Tristan waited until they were about a quarter of a mile from the house before he lit the phaeton’s lamp and set the horse's pace to a brisk trot along the road to Surrey. During the hours he'd waited to act, the dampness in the air had increased to a mist. The thick clouds still threatened, and Tristan hoped the weather held until they reached the manor.
An hour later, the mist became a steady rain.
Damn.
"JULIETTE! S’ECHAPPER! Juliette—!” Her sister Beatrice’s voice screamed at her, spearing her with terror. She tried to move, but her arms were trapped. She fought to free herself, struggling, crying, screaming for her sister!
“Beatrice!”
Julia woke as she always did at that moment.
She sat up, tears rolling down her cheeks. She never knew if her scream was real or part of the nightmare. Real or not, her heart pounded and her hands shook as she wiped away the dampness. She fought to distance herself from the vivid grip of her dream. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them as though that would hold the shards of her emotions together. Shuddering, she buried her face in her arms and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.
Some nights the dreams took longer to fade. Tonight they lingered and she fought to remain motionless for several minutes. It took a while for her to stop panting. Her heartbeat gradually slowed. Her hands still betrayed a slight unsteadiness when she lit her bedside lamp, but she finally felt ready to let the simple discipline of needle and thread soothe her nerves.
Before going to the sitting room, she stepped across the hall to check on Alice. A faint whiff of leather teased her nose as she did. John, her manservant, must have stopped to talk to Alice before retiring to his room in the attic.
She reached for the knob, but realized the door stood open. Cold apprehension gripped her. A new, waking nightmare enfolded her when she saw the stripped, empty bed.
"Alice?"
Had Alice had a bad dream, too? She might have sought refuge in the wardrobe as Julia had when she was small. She checked, but all was undisturbed. Perhaps the sitting room? Julia quickly searched that room, then downstairs and the rest of the small cottage to no avail.
She loves cuddling the kittens.
Turning, she hurried back to her room and pulled on clothing and boots, then yanked her cloak from the peg before she hurried out the kitchen door to the stable. As soon as she lifted the lantern to light her way, she saw the recent footprints and wheel ridges across the bare dirt. Fresh horse droppings nearby left no doubt a carriage had remained in the yard long enough for someone to take Alice.
Anger and fear for the child sent her stalking to the stable to saddle her horse. They won't get away with stealing her. She grabbed the halter from the wall and moved the mounting stool outside the paddock gate. No one was going to threaten sweet Alice.
Within minutes, she guided her chestnut horse out of the stall to the mounting block. Heavy, damp mist chilled her face as she rode into the yard holding the lantern high in order to see the direction of the tracks. The light wavered with the movement of the horse and she quickly realized that the lantern only confused her search more so she snuffed it out. Passing a fence post, she hung it there before directing the chestnut toward the dirt road that led to Langstone.
Much as she wanted to race down the road, she dared not urge the horse faster than a steady trot without moonlight to guide her. She didn’t know how much of a lead the kidnappers had, but she hoped she could catch up to them before they left the dirt road. It would be far harder to discover their direction once they reached gravel. Were they taking Alice back to Portsmouth or were they bound for London? Her heart pounded and her stomach roiled.
When the rain started soon after, she prayed that whoever had taken Alice would be slowed by the quickly forming mud. The resinous scent of wet foliage combined with the damp earth as the horse trotted over the wheel tracks she could only hope had been left by the escaping carriage. She brushed her hand over her face, slicking away the gathering wet that chilled her skin.
As she struggled along in the darkness, she sorted through ways to get Alice away from the kidnapper. She had no weapon – nor did she know how to use one. The shiver that passed through her had little to do with the cold and far more with the realization that she had no idea how to save Alice. Yet she couldn’t leave the child in the hands of the people who had killed her mother and baby brother.
Julia's thoughts circled around in the dark. Perhaps she could lure Alice away much as the kidnappers had done. Even the depraved needed to sleep, didn't they? If all else failed, she would contact Renard who would know what to do. He had rescued so many women and girls from desperate situations.
She rode on.
The horse's pace gradually slowed as the once solid road thickened into wet clay that clung to hooves and made a trot dangerous. The rain fell steadily, soaking the wool of her cloak and trickling down the back of her neck. She had been reduced to a slogging walk when she heard a man's voice cursing in a manner most unbecoming of a gentleman.
CHAPTER 6
Though her hands shook with trepidation and the increasing cold, Julia quickly turned her horse aside and guided him behind a thicket of trees where she slid out of the saddle. Her boots squelched when they sank into the two-inch-thick mud. Struggling to keep her balance, she pulled her feet free of the muck so she could tie the horse's reins on a nearby branch. The heavy soil clung to the hem of her cloak, weighing her down as she cautiously crept toward the grunts and curses ahead.
The further from the road edge she went, the more the blanket of leaves thickened and created a spongy layer that cushioned her movements. Her pulse quickened as she tread slowly and carefully, testing each step she took. It wouldn’t do to wrench an ankle out of carelessness. She took a steadying breath and inhaled the earthy mulch aromas of mushrooms, crushed leaves and emerging new growth.
Her eyes had become accustomed to the pitch black as she'd traveled and now could see black on black nuances with occasional forms of gray. She imagined she could distinguish a green cast to the leaves and a brown cast to the gray tree trunks she passed.
So intent was she on locating the source of the rude language, Julia almost missed seeing an improvised shelter at the right edge of the trees. She moved closer and recognized the quilt rigged over a tree branch as the one taken from Alice's bed. Underneath, wrapped in a man's coat and sitting above the mud and leaves on a portmanteau, Alice leaned against the trunk of the tree.
Julia changed direction and slipped under the quilt, holding her finger to her lips when she touched Alice's shoulder. Startled, Alice jerked around then lunged to hug Julia. "Oh, Miss Dorsey! You've come after all. Mr. Sheffield said you were asleep and he didn't have time to wake you.” She pulled back, a wide grin of delight visible despite the dimness of the night. "Papa sent him for me.”
"That man is lying. He isn't from your papa.” Julia whispered. "Your papa wouldn't steal you away in the middle of the night. He wouldn't take you without telling me.”
"But Mr. Sheffield is one of Papa's friends. I know because I spilled my lemonade on him at a party once.”
That stopped Julia for a moment. Mr. Sheffield? The child knew her abductor? Dear heavens, what kind of a man turned on his friends in such a way? How despicable! A wash of angry heat flashed through her at such callus betrayal.
Another male burst of irate frustration filled of the darkness to the right and Julia knew she must get Alice away from such a man as quickly as she could. Much as she wanted to know what the man looked like so she could confirm his identity when he was finally brought to justice, she didn’t dare linger.
"Is the carriage mired in the mud?" she asked Alice.
"Yes.” Alice nodded her head and giggled. "He put me here until he can pull it out and told me not to worry if he used naughty words.”
"Well, he most certainly is doing that.” Julia muttered. If she acted quickly, perhaps they could escape before he managed
to free the carriage and return for Alice. He obviously had not thought it necessary to restrain the child nor did he suspect that the abduction had yet been discovered.
"Mr. Sheffield was wrong, Alice.” Julia told her. "He should not have taken you away. Your papa would not be happy if you became ill sitting under a quilt in the rain. We will go back to the cottage where you will be warm and dry.”
"But I want to go home,” Alice protested. "I miss Papa.” Even in the dark, Julia could see her distress.
"You will go home,” Julia promised. "But it could take hours for Mr. Sheffield to free the carriage. First we must get you warm and dry.” She stood and held out her hand. "Come. We need to get you safe.”
Alice listened to the continued grunts and curses from the road ahead, then stood and took Julia's hand. "We should tell him we’re going back.”
"He will know when he sees you are gone.”
Oh, yes, Julia thought. He will know. And come back to the cottage. When he did, his methods would be more forceful. She would have to make alternate plans of her own. But first, they needed to get away from the despicable Mr. Sheffield.
TRISTAN STOOD BACK and surveyed his latest attempt to pull the carriage from the nearly axel deep sludge that trapped the wheels. The steady rain had forced him to maintain a slower pace than he'd preferred, and that slower pace had pressed the wheel deeper into the thickening clay.
When they'd halted, trapped, Tristan had been forced wake Alice to move her under the shelter of the trees. He'd quickly set her confusion at ease when he told her his name and reminded her of their first meeting. When he told Alice that her father had sent him to keep her safe, she had assured him Miss Dorsey was doing that.
He had countered that if the Dorsey woman were doing her job right, Tristan would not have succeeded in carrying her off. It was a test, he'd explained, and Miss Dorsey had failed in her job.
Alice had defended her friend though she accepted his logic. When he had rigged the quilt shelter over her, Alice had told him that testing Miss Dorsey while she slept wasn't fair.
After settling Alice in the shelter of a tree thicket near the road he had turned up the lamp affixed to the front of the phaeton and tackled coaxing the horse forward while trying to prevent the wheels from sinking deeper. The more he coaxed, the deeper the wheels ground into the soggy clay. The deeper the wheels dug, the more rainwater seeped into the new runnels, creating more pungent muck. He hated mud. Dirt brushed off, clay clung... and reeked of decay.
Finally, in the last half hour or more he'd gathered leaves, branches and sparse grasses to place in front of and behind the wheels to provide traction. Wet, cold, stinking of slime and impatient, he prayed the tangle of vegetation would finally allow him to pull the carriage out of the dip in the road that had ended their progress.
He slogged back to the horse and pulled on its harness, all the while praising him as he strained again. The leather pulled taut and the wheels creaked in protest. The branch under the front left wheel cracked and rocked forward. He pulled again. His muscles burned and sweat combined with the rain to run down his face. The phaeton lurched again and he nearly lost his balance in the sudden release when the carriage broke free. Moving back to the wheel he quickly layered more grass to prevent the wheels from being trapped again before he could load Alice back in and be on their way once more.
He took a moment to catch his breath but straightened and cocked his head in the direction of the girl's shelter. Voices? More than Alice talking or singing to herself. The child's treble carried through the air despite the masking patter of the rain, but it was the lower pitched, quieter hint of answer that caught his attention. He didn't need to hear the voice clearly to know to whom it belonged.
Crouching low, he silently made his way to the thicket. When he reached the shelter, he found the quilt and portmanteau, but no Alice. A branch cracked to his right and he quickly followed. He caught up to them as the Dorsey woman helped Alice onto the chestnut horse he'd seen at the cottage.
He leapt forward, pinning the woman's arms and pulling her away from the horse. "Oh, no, you don't.”
Alice cried out as did the woman who struggled wildly, kicking out and catching him on the shin. Alice shifted on the saddle as though she would come to the woman's assistance but Tristan called to her. "Alice, stay where you are,” he ordered. "I'll not hurt her.”
"But it’s Miss Dorsey!"
"I know who she is,” he grunted. "What I want to know is why she came after you.”
"She woke up,” the child declared. "I told you she took care of me. She passed the test after all.”
The woman tried to free her arms by suddenly going slack and sinking down, but he recognized the maneuver the instant she shifted and he tightened his grip. His arms now clamped around her breasts and the male in him responded to the plump firmness. He made himself reposition his grip around her ribcage. She tried to kick him again but he lifted and turned her at the same instant. Her foot caught nothing but air. He clamped tighter.
"Stop fighting. I don't want to hurt you.” He spoke low into her ear. "You are upsetting Alice and annoying me.”
She struggled a moment more but he held her firmly, determined that she would realize the futility of fighting him. Finally, she stopped trying to break free. Her body remained rigid and stiff, but she no longer bucked, kicked, or wriggled her shoulders. They both panted from their exertions.
"Very well,” she said. "Please remove your hands from my person.”
"That's better,” he approved. "However, I believe I prefer to keep you under control.”
He moved the woman closer to the horse before shifting his hold so that he held her with one arm while he gathered the reins and led them back to the mired carriage. The narrowness of her waist didn’t escape his attention. Nor did the soft pressure of her breasts and hip. She might be a traitor, but she was also a woman whose physical attributes couldn’t be denied.
At the phaeton, he swung the woman up and into the carriage with the warning, "Do not try to escape, Miss Dorsey. You will come with Alice and me and we’ll resolve matters once we arrive at our destination.”
"I do not trust kidnappers, sir. I do not trust you.”
"You have no choice.” He pulled a length of cording from under the seat and quickly bound her wrists together and anchored them to the side of the seat.
When Alice saw what he'd done, she protested. "But Mr. Sheffield, she passed the test. Why did you do that?"
"We will sort this out, Alice, but first I must make sure Miss Dorsey does not attempt to run away.”
"But – !"
He reached down and lifted her to sit beside Miss Dorsey. He gently tapped her nose with his forefinger and captured her gaze. "It is necessary. Do not untie her. I need to get your things.”
Moments later, he urged the horses forward one more time and started for Surrey at last. Beside him, huddled under the damp quilt and the carriage’s hood, both his passengers rode in silence and the atmosphere pulsated with their disapproval. Or perhaps the chill was his body reacting to the effect of wet linen and night air.
It wasn't the first time in his life he'd been miserably cold and exposed to rain in the night, but it had been fifteen years since it had been a regular experience. He didn't like it any better now. He adjusted the reins to increase their pace and mocked his pampered self. You are getting soft, Gutter Rat.
The rain ceased just before dawn. At some time in the night, he realized that the sense of silence beside him had altered and that both child and woman slept. His eyes burned and his face and hands were stiff with cold. When he passed over the narrow bridge beside a familiar ancient oak, he released a thankful breath. Almost there.
Gravel defined the road at the far side of the bridge. The clomp of hooves as they crossed the bridge, followed by the rattle of the wheels, woke his passengers. He felt them stir and shift, the movement no longer random.
The carriage reached the top of a rise, a
nd Hartford Manor, the house he’d inherited from his father, came into view. Few would think it suited an upstart raised in the lesser environs of London.
More great oaks surrounded the grounds and early morning light gave the warm stone facade a soft cream color. He had always liked the house. Though the place was grander than he would ever need, the house was small when compared to the other homes his father had owned. But it was his. Had it not been in the country, he might have spent more time here.
In a rather sleepy voice, Alice asked, "Where are we?"
"Yes, Mr. Sheffield,” Miss Dorsey asked, her low voice caressed his senses despite her ironic tone. "Where are we?"
He turned to face them, taking in the flush of sleep that still warmed their skin. On Alice, it raised the instinct to protect the innocent. On Miss Dorsey, it raised entirely different instincts that had nothing to do with innocence. Her eyes dilated slightly when she looked at him and he knew she reacted to him as well. Too bad she was a traitor.
"We are at our destination, at last.” He sent them a sardonic smile. "For reasons that should be obvious, that is all you need to know at present.”
He turned back, clucked at the horse and they descended the rise. At the front of the house, Tristan climbed down and faced his passengers again. "The house has no live-in staff and is maintained by infrequent custodial visits administered by solicitors. We shall be required to fend for ourselves.”
He lifted Alice down and set the portmanteau beside her. When he released the woman’s hands from the side of the seat, he didn’t loosen the bonds around her wrists though he assisted her to stand as well. Once on the graveled drive, he picked up Alice's things and took Miss Dorsey's elbow to guide her up the stairs to the door. "We shall not be disturbed.”
Chasing Scandal Page 4