by Lavinia Kent
He had hit his wife. That was putting it in a most extreme manner, but still it was the truth.
He stared about the library and considered.
It was far, far from the first time he’d played in such a manner, but it was the first time he had ever thought about it.
Swanston placed his whiskey back on the table, unsipped.
He had struck his wife and enjoyed it. He had not meant to spank her. It had not been preplanned. But God, he had needed it. The emotional vulnerability he’d felt had driven his need, his want, his demons. He might not have planned it, but he could not have resisted it.
Would he feel better if it had been planned? If it had all been under his careful control?
At least then he would have known he would never truly hurt her, injure her. Part of the game was always knowing that fine line. This had been different. It had been a thing of the moment, a desire to restore his world to its proper order.
And yes, he had wanted to see his mark upon her, to see the red imprint of his hand upon that pale flesh, to know that she would walk for the next hours belonging to him.
He felt himself thicken again as he remembered the feel of the sting as his hand had met her tender skin.
But would he ever have risked truly hurting her?
No.
The answer was truly that simple. He would never hurt Louisa.
He would rather cut out his own heart than cause her harm.
Picking up the cool glass, he took a great gulp of the fiery liquid, letting it burn down his throat.
He swung his boots off the chair on which he had set them, stood, and strode over to look out on sunlit gardens. Would he change what had happened if he could?
No.
That answer formed strong and clear.
No.
He was happy with who he was. Perhaps he would have prepared Louisa more—he’d felt her surprise at that first swat—but he would not change things beyond that.
In fact, he looked forward to leaving his mark upon her again.
She was back where it had all begun. That thought circled again and again through Louisa’s mind as she stared across the street at Madame Rouge’s. It was late in the day for her to be visiting. There had, as of yet, been no sign of clients—or indeed anyone else—entering the building, but she knew it would not be long. Dark came quite late during the summer months, but she did not think it would be that long before visitors began to appear.
She hoped Madame would see her regardless of when she arrived. Pulling her dark veils more closely about her face, she prepared herself, clenching and releasing her hands. Hopefully, the veils and light cloak would hide her from prying eyes. It could not be that unusual for women to be seen entering—or could it? It was one more item on that long list of things she did not know. Did Madame’s girls use the servants’ entrance? Did other women ever come here?
Leveling her shoulders, she marched across the street. Madame would talk to her. She would not consider any other possibility.
“Excuse me, my lady. May I have a moment of your time?” The voice came from behind her just as she stepped up to the curb.
Turning, Louisa found herself gazing up at a large, heavyset man. He was dressed in a jacket and trousers, but still gave the impression of a man used to heavy labor.
“I am sorry, sir, but I have an appointment to keep,” she answered politely, and did not stop.
She stepped forward quickly, and almost collided with another man, one who could have been the twin of the first.
“I am afraid you need to come with us,” he said, blocking her way.
“Please let me by, I do not wish to be late.” She tried to sidestep.
Two arms grabbed her tight from behind, wrenching her arms, pulling her back into the street and toward the yawning door of a dark carriage. Opening her mouth to scream, she found it stuffed with a not very clean rag, her veils forced back against her throat. She struggled harder, confused by what was happening. Why would anyone abduct her? Did they think she was someone else?
She fought harder, kicking out at the man in front, but to no avail. Before she could even try to spit the foul rag out, she found herself flung into the carriage and across one of the bench seats. One of the large men followed her, placing his weight upon her back. There would be no escape.
The first deep prickle of fear ate its way from her belly.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Have you seen my wife?” Swanston inquired as a footman brought in a tray of tea and sliced meats and breads.
The man placed the tray upon the desk. “I believe Lady Swanston said that she was making some calls and would be gone several hours. She did tell Marie, her maid, that she would be home in time to dress for dinner.”
Picking up a roll and a slice of beef, Swanston nodded his thanks to the footman. He had hoped to talk to Louisa before that. It did seem that the more they talked, the more they needed to. It was not the way he was used to operating. He never explained. He stated how things would be, and then they were. Even with his own family he took this approach.
But with Louisa everything was different. For the first time, he wanted somebody to understand why he did things—to understand him.
He turned to the window. Clouds blocked out the sun. No rain had yet fallen, but the threat hovered, a near physical thing. It was not a good day to be out.
He called back the footman. “Did my wife take the carriage?”
“I don’t believe so, my lord.”
“And yet, you implied that her maid is still here.”
“Yes, my lord. I just saw Marie taking some coats down to the laundry for a good brushing.”
“Check and be sure she did not take the coach. And ask Marie if she knows where her ladyship was headed. I would not like her ladyship to be trapped by the rain.”
“Yes, my lord.” Taking his dismissal, the footman once again slipped away.
It was odd of Louisa to go out without the carriage and unaccompanied, but perhaps she was used to doing things differently. He had not paid enough attention to her daily schedule. She ran her life in such an orderly fashion it had never seemed necessary. Still, he would have to discuss with her the changes in her life that being a marchioness made.
