My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  As she knew, the chance for escape was slim, especially given her current physical limitations. But if an opportunity presented itself, she’d promised herself she would take it, no matter how unlikely success might be.

  Until now, Middleton had been incredibly vigilant, his eyes fox-sharp as he kept track of her every movement. During the day he watched her, making sure she had access to implements, including knives and kitchen tools, only when she was cooking. The remainder of the time he kept such items securely out of her reach. When he needed to venture outside, he would bind her wrists with rope and tie her to a chair. At night, he locked her inside the cottage’s only other room, a windowless chamber so tiny the single bed and washstand barely fit inside.

  But his diligent attention was beginning to show cracks in its foundation, worry and a lack of proper sleep setting him on edge. Perhaps a subtle bit of goading might nudge him over that edge just far enough to make a mistake. Despite the risk, she supposed it was worth a try.

  “He’s not going to come, you know,” she declared boldly. “If Rafe was planning to race to my rescue, don’t you think he’d be here by now?”

  Middleton spun to face her. “Oh, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t abandon his wife, especially not with you swollen big as a sow with his brat.”

  She forced herself to give a casual shrug. “Ordinarily that would be the case, but you mistake the real circumstances of my marriage to him.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “We took pains to keep it a secret, but I suppose it makes little difference now. Last year I agreed to be Pendragon’s mistress. My brother owed him a great deal of money, you see, gambling debts and such, and well, Rafe and I struck a bargain. My favors in exchange for payment of the debt.”

  An amused gleam came into the viscount’s eyes. “Finally, the truth. I did wonder about your unlikely liaison with a mongrel of Pendragon’s ilk. How the two of you…er…came together, so to speak.”

  “It wasn’t out of personal desire, I assure you,” she lied. “It was an obligation, no more, no less.”

  “Then why the marriage, if he was already getting the milk for free?”

  “This…mistake”—she paused, motioning toward her belly—“would be the reason. When he discovered I was with child, he saw his chance to force his way into the nobility. Using my lineage and his wealth, he knew he would be able to procure a title that would otherwise have been denied him. To him, the child and I are irrelevant, since he already has what he wants—a place in the Lords and a peerage.”

  “Privileges that cur does not deserve.” Middleton growled, spitting out a curse. “Prinny is nothing but a greedy fool, sullying the greatness of this nation by inviting ill-bred rabble like Pendragon to join the ranks of true peers. It positively disgusts me to think of honorable noblemen being forced to countenance such as he in their midst.”

  Of course it isn’t a problem for honorable noblemen to associate with titled rapists and murders, she reflected with an inward shudder. At least not to Middleton’s twisted way of thinking.

  Glancing toward the sputtering fire, she used the moment to steady her nerves. “So you see, he has little incentive to chase after me. If you are wise, you’ll cut your losses and let me go. If you release me, I’ll promise to say nothing of this…misadventure.”

  “Will you indeed?” He barked out a laugh, his voice rife with sarcasm. “How gracious of you, my lady. But you see I have a vested interest in holding you, since I’m in rather desperate need of funds at the moment. If Pendragon won’t pay, then your family will.”

  “My family will hunt you down and kill you,” she spat in sudden anger.

  “Then they’ll have to stand in line to do it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Just before we left London, I learned that I am being sought for questioning by the authorities. My bloody former father-in-law has gotten hold of some documents that implicate me in the death of my wife. If he has his way, there will be a trial. A murder trial.”

  He began to pace. “Of course no one will believe Hurst’s drunken rantings, but there will be enough dust stirred up to make my life quite difficult for a time. How dare they think to jail me, to humiliate me in public? How dare they, any of them, question a man of my stature? Me, Burton St. George, Viscount Middleton.”

  He ended by thumping a hand against his chest in obvious outrage, his eyes closed in a struggle to regain control of his emotions. When he opened them again, his gaze was a placid blue.

