by Anne Stuart
Of course his mother wanted him to fall in love. He could lie to her, though she tended to see through his prevarications even more quickly than his father did. But he imagined he could do a pretty good approximation of a man besotted. The kind of man who'd wake his godfather up in the middle of the night, demanding a special license. The kind of man who'd then jump on a horse and ride all night after her, ignoring the fact that he'd just been bashed in the head and leg and couldn't walk without limping. The kind of man who'd drag a woman off and shag her senseless in the middle of the day in an abandoned nursery.
The kind of man who wouldn't admit how much he needed her.
Simon Pagett was coming out the front door just as Adrian was about to enter. He had a troubled expression on his face, and when he spied Adrian he didn't look particularly pleased.
"You really are a vicar?" Adrian demanded abruptly.
“No, I wear the collar because it limits my fashion choices," he replied icily. "What do you want, Rohan?"
Adrian reached in his pocket and pulled out the crumpled license, handing it to him. Pagett frowned, looking it over. "How did you manage this?" he said finally.
“He's my godfather."
"It's dated today."
"I know when it's dated, man," Rohan said irritably. "I went and woke the old man up right after you left me. He wasn't best pleased with me—I'm not expecting much of a wedding present."
Pagett surveyed him for a long moment. "I didn't realize you knew she was pregnant."
"Bloody hell, did everyone know she was pregnant but me?" he exploded.
"If you didn't know she was pregnant why did you get the special license?"
Adrian said nothing.
"If I'm going to marry you I'll need an answer."
"You know, you're a pain in the arse," Rohan shot back. "You'd think you'd spent your life being a saint.”
“You're never too old to change your ways," he said. "Why?"
“It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"And Miss Spenser agreed?"
"Miss Spenser is refusing to marry me," he said in a cranky voice. "I expect you to show her the error of her ways."
"I'm afraid I can't do that I want what's best for her, and I doubt you're it."
"For God's sake! " Adrian shouted, goaded to distraction. "What the hell do you want from me?"
"When you figure it out, lei me know. In the meantime I have things to do." He was about to walk past Rohan, when Lina appeared at the door, her black hair coming undone, a look of wrath on her perfect face.
"I'm going to kill you," she said. Pagett paused, looking back. "No, you're not. Leave him alone, Lady Whitmore. He needs to figure this out on his own.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" Her fury at Pagett seemed oddly misplaced. "This is between me and Lord Rohan."
"No, it's between Charlotte and Lord Rohan. It's none of your business," Pagett returned. "This is your fault, for taking Miss Spenser to the Revels in the first place, for someone like Lord Rohan to prey upon."
"Excuse me!" Adrian protested, but the two were facing off against each other, and he was forgotten.
"I brought her here to show her just how worthless men are. She was curious, and I thought she'd be better off knowing that she wasn't missing anything," Lina said furiously.
"How very altruistic of you. Lady Whitmore. Had I known you were capable of such charitable gestures I could have come up with a number of ways you could better use your misguided energy."
"I can think of any number of ways..."
Adrian slipped into the house, going in search of Charlotte once more. Their angry voices carried after him, and he stopped, glancing back at them.
"Why did you kiss me?" Lina was saying, glaring at him.
The unruffled vicar was looking ruffled indeed. "I believe you were the one who kissed me. Inappropriately, I might point out."
"I started it, you finished it."
"I thought you needed a lesson," he said stiffly.
"A lesson in what? Kissing? I assure you I've kissed a great many men."
"I know your reputation. Lady Whitmore. I'm certain you've lost count of how many men you've... kissed."
"And what business is it of yours?" she demanded,
“Absolutely none."
Idiots, Adrian thought, taking the marble stairs two at a time. When he slammed open Charlotte's door she was alone in the bed.
He came and stood over the bed. "You're marrying me. I'm not giving you a choice in the matter. I won't have my child born a bastard."