Discuss, not order. He was changing.
And he didn’t mind it, which was perhaps the biggest change of all—and sometimes, the most upsetting.
Enough with these feelings. He had a harvest to think about. It might be months away, but planning was required if he wished to be sure he had enough men available at the correct times. He did not wish other facets of the estates to suffer because of the great number of resources the harvest would require. His managers would work out the details, but he wished to be sure of the overview well ahead of time. He would have to inquire which crops were flourishing and which were not so that he could be sure the men were allocated properly.
The door swung open and he raised his head, expecting the footman with news that Louisa had taken the carriage after all.
“Do you know where your sister is?” Duldon asked, his face more marked with emotion than Swanston could recall at any time since the war.
“I was just asking the same about my wife. She seems to be out as well. Perhaps they are together.” He leaned back from his correspondence, carefully keeping his tone light.
“I dearly hope not. Your sister left your father’s house this morning at an early hour. One of the grooms said he believed the carriage she entered was marked with the Ormande crest. Your father did not even know she had gone. She carried a bag with her and did not bring a maid. She did make mention of Richmond, but her maid was not sure that was the destination.”
“How could the duke …?” Swanston let his words trail off. The question was pointless. The duke was unaware of much of what went on about him, and his children topped the list.
“I don’t know. And I don’t care,” Duldon answered. “What matters now is finding Bliss. I’v
e already sent a man to inquire at Ormande’s town house. Bliss has not been seen and the Countess has not been home since yesterday.”
“Is the count in Town?”
“He is expected this evening. He has been visiting with friends in Surrey, but is due to return for a musicale tomorrow.”
“We cannot expect help from that front, then. Why can the blasted man not control his own wife? I should have followed through with my demands that he send her north and keep her there.”
Duldon’s expression clearly said that he agreed, but he did not add the words, for which Swanston was grateful. He had enough worries without adding the guilt of what he should have done. It was better to focus on what could be done. “Does Ormande keep a house in Richmond? No, I know he does not. What of the Countess? It does not seem a likely location for her. Friends? Family?”
“Her family, what little she has, is spread across the continent, but none here as far as can be determined. And her friends, like her, do not seem the type for summerhouses along the river. I am not sure they ever leave the city.”
Swanston did not ask how Duldon knew these things, figuring the man must have some secret network that kept him informed. How else did he know everyone’s financial secrets before they did? “Then where?”
“A hotel? No, I cannot see the Countess being so public. There must be somebody.”
Swanston waited, watching the thoughts swirl behind his friend’s eyes. “Mayberry. The Countess has been in his company much in these past weeks, and I do believe he has a home he wishes to be rid of. I remember that it was not far from the city. Was it Richmond? It must have been. Blast, I should have paid more attention, but it seemed merely trivia. I do remember that it was left empty, with only the skeleton of a staff.”
“Do you know who to ask? It would be easy to lure Bliss to Richmond: It does sound the most harmless of locations.” Swanston pushed back from his desk, standing. He needed to move.
“Yes, I will make inquiry. And also pay a visit to Mayberry himself. He might know if the Countess is making use of his property—although perhaps not. Still, the direct approach is often best.” Duldon headed for the door.
“Send word as soon as you know. I will have horses waiting. At least Richmond is not far. Perhaps I should just—”
“No.” Duldon spoke with renewed calmness. “If they are not in Richmond you will not be here if needed. It is better to know for certain before rushing off.”
Damn it. Duldon was correct. He caught hold of his own worries and reined them in. It was too early to worry. And if—he buried the darkest possibilities away—Bliss was at risk, he did not want to have rushed off on a fool’s errand. The Countess was not a stupid woman. She was more than capable of creating a diversion.
“I will be here waiting. I will send someone to my father’s house to ask further questions. Somebody must know something—Bliss has never been known for keeping secrets. Perhaps her maid will know which of her friends she currently holds in confidence. Somebody must know something,” he repeated, hoping it was true.
With a sudden lurch, the giant of a man lifted his weight from her, almost impaling her on the bench’s springs in the process, and joined his friend on the seat across. “We’re far enough now—go ahead and scream if you like. Nobody in this neighborhood will care. Don’t move for the doors, though—the lady did say she wished you undamaged. But she is well aware that accidents can happen.”
The lady? What lady? Louisa worked her way up to sitting, keeping a careful eye on the men across from her. The carriage jostled hard, the roads growing worse by the second. Curtains hung closed about the windows and she did not dare move them to see where they were. It must still be London; they had not traveled that far.
She pulled the filthy rag from her mouth, relieved to be free of the lingering flavor of fish. Had the man used it as a napkin? She rather hoped so, given some of the other possibilities. She spit the clinging veils from her mouth. Should she remove them?
