Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  * * *

  Elizabeth saw the darkening of his eyes the split second before he kissed her. She could smell the heat of him, the warmth brushing over her shoulders and across the tips of her breasts despite the cooler air of the terrace. His lips lingered against the corner of her mouth, before falling firmly over hers, hungry and searching. Kelso’s hold on her tightened as he danced her around the corner where the light of the torches didn’t reach.

  He threaded his fingers through hers, pulling her arms to her sides and trapping her against him and the wall.

  Elizabeth arched her back, moaning softly as his tongue touched the seam of her lips, begging her to open her mouth to him. Her breasts chafed against his chest, teasing her nipples into taut buds. She pushed herself more fully into his warmth, unmindful of where they were or what they were doing. All that mattered was the two of them, entwined and together.

  The firm length of his arousal pushed between her legs, and she felt the heat of him even through the heavy velvet of her gown. Despite the cold, Elizabeth was burning. She whimpered, closing her eyes, begging to be taken against the wall with little care to who might come upon them.

  “What a disgusting display.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open at the sound of her mother’s voice as Kelso’s arms fell away. Her husband slumped to the ground with a grunt, eyes closed, blood streaming down his cheek.

  “Hello, darling.” Jeanette Reynolds stood over Kelso, a brick in her hand.

  47

  Elizabeth stared in shock as her mother held up the brick and gave an elegant shrug. “You’ll thank me later that you weren’t ruined during a ball. Think of the scandal.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to scream just as a dirty napkin was shoved between her teeth from behind. She slapped at the strong hands holding her, knowing it had to be Gustave.

  Kelso. Get up. Open your eyes.

  She sobbed, struggling against Gustave, her skirt tearing as she desperately tried to reach her husband. There was so much blood.

  “Please, Gustave.” Mother gestured with a wave.

  A massive hand encircled her throat, squeezing until spots appeared before her eyes. She stopped struggling, sucking air through her nose. Her body sagged against Gustave.

  “That’s better.” Mother nudged Kelso with her toe, her eyes blazing with madness. She dropped the brick with a thud. “Well, now that we’ve taken care of that little problem, we should be going.”

  Elizabeth kicked wildly, but her slippered feet did little good against the muscular footman. Gustave, annoyed by her futile attempt at escape, squeezed her neck again, until her vision darkened, and she went limp.

  The big footman picked her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour and strolled through the garden toward the servants’ gate. Elizabeth’s eyes roamed the balcony, seeing only one couple at the far end. She waved her arms frantically hoping to catch anyone’s attention. Hoping someone would see her being taken. Her eyes landed back on the still form of her husband. Tears ran down her face as she reached for him.

  Please don’t be dead. Please don’t leave me.

  Gustave set Elizabeth on her feet, jerking her up against him as the three of them exited the garden through a side gate and walked down the line of coaches. She tried to pull away, thinking to run, but Gustave jerked her shoulder up, dragging her along.

  Mother walked on the other side of Elizabeth and took her arm. “Be a good girl, Elizabeth.”

  Once they reached the coach, Gustave pushed Elizabeth inside. Her head thumped against the squabs as he took her hands, tying them with a length of twine.

  “Now, darling.” Mother spoke as she made herself comfortable on the opposite seat and Gustave closed the door. “It’s unfortunate Langford will only marry a virgin, however, I’m certain I can get him to make you his mistress. He does find you attractive.” She winked as the coach began to move. “It will all be discreet. You’re a widow after all, and may do as you please. I will insist, however, you cease all contact with your family. I can’t have Sutton working himself into a lather over you taking Langford as your lover. I’d hate to have to make the little mouse a widow too.”

  Elizabeth tried in vain to spit out the handkerchief still firmly wedged between her lips. Fear and grief squeezed her heart in a brutal grip. Please don’t be dead, Kelso. Please.

  “You can’t have a brat though. Luckily, Jane will take care of such a thing. She’s a brilliant nurse. She’ll make sure there aren’t any brats at all.”

  She looked up her mother. Jane. The same name as the housemaid Dolly had hired before Elizabeth came back to London.

  Mother winked at Elizabeth as if they were sharing a joke. “After all, you don’t want to go through all of that.” A maniacal laugh escaped her. “My feet swelled. My skin stretched. There’s the horrible feeling of a…rat crawling around inside you. I’m going to spare you such disgust.”

  Jane was the nurse? Mother’s nurse? She had to be. Elizabeth felt sick. The woman had been part of her household.

  Elizabeth flexed her wrists, surprised Gustave had not bound them more tightly. She doubted it was on purpose. Hope filled her that she could escape. Odd that as good as the footman was at kidnapping, he was terrible at tying knots. Had someone found Kelso? Elizabeth prayed one of the couples walking the gardens had spotted him. Her breath caught with a sob, remembering the blood pouring from the wound on his head.

  Elizabeth pushed the painful thought aside. He had to be alive.

  “I wasted so much effort hiring men to kill Kelso. I finally decided if you want something done well, you must do it yourself.” Mother nodded. “Archie always preached such a thing. A lesson for you, Elizabeth.” She rocked back and forth. “If a task is important, handle such a thing yourself. I’ll be keeping that in mind when I visit your sister and the Irish pauper.”

  Elizabeth could only stare at her mother in horror. She meant to go after Miranda. Colin. None of them were safe from the madness of Jeanette Reynolds.

  After twenty minutes or so, the coach rolled to a stop. Elizabeth turned her head carefully to peek through the window. She recognized the wild, sprawling mass before her. Kelso’s gardens. Her gardens. Gustave was parking the coach behind the mews of Kelso’s house. Why? Her heart thumped as she searched the house for any signs that Dolly had noticed the coach’s arrival.

  “I hate to crush the prospect of rescue, dear, but we are only here to retrieve Jane. Gustave insisted, though I’m certain my plan to have her meet us later would have been better.” Mother wiggled a finger as a nasty grin crossed her lips. “No one’s coming to help you. Jane has taken care of them all, including that butler of Kelso’s. He’d grown very suspicious.”

  Worry filled her. What had happened to the servants in Kelso’s employ? Bertie? Her heart caught. Dolly? People she cared about could be hurt, or worse. This was all her fault. Again.

  The coach shook as Gustave climbed down from the driving seat. The footman strolled into Kelso’s house as if he owned it. No one stopped him. After a few moments, a lamp appeared and moved across the doors, then disappeared.

  Mother tapped her foot impatiently.

  “I told Jane to leave the silver. I would have thought she’d taken everything of value by now. Greedy girl.” Mother’s eye twitched. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll be on our way soon. Langford will take great care of us both once I bring you to him and explain the situation. You’ll want for nothing.”

  Elizabeth placed her hands in her skirts, discreetly sliding her fingers over Gustave’s knot. Her right hand was nearly free. Fear had made her palms wet and slippery. She had to escape the coach and her mother. Perhaps hide in the garden and flag down a passing hack. Grandmother would have noticed her absence at the Quartermaine’s by now. Someone would come.

  No, they won’t. Grandmother will assume I left with Kelso.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, the taste of the handkerchief foul. Help wasn�
��t coming, at least not before Mother could deliver Elizabeth to Langford. If Spence was unconscious, and she refused to think anything else, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what had happened. She would need to save herself and the staff inside the house if she could.

  My pistols are upstairs. Elizabeth looked up at her mother.

  Mother looked out the window again, the tapping of her foot speeding up at her agitation. A fan sat beside her on the seat, discarded when they’d returned to the coach. She began to wave the accessory though the air, even though the coach wasn’t in the least warm. Mother began to pose and position the fan at various angles, practicing as if she were before a mirror.

  “What do you think, Elizabeth? Like this?” She twirled the fan.

  Elizabeth nodded, encouraging her as an idea struck her.

  “Hmm. I think more this?”

  Elizabeth shook her head and moved her head in a circular motion.

  “A splendid idea, darling.” Mother spun the fan, lips pouting, until it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She frowned, looking down at the fan as if in doing so the fragile bit of silk would magically lift back into her gloved hands.

