by Vanda Vadas
He rounded a bend in the road and sighted the coach up ahead. It stood motionless. A break in the journey so soon? They should have covered more miles than this.
‘Hyah!’ he yelled, driving his horse faster.
He dismounted before the horse came to a complete stop, simultaneously noting the coachmen’s absence and the carriage door jerking back and forth. A length of rope secured between the carriage door handle and a wheel prevented it from opening.
‘Eloise? Arlington?’
He worked quickly to untie the rope, mindful of Maisy’s frantic face at the partially opened window. She babbled something unintelligible. Male voices called from a distance.
He yanked the door wide. ‘Where’s Elly?’
Maisy burst into tears. ‘The highwaymen. They took her!’
A chill stole over him. ‘And His Grace?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, a blubbering mess.
Julian sprinted in the direction of the voices hailing him.
‘My lord!’ The bound footmen nodded towards their master who’d been bound and stripped to his linen shirt, drawers and stockings. Julian removed the gag, his actions swift.
‘Where in God’s name is my sister?’
Eloise opened her eyes.
She blinked back the reoccurring terror of waking without sight. Had she overslept or woken early? She listened and lay still to gauge time and household routine. Memory, her saving grace, gave her sight to navigate her home, regardless of the hour. Yet she’d woken to one nightmare only to live another.
This was not her home.
The feathered pillow and soft bedding carried the scent of lavender. Not her favourite. Her last waking thoughts came flooding back. The highwayman. Gareth’s warning … at the mercy of ruffians … be strong.
She sat bolt upright, running her hands over limbs and body, and between her legs. Her muslin dress and stockings remained intact. So too, her virtue. She heaved a great sigh of relief.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and listened for any sign of life or movement. A clock ticked close by. How long before it chimed the hour? If she were to locate it and open its glass face, her fingers could read the position of the hour and minute hand.
She stood with arms outstretched and padded carefully across the floor until her toe connected with something hard. Her hands located and followed the curve of finely carved timber. Sensitive finger pads rubbed back and forth over armrests and damask-like material. A fashionable chair?
The discovery, together with the lavender-scented bed and plush pile of rug under foot, gave her hope of being in a respectable household. When she touched a wall, she followed it, taking small silent steps.
Another sturdy obstacle presented itself. Exploratory fingers traced the contours of timber and handles. A tall chest of drawers. She caught the scent of roses, lifted her arm to reconnect with the wall and knocked something over.
Glass smashed on floorboards. Water splashed her feet. She stifled a gasp and waited. All remained quiet. Heartened, she pressed on. With each step, her toes gingerly tested the floor, feeling for broken glass before placing her weight on each foot.
She located a door handle, placed an ear to the panel and listened. Nothing. Heart hammering, breathing shallow, she opened the door without a hitch. Exploring the unknown layout of a house had its risks, yet she refused to leave her fate in the hands of her abductor.
She stepped forwards, palm raised to locate an outer wall. Instead, she pressed against cool cotton and hard muscle. A warm hand came over her mouth, stifling her scream. The strength of another hand pressed into the small of her back, and held her firmly against a man’s body.
‘I see we pick up where we left off. Do you fancy another long sleep, my lady?’ Amused arrogance rang in her abductor’s voice.
His underlying threat incensed Eloise.
He stepped her back into the room. Pain shot through her heel, her whimper muffled behind his hand.
‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ he said.
His arrogance had mistaken her reaction as a sign of compliance. When he took his hand from her mouth she gulped in air.
‘You have no allies in this house,’ he warned. ‘A maid will soon attend you. Don’t think to turn her against me. Nothing surrounds us but rolling countryside, sheep, and fine horses.’
Eloise stiffened with the mention of horses, the pain in her heel forgotten. Was it not enough that he should steal Blakely thoroughbreds without having to abduct her as well? Perhaps he planned to ransom her back to her brother.
‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’
He freed her to stand on her own. ‘Are you hungry? I’ll have a servant bring you food.’
She favoured her throbbing heel and turned carefully to her left, the direction of his voice. ‘I’m not hungry. Answer my question.’
‘Something to drink, then? You must be parched.’
He’d moved again. This time she didn’t turn. ‘Face me in discussion. Or does my blindness offend you?’
‘Don’t move!’
His reply had come from behind her. He set her teeth on edge. ‘Then are you such a coward that you must speak to my back and not to my face? I was taught that if one made an enemy of another, they should at least have the courage to look that person in the eye.’
‘Is that what I am to you? Your enemy?’
How had he moved so quickly to now stand in front of her? And what was that she heard like marbles placed in a dish? ‘You are the cause of my condition and –’
‘I apologise. Believe me. I own and carry the weight of your misfortune.’
‘You intercept the ducal carriage, rob me and my companion, whisk me away against my will, and ask if we are enemies? Do not take me for a fool!’
‘I’ve not abducted you. Let’s just say I’ve … borrowed you.’
‘Borrowed me?’ Her patience snapped. Nervous fear unleashed the temper she’d kept in check. ‘I’m not some chattel to be trifled with. I demand to know your name, who you are, and why I’m here. Answer me!’
