by Cheryl Bolen
* * *
For his part, Edward found Maggie the most obstinate, vexatious woman he had ever known. His life had been a dizzying hell since she had stormed into it, his feelings for her the diametric opposite of those he felt for sweet Fiona. Fiona who had evoked in him nothing more than a lulling desire. Maggie, on the other hand, elicited a profound passion that settled deep in his loins. It was Maggie whose face he visualized the first thing every morning and the last thing every night. It was Maggie whose absence left him feeling only half alive these past several days.
Other than dancing with Miss Peabody to ensure her success, he had danced with no other woman tonight. He tortured himself by glaring at Maggie throughout the evening as she held court for a dozen men who were agog with worship of her striking beauty. Did she have to lower those lashes so seductively when she spoke to them? Must she dance so close to Lord Heffington? Did her neckline have to plunge so very low?
Edward’s throat felt parched as he watched her glide along the dance floor in a fetching white gown that fell softly against the sweet curves of her luscious body, the body he had known so intimately.
As his body responded to her, he cursed himself. It was Fiona--not Maggie--who held his heart.
His grip on Maggie’s hand tightened and he nudged her slightly closer. He was powerless to keep at bay the memory of the intoxicating blending of their bodies.
“I’ve been deeply disturbed since the night you fled from the chess table,” he said. “I’ve been trying to apologize to you for days, but you wouldn’t see me.”
“Apology accepted. Now can we speak of it no more?”
“Yes, damn it, we will speak of it! I don’t believe you a spy. I haven’t believed you a spy since the first night I met you, and I’ve expressed my opinions on the matter to Lord Carrington.”
“How kind of you, my lord. Now are you happy? I’ve regressed back to my former, disgustingly grateful self.”
“Please, Maggie,” he said, his hand tightening at her waist, yanking her closer. But he did not finish whatever he had intended to say.
Furious with himself for groveling to her, he spoke no more during the remainder of the waltz, then stiffly led her off the dance floor as a half dozen men collapsed around her.
When the evening drew to a close he found Maggie and Rebecca as they were securing their wraps. He glowered at Maggie as she looked up at him, then he silently offered his arm and led them outdoors beneath the canopy to await their carriage.
It was a half hour before they were in the carriage and he turned to Rebecca and said, “You were a great success tonight. No doubt Warwick House will be filled with flowers tomorrow from all of your admirers.”
“And Maggie’s, too,” she said, her voice lively.
“Did you enjoy Almack’s, pet?” Maggie asked.
“I hadn’t expected to, but I did. It’s really most gratifying to have men swooning about one, is it not, Maggie?”
Maggie shrugged. “I am no authority on such matters,” she said with feigned modesty.
To which Edward burst out laughing.
“What, my lord, is so amusing?” Maggie demanded.
“You, madam, could give every woman in that ballroom lessons on beguiling men.”
Suddenly the coach lurched to a stop. The guttural voices of men surrounded the carriage, then the door was yanked open by a large swarthy-looking man sporting a black patch over one eye and missing a front tooth. He was flanked by two men armed with long, shiny daggers. "All of ye, out!"
“Don’t move,” Edward told the ladies through gritted teeth. “I’ll not have you order these women around,” he said to the man with the eye patch.
The man laughed a deep, bellowing laugh that displayed his missing front tooth. His gaze shifted from Maggie to Rebecca. “Which of ye ladies is Maggie, the Countess Warwick?”
Edward’s heart stilled. “You’ve got the wrong carriage,” he snapped, not giving Maggie a chance to answer. “Neither of these women is Lady Warwick.”
Then the other door swung open and a smaller man lunged into the carriage and tried to pull Maggie out. “This ‘ere’s the countess for there’s silver in her dress.”
Chapter 16
Edward’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, but as the man fell backward he grabbed Edward’s sleeve and pulled him down to the pavement, Edward’s full weight on top of him. The man’s desperate effort to roll away failed. With a few brisk jabs to the man’s whiskered face, Edward easily disabled him.