The air filling the carriage was rank with the smell of sweat and … sewage? Where exactly were they traveling? Despite the foulness, she pulled deep breaths into her lungs, trying to clear her head. It had been hard to breathe with the lummox sitting atop her. Leaning back on the seat, letting her head rest against the hard cushion, she tried to find some sense of calm. Panic would not help anything.
They must have made a mistake. There was no reason to abduct her.
Again her mind turned to the lady. It might be useless to argue with them if they were under someone’s employ, but … “Can you tell me why you have taken me?” That sounded reasonable.
“We were told to—and paid to,” the second man, who had not been sitting on her, answered.
“Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“Then how do you know I am the woman you were meant to take?” She reached up and removed the pins that held her veils in place.
The men eyed the pins, evidently judging their threat as weapons.
She placed them with deliberate action on the seat beside her and removed her covering. “Surely I am not who you meant to grab. Why don’t you take me back and we can forget this.” Despite her determination not to argue, she could not help herself. She wanted to be home.
“You’re who was pointed out to us. She said you’d have brown eyes, brown hair, and a large mouth. The description seems to fit.”
“Pointed out to you?”
“Her man followed you, told us who to get. And that’s enough talk. We just deliver and help out as needed, however she needs.”
Somebody had been following her. Her mind stopped at those words, her fear growing. She fisted and relaxed her hands again and again, took deep calming breaths. None of it helped.
If they had been following her then it might actually be her they wanted. It made no sense. Why?
Money?
She did have funds, and Swanston had access to even more. If it was ransom they wanted then perhaps this could all be resolved quickly.
The thought did not bring the reassurance she had hoped.
“Mayberry knows nothing.” It was several hours later that Duldon stomped back into the library. “He says Lady Ormande only wished to talk with him about trout fishing. How likely does that seem?” It was almost possible to see the black fumes swirling about him. “I did find out about several London properties the woman may have an interest in, but—”
“Rest easy, my friend. Bliss has been found.” Swanston leaned back. It had all been a worthless worry. He wondered if Bliss had planned it as repayment for being told to stay away from the Countess.
“Explain.” Duldon marched to the desk and stared down at him.
“Yes, it was Ormande’s coach, but Bliss was merely borrowing it. I don’t know why she didn’t use one of my father’s coaches, but I would not be surprised to learn she was attempting—with some success—to stir the pot. She is spending a few days with her friend, Lady Carolyn Winters, who is preparing for her first ball. Apparently a note was sent to my father, but he tossed it aside along with everything else for his secretary to deal with. The letter was found when I directed that the house be searched. I have sent inquiry to Lady Winters, Carolyn’s mother, and apparently the two girls are there, giggling and as happy as can be.”
“Then why …?”
“I do not know. I cannot believe it is as simple as it appears, but I can see no other reason. Bliss might enjoy a joke, but I have never known her to act with malice.”
“Neither have I.” Duldon sank into a chair across from the desk, his body limp with relief. “Can I have a whiskey? I feel in need of refreshment.”
“As do I.” Swanston summoned the maid.
“I will be talking to your sister. She should know better than to cause such worry. Can you imagine if we had gone to Richmond and not found her there?”
“You will be talking with her?” Swanston could only question his friend’s involvement.
“Do you
take issue?” Duldon stepped forward, his shoulders braced.
“I take it this is your formal offer? I was not sure if you were in jest when we discussed Bliss earlier.”
“I intend to marry her.” There was no question involved in the statement.
“For the land?” Swanston raised a brow. He’d never seen Duldon’s hackles rise over a financial dealing.
“Why else would I choose her?” Duldon stared out the window.
“Why else indeed?” Swanston found he rather liking seeing this possessive quality about Duldon. He loved his sister, but it would be nice to have somebody else worry about her. He did, after all, still have two more to marry off.
The slightest of scratches sounded at the door, and his porter entered. “Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but her ladyship has not returned and Cook wishes to know if she should hold dinner back an hour. Her ladyship does like time to wash and dress before eating.”
A cold knot formed in Swanston’s chest. “Did she send word?”
“No, my lord. No one has heard from her since she departed.”
“And when was that?”
“About one, my lord.”
Swanston’s eyes moved to the clock. It was well after seven. His wife had been gone over six hours. The worst of it was that he wasn’t sure that was entirely unusual. He just didn’t know.
Turning his face to his friend, he met the other man’s eyes. No, Duldon was not the only one to feel sudden concern. “Send her maid down. I need to ask her some questions.”
“Yes. I’ll send Marie.” The porter eased from the room.
The building was dank and in disrepair. And it was in better shape than many of its hulking neighbors on the narrow street. Louisa could understand why the men had ceased to be concerned by the thought of her screams. She imagined that shouts of terror were not unusual in these parts. Drawing her cloak more tightly about her, she descended from the carriage and followed the men. Running would be futile; she was likely to end up in more trouble than if she proceeded onward. The men had said that she was not to be harmed—if possible.