‘You’re right about one thing. Your relationship with His Grace does indeed make you my enemy. You also make too many demands for one who is in no position to do so.’
Of all the audacity. ‘Now see here –’
His mouth robbed her of speech, sealing her lips. He pulled her close, one hand on her back, the other behind her neck. She should push him from her and reclaim her train of thought. She should insist he stop the way he leisurely employed his tongue to trace the inner contour of her lips. What means or method of defence should she draw on to resist him?
Helpless to save herself from his embrace, she instead went with the tide and succumbed to a wave of sensual awareness.
Too soon, he ended the kiss. Reality struck home when she placed her full weight on her injured heel. She gasped in pain. Had he not caught her, she’d have dropped to the floor.
‘You’re hurt.’ Concern for her rang true in his voice.
‘My foot.’
Eloise made no attempt to fight him when he scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed. She heard her stocking rip. His warm hands examined her foot.
‘There’s a fragment of glass in your heel.’ He cursed. ‘There were pieces of it where you stood. I thought I’d retrieved them all.’
Eloise had believed he’d circled her intending to intimidate. His concern for her safety made her view him in a different light. ‘I broke the vase. A clumsy consequence of being blind and moving about in unfamiliar surrounds.’
‘It’s your foot that concerns me, not the vase.’
She heard something akin to the snap of cloth being shaken, and detected the scent of freshly laundered cambric.
‘This might sting,’ he warned.
Eloise winced when he pulled the shard from her heel. Something soft wrapped tight around her foot.
‘You needn’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s not a deep cut. This handkerc
hief will stop the bleeding. I’ll fetch water and a bandage.’
Footsteps faded from the room. His absence gave Eloise time to catch her breath. To process her provocative awakening the instant he’d pressed his lips to hers. The languid stroke of his tongue tracing her lips had weakened any resolve to fight him. His taste had left her giddier than every step danced the night of her birthday ball. It was the second time she’d savoured him. Already, he had grown dangerously addictive. It would be easier to resent him if he were to treat her unkindly.
‘Something else ails you?’
His voice startled her. When had he re-entered the room? She rubbed her temples. ‘Headaches. They come and go.’
He set about cleansing her foot. ‘Tell me what happened after I left you on the balcony that night?’
‘I fell.’
‘Fell?’
‘Down … the steps. When I followed you.’ She sighed and relaxed her hands on the pillow, either side of her head. Soft linen wrapped around her foot.
‘Your headache?’ he enquired.
‘Is … easing.’ In the ensuing silence, she sensed his eyes upon her. ‘Thank you for tending my injury.’
Again, footfalls retreated. A drawer opened and closed. He returned to her side. ‘Sit up and I’ll tie a cloth around your eyes. It will help –’
‘Yes, I know. To relieve eye muscle strain. The physician told me. Are you a doctor as well as a highwayman?’ She’d spoken a little too tersely.
‘I’m neither a thief, highwayman nor a doctor.’
‘Then what are you? Who are you?’
‘Sit up and close your eyes.’
She did as he asked. Nimble fingers placed and secured the cloth over her eyes. His caring bedside manner had an unsettling affect. All the more reason to be wary.
‘I’ll send for the maid. She’ll bring you a meal. In the morning you’ll have hot water for your toilette. I bid you goodnight.’
‘Wait! I –’
‘Under no circumstance will you question the maid. About anything. Do not compromise her livelihood. She is paid handsomely for her service, and her silence.’
His authoritative tone brooked no argument. He spoke as if he were used to giving orders. Eloise wouldn’t have it. ‘You still haven’t explained why I’m here.’
The door closed. Heavy footfalls faded. Eloise fell back against the pillow. The man’s tight-lipped arrogance failed to deter her from planning escape. With each rhythmic tick of the clock, her mind worked to outsmart him.
She had potentially only one ally. The maid. Befriend her. Garner sympathy for the plight of a blind woman forcefully taken from home and family. Earn her trust and ask her to send word to Julian.
The clock chimed. Eloise listened, alert, and counted each strike of the hammer. Eight o’clock. An accurate sense of time put perspective back into her world without sight.
There came a timid knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
‘My name is Lily, my lady. I’ve brought you something to eat.’
How fortunate to discern an agreeable, young-sounding maid rather than a gruff senior member of household staff. ‘Come sit beside me, Lily.’
‘But –’
‘Please.’ The bed depressed beside Eloise. ‘I’m without sight. I tumbled down a flight of stairs and hit my head.’
‘I’ll attend your every need but first you must eat.’
The bed shifted again. Eloise let herself be safely guided to sit on a chair before a table. She declined Lily’s offer to assist in feeding her the selection of meats, cheese and bread. ‘I can manage, thank you.’
‘Very good, my lady. I’ll dispose of the flowers and glass and inspect the rug for splinters.’
Eloise ate, all the while listening to the maid rustle about the room. ‘Thank you, Lily,’ she said when she was finished. ‘That was delicious.’
‘The captain will be pleased when I tell him you cleared the plate. Now, I’ll help you into these nightclothes.’
