by Tarah Scott
“This woman leaves with us tonight,” Marcus said.
For the second time that evening, Price showed a flicker of emotion. “A woman in her condition shouldn't to be moved.”
Marcus shook his head. “I will not arrive tomorrow evening to find my sick wife dead.”
“It's unlikely she will die. The only real thing wrong with her is malnutrition. That and the laudanum.”
“Is malnutrition the only thing wrong with Elise?”
“Elise is quite well.”
“Alive and well?” Marcus pressed, maintaining a firm grip on his fury.
“Very much alive.”
“Then let us speak with your guests. Steven will remain here.”
“Of course,” Price said, and opened the door for Marcus.
At nine o'clock that night, Marcus settled the woman impersonating his wife into the carriage, then assisted the maid, who would tend to her on the short ride to the Josephine, into the carriage. He strode to his horse and took the reins from Steven. They mounted, then urged their horses after the carriage. They remained silent until long after leaving the estate.
“He has no intention of allowing you to return to the Josephine tomorrow evening,” Steven said in a low voice.
“Aye,” Marcus replied, and lapsed back into silence.
* * *
Elise started awake, her eyesight finding and fixing on the sliver of light that jabbed beneath her door into the darkness of her cell. The stench of sweat, urine, and blood met her nostrils. Hers, she realized with a clarity she hadn't experienced in weeks. Memories washed over her in a tidal wave.
Scotland. The carriage careening down the road. Shots fired. Price. Price was in Scotland! No—he had been in Scotland—he—they—were now in America. He had brought her back to Boston. He waylaid her coach. She squeezed her eyes shut. Six—seven men murdered in cold blood. And Mary—the memory of the girl's pleas for mercy as Price forced her into the carriage left Elise as cold now as they had then. Mary was the informer Marcus sought.
Marcus. Elise sobbed. He believed her dead. She ceased crying. She was dead. She had signed her death warrant when she signed over her shares in Landen Shipping. But the death of the unborn child he had used to coerce her now stirred something within her.
The child is dead! she mentally screamed. Price has no more hold over you.
He wanted her dead. Yet, his affirmation, when she demanded to know if he knew Robert had been poisoning Amelia, had shaken her in a way she hadn't thought possible. He had looked out through those expressionless eyes and answered “Of course” in that cool voice her mother had so loved.
The stirring flared into anger, and with anger came the realization her mind was free. No one had come the previous night to administer another dose of laudanum. She hesitated. Was this the next day? Perhaps two, three, or five days had passed. She couldn't know. But she could think, could find out. Was she strong enough to leave this place? Her heart skipped a beat. Was she strong enough to even rise from this putrid pallet?
Elise took a deep breath, then pushed up to a sitting position. Her pulse raced. The movement had been effortless. Could she—she shoved to her feet. She tripped, one foot having landed on the floor, the other on the pallet, and she stumbled sideways, slamming into the wall. She slid to the floor, head swimming.
“Too fast,” she told herself between the gasps for breath she prayed was fear and not lasting effects of the laudanum.
Her pulse slowed and she, at last, rose. Her head remained clear, despite the lurch of her stomach with the first step. She halted, waited a moment, then, eyes fixed on the light, she edged forward until her fingers touched the cold steel of the door.
* * *
Marcus closed the door to Miss Lisa Poteck's cabin aboard the Josephine, then followed the narrow corridor to the captain's quarters. With a perfunctory knock, he entered. Captain Garret sat at a large table, studying navigation maps that covered the large oak surface. He looked up as Marcus approached.
“How is Miss Poteck?” he asked in a refined English accent.
Marcus seated himself opposite him. “She will be fit enough for the meeting. All is in readiness?”
“It is, Lord Ashlund.”
A loud knock sounded at the door and Steven entered.
Marcus came to his feet when he recognized the man behind Steven as one of those hired to watch Danvers Hospital.
“Ardsley has gone to Danvers,” Steven said.
“When?”
