Felicity had to keep reminding herself over and over to stay as limp as a drowned puppy while Roger carried her toward the spot from which he would launch her toward the stream. Although it became more of a mental feat than a physical one, it left her head lulling loosely over his arm. Although it strained her neck muscles, the position allowed her to see the general area toward which he was taking her, albeit from an upside-down angle. They finally halted along a rise bordering a burbling stream, which Felicity could barely see at the bottom of the rock-strewn hill. Although the moon was out, she had no way of knowing actually how steep the incline was or the distance to the water. She could only hope that she’d still be alive when she finally came to rest.
For a long moment, Roger stood laughing to himself, as if he were actually anticipating whatever was coming or perhaps cheering himself for his ability to dispense with two more victims. Silently, fervently, Felicity prayed that whatever he was planning, she wouldn’t end up drowning. If she couldn’t stop him from killing her, she’d much rather have her head cracked open and lose consciousness than suffer the mind-reeling horror of not being able to breathe.
As much as she tried to prepare herself, Felicity almost panicked when he swung her this way and that in a quest to gain momentum. Then, quite abruptly, he let her go, and she found herself hurtling through space. Seized by fright, she came close to thrashing her limbs wildly about in a frantic attempt to somehow right herself, but she knew any movement would be visible in the moonlight, and it would mean her ultimate doom. If Roger saw anything that seemed even remotely suspicious, he would come after her. Thus, she remained frozen as much as she was able . . . Mentally, it was much like moving at a snail’s pace while everything else around her was speeding past her with lightning quickness. Whether she’d be alive or dead when she came to rest, she had no way of predicting.
She did indeed fall to earth on soft turf, but upon rolling helter-skelter down the hill, she slammed belly-first into a boulder. If not for the rag she had stuffed into her mouth, the impact would have left her gagging in sudden agony. Pain seared through her, and immediately she felt a wetness gushing forth from her loins, and she knew at that very instant that Roger had finally managed to kill her baby!
It was a very long moment before Felicity could bring herself to move. She feared every bone in her body had been broken, but when she heard the distant rattle of hooves on the road, she realized that Roger was leaving and that it was safe for her to drag the gag from her mouth. She did so, and promptly heaved up her stomach. With each spasm, the gushing fluid flowed more profusely from her loins, but now it was warm and sticky. Although the first had likely been that which surrounded a baby in the womb, she knew this could only be blood, and that if she didn’t somehow find help very, very soon, she’d probably bleed to death. Somehow she’d have to crawl, climb, or claw her way back up the hill to the road and trust that some passerby would come along and take pity on her before it was too late.
Riordan Kendrick sat glumly in the corner of his landau as he stared out the window into the night. Since Adriana’s marriage to Colton, he had had no heart for the gathering of friends and acquaintances, yet this evening he had finally relented to Percy’s plea to join the couple for dinner. Seeing Samantha in the latter stages of her pregnancy only reminded him of what he had missed not being able to claim Adriana as his wife. At times, he found himself inundated with impressions, her silken arms twining about him in the darkness, her soft lips responding to his, her thighs opening to welcome his throbbing maleness into her sweet, womanly softness.
Gnashing his teeth, Riordan rubbed his chest, wishing he could relieve that damnable, nagging emptiness where once a heart had throbbed with life . . . and hope. He was wise enough to know he would have to get over the pain of losing Adriana and turn his mind toward the task of finding another woman whom he could love, but as yet, he hadn’t felt the least bit ambitious about motivating himself in that area. None of the available maidens in the area appealed to him. The ones he had once thought might have had a chance of satisfying him if he had been forced to choose another were now married. But even then, he had considered them only briefly, not wanting to face the loss of his ideal. He had loved Adriana deeply, would probably always love her, but as painfully brutal as the truth seemed to be of late, she now belonged to another who had proven his love for her just as strongly. Colton had certainly seemed willing to die to ensure their union, which left him, Riordan, sadly coveting the wife of another man, a man whom he admired and respected . . . and totally envied.
