"Liar!" He grabbed a chair off the desk and hurled it at her.
Ellen ducked and the chair struck the upper panes of the window, showering her with glass. Slowly, she rose and slipped her hand into her skirting pocket. "Of course, perhaps I do have it. . . ." She pulled out a small slip of paper.
Hunt dove for Ellen.
She slipped her hand back into her pocket and spun around. If she were to die, she'd be damned if she'd die by Hunt's hand. Without another thought, she leaped through the window into the darkness.
Ellen hit the small overhang below with a crash and a grunt of pain. The front porch roof had been farther below than she anticipated.
She rolled onto her side, still stunned. Above her she heard Hunt shout her name, but in the darkness, he apparently couldn't see her.
She smiled to herself as she pushed up into a sitting position, taking care not to slide any farther down the shingled roof. She had lost one of her slippers in the fall but had somehow managed to cradle herself well enough to have apparently not injured the child she carried.
So now what? she thought. She retrieved her calfskin shoe and slipped it on her foot.
Hunt had disappeared from the window. Surely he was on his way down the steps now. No doubt he was hoping she had met the same fate her first husband had. Wouldn't he be surprised when he didn't find her lying on the ground in a pool of blood?
Of course, Ellen knew she couldn't stay here. A bright streak of lightning could light up the sky well enough for her to be seen on the porch roof by Hunt or one of his henchmen.
Her only choice, of course, was to go down, to slip off the porch roof onto the ground without being seen, then run. But once Hunt realized she'd escaped onto the porch roof, he would expect to find her on the ground.
She glanced up at the open window of her bedchamber above her. The room was now cloaked in darkness. Hunt must have taken the lamp with him. What if she went back up?
Carefully, she stood. The cedar shake shingles were slippery and difficult to walk on, but slowly she made her way up the angled roof toward the exterior wall of the brick house.
Below her she heard the shouts of men. She thought she detected Hunt's bellow as he stepped out the front door below her.
"Find her!" he barked above the clap of thunderclouds. "Find her or it will mean your testicles, men!"
Reaching the wall, Ellen stood on her tiptoes. She could just reach the windowsill above her head. "Heavens, how will I get back in the window?" she murmured, fighting the panic that lurked just below the surface of her mind. She couldn't possibly pull herself up.
She ran her hands over the cold, wet brick. As if her prayers had been answered, her fingertips met with a line of decorative headers. The row of bricks, some three feet off the porch roof, had been mortared in from side to side, rather than from end to end as with most of the rows. These decorative header bricks formed a narrow ledge rather than being flush with the wall.
Ellen took a deep breath and raised her foot. Catching the narrow ledge with her toe and using the windowsill above for leverage, she stepped up onto the brick. With her arms well within the window, she somehow manged to throw first one leg and then the other over the windowsill.
Ellen hit the floor with a heave of relief. She was safe now, at least for the moment.
But now what? Once Hunt didn't find her on the ground, as he was surely discovering right now, he would begin a search.
She needed a weapon. Gavin's musket down in the library. Then she would escape through the tobacco fields, across the woods to the nearest neighbor. Without a horse it was a long way, but she had no other choice.
Shaking with cold, Ellen raised her rain-soaked skirts and ran out the bedchamber door.
The house was dark and silent now. Ellen didn't know where Mary and Rob and Julius were. She could only pray they were safe.
Cautiously, she descended the front steps, turned down the hall, and hurried for the library. Occasionally, a streak of lightning lit up the dark rooms. She saw no one. Outside she could hear men shouting as they raced about searching for her.
Ellen reached the library and slipped inside. Even in the darkness, she could find her way around. The musket was on the far wall in the corner, near one of the new bookcases. She had only to . . .
"Striking portrait, don't you think?"
The sky lit up almost as if on cue, to flash a streak of light across Hunt's pale, gleaming face.
Ellen turned her head ever so slightly to the portrait of Thomasina that Hunt pointed to. She never felt the weight of the object that struck her in the head, only the solid floor as it rushed up to meet her limp body.
