Suzi Love

by Embracing Scandal

  Lottie answered with a disarmingly sweet smile, “I fear Lady Townsend is slightly indisposed. In the downstairs water closet.”

  Sybila screeched, “You locked my mother in a water closet?”

  Lottie shrugged nonchalantly. “I think the lock must be faulty. It secured itself when she stumbled into it.”

  Sybila, her plans in ruin, swooned in a dead faint.

  • • •

  Cayle took control of the situation, giving concise and quiet orders to Winchester to dispatch Sybila to a footman’s care before her absence was noticed. Fortunately, her mother had been freed from her prison and she rushed headlong into the furore. With a scream, she fell to her knees beside her prostrate daughter.

  “Julia,” Cayle said, ignoring the two women on the floor. “You’ll return to London only to pack enough to take with you to travel. As long as you go to the continent and don’t return, I’ll pay you a stipend each month. Take your current lover, whoever he may be, with you, or not. I don’t give a damn. Just stay away from this family.”

  Julia was frantic when she realised he meant every word. “We had an agreement.” Her screech more resembled the tones of a fishwife than a duchess.

  “You promised to remain scandal free for three months.” She glared at Becca. “You’ve been bedding this whore.”

  Becca blanched under the force of Julia’s vitriol.

  Cayle stood firm. “I nearly gave up everything I cherish, everything that makes me happy,” his glance met Becca’s, “in order to honour the ridiculous agreement I made with you. We made a pact to bring honour back to the family name. Yet, you had no intention of maintaining your half of the bargain.”

  “You were seen bed hopping with this little slut.”

  Cayle took a menacing step towards his stepmother and addressed her in a quiet voice. “Be very careful, Julia. I have a room full of my peers to bear witness that the grief of losing your husband has unbalanced you. Bedlam’s a cold and miserable place for someone accustomed to every luxury.”

  Julia was infuriated, unable to control herself even through Cayle’s threats. “You wouldn’t dare. I had the St. Martin family under my control before you returned and I will again. Mark my words, we’re not finished.”

  “Ah, but there you’re wrong. You’re dependent on whoever pulls the purse strings and I’m that person. My father realised your gambling was out of control and cut you off from all access to money. I’m merely following his dictates.”

  “I’ll employ a solicitor to fight you for what you owe me.”

  “On the contrary, your treachery has been exposed tonight, Julia. My solicitor will draw up papers in the event that in the future you’re again without funds and view one of us an easy target.” He narrowed his gaze at his stepmother who quivered with her first sign of fear. “My brothers and I are now free of any obligation to you.”

  Brian looked relieved as he offered. “I’ll be happy to escort our stepmother to collect her belongings.”

  Tony looked just as delighted to be rid of Julia. “And I’ll arrange her carriage.”

  • • •

  When Laura and Lottie made ready for a discreet departure from the room and a return to the ballroom, Cayle took Becca’s hand to keep her with him. Aunt Agatha stopped on her way out to inform Lady Townsend that her poor daughter suffered from a serious nervous disposition. Patting her contemporary’s hand in a comforting manner, she suggested, “Dear, dear, Joan. Sybila would fare far better if she retired to fresher country air for a long rest.”

  “You may not order us to do anything, Agatha,” Joan said in her haughtiest manner. “You forget — I too am an aunt to these girls.”

  Aunt Agatha’s smile was bland as she patted Joan’s hand once more and spoke as her greatest confidante. “My dear, dear friend, I heard it whispered that you admitted not one, but two, footmen to your bedchamber. How devastating if your Presbyterian husband, a supporter of strict morality, caught wind of such untoward behaviour.”

  Aunt Agatha’s unwavering look withered Lady Townsend and ignoring Sybila’s complaints, she hauled her daughter to her feet. The pair hurried away to make excuses for their abrupt departure.

  Becca, Laura, and Lottie paid amused homage to their aunt’s tactics. “You were wonderful,” Becca told their aunt.

  “Did anyone witness footmen entering Aunt Joan’s chamber?”