  Elizabeth’s pulse picked up. Waiting.

  When Mother bent down to pick up the fan, Elizabeth raised both feet and kicked her mother in the head as hard as she could.

  Mother made an odd choked sound. “You little bitch. I shall tell Langford he has no need to be gentle.” She raised her head and turned to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth promptly kicked her mother again. This time the heel of her slipper made contact with Mother’s nose. A horrible crunch sounded.

  Blood gushed over Mother’s hands as she screamed in pain and rage, flailing wildly about the coach.

  Elizabeth kicked her again for good measure, but Mother had slid against the seat, sobbing in agony over her broken nose. Pulling her wrist through the twine, Elizabeth leapt out of the coach and ran into the garden toward the back of the house.

  Thank goodness she always kept her pistols loaded. Kelso wasn’t the only one who kept weapons hidden in the house.

  48

  Spence blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision. He rolled over, wincing at the tender spot on his head. The entire side of his face was sticky with blood. A brick sat next to his nose, blood staining the stone.

  “Elizabeth?” She wasn’t here. He knew that. His neck had tingled seconds before the world went black. The last thing he remembered seeing was Elizabeth’s stricken face as she had looked at someone standing behind him. He’d been so absorbed with Elizabeth and his throbbing cock he’d been careless.

  Jeanette. Gustave. They’d taken Elizabeth.

  Spence crawled up on his hands and knees, gritting his teeth against the nausea and the throbbing of his head. He stood, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the spot where Jeanette had tried to bludgeon him to death. He briefly considered going inside, but instantly changed his mind. Nothing would be served by disrupting the ball. It might even delay his finding Elizabeth, and he sensed time was of the essence.

  Carefully he made his way along the side of the house. The coach. Porter. He ignored his mounting anxiety over Elizabeth, pushing the emotion aside so he could think logically. Jeanette wouldn’t hurt her. She needed Elizabeth. In her insane mind, she meant to barter her daughter.

  He let himself out through the garden gate and shuffled down the line of coaches, weaving and stopping every few seconds. Two gentlemen stepped out of his path, assuming him to be drunk. Finally, he spotted Porter.

  The cheroot dropped from his driver’s mouth as he caught sight of Spence. Hopping off the seat, he wrapped his arm around Spence’s waist, helping him inside the coach.

  The interior of the coach spun briefly before righting itself.

  “My lord, what has happened? You’re bleeding.” Porter shot an anxious glance at Spence’s head. “I need to get you to a physician.”

  “No. We need to get to the house. I need Dolly. Weapons. Elizabeth has been taken. Her mother…” Spence’s words trailed off.

  “I understand, my lord.” Porter nodded and helped him into the coach.

  “Hurry, Porter.”

  Once he reached the house, he’d send a messenger to Cambourne and his cousin. Nick would handle Langford because despite his denial, Spence was certain if Jeanette showed up on his doorstep with Elizabeth, Langford wouldn’t send her away.

  * * *

  Spence snapped awake as Porter pulled the coach up in front of the house. He’d dozed off during the short drive, never a good sign with a head injury. While the ache in his head had abated somewhat, the dizziness and nausea had not.

  “Something isn’t right, my lord,” Porter said in a low voice as he opened the door to help Spence out. “The house is too quiet.” He looked up, his face grim, and pulled out his pistol. “I can see a light moving about upstairs, but Dolly hasn’t come to the door to greet us. Nor the footmen.”

  Spence carefully stepped out of the coach, reaching out to grab the side of the vehicle to steady himself. The world spun and then righted itself.

  “Bitch.” His fingers itched to strangle the life from Jeanette Reynolds.

  “My lord?”

  “Nothing, Porter. Thinking of my mother-in-law and how much I’d like to see her.”

  After making their way quietly up the steps, Porter and Spence entered the house, careful not to make a sound. A lamp burned in the hall upstairs, but the ground floor remained dark, only a small circle of light coming from the direction of the kitchens.

  “Dolly,” Spence said in a loud whisper. “Dolly.”