  “No,” he said, “should I have need of payment from your family, they will pay and be able to do naught about it. Once I’ve collected the ransom for you, I plan to be on a ship headed for France. I figure I’ll take my chances with Boney, maybe travel on to Austria or Italy. I hear it’s always sunny and warm in beautiful Italia.

  “But despite your doubts, I know Pendragon will come,” he continued. “Today or tomorrow at the latest. Like it or not, you are his wife, and that whelp growing in your womb, his spawn. He’ll come, if for no other reason than pride.” He lowered his gaze to her stomach. “Of course, if you’d prefer, I could try to help rid you of that…thing.”

  She shivered, more convinced than ever that Middleton was not quite sane. Instinctively she cradled her arms around her unborn child, shielding it from the monster that stood before her.

  He laughed aloud, visibly enjoying her fear and revulsion.

  “Thank God Maris found out what you were before it was too late,” she said.

  His laughter died, his expression turning nasty. “That’s another matter I always wondered about. Why your innocent little sister took such a sudden aversion to me on the eve of our engagement. She was to be mine, you know. She was mine until someone whispered stories into her tender little ears. Was it you? Did you warn her off? Or did Pendragon tell you some sad tale?”

  He sauntered closer. “I can see by your face he did. What did he say? Did he reveal what I and my fellows did to that pretty little tart of his? The one he was going to marry? Believe me, she wasn’t worth it, though I did enjoy seeing Pendragon suffer. He actually cried, did you know that? Imagine a grown man weeping over a worthless trollop like her.”

  Julianna shuddered, unable to hide the involuntary reaction.

  “Bastard’s been set to ruin the lot of us ever since, though I didn’t realize it soon enough. Challoner, Underhill, Hurst, and now me. Well, he won’t win; I’ll make sure of that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  “I mean that once I have his money I am going to kill him.”

  She sucked in an audible breath.

  “I’ve already selected a spot for his grave.” He moved closer and bent over to grab her chin between his hard fingers. “If you don’t watch yourself,” he whispered, a cold smile on his lips, “I’ll do the same for you.”

  She suppressed the whimper that rose in her throat.

  He studied her for a long moment, his gaze moving over her the way a snake slithered over prey.

  Finally he turned away, releasing her chin. “Too bad you’ve grown so disgustingly fat. Otherwise, we could have found far better ways to occupy our time together.”

  She shivered, sending up a small prayer of thanks for her pregnancy weight. If she lived through this, never again would she complain about having put on a few extra pounds.

  He moved across to the window once more and stared out. A long minute ticked past before he turned, thumping his hands against his sleeves. “Christ, it’s freezing in here and the fire’s nearly out.”

  Julianna goggled at the statement, since he sounded as if he were only now noticing the cold.

  “I will get some wood,” he declared, crossing to pick up the rope he used to bind her. “I’ll feed and water the horses, too, while I’m out,” he mumbled beneath his breath as he approached.

  She tensed in anticipation, hating it when he tied her to the chair, leaving her utterly helpless and alone. She nearly begged him to reconsider b
ut knew her protestations would only make him enjoy the process more. Biting her lip, she remained silent as he secured one of her wrists to the arm of her chair, wound the rope twice around her body, then secured her other wrist to the opposite chair arm.

  Then he swept the cutlery off the table and secured it where she could not reach. Tossing his greatcoat over his shoulders, he let himself out of the house without another word.

  The baby kicked, as if to protest their confinement. “I know, little one,” she murmured, comforting herself as much as her child. “I know.”

  Willing herself to relax, she leaned fully back into the chair. As always, she tested the ropes in the unlikely hope she might find a millimeter of give. Her heart gave a double thump when her bindings moved, if only fractionally. To make certain she wasn’t letting desperation cause her to imagine things, she tugged again, and discovered definite movement in the rope.

  Her pulse leapt with sudden hope and renewed determination. She had assumed her rash conversation with Middleton to be completely ineffective, but now she realized it had been more successful than she had imagined. Still, had she distracted him enough to make a real mistake, one that would allow her to gain her freedom?

