The Kidnapped Bride

by Amanda Scott

  She had lost her dressing gown, but without giving it a thought, she snatched up the skirts of her nightdress in order to keep from tripping over them, and scrambled away toward the stone steps. However, despite his thunderous fall, Beck’s desperation to stop her seemed to overcome any of the pain he must have felt. He got to his feet somehow and, snarling, lunged after her.

  The lantern light barely pierced the gloom ahead, and Sarah moved more by instinct than anything else. She could hear him coming, but she had to feel for the steps, fearing to stumble lest he catch her again. She knew there would be no mercy. He would no doubt kill her at once, and though she realized that she had very likely succeeded in defending her virtue, it would be of little use to her dead.

  Her foot kicked against the lowest step, but at the same moment, Beck reached out and grabbed the back of her nightdress. Sarah struggled, crying out, and heard the gown rip, just as she was roughly shoved aside by a dark shape hurtling down the steps. After a resounding and, under the circumstances, quite satisfactory crack of bone against bone, Beck collapsed, and the lantern cast its faint glow across the familiar features of her rescuer.

  “Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas!” And, bursting into tears, she cast herself into his arms. It seemed perfectly natural that those strong arms should gather her close to that broad chest, holding her tightly, keeping her safe.

  Nicholas let her sob for a moment or two, doing nothing more than stroking her hair and muttering such intelligent stuff as “There, there,” and “It’s all right, Countess,” and so forth. But finally, her sobs began to diminish, and she became aware of her state of near-undress. Her first thought was that she ought to cover herself, but she was oddly reluctant to remove herself from the safety of his embrace.

  “How is she, my lord?” Sarah stiffened at the unfamiliar voice coming from behind her.

  “Well enough, considering everything.” Nicholas spoke grimly, but he must have felt her reaction, for there were definite overtones of amusement. Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder. Mr. Jeremy Oakes stood there gazing at her with undisguised admiration. Two other men, both wearing dark blue jackets, red waistcoats, and black hats moved from the tunnel entrance, through the circle of lantern light, toward the unconscious Beck.

  “Lady Moreland,” Nicholas pronounced in formal tones, “I should like to present Mr. Jeremy Oakes of Bow Street. Mr. Oakes, would you be so kind as to pass Lady Moreland that dressing gown at your feet?”

  Bow Street! And considering the very thin material of her nightdress, she might just as well be standing there naked! Sarah felt heat rush to her face, then a curious lightheadedness. But that was all she felt before she fainted dead away in his lordship’s arms.

  XVIII

  LATE THE FOLLOWING MORNING Sarah awoke with vague memories of being carried up the stairs, of a grim and dangerous look in his lordship’s eye before she had resolutely shut hers again, and of Miss Penistone’s calm voice and gentle hands tucking her into her own bed. There was a moment or two of disorientation before she remembered everything, but then her first thought was of Jeremy Oakes. Who would ever have suspected him to be a Bow Street Runner? Just wait until Colin heard about that! And Nicholas must have known all along.

  But just thinking of Nicholas unleashed a flood of tumbled thoughts. How safe she had felt in his arms! How glad she had been to see him! And, how angry he must be with her now. This last thought was a bit daunting. Looking back with the usual clarity afforded by hindsight, she could see how imprudent she had been. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t warned her, because he’d done so in no uncertain terms the night of Colin’s ghostwalk.

  Sighing, Sarah snuggled deeper under her covers, hoping no one would come to see how she did. The longer they thought her asleep, the longer it would be before she must face him. She wondered what he would do, remembering that he had threatened to return her to her aunt’s protection if she didn’t behave. But that had been a matter of her safety, and surely she was safe enough now that Mr. Oakes and his patrol had taken Beck into custody.

  Besides, she didn’t want to return to London, and she realized suddenly that the notion even had a different flavor to it. Before, it had been frightening because of the scandal. Now, she would resist going anywhere. She had come to love Ash Park. Turning that thought over in her mind, she realized it had a flattish, incomplete ring to it. It wasn’t precisely Ash Park she loved, though it was a very nice place now, of course. It was the master of Ash Park.