The man answered, “I rode the moment he arrived. Less than two hours ago.”
Adrenaline coursed through Marcus.
Steven was already consulting his pocket watch. “It is twenty-five past one.” He stuffed the watch back into its pocket. “Price did just as you said he would.”
“Aye, lad. He had no choice.” Marcus turned to the messenger. “Wait for me on deck.”
The man nodded, then left.
Marcus waited for the door to shut, then faced Steven. “The board members are ready?”
“They're waiting at a nearby tavern.” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “I thought you were wrong. Had I gone to Danvers as I wanted…”
His brother-in-law had no notion of the will it had taken Marcus to remain idle on the Josephine. He, too, wanted nothing more than to catch Price Ardsley on the road to Danvers, but he couldn't chance Elise being hurt in the gunfight. Justin would follow her. If worse came to worst, he would attack and take Elise from Price.
“Ardsley had to be sure you and I were aboard the Josephine,” Marcus said. “You can be sure he knows of our continued presence here.” Marcus faced the captain. “Captain Garret, please have your doctor prepare Miss Poteck.”
“As you say,” Garret replied crisply.
Marcus started for the door, Steven on his heels. Once in the corridor, Steven closed the door and called out to Marcus. He halted.
“Did you inform your cousin of your plan not to sail back to Scotland with Elise?”
“Instructions await him on the ship they are to sail on,” Marcus replied.
“He will not be pleased. As for Elise—”
“Elise will be well looked after. Justin knows what he's about.”
“And if you don't make your ship?”
“I will.”
* * *
Elise's hand shook as she pressed a palm against the iron door. She pushed gently. The door swung open. A cry of surprise rose in her throat before she could stifle the sound. Why was her door unlocked? They believed she was still in a stupor!
She stepped as far as the doorway and peeked into the hall. The long corridor was empty. She stepped from the room and stopped two paces into the hallway. A single light lit the hallway near where she stood. Doors lined both sides of the corridor. She looked left, then right. Both directions turned into what seemed yet another hallway. Which way was out? Out—out to where? Where was she going? Marcus. No. She would not endanger him.
Blood roared through her veins; her head pounded. Panic rose. Which way? Choose a way, any way! She started forward. Her courage grew with each infinitesimal step forward. Near the end of the hallway, the tip of a banister extended out to where the hallway turned left. Stairs.
A scream shattered the silence. Elise bit back a shout and hugged the wall. Another cry, fainter this time but close, rent the air again. She peered in the direction she had been moving. A door stood three feet from her. She edged toward the room. The door stood slightly ajar and she peered inside.
“No!” a woman wailed in a low voice. “Please, Ramsey, not tonight, not tonight.” Her voice trailed off repeating the plea.
Elise jammed her eyes shut. Ramsey, the monster who had been watching her.
“No,” the woman cried again.
Elise entered the room. “Shhh,” she said.
The huddled form in the far corner jerked upright. “Who's there?” the woman said. “Sara? You're not Sara.”
“No,” Elise soothed. Sh
e stopped near the woman and knelt.
The woman shrank back. “Ramsey sent you. He wants to know if my monthly flux has passed. Tell him no! It will never pass. Tell him—”
“No,” Elise whispered. “Ramsey did not send me.”
“Liar,” the woman hissed. She jabbed a finger at Elise and Elise scrambled to her feet. The woman began weeping. “Never,” she repeated. “My flux will never pass. I won't spread my legs for him again.” She fell into a fit of loud wails.
Elise backed up. The poor soul was mad. Tears streamed down Elise's face. Ramsey. She couldn't remember his face—Price had drugged her before bringing her to the sanitarium—but she could imagine all too easily what he was like. How many other women had he abused? She turned and fled the room.
Ignoring the feel of the stiff, filthy fabric, she ran toward the stairs. Her stomach roiled. Still she ran. A noise sounded behind her. She jerked her head around to glance over her shoulder but saw nothing. Another inmate of the many rooms? She faced forward again, slamming into what, at first, felt like a stone wall. She recognized the fingers of steel that gripped her shoulders even before she looked up into the face of Ramsey.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Release me!” Elise shouted.