  Only time and effort would tell, and she knew she needed to hurry if she had any chance of success. He would be back soon, likely too soon, and if he found her on the verge of escape, heaven knows what he would do to her.

  She quaked at the thought but pushed her fear aside. Straining against her bonds, she ignored the discomfort the ropes caused as they bit into her body, working to force as much slack into the bindings as possible. The gap wasn’t enough to slip through, not without some measure of genuine suffering involved. Realizing there was no other way, she gritted her teeth and concentrated on freeing her right hand.

  The rough hemp dug into her tender flesh as she fought to yank her hand through the loop. Pain streaked up her arm, nearly unbearable as the rope scraped away the top layer of skin. Closing her eyes, she gave one last tremendous tug, knowing she would not be able to endure the agony for much longer.

  Her hand popped free.

  Ignoring her bleeding wrist, she lost no time loosening the rope from around her body, tearing frantically at the last knot that held her in place. The tips of three of her fingernails snapped off in the process, but she barely noticed, dumping the rope on the floor. Climbing to her feet, she hurried to the door, but stopped seconds shy of reaching for the knob. Prudently, she detoured to the window to check for Middleton. When she saw no sign of him, she wrenched open the door and ran out, racing across the yard as fast as her legs would carry her.

  She hadn’t gone far when a pain stabbed through her middle, bringing her to a halt. Panting, she bent forward, arms wrapped around her swollen stomach. Almost immediately the agony began to subside, but the discomfort was a sharp reminder that she was in no condition to push her body too far or too hard, not without risking harm to herself or her child.

  She was about to start forward again when her pulse leapt at the sound of horse’s hooves pounding in the near distance.

  Is someone coming? she wondered. Oh, lord, please let them stop and help me. On second thought, since I’m praying, please let it be Rafe!

  Moments later, a familiar dark-haired rider rounded a curve in the rutted country lane.

  It is Rafe!

  Her heart pounded fast as tears of joy stung her eyes. Beside him rode Ethan Andarton, the two men galloping toward her.

  She met Rafe’s gaze, reading the relief in his intense green eyes. Smiling, she took a pair of steps forward.

  Without warning, his expression changed, alarm flashing over his face. He opened his mouth and shouted something to her, but the erratic March wind swept his words away. Scowling, she fought to understand, intuiting an instant later what he must be trying to tell her.

  Middleton! How could she have forgotten about him, even for a second?

  As she turned and tried to sprint away, an inflexible arm curved around her waist, locking her within his grasp. Straining, she fought to break his hold, but his arm clamped down tight, squeezing until pain shot through her ribs.

  “It’ll hurt more if you don’t stay still,” he told her, his voice cruel with menace.

  Fearing he might harm the baby, she ceased her struggles.

  “Let her go, St. George!” Rafe shouted, he and Ethan bringing their mounts to a halt only a few feet away. Rafe moved to leap off his horse, but Middleton’s next words froze him in place.

  “Stay where you are, Pendragon,” the viscount warned. “And don’t come any closer, not if you want her to live.”

  A click sounded near her ear, the cold barrel of a primed pistol set against her temple. She trembled, closing her eyes for a long moment as she fought the urge to scream. Only when the need passed did she let herself look again.

  “You know me well enough to realize I’ll shoot,” Middleton said. “You don’t want me to shoot, do you?”

  Rafe shook his head. “No. Just tell me what you want.”

  “You obviously received my note, so you know what I want. Twenty thousand pounds and the journals. Give them to me now.”

  “I will, once you release Julianna.”

  Middleton increased his grip. “Not until I have the items. You brought them, did you not?”

  “Of course. Just as you outlined.”

  “Then let’s see.”

  Rafe shifted in the saddle. “You’ll forgive me, but I have reason not to trust you, St. George. I thought it wise to take precautions, so before my arrival I stopped and buried the money and the books.”