  Aunt Agatha chuckled. “Joan has been entertaining footmen in her bed since her seventeenth birthday. I’d no reason to assume things had changed in recent years.”

  “She’ll be too timid to ever visit our house again.”

  • • •

  With Winchester paying homage to the Jamison women and still awestruck at Laura’s lock picking skills, the group walked to rejoin the ball. Cayle took Becca’s arm, drawing her back into the empty library and gathered her into his arms, pressing her close to his heart. “Thank you, sweetheart, for rescuing me from such a close call. You, and your entire family, are miraculous.”

  “I couldn’t let Julia reduce you to begging because of me.”

  Lost in their embrace, the verandah’s French doors opened before clapping startled them. “What a touching scene, my dears.”

  Leaning against the doorjamb and looking very relaxed, Mitchell laughed. “Better than a theatre evening.” He signalled to the viscount, his constant companion, who lifted his pistol and pointed it at Becca.

  “Take her to the carriage,” Mitchell ordered. “Tie her up with that snivelling Bennett.”

  Not hesitating, Cayle stepped in front of Becca and pulled her behind him. “You’ll not touch her.”

  Using his body, he shielded Becca from the gun but she dodged his arm, defiantly stepping forward once more.

  “Melrose, please,” Becca said, a pleading hand held out to the viscount. “You don’t want to do this. You’re not a criminal like those other men.” The young man blanched and the hand holding the gun shook. “Put the gun down. We’ll speak about your problems. I can help with your debts.”

  “Mitchell, why, why must we abduct Lady Rebecca?” The viscount’s hands trembled so badly he needed both hands to grip the pistol butt. “She’s a lady.”

  “Because, you dimwitted fool, she’s no mere woman. It’s taken me until now to discover that she’s the brilliance behind their prosperity.”

  “A woman?” The viscount gaped at Becca who’d been pulled back out of the line of fire by an irate Cayle. “I … I understood it was her brother.”

  “No. After some wine, rather a lot of wine, Bennett disclosed that this woman isn’t just a bluestocking, but a mathematical marvel. I’m taking her to meet her brother.”

  Cayle thrust Becca behind his back and squared off with the baron, ignoring the viscount’s gun wavering close to his side. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong, Sherywn. You see we have the guns and the brawn.”

  The baron indicated the doorway behind them and they spun around to discover four burly men blocking the way, thwarting Cayle’s plans of escape. Each carried a weapon.

  “I’ll barter the lady’s journals, and her calculations, for her life. Then, in exchange for not killing her brother — ”

  The viscount gasped and fell to his knees, hands raised in an imploring gesture. “No, Mitchell, no. Don’t do this. I’ll not be involved in murder.”

  The baron threw back his head and laughed. “She’ll write down in detail everything I need to purchase, and when. I’m going to be rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams.”

  “Mitchell,” Cayle said. “Let’s settle this between ourselves, like gentlemen. I’ll give you money. Whatever you need.”

  The baron smirked, “Without doubt, Sherwyn, I’ll be taking your money.”

  Lifting his arm, he signalled the men behind them. He chortled long and loud, until he sounded like the cackling of a caged hen demanding to be released His gloved finger pointed at Becca. “But, I’m still taking her,” the
lunatic announced.

  Cayle yelled at the madman as he shoved Becca behind his back. “Over my dead body!”

  “That can be arranged.” The baron cackled again.

  Cayle grabbed Becca’s arm and tried to run, but before they’d managed two strides one of the baron’s henchmen stopped them. He raised his thick arm and swung a lump of wood down towards Cayle’s head. With a twist to the right, Cayle avoided the full impact of the club. The rough weapon slammed into his left neck and shoulder but missed his skull. And, thank heaven, any connection with Becca.

  As he fell to the floor and clutched his shoulder in a blinding roar of pain, Becca dropped to her knees beside him. The last thing he knew before he lost consciousness was Becca screaming next to his head, an ear-splitting screech for someone whose head was about to burst open.

  “Cayle, Cayle. Answer me!”

  Chapter 23

  Becca turned Cayle’s head, trying to assess the extent of his head wound. She gasped in alarm when blood rushed from the gash to pool on the carpet but another of the men dragged her upright, away from Cayle. He forced her arms behind her back, trying to secure her hands with rope. When she struggled, kicking and punching and trying to scream, the brute slapped her hard enough across the face to make her ears ring. Still she fought, until two men subdued her, wrestling her to the carpet. Looking up from the floor, Becca pleaded with the baron.

  “Let me help Sherwyn first. If you make sure he gets help, I’ll go with you without a struggle.”

  The baron sneered with contempt. “Such sickening sentiment has no place in commerce, my dear, which is why I detest dealing with a lady. At present, you are needed, though I care not one whit what befalls your lover.”

  Mitchell raised his pistol and levelled it at Cayle’s head. A cloth was wrapped around the tip to muffle the sound, so Becca knew the Hetherington’s other guests would remain oblivious to their plight.

  Cayle might die from blood loss if no one found him on the library floor, but at least he’d have some chance of surviving. If the baron shot him, he’d surely die. The best, most vital, part of her life would be over.

  “No, no,” Becca yelled, raising her voice as loud as she could in the vain hope that someone might hear. “Don’t shoot him. Spare his life and I’ll go anywhere you want. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. I can make you a very rich man. Just let Cayle live.”

  The baron glowered at her with obvious contempt. “It disgusts me to see you beg for his life. Sherwyn used you as all the others did. None of those men sniffing around your skirts want you for yourself. They want your journals, the same as I do. Your past transactions. Those copious notes you make on new railway tracks.”

  “None of that is true. Cayle loves me.”

  The baron threw back his head and laughed. “More sentimental drivel. Even if it were true, my dear, it’s too late. For both of you.”

  Once again, he raised his pistol towards Cayle but was interrupted when a man burst through the door. “Ye lordship, there be no time to waste. Got to be getting ‘fore the wagon’s noticed.”

  The baron’s arm dropped. “Your lover’s fortunate, my lady. We’re out of time. I can’t risk someone hearing or discovering our mode of transport.”

  Becca tried to hold onto Cayle’s hand but was pulled away from his inert form. Panic assailed her. “Cayle,” she called again, but received no answer. He was either unconscious or dead. At a signal from the baron, one of the men stuffed Becca’s mouth with a vile smelling cloth, gagging her tightly before dragging her to the patio. Her kicking and struggling earned her a second slap to the head. Momentarily stunned, she lost sight of Cayle as they pulled her into the garden. Her last glimpse was of his body lying as still as a statue on the carpet. The woven fibers beneath his head had blended from yellow and rose to bright red. Blood red. All she could see was blood. He hadn’t moved. And he looked to be dead.

  • • •

  A cart was pulled up close to the garden gate and the foul smelling louts dumped Becca without ceremony onto the floor, where she landed with a bruising thud. Before she could right herself, the wagon rocked into motion, throwing her against the high wooden side. And against a leg, a human leg. The gag that sucked into her mouth on each indrawn breath muffled her screech. The stench was so foul she retched behind the filthy material and began to choke. Hands reached out and tugged away the offending material.

  “Rebecca, don’t struggle.”

  “Arthur?” The gag no longer choked her but the binding half covered her face, so she was unsure if it was he.

  “Yes, it’s me. Hold still. My hands are tied but I can manage to remove the cloth if you don’t move.” Forcing herself to remain motionless, Becca felt his hands touch hers in the dark interior. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” Arthur’s voice was a weak and pathetic wail. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

  Bracing herself against a support, Becca wriggled until she was upright on the floor. Angrily, she faced Arthur. His face had a long smear of dried blood and one eye was swollen partially shut.

  “What have you done?” Even in the dark his misery was evident, but she allowed him no mercy. “You told them about me didn’t you, you fool?”

  When they’d become affianced, Becca’s honesty required her to enlighten her fiancée over the depth of her involvement in Michael’s stock dealings. Stupidly, she’d trusted Arthur. Until now, he’d honoured his vow to never inform anyone else.