She thrashed wildly and Ramsey's grip on her shoulders turned painful.
“Well, now,” he said, his Irish brogue sharpened with raucous laughter, “what have we here?”
“Let me go!” She struggled harder, despite the pain of his beefy fingers digging still deeper into her skin. “My husband—” she began, but he cut her off with more foul laughter.
“Your husband committed you, my bonnie girl. So don't bother threatening revenge.”
“Price Ardsley is not my husband.”
“Don't know the man's name. Don't care. He put you here and plainly doesn't plan on you ever seeing the light of day.” Ramsey yanked her to him and, with one hand, stroked her hair. “That leaves you and I to sport, eh?”
Elise raised a foot and stomped on the top of his boot. He yelped and leapt back. She whirled and lunged forward.
“Bloody fool wench!”
He seized her from behind and flung her against the wall. Ramsey crashed into her back, knocking the breath from her. He snaked a hand around her waist. Elise wedged her hands between herself and the wall and clawed at his fingers.
“Damn—” he hissed, pulling his hand free.
He grabbed her arms and yanked them back. Her arms felt as though they would tear from their sockets as he crushed her to the wall.
“You're a plucky one,” he wheezed in her ear. “Most wenches here are too daft to even know their names. Takes all the fun out of the play.”
He pinned her arms between their bodies with one hand, then rammed the fingers of his free hand into her hair. Elise jerked her head aside, but he mashed her cheek against the wall.
“You haven't had a bath since coming here, but Sara kept you cleaned up where it counts.” He thrust his hips against her.
Elise's stomach churned, more at the knowledge of the shared intimacy when Sara had tended to her than the feel of his erection digging into the cleft of her buttocks.
“Not a pretty sight,” he went on. “Until she cleaned you up, that is. Then,” he roughly ground himself against her, “I knew you and I would be spending time together. I was waiting for the right time.” He laughed again. “You decided you wanted me now, eh?”
She shoved hard against the wall in an attempt to thrust his body away from hers, but he slammed back all the more brutally, groaning when their bodies jammed together. His fingers tightened in her hair and she cried out in pain.
“Aye, my girl,” he rasped. “Scream. In this place, no one will care, and I like it.”
He released her hair and forced his hand into the small of her back where his belt had been digging into her flesh. His belt jingled and, for the first time, Elise felt loathing and fear vie in earnest with outrage. Her body trembled and her knees weakened. She twisted, but he yanked back on her arms, and she felt her arms begin to separate from their sockets.
His belt and trousers hit the floor with the buckle landing with a dull clank. He grabbed her skirts and yanked them up. Elise kicked backwards with the heel of her foot, hitting the hard bone of his shin. He grunted, but only spread his legs and thrust his hips into her.
“I will not be another of your victims!” she shouted.
She grit her teeth and jerked her head backwards. The back of her head struck Ramsey's hard skull. He shrieked, yanking hard on her arms as he fell back a pace. Pain reverberated through her head. Elise bit her lip to halt the pain as he unexpectedly leapt back from her. Iron fingers seized her arm and she barely registered the difference in this and Ramsey's hold as she was spun her around.
Elise gasped.
Price Ardsley stared down at her.
* * *
Two hours after the messenger arrived informing Marcus that Price had arrived at Danvers, a messenger arrived at the Josephine directing Marcus to come immediately to Price Ardsley's home. Half an hour later, Marcus was shown into his private study. A fire crackled in the hearth and Price sat behind the mahogany desk he had occupied when they had explained Elise's situation to Landen Shipping's board of directors. A tumbler of whiskey sat before Price. How would this man explain Elise's situation when the board members appeared here later this morning?
“Please,” Price motioned to the chair in front of the desk, “have a seat.”
