by Regina Darcy
“Have you any idea where she’s gone?” he asked the butler a moment later, only to see the other man shake his head. “Then when did you see her last? Think, man!”
The butler looked away, thinking hard. “I believe I saw her walking in the direction of your study,” he replied. “When you summoned her this afternoon.”
“Summoned her?” Jonathan repeated, completely bewildered. “I did no such thing.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace,” the butler replied, looking suddenly terrified. “But Miss Martins said that — ”
Everything made sense at once. “Miss Martins told you this?” he interrupted, his jaw tightening as the butler nodded. “I see. You are not to blame, so do not concern yourself with that. Go and make sure my horse is readied, and then see to Lord Shropton. He may remain here overnight.”
“At once, Your Grace.” Rushing from the room, the butler left Jonathan alone once more. The Duke’s heart pounded with frustration, anger, and worry. He was soon marching along to where Lord Shropton still stood. He gave him a brief smile.
“Your daughter is already retired for the evening,” he lied. “But you may remain here as my guest until the morning.” Ignoring the man’s thanks, he inclined his head just a little. “I must get back to my guests. You will excuse me.”
The door to the dining room was flung open, hitting the wall with a bang that startled both the ladies.
“What did you do, Miss Martins?” Jonathan thundered, watching the smile slide from her face. “I know it was you, so what is it you have done?”
“Nothing,” she squeaked, no longer the confident young woman she had been just a moment before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not lie to me!” Jonathan roared, slamming his hand on the table. “I know you have removed her from this house in some way. Now, where is she?”
“Jonathan!” his mother exclaimed, with a shocked expression on her face. “How dare you – ”
Jonathan cut her off with a slice of his hand through the air. “This does not concern you, Mother,” he said, tightly. “Miss Martins, I believe you were about to tell me what you have done with Miss Lakeheart.” He watched as she pressed trembling lips together, clearly thinking about what she was to do.
“I warn you now,” Jonathan continued, his voice dropping to a quiet, yet menacing, tone. “Should you keep this from me, I will ensure that the reasons for the dissolution of our betrothal will land firmly on your head. However, should you tell me, then it shall be dealt with as quietly as possible.”
His mother let out a shriek. “Jonathan, you cannot mean that!”
Jonathan said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on Abigail. The slight air of confidence she had held thus far slowly drained away as she realised what he meant. There would be no marriage, not now, and rumours would be rife. Dropping her head into her hands, she let out a moan.
“Now, Miss Martins,” Jonathan demanded, having no time for theatrics.
Finally, Abigail lifted her head. “Miss Lakeheart has been taken to Scotland by her stepbrother,” she replied, her shoulders slumped. “I believe they are to marry in Gretna Green.”
After finding out what path they had taken, Jonathan drew himself up to his full height.
“I expect both of you to be gone from under my roof by the time I return,” he commanded his mother and Abigail. “Miss Lakeheart and I are to marry, and I want nothing to mar her happiness.”
TEN
Beatrice screamed again, only to have Steven slap her hard across the face. Shocked, she rocked back, slumping onto the bed.
“That’s better,” he muttered, his eyes narrowed.
“Have you not realised, my dear, that no-one can hear you? And, even if they did, they would not dare come knocking now. I am practically royalty around these parts!” He strutted around the small, dank room of the inn where they’d stopped, filled entirely with his own self-worth.
“You should be thankful,” he continued. “There have been many young ladies eager to make a match with me, but I have refused them all. There has always been only one lady whom I want to warm my bed.” His grin became a leer, and Beatrice shuddered with disgust.
“You forget, Steven, that your bride must be willing,” she replied, firmly. “And I am not.”
“Pah!” he exclaimed. “But you will be. By the time we get to Scotland, you will have seen sense. Do you really think your already tarnished reputation – for what young woman in her right mind becomes a governess? – would allow you to have any kind of standing, should you return home? The Duke will not want you to teach his daughter when he discovers, come the morning, that you have abandoned her!”
Beatrice opened her mouth to refute his claim, only to close it again. She would not waste her energies on talking to Steven. He was clearly wrapped up in his own enigmatic plan. How he thought he was going to convince her to agree to wed him, she had no idea at all, although Beatrice was sure he would be able to find someone who would marry them without requiring her agreement. Supressing yet another shudder, she looked up at him.
“Are you quite finished? I find myself in need of a nap. Whatever you gave me has induced a terrible headache.” In truth, she was not the least bit tired, but getting Steven out of the room would allow her to truly assess her situation. She might even be able to find a way out.
Steven rolled his eyes. “Very well. I shall dine below, but don’t for one moment imagine you can escape. I shall have the only key.”
Turning away from him to lie down on the bed, Beatrice ignored him completely. It was only when the key scraped in the lock that hot tears rushed into her eyes, making her shake with sobs. What had happened to her?
All she could remember was facing Miss Martins, and then a heavy rag being held over her nose and mouth. She had awakened to find herself in a small room, lying on an uncomfortable bed. It was then that Steven had made himself known, telling her exactly what was going to happen.
