A reprieve and a threat all at once. She wanted to be consoled by the respite, but his promised visit made her shudder with apprehension. As Jillian preceded Riley up the stairs, one thing came clear to her—she’d rather be dead than be touched by Lionel.
She hoped it would not come to that.
*****
Three hours before dawn Adrian, wearily lugging his satchel, released the lock to his room in Bath. He stopped because a note had been posted on his door. Grabbing the piece of paper, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
He had arrived one day before he had planned, determined not to be away from Jillian any longer than necessary—like a lovesick school lad, he thought wryly. He dropped his bag and opened the missive, scanning the contents.
“Bloody hell!” he roared, sudden fear seizing him.
It was a scrawled message from Phillip Angsley. Sometime on the previous afternoon—that must be nearly ten hours ago by now—Jillian had disappeared from the townhouse she shared with her aunt. As soon as Adrian returned from his trip, it would be appreciated if he would come there to help in the search.
The earl tossed the note aside and strode from the room, the exhaustion falling from him as though it had not existed only moments earlier. Outside he hailed a hack, assuming that would be quicker than bringing around his carriage. But the hour being advanced and the streets deserted, it was ten minutes before he secured a ride. By that time he frothed with impotent rage.
Adrian arrived at the townhouse at thirty minutes past three in the morning. Every light in the place was lit and he pounded on the door, the anxiety he felt flowing through his fist. His knock was answered almost immediately.
“Wickham, thank God, man,” Phillip Angsley greeted. “Can’t say how happy I am to see you.”
The earl nodded curtly, brushing past the young man and into the hall. “Any news?” he asked tightly.
Phillip shook his head. “None. I’ve been making discreet inquiries since yesterday, but I’m afraid to keep the situation quiet any longer.”
“Do you have any information about what happened?”
“Hannah knows more than anyone, and that’s not much.”
“Bring her here,” Adrian said.
Phillip dashed up the stairs, and moments later appeared on the landing with the maid. She followed Mr. Angsley down the steps, her face a mask of grief-stricken misery.
“This is Hannah, Jillian’s maid,” Phillip said. “Tell Lord Wickham what you know, please.”
The earl acknowledged her with a nod. “Hannah and I are acquainted with each other.”
“I know so little, my lord,” the maid began, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “She just vanished.”
“Hannah,” Adrian tried to keep his voice calm, “anything you can remember would be helpful. Anything.”
“It’s like I told Mr. Angsley yesterday. About five o’clock Mr. Biggs—he’s the footman—came to me and said he was leaving for his trip to London—his sister’s getting married. The mistress was entertaining in the parlor and I should check on her shortly. I said I would, and not long after that—”
“How long?” Adrian interrupted.
“Twenty minutes, maybe less, my lord. Anyway, when I went to make certain she was all right, she was gone.” The maid began to bawl then, lifting her apron to dab at her eyes.
“This Biggs didn’t tell you who was with your mistress?” the earl inquired, unable to hide his impatience.
“No, my lord,” she continued to weep, “I should have asked, I know. It’s my fault.”
“That hardly seems fair,” the earl muttered. “I suspect there are several factors involved here, most unknown to you, so we’ll not place blame yet.” He paused. “Is there any chance your lady simply went out for the evening, not realizing how upset everyone would be?”
“Overnight?” Phillip put in. “Without letting anyone know? That would be irresponsible and Jillian is not irresponsible. Besides, where would she go? Society is not a very friendly place to her right now.”
“Just so,” Adrian said. “Where is Miss Milford?”
“Staying with a friend,” Phillip answered. “She became hysterical last evening when she heard, and we thought it best if she was with someone who could keep her calm until we discover what has happened to my cousin. I-I admit I expected Jilly to surface before now,” he said, sounding emotional.
“Come on,” Adrian said, putting his arm around the young man’s slumped shoulders and leading him to the parlor. “Tell me who you have seen and what’s been said. We’re probably going to have to go to the authorities, and Jillian will simply have to understand.” The earl looked back at the maid. “You too, Hannah. We can use all the help we can get.”
*****
CHAPTER 15
“Have you sent someone after the footman?” Adrian asked as Phillip and he entered the parlor with Hannah trailing in their wake. “We know for certain he can tell us who visited Jillian before she disappeared.”
Phillip brightened. “First thing I did, my lord. But that was several hours after the fact, I’m afraid. I do not believe Biggs could have gone so far that my messenger will not have spoken to the man by now and be on his way back with the information.”
“When do you expect him?”
“Hard to say, but by late morning, I should think.”
The earl looked to Hannah. “None of your mistress’ clothing is missing? You detected no preparation on her part for an overnight outing?”
“No, my lord. And as Mr. Angsley has said, my lady would not have done so without telling someone.”
Adrian ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “What I can’t understand is why she didn’t scream. If she went against her will, surely she would have made some noise.” Again to the maid, “Would you have heard her?”
“I’m certain of it, my lord. This is a small house. I was merely upstairs and down the hall.”
“All right, Hannah, you may go but stay near. I may need you later.”