Chilly and emotionally drained, Gavin urged Hunt's white steed down the dirt road that wound between two of his tobacco fields. The sun was just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting orange-gold light over the rain-glistened tobacco.
Christ's bones, but it was good to be back on Heaven's Fate again. Gavin wondered why it was that a man had to leave behind what he loved to realize just how much he loved it. That was the way it had been with Heaven's Fate when he'd returned from England in the spring. That's the way it was now with Ellen.
He didn't know what her explanation would be. He didn't even know if he wanted to hear it. What he did know was that, God save his mortal soul, he loved her. His brother's wife or not. Murderess or not. He needed her as he needed this land; he needed her more.
Julius had made him realize that. And once he reached Ellen and made things right between them again, he would find Julius and thank the old sea dog. Gavin smiled in the early morning sunlight, grateful for the friendship he knew now was precious.
As Gavin rode into the barnyard, he heard the sounds of the bond servants in the distance, preparing for the workday. Ordinarily, Gavin would have walked out to the field with the men, but not this morning. This morning he had to find Ellen.
He dropped his reins at the front door and took the steps two at a time. He thought he would go upstairs to the bedchamber he shared with Ellen and find her asleep in their bed. He would slip into bed beside her and pull her warm, naked body against his. He would shower her face with light kisses, waking her gently. Then he would apologize for being the fool he was. She would want to talk, of course, but first they'd make love by the light of the early morning that by now was pouring through the bedchamber windows.
Gavin hurried up the front steps, not even taking the time to call out to Mary, whom he heard stirring in the kitchen. He had to see Ellen! He had to tell her how sorry he was.
The moment Gavin reached the bedchamber door, he knew something was amiss. The door was cracked open barely enough for a man to slip through. When he tried to push it open, something heavy stopped it. Gavin squeezed through the door, to find that someone had tried to barricade himself in. Ellen . . . It had to be Ellen.
The window where his desk had been was thrown open, the draperies torn. A puddle of water lay on the floor. The pieces of a broken chair lay among the shards of glass.
Gavin spun on his heels, racing down the hall and the steps. "Mary! Mary!"
"M . . . Master?" a feeble voice cried from the kitchen. "Master Gavin, is that you?"
Gavin swung around the corner into the kitchen. Mary was down on her knees tending to a still body.
It was Julius.
"What the hell happened here, Mary?" He pushed back his hair, frantic. "Where's Ellen?"
"Gone, master," she sobbed.
"Gone?"
Mary mopped Julius's brow. Blood and purple bruises stained his face until it was barely recognizable. Someone had nearly beaten the life out of him.
Gavin grabbed Mary's shoulder and shook her gently. "Gone where?"
"The ghost, he took her," she wailed. "Took her far off."
Gavin looked away, then back at Julius. He went down on one knee. He could see that the sea captain was still breathing. "Julius?" He touched him gently, not knowing what bones were broken. "Jules, can you hea
r me? It's Gavin."
"About time," Julius croaked, not opening his eyes. "What took you so long?"
"Jules, where is she? Mary's babbling about some ghost."
"Hunt."
It took a moment for Gavin to find his voice. He knew he hadn't heard Julius correctly. He leaned closer. "What did you say, old friend? I didn't quite hear you."
Julius licked his bloody lips. "Hunt. The Duke of Hunt took her. I'm sorry, Gavin. Tried to make it to the house." A tear ran down his shattered face. "I tried, but I never made it."
Gavin's chest grew so tight that he feared he wouldn't be able to breathe. This was all his fault. Had he been here, this never would have happened. Had he been here . . .
Julius reached up and caught Gavin's sleeve. "Have to hurry. A ship. He came up the river on a ship."
"What ship?"
"Don't . . . don't know. Just heard one of the boys who popped me around. You got to hurry, Gavin. I'd help, but . . ." He tried to laugh.
