Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02]

by My Heavenly Heart

  “Then they would suffer the same consequences as Elizabeth and her lover.” His expression hardened. “Though next time I would not allow a chit of a girl to muddy my punishment. You caused me quite a bit of unpleasantness, Rachel.”

  “Oh?” Her brows lifted.

  “Yes, it appears before you ran off to warn Elizabeth of my anger, you mentioned it to Lady Sophia who in turn caught the ear of our charming German pig of a queen. When you turned up missing along with my dear wife and her lover, no amount of public grieving on my part could allay the king’s suspicion of me.”

  “’Tis a pity he didn’t hang you.”

  “I’m certain that’s what he wished. But remember, I am a man not without influential friends, and a considerable amount of power myself.” Bingham leaned back studying her beneath lowered lids. “No matter how often Charlotte prattled in his ear, George had no proof.”

  His mouth thinned. “But he exacted his punishment all the same by sending me on this ridiculous journey through the backwoods of hell.”

  “You aren’t enamored of the New World?”

  “I prefer the old, thank you. Which is where I shall head as soon as we reach Philadelphia.”

  “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Well, I am. You, my dear Rachel, shall have a much shorter trip.” He reached across, draping his finger down across her breast. “’Tis such a shame too. I would love to have shown you some of the pastimes that Elizabeth found so entertaining.”

  “Take your hands off me.” Rachel tried to squirm as far into the corner as she could, but she couldn’t escape his punishing grip. Tears of pain blurred her vision though she tried to blink them away. “I shall see that you burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

  “Lofty words for one forced to roam around the countryside garbed in the clothing of servants.” With one final pinch he shoved back onto his own seat. “I think I shall have to fancy even you up a bit before you’ll inspire my lust.”

  They rode on for hours. Rachel could see none of the countryside, could barely tell that it was day. Bingham sat across from her, his glacier eyes fixed on her, his expression stony. And she tried her best to disappear into the leather cushions.

  When the coach finally rumbled to a stop, a footman opened the door and Rachel caught a glimpse of a large pink brick house before Bingham climbed down the lowered steps. “Take care of her,” he ordered the man in bright red livery before moving out of her view.

  The door was slammed shut and after a moment the carriage started again. Within minutes they stopped, the door flew open, and another burly man pushed inside. Ignoring her struggles he wrapped a gag around her mouth, then bundled her out. Covered from head to toe with the cloak she could do nothing when he tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

  Dizzying visions swirled about—a stone drive, polished steps, an Aubusson rug—before she was deposited back on her feet. Before she could move he left, locking the door behind him.

  Rachel glanced around at the richly appointed room, trying to think of something to do. Her hands were tied, her mouth gagged, and there seemed to be nothing to use to change it.

  Then the door opened and the guard appeared again, this time leading two servant girls who carried frilly, ruffled petticoats and gowns.

  The man relocked the door, then drew his pistol from a leather belt. Pointing it toward Rachel he nodded toward the older woman who’d deposited the clothing on the bed.

  As soon as the gag was removed Rachel begged for help. But her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears. Except for the guard’s. And he merely warned that if she persisted, he would shoot first one servant, then the other.

  After that Rachel kept quiet. Even when they removed the ropes binding her hands.

  More servants entered, dragging a copper tub, and while the guard kept watch she was stripped and forced into the perfumed water. They scrubbed her hair and body, then made her stand still while they dried her off.

  With the exception of the armed bully she was pampered and dressed much the same as when she was in England. The clothes they draped over her body were of the finest silks, the softest cotton. And though they didn’t fit her perfectly, the maids were able to stitch tiny darts to make it appear as if they did.

  Her hair was brushed dry, then dressed in curls, and all the while Rachel was thinking, her eyes searching the room for anything she could use as a weapon, wondering where she was.

