, he was the sort of man who expected a tryst in the garden after a single dance, and he was vain enough to assume she would throw off the strictures of Society for an opportunity to be alone with him.
‘On the contrary. I am not so foolish as to think that what appeals to me in moon light will have the same charm when the sun rises. Now, if you will excuse me.’ And she walked away and left him on the dance floor.
She hurried to the ladies’ retiring room, one hand to her face, feeling the growing warmth of her cheeks. She’d made a cake of herself in front of everyone by walking away from the most desirable man in the room, in the middle of a set.
Which was not to say she desired him, of course. Or that she secretly wished to go out in the garden and see if her suspicions about him were correct. Because, if conversation had turned immediately to horticulture, she would not have been able to contain her disappointment.
No. No. No. She was not to go off with strangers. And even if he was a friend, she did not wish a compromising situation in the garden with him. She was not even sure she wished to marry at all. Men were a bother, and it would be just as easy to go through life alone than to adjust one’s habits to suit.
Of course, it was doubtful that what he was offering had anything to do with marriage. Merely the most pleasant type of dalliance. One might go out into the garden with one such as Lord Stephen Salterton, and come back a changed woman. And no one need be the wiser.
She put a hand to her temple, as though she could push the thoughts back out of her head. With a few words and half a dance, the man had put ideas there that she could have gone a lifetime without thinking. It was a very good thing that she had not gone outside with him, for it would have been the first step on the road to ruin.
She glanced around herself, relieved to see that she was alone in the room. It was early in the evening, and there was little need for the other female guests to be hiding away with fatigue, either real or pre tended. She would take a few moments to compose herself, and then return to the party. Another turn around the dance floor with Alexander would chill any romantic notions in her head. And she would never again speak to the up set ting Lord Salterton.
But just to be on the safe side, she would stay away from the garden doors.
She glanced in the mirror, straightening hair that did not need straightening, and smoothing skirts that were already in place. If one took sufficient care with one’s appearance—and did not get over heated by a few simple dances—it was hardly necessary to fuss further. It was not as if a b
rief conversation with a man was as strenuous as a tussle in the bushes.
And now, she was thinking of tussling, and bushes and gardens. And Lord Stephen Salterton. And her cheeks were growing pink again.
Diana had warned her of the dangers of feelings such as these, and of the need to repress them at all costs. While men might think such things about even the gentlest of young ladies, it did not do for young ladies to emulate their coarse be ha vi our.
She took a few deep breaths and made her mind a blank so that she might return herself to something akin to normal. And then she stepped from the room.
As soon as she was clear of the door, arms seized her from behind, and a hand covered her mouth, stuffing a rag between her teeth to muffle her at tempt at a scream.
Chapter Two
Her assailant wrapped her round about with a piece of rope, firmly pinning her arms to her sides until it was difficult to stand without his help. Then he began to push her toward the back door of the house, and into the very gardens she had planned to avoid.
She stumbled and kicked against him, trying to bump into walls in an effort to shake free of him and stop his progress. But her struggles had no effect. He had a firm grip on the ropes around her body and kept her upright, pivoting easily as she fought to throw him off balance. When he spoke, his voice was barely winded, as though the effort to contain her were no more difficult than walking alone. ‘This would have been simpler if you had gone into the garden when I asked. But you are not as easy to gull as the rest of your family. Now, we must do it the hard way. Cease your fighting, for it will accomplish nothing. I am much stronger, and I have no wish to prove that fact by striking you.’
She had imagined that the man who grabbed her must be some ruffian or stranger who had wandered into the house through an open back door. But the man whispering into her ear made no effort to hide the exotic cadence of his voice. It was Lord Stephen Salterton who held her. To be so used by an apparent gentleman was the last thing she had expected. Could he have been the one that had been the reason for all of Marc’s vague and dreadful warnings, after all?
She responded by fighting harder, her hands forming claws where they were trapped at her sides. But Salterton continued propelling her for ward and out of the house. Why was there not a servant, a footman, someone or anyone who could stop this progress with a scream or a shout? The way before them was clear; it seemed that her abductor had known it would be so. He had planned his assault for a time when he would not be interrupted. He had known where she would go when he angered her. He had hidden a rope and the gag, so that he might quickly render her helpless. He knew how to get her out of the house and away.
There was nothing random or careless in the actions of this man. If he could slip under the guard of Robert Veryan to accomplish what he had, he must be even more dangerous than Marc had imagined.
Once clear of the house, he hoisted her off the ground and carried her into the night, running easily through the trees as though he could see in the darkness as well as in the light. Then he stopped and released her. And although she could barely stand un sup ported, he was spinning her round and round on her feet until she was dizzy. When he stopped, she was no longer sure which way she should run to regain the safety of the house, even if she could manage it. Before she could find her balance again, he had gotten a sack from a hiding place behind a nearby tree and pulled it over her upper body. She could feel him binding it with more rope, tangling it around her skirts until her legs were trapped, immobile.
Then he scooped her up in his arms again, and went further into the trees. She could hear the crunch of leaves under his feet and feel branches slapping and tugging at her body as he ran. And then, she heard the sound of a horse snorting impatiently, and the creak of leather harnesses and wooden wheels. He lifted her further from the ground, and then dropped her none too gently onto the floor of a wagon or carriage. She felt the body tip as he leapt into the driver’s seat, and heard him snapping the reins and murmuring to the horse in a foreign language, which made it start forward at a brisk pace.