Nausea rolled in her stomach, so Beatrice closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. The feeling faded after a few moments, but anxiety and trepidation remained. There was no hope in her heart that the Duke would come for her, since he would not realise her absence until the morning. By then, it would be too late. Besides which, she was not quite sure she meant that much to the Duke. Yes, there had been smiles, gentle caresses, and a stolen kiss, but was that enough to spur him to go in search of her? Beatrice did not think so.
Pushing herself up, she began to think hard. There had to be something she could use to escape. Walking to the door on slightly unsteady feet, she tested the handle, but, as he’d said, Steven had locked it tightly. The view from the room’s single window told her that she was far too high up to even think about climbing down, especially since there were only a few lanterns lit. It was already beginning to grow quite dark, and Beatrice felt the same darkness settle into her soul.
There was no way out. There was no escape. Instead, the only option left open to her was to sit and wait for Steven to return. Sinking down into the rickety chair by the small fireplace, Beatrice put her head in her hands. What would Steven do when he returned? There was only one bed in the room, and she was not about to allow him to share it with her, yet he was both taller and stronger than she. A hint of panic drove itself into her veins, making tears of frustration fall.
No! Beatrice gave herself a shake, lifting her chin and wiping away her tears. She was not going to be an easy target, willing to do exactly what Steven said without question. She would defend herself! Whether that was with fists or with something else, she would use everything she had to free herself from his grasp.
Getting to her feet once more, she looked around the room, into every nook and cranny, trying to find something that would help her, but she came up empty. Stamping her feet with frustration, she panicked when the lock turned and the door swung open.
“Your husband has sent up some food,” a man muttered, practically slamming the food
tray on the table. “Here.”
Beatrice opened her mouth to ask the inn worker to help her, but the sound died in her throat as he stomped from the room and pulled the door shut tightly behind him. Either he was extremely bad-tempered, or he simply didn’t care. Probably the latter, Beatrice thought to herself, sitting down in the chair with the plate in her hand. There wasn’t much, just bread, cheese, and cold meat, but it would be enough to sustain her. Although she didn’t feel much like eating, she knew that she would need all her strength to get out of this place.
A sudden thought made her pause, her hand halfway to her mouth. The plate. Testing the weight of it in her hand, Beatrice realised that she now had a weapon. A china plate might not do a lot of damage, but slamming it across the back of Steven’s head might give her enough time to get herself out of the door.
A small smile crept across her face as hope flickered in her heart for the first time. Finally, she had a plan.
“Don’t worry, Angelica,” she whispered aloud. “I will be back with you very soon.”
ELEVEN
Beatrice heard Steven’s footsteps and his slurred singing and dove into action. Obviously, the man had drunk a little too much, but she was going to use that to her advantage. Blowing out the room’s single candle, she positioning herself behind the door, holding the plate tightly in her hands. The room was bathed in darkness, although dawn was already beginning to show its pale face. Her palms were sweaty, but she was determined to get out of this place and away from Steven, no matter what happened.
The lock turned, and the door was slowly pushed open.
“Beatrice?” came Steven’s slurry voice. “Abed already, are you? You won’t mind if I join you?” He gave a slow laugh, turning to close the door – and Beatrice sprang into action.
Slamming the plate down on his head as hard as she could, Beatrice felt the burning pain of broken china slicing through her hand at the same time she heard Steven’s groan. Ignoring the pain, she shoved him hard, so that he fell to the floor. Flinging the door open, she raced down the stairs, oblivious to the stares of the men at the inn who were still drinking.
Reaching the front door, and not daring to look behind her, she pulled it open, crashing into something solid. Stumbling back, she muttered an apology, only to be pulled into someone’s arms.
“Beatrice!”
She sagged against the Duke at once, recognising his voice and his unmistakable intoxication masculine scent.
“Beatrice, thank goodness,” the Duke continued, holding her so tightly that Beatrice could barely breathe. “I’ve been searching every inn for miles around!”
Trying not to weep, Beatrice leaned into him, clinging to his strong arms. “You came for me,” she whispered, her legs buckling beneath her. “Oh, Jonathan, you came for me!”
He looked down at her tenderly, holding her tightly so she would not fall. “Of course I did,” he replied, softly.
“I believe I am quite in love with you, my dear.”
Such was the shock of what he’d said, that Beatrice found herself unable to answer. She stared up at him, her mouth working, but no sound came out. She couldn’t believe it. She had been sure that the Duke felt something for her, given his attentions, but had not believed it could be love.
His lips touched hers, and sparks shot straight through her. Their kiss was gentle and sweet, the meeting of two hearts finally restored to one another.
Beatrice, her legs now feeling a little stronger, rested her hands against the solid expanse of his chest, while he cupped her cheek with one of his hands and let the other curl around her waist. His kiss ended all too soon, making Beatrice sigh with contentment.
“I think I love you, too, Jonathan,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Thank you for coming to save me.”