Gavin squeezed his arm, hoping to comfort his friend. "You're going to be all right, Jules. Mary here will take care of you. She'll bring in a medicine man or something."
Julius smiled as he slowly opened his eyes. "Good luck. I'll be waiting for you right here."
Gavin gave Julius's hand one last squeeze, and then he leaped up and ran down the hall. First he would need weapons, then men. He just hoped to hell some of his bond servants had experience fighting on board a ship, because Gavin sensed that was the only way he was going to be able to take the Duke of Hunt and save Ellen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ellen woke slowly, as if recovering from heavy drink. Her head pounded and her mouth was dry. As she became conscious, sounds and smells began to filter through her mind. She could smell the salt of the bay, the dampness of wood, and the scent of roasted duck. Her hands and feet were tied and she was lying in a bed. The entire bed rocked gently. Occasionally, she heard the scrape of a chair or the clink of silverware. Wherever she was, she was not alone.
Hunt.
His image and memories of what had happened at Heaven's Fate reeled in her mind. Hunt had kidnapped her!
It was all she could do to remain still, with her eyes closed. But she knew her best chance for escape would be if she was well aware of her surroundings and the situation at hand.
For a long time Ellen lay awake, pretending to still be asleep. She was on a boat. She knew that. In a small room on a ship's bunk. Hunt's cabin, no doubt. And the man—she knew it was a man because she could smell his shaving soap—who was enjoying the roast duck had to be Hunt.
An eternity seemed to pass before Ellen finally lifted her eyelids. She immediately caught sight of Hunt's back and his shock of white hair, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly again.
Dear Heavenly Father, how will I ever escape? she thought, trying to control the panic that rose in her throat, threatening her ability to reason. The ship was sailing, she was certain of it from the sounds of the swishing water against the hull and the voices of the sailors topside.
Sailing where? Back to England? No! Not there! She would never go to London again. She wanted her baby to be born here, in the Maryland Colony. Her baby . . . Ellen slid her bound hands down to her belly, praying the child was all right.
I have to get out of here! Ellen thought fiercely. I've come too far to let Hunt best me now!
"Ah ha, I see you're awake."
Ellen's eyelids fluttered at the sound of Hunt's silky voice. "Let me go!" she cried through clenched teeth.
He pushed back in his chair, a gold toothpick protruding from his lips. He crossed his muscular legs and folded his hands over his flat stomach, taking his time in responding. "Now, you know I can't do that, Thomasina." He spoke to her as if she were a young child who'd been naughty.
She shook her hands he had bound with a purple silk scarf. "Untie me. I'm not a sow to be trussed!"
"I suppose there's no need to keep you bound any longer. Now that we've set sail, where could you possibly go?" He smiled, his eyes narrowing with interest. "But I must say I do like the look of you tied like that. It does something for a man." His pink-eyed gaze met hers. "Do you know what I mean, dear?"
The sexual innuendo was obvious. Her face hardened with disgust. "Just untie me so I can sit up! I've lost all feeling in my feet from being bound so tightly!"
With a sigh, he rose and crossed the short distance between them. He sat down on the edge of the rack and grasped her shoulders, pulling her up into a sitting position. "Now careful"—he shielded her head with his hand—"you don't want to bump yourself on the bed above."
Once he had her seated in an upright position, he took his time in untying first her stockinged feet and then her hands. The moment she was free, Ellen slid to the far end of the bed, rubbing her wrists.
Hunt rose and walked back to the table, which had been set for a noonday meal. "I must admit that was very clever of you, producing a lover's note rather than the letter we both know I must have. I actually thought it was the letter for a moment." He pulled a white ferret from the pocket of his canary-yellow shirtwaist and began to stroke its head. "Quite clever indeed, almost amusing."
"I told you I don't have the letter!"
"I know that now."
Her dark eyes met his. "What do you mean?"
"Why, I took the pleasure of searching your sweet person for it while you were unconscious, of course. I wouldn't have left that task up to just anyone."