Hannah said, “Yes, my lord,” and withdrew, dabbing at her watery eyes.
The earl turned to Phillip. “Damnation!” he said through gritted teeth, “there is nothing I hate more than having to wait, especially when I don’t know if Jillian is in danger. If this lead produces nothing then we have to go to the authorities and begin an all out search.”
Phillip nodded. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, moving to the table where the brandy resided.
Adrian shook his head irritably. “Spirits will dull my senses right now.”
“You’re correct,” Phillip said, sounding disappointed. “It’s just that my hands are shaking so badly, I thought a drink might steady them.”
Preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts, the earl stared at the young man without seeing him. He began pacing the room like a caged animal, back and forth, forth and back, the anxiety he felt threatening to rise and overwhelm him. He had completed about one half dozen rounds when the door chime rang out, causing him to pause in his tracks. It was the middle of the night—very late for the average caller. He glanced at Phillip with raised brows and, not waiting for a servant to answer the ring, strode to the entry. Jillian’s cousin came fast on his heels.
Adrian yanked open the door, hope reviving in his breast, but the person who stood on the step was no one he recognized, and he was seized by a sense of frustrated desperation. He turned without speaking, aware that he was rude and not caring, and allowed Phillip to address the caller.
“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip said, “come in.”
The earl, in the act of moving away, spun around to look at the woman more closely. Yes, he believed he had seen her before—Jillian’s old nemesis who had hidden in the guise of a friend. Immediately he felt his antagonism rush to the fore.
As he watched Phillip usher the red-haired young woman into the parlor, seating her on the settee, Adrian thought he had never seen a more haggard individual. Meredith looked as tho
ugh she had not slept in days, her complexion so bleached, he wondered if she had been ill. She held a handkerchief to her mouth which made him assume she was on the brink of losing the contents of her stomach. She glanced at the earl, and if he were not mistaken, that was trepidation he saw in her eyes. He let Phillip open the conversation, choosing to stand to one side while he took the lady’s measure.
“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip began, sitting in a chair across from her, “have you thought of something since I talked to you a few hours ago?”
Again her gaze slid in Adrian’s direction, and she dabbed at her pale lips with the square of linen she held, swallowing audibly. “Yes—yes, I have. I…I didn’t want to believe it could be Lionel…” Her voice broke
“Edgeworth?” Adrian jumped into the dialogue, moving across the room toward Meredith to stand over her. His eyes narrowed and she flinched away from him. “That bastard, I should have realized. Is it he for certain or is this conjecture?”
Her face grew more pallid, a seeming impossibility as she looked near death. “When Mr. Angsley approached me last evening I did not think it was feasible, but after he left I began to wonder. You see, yesterday Lionel and I had a disagreement. He said he wanted to leave me, that he still loved Jillian” she gulped on a sob, “a-and he intended to try and convince her to go away with him.”
“Seems to me,” Adrian said, unable to hide the derision in his words, “you could have figured this out almost at once instead of allowing most of the night to pass before you decided to be honest. After all these hours, who knows in what way your husband has tried to ‘convince’ her?”
“He’s not that sort of man,” Meredith said hotly, evidently finding some of her spirit.
The earl snorted. “Even now you protect him? Do you think Jillian would go with him willingly for any other than a legitimate purpose? I can tell you I do not.”
As quickly as her anger came it fled. “No,” she said quietly, studying the handkerchief in her hands. “Jillian and I spoke last week. She told me she cared for another,” her gaze flicked in Adrian’s direction, “and that Lionel was wasting his time. I believed her then and I still do.”
“Where would he take her, do you know?” the earl asked. “I understand he keeps another residence in town for…” He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “At any rate, would he take her there?”
“In all likelihood,” she said. “At least, I can think of no other. Lionel lives there now for the most part.”
“Do you know the direction of this residence?”
“I discovered it, yes.”
The earl nodded curtly, asking for the address. When she gave it to him, he turned his attention to Phillip. “Stay here just in case we’re on the wrong track. I want you to talk to that messenger. If his report confirms our suspicion, you may join me if there is time. Hopefully, Edgeworth won’t be violent.”
Meredith gasped. “Please don’t hurt Lionel.”
For the first time Adrian was moved to pity. He eyed the young woman, a victim of her own conniving, and he finally understood how Jillian might forgive her old friend. However, his compassion did not include her reprehensible spouse.
“I can’t make you any promises, Lady Edgeworth. Your husband has set this scheme in motion, and I’m obliged to see it through to the end, whatever that end may be.”
“I can see that,” she said softly, the expression on her ravaged face one of resignation.
Adrian brought his regard back to Phillip. “Is your carriage here?” When the young man nodded, he continued. “I’ll need to borrow it. I came in a hack.”
Five minutes found the earl driving Mr. Angsley’s phaeton through the nearly deserted streets of Bath in the hour before sunrise. Jillian had better be all right, he thought as he smacked the reins over the backs of the matched bays with an aggression born of fear, or he might once again be forced to commit murder. In fact, contrary to his previous beliefs on the matter, the idea, rather than repelling him, had taken on a certain appeal. He whipped the reins again, this time harder.
*****
Jillian lay on the lumpy mattress, tired but watchful. It would be morning soon, and Lionel had not kept his promise to come to her. She supposed she should be grateful for his neglect, but waiting provided a different kind of torture.
Hours earlier she had tried the door, but an amused voice on the other side had informed her that the room was guarded.
“Riley,” she had said, making the words silky, “don’t you want to come in and keep me company?”
A long pause had ensued while she held her breath.
“You’re a tricky one, that you are, m’lady—a beautiful woman temptin’ an old wart the likes o’ me,” Riley replied, although he sounded less sure of himself. “Lord Edgeworth would have me hide for certain.”
Jillian released the air in her lungs, secretly relieved. After all, what would she have done if that behemoth of a man had decided to accept her invitation?—overpower him, making her escape?
Hardly.
Now much later, she felt the same relief over Riley’s refusal. And anyway, it was nearly five o’clock in the morning. Jillian felt confident that a search for her was in progress, thus she would be better served to bide her time.
She did have her doubts because she could not be certain anyone had figured out who had taken her. The only person who had seen Edgeworth had been Biggs, the footman—although she hoped he had shared that information with Hannah—and he was on his way to London. If Adrian were back in Bath she would feel assured that he would discover her whereabouts, but as it was she wondered if she should be making a more determined effort to deliver herself from her prison.
Remembering the earl made her ache with uncertainty. Between bouts of worry over her imprisonment, she found herself consumed by misgivings over Adrian’s supposed betrayal. Why would he publicly declare his relationship with her when he had stated over and over that he wanted to protect her from further gossip? White’s notorious betting book?—surely Lionel had lied. She felt exhausted, her thoughts spinning around and solving nothing, making her head throb in her confusion. Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes and, relaxing as best she could, allowed herself to drift.
The sound of a key releasing the lock on the door brought Jillian into a sitting position. She sent her bleary gaze across the chamber as the door eased open. Lionel had decided to make an appearance after all.
The marquess stood on the threshold, wearing a dressing gown, his hair mussed as though he had been asleep. “Been waiting for me, my dear?” he asked, pulling the door, but not quite closing it. “I thought I would be better able to serve you if I had a little rest. I hope you are well rested also.”
“Serve me?” she asked groggily.
“Come now, Jillian, you know what I mean,” he said, moving into the room.
All at once she came wide awake. “Lionel, I would like you to stop and consider. You could be making a mistake that will ruin not only my life but yours as well.” She watched him warily as he walked to the end of the bed.
“Do you think so?” he asked quietly, “and do you think it matters?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
She sidled to the edge of the mattress and threw her feet over the side because it made her feel less vulnerable. Lionel moved slowly in her direction, coming to stand over her, but she tried not to let her unease show, sensing that would incite him.
“I don’t want the life I have,” he said, taking hold of a lock of her hair that had come loose from the ribbon at her neck. He looked at the dark strands for several moments before his gaze returned to hers. “You intend to fight me, don’t you?”
Her stomach dropped anxiously. “If you give me no choice.”
“Why? What could it hurt you now to give me a few moments of your time, a few moments to make up for all the years we won’t have together? I loved you, Jillian—I love you still.”
“Because,” she spat, ex
asperation overcoming her fear, “I don’t use my body as an appeasement. And you never loved me,” she persisted, tired of him making light of that precious declaration, tossing the words at her as if they had meaning when they both knew it wasn’t true. “If you had you would have married me regardless of the scandal. But now that I’ve come to understand you better, I would like to thank you for throwing me over. You did me a great favor.”
Well, she had been known to allow her temper to cause her trouble, and the hostility that twisted his features made clear her mistake. He pulled on the hair he still held, coiling it tightly around his fingers until the heel of his hand rested uncomfortably against her scalp. Jillian bit the inside of her mouth to stem the cry of pain that sprang to her lips.
“It would seem reasoning with you will not benefit me,” he snarled. “So be it.”
He leaned down to take her mouth and, because of his hold on her hair, this time she could not evade him as she had earlier in the evening. He tasted of rancid alcohol consumed many hours earlier, and she felt bile rise in her throat. He leaned over her, forcing her shoulders onto the mattress as he covered her with his body.
At that point Jillian knew she should feel terrorized, almost frozen with fright. Oddly, she grew angrier instead, and fortunately with that anger came action. Lionel had not yet found it necessary to pin her arms, so she balled her hands and did the first thing that came to mind. With all her might she brought her fists down, one on each ear.
The marquess bellowed in pain, and he let fly an obscenity as he rolled away from her, clutching his head.
Jillian used the reprieve to leap from the bed and dash across the room. Frantically she searched for a weapon, and her hand lit on a heavy brass candlestick at least eighteen inches tall which rested on a small table. Grabbing it, she raised the holder rather forcefully over her head, and the unlit candle impaled on its spindle sailed behind her, striking the mantel of the fireplace with a soft, waxy thud.
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 25