Riordan frowned in sudden perplexity as he realized his driver was drawing the landau to a halt on the open road. “What is it, Matthew?” he asked when the older man opened the small window above the forward seat. “Why have you stopped the carriage?”
“There’s someone lyin’ aside the road, milord, an’ if’n I can believe me poor eyes, I’d make it out ta be a fair-haired lady, sir. She may be dead . . . or perhaps bad hurt. Shall I climb down and have a look, milord?”
“No, keep your seat, Matthew. I shall see to the matter myself.”
Riordan pushed open the carriage door and stepped lightly to the ground. Making his way forward alongside the landau, he paused beside the dickey seat to receive a coach lamp and directions from the driver, who then pointed toward the inert form. Lifting the lantern high to light his way as he progressed toward the dark shape, Riordan watched for any meager sign of life. The fine leather soles of his boots crunched against the roadbed, but he could detect no smallest evidence of reaction from the woman, who was curled in a small knot on her side near the edge of the road. From what he could determine, she was already dead, or at the very least unconscious.
Squatting down on a well-shod heel beside the woman, he lifted a slender wrist in his hand and searched for a pulse. It was faint but still detectable. He set the lantern on the road near her shoulder and then proceeded to turn her over.
“Mrs. Elston!” he cried, promptly recognizing Samuel Gladstone’s granddaughter. He vividly recalled having met the beauty a number of months ago when he had visited the miller. Although at the time he had hardly been cognizant of any woman other than his lovely Adriana, he had been pleasantly taken aback by the girl’s exceptional pulchritude in spite of the fact that he had considered her pale blond hair and blue eyes the exact opposite of his ideal, which Adriana had unknowingly done much to solidify in his mind. Later, he had heard some talk about Samuel’s granddaughter having married the young miller, the same cad who had been so rude and possessive of Adriana during the Autumn Ball. However briefly he had considered her, Riordan had mentally marked the lady off his list of alternatives.
A trickle of blood had dried after flowing from the corner of the lady’s mouth, and there was a dark bruise upon her cheek and brow. Though he gently shook her, he received no response, not even a flicker of an eyelid.
Bending over her, he slipped an arm beneath her back and then slid another under her knees until he realized her skirts were saturated. Withdrawing his hand, he held it near to the lantern. His concern for the lady spiraled to greater heights as he realized it was blood. He folded back her gown and petticoat as he searched for some indication of an oozing wound that perhaps needed to be tightly confined to stem the flow. The inside leggings of her pantaloons were soaked with a thicker, darker hue, and when he spread a hand over the gentle mound that formed her abdomen and applied pressure, the resulting surge of blood made him realize his talent for binding up wounds did not extend to the area of miscarriages.
Bundling her skirts around her lower torso, he lifted her up in his arms and hurried back to the carriage. “Forget the lantern, Matthew. Take us home as quickly as you can. Dr. Carroll must be fetched immediately. Mrs. Elston is in the process of losing her baby, and if she doesn’t receive help soon, she will likely bleed to death.”
When they arrived at Harcourt Hall, Riordan whisked the young woman from the conveyance, bade his driver to make haste c
ollecting the doctor, and then rushed into the Gothic manor. Calling for his housekeeper, Mrs. Rosedale, to come running, he leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time and, with a broad shoulder, pushed open the door of a bedchamber just down the hall from his own suite of rooms. Maidservants came scurrying into the chamber on the heels of the housekeeper who, with her usual pragmatism, promptly sent her master elsewhere as the younger women began undressing the girl.
Soon after bathing Felicity and tending the minor abrasions that still oozed blood, the servants laid out more towels and sheets as they awaited the physician. Other than servants, there were no women residing in the house. Thus, they sought out the master and readily received permission to use one of his nightshirts for the lady. They knew by the lack of times the garments had appeared in the wash that the master normally didn’t wear them. The only time anyone had ever noticed he had done so was when guests were in the house and various circumstances necessitated his appearance after he had retired to his chambers. Though the maidservants searched through his armoire, they could find none any smaller than the rest. Firstly, they hoped the lady would survive to wear what they finally selected, and then, secondly, would be able to keep the garment together thereafter, for it had no ties and, even on a man, the opening for the neck would have plunged to at least mid-chest. They didn’t dare imagine the depth it would go on a small woman.