Ellen shuddered at the thought of Hunt running his white hands over her flesh . . . flesh that belonged to no one but Gavin. "So now you know I speak the truth?"
He sighed. "I have to tell you, dear Thomasina, I was shocked to find that you're breeding. A woman of your talents must certainly know ways of preventing such unfortunate complications of pleasure."
"Back to the letter, Hunt." She didn't want to discuss her baby with this vile man! "You know now that I don't have it." She kept her voice on an even keel. The only way out of this now would be by wit and wit alone. "If I don't have it, if I have no proof, then I'm of no threat to you any longer. I was really of very little threat to you ever."
"You destroyed it, didn't you, puss?"
She smiled at the thought. "The very night I read it. Before I went up to the tower to speak with Waldron. But I kept the names all this time"—she tapped her temple—"here."
"Clever, so very clever." He lifted his ferret to his shoulder, allowing the little creature to climb across the brocade trim of his epaulettes. "You figured out that it would actually make more sense not to have the letter I sought, so I couldn't find it." He shook his head. "I could use a mind like yours on my staff. That secretary of mine, Robards, hasn't the sense to find his way in off the street."
"So what do you do with me now?" she asked softly. It was almost a challenge. She wasn't afraid of him. Not any more. Whether she lived or died, she would never fear him again. "Will you kill me?"
His facial expression turned to one of exaggerated shock. "Kill you! Why, sweet, how could you even suggest such a thing!"
"You are going to kill me." It was a simple statement.
His face went flaccid. "Not quite yet. I've other immediate plans."
She shook her head. "I'll not be a part of your ugly games. I'll kill myself first."
He picked up one of the purple silk scarfs he had thrown carelessly on the rack. Slowly, he pulled it through his hand, taking great pleasure in the feel of the silk at his fingertips. "But, sweet, it's such a dreadfully long, tedious journey across the ocean. I should think I'll need some sort of entertainment besides the young man."
"Young man?" Ellen felt the panic rise again. "What young man?"
Hunt touched his upper lip with the tip of his tongue suggestively. "Well . . . the boy you call Rob, of course. The handsome redhead. Such a young, slim body. I can't wait to taste of him."
Ellen leaped off the bed. "This is between you and me! The boy has nothing to do with it! You can't kidnap
him like this, you son of a bitch!" She reached out to strike his smirking face and he caught her wrist, twisting it painfully behind her back.
"I can do anything I wish." He grinned. "I'm the Duke of Hunt, one of the most powerful men in England. You know that." He swept his hand through the air. "Everyone knows that."
Ellen hung her head. Not Rob, dear Lord, not Rob, her mind screamed. To be defiled by a man such as Hunt will kill the boy . . . the boy she was responsible for. . . .
She lifted her chin, her gaze meeting Hunt's with defiance. Carefully, she withdrew her hand from his. "Set the boy ashore and I'll do what you ask."
A smile crept across his pale lips as he lifted the silk scarf and dropped it over the back of her neck, pulling her so close that she could feel his breath on her face. "Anything? I can be quite creative, you know."
"Anything."
Hunt leaned forward to brush his lips against her cheek, but just before he touched her, there was a loud rap at the cabin door.
He swore. Ellen took a quick step backward out of his reach.
"What in God's Holy name is it?" Hunt bellowed, dropping the ferret onto the dining table.
"Trouble, Your Grace."
Hunt took two long strides to the door and whipped it open. "Trouble? What sort?"
It was the captain's first officer. "The captain says to tell you we got a single-masted sloop sailing dead for us."
Ellen's heart leapt in her breast. She knew who it was. Gavin! He had come for her! She didn't know how he had known she was in trouble or even why he cared. All she knew was that Gavin would save her from this hideous man.
"Hunt hit the bulkhead with his fist in fury. "You're certain they're bound for us?"
"It's obvious, sir." The young officer dropped his gaze to the floorboards. "I think they've come for the woman and the boy."
Hunt scowled. "Have your men weapons?"
Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity) Page 33