by Lisa Bingham
“I trust that you will remember something of your lessons in deportment once we’ve reached Briarwood.”
“Why?” Aloise asked carefully, tamping down her desire to rant and rave at her father, to pummel his chest until he listened, to make him look at her. Really look at her instead of a point over her left shoulder.
“We shall be entertaining a number of … guests within the next few days.”
The statement fell into the blackness between them, but this time, Aloise was prepared. She knew what her father had intended by inviting these people to Briarwood. Slater had told her. Her skin crawled in shame at the idea. If not for the fact that she was already wed, she would have been paraded in front of a score of men, rated, then auctioned to the highest bidder.
She opened her mouth to tell her father that he was too late for such attempts, but he interrupted by saying, “After what has occurred, I can see that I will have to alter my arrangements before the scandal of your actions can reach their ears.” Cruelly clasping her chin, he whispered, “We will never speak of this again, do you understand? This night never happened, whatever … liaison you entertained never occurred. If one word contrary to that fact leaves your lips, I will see your lover killed. I will arrange with the local authorities to see him drawn and quartered for raping my beloved child—and you, my dear, will watch the proceedings.”
The words were said with such venom, Aloise knew her father would see them through—and he had the power to do so. Everyone knew the local constable had been accepting bribes from this man for years.
A chill raced down her spine. She would have to remain silent about her marriage, she would have to wait and hope and pray that Slater would realize what had happened and come for her in time. Otherwise she may be forced to stoop to bigamy in order to protect his very life.
Looking at her father, Aloise knew her husband had been right when he’d warned her that her father intended to use her as a pawn to further his own ends. Her husband. The very thought brought a kind of peace. He would come for her, sometime, some way. Of that she was certain.
Dear heaven, he had already become a part of her. He had already woven his way into the very fiber of her thoughts.
“How did you know where to find me?”
Oliver snorted. “That man thought to extort an invitation to the festivities by stealing you away, seducing you, then returning you to me as if he’d found you like a babe in a basket. He was sadly mistaken. I am not such a fool. I don’t like his kind. Liars, cheats. Just because he’s a confidante of that blasted French king, he thinks he owns the world.”
Crawford’s gaze raked over her tousled hair and rumpled form. “He left the single guard by the broken window, foolish man. I had only to bash him over the head then call and wait for you to appear.”
“Slater might have been the one to answer.”
“I was willing to take that chance.”
“What do you intend to do with me?”
“Never you mind. You will do as you’re told.” His lips lifted in a sneer. “First, I suppose I will have to pretty you up a bit, fix your hair, put you in a proper dress.” He snarled in remembered frustration. “Luckily for you, Daughter, I was able to delay your prospective grooms until you could be found.”
Prospective grooms.
“Does that mean I’m to be married by the week’s end?”
“There will be no more unfortunate incidents, no more stains on your virtue until you are safely wed.”
“What if I refuse?”
Crawford gripped his walking stick, sliding the quirt from its hiding place.
“If you leave fresh marks, no man will take me,” Aloise baited him softly. “Those on my back can be hidden for a time, but new ones …”
His gaze became menacing as he snapped the cane together again. Leaning toward her, he captured her chin in a bruising grip, his voice growing low and harsh. “You listen to me, Daughter, and you listen well. I will not lose face on your behalf again. You will follow my instructions to the letter. You will speak when spoken to. You will dress as I request. You will be charming, witty, and above reproach, damn your hide!” Each word was punctuated with a rise in inflection and volume. “If you don’t, I’ll have you whipped and sent to a nunnery—and it won’t be for schooling. Do … you … understand?”
Aloise had never seen her father so livid—granted, she hadn’t seen him at all for quite some time—but the man was not to be taunted. She might defy him in her heart, but open rebellion would serve no purpose.
At least for now.
She needed time to formulate a plan, to somehow notify Slater. He would help her. She knew he would.
“Yes, Papa.”
He seemed somewhat mollified by her docile obedience, but still stared at her as if she were some unpleasant creature that had crawled from beneath a rock. “You should have been a boy.”
There it was. Her father’s favorite means of putting Aloise entirely in her place.
“You should have been a boy,” he said again, as if once had not been enough.
But this time, to Aloise’s infinite amazement, the phrase held no sting.
Slater McKendrick slammed into the main hall of the Bull and Finch Tavern. The door crashed against the opposite wall, then shuddered for several seconds as if cowed.
Marco, who followed him somewhat unsteadily, glared at his friend, clasping his bandaged skull between his hands.
Curry lifted his head from one of the tables. “Damn it, Slater. Quietly, quietly. The boys and I thought that since you could not join us … in our drinking … we should absorb your share.”
In response to his claim, there was a moan. A grunt. Louis kept his forehead pillowed in his arms, but lifted a finger in a weak salute, while Rudy, stretched full-length on one of the tables, snored to wake the dead.
Feeling little pity for himself or his companions, Slater slammed his fists on the planks. The five men sat bolt upright, their eyes bugging.
“She’s gone.”
“Who?” Curry breathed.