Dr. Carroll arrived in the coach and promptly became breathless and flustered by the alacrity with which his lordship escorted him upstairs. The master of the house seemed unaware of his long strides, which forced a shorter man to redouble his efforts just to keep up. Nevertheless, upon entering the chamber wherein the young lady had been ensconced, the physician rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands and, with the aid of the more knowledgeable matrons, set about his labors.
Remorseful tears were still flowing down Felicity’s cheeks a pair of hours later when Riordan was finally allowed into the chamber to see his bedridden guest. In some embarrassment, Felicity burrowed deeper under the damask coverlet and hurriedly brushed at the streaming wetness, trying her best to put on a brave front.
“I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude for finding me and saving my life, my lord,” she volunteered in a small voice.
Riordan drew up a wing chair close beside the bed and smiled as he took her slender hand within his grasp. Covering it with his free hand, he made a point of correcting her. “I’m afraid I did nothing of which you claim, Mrs. Elston. My driver was the one who first noticed you lying alongside the road, and as for saving your life, well, the good physician did that, I’m sure. I did, however, send a man to Bradford to inform your husband that you’re here.”
“Oh, no!” Felicity sprang up from the pillows in alarm as her heart leapt into her throat. “Roger will kill me, just like he tried to do earlier.”
Riordan set back in his chair, completely astounded by her claim. He watched the lady in some confusion as she tried in painful embarrassment to pull his nightshirt over a pale shoulder, from which it had fallen after her sudden movement. He’d have more fully appreciated the soft, creamy, pink-nippled breast that had come briefly into view had he not been so astonished by her declaration. “But, Mrs. Elston, why in the world would you think that? What could you possibly have done to enrage a man so much that he’d seek to murder you?”
“Roger didn’t seem the least bit enraged when he set about to kill me, my lord,” Felicity informed him as she hauled the coverlet up beneath her chin again. “In fact, he did his foul deeds as if he enjoyed the challenge. He was very cold and methodical about everything he did. If not for the fact that I had begun to suspect that he was poisoning his father, I would likely be dead now, too.”
“Too? Did someone die?”
“Roger murdered an actress tonight in the same manner in which he tried to dispense with me.”
The dark, magnificent brows of the handsome man flicked upward as he debated whether to believe the charges this woman laid upon her spouse. “Would you care to explain more fully, madam?”
Tears blurred Felicity’s vision as she related the events of the evening. Solemnly Riordan drew a clean handkerchief from his coat and pressed it into her trembling hands as he listened. Finally, in a voice fraught by sorrow Felicity concluded her tale.
“Near the place where you found me is either a stream or a river. If you return there, you will find the body of the woman Roger poisoned. It’s hard to imagine I’ve been living with a sadistic madman all this time, but that became painfully evident tonight. There’s no telling how many others Roger has managed to murder since he came into the area.”
Riordan was completely taken aback by the foul acts of the miller. “I must send a servant immediately to inform the authorities of your husband’s deeds, Mrs. Elston. Hopefully, they can find the woman’s body before Roger receives word of your welfare and returns to the ravine to hide the woman’s corpse. If he accomplishes that feat, he could easily swear you lied for your own purposes. We can’t let that happen.” Leaving his chair, Riordan strode purposefully toward the door as he spoke over his shoulder, “Please be assured of your safety while you’re here at Harcourt Hall, Mrs. Elston. No one will be able to harm you while you’re under my protection.”
