by Jo Goodman
Rae could think of nothing to say. She was not even sure if she was required to speak. She took a hasty drink of her tea.
"How are you called, girl?" he asked pleasantly.
"Rae, your grace."
"Ray? That is a lad's name, surely."
"R-A-E."
"Unusual, is it not?"
"I cannot say."
"But I think you can... Rahab."
Rae's heart squeezed. Nigel knew who she was; he was only playing with her. "Perhaps it is a trifle uncommon."
"Yes. I believe it is. In fact, I only know of one person called by that name: the sister of the man my ward calls her husband. Imagine my surprise when I asked Stephens who Newbrough had cornered in the library and he told me Rahab. It was something of a revelation to open the door and connect that name with your face." Nigel's smile did not touch his eyes. They remained as cold as polished stones. "I own to a certain amount of pleasure that you are not stammering prevarications or dissembling for my benefit. I cannot abide mendacity. I know of you from my agent's reports, of course. You are the same girl who lived in New York with Ashley and her children, are you not?"
"Yes." Rae set her cup aside and folded her hands in her lap.
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Then Smith is not your last name, as Stephens would have had me believe."
"It is the name I gave to him and the others when I was brought here."
"Very wise of you. The McClellan name would have been brought to my attention."
"I thought it might."
Nigel looked pleased. "Just so. Tell me how you came to be here."
In calm tones that belied her inner tremblings, Rae told the duke all. Or almost all. Throughout her recital Nigel's face remained grave and thoughtful, giving away nothing of the workings of his mind.
"And what of the man who was taken with you? He was not one of your brothers, was he?"
"No. But he died for pretending he was Salem."
"So the colonials did not lie when they said they had killed him."
"No."
"They have been served justice for the trick they played me," he said easily, taking another sip of the tea. "If it helps, you may believe they paid with their lives for taking the life of your companion. The last of them swung at Tyburn tree not above a month ago."
In her lap, Rae's knuckles whitened. "I find no pleasure in that."
Nigel shrugged and put his cup and saucer on the tray beside Rae's. "I will have your dagger now." Rae's astonishment that he expected her to hand it over without a fight showed clearly on her face. The duke noted it with some amusement of his own. "I can fairly see the wheels turning in your head, m'dear, but let me caution you. I will not go to the floor with you over this matter. Fisticuffs and brawling are not among those things I count as life's pleasures. I cannot say the same for Newbrough, more's the pity. I suspect he would take great enjoyment in disarming you. Now don't pale so. I rather think I will not let him have the pleasure, for he has sadly tried my patience of late, but there are any number of footmen I can call to see to the matter." Nigel's eyes swept her coolly. "Shall I ring for assistance, or will you give me your weapon? You may choose."
"There is little choice," Rahab said, standing. She turned to one side so that he might not see her leg as she lifted her skirt and removed the dagger. Behind her, Nigel came to his feet, and Rae knew some satisfaction that he did not entirely trust her to surrender so easily. She faced him warily, preparing to strike if he should come toward her.
Nigel held out his hand slowly. "Come, do not be foolish about this. I have no intentions of harming you. Give it over."
Rae took a step backward. "What are your intentions?"
Nigel's brows arched in surprise. "Would you believe me if I told you?"
"I don't know."
"Then it can only be a waste of my breath to explain anything. Give it over."
"I cannot."
"Foolish chit. Do you intend to use the thing on me?"
"If I must."
"Oh, very well," the duke said impatiently. He turned his back on her as if she were no threat at all, went to the door and rang for Stephens. "I gather everything must be a battle with you," he told her. Stephens came to the door and blanched when he saw Rae standing at the window, weapon in hand. "You can see what has come to pass from interference in my affairs," the duke said to the butler, pointing to Rahab. "If the chit had been dealt with according to my wishes in the beginning, you would not be standing here now, gaping like some hooked fish. Bring a footman here and tell him what is toward. I want the girl's dagger. While that piece of business is being accomplished, have the room next to mine prepared for her and summon a dressmaker from Hemmings—one with enough skill to make the wardrobe my ward left behind fit this chit. See to it, man."
