“Now,” she cried.
She leapt first but was knocked flat into the shallow stream when his larger body landed on her. “Oooh!” The wind was knocked out of her and she gulped in water but at least she was still alive, as was Arthur if his loud moans were an indication. He recovered first and staggered to his feet, extending a helping hand as her waterlogged gown weighed her down.
Before she was completely stable on her feet, Arthur groaned again. “Oh, no.”
Using his arm for support, she pulled herself upright in time to understand the cause of his distress. The driver had noticed their leap of faith into the water and had pulled the horses to a stop further up the hill. Two men were trotting down the hill at a fast pace, moonlight highlighting the weapons they carried. Becca recovered first.
“Run. To the trees.”
Grabbing handfuls of her dragging skirt, she ran as fast as she was able in the direction to the darkened stand of trees, Arthur panting along behind her, dragging an injured left leg. Two lengths from the trees, she caught her foot in her flounce and tripped, spread face down on the ground. Gallant at last, Arthur tried to lift her as a terrifying cry sounded.
“Stop! I’ll shoot.” The baron, riding close behind, had reached them.
His pistol levelled at their heads as he slid from his horse. As she watched her executioner tether his horse and walk towards her, Becca’s thoughts flickered to Cayle as she’d last seen him. The thought of him lying on the library floor, hurt, or worse, tied her stomach into knots.
Lady Rebecca, the redheaded and most fiery of the Jamison sisters, felt her temper fray and split beyond repair. Without doubt Becca knew that Cayle was her future and without him nothing was worthwhile. Not the intricate planning of investment strategies, not the women’s society, and not even the joy of seeing her sisters launched. She wanted to share her life with him, share their families, and most of all she wanted to share his bed. To love and to be loved.
Her duke had taught her pleasure, passion, and the joy of being with someone you loved. She’d proved a willing and able student but she’d become greedy. She wanted time to learn much more from the master. All thought of personal danger was pushed aside. Instead, she concentrated on survival.
Beside her outstretched hand were rocks, a solid round arsenal awaiting scientific calculation. Her agile mind devised a logical plan based on the physics of which angle would inflict the most damage and upon which of her attackers she should concentrate her weapons.
Arthur’s outstretched hand resolved her inner debate. Reaching over, she slipped the rock in her palm into his, while her other hand closed over another smooth and hard river stone. Making a slow pantomime of her movements, she raised herself from the water and leaned towards Arthur to hide their makeshift projectiles.
The baron stepped closer and Becca waited, her breath held. She only had one chance. She needed it to be accurate.
“So, Lord Mitchell,” she hesitated, hoping to draw him nearer still, “if you intend killing us both anyway — ”
“Not me!” Arthur gasped in fright beside her. “He can’t kill me. He promised me things. Girls.”
Becca’s gaze swung to face Arthur. “Whatever it was, you will not be alive to collect it.”
Arthur was flustered and out of his depth with all the changes to their plans. “Mitchell promised that if I informed him of your daily activities, he’d ensure I profited from your new schemes. A large enough profit for marriage, while still allowing me a mistress.”
The baron sneered in disgust. “Why don’t you explain to the lady who was to be your mistress?”
Becca paled, already guessing. “How could you still believe that after you jilted me in marriage?”
The baron said, “When we have your five-year projections, we’ll have no more need of your family. You’ll be destitute.”
“I knew you’d be glad to turn to me,” Arthur said.
Without thought, Becca brought her free hand up to slap Arthur’s face. The baron stepped into the breach to stop her by grasping her arm.
This was Becca’s opportunity. She flung her arm up and behind the baron’s head and slammed the rock into his skull with as much force as she could muster. He was stunned. For a moment he tottered, then fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Becca turned to push herself out of the water, not caring now what befell the witless Arthur. A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Not so fast, my dear lady. Stop right where you are.”