  The new thought was a bit of a shock, but it explained a good many things, right back to her pique when Nicholas had not ripped up at Darcy over the abduction! It also explained why his moods had such power to affect hers, why she had wanted his approval, why she reacted so unpredictably to his scolds, and certainly it explained why she had flung herself into his arms the previous night and not minded at all that she was scantily clad. She loved him. There, she had put the matter into words. So, what now? He surely didn’t love her. To hear him talk, she was naught but a millstone round his neck, a spoiled, poorly-behaved, feckless wench who flouted his commands and upset his plans. He would tear a strip off her for last night’s business and no doubt thoroughly enjoy doing it.

  And even if he didn’t dislike her, what could possibly come of it? As Darcy’s widow, she faced months of mourning. And with his lordship’s fine sense of propriety, she would certainly never dare to let him guess her feelings toward him. Surely, his every sensibility would be outraged. She would have to be stoical, and as the good Lord knew, she was not stoical by nature. But, one thing was certain. She would do her best to avoid displeasing him in future. That brought her thoughts racing back to the present, for he was doubtless much displeased with her now.

  With sudden determination, she flung back the covers and rang for Lizzie. Her newly acknowledged feelings, or perhaps merely the memory of his arms around her, caused a delicious tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach at the thought of seeing him, though she did not doubt the meeting would be of a decidedly disagreeable nature. As well to get over the heavy ground as lightly as possible, her sporting friends would say.

  Lizzie came quickly, armed with the information that Master Colin was waiting below about as patiently as a cat on hot bricks. Sarah laughed, but a few moments later she stood shifting from foot to foot as Lizzie did up the tiny pearl buttons on the back of a charming apricot morning frock.

  “Miss Sarah! How d’ye expect me to do these buttons if ye don’t stand still? And there’s the sash yet, too!”

  Obligingly, Sarah ceased her fidgeting. But when Lizzie would have had her sit to have her hair done properly, she rebelled. “Just put it in a snood, Lizzie. The lace one will do.” Having made up her mind to have the ordeal with his lordship over and done, she would brook no further delays. Besides, Colin might be able to tell her what sort of mood Nicholas was in.

  But this he could not do. “He’s not here,” the boy said simply, when she put the question to him. “Wasn’t here when I got up and Dasher won’t say where he went, but I expect there were some sort of formalities to be got through after that business last night.” He tried very hard to be nonchalant, but when Sarah invited him to keep her company while she broke her fast, he accepted with alacrity. Miss Penistone joined them soon after Betsy had placed a lovely light omelet, muffins, jam, and a pot of chocolate on the table before Sarah. It quickly became clear that she was as curious as Colin about the events of the preceding night. But where the boy expressed great disgust at having slept through the entire adventure, Penny could only be grateful that she had nearly done likewise.

  She had indeed helped put the semiconscious Sarah back to bed, but that had been only because his lordship, not knowing where to lay his hands upon a fresh nightdress, had come pounding at her door. Sarah blushed when this was recounted to her, but Penny assured her that, though he had indeed carried her to bed, it had been Penny who had replaced the ruined gown with the new one.

  “Well, yes, that’
s all very well,” Colin observed, clearly having no interest in nightdresses, “but how could Mr. Oakes be a Runner? I thought they all wore red waistcoats. They are known as ‘robin redbreasts,’ are they not?”

  Sarah had thought so, too, but Miss Penistone explained that only the members of the Horse Patrols wore such a uniform, that the Runners themselves, who were, after all, the crème de la crème of Bow Street, always wore ordinary clothes.

  “For you know, my dears, it quite goes against the English grain to support a uniformed police force. ’Twould smack too much of the military sort one finds on the Continent, and that would never do. Besides, the Runners are primarily employed as detectives, and how could they possibly do their job properly, if they were so easily recognizable? Why, every man jack around here would have shut up like an oyster had Mr. Oakes been known for a Runner!”

  They could not deny it, but Colin was still greatly chagrined to think that, while he thought himself to be chasing a villain, he had actually been chasing a Bow Street Runner. “And to think it was Beck all the time. A valet!”

  “Much more than a valet,” Sarah put in grimly, but she added in consolation, “At least you were right about the hidden entrance to the cellars, Colin, and about the treasure.”

  He chuckled at that. “I’d like to have seen it. You don’t suppose it’s still there, do you?”

  It wasn’t. Sarah took him down to the cellars when she had finished her meal, only to discover that the place was now completely empty. She couldn’t find a means of opening the sliding door from inside, so at his insistence, she showed him the boulder entrance, and after much trial and error, they finally contrived to open the panel. Sarah decided that the difficulty of the mechanism must have been responsible for the slowness of Beