by EM BROWN
But if I may request a favor of our friendship one last time, it is that Vale learn of my infidelity from you. My only consolation is that while it may anger him that I am to go with Elroy, the pain lies only with his pride and not his heart. Indeed, I am now glad—grateful—that his heart belongs to the Countess!
I will forever treasure the affection and friendship you have shown me, and remain
Forever yours,
Hettie
“Is it not terrible?” Charlotte wailed. “What a monstrous person is Lord Elroy!”
The letter crinkled in Vale’s grasp, his knuckles white with rage. He had read the letter through twice. And what angered him the most was the pain he imagined Harrietta to have felt in writing this.
“Our poor Hettie!” Charlotte bemoaned. “What are we to do?”
“We must reach Harrietta before Lovell lays a hand on her,” Vale replied with a shiver.
Adia returned to announce that she had refreshed his vase and agreed the flowers were wilting and perhaps a new bouquet would do better?
“Yes, I wish for a large bouquet with a variety,” Vale told her. “When did your mistress depart earlier?”
“Early in the mornin’, yer Grace.”
He swallowed an oath. She had several hours on them. Patting Adia on the head, he went to ring for Francis, who admitted he must not have been up at the time Harrietta stole from the house.
“My gloves and hat,” he told Francis. “And pistols.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened as she watched Vale remove his robe, don a rich purple coat, and strap a sword into place.
“Do be careful, Vale!” she pleaded.
“You had best return home,” he advised, “in the event you receive more notices from Harrietta.”
Nodding, Charlotte turned to leave.
“You will reach her before she comes to harm?” she asked from the doorway.
“It is Lord Elroy who must need worry of harm,” he assured her.
Within minutes Vale was astride his fastest mount and set off on the road that would take him to the Elroy estate. He hoped that Harrietta would be traveling by coach, which would require at least one rest or change of horses at a posting inn. He shuddered to think what Lovell might do with Harrietta.
He had no choice but to reach her in time.
Chapter Nineteen
THE POSTING INN WITH its sparse furnishings and unsettling proprietor, a short balding man by the name of Ezra Miller who openly leered at Harrietta despite her best attempts to appear disdainful to the little man, made her further regret her decision to have an affair with Elroy. She had no friends, she had realized as soon as she had stepped into the carriage awaiting her in London. Neither Elroy’s coachman nor footman seemed to take any interest in her. She had the sense their loyalty to Elroy exceeded any chivalry they might feel toward her plight.
“Would my lady care for a glass of port?” cackled the innkeeper with a smile that showed he had two gold teeth.
He had a bottle in hand and a dirty glass, which he set down on the table before her. Harrietta would have preferred to take a stroll outside, away from the dank air that clung inside the inn, but she worried if someone should by chance recognize her, though, admittedly, it would be an unlikely chance. There were more attractive posting inns along this route than this one.
Sitting down at a wooden table, she rallied herself not to cry, though a red nose and swollen eyes might be enough to turn Elroy away. She had put on her plainest gown, an uninspiring brown thing with minimal lace edging, but realized afterwards that Lord Elroy would likely do as he wished. Indeed, he need not touch her for there to be scandal.
The innkeeper approached her once more, and she gave him a haughty look, hoping he would leave her alone. It failed.
“There be a gentleman asking for your company,” he informed her with another lascivious grin.
“It would not be proper for me to visit with him,” Harrietta snapped. “I have neither my abigail nor a chaperone with me.”
“But that has not stopped my lady from traveling on her own.”
“You impudent little thing,” she exclaimed with the emphasis on little.
He bristled and glared at her. “He said you would come to him for you are acquainted. He awaits in a room upstairs.”
Panic set in briefly. Who could it be? She hesitated, but rose from her chair. Scowling at the innkeeper, she allowed him to lead her up the dark stairwell. He opened a door to a room at the end of the hallway, snorting when she hesitated at the threshold.
“Come in,” a voice said.
She stepped inside the room. It was no waiting room but a bedroom. A bed with threadbare sheets occupied the center. A dilapidated chair and table stood next to the bed. Upon the table lay a whip, a cane, and shackles. Her heart began to pound, and she turned quickly back to the threshold, but the innkeeper closed the door before she could protest.
“Well, my dear, I could not wait.”
The voice gave her chills. It was Lord Elroy.
He emerged from the shadowy corner, dressed in his riding habit. If it were not for his sinister person, he could be deemed an attractive man. Instead, he appeared the very devil to her.
“The thought of bending you to my will was far too delectable,” he continued, advancing toward her, riding crop in hand.
In the hands of ‘his lordship,’ the crop had been a sensual instrument. But with Elroy, it appeared a malicious tool.
He surveyed her as if he were a wolf assessing its dinner. Harrietta kept her eyes focused on the far wall. She had noticed no other patrons in the inn. If she were to scream, no one would hear. Those that did—the innkeeper and Elroy’s men—would not care.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She refused. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. The force shook askew the bonnet that had been pinned to her hair.
“I gave you an order,” he snarled.
She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. Her heart was beating madly in her chest.
“I see that you are a tigress that needs taming,” he noted. “How delightful.”
He stepped back and smiled at her. “In less than an hour, I will have you wishing you had never crossed me.”
“You are an odious man,” Harrietta said. If he would torture her, she would not submit quietly. “I can see now why my husband detests you.”
The corner of his mouth curled disdainfully. “He will detest me further when I am done with you. Dunnesford would do well to learn from me the proper way to master a woman. When we are done, you will come to prefer my masterly hand.”
“I could never prefer you,” Harrietta retorted. “You are not fit to hold Vale’s riding crop for him.”
Fire ignited his clear blue eyes and for a moment she thought he might strike her. Lifting her chin, she prepared herself for the blow.
“Come, Marchioness,” he said instead. “We will be spending a lot of time together in the next few days. Let us be friends.”
Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her to him and crushed his mouth to hers. Harrietta pushed against him, but he held her in a tight vice until she clawed at him, her nails scraping along his cheek. He let her go with a howl and put a hand to his face. She ran for the door, but before she could wrench it open, he yanked her back in the room. Her arm jerked painfully in his grip. His other hand shot toward her neck.
“The sensation of not being able to replenish your lungs,” he snarled as he tightened his fingers about her throat, “can be quite evocative. That penultimate breath, before darkness threatens to cloak you, when you are completely at the mercy of your master, when you know not if your next breath shall be your last, is most marvelous. For some women, it has been known to throw their bodies into euphoric spasms.”
Harrietta was trying too hard to wrest his hand away from her to listen to what he said. Having no success in disengaging his hand from her throat, her lungs contracting in desperate need for a
ir, she kicked him as hard as she could in the shin. He loosened his grasp enough for her to escape. She pulled open the door and tumbled down the stairs with Elroy but two steps behind her. He caught her as they stumbled into the main room of the inn where she had sat a few moments before. At first he had only her bonnet in hand, but the ribbon strained against her and came undone. But then he grabbed her by the arm.
“But how exciting of you, Marchioness,” Elroy said with attempted nonchalance that failed to belie his anger, “to provide me a delicious chase.”
Gasping at the harsh manner in which he wrenched one arm behind her—she thought her arm would disengage from her shoulder—she reached for the nearest object in reach. Grabbing the bottle of port that had been left on the table, she broke it against the side of his face. His cry of agony frightened her more than anything till now, but she did not chance to look back. Hurling past the bewildered Mr. Miller, she ran outside and looked around. The road was deserted.
Only the stable boy looked up in surprise. He had with him a mare that he had meant to unsaddle.
“Thank you for retrieving my horse,” Harrietta said to him as she grabbed the horse by the mane and mounted the animal.
“But, tisn’t yours, m’lady,” the lad protested.
Ignoring him, Harrietta urged the horse down the road as fast as she could. Any moment she expected to hear the sound of Elroy or his henchman behind her. And it was unlikely she would come across someone to help her, but she could not go back. That instinct for survival, older than mankind itself, told her that Elroy was far too dangerous to chance with.
THEY HAD ALMOST BYPASSED the decrepit posting inn but for the carriage outside. Reigning his horse, Vale dismounted and entered the inn, prepared to offer all the gold he had on him for any information about his wife.
What he did not expect to find was Lord Elroy, his cravat stained purple, his hair sodden on one side, and a glower on his face. Upon seeing Vale, Elroy leaped to his feet. Vale instantly drew his sword. Elroy responded in kind.
“Sir, I protest!” the innkeeper approached Vale.
“Stand aside, lest you wish to feel the tip of my rapier through your gut,” Vale warned, his eyes fixed on Elroy.
A bright pink hue caught his gaze, and he looked down on the floor to see with horror a bonnet. Harrietta’s bonnet.
“Your wife is a delightful little thing,” Elroy told him, seeing the object of Vale’s eye. “Much more playful than I expected.”
Trying to conceal how much those words made his blood boil, Vale turned his gaze back to Elroy. “I will have your entrails greasing the floor if you laid a finger upon her.”
At that moment, Francis and his other footman, Hans, entered the inn.
“Search the inn,” Vale ordered them, his sword still pointed at Elroy.
“The Marchioness is gone. She proved a disappointment in the end,” Elroy drawled.
Stilling the urge to spear the man, Vale commanded Hans to search the inn and Francis to search the area surrounding the inn. He looked at Elroy more closely, noticing the scratches upon his cheek. His heart lightened at the thought that perhaps Harrietta had fought Elroy. She had too much spirit to succumb so easily to the likes of Lovell.
“I think her weakness a perfect match for you,” Elroy said.
“I should have a found a reason to disembowel you long ‘ere now,” Vale returned calmly, shedding his coat.
“To do so would have required more dominance than you possess,” retorted Elroy as he removed his coat.
The two circled each other with swords en garde.
“And you derive yours from torturing creatures weaker than yourself. The only means to power for a coward.”
A muscle rippled along Elroy’s jaw. Pushing aside a chair in his path, he lunged toward Vale.
“Creatures like your wife, you mean?” he asked when Vale parried the thrust. “She did scream horribly at the touch of my whip. You have not trained her well.”
Vale calmed the rage in his veins. Elroy meant to bait him such remarks. It was of no use to ponder the truth of these statements.
When Elroy received no response, he added, “But there is hope for her, I think, for she did become wet for me. Very wet.”
His temper faltering, Vale attacked, but Elroy defended the line.
“Had I known her quim to be such a delight,” Elroy said between hard breaths, “I would have seduced her earlier.”
They exchanged attacks and parries, their skills fairly matched. They circled one another in the small confines, the innkeeper looking on with consternation but too afraid to intervene. After his one moment of weakness, Vale recovered and concentrated on evaluating the lines of attack preferred by his opponent. Elroy, after a few more attempts to taunt Vale into relinquishing his guard, found he needed to conserve his breath. Both were perspiring.
But Elroy could not resist a final jeer. “Do tell me if the child she conceives has the telltale eyes of an Elroy.”
Vale took the opportunity to execute a feint, which Elroy did not detect and thereby allowed an opening. His sword sliced along Elroy’s shoulder. Elroy grabbed his wound, but he did not surrender. Hatred burned in his eyes even as his face grew a shade paler.
“I hazard a coward like you, Elroy,” Vale could not resist, “to be far too impotent to father a child.”
Drawing a wide arc with his sword, he offered Elroy a chance at himself, but parried Elroy’s line of attack. Over and over, he allowed Elroy to thrust and lunge at him but managed each time to keep his opponent at bay. Vale could tell the wound was having an effect on Elroy, whose stance had weakened substantially and whose steps lagged.
“I am satisfied that I had a taste of her,” Elroy spat.
This time the provocation worked to Vale’s advantage, who pressed all of his anger into a vigorous attack. Elroy tried to defend the attack, but he was being backed into a wall. His footing slipped, and Vale pounced. Elroy managed to scuff the top of Vale’s hand before losing his blade. Having disengaged Elroy’s sword and kicked it from reach, Vale pointed his own at the man’s throat.
“I could spear you dead and have no misgivings,” Vale told him.
“Then do it,” Elroy grimaced. “Or are you too much a coward?”
“I will allow you to live that you may indulge in your disgrace. But you are never to set foot in the Cavern again. And if you or your sister should ever speak of or come near Harrietta, I will see you at dawn and dead within the hour.”
Hans was waiting with linen. Vale wrapped his hand quickly and put on his coat. He was certain Elroy would no longer pose a threat. The man was a true coward beneath.
“Did you find her?” Vale asked Hans.
The man shook his head.
The duel was over, but Vale felt his heart tightening. There was to be no reprieve for him until he knew Harrietta to be safe.
Chapter Twenty
SARAH ASKED NO QUESTIONS despite the obvious pallor and tremble of her mistress. Harrietta was grateful to be home safe, but she could not be comforted.
“Where is his lordship?” she asked in a weakened voice after she had refreshed herself with a change of clothes—she had a mind to burn what she had worn lest she should be reminded of her horrid encounter with Lord Elroy.
“It is unclear,” Sarah answered, offering a cup of tea, “but he left in some hurry with Hans and Francis.”
Harrietta had wondered if he perhaps had news of the affair. Perhaps Charlotte had revealed the contents of her letter. Or perhaps Lord Elroy could not wait to trumpet his triumph to the world. But even if Vale knew nothing, she knew she had to tell him everything. She had no wish to keep such an ugly secret from him.
For hours she paced her chambers, waiting for the arrival of the Marquess. She could fabricate no appetite for dinner but did have a glass of sherry to calm her nerves.
And then she heard his steps. She knew not how she recognized the cadence and weight of his tread. Somewhere in her mind, she f
elt she had often listened for it.
A knock sounded at the door. Harrietta glanced up from her chair and voiced a tremulous, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal the Marquess. He had not changed attire, but Dunnesford was never known not to have handsome clothes. Even with his disheveled hair and dusty boots, he appeared regal and dashing.
There was a silent pause. Harrietta dropped her gaze.
“Harrietta,” he said.
Her name sounded forced, and she wondered if fury choked him too much to speak.
“You are safe,” he finished.
She rose to her feet, but promptly sank to her knees. Clasping her trembling hands together, she mumbled, “Forgive me...forgive me.”
Again, silence. Then she heard him approach her. A hand was cupped under her chin and her face lifted upward. The motion caused a tear to slide from the corner of an eye.
“What is there to forgive, my dear?” he asked hoarsely as he searched her face.
Her chest closed in on her heart. The lack of anger in his tone pained her more. She thought for a moment that she preferred him to rant against her. Did he not know? Would she have to explain it all?
“There is much that needs forgiveness, my lord,” Harrietta said, looking away. “I—I have not taken your advice as regards L-Lady Falconet and Lord Elroy. I have been reckless at cards, and owe them a grand sum. T-two thousand pounds. And...”
Having confessed the easier part, she took a breath before launching into the difficult part of her tale of woe.
“I have known for some time of your association with Alexandra and Lovell,” Vale said softy.
She glanced in surprise at him.
“Not of your debt,” he clarified, “but I knew you to engage in cards with them.”
“You knew? But you did not stop me?” She thought of how easily he had acquiesced to raise her allowance to fund her card play.
“I have no wish to dictate your life, Harrietta. Nor,” he added, “would I suspect that your headstrong ways would follow my dictates were I to issue them.”