“It looks as though you were doing quite a good job on your own,” he replied, holding her closer. “Where is the blaggard?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Upstairs,” she replied, indicating the room from which she’d escaped. “I smashed a dinner plate over his head and, as yet, he has not given chase.”
“Good,” Jonathan replied, bluntly. “Then I will have no trouble tying him up and escorting him back to your father in disgrace.”
Beatrice stared at him. “My father?”
Jonathan nodded, still not letting her free of his embrace. “Yes, he called last evening. I have not given him the details of your disappearance as of yet, thinking it would be best for him not to worry. I fully intend to leave Steven in his care, for he is certainly not any consideration of mine. Although, I will make it quite clear that if he comes near you ever again, I will shoot him on sight.”
Beatrice laughed, but saw from the look in his eyes that he was not being facetious in the least. His mouth was grim as he looked past her, watching Steven come staggering out of the room above.
“Wait here,” he said, dropping another light kiss on her cheek. “I won’t be but a moment.”
***
The journey home was something of a strange one. Jonathan had hired two carriages, as well as paid two men to ensure that Steven did not go anywhere. He had not wanted to put Beatrice in the same carriage as her stepbrother, so he had placed her in the first one and Steven in the second. He rode alongside her carriage, allowing her to stretch out and sleep.
He had not overlooked the purple shadows under her eyes, nor the lines of tension in her face. Beatrice had been through a great deal, and the way she had handled the situation made him quite proud of her.
Seeing her sleeping face brought a new jolt of love to his heart. Her response to his kiss had been utterly delightful, in its exuberant innocence. Jonathan would seek a tête-à-tête with Beatrice, as soon as Steven had been handed over to her father. Then, with nothing else standing in their way, he would ask her to be his duchess.
***
“He did what?” cried Lord Shropton.
Jonathan practically flung Steven towards the other man. “I do not want this creature in my home any longer. Deal with him as you see fit. Although, should I see him on my property again, I shall have my guns made ready.” With satisfaction, he watched a sheen of fear cover Steven’s face as he stood beside his stepfather, completely disgraced.
“Are you quite well, Beatrice?” Lord Shropton enquired at last, turning his attention from Steven to his daughter.
Beatrice nodded, ignoring her stepbrother completely. “I am, Father. The Duke has been most kind to me.”
“Indeed,” her father replied. “We are all most grateful, Your Grace.”
Jonathan inclined his head, eager to let the conversation between father and daughter continue.
“I have wronged you, Beatrice,” Lord Shropton went on. “I came here to apologise and to tell you that you are always welcome at home. You shall never be treated like a servant again.”
Jonathan watched as a sad smile flickered on Beatrice’s face. It was too little, coming too late.
“Thank you, Father,” she said, after a few moments. “And I accept your apology.”
“Then you will come home?” he asked, hopefully.
Beatrice shook her head firmly. “No, Father. I won’t. I can’t. Not when my stepbrother still resides there. Were I to tell the truth, Father, I would tell you that, whilst your new wife might make you more than happy, I can never be at home with her as mistress of the estate. I believe I have found a new life here, as Angelica’s governess, and I shall endeavour to be more than content with that.”
Her father shook his head, but accepted his daughter’s decision nonetheless. Kissing her cheek, he half-marched, half-dragged his foolish stepson from the room.
“Do you truly mean that?” Jonathan asked, taking Beatrice in his arms the very moment they left. “You have found a new life here, with me?”
“Of course I mean it,” Beatrice replied, smiling up at him. “I love both you and Angelica very dearly.”
Running one finger down her smooth cheek, Jonathan
tried to find the words to ask her for her hand.
“I do not believe that you can be Angelica’s governess any longer, my dear Beatrice.”
Shock filled her eyes. “Why ever not?”
“Because,” he continued, with a gentle smile, “I believe you would be much better suited as her mother.” He watched as her mouth formed a perfect circle, her green eyes filled with astonishment. He simply had to kiss her. “You will marry me, won’t you, Beatrice?” he asked, tearing his lips from hers at last. “I love you so desperately that I feel as though I could hardly wait a day to make you my wife!”
Beatrice smiled up at him, fresh tears in her eyes. She practically glowed with happiness. “Yes, I will,” she replied, her voice hoarse with emotion. “You have made me happier than I have ever dreamed of being.”
“You have made my life complete,” he replied, tilting up her chin to capture her lips one more time.
The End
PREVIEW: THE MISTAKEN ARRANGEMENT
ONE
Mistaken for an Arranged Bride
“Can you hear me?”
The voice came from somewhere far away. Arianna tried to respond, but the heat was suffocating, and her mouth was too dry.
“Miss, are you of sound mind and body?” The voice was insistent upon talking to her. Why couldn’t it just leave her alone? She knew that if she woke up, there would be heat and unpleasantness. She was perfectly fine in the darkness.
“Miss, are you injured?”
She struggled to stay in the cool, safe blackness, but her safety net was ripped apart by a shot of pain that blazed from her leg to her arm. With a moan, her consciousness reached the surface.
Some stranger’s hands were roaming across her leg, up her side, and along her arm. It hurt!