  Silence greeted him. He waved Porter down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

  The driver nodded, a pistol in each hand, as Spence leaned against a wall, careful to breathe quietly. He struggled to keep from passing out; only fear for Elizabeth kept him upright.

  Porter returned, touching Spence lightly on the arm. “In the kitchen, my lord.”

  Spence tread carefully, using the wall for support as he made his way to the kitchens. The smell of stew met his nostrils along with fresh-baked bread. A fire still burned in the large kitchen hearth, as did the kitchen lamp, illuminating the large rectangle of the servants’ table. All his servants, footmen, maids and even Dolly, were seated around the table, a large caldron of stew with a ladle sitting within arm’s reach.

  A bowl of stew sat before everyone.

  Dolly’s head was turned to the side, his cheek on top of his bowl.

  “Christ.” Spence struggled over to his friend and searched for a pulse.

  “Are they dead?” Porter whispered.

  “No.” Spence was relieved to feel a pulse thumping in Dolly’s throat. “At least, Dolly isn’t.” He checked the pulse of Elizabeth’s maid, Bertie, who sat at Dolly’s right. It was faint, but there. “Bertie is alive as well. If the person who did this meant to kill them all, they underestimated the amount of poison to use. Possibly it’s only a sleeping draught. Laudanum, maybe.” He sniffed the bowl and dipped a finger in to taste it. “I can’t smell anything, but the stew is unusually spicy, which I suppose covers the scent. Maybe using so much spice backfired. It doesn’t look like anyone ate a full bowl.” He looked to Porter. “Go directly to my cousin, the duke. Tell him what has happened. And find a physician. Immediately.” Spence braced himself against the table.

  “She’s not here,” Porter said.

  “Who?” Spence looked at the servants seated at the table.

  “Jane. Dolly was going to sack her, but she promised to do better. Begged him to let her stay on.”

  The maid. Spence looked at Bertie seated next to Dolly. The larger man’s hand was on hers. Dolly wasn’t tupping Jane. And Jane had been hired before Elizabeth even set foot in the house. She came with the original cook, who had provided Jane’s reference. He was fairly certain her last name was Croft.

  Before Spence could answer, a thump sounded upstairs, along with a
deep male voice. Gustave.

  Both he and Porter turned their heads upward, gazes fixed on the ceiling.

  “I shouldn’t leave you, my lord.”

  “No, I’m not at my best, Porter,” Spence said, pulling a knife from his boot and holding out his hand for a pistol. “But you must. A doctor is needed. I’ve got to find my wife. And I have the element of surprise. Hurry.”

  49

  Elizabeth squeezed beneath the bed, careful not to make a sound as Gustave and Jane went through Elizabeth’s jewelry. She’d been about to pull out the pistols when she had heard the pair outside her bedroom. Grabbing the box, she’d barely made it under the bed before they had walked through the door.

  Jane carried a pillowcase in one hand and a lamp in the other, systematically instructing Gustave to grab things she found valuable.

  She was a terrible maid. I should have fired her.

  “Saw these the other day when I pretended to clean.” Jane held up a pair of ruby earrings Grandmother had given Elizabeth. “They look old. Not paste.”

  “Jane,” Gustave urged the maid. “We need to go. Miss Jeanette is downstairs with her daughter, waiting in the coach. Why did you insist I come back here?”

  “We aren’t going to help her anymore,” Jane snapped as a sob escaped her. “Abigail is dead, Gustave. Someone pushed her into the rocks by St. Albans.”

  The big footman made a sound of distress.

  Elizabeth bit her hand to keep from making a sound. Sister Abigail was dead?

  “Besides, we’ve done all the heavy lifting for that woman. I’ve yet to see the money she promised us.” Jane made a choked sound and held up the pillowcase. “So, we need to take care of ourselves and leave her sitting in the coach. She’s convinced Langford will take her precious daughter as a mistress if Kelso’s dead, though his lordship,” her words dripped with dislike, “has ruined her in a million ways. Christ, you can hear them all the way up in my room on the third floor.”