“Aloise.”
“Maybe you should have taken more time … to woo her.”
One of the men snickered. Slater could not tell which, but he continued on, knowing there wasn’t a second to waste. “Damnit, man, she didn’t leave of her own free will. She was taken!”
At that, his men managed a bleary-eyed batch of stares.
“Who?”
“Her father.”
“Hell.” Curry struggled to his feet. “What do you plan to do?”
“How in the bloody blazes do I know? The whole plan we concocted involved sending her back for a confrontation.”
Will shrugged. “So? She’s back. I see no problem in that.”
No problem? No problem! At that instant, Slater could have cheerfully broken Curry’s neck. Didn’t he know that things had changed? Didn’t he know that Slater had decided not to exploit Aloise, but to protect her? Last evening, just as he’d fallen asleep, he’d determined that the inherent danger of his plans was not worth the possible rewards, that he would send word to Manuel to prepare his ship so that Slater could spirit Aloise away. Once free of England, he could see to her safety, hide her on some island, some distant coast.
But Crawford had outsmarted him. He’d skulked into Slater’s house, completely destroyed the library and all its contents, then had left a note saying that he had taken Aloise home where she belonged. As an added insult, he had included an invitation for Slater to attend Aloise’s wedding.
Her wedding, damnit!
His blood fairly boiled in fury and frustration. Slater knew Crawford meant to outsmart him. The old man’s position was tenuous at best. If Slater were to proclaim loud and clear where Aloise had been the last few days, Crawford’s hopes of a good match would be dashed. Therefore, he planned to marry her off within the next forty-eight hours, blunting the effects of any sort of scandal.
“
What… do you want us to do?” Curry asked.
Slater considered his options for a moment. “Some of the penniless aristocrats Crawford invited have already arrived in the hopes of a free meal. Do we still have a schedule of the estimated arrivals of each prospective groom?”
“Clayton has it.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Louis—”
“No.”
“I have the blasted thing,” Hans whispered. “There’s no need to shout.”
Since the fractured conversation had been uttered at little more than a murmur, Slater frowned.
“How long will it be until all of you can become sober?”
Curry waved his hand in dismissal. “An hour.”
“Two,” Louis groaned.
“Three,” Clayton corrected.
Hans groaned.
Rudy merely continued to snore.
“Then get on your feet and weave to your horses. I want half of the possible grooms weeded out long before they can reach Briarwood.”
“How … do you propose that?”
Slater leaned over the table. “How do you think? Lie to them, ambush them, throw them in the stables and tie them to a post. Do whatever is necessary. But do it today.”
“I suppose that will have to do.”
Aloise nearly rolled her eyes at her father’s grudging compliment. He had ordered her to dress in one of the gowns he had provided, then meet him in his office. She’d complied. Not because he had told her to do so, but because she’d thought she ought to be clothed in case Slater came to get her.
Passing through the doorway into the dim interior of her father’s sanctuary, she noted that the gentlemen’s haven was not as intriguing as the one at Ashenleigh. Her father had decorated the chamber with the proper society-prescribed furniture—a desk, three chairs, and a small table for the liquor decanters—but there was no intimacy. No pictures on the wall, no loving knickknacks of fond remembrances. No charm.
“The first of your prospective mates will arrive this morning,” Crawford said, stepping around the desk. “From the moment he enters this house, you will be on your best behavior.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You will be charming and witty.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And you will not speak unless asked a direct question.”
“Very well, Father.”
Her biddable replies held just enough of a sting to needle him, but not enough for him to call her for her impertinence.
Stalking toward the far wall, he lifted aside a gloomy Dutch portrait to reveal an iron safe. He carefully withdrew a set of keys from his waistcoat, unlocking the series of latches, then twisting the handle.
The stream of sunlight spilling through the window illuminated the metal cell as if it were a pirate’s treasure chest. Loose jewels, strings of pearls, chalices, and goblets had been heaped inside. Stacks of coins, bonds, and contracts crowded the corners. But in the middle of it all lay a huge gold tiger, its mouth opened in a perpetual snarl, its eyes glowing ruby red.
The Bengal Rubies.
Horror settled into the pit of her stomach. No. No! Had her father discovered the missing necklace? Did he mean to punish her for her thievery?
Aloise could feel the blood drain from her face. If only she had the necklace now. If only it weren’t still lying on the floor of the Rose Room amid the other belongings Slater had returned to her.
Her father lifted the vessel from the safe and carried it to Aloise, holding it tightly against his chest.
“You will take these with you. I want you to wear them when I introduce you to your first suitor.”
Her mouth grew dry, her muscles tense. But judging by her father’s actions, he couldn’t possibly know about the missing piece. Not yet.
When she took the case from Crawford, she had to rack her brain to summon one token protest about wearing the jewels, a way to delay the inevitable. If she appeared without the intricate collar, he would know immediately who had taken it. He would punish her unmercifully for that. Then she would have to claim that she had lost it. She couldn’t let him challenge Slater for its return.
