'Perfectly fine," John Fairmont answered for all of them. The two men shook hands.
Had Tristan not been so overwhelmed at finding his Gypsy in the most unlikely place imaginable, he might have noticed Edward's presence. As it was, he only had eyes for the Gypsy witch across the room. And those eyes glittered with satisfaction. He'd found her at last. Nothing and no one was ever going to keep her from him again.
"Would you like some refreshments?" Edward asked.
"Nothing for me, thank you," Meg said as she inched her way toward the balcony and fresh air. She moved an ivory fan with sharp flicks of her wrist, but it brought little in the way of relief. Actually all it did was bathe her face in gusts of hot, slightly nauseating air, for many of those present obviously eschewed soap and water and in the hope of covering body odor used perfume. The results were unpleasant to say the least. The odor of so many promised an uncomfortable night.
"Would you like to dance?" Edward asked Lena. At her nod, the two of them were quickly lost in a mass of humanity, gone off to some other part of the mansion where dancing was already in progress.
"I think she's smitten," Meg said of her sister.
John Fairmont watched his daughter leave without a backward glance. "It looks that way."
Meg noticed her father's forlorn look. "What are you going to do?"
"Beg him to relocate in America. I don't want to lose her."
"Neither do I. Suppose you offer to bring him in as a partner."
"I could, but it probably wouldn't work. He doesn't need my money."
Meg touched her father's arm. "It will work out. If he loves her enough, perhaps . . ."
John covered her hand with his and leaned to kiss her cheek. "Don't you worry about it now. I want you to have a good time tonight. Would you like to dance?"
Meg shook her head. "Please, I'm hot enough just standing still. Why did the Whitehalls invite so many people?"
John looked over the crowd. "Everyone heard the rumors, I expect."
"You mean about the Queen coming here?"
John nodded.
"Mrs. Whitehall probably made that up."
John grinned. "Meggie, that's a terrible thing to say."
Meg laughed. "I know, but that's what I would have done if I wanted my ball to be a success."
Her father shook his head and smiled at his eldest daughter. She was a terror to be sure. As a child she'd forever find herself in one scrape or another. Even now her eyes held an impish sparkle, as if she were planning to bestow upon some poor unsuspecting soul her particular brand of mischief. "How about something to drink?"
Meg nodded, and her father moved into the crowd to find the refreshments.
Tristan was almost beside himself with rage. What the hell was she doing here? And why was she clinging to that man's arm. Son of a bitch! He was old enough to be her father. It was a damn good thing that they were separated by half the people in London. Tristan knew that had he been any closer he would have strangled her. He might yet.
Through another door, Tristan moved outside and along the darkened balcony. He nodded with satisfaction. His memory had not played him false. There were steps from the balcony to the gardens below. From there nothing blocked the way to the front drive. At the drive, he'd hail a cab and they'd soon be at his ship.
He stood in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. He watched as the older man leaned forward and kissed her. Tristan wondered how he'd managed to stop himself from killing the bastard. A second later he sighed in relief as the man walked into the thick crowd.
Meg took a step back. She was outside and, for the first time since entering the house, able to breathe sweet clean, slightly cooler air. She turned from the crowd and almost crashed into a dark, tall form. Meg meant to take a step back. She never got the chance.
Tristan grinned a wolflike smile and grabbed the opportunity offered.
Chapter Six
The ivory fan fell to the floor unnoticed as one hand reached around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, while the other clamped hard against her mouth, effectively cutting off the short reflexive cry that had come to her lips. Her corset cut deep into her diaphragm. She never realized the pain as she took a deep breath and then screamed for all she was worth. The sound was muffled, but had he not already dragged her from the open doors, it would have alarmed those at the ball. Tristan solved that problem by closing off all ability to breathe, thereby preventing even the slightest sound from escaping.
Her heart slammed against the walls of her chest. She swung at him, making contact twice with her fists, then knowing a moment of satisfaction at his grunt when another blow crashed into his left eye. Tristan shook away the hard jolt and blinked, trying to clear the muddle from his head. Damn, but this little witch could punch. He was dragging her down the steps and alongside the house, but her wild struggles forced him to stop. It was not without some effort, since he used only one hand, that he managed to gather her arms between their bodies.
Meg was desperate. She had no idea who her abductor was since she'd walked into the man and had not the chance to raise her head before being grabbed. All she could think was the maniac who had set London afire with murder and depravity now held her. Was this then to be her fate? Was she meant to die on this warm summer night? The mere thought of it brought horror to her heart and a fear so great she doubted she could breathe had she been given the opportunity. But if she were meant to die, it wouldn't be without a fight. This monster was going to know what it was to take a woman without her consent. She wouldn't be a willing victim here. Not if she could help it.
Her fear added greatly to her strength, causing him to redouble his efforts to keep her within his hold. Meg shifted so she could knee him in the groin. That defensive maneuver had been taught to her years ago by her father, but Tristan realized her intent and quickly sidestepped her knee, thereby saving a most vulnerable part of his body some excruciating pain.
As it had been some moments since she had last breathed, blackness was slowly crowding about the edges of her consciousness. She clawed at his hand, desperate for air but to no avail.