  “They plied me with wine. Got me intoxicated.”

  “You broke your vow to me.” She sighed, long accustomed to the vileness of men in their cups after dealing with the scum of society in her work.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry. Sherwyn warned me this would happen but I didn’t listen.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “I heard them say they’re taking us to a cottage a few miles from here. They’ve sent word to Michael to meet them there with the journals.”

  “Michael will refuse to hand them over to these cutthroats.”

  “Not when he realises your life is at stake. These men will murder us all to get what they want.”

  “I imagine they mean to kill us as soon as Michael arrives regardless.”

  A shaft of moonlight lit the carriage and she saw Arthur gape at her with shock. Like the ineffectual wimp her brothers had always declared him to be, he started to cry. Uncontrollably.

  Her words may have sounded resigned to their fate but Becca had never given up without a fight in her entire life. She wasn’t about to start now, not when she and Cayle had unfinished business. Earlier that evening, he’d begged for her freedom, had been willing to marry Sybila whom he loathed, in order to save Becca’s own life. When Julia had laughingly accused him of being in love with his mistress, with her, she had been behind the door and couldn’t see his eyes.

  Each time Cayle mentioned marriage, she’d rejected him, unable to believe that he could truly love her. Now, she needed to survive so she could ask him herself. Before, she’d laughed off his proposal as a ridiculous sense of duty, of honour, from necessity, yearning for Cayle to desire her for herself. The only chance for the foreverafter she dreamed of in secret was if she escaped, and with great haste.

  For if Cayle survived, and she refused to consider the alternative, he’d chase after her, her knight in shining armour charging to her rescue. His code of honour held the sort of values she could always depend upon. This time, however, the foe wasn’t an imaginary dragon but flesh and blood men whose only thought was wealth. Even more dangerous was the power that such immense wealth brought with it.

  Becca adopted her no-argument voice that she used to command and organise her family. “Arthur, pull yourself together and let’s pretend for a moment you’re the gentleman your mama raised you to be. We need to escape.” Her severe words shocked Arthur into sitting straighter in his corner of the seat, his crying subsiding into sobs.

  “We’re restrained by ropes. How can we esc
ape?”

  The indrawn breath he took after every sob irritated her so much that she lost her temper. “Damnation, Arthur.” Shock at her dockside language ceased his sobs. “Do you have a knife in your pocket?”

  Once again he looked horrified. “A knife? What sort of gentleman carries a knife upon his person?”

  She glared at him. “The sensible kind. Cayle carries one.”

  “I’m nothing like Sherwyn.”

  “That’s been obvious for quite a while. Now, pull yourself together. We need to improvise. We need something sharp.”

  She heard him groping beneath where he sat and she did the same, running her hand over the uneven wagon floor.

  “There’s a jagged piece of iron here,” Arthur said.

  “Perfect.”

  She twisted and wiggled enough to reach the short piece of metal protruding from the wagon lashings and backed up to it. Rasping the rope was a laborious task as she was thrown off position many times before the strands broke, leaving her hands rubbed raw and the throb brought her to tears.

  “I’m free.” In triumph she reached down and pulled the bindings off her ankles then did the same to Arthur’s. “We need to jump out as soon as we slow.”

  Arthur’s voice was a squeak of horror. “Jump? We could be killed.”

  Becca grabbed his face between her hands and fixed him with her fierce big sister stare. “We’re going to be killed tonight if we don’t save ourselves. Do you understand?”

  Looking close to tears again, he managed a nod. “Yes, I know.”

  • • •

  The wagon swayed then eased. In the moonlight glow, the narrowing road and close growing trees were visible as they crept down a steep incline. Becca hissed at Arthur, “This is our chance. When we reach the bottom, hopefully there’ll be a ford. It’s the best place to jump. There may be enough water that our landing will be softened.”

  Arthur’s hands shook but he knelt beside her and peered over the lip. The carriage slowed even more down the steep slope.