In other circumstances Rae might have laughed to see the shocked look on Stephens's face as he turned on his heel. At the moment she could find no humor in it, or in the thought that her own countenance was very much a mirror of the butler's.
Rae said the first thing that came to her mind. "I don't want Ashley's clothes."
"There is an expression that seems apt: Beggars cannot be choosers. There is scarcely time for a dressmaker to construct a new wardrobe for you before my guests arrive."
Rae felt as if her head was spinning. "I don't want any clothes."
The corners of Nigel's thin mouth lifted and his hooded eyes grazed her face and tense form. "I will remember that when we are afforded more privacy."
Rae's gasp remained unheard as the footman entered. She paled when she saw it was Jack. He had but to give her one appealing look and her hand loosened around the hilt. She tossed the weapon to him and he caught it deftly, handing it to the duke. Nigel dismissed him and shut the door. "That was hardly worth the fuss," he said coldly.
"I could not harm Jack."
"Jack? Oh, you mean the footman." He shrugged, placing the blade of the dagger beneath his boot. Giving a strong jerk on the hilt, he snapped the weapon in two and kicked both pieces aside. "Now, sit down. I mean to tell you a few home truths about your situation here. Sit!"
Rae's legs fairly buckled beneath her at his stentorian tones, and it was more luck than design that brought her backside against the brocade seat of the chair. She sat very still as the duke crossed the room and took his place opposite her.
"I cannot like that you have found your way into my home by the veriest succession of accidents, nor that you have been underfoot these past months without my knowing it, though to what purpose remains to be seen. But all is at an end. I can see that I may make use of your presence in having Ashley return to me."
"How? My family knows naught of where I am. They think me drowned."
"A situation that can be easily remedied by the letter you will construct in your own hand, asking that Ashley return to Linfield."
"Why would a letter from me make her come back?"
"Because you will outline very clearly that if she does not return your life will be forfeit."
It was not less than Rae had expected, but she had wanted to hear it from the duke's own lips.
"I think I should have killed you," she said sincerely.
"Probably. Why didn't you?"
"I did not think I could get away with it."
"Wise. You could not, of course, and it is the sheerest folly for you to entertain the notion again."
"I will not write the letter."
The duke sighed. "I could compose the missive myself, but it would not be as effective, nor as likely to be believed. I suppose I could send a lock of your hair. Take off your cap and loosen your hair." Rae did as she was ordered, thrusting her chin forward as he leaned forward to examine the mahogany curls. He flicked one strand aside and reclined in his chair again. "It is much as my agent described to me. Unfortunately it is not so unusual that your family will be assured it is yours. Have you any jewelry?"
"No."
"
Nothing personal that can be identified as yours alone?"
Rae thought about her pelisse. It had been a Christmas present from her father and specially made for her, but she was not about to share that with the duke. She felt seven times the fool for not taking her chances with Nigel Lynne and knew in her heart it was the babe that held her back. "I have nothing."
"That is regrettable. It leaves you with no choice but to compose the missive."
"I tell you again, I will not write it. I will do nothing to bring Ashley here."
"We shall see," Nigel said, dismissing her words with a negligent wave of his hand. "You will be so good as to explain why you have remained at Linfield this long. I would have thought this the last place a McClellan would wish to be."
"You are right, but I told myself there might never be an opportunity again to stop your single-minded pursuit of my sister-in-law. She wants nothing to do with you. She is happy at the landing and desires only to be left alone."
"Ashley's desires have never been a concern of mine," he said bluntly. "Never say, I've shocked you."
"It is rather surprising to hear you speak with so little regard for her and yet want her here. Your letters—your threats—were most explicit as to what you thought of her and what you wanted to do to her and her family if she continued to thwart you."
"She received them, then."