• • •
Lady Rebecca Jamison wavered, surprised and shocked, then turned in a slow circle to discover yet another gun barrel pointed at her. The second in under an hour. This time, the hand wielding the gun belonged to Lord Hetherington, her esteemed host for what was touted, on the surface at least, to have been a peaceful weekend at his sprawling country estate.
“You!” Becca gaped in bafflement at the balding, bulkily built, but basically insignificant man. His lordship emerged in society as such a boring nonentity that now, even as he waved a weapon and threatened her life, her mind could not grasp the reality of it. How could she have been so stupid as to miss all the clues?
“Of course, my dear. You didn’t really believe a man of Baron Mitchell’s pathetic ilk was responsible for our large organisation.” He waved his free hand towards the direction where Lord Arthur Bennett still cowered, of no help to Becca at all. “And you can’t seriously consider that idiot to have commercial expertise. His only concerns of late have been pursuing redheaded whores with a striking resemblance to you, and to his addle-pated mother.”
Becca looked at the transformed man threatening her and shook her head, trying to clear her bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Why me? Why my family? If you’re as intelligent as you seem to think, then why do you need to steal our strategies?”
“Because for some reason, your brother is able to predict possibilities better than anyone else. Either it is his vast network of spies, or an astute grasp of trading. And since we’ve watched you and your family, I discovered to my surprise that his network of spies consists of you and your sisters — ”
He gave a strange hiccoughing laugh, rather like a sick braying donkey, and Becca felt her first real frisson of fear ripple up her spine. Lord Hetherington was either an extremely brilliant man who’d pulled the wool over all their eyes, or — and this, to Becca, was the most worrying part — the big man towering, and swaying, before her and moving closer every second, could be absolutely, completely, and terrifyingly mad, with all the self-obsession of someone heading very quickly on the slippery slope to insanity.
“ — not forgetting, of course,” he brayed with that shiver-making laugh once more and Becca used the cover of her long-skirted gown to inch her feet backwards, one by one.
“ — your doddering aunt. Who is not incompetent at all, but quite, quite astute.”
Becca halted, frozen to the spot by his threatening words. She heaved in a deep hitching breath and then spat out at him, “Leave my family alone. Or, you will regret it.”
He raised one eyebrow that even in the half gloom looked strangely threatening, as everything he did now seemed. Why had she not seen this side of him before? She must have been blind. It all seemed so obvious now. His bullying of his wife when no one was paying any attention. His estate workers hovering at his elbow at all times and jumping to attention whenever he spoke.
“Are you trying to threaten me? You’re forgetting. I hold the gun. Arthur,” he called to the snivelling coward Becca had once been engaged to, “take this rope and tie her up.”
“No. You intend killing me anyway,” Arthur protested with a childish pout.
Hetherington turned the gun to Arthur’s chest without speaking a word. Arthur quickly changed his mind. On the ground beside them, Mitchell groaned and tried to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” Hetherington warned, waving a second pistol in the baron’s direction.
Regardless of this order, the ba
ron attempted to rise but was thrust back to the ground by one of the hovering men. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let me up.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Mitchell. You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
“We’re partners. Besides, I have information that you don’t know about this lady.”
Becca’s breath caught. It was obvious he hadn’t yet been told about her abilities.
“If you try to exclude me,” the baron said, “I’ll go to the authorities.”
“Not if you’re dead.” With a casual air, his lordship raised his pistol and fired. Surprise flowed over the baron’s face as he clutched his chest and slid to the ground. In the half-light, Becca saw the stain spread over his coat, directly over his heart as his cold-blooded killer sauntered over and kicked his lifeless body. “Stupid fool to imagine that I needed him as my partner. I need no one.” To his two men, he said, “Light that lantern and bring more rope. We follow our plan and take these two to the cottage.”
As one man moved to secure a lantern, the heftier of the two brutes asked, “Why don’t we kill them here as well?”
“No, we need them as hostages. Jamison’s a stubborn bastard.” Peering down at Arthur, he smirked. “I’m not sure Bennett’s life is worth anything to him.” Spinning towards Becca, he said, “But his redheaded sister will make him willing to produce the correct journals this time. The bastard tricked us once. Never again.”
When Becca gasped, he peered through the gloom. “Oh, didn’t you know? Your brother tried to fool us by handing over fake ledgers. To buy him more time. All he accomplished was angering me. I need the profits from those rail lines. In England and in France.”
• • •
Two men brought rope and secured their hands behind their backs, then prodded them towards a waiting carriage. His lordship climbed in to join them just as Arthur gathered courage for another escape. He leapt for the door and rolled but despite their size, the men were quicker. A heavy blow to the head was his only reward for that effort and his limp form was dumped back onto the seat where he moaned from time to time, but didn’t rouse.
Becca knew there’d be no help from that quarter. She must depend on her own wits until help arrived, in the form of her white knight on a white charger. Her knight, her saviour. She attempted to buy herself more time by taunting Hetherington with his failures.
“Ah, so the rumours we heard of your dire financial straits weren’t exaggerated?”
She heard his sharp his of breath and knew she had found his Achilles’ heel.
“Indeed, I find myself a trifle short of funds. Women are exceedingly expensive.”
“And does your wife know where you acquire funds to support lavish entertainments?” She asked the question as the carriage jolted into motion to keep Hetherington distracted in case riders approached. In the carriage lights, her kidnapper sneered.
“Of course. I couldn’t entice so many unwitting gentlemen into my schemes without the support of my wife. She adds such a semblance of wealth and prosperity these men are overwhelmed with jealousy and greed. They practically beg me to take their money.”
“And when they lose money investing with you? Do they question your motives?”
“Oh no, my dear. You see, by then we’ve enough shameful morsels about each gentlemen that mere threats of announcing their sins in a broadsheet ensures cooperation.”
“What sort of morsels?” Keep him talking. Allow Cayle time to follow. But also, morbid curiosity compelled her to question how he’d controlled so many men from good families.
“Acquiring enough filth to blackmail people is so very easy in such a depraved society. Both men and women change beds with reckless abandon without any thought to others watching. Others willing to be paid for what they see.”
“You pay household staff to report on liaisons.”
Lord Hetherington laughed again, an evil chortle, and in the light from the lantern, Becca noticed the signs of dangerous lunacy on his face. “Not just to report, my innocent. Morally righteous men, and women, need a push in the right direction if we’re to catch them sinning.”
“You arrange for them to be caught in suggestive circumstances, then blackmail them.”
“You’d be surprised how many women are willing, eager even, to bed a fellow aristocrat in exchange for tearing up gambling vowels.”
“Of whom are we speaking?”
“Why worry? You’ve no need of that information. Dead women tell no tales.”
Another screech at his own joke, sounding even more like the howl of a wild animal.
“Perhaps because I can understand how much work it’s taken you to reach your goals. How great your mind is to be able to control so many people.”
He eyed her narrowly, considering his options as the carriage slowed and came to a shuddering halt. They’d been gone under an hour, so, allowing for the time wasted in their escape attempt, they couldn’t have travelled very far from the house. That theory gave Becca hope. The closer they were, the faster they’d be discovered.
• • •
The door was pulled open and Arthur dragged to the ground. With rough disregard for their wellbeing, the men hauled Becca out and tossed her in Arthur’s direction beside a small cottage, hidden from view by large hedges on three sides. From the outside, it appeared well maintained, giving Becca another glimmer of hope that Hetherington House was still nearby.
Becca took her time coming to her feet, then staggered, giving the impression she was too weak to stand. Or run. “Continue, my lord. You were telling me of your ingenious plans.”
“Yes,” his lordship mused, “perhaps you can comprehend my genius. At first, I thought you nothing but a meddling fool. Another stupid woman. But now I hold greater admiration for your mathematical understanding. The way you plot the intricacies of commerce.”
Becca frowned, and then her eyes widened in horror as she recognised her careless slip-up.
Damn! All along, he’d known who made the decisions about their share purchases. She’d made a gross error by underestimating him, a costly miscalculation.
“It can do no harm telling you. You’ll not live long enough to share it with anyone.”
Becca pretended to keep her gaze fixed in an enthralled manner on his face, but her glance slid to the side, seeking any sign of Cayle. If he was alive, he’d save her, she was positive. As certain as she was that what they’d shared was something rare. They’d both been living half lives, awaiting the fall of an axe. Being with him completed her, made her whole. He saw into her soul, could see her for what she really was and still wanted her.
While Becca’s sideways glance probed the bush around them, his lordship had been doing the same. Suddenly, he peered into the gloom and smiled, crying out, “Ah, my love, just in time.”
Julia stepped into the clearing.
• • •
Becca failed to contain her shock when Julia sauntered over to Hetherington and put her arms around his waist. She reached up and kissed his cheek.
“Good evening, my darling. What a beautiful night it is here at our little meeting place.” She looked Becca’s way and giggled. “Oh yes, you redheaded witch. Bertie and I’ve been meeting here in secret for a long time, whenever I spent time at his house visiting my dear friend, and Bertie’s wife of course, Celeste.”
“You’ve been having an affair under the very nose of your wife?” Despite all that had occurred, Becca was stunned a second time by their behaviour. “But you told me she assists you in your schemes.”
“And so she does. But what Celeste doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt her. She’s squeamish about indulging my more deviant sexual needs.” His leering look in Becca’s direction made her stomach roil but she fought down the rush of bile in her throat, determined to show him no fear. “So, Celeste turns a blind eye, while I enjoy that kind of satisfaction with others.” Hetherington used his free hand to squeeze Julia’s rump through her skirt, hard.
“Of c
ourse, Celeste doesn’t realise that it is I, her closest friend, who lures men into bedrooms for romps. So we can blackmail them.” Julia beamed up at Hetherington. “Neither does she realise that Bertie joins me in threesomes, or foursomes, with these men.”
“And how long do you think it will be before Celeste finds out?”
“Never!” Julia sounded so haughty and smug that Becca itched to step closer and punch her in the nose but she controlled her impulses to surreptitiously check behind her to see if she dared shift that way. Even a little. Being so close to these two made her feel ill.
“We cover our movements too well,” Julia boasted. “In another year, we’ll not need Celeste. Then Bertie will arrange another accident. He’s done it several times before.”
Becca stared at Hetherington, her mouth open in shock. “You’d murder your own wife?”
“When it’s necessary.” He gave an uncaring shrug. “When she’s no longer useful.”
“Silly, silly Celeste,” Julia giggled. “Thinking she was cleverer than me.”
“Oh, but I am,” a shrill voice called from the trees, making them all jump in fright. Lady Hetherington stepped into the light in the clearing. “I’m much, much cleverer than you. You stupid fool. I always knew what you and Bertie were doing. It suited me to let you play the whore with those men. And the women. After all, being a whore is what you do best, Julia.”
Bertie’s face, even in the yellow light, appeared bleached of colour as he tried to pull away from Julia’s tight grip on his forearm and move towards his wife.
“Stay back, Bertrand. I’ve men surrounding you. They’ll shoot to kill.”
“What men?” Bertrand yelled, spinning around to peer at the tree lines.
“Men from our estate.”
He pulled harder and managed to loosen Julia’s death grip on him and started edging away, out of the light as he blustered, “But … but they all work for me.”
“Oh, Bertrand. Really, you’re such a fat fool. Did you really believe you were smart enough to do all this?”
Lady Hetherington’s hand waved in the air, the hand that held her pistol, and everyone in the circle gasped in fright and by instinct, ducked to the ground. “I’ve engineered every move you made, you and that schemer. Even Mitchell.”
Suzi Love Page 31