-I won't have my child be the son of a swiving, mean-spirited, libidinous troll who—"
"Troll?" he echoed, momentarily distracted. "Surely not a troll, my precious."
"Troll," she said firmly. "I won't have you."
"You have no choice. He's my child, and he's not being born on the wrong side of the blanket. I've spoken to Pagett. Six o'clock at the parish church. I'm not taking no for an answer. If you're not there I'll drag you there by your hair.”
She reached for the closest thing she could find, a heavy book, and she threw it at him, but he ducked. He was already in rough enough shape—another few days and there wouldn't be enough left of him to mangle.
He'd calm her down once he got her naked. If he had to haul her out of bed and carry her to the church in his arms she was going to marry him. This was making him crazy, and the only way he knew to calm things down was to get her back in bed with him. Legally. Permanently
In the meantime he needed to keep as far away from her as possible, or they'd either end up back in bed together or she'd kill him. And he wasn't sure which he preferred.
Charlotte looked at the door, vibrating with fury. How dare he think he could just come in and order her about? He thought she was just going to show up at the church? Ridiculous.
She slid out of bed. Meggie had gone to fetch her discarded clothes, and she dressed quickly. It wasn't that she didn't trust Lina to keep Rohan at bay, but Lina had her own troubles with Simon Pagett. If Charlotte simply disappeared for a little while it would be better all around.
How she was going to accomplish that was the challenge. She wouldn't be able to leave the house without one of Monty's countless servants seeing her, and they would have no choice but to report to Rohan. But perhaps once she made it out of the house she could change direction. The village was only a two-mile walk across the fields, and there was a coaching inn directly in the middle of it. She could safely assume that at least one of the available coach routes would lead to London, and once there it would be a fairly simple matter to come up with an alternative.
At least, she hoped so.
The hall was empty when she slipped out of her room. She did her best to appear cheerfully casual as she walked down the stairs, ready to break into a run if Rohan should put in an appearance. But for once luck was with her. Even the faithful Dodson was nowhere around, and Monty's bevy of handsome footmen were in short supply as well. She didn't bother trying the heavy front door; instead she slipped through the library, coming out on the wide terrace that led down to the formal gardens.
She moved quietly, keeping to the edge of the walled gardens. By the time she reached the end, her heart was pounding in her chest. Turning the corner, she barreled into a huge figure, and she let out a frightened shriek that quickly turned into a cautious sigh of relief.
"Monsieur de Giverney," she said. Adrian's cousin. What the hell was he doing here?
“Monsieur le Comte," he corrected. "The French government may have outlawed my title but I still account it as worth something."
"Indeed. I beg your pardon, my lord," she said swiftly, mentally cursing him. She didn't have time to deal with the man's vanity, she needed to get away.
"I'm here to offer you my help. Mademoiselle Spenser.”
She was just about to come up with a quick excuse and exit when his words penetrated. She glanced up at him.
He was a handsome man in a barrel-che
sted, florid style, with thick lips and eyebrows, a strong blade of a nose and flat black eyes. She'd never liked him, and she didn't like him now. Unless his idea of helping was to get her away from Adrian.
"Help me with what, my lord?" she asked in an even voice, resisting Ihe impulse to look over her shoulder. For all she knew, Rohan had realized she was missing and at this rate it wouldn't take long to find her.
"You're trying to get away from my young cousin, are you not? A good lad, but importunate. I presume you've fought?"
She said nothing for a moment. She didn't like him and she didn't trust him, but at that point she didn't have much of a choice. If she was to get away before Adrian came searching for her she was going to have to take the help offered. "Yes," she said. "He's trying to force me to marry him and I don't want to."
His thick eyebrows rose. "Indeed? Then you shouldn't have to. I can help you get away, mademoiselle. Otherwise you might find yourself...how do you clever British say it...leg shackled before you know what happened."
She looked at him for a long, cautious moment. Why would this man help her? He was Adrian's cousin—wouldn't he want to help him instead?
It wasn't as if she had any choice. "I would appreciate your help, monsieur," she said politely.
He smiled at her, warm and avuncular smile that wreathed his thick lips and didn't reach his eyes. But then, he was French, she reminded herself. Perhaps it took a lot more lo make him smile. 'Then I will take care of things. En avant! Come with me and I'll spirit you away where no one will ever find you."
"And where is that, Monsieur le comte?" she asked in a calm voice.
He took her hand in his heavy hand, bringing it to his mouth, and she wished she dared to pull it away. "You will have to leave it up to me, mademoiselle. Trust me, I can be quite ingenious. He may scour the earth to find you, but he will instead find failure."
"And how will you manage that? Sooner or later he's bound to figure out where I am. Where I've gone. Which is...?"
He smiled at her benevolently. She could see tufts of black hair in his ears, his nostrils, creeping over his high neck cloth. It wasn't his fault he was incredibly hairy, but it took all her social graces to keep from
He breathed on her, breath laden with odd cooking flavors that clung most unpleasantly. "Where will you be, mademoiselle, where no one can find you?" he echoed politely. "Why, I'm afraid you'll be dead."
Adrian couldn't find her anywhere. No one could. At some point, in between the time he went storming into Charlotte's room and gave her an ultimatum and when her maid had brought her a late luncheon, Charlotte had disappeared, taking her clothes, leaving a scribbled note for Lina and vanishing into thin air.
For a moment he wondered if they were all lying to him—some mass conspiracy to help Charlotte escape from the hideous punishment of marriage to a lenient and engaging husband. But they were just as mystified as he was, and the muted warfare that had existed between them all faded into worry, and in his case, something akin to panic.
He felt as if he were walking on ice, with no sense of when he would find steady ground again. He didn't know what he wanted, what he needed, but he couldn't shake the sense that something was very, very wrong.
No one else seemed to share his panic. They wanted him gone, he knew it, and indeed, he was ready to—inaction making him crazy—when he was called once more into Montague's bedroom.
Montague's color was ashen, and he seemed to have shrunk inside his skin. His eyes were closed
when Adrian walked in, and for a moment he had the sick feeling that Monty had died. But his eyes fluttered open, and there was a ghost of his familiar, faintly malicious smile.
"You need to find her." He spoke so softly Adrian wasn't sure he'd heard him clearly.
"How did you know she ran off...? Idiotic question. You knew I'd slept with her. You knew she was pregnant. Is there anything you don't know?"
"I don't know where she is," Monty said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "No one saw her go. One of my gardeners spotted her several hours ago at the bottom of the walled gardens, talking with a tall man.
Rohan shook his head, the unease that was filling him beginning to spill over. "I haven't seen her outside. She's refused to marry me, and every time I try to talk to her she throws something at me."
"My dear friend, you must have bungled that badly. Which surprises me—you're always so good at handling angry women. Of course, this case is very different."
“Because she's pregnant?"
Montague sighed. "I don't understand how you can be so thickheaded when I've always considered you an eminently intelligent man. Save for the times you've been under your cousin's influence. All of you are complete dunderheads—at this rate I don't dare die. You have no sense at all."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I can manage my life perfectly well," he said with a trace of hauteur.
“Yes, you've just demonstrated what an excellent job you're doing. I've got Evangelina pining over Simon, I've got the vicar mooning after her like an adolescent girl. At least Simon seems aware of it, unlike Lina, who doesn't seem to realize she's fallen in love."
"Lady Whitmore's in love with the parson?" Adrian said, momentarily distracted, remembering their argument. 'That should turn a few heads."
"You're no belter. Charlotte's totally besotted with you, heaven only knows why. To be sure, you're pretty enough, but Miss Spenser is far too intelligent a woman to be swayed by simple beauty."
"It's not my beauty," he said dryly. "She thinks I'm not the lecherous profligale I pretend to be."
“I did mention she was intelligent, did I not? You, on the other hand, are a complete idiot. You're not likely to find another woman who's worth even half of what Charlotte could bring you. And you go stomping around, totally oblivious to your own feelings."
"What feelings?"
"Never mind," Montague said wearily. "Do you happen to know where the so-estimable Etienne de Giverney is right now?"
Adrian's rebellious streak flared. "Don't, I pray you, become like my parents and tell me all the reasons Etienne is a danger to my health. Surely you ore broad-minded when it comes to indulging one’s appetite. Etienne is inventive and entertaining." Which wasn't strictly true. He was tired to death of Etienne and his constant need for distraction. Distractions that led to a profound weariness of the soul. But he was damned if he was going to admit it. "In fact, I told him I didn't want him accompanying me here. He tried to insist, saying he had a fondness for you, but acquit me of being a total idiot. He despises you and you return mat regard."
"I rejoice that you see that much," Montague said.
"In truth, I've felt sorry for the man. He's lost everything, he's trapped in a foreign land, forced to exist on the limited kindness of my father, who's never liked him. If it weren't for me I doubt he'd be received anywhere."
"And yet you didn't bring him?"
Adrian paused for a moment, looking at his friend's tired eyes. "I admit it. I'm sick to death of him," he finally said. "Why do you ask?"
"He's a tall man, is he not? He knows where you and Charlotte are. And he hates you."
Adrian laughed, ignoring the uneasiness building inside him. "Don't be absurd, Monty. I've taken him everywhere, brought him into society. He owes me as much as he owes my father."
"And he hates your father as he hates you. No one likes to be made grateful all the time. Why do you think your lovely girl decided to run off? She didn't appreciate your noble sacrifice."
"I didn't say that," Adrian protested. "I was perfectly logical. And I'll have you know I told her we should marry before I even knew she was increasing."
"You told her the two of you should marry. And you still haven't figured out why you failed so miserably?"
"She could hardly have expected a declaration of love and a promise of lifelong fidelity," he said, irritated.
"It sounds as if she did."
Adrian said nothing for a long while. "Ri
ght now I simply want to find out where she is. We can argue about the marriage later. If you know where she went then for God's sake tell me."
"I think Etienne has her."
"In heaven's name why?"
"I can think of any number of reasons. He's not your friend—the Etienne de Giverney I've known since my early days in Paris is not a friend to anyone. He gets rid of anything that stands in the way of what he wants. I think he's decided that having lost his French title and lands he now wants the English titles and estates. And he's going to get them."
"Of course he wants them. He always has. I'm not a complete idiot," Adrian said.
"No, only a partial one. Though I admit, I had no idea how far he'd be likely to go or I would have warned you. You're in his way. So is your possible heir. And if I were you I wouldn't be languishing, waiting for Charlotte to return."
The feeling of dread that he'd been fighting returned full force. "You think Etienne has taken her?"
"'Haven't I said as much?" Montague spoke with a trace of his old asperity. "I haven't much time or energy left, and I really don't wish to waste it solving the mess my friends have made of their lives. I wish to depart mine knowing that things are well on their way to at least a reasonably happy conclusion. I'll be very annoyed if something happens to Charlotte. It will depress me, and if I have to die young, I at least deserve to die happy."
"Nothing's going to happen to Charlotte. I'll find her and force her to marry me."
Montague closed his eyes wearily. "I can't live forever, dear boy. Stop being so stubborn. You're in love with the girl. Admit it and go tell her."
Adrian narrowed his gaze, but he didn't bother arguing. "Where would Etienne have taken her?"
"How should I know? It depends on how mad he is. He may have strangled her and dumped her body in the canal by now, while you've been suiting."
"No." Rohan said, his heart like ice. "No."
"You think he's not capable of doing such a thing?"
"No," he said, the blind fury threatening to overwhelm him. "I believe he's capable. But I would know if she were dead."