Eloise gave no thought to whose nightclothes they were. More importantly, Lily had mentioned a captain. She resisted the urge to ask questions about the lord of the manor. All in good time. The maid had unwittingly let down her guard. She might do so again.
Stripped down to her shift, her toilette complete, Eloise thanked the cheery maid.
‘You’re very welcome, my lady. In the morning you can enjoy a nice hot bath.’
The door closed. Alone, Eloise settled down into the softness of the bed, to mull over the events and words exchanged during the past hour. When she heard heavy footsteps outside her door, she sat up and gathered the blankets about her.
She listened. There came the unmistakable sound of a key turning the lock, as if securing a prisoner in a darkened cell. Perhaps he locked her in for her own safety. Though Eloise resented her jailer, she smiled with satisfaction. He’d be a fool to think she wouldn’t make another attempt at escape.
She waited to hear his retreating steps. Did he listen outside her door in the event that she might fall and harm herself again? Perhaps he considered paying her another visit.
Finally, he retreated, his steps hesitant and heavier than before. Surprisingly, his withdrawal disappointed Eloise.
Up until now, she’d found the tenor of everyday life wanting and had yearned for distraction beyond the structure of daily genteel pursuits. Life lacked purpose. The parameters of etiquette and convention stifled her free spirit.
By all accounts she was wrong to welcome the sniff of adventure in her current predicament, one that could end with dire consequences. Being blind and held against her will was not quite what she’d imagined away from the monotony of drawing room conversation and music recitals.
Yet try as she did to push the hostage-taker from her mind, her body and senses betrayed her. His voice, deep and commanding, left her giddy. Who was he? The maid had called him captain. Well-spoken, and with good diction, he’d clearly had a suitable upbringing, Eloise surmised. An educated man even though her opulent surrounds seemed at odds with his calloused hands.
How far from home was she? The pounding in her head returned. She massaged her temples, concentrating on the sound of the clock marking time.
Somewhere between conscious thought and the brink of sleep, memory enticed her back to the captain’s kiss. To the harnessed power in his arms when he lifted and gently lay her on the bed. An unbidden thrill.
Curiosity and unaccustomed joy served to whet Eloise’s appetite for singular pursuits.
A dangerous encounter.
Her conscience wrestled with guilt and excitement until, light-headed, she fell peaceably asleep.
Chapter Five
Zach strode into the library and downed a glass of brandy. He thought of Derby, currently in London, and hoped his friend managed far better in attending to legal matters on his behalf, than he himself fared with the belligerent blind woman.
He poured another drink. The potent liquid had packed a powerful punch the night he’d first laid eyes on the girl. Now, it paled in comparison to the unexpected jolt he’d received when sampling her lips. Though experienced in the art and delights of bedding a woman, kissing one had never quite had this effect on him.
By God, she has mettle! He was unused to dealing with a woman who openly spoke her mind. Women had brazenly offered their favours for his in return. Is that why he’d found himself standing at her door, unable to walk away? Because she presented a challenge? So that he could engage himself in a battle of wills only to silence her with another stolen kiss?
Temper had clouded his rationale. Perhaps he’d gone too long without the softness of a woman beneath him. He drained the brandy and strolled towards the open fire. The flickering flames drew his gaze and held him there, mesmerised. Cosy warmth seeped into his bones, thawing tension and easing stiff muscles. Here, in the traditional library, he enjoyed familiarity and contentment. Old worn chairs offered comfort and relaxation. Leather-backed tomes of various inter
ests lined solid oak shelves.
He caught a whiff of an unclipped cigar. His late father had enjoyed smoking them. He remembered, too, that as a young man, he and his father would sit at the large desk poring over ledgers and discussing the family fortune. He’d been groomed to inherit the title of Duke of Arlington and all the responsibilities that came with it. To know and understand all matters of running the estate, of caring for and overseeing the wellbeing of those who tenanted and worked the lands.
Happy childhood memories of fencing practice and fishing trips with his father to the estate’s river filled his mind.
His heart, no more than an empty vessel, ached. It gave rise to a sudden yearning for something that, until this very moment, he’d never given thought to.
An heir.
A child of his own, to love and protect and to make and share memories with. He would love to have a child think of him in the same fond way he thought of his father.
To do right by any child, he must first take a wife.
Memories faded. His vision gave way to a green flame. The colour of a certain pair of female eyes. Sail the stars! He shook his head and made his way to her door.
Tense fingers gripped the key, ready to free the lock and enter her room. Then what? An image of her pliant lips tempted him. He shook his head again. What the devil was wrong with him?
He turned towards his own bedchamber. What was her name?
Tomorrow, she would answer his questions.
Julian paced in the drawing room. Anxiety had taken its toll, leaving dark shadows under his eyes, his face drawn. ‘I’ll kill the damned bastard! I swear. I’ll kill him!’
Catherine sat in an armchair and twisted a handkerchief in her hands. Her gaze followed his every move. Her parents, Lord and Lady Wentworth, occupied the chaise.
Gareth offered reassurance. ‘We will find her. You must be patient.’
‘Patient? We’ve scoured the countryside with still no clue as to her whereabouts.’