He was killing her. Didn't he realize she was about to die as he dragged her who knew where?
Of course he did. Obviously his intent was to do just this. Her nails reached for his face, but weakly, for it was already too late.
Blackness was coming, and Meg realized she had no strength left, no time. Amazingly enough she wasn't afraid. Dying wasn't half as fearful as she might have imagined.
Her body slumped against his as the last of her strength left her. She was barely conscious of the fact that he had released her mouth and gathered her limp form into his arms.
He was walking, his steps quick and purposeful. In Meg's dazed state, the shrill of a whistle near her ear only caused her a slight discomfort. The sound stopped a hansom cab from going on by, and she was thrust with minimum consideration inside. Meg grunted at the blow her head took on the side of the vehicle and felt the carriage dip with the man's weight as he immediately followed her inside.
Meg came slowly to her senses as if from a deep sleep, only to realize the man had pulled her into a steely embrace and settled her almost comfortably against his body. With her head positioned on his chest, she couldn't see her abductor. It didn't matter. She didn't have to see him to know she was in serious trouble. One thought repeated itself again and again in her mind. She had to escape. But to do so meant waiting for and taking the first opportunity. He thought her unconscious and that he should hold to that thought might mean the difference between life and death.
She lay very still, forcing the stiffness from her body as she listened to his breathing and his heart. When they settled into a more steady rhythm, it would indicate that he was off guard. Since her strength was almost nonexistent, the only chance she had to come through this alive was to escape using the element of surprise. Meg prayed that the driver of the cab might take pity on her and come to her assistance if he
r attempt was thwarted.
Her abductor sighed in apparent content, his body obviously relaxed as his mouth came to rest upon the crown of her head. No doubt he was confident that his victim could no longer oppose his intent. It was then that she realized she had to move, for she'd never find him more at ease.
The carriage rocked over one of London's cobblestone streets, heading who knew where as Meg, under the cover of darkness and with the added protection of her wide skirt, reached her free hand for the door of the cab. It opened at her touch. In an instant she wrenched herself from the startled man's hold. Heedless of injury or death, she was about to throw herself to the street when quick hands reached for her waist and yanked her back inside.
With a growling curse, he reached over her, and the door was instantly slammed shut. Meg screamed as she pounded him about the face and neck.
The cab came to a stop, but Tristan snarled before the man could jump to the street, "Move this goddamned cab, and do it now."
Even had his words not been tight with fury, the man would have recognized the authority in them. Wisely he did as he was told. Before the cab began moving, Meg's arms were pinned behind her back and again his hand covered her mouth. Tristan glared into her shocked eyes. She hadn't known till this minute who it was that had taken her. Finding it to be Tristan Hall hardly soothed her fears. In truth it emphasized them all the more.
She'd known he would be furious. No man could take the beating he had and not know the need for revenge. It was for that reason that she'd spent weeks virtually hiding in her room. Weeks living in fear that he would find her the minute she left the house. And to her chagrin, her worst fears had proven true. Now that he had, Meg couldn't begin to fathom the abuse she would know at his hands.
Tristan nodded, and his mouth twisted into a hard grin. "Afraid? Aye, you have every right, Gypsy. Were I you, I'd be trembling in my boots."
Meg tried to respond, but the sound was muffled beneath his palm.
"Be still," he said as he jerked her hard against him. "I'm beginning to think you're more trouble than you're worth." His mouth grew tighter than ever. "A stop by the constable's office might put things to rights. Would you like that?"
Lord, if only he would. Meg tried to respond. She twisted, she squirmed, but to no avail. And Tristan never understood her plea, for he had as yet to release her mouth.
Misunderstanding her anxiousness, Tristan sighed. "I didn't think so." He gave her a small shake. "Behave yourself, Gypsy, and I'll protect you from the clutches of the law."
Her brow creased in confusion. Protect her? From the law? Did Tristan Hall truly believe she'd prefer his company to an officer of the law? Could be the man suffered from insanity, besides these criminal instincts?
"Do you realize the trouble you could have gotten tonight?"
Could have? Meg blinked in amazement. What did he think she was in, if not trouble?
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"
What? Her eyes blinked rapidly. What was I doing?
"Don't think I don't know you were set to rob those people."
What people? Oh Lord, she was right. The man was mad. How was she going to get out of this?
"Lucky for you, I was there."
Oh, indeed, Meg almost cried. I was very lucky you were there.
"Where did you get this dress?"
"Where do you think? From my closet, you dolt!
"And how the hell did you get an invitation? " Jesus, Tristan shuddered at the thought of her being discovered. "I can just imagine what would have happened if I hadn't been there." Meg tried to free her mouth, but no matter how might twist and turn, his hand remained in place. The fool was asking her question after question while never giving her the chance to answer one.
"Don't even think about it." His arm caught her tighter to him. Lord, it was bad enough that her corset impeded breathing, but with his arm crushing her against him, it was just about impossible to draw a breath. "You're not going anywhere."