  When she was garbed near as splendidly as for an evening at court, the servants left the room. For the first time she was alone with her hands free and she wasted no time searching the room. In the desk she found a letter opener, barely sharp, but at least pointed. No pockets were tied beneath her skirts so she stuck the opener in her garter.

  Rachel was straightening her gown over the wide side hoops when the door opened.

  “His Grace will receive you now.” The words seemed strange coming from the burly ruffian.

  Rachel took a deep breath and held her head high. She would remember who she was. She was Lady Rachel Elliott. And though she might be held captive at the moment, it was imperative that she best Bingham. For her real purpose on earth was to save Logan’s life. As she walked from the room she could only be thankful that he was safely out of the duke’s clutches.

  ~ ~ ~

  The staircase and center hallway were more splendid even than James’s house. Rachel followed the guard across the parquetted floor to the double doors that led into the parlor. She paused as her escort knocked, then threw open the doors to announce, “Lady Rachel Elliott.”

  Rachel stepped into the room, her skirts swaying, her expression full of contempt.

  And then she saw Logan.

  Her eyes grew large and the blood drained from her face. Her first impulse was to rush toward him where he sat tied to a straight-back chair. The bruise under his eye was darker and he had a new bleeding wound near his right temple. She felt faint from the pain.

  “As you can see one of your friends came inquiring about you.”

  Rachel forced her attention toward the duke. He lounged against the marble mantel, a pinch of snuff held under one nostril. She watched while he sniffed delicately, then sneezed into his handkerchief.

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I hadn’t thought about it. What would you suggest?”

  Rachel prayed her voice would remain steady. “I don’t really care. He’s of no importance to me.”

  “Really?” The duke pushed away from the hearth. “And here I thought differently.”

  Logan squirmed in his chair, his yell muffled by the gag when Bingham grabbed Rachel’s arm.

  “Don’t play games with me, Rachel. We already know what the outcome will be.” He let her go with such force she stumbled. “You are quite attractive though. I just may keep your friend alive to insure your... shall we say willingness this evening.” His fingers clutched her wrist. “Come, I believe dinner is ready.”

  The last look Logan had of Rachel was as she glanced back at him, her eyes full of regret, just before the door slammed shut.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You don’t seem to be enjoying your duck.”

  Rachel toyed with her fork, then tossed it on the plate with a clunk. “Where are we?”

  Bingham touched the napkin to his lips. “Your conversation skills have deteriorated since coming to this godforsaken place.” He motioned to a servant who pulled out his chair. “I had hoped this might be an interesting evening, but I can see that was a foolish presumption. Your company grows wearing.” With no pretense of gentlemanly behavior, his Grace latched on to Rachel’s arm as he stormed past her chair. She nearly stumbled to the rug trying to stand and retrieve the letter opener at the same time. The etched silver handle eluded her grasp.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel struggled as he dragged her down the hallway.

  “Questions, questions. You are beginning to bore me.” He flung open the door to t
he drawing room, shoving her inside. “Prepare yourself, Rachel. I’ve a desire to take you before an audience.”

  Bingham paused briefly to summon one of the guards. Rachel’s heart stopped when the burly man handed his pistols to the duke. Though she expected no answer, Rachel couldn’t keep the question from escaping her lips.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The ultimate experience my dear Lady Rachel,” was all he said before shoving her back into the salon.

  He didn’t struggle.

  At first Rachel feared that Logan was dead. He didn’t look up when they entered the room. His chin fell forward onto his chest, his large body straining against the arms bound behind the chair.

  Then she felt the powerful life force emanating from him. For a moment, till Bingham swung her around toward him, Rachel nearly forgot the duke.

  Even as Bingham shoved her back across a small table Rachel tried to reach Logan’s mind with her own. “I love you.” The message she sent seemed so real to her Rachel wasn’t certain she didn’t voice the thought. She also wasn’t sure he understood her.

  Then the hot breath of the duke wafted across her cheek as he leaned over her. Now I shall determine if my fantasies of you have any basis in reality.”

  His weight was suffocating.