For a moment, she was frozen with the fear of what had happened. And then, she struggled to master her mind. Even though she could not use her eyes or her voice, she still had her ears. What else could she learn from them?
She was alone with this man. She’d heard no other voice offering to help him as he had loaded her into the wagon, nor had it seemed that there was anyone else involved in her capture, other than Salterton himself. No matter what his intent to wards her person, as long as they were moving, he was busy driving. Nothing worse was likely to happen to her than had already. It was only when the wagon stopped that she would have anything to fear.
This fact provided some comfort and made it easier to control her panic. She had time in which to form a plan to thwart him. If he truly was a gentleman, then perhaps this abduction was something more than the coarse violation she had at first expected. Perhaps he only wanted ransom, for she could not think what she might have done to of fend the man that would drive him to violence.
She tested her bonds and was sure, from the feel of them, that she was not strong enough to break them. But either he had over estimated her size in the voluminous gown, or had spared some small feeling to her femininity. The ropes were not as tight as she would have made them, had she been trying to subdue him. She wiggled her arm inside the sleeve of the dress.
She could manage only a small movement, but it was better than nothing. She smiled to herself, and set to work pressing her hand tight to her side, and wiggling it out from under first one loop, and then the next, working the coils of rope down her body. As her first arm came free, the bonds became looser still, and she found she could move the other arm. If both were untied, then perhaps her legs…
She shifted and stretched against the bonds. Their increasing slack ness let her grip the inside of the sack, and work the fabric of it up and out of her way. If she could move it to a place where she might throw it off along with the rest of the ropes, when the wagon stopped she would kick free of the bonds and run. Who knew what he might do if he caught her? But she doubted it would be worse than what would happen if she went passively to her fate.
At last, she felt the horse stop, and heard the driver get out. But instead of coming to pull her out, he had gone to the other side of the wagon, as though he had for got ten her existence.
As soon as she was sure he was out of arm’s length, she wiggled free of the last of the ropes and tried to throw herself out of the carriage. There was a loud, ripping noise as her dress caught on a rough bit of wood. Then her petticoat tore from hem to waist, and she tumbled out and into the mud of the road. She scrabbled for purchase, slipping, falling, and then standing to run a few un steady paces as the feeling returned to her legs. After the darkness inside the sack, the night seemed as bright as day. The landscape was unfamiliar. She did not know if there would be rescue ahead. But anywhere might do, as long as it was far away from her captor.
She heard a curse from the other side of the wagon, and the sound of Salterton coming after her. The ground was wet from a recent rain, and the heavy clay sucked one of the slippers from her feet, leaving her to run un steadily in her stocking and remaining shoe. The puddles soaked her skirts, and the silk gown which had seemed so light on the dance floor, grew heavy and clung to her legs, making it even more difficult to run. She stepped on a flint, feeling the point of it rip through her stocking and poke into the soft flesh of her sole.
She had made it barely fifty feet when he caught her. He was annoyingly clean, having taken the time to pick his way slowly on the higher and drier ground, while she had blundered through the worst of the mud. He glanced down at her, where she had fallen again, wet and dejected at his feet. ‘Are you quite through?’
Truth be told, she was. It was clear that she would not escape him shoeless and with no idea of her location or destination. But all the same, she made another lunge away from him.
He cau
ght her by the last bit of rope still trailing from her waist, and pulled her back as easily as if he was controlling a dog on a lead.
She turned and struck out, scratching at his face.
He swore and gave a shove, pushing her down on her back in the mud. The impact jarred through her, causing more shock than damage. Then he yanked her upright, until her face was close to his own. ‘I have no desire to do that again. But if you persist in that be ha vi our, I will take whatever steps are necessary to subdue you. Do you understand?’
She opened her mouth, trying to scream at him from around the gag, and reached to remove it. But he caught her hands to stop her, smiling at her efforts. ‘A nod will be sufficient. I have no intention of unmuzzling you until I am sure that you will not bite. And as for screaming to attract attention? I have taken you to a place so remote that no one will hear you, even if you cry out.’
At his words, the reality of her situation struck her again. She was very much alone, in a strange place with a strange man. He was smiling at her, but there was no warmth or friend ship in his face. His look said that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And for whatever reason, he wanted her.
After her fall, the soft net of her evening gown was soaking wet, clinging to her skin in ways that revealed more than she would have liked. The cold night air cut through it, making her shiver. But Salter ton stood close enough to her that she could feel the heat of his body, and his hands were warm and dry, just as she remembered them from the ballroom. His grip on her wrists was not gentle, but neither did it hurt her. And for a moment, her mind tricked her into thinking it was not for restraint, but out of possessiveness that he held her, as though this touch was a shared pleasure—the first of many. And then, she remembered it for what it was, and struggled against him.
It did her no good. He was so solid and still that it was like fighting against a statue. At last, he grew tired of it, and said, ‘You strike me as being smart enough not to expend effort to no purpose. Your attempt at escape and your pitiful cat scratching is more amusing than anything else. Let me give you a word of advice. If you cooperate with me and give me no more trouble, you will be returned un dam aged to the arms of your family. But if you resist, that may not be the case.’
Taken by the Wicked Rake Page 2