The cab came to a stop. It took some doing, but Tristan managed to exit the vehicle with Meg in his arms. He had to let go of her mouth in order to reach into his pocket and pay the driver. Meg took the opportunity to plead her cause. "Call a constable, please. I'm being taken against my will."
The last word was little more than an unintelligible muffle as Tristan threw the coin into the driver's outstretched hand and snapped her face hard against his chest. "Don't pay her no mind. My wife hasn't been herself since we lost the little one."
Meg screamed, but with her mouth against his coat, the sound was hardly more than a mournful cry. The driver nodded in commiseration, believing the woman half out of her mind with sorrow. He did not envy this man's plight.
Tristan waited for the driver to leave before he yanked Meg forward. Meg's eyes widened with fright as she increased her efforts to escape, for she'd just realized he was dragging her toward a ship. She fought him every step of the way.
"I don't want to hurt you. God damn it!" He gave her a none-too-gentle shake as he lifted her so that they were eye to eye. "Stop, fighting me."
Meg had forgotten to cry out for help, so filled were her thoughts of fighting this man. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed between clenched teeth.
Tristan grinned. "Ah, my little bloodthirsty Gypsy. You'll soon learn who is master here."
She snorted a decidedly unladylike sound. "Master? You? Of what? Maggots?"
"A sharp tongue." Tristan nodded. "But I'll soon show you a better use for that pretty mouth."
"You'll show me? You'll show me?" Meg knew she sounded ridiculous, but she was so filled with rage, she couldn't stop repeating the words. "I'll see you in hell first."
Tristan grinned as he half-carried, half-dragged her over the deck of his ship.
His first mate spied the struggling couple and thought to come to their aid. "Are you all right, sir?" Mr. Crain asked, believing his captain to have taken ill yet again. The last few weeks had found him ill more often than not. And Mr. Crain entertained no misunderstandings as to why.
"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Crain," he said even as he struggled to keep the woman at his side still. "We'll be leaving on the morning's tide. Send someone out to gather the men."
Mr. Crain nodded at his captain's order, never once commenting on the struggling woman. It was none of his business if the captain entertained a lady friend in his quarters. The fact that the lady appeared less than willing might not have appealed to his sense of decency but was something he dared not mention, for Tristan Hall's every word and action was law. He was not only the captain of this ship, but its owner as well.
Mr. Crain merely shook his head as he watched the couple stumble over the deck and into the hatch that led below.
Tristan cursed. It would have been easier going had it not been for the fact that he could hardly carry her and keep his hand over her mouth at the same time.
He stumbled and then groaned as the two of them slammed against a wall. They were below-decks in an unlit companionway. With no one around to hear her cries, Tristan released her mouth. Meg never thought to ask what he was about. She didn't care where he was taking her. So consumed was she with fury, she couldn't think but for the anger that flooded her being. Her mind strained to remember every nasty word she'd ever heard in her life. There weren't many. "You monster. You depraved animal. You degenerate. You perverted, vile beast!" she said just as he shoved her into a room. With a low, wicked laugh he followed her inside and then locked the door behind him.
Smirking as he walked to the large row of windows that lined one wall, he threw the key into the water. Meg's eyes widened with horror as she gasped, "Are you mad? How are we supposed to get out of here?"
"There are other keys."
Meg felt herself relax some. Thank God! The thought of being locked away forever with this beast was beyond the realm of possibility. She couldn't prevent a shiver at the mere thought. "Unlock that door this minute," she ordered and then cursed the li
ght quiver in her voice.
Tristan, being the captain of this ship, took orders from no one. That she'd dared to issue him one merely brought a smile to his lips. He shook his head. "Later. Perhaps after we sail."
"Sail?!" she repeated, aghast at the thought, remembering only then his conversation with his officer on deck. Her hand came to press against the pounding of her heart. And her eyes grew huge and dark. "You can't mean to kidnap me!"
"Mean to? It looks to me like I already have."
Meg forgot for a moment her immediate safety. A picture of her father's worried face came sharply to mind. "My father will be beside himself with fear. You can't do this."
She got only a shrug for a response.
"Is it money you want?" she asked almost hopefully. "Name your price; I'll see it paid."
Tristan laughed at the thought of this Gypsy having enough money to pay a ransom. "And you have money, I suppose?"
Meg shrugged. "I get an allowance. If you want more than that, I'm sure my father would pay — "
"I don't want your money," he interrupted. God, but this one could come up with incredible stories.
"What do you want then? Why did you bring me here?"
"Why do you think?"
"I think you want revenge for what my cousins did. I'm sorry about that, but they were only trying to protect me."
Tristan's brown eyes darkened with anger at the memory of that night and the long walk back to London the next morning. It had taken a week before the damn blisters had disappeared from his heels.
"Do you mean to make me pay for it now?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Don't hurt me, please."
"I told you once before, Gypsy, I won't hurt you. I haven't changed my mind."
"Then why have you brought me here? What do you want?"
"The first thing I want is for you to take off that ridiculous dress. Who the hell did you think to fool by wearing it?"
Meg looked down at the expensive and perfectly fitted gold silk with a decidedly puzzled expression. "What do you mean, ridiculous? What's the matter with this dress?"
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