  Rachel squirmed, struggling to draw breath. To evade the bruising grasp of his hands. His palms flattened over her breast, then squeezed so hard, tears sprang to her eyes.

  She gasped, trying to turn her face from his as she clawed at her skirts, searching for the silver letter opener. Her fingers slipped over the smooth metal just as the duke’s weight disappeared.

  Blood splattered as Logan’s fist slammed into the aristocratic nose. The duke stumbled back, the expression of shock on his face grotesque.

  But Rachel wasn’t looking at Bingham. She pushed up, her eyes on Logan. He rushed toward the duke, though somehow it didn’t seem as if he were moving quickly. As Bingham yanked the pistol from his belt it appeared to Rachel as if the whole world moved in slow motion. She could almost imagine the tall case clock near the mantel, measuring its ticks as they dragged by, droning through the protracted time.

  She saw it clearly. Logan moving toward the duke. The aimed pistol. And she was filled with such love, such an overpowering devotion, that her actions required no thought at all.

  Rachel stepped in front of Logan just as the explosion vibrated through the air. The noise seemed to shatter the surreal world that existed moments before. But it was more the tortured shout that tore from Logan that she heard.

  “Rachel!”

  The bastard shot her at point-blank range.

  She’s dead. Rachel’s dead!

  The thought exploded through his mind as Logan fell on top of Bingham. She’d taken the ball meant for him. He tightened his fist. Pounding. Not feeling the duke’s attempts to harm him. Knowing only the need to hurt.

  “Logan. Logan, stop.”

  He didn’t know how long it took for the words to permeate the haze of sadness clouding his brain. Logan felt her hands on his arm, pulling. But couldn’t accept it was she till his head jerked around and she was there.

  Rachel.

  Looking at him, her angel eyes wide.

  “Are you all right?” She melted into his arms as Logan stood, clinging to her, touching her back as if to assure himself that she wasn’t an apparition.

  “I was so frightened for you. He’s evil.” Logan felt her head turn against his chest and he knew she was staring down at the duke as she spoke. “I know what he can do.”

  “He can’t hurt you anymore.” Logan’s arms tightened around her. I won’t let anything hurt you... ever.” Reluctantly he pushed her away enough to look down into her face. “We need to get out of here. The guards...” He left the rest of his concerns unstated. He was holding her. Watching as each breath lifted her chest, as the pulse fluttered in her neck. She was warm and vibrant.

  He couldn’t understand for an instant how that was possible.

  And he didn’t care.

  She nodded, then tilted her head to the side. “Is he dead?”

  “Nay. Come on.” Noticing the letter opener for the first time, Logan pried it from her fingers, then took her hand and headed toward one of the tall windows that lined the room. He was lifting the sash when the shuffling noise from across the room snagged his attention. Turning, Logan saw the duke struggling to prop himself on one elbow. His face was a mask of hatred and determination. And the second pistol was aimed toward Rachel.

  Instinct made Logan fling the letter opener through the air. Like a knife it flipped end over end, stabbing through the duke’s brocade waistcoat and into his chest with a soft whooshing sound.

  Logan’s hand on Rachel’s arm kept her from rushing across the room. “We don’t have time,” he said before opening the window. Logan helped Rachel out into the cool night air, then followed.

  ~ ~ ~

  The innkeeper seemed more relaxed than the last time Logan saw him. Without a duke to consume his time he lounged on the rough-hewn bench by the fireplace, a tankard of ale resting by his hand. He didn’t seem interested in stirring himself until Logan helped him from his seat with a well-placed hand on his fleshy arm.

  It had been a long, hard ride from the country house where the Duke of Bingham had taken up temporary residence. It was dark and unfamiliar, and for most of the time a steady drizzle had made the road a quagmire of mud. They’d managed to “liberate” two horses from the stable but the only knife Logan found was more adept at slicing through harness leather than defending two lone travelers.

