Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  She leapt to her feet. “No! You won’t kill Nicholas! I will kill myself first before I will let that happen.” Desperately, she cried, “I will leap into the chasm. Then you will have no hostage to lure Nicholas here.”

  As she walked toward the edge of the break in the floor, the masked bandit grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. Fury burned in his shadowed eyes. “I have been courteous to you thus far, my lady. If necessary, I can have you bound hand and foot and left on the bed over there. If you make such foolish threats again, I will do just that.” His eyes narrowed as they dropped to ogle her ripped dress. “Of course, I would complete what we sampled on your cot before I tied you up and left you. Give me your word that you will not attempt suicide, or I will take you now.”

  Rebecca had had no intention of taking her own life. It had been only a desperate threat. She intended to escape from her prison alive. Haughtily she stated, “I won’t kill myself, sir.”

  He laughed the laugh she despised. “I will see you tomorrow, my lady, both before and after the ball. I shall tell you all the details of the last social event the present Lord Foxbridge celebrates at Foxbridge Cloister.”

  Numb with shock at his threatening words, she stared at him as he swaggered away from her to cross the bridge. Even the nagging thought of a clue to his identity failed to reach her conscious mind. All she could think of was Nicholas walking into whatever trap this man had set for him. She could only hope that Nicholas could prove a match for this man and his cohorts.

  How well he had bested colonial troops to return to his own unit when he was hurt! He had used a much younger Rebecca as his ally to deliver the message which abetted his rescue. She remained his ally. Certainly he could deal with these criminals as readily. Her heart cried out across the unknown distance, urging him to be careful. If this enemy killed him, her own life would not be worth living.

  She huddled on the mattress and hid her face as the tears began anew. The salt of her tears burned painfully against the wound on her face. Even her tears could not wash away the ache and the terror of knowing that the man hidden behind the domino intended to kill Nicholas outright and then debase her before he murdered her as well.

  For the first time, she began to believe he might succeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Nicholas entered Beckwith Grange later the same day, the butler stared in surprise, but regained his aplomb to ask the unexpected guest to wait for Miss Clarisse in the drawing room. Nicholas stood in the middle of the room where he had awaited Clarisse on so many other occasions and found it impossible that more than six years had passed since he last had been in this room. A lifetime ago, yet only a moment ago.

  How easily he remembered the night when they had had the argument which led him to purchase a commission and go away to the American colonies just in time for the hostilities to break out. Clarisse had become so sure of herself that she had offered him an ultimatum. He must marry her or she was going to sever their romantic liaison.

  He chuckled to himself as he thought of how terrified he had been of the thought of spending his whole life trying to keep track of Clarisse Beckwith as she sought to satisfy her promiscuity. From the time he foolishly had asked her to be his wife to that moment, he had had time to think of what his life would have been like with that woman as his mate. It was not one he had wanted.

  He turned as he heard the red-haired woman enter the room. Her dress swished across the glistening wood with the soft whisper of satin. Holding out her hands, she gave him a sympathetic smile he knew was totally false. Clarisse would be delighted to see her despised neighbor disappear permanently.

  At a late breakfast after searching fruitlessly for Rebecca, Nicholas had learned from Eliza why she had asked Rebecca to come with her to Beckwith Grange and the words exchanged before they left for Foxbridge Cloister. He had convinced Eliza that the abduction was not her fault for trying to smooth the differences between Clarisse and Rebecca. At the same time, he had known he must pay a visit to the country home himself. Wrapped in his grief, he was sure only one person could help him.

  “Oh, Nicholas, my poor dear.” Clarisse kissed him warmly on the cheek as she took his hands in hers. “How devastated you must be! Poor Rebecca! When I think of those ghastly men waylaying her and Eliza, I will tell you the truth. I was so terrified I could not sleep all night.”

  Coolly, he answered, “You need have no concerns. They were interested only in Rebecca. They think they can force me to do anything to save her.”

  “If they are eager to hurt you, Nicholas, certainly none of your friends are safe!” she argued. How she wished he would let her past that frigid front which used to crumble so easily for her! He treated her like he treated everyone, except that Yankee bumpkin he had married. Around Rebecca he panted like a lad in the throes of first love. She had found the whole situation disgusting but, perhaps, that was all over. Keeping her voice a soft invitation, she asked, “What do you plan to do? Has there been any news?”

  He walked across the room. Picking up the decanter, he glanced back at her. She motioned for him to help himself. He poured two glasses and brought one to her. As he moved, his black cape flapped out behind him like the wings of an avenging angel. Clarisse felt a shiver ripple through her body. Her yearning for his touch was mixed with superstitious fear. She was glad she was not involved in this plot against Lady Foxbridge.

  Taking a drink of the brandy, Nicholas said, “I received a missive from Rebecca’s captors late this morning. They are keeping a close eye on me to be sure that I follow their instructions. With the note was a broken necklace I know she was wearing when she came over here yesterday.” His gaze sought across the room to the flames in the fireplace as he remembered hooking the useless clasp around Rebecca’s neck after they had enjoyed love together in the early afternoon. Raising his glass, he drained it neatly. “The note told me to stop looking for her, or they would send me her wedding band next with her finger in it.”

  Clarisse turned her head as she fought the nausea in her stomach. There was no use pretending she did not hate Rebecca, but she did not like the idea of her rival being tortured. A clean, simple death would have satisfied her completely. All she wanted was Rebecca out of Nicholas’ life, so he would come back into hers in the same way he had nearly a decade ago.

  As if he did not notice her motion, Nicholas continued, “I’m not able to do anything but what I have been ordered to do. The ball must be held as planned. Not only is that the place where the blackguards are going to contact me with their list of demands, it isn’t fair to Eliza to delay the formal announcement of her and Curtis’ engagement.”

  “How brave you are,” she whispered as her fingers settled on his arm. Beneath his wool coat, she could feel the steel of his muscles and ached to feel these limbs around her.

  “Not brave. Shackled by these fools who dare to take what is mine.” He stamped back to the decanter and refilled his glass. “I must go through this parody of a ball. It is because of that that I have called this afternoon, Clarisse. Would you act as hostess for me tomorrow night? I know it is a large favor, but neither Mother nor Eliza feels up to it.”

  Clarisse’s green eyes glowed with her obvious delight. This was the answer to her dreams. To be at Nicholas’ side, greeting their guests in what once had been the medieval monastery’s refectory. Together they would lead off the opening dance in full view of everyone who had laughed at Clarisse Beckwith for waiting in vain for more than six years for Nicholas Wythe. Perhaps it had not been in vain, after all.

  “I would be pleased to help you. You know I would do nearly anything for you,” she purred. “How difficult for you to be forced to go through with this ball! Yet, if the beasts who have Rebecca insist this be so, what can you do but comply? I wish there was more I could do to help you forget your unhappiness.” She moved so her curves brushed his arm in an open invitation.

  Although she had meant her words to be enticingly suggestive, sh
e gasped as his strong arm hooked around her waist and pulled her to him. After all the times he had ignored her hints to return to the relationship they had had before he left for America, it was a shock that he would accept her offer when Rebecca was in deadly peril.

  His voice was a soft caress as his black eyes pierced her to her rapidly beating heart. “Come with me to Foxbridge Cloister. Stay with me and help me forget in the way only you can.”

  Involuntarily, she whispered, “But Rebecca—”

  “Rebecca is as good as dead, my scarlet vixen, if she isn’t already. Just because they are sending me her necklace is no indication that she is still alive. The facts are plain. Her abductors will never release her to bring them to trial before the magistrates.” He bent to tease her ear with gentle nibbles in the same manner he had done when they had been lovers so long ago. Clarisse moaned and pressed closer to him, delighted by his touch and the nickname she had been sure he had forgotten. Against her neck, he whispered, “I must get used to my life without Rebecca. I know you will help, my dear.” Slowly he released her. “Go, and ready yourself to come to Foxbridge Cloister. I must return immediately.”

  Bemused, she nodded and rushed upstairs to pack what she would need for her night at Foxbridge Cloister. She hoped and expected it would be only the first of many she would spend there. Nicholas had come to her. He was hers again. There was reason finally to believe that the day was coming when the title of Lady Foxbridge would be hers as well.

  She smiled victoriously as she pulled from her armoire a most special peignoir she had despaired of ever wearing. How long ago she had ordered it when she had expected Nicholas would agree to her demand to marry her! It had been a surprise when he had left without a backward glance. She could feel no sorrow for Rebecca’s death if it brought Nicholas back to her arms. Things would be the way they should have been. He could mourn for his wife’s tragic demise the prerequisite year before they married, but there was no reason for him to be lonely. It seemed that he had not been as enamoured with his colonial bride as he had pretended.

  Thinking of it, she decided the relationship between Nicholas and Rebecca had seemed strange from the beginning. It was most like the honorable Nicholas Wythe to accept the fact that he was married to a woman he did not love. He would never have come back here to wed another. So he had made the best of an unhappy situation and acted as if he adored the wife he was bound to through a mistake he had made so long ago.

  With a grin to her reflected self in her dressing-table mirror, she rang for her maid so she could leave instructions with her for bringing her gown for the masquerade to the Cloister. She would dress there for the ball. Her costume was of a young Juliet pining for her dearly beloved suitor. The vigil was coming to an end. She sat to wait with uncharacteristic patience for Marie as she enjoyed visions of spending the night with Nicholas in that massive bed.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs as she descended with her bag in her hand. Disquieted by the fire in his gaze, she lowered her eyes as she took his hand. Silently, he took her bag. Instead of the warm delight she expected at Nicholas’s touch, she felt a chill race along her spine. It was as if she was signing a covenant with Lucifer himself. When Nicholas turned to smile at her, her unease increased.

  Firmly Clarisse told herself that she was acting like a guilt-ridden mistress, when it was obvious that he intended this to be the renewal of their love affair interrupted so rudely by his decision to fight for Mad George. No one could accuse her of forcing her attentions on a bereaved man when he was the one who had approached her.

  At his side in the open carriage, she cuddled close. With a smooth motion, his arm encircled her as he brought her mouth under his. Clarisse forgot her concerns as she was swept away by feelings she had known only with him. None of her other numerous lovers had offered these raptures.

  As he raised his mouth from hers, she asked softly, “Do you think we should be so intimate where everyone can see? I mean—”

  He chuckled shortly. “Since when have you cared that anyone sees us kissing, my scarlet vixen? You were pleased enough to do so to try to hurt Rebecca.”

  “That was before I realized that you were serious about your marriage.” She had the decency to blush as she recalled his anger. With a smile, she told herself he was no longer enraged at her.

  “Shall we go home to Foxbridge Cloister?” he whispered.

  “Oh, yes, Nicholas.” She rested her head on his shoulder as he slapped the reins on the horse.

  If Brody was shocked that his lord would bring Miss Beckwith to Foxbridge Cloister under the present circumstances, he wisely did not show it. That tranquillity required all of his years’ experience of carefully cultivated unemotionalism. Inside he wondered whether his lord had gone mad with his grief over the missing Lady Foxbridge. Only that would explain why he would bring his ex-mistress to the Cloister as he never had in the past. His eyes widened as he saw how the woman clung to Lord Foxbridge’s arm. Could it be that she was being brought to replace his wife who had been gone for only a day? Although the idea seemed too bizarre, it appeared true.

  The butler felt rage as he had never known flash through him. From the self-satisfying Bradford Wythe this would not have been a surprise, but not from the present lord. Brody was very fond of Lady Foxbridge, and he did not like seeing her husband treating her disappearance as a convenience so he could install his harlot at the Cloister.

  All he could say was, “Good evening, my lord. Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Miss Beckwith. My lord, the ballroom is waiting your inspection as you requested.” As the two turned to go, Brody added with his sorrow evident in his voice, “Mademoiselle Pacquette delivered Lady Foxbridge’s gown, for she had not heard of her ladyship’s abduction. I told her to put it in your suite, my lord. I hope that was correct.”

  Nicholas coldly replied, “It doesn’t matter where that costume is. I doubt if Rebecca will be here to wear it. If you would let Esther know that Miss Beckwith will be staying for dinner, I would appreciate it.”

  He nodded. He had seen the bag Lord Foxbridge held and knew that the woman was staying past the meal. It was inconceivable that Lord Foxbridge was having her spend the night in Foxbridge Cloister, but the improbable was becoming the normal.

  As if it was an afterthought, Nicholas handed the small bag to his butler. “Take this up to my suite, Brody. Collette can handle it from there.”

  For a moment, rebellion flared in the old man’s eyes, but it faded as he saw the fire in his lord’s. The expression on Lord Foxbridge’s face was one he had never seen of hardness, hatred, and the black desire to do exactly as he wished. The abduction of his lady had caused the gentle Nicholas to vanish, to be replaced by the demon he was accused of resembling.

  “Yes, m’lord. It shall be as you request.”

  Taking Clarisse’s hand, he placed it on his arm. “Come with me, and we can look over the ballroom. Then, if you have any concerns, you can have them fixed before you assume your role as hostess.’”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she replied in a love-filled voice.

  Brody watched with ill-concealed disgust as they walked toward the older wing of the house. As he bent to pick up the bag he had placed on the floor, he saw the astonished eyes of other servants who had watched the exchange in the hall. For once, he did not reprimand them for spying unabashedly on the family. What they had seen and overheard was so astounding that it would stop any of them in their tracks.

  Nicholas had his arm firmly around Clarisse’s waist as they wandered slowly toward the ballroom. When he reached the large, double doors, he swung them wide to reveal the room that had not been used for many years. It was a huge space that had been used as a dining room for the monks when the monastery had been at the height of its glory. The windows were high in the wall to capture the light from the sun and bring it down to the stone floor beneath the peaked roof far above them. Even the ceiling beams were ten feet below the peak of the roof, which was over twe
nty-five feet from the floor. At one side was a raised platform where the abbot would have had his table.

  Many changes had been made in the intervening centuries. A minstrels’ gallery had been added partway up the wall. It was accessible by a door from the upper hall. Doorways cut into the walls allowed access to the present-day kitchen. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling to make it bright in the night. Benches had been added to the walls for those who did not wish to dance.

  As they walked into the room, Nicholas noticed a motion in the shadows. His first thought of Rebecca’s abductors were dashed when he saw that it was a child-sized form. “Come out here!” he ordered sharply. As the child walked toward him, he recognized him as Greggy, who had taken over the choir from Rebecca. “What are you doing here?”

  For once the child did not act overwhelmed to be in the presence of his lord. Correctly, he bowed while touching his forelock, but it was only a cursory motion. His eyes filled with surprise to see the woman by Lord Foxbridge’s side. Even at his young age, Greggy knew the significance that Miss Beckwith once had had in his lord’s life. It shook him to see her with her hand placed so possessively on the man’s arm.

  His voice was clear as he stated, “My lord, I have heard Lady Foxbridge is missing. I wanted to find out if it is true. I have heard so many lies about her, so I wanted to know if this story is true.”

  Tersely, Nicholas said, “It is true.” He did not have to look at Clarisse to know her lips were pursed tightly at the youngster’s barbed comment, which could be directed only at her.

  “Can we help, my lord? I know all of us in the school will want to help. We love Lady Foxbridge, my lord. She has made us proud of ourselves. We want to do more than simply attend the prayer vigil that Reverend Middleton is having at the church tonight and every night until she is home safe. Do you want us to find her? There are few places around here where they could hide that we cannot find her.”