  The viscount stiffened in obvious irritation. “Buried them where?”

  “Not far. Let Julianna go and I’ll show you. You can keep the gun if you like.”

  “Rafe, no!” she cried.

  Both men ignored her, their interest focused squarely on each other.

  A long moment passed while Middleton weighed his choices. “You.” He took the gun off her long enough to wave it at Ethan. “Get down from your horse. Before you do, though, give me your weapons. You too, Pendragon. Open your coats so I can see what you have.”

  Ethan glanced toward Rafe. “Are you sure?”

  “Do it,” Rafe ordered. “We’ve no other choice.”

  “That’s right,” Middleton said. “You don’t have a choice unless Pendragon there would prefer becoming a widower.”

  Slowly, both men withdrew the guns from their pockets, then unbuttoned their greatcoats, each revealing another brace of pistols a piece.

  Julianna wanted to tell them not to comply, not to give up the only protection they had, but she stayed silent, knowing her pleas would be brushed aside as before.

  “Vessey. The saddlebags, put the guns inside,” the viscount demanded.

  Moving carefully, the marquis dismounted and did as he was instructed, opening the leather pouch on his mount and sliding the guns inside.

  “Now, come forward and leave it. Close, but not too close, if you take my meaning.” Middleton renewed his threat by pointing the pistol at her again.

  Ethan gave her an apologetic look, then walked forward as far as he dared and set down the bag.

  “Move away.”

  As soon as the marquis stood several feet distant, Middleton urged her forward, his fingers biting into her flesh in a bruising grip. Only when he drew close enough to touch the saddlebag did he act, giving her a rough shove to the right as he bent down to snatch up the pouch.

  His push sent her staggering, feet hurrying as she fought not to lose her balance. A new pair of arms wrapped around her, catching her before she could fall. Steadying herself against Vessey’s reassuring strength, she glanced around to check on Rafe.

  With a sinking heart, she saw that Middleton was already seated on the other horse, his weapon pointed straight at Rafe.

  “Take care of her, Ethan,” Rafe said.

  Turning their mounts, the men rode away.

  “Oh, G
od, Rafe.” A shudder went through her, shock and fear making her whole body quake. “Middleton will kill him.”

  “Rafe will be all right,” Ethan said, though by his tone she could tell he only half-believed his own words.

  “We have to go after him.”

  “I can’t leave you. Rafe would have my head.”

  “Then don’t. There are horses in the stable and a coach. If we start now, we’ll only be a few minutes behind.”

  “Out of the question.”

  Pushing herself from his hold, she planted her hands on her hips. “Then I’ll do it myself.”

  Turning on her heel, she headed toward the barn.

  Behind her he uttered a low, muttered curse. “Women!”

  Moments later, she heard him follow.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  HOW MUCH FARTHER?” the viscount demanded, his weapon trained on Rafe as their horses proceeded up the road.

  “Not much now,” Rafe said. “It’s just a little ways ahead.”

  Of course, “a little ways” was as near or far as Rafe chose to make it, since his statement about having buried the money and journals was nothing but a ruse.

  Knowing how imperative it had been to convince the viscount to release Julianna, Rafe had relied on deception to lure Burton away. Clearly, his improvised plan had flaws, such as the possibility of getting himself shot and killed, but at least St. George was no longer a danger to Julianna and the baby.

  The truth was that Hannibal had the ransom, the funds and journals, stored safely inside a locked chest in a room at a nearby inn. But Rafe knew he would never have been able to talk St. George into releasing Julianna, then accompanying him to a public inn. The viscount, quite rightly, would have seen it as a trap.

  Besides, Rafe had never had any intention of giving the money or the journals to St. George. He’d only brought them along as a kind of last-resort insurance policy in order to win Julianna’s release.

  Now all he had to do was lead St. George to a likely-looking spot in the woods, then find some method of distracting him long enough to wrest the gun from his possession. Once he had the viscount under control, he would march him back so St. George could be turned over to the authorities.