Marcus sat.
“Would you like a drink?” Price asked, straightening.
“Nae.”
Price leaned back. “Word will arrive any moment that Elise has been safely deposited aboard the Josephine.”
“You had until this evening. Why bring her so early?”
“I thought her speedy return would please you.”
“Her not being abducted would have pleased me.”
“Rest assured she is safe. So long as she—you both—remain in Scotland. You've said nothing about the boy.” Price sipped his drink.
“He is no threat to you.”
“He won't take lightly that I kept his sister prisoner.”
“I have convinced him to accompany us to Scotland,” Marcus gave the planned answer.
Price seemed to contemplate this. “The longer the stay, the better.”
“Aye,” Marcus agreed.
The sound of boots on carpeted floor were heard, and Price said, “That would be our young friend now.”
As if on cue, the door opened and Steven entered. “Elise is safely on the Josephine.”
“She is well?” Marcus asked with as much calm as he could exert.
Steven turned his glare to Price. “She has a dislocated shoulder and looks as if she hasn't bathed since her abduction.”
Marcus jerked his gaze back to Price and barely managed to check the compulsion to lunge across the desk.
“Your brother-in-law will now take a message to the captain that he is to set sail before the hour is up,” Price said.
“I will not leave,” Steven shot back.
“Aye, you will.” Marcus prayed the boy wouldn't pull the pistol he'd noticed stuffed into his waistband. “You have pen and paper?”
Price produced paper from a desk drawer and laid it before Marcus as he scooted the quill, sitting at his left, up alongside the paper. Marcus wrote the note instructing the Josephine to set sail immediately, then folded the missive and extended it toward Steven.
“Anyone can deliver this,” Steven protested.
Marcus shook his head. “You take it, lad, and be on the ship when she sails.” This Marcus had not discussed with Steven, for the boy would not have agreed. Chances were, he wouldn't obey now.
Steven looked from Marcus to Price, then snatched the note from Marcus's grasp. He settled his gaze on Price. “We aren't finished.”
Price nodded with a sigh and Steven faced Marcus. “You shouldn't have come here.”
�
��Take care of Elise,” Marcus said.
“That I will,” he said, and left.
Marcus focused on Price. “My father, the Duke of Ashlund, will be waiting for the Josephine when she arrives. If anything happens to Elise or Steven, if any attempts are made to harm either of them, someone will set sail from Scotland before I step onto Scottish soil.”
“I have no intention of harming Elise.”
Aye, neither will you harm her brother, Marcus silently added. “How long am I to wait here?” Marcus asked.
“Until word arrives that the Josephine is well out of Boston Harbor. I estimate two hours.”
“A guard stands outside this door?”
Price gave a single nod.
“I would have preferred to wait at one of the harbor taverns,” Marcus said, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at the lie. He had planned all along to be here when the men of Landen Shipping arrived on Ardsley's door about the same time the Josephine left Boston Harbor.
“Shall I have refreshments served?” Price asked.
“Nae,” Marcus replied. “I dine only with friends.”
Nearly two hours of silence later, there came a quick knock on the library door. Price looked toward the door as it opened and Simons entered.
“Sir,” the butler said out of breath, “Mister Brentley and the other gentlemen from Landen Shipping are downstairs. They are demanding to see you—” A pounding of footsteps in the hallway intruded into Simon's speech. “There they are, sir. I feared they would not wait.”
Brentley appeared in the doorway. The rest of Landen Shipping's board of directors piled up behind him. Brentley stepped inside the room and looked at Marcus, who rose.
“We have just come from the Josephine,” Brentley said.
“The Josephine?” Price asked evenly.
“Yes,” Brentley replied, and the room broke out into a babble of voices. “Gentlemen,” he shouted. “Gentlemen, please!”
Another figure appeared behind the men. The din quieted as Steven pushed past them and halted beside Marcus.
“You should have sailed on the Josephine,” Marcus said.
“As should you have,” Steven replied.