"No. Ashley never read them. I did. And buried them. They were too vile to be passed on to her. I believe you have a sickness in your mind, your grace." She added the last to taunt him, and it did not go unnoticed.
Nigel's eyes glinted and his mouth thinned dangerously. "I will caution you only once to mind your tongue." His lips relaxed, though there was a strained look in his face. "So, what did you find in the course of your stay here? Have you discovered the means by which I will leave Ashley to the McClellans and the McClellans to themselves?"
Rae wondered at his game. Did he suspect that she had stumbled onto the Bible's contents now that he knew who she was, or was he merely trying to discover what other loose threads he had left? "I found nothing."
"That is because there is nothing to find, Rahab." He used her name silkily, as if she were a lover to be enticed by the sound of it.
Rae's features remained composed even while she marveled that he could he so easily to her. Now that the documents were safely out of her reach, he had naught to lose by pretending they did not exist. On the other hand, she had everything to lose if she admitted her knowledge of them.
"I believe this interview is at an end," the duke said as he came to his feet. "Come, I will escort you to your new room so that you may think on writing that letter."
"I will not," she stated again, standing and lifting her head proudly.
"Do not be so hasty, m'dear. I will give you some weeks to mull it over. Of course, until it is done I can hardly give you freedom of the house, so your room must be locked."
"A locked room will hardly persuade me to do something against my will."
"Your protestations are tiresome, Rahab," he said, opening the study door. "I hope that by the time of the hunt you will come to your senses."
Rae found it difficult to swallow, and her heart beat wildly in her breast. Almost against her will she found herself looking up at Nigel's austere face. "The hunt?"
He nodded, seeing something in her face that finally satisfied him. "Good. The servants have explained the nature of the hunt. You will make a most charming and spirited prey."
Chapter 13
Rae kneeled on the wing chair she had pulled over to the window, resting her arms across the high back, and watched the approach of the carriages up Linfield's circular drive. She had no view of the passengers' descent from their coaches because they alighted almost directly below her, but it mattered not, for in her mind she could well imagine their colorful dress, peacock blue and green for the ladies, cool white satin shot with gold threads for the men. The women would dress their wigs with powder and spangles and tease them to the seemingly impossible heights that current fashion dictated. The men would each carry a silver-knobbed cane or a quizzing glass. Rae suspected the former was used surreptitiously to lift a lady's skirt above her ankles and the latter to examine a fair face and bosom.
She thought of the gown the duke had picked out for her to wear this first evening, and distress clouded her green eyes. He had chosen the emerald satin dress with its tightly fitting bodice to punish her. Knowing she was of a modest mind, the duke had purposely set out to find the gown in her redesigned wardrobe that would cause the most comment among his guests.
Rae had tried on eight gowns the day before, parading them in front of Nigel while he sat comfortably in her bedchamber, sipping warm brandy from a crystal goblet and remarking in bored accents about the unsuitableness of each garment until the emerald satin took his fancy. Rae glanced over to the bed where the gown lay and a shudder of revulsion went through her. It looked innocent enough against the white counterpane, but when Rae wore it neither she nor the dress could make any claim of innocence. The panniers that had to be worn under the gown spread the shimmering green material at her hips and made her waist look as if it could be spanned by a man's hand. The bodice fell off her white shoulders and hugged her midriff so tightly that Rae wondered if she could possibly wear it without fainting for lack of air. There had been a lace fichu to wear with the gown, because it had been originally fashioned for Ashley, whose smaller stature did not take up the entire bodice in length. Much to Rae's dismay, she discovered the low neckline cut neatly across her bosom so that one incautious move would reveal more than the swelling curves of her breasts. She had modeled the gown with the fichu, but Nigel asked her to remove it. Her stammering first refusal, then the high color in her cheeks when he tore it from her shoulders, convinced him it was the gown she should wear when he introduced her to his guests. He would never have to say the word mistress, he told her. His friends would know.