Then Edward heard Maggie scream his name and whirled to face the other three reprobates who had circled the carriage to pounce on him, two of them flashing daggers. His pulse pounding, he knew he would have been no match against three men even had he been armed. He sprang to his feet, taunting them. “Are you such cowards that you send three men against one?”
His words had no effect on their consciences. Like a putrid wave, they came forward. As the closest man reached him, a fleet kick from Edward sent the man’s knife flying. Edward lunged for it and managed to pick it up just as the biggest of the three swooped down on him, pinning him to the ground and trying to dislodge the knife from Edward’s tight grasp.
The man was possessed of incredible strength, and Edward knew he would not be able to hold out for long. He squirmed from side to side beneath the man’s weight, hoping his up-tilted knife would nick his opponent, but he could budge only a few inches due to the other man’s heftiness.
As his strength began to wane, Edward feigned capitulation by closing his eyes, turning his face away and sighing. “You’ve got the better of me.”
Then when the brute relaxed, Edward heaved the knife into the flesh between the man’s arm and shoulder. He cried out and fell back, clutching his wound as the blood seeped through his sausage-like fingers.
Edward leaped to his feet, knife in hand, facing the other two as they powered toward him.
Then he heard his coachman shout, and a shot rang out. One of the men cursed and fell to the ground. The other began to run. Edward swung around and saw that the coachman had found the rifle that was stored beneath his seat. “Quick!” Edward shouted, “Let’s get these women out of here!” He hurled himself up on the box with Rufus and grabbed the rifle while the coachmen took the reins.
Breathless, Edward stood on the box as the coach lurched forward, his weapon aimed at the remaining cutthroats as the coach-and-four pounded off toward Curzon Street.
As they neared his house, he cursed himself for a fool. Because no one had tried to get to Maggie in the days of their confinement, he had become complacent. He had even given in to the optimistic hope that the murderer had gotten what he sought at Bibble’s. And he’d idiotically let down his guard.
He wondered if one of tonight’s abductors had killed Bibble. The vision of Bibble’s dead body arose powerfully and he closed his eyes against it. It could have been Maggie.
God help her if he had not been on hand tonight to thwart the abduction.
As they drew up in front of his house, he came to a decision. He told the coachman to get anything he would need for a journey and to await them in one hour--armed.
Edward himself swung open the coach door and let down the steps for the shaken ladies. “Are you ladies unhurt?” he asked.
“Thanks to you, my lord,” Rebecca said.
His gaze locked with Maggie’s. Her eyes bigger than ever and so woeful it tugged at his heart, she nodded. He took her trembling hand as she stepped down. Then he assisted Miss Peabody.
Once they were inside the house he asked them to come to his library.
There was no fire in the drafty, chilled room. Never mind. They would only be there for a few minutes. He closed the door behind them, set the candle upon his desk, and faced them. “I wish for you ladies to pack a valise for a stay in the country.” His lips thinned. “We leave tonight, and we will tell no one--not even our most trusted servants--where we are going.” He had to get Maggie away, to protect her from
almost certain death.
And, he thought grimly, he could trust no one.
Hadn’t one of the abductors known her dress was flashed with silver? That could mean that someone who knew Maggie had betrayed her. Harry Lyle’s and Lord Carrington’s presence at Almack’s instantly came to mind. One of those men could be the traitor, could wish to harm Maggie.
His mouth formed a grim line. Neither of those men would learn Maggie’s whereabouts. When it was discovered she was gone, the assumption would be they had gone to one of Edward’s country holdings. And that wild goose chase would give him time.
“Pray, my lord, where do we go?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll tell you when we get in the carriage.”
“May I bring Sarah?” she asked.
“Unfortunately not.” Knowing Maggie was inordinately attached to the woman, he added, “I’ll instruct my servants to show her the utmost kindness if that will ease your mind about leaving her.”