It was some moments before his lordship came back to Felicity’s bedside. Once again, he settled into the chair beside her. “You said that you had begun to suspect that Roger was poisoning his father. How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
“I noticed Mr. Elston’s fingernails were oddly streaked and that his skin had an unnatural, scaly look about it. I asked Phineas Carlisle, the apothecary in Bradford, if he had ever seen symptoms like those before, and he informed me that he had once warned a young woman about the dangers of taking small doses of arsenic to lighten her skin. Later, at her funeral, he noticed her nails were streaked and her skin scaly.”
“Strange, but when I visited the late Lord Randwulf’s sickbed, I recall wondering what sort of illness would’ve caused his fingernails to become streaked. He had always been quite a fastidious gentleman and enjoyed having his manservant file and buff his nails until they bore a soft sheen. I had been there previously on some impromptu business while the elder was having that done. At that earlier time, his nails bore no streaks. It was only later, when he lay abed from some strange malady, that I noted the difference. Actually his lordship died mysteriously. Physicians couldn’t determine the cause, though he was sick for several months. Do you think Roger could’ve poisoned him?”
Her mouth and throat were parched, no doubt due to more than her lengthy explanation of the night’s events, making it difficult to answer the man. Begging his pardon for her delay, Felicity reached for a glass of water residing on the bedside table and, much to her chagrin, was forced to snatch the silken coverlet as it and the oversized nightshirt slid away again from her bosom. Clasping the comforter beneath her chin, she blushed profusely, hoping he wouldn’t think ill of her. “Your pardon, my lord, the nightgown seems so large and unmanageable, I can’t seem to keep it in place. . . .”
Riordan chuckled, having thoroughly enjoyed the brief glimpse he had had of the lady’s breast. The sight reassured him that he was very much alive and still desirous of having a wife to appease his manly needs. “It should be, Mrs. Elston. It happens to be mine.”
“Oh, yes, I see.”
“Please, continue with what you were saying,” he urged soothingly, noticing how disconcerted she had become. Still, he couldn’t help noting how much more enchanting the vivid bloom on her cheeks was than her previous pallor. “I asked you if you thought Roger could’ve poisoned the elder Lord Randwulf.”
Clasping the damask quilt firmly beneath her chin, Felicity tried to put her thoughts into perspective. “Roger said he had taken revenge upon Lord Colton’s father. If Roger had actually thought the elder stood in his way of getting Adriana, then it’s my belief that he would’ve gone to some measure to dispense with the man. He does se
em fond of using poison, and I found in his ledgers where he has been paying a London apothecary, Thaddeus Manville, immense sums of money, no doubt guaranteeing the man’s silence while ensuring his supply of poison.”
“I’ll need to tell Lord Colton about this matter,” Riordan mused aloud. “Roger definitely wanted Lady Adriana for himself, and if he has been willing to kill others, then I can believe he would have tried to remove his greatest obstacle before Lord Colton actually came home from the war . . . and that would have been Lord Sedgwick.”
“ ‘Tis amazing to me how many men wanted Lady Adriana,” Felicity stated softly. “I’m afraid I was jealous and not very nice when I had the chance to be. Now, it seems as if my life is over.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Riordan replied, chuckling softly as he gathered the slender fingers within his grasp. “You have your whole life ahead of you, and if there is one thing upon which I’m willing to wager, that would be the resilience of Samuel Gladstone’s descendants. I’m amazed by your mother’s tenacity to manage the mill, run Stanover House with easy efficiency, and still have time to nurture that father of hers as if he were one of her own offspring.”
“My mother is quite an amazing woman,” Felicity admitted, deeply ashamed she had ever been so rude to her parent. “I wish I were more like her.”
“No doubt you will be in time, my dear. You just need to get your feet under you. Although I know this is not something a bachelor should be discussing with a young woman, Dr. Carroll assured me there is no reason for you to fear that you’ll be unable to have other offspring in the future.”
Although relieved to hear that bit of news, Felicity felt a warm surge rushing into her cheeks at the uninhibited frankness he conveyed announcing her childbearing potential. “I think Roger was disappointed when I got with child, but I truly wanted a baby.”
The Reluctant Suitor Page 58