She almost had reminded him that whatever his friends suspected, it would be a lie. At the last moment she held her tongue, afraid her sharp words would bring about a reenactment of the harrowing scenes that had occurred the first three nights of her imprisonment.
Nigel had come to her on each of those evenings for the sole purpose of bending her to his will. Rae thought he looked like Satan himself in his blood-red dressing gown, standing in the shadows between his room and hers. He had talked to her for a long time that first night, telling her in explicit detail what he intended to do to her, explaining in quietly seductive tones that while he found her attractive, he found the thought of using her because she was a McClellan infinitely appealing. She would not merely be the means by which Ashley would return to him, she would also be the means of his revenge on her brother and father. It would give him great pleasure, he said, to have her beg for his attentions, and there was nothing in his voice that hinted it might be otherwise.
He had approached her bed then, pausing only to draw the curtains and snuff the candles. He slipped beneath the sheets and reached for Rae's trembling arms. His hand fell upon her breast and his thumb brushed her nipple.
Unlike with Newbrough, Rae warned the duke that she was going to be sick. Nigel's folly was that he did not believe her. The first evening he returned to his own room while Rae retched over the side of her bed.
On the second night he plyed her with spirits, hoping to relax her sensibilities. He forced her to curl beside him on the small couch in her chamber while his fingers teased her hair and fondled her shoulder or thigh. When he began to remove her diaphanous shift, she paled to nearly the color of the thing she wore and heaved the contents of her stomach over the arm of the couch. Disgusted beyond words, the duke left her alone.
No food was sent to Rae on the third day, and she understood the significance of the duke's order. When she heard him in his own chamber preparing to come to her, Rae prepared herself for his assault. He would be done with having her beg for him. Now he would be only concerned with ha
ving her. Rae had intended to fight him, to draw blood if she had to, but the aftermath of Jericho's violence toward her was more powerful than even she had credited, and once again she stopped the duke with a fit of painful dry heaves when he tried to force himself upon her.
It was enough for Nigel. In the following days her morning and afternoon meals were brought to her regularly, and he never approached her again for the purpose of lying with her. There were other changes also. In the evening Nigel escorted her to the dining room, where she ate at his side while Newbrough watched with narrowed eyes from across the table. Rae understood immediately by the duke's actions, his absent petting of her arm, the way his gaze sometimes fell upon her mouth, that he was presenting her to Newbrough as if she was indeed his mistress, and that she could only suffer by doing anything that would make the earl aware of the truth.
Rae did not know how Nigel explained her leap from lowly servant to the exalted position as his mistress, nor did she care. She admitted to a certain satisfaction that the earl believed Nigel had been successful where he had not, but she found no cause for gratification that others accepted it of her.
Rae could well imagine that the household staff was buzzing with the news. She only saw Nancy twice, and both times her friend had given her pitying glances that made Rae grit her teeth to keep from shouting the truth. She supposed they knew she was a McClellan, for she remembered how quickly the servants learned the duke's business, and she suspected Mrs. Timms was reminding everyone how she had known from the beginning that Rae was nothing if not trouble.
Rahab moved listlessly in her chair, thinking she had not the energy to cause trouble for anyone. Outside, the carriages continued their procession through Linfield's gate, and Rae watched as if spellbound, wondering which one, if any, carried Jericho Smith.
"I thought you would be ready by now," the duke said from the doorway to his room.
Rae spun in her chair nervously, as if she had been caught in some clandestine act. Her fingers played with the hem of her short shift, trying to pull it over her knees. In contrast to her skittishness, Nigel looked infinitely at ease, handsomely turned out in teal-blue satin breeches and waistcoat. His neckcloth was a veritable waterfall of ivory lace, and the ruffle on each sleeve covered his hands to his knuckles. His hair was covered with a flattering white wig that made his eyes seem almost black and gave his hollow cheeks a hint of color. He tapped the floor lightly with his cane to get Rae's attention.