"It will, but I'd also ask that you release her from any responsibilities while we are gone. She has earned a well-deserved rest."
"I'll make sure my servants understand."
"My lord?" she said.
"Yes?"
"Can I bring Tubby?"
He frowned. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave him with Sarah."
Thank God Maggie accepted his orders with a silent nod.
In less than an hour, a saber at his side, Edward led the ladies to the coach. Before getting in himself, he spoke to Rufus. “Anything suspicious?”
“No, my lord,” the coachman said. “Not a soul has come down the street since I’ve been here.”
“Good.” Edward climbed into the coach, taking a seat beside Maggie, who had changed into a wool traveling dress topped by her red cloak. “You ladies are comfortable? Will you require another rug?”
“We’re fine,” Maggie said, “though still unhinged.”
“I have no doubts as to that,” he said.
“I shudder to think what those wretched beasts would have done to Maggie,” Rebecca said. “I am ever so grateful to you, my lord, for your gallantry.”
“Yes, my lord,” Maggie concurred, “I am wholly indebted to you.”
“It was only right that I save you since it was my foolish complacency that put you in jeopardy.”
“It was obvious to me,” Rebecca said, “that armed or not you could have beat all four of them. I think you had the advantage over them in your knowledge of pugilism.”
He laughed. “Three mornings a week at Jackson’s salon now seems to have been well worth the time and money expended, though I don’t share your optimism that I could have handled all four of them without a weapon.”
They went some little ways further before Rebecca asked, “Pray, my lord, where are we going?”
“To Yorkshire.”
“Is that where your seat is?” Maggie asked.
“No. The . . . people we’re up against will know where all my holdings are and are sure to look for us there first.”
“I . . . I am most cognizant of why you didn’t wait until morning,” Maggie said, “and I thank you for losing still another night’s sleep on my account.”
He gave a little laugh. “Oh, I plan to doze, and I hope you ladies will do so, too. Once we clear all the London tolls and reach a dark country lane where progress will be slow, we can stop at a posting inn for a few hours of sleep.”
From there he would send a post to Fiona to announce his impending visit. Hadn’t Fiona’s recent letter begged that he come to her, hinted at her desire to meet the countess? He had thought of writing to Fiona from Warwick House and having a servant post the letter in the morning but decided against that plan. If the letter fell into the wrong hands . . . he hated to think what would happen to Maggie. And to him.
“Why don’t you recline on the seat, pet?” Maggie said to her sister. “You’ve just experienced the most exhilarating evening of your life, and you need to rest.”
Rebecca yawned. “I believe I will.”
“I would be only too happy to lend you a shoulder, my lady,” Edward said to Maggie.
“I shan’t need your shoulder. I’m much too exhilarated to sleep.”
Worried too, he would vow.
Few signs of life could be discerned on the streets of London at this hour. They passed only the occasional hack as their carriage wheels churned through the night. Row after row of narrow houses were dark as pitch, and the only sound they heard was the rhythmic clopping of their horses’ hooves.
Then came the sound of Miss Peabody’s steady breathing as she fell into slumber.
“I think,” he said to Maggie in a low voice, “you’ll have to tell your sister the truth about Andrew Bibble. She needs to be fully aware of what kind of peril you’re in.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. “She does need to know. Have you considered that in their desperation to get me, they might abuse her?”
“I had not, but it’s a distinct possibility.”
Silence, like a steel barrier, rose up between them again. Edward surveyed the sleeping city through his window, his fears for Maggie mounting with each turn of the wheels.
“Do we go to Lady Fiona’s?” Maggie finally asked.
“How did you know?”
“I believe you once mentioned that she was up in Yorkshire.”
“You’ll be safe there.”
“I thought you did not wish me to meet her.”
To be more precise, he had told Maggie he did not want Fiona to see how beautiful she was. “I’ve had a change of mind. My last letter from her spoke of you. She expressed a strong desire to meet ‘the poor countess who has lost so much.’ ”
Maggie gave a bitter laugh. “And when she sees me?”
How could Fiona see Maggie and not be swamped with jealousy? Would Fiona see the hunger leap to his eyes whenever Maggie was near? More to the point, would his words and actions convince Fiona that he would honor his long-standing intentions toward her? He prayed that once he beheld Fiona’s fair beauty all the powerful feelings he had once felt for her would overcome his debilitating desire for Maggie. “She will be all that is amiable, I assure you,” he said. “Fiona is a true lady.” He had no doubt he spoke the truth.
* * *
Maggie thought otherwise. Lady Fiona would likely wish to scratch out her eyes! Which Maggie could well understand since she herself had taken an extreme dislike to Fiona without ever having met her.
But she could not think of Fiona now. She was far too distressed. Her very life was in danger. The man Lord Carrington would have her believe a traitor had risked his own neck to save her tonight. She would never forget the fear that numbed her when she saw the three men moving to Lord Warwick, their knives glittering in the pale moonlight. He had been magnificent! Like Rebecca, Maggie thought he could have singlehandedly unarmed the whole trio.
How could so brave and selfless a man not be honorable? Despite Lord Carrington’s accusations, Lord Warwick held Maggie’s respect.
Yet Lord Carrington’s charge that Lord Warwick was an imposter rang true. She had thought it odd that he had succeeded to the title when he was a mere second son, and when he told her his brother had died, she’d had the oddest feeling he was hiding something, that he had not told her the full truth. Now she knew why.
As the carriage chugged along the dusty country roads she pondered the horror of her predicament. What if Lord Warwick was luring her away from London for his own evil purpose? What if tonight’s scene had been staged in order for him to win her confidence? Then she dismissed her own lunacy in even thinking of so ridiculous a scheme.
Which brought her back to her pre-Carrington talk mind set. Though Lord Warwick was a most vexing man, he had never done anything that would cause him to lose her respect. She would trust him with her life.
In fact, that’s what she was doing at this very minute, sitting beside him under the cover of night in the middle of nowhere, she’d vow. She had not put up
the least resistance when he had informed her they would leave London within the hour.
She had almost fallen at his feet in gratitude for after the terrifying abduction attempt she had been possessed of a frantic desperation to leave London, to go where those evil people could not find her. The gruesome picture of Andrew Bibble’s dead body kept rising before her, and she feared she would meet the same fate.
Yet as she sat so close to Lord Warwick she felt safe. His powerful presence dispelled her fears now as it had done the day of the thunderstorm. Once she was in his arms, all her fears had vanished.
He was her own personal dragon slayer--despite what Lord Carrington had said about him. The thought of Lord Carrington reminded her that one of the abductors knew the woman they sought wore a silver-threaded dress. The man responsible for the abduction--the one who paid the band of cutthroats--must have been at Almack’s Assembly Rooms tonight. Either Harry Lyle or Lord Carrington. Of course, it could have been someone else, perhaps someone she had never met, someone who had Maggie pointed out to him. But she thought not. There was the previous disturbance in her chambers when only three men beside Lord Warwick knew she was in London: Mr. Lyle, Lord Carrington and another man whose name she could not remember, a gentleman who had a position at the Foreign Office.
Because of Harry’s amiability, she did not wish for her enemy to be him, but she did not want it to be Lord Carrington, either. He seemed so passionate about his precious Foreign Office she could not believe he would ever thwart his own efforts. Besides, a blue blood with generations of ties to England who had more money then he could ever spend had no reason to betray his country.
She yawned.
“Tired?” Lord Warwick asked in a voice like one would use with a child. Or a sweetheart.
She nodded. “It’s been quite a night.” She regretted the pride and obstinacy that had compelled her to refuse the offer of his shoulder. She ached to melt into him, to shed her woes in his all-too-comforting embrace. Yet were he to ask again, her answer would not change. She would have to deny her need for his touch. Its potency could strip her of every ounce of pride, could rob her of rational thought. Worst of all, she could drop her guard.