“I don’t think I should wear the rubies. They will clash with my gown,” she offered hastily. It was the only excuse she could think of as she gestured to the garnet silk her father had ordered made for her. She had no doubts that the dress had been designed to finalize a purchase of sorts. The square neckline plunged to the very edge of her stays and had been trimmed with little more than a velvet cord. The waist had been fashioned excruciatingly tight, while the skirts billowed over her panniers to fall to the floor in a rustle of fabric. A row of delicate silk lace nearly a yard wide had been sewn just above the point of her knees and fell to skim the floor with a whispered caress.
“You will do as you’re told.”
The panic in her breast intensified. “Yes, Father.”
“Now go to your room and wait. Within the hour, I will summon you to the salon.”
“Is that where you plan to hold the auction?”
His lips pursed in anger. “Go!”
“Yes, Father.”
As she exited the room, she heard Crawford say behind her, “Take great care, Daughter.”
“Or what, Father?” Glancing at him, Aloise allowed herself one last taunt. After all, Oliver Crawford was but a man. A petty, cruel little man.
“I could wed you to a diseased invalid.”
One of her brows lifted. “I believe you have already tried to do so.”
Slater sat rigidly on his horse, his silhouette edged against the dull onslaught of dusk. Below him, nestled in a valley of emerald green grass and clover lay Briarwood. And his bride.
The coming evening tinged the air with a russet hue. The last beams of sunlight trickled through the clouds, causing a flurry of delicate rays to shimmer and dance in the misty breeze so that the white marble building gleamed like an oasis.
“What has you scowling so fiercely now? You look as if you’d like to tear the place apart stone by stone. Our plans are set and the men are ready to ride.”
Slater didn’t comment. Why hadn’t he been more careful? More wary? Damn, he’d been so stupid to think he was beyond Crawford’s reach. For one night, he’d lowered his guard and Aloise had been stolen away. He had failed her again, just as he’d failed her fifteen years ago, and he had no one to blame but himself. After all the planning, the plotting, the careful strategy, he’d endangered her through his own carelessness. If anything happened to her …
His hands clenched and he fought the panic settling in his breast. Nothing would happen. Dear God, please let it be so. Hadn’t he atoned sufficiently for past mistakes? Hadn’t he tried to make amends? If Aloise were harmed this night, he would never forgive himself. He may not have been able to prevent Jeanne’s ultimate fate, but he had vowed to himself that he would protect her daughter at all costs. Sweet Aloise. His wife. Crawford must not succeed in destroying her too. Slater would never be able to live with himself if such a thing occurred.
Pushing his fears resolutely away, Slater tried to reassure himself that Aloise was still protected by his name, his ultimate possession. Matters were not completely unsalvageable.
The galloping of hooves tumbled into the quiet as Marco rushed to meet them. Drawing his mount to a shuddering halt, he put a hand to his head then offered without prompting, “Crawford has been in a snit for hours about the fact that none of his prospective grooms has arrived. He’s locked Aloise in her bedchamber and ordered her to prepare for the evening meal. He’s stated that she will be wed to the first man to appear. The wedding is set for tomorrow evening.”
“Doesn’t he know that she spent an entire evening with me? In my bed?”
Marco’s eyes became somber. “Si. But he doesn’t care. He will barter her body for a title. The coachman told me that he heard Crawford threaten her on the way to Briarwood. If she breathes a word o
f scandal to anyone, Crawford will see to it that you are killed in front of her very eyes.”
Slater felt a black rage fill his body. How could a father be so cruel, so heartless? Aloise was flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.
“Where will the ceremony take place?”
“The folly near the pond.”
“Who will officiate?”
Marco grinned. “The same vicar who wed her to you.”
“What of the candidates?”
“We’ve snared a good portion of them and sent them on their way—either through force or blatant knavery. Two have yet to arrive. Crawford will not wait much longer for a match. He has already delayed his plans for nearly a fortnight.”
Had it only been that long since Slater had encountered Aloise on the beach? He felt as if he’d known her for a lifetime. As if she had been a missing piece to his heart.
His heart…
Slater’s hands tightened around the reins, and he became suddenly oblivious to his companions. Staring down at that house, he realized his priorities had changed. It wasn’t the rubies he sought. Or even vengeance.
Aloise had purged him of that need. She had offered him her trust. She had offered him her hope. She had offered him a tiny corner of her affections.
Grappling with the unfamiliar whirl of panic, desperation, and concern that threatened to inundate him, Slater realized he wanted more than a sliver of her devotion. He wanted it all. He wanted to wake to her each morning and dream with her each night. He wanted to see his children clinging to her skirts. He wanted to be by her side as they both grew old.
He had only known her a short time. Two weeks. But she had woven her way into his soul. She had taught him so much. That tenderness was not a curse. That even in the safety of the shadows one needed the glimmer of hope to light the way. That love was not a bolt of lightning, but a seed to be nurtured and allowed to grow toward the sun.
“We will retrieve her, Slater.”
Something of his emotions must have shown on his face, because Curry’s statement was filled with quiet reassurance.