  All in all, Logan was glad to find shelter, especially for Rachel. Except that as soon as they ate and changed into dry clothing there would be nothing to keep them from discussing the events of the last few days. And how they affected them.

  A vision of the pistol exploding, aimed at Rachel, swam before his eyes. There was no way the duke could have missed. No way at all. There was no explanation for why Rachel was still alive.

  What if she isn’t? a small, nagging voice seemed to say. What if she never was? What if she told you the truth from the beginning?

  “Oh Logan, look at that poor man.”

  Rachel’s hand on his sleeve drew Logan’s attention from telling the innkeeper to send supper up to their room. He glanced around to follow her gaze and saw an elderly man with long white hair that hung unkempt and dirty about his hunched shoulders. His clothing was ragged, his shoes cracked, and several of the tavern’s patrons seemed to find his attempts to scavenge food annoying.

  “Don’t be minding him,” the innkeeper said. His eyes lit up as Logan tossed several coins across the bar. “That be Ol’ Eb.” He raised a dirt-encrusted finger to tap his head. “He’s a bit touched, that one.”

  Logan fished in his pocket for another coin to buy the old man a decent meal. When he turned to tell Rachel, she was no longer standing at his elbow. Across the tavern he saw her help the old man to a seat.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Bless you, child. These old bones don’t hold me as well as I’d like. But then we can’t always choose, can we?”

  “No, I don’t suppose we can.” Rachel settled down in the seat next to the man. She clutched her diamond earrings, her last material possession of any worth.

  “Please, take these. I don’t need them and they may help you.” But as she reached across the food-smeared table to press the jewels into his withered hand, something in his expression made her pause. Rachel swallowed. “Do I know you?”

  The old man’s smile, though toothless, had a beauty and benevolence all its own. His eyes, dark as the midnight sky seemed to peer through her. “Perhaps you do child. It’s not for me to say.”

  “No. No, of course it isn’t. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that—”

  “Rachel? Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Rachel realized she blurted the word out as she turned toward Logan who’d come up to stand by her seat. He
seemed concerned and she could hardly blame him. Her breathing was rapid and Rachel wondered if everyone could hear the pounding beat of her heart. Her free hand grabbed Logan’s and she squeezed his fingers.

  “I am fine. This gentleman and I were just discussing...” She was at a loss as to what to say.

  “The meaning of life,” the old man supplied with nary a pause. “We were discussing the meaning of life.” He opened his gnarled fingers to stare down at the glittering gems sparkling in the hollow of his palm. When his eyes again met hers, the fire from the diamonds seemed to light up his face. “I think we have all learned our lessons well.”

  Rachel sat motionless as he stood with Logan’s help. She didn’t even realize he was gone till Logan touched her shoulder. When she glanced around he dropped to his knees, grabbing her hands in his own.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” His thumb traced the path of a single crystal tear. “What did he say to make you so sad?”

  “Nothing.” Rachel bit her lip as she watched the old man close the door behind him. “Oh Logan, he didn’t say anything bad. Ebenezer wouldn’t do that.” It wasn’t until she said his name aloud that Rachel knew exactly who the old man was. She gave Logan a watery smile. “May we go to our room now?”

  ~ ~ ~

  He needed to talk, but he needed her love, the passion of her body, more.

  The door no sooner closed, sealing them in the safe haven of the room, than Logan’s arms were around her. His kiss was long and deep... possessive. He wanted to hold her to him. To never let her go.

  And she was as frantic to be with him. Her hands pushed at the hunting shirt, shoving it over his broad shoulders, skimming over his smooth skin. She followed the V of the shirt down, forging her fingers through the curls of dark hair, trying to absorb the feel of his hot damp flesh.

  He was life and love and passion. More than she could ever hope to have. But for this moment in time he was hers.

  “I love you.” The words vibrated against her neck as Logan’s lips skimmed up to nibble her ear. “I love you.” An admission, a litany, he could do naught but repeat and repeat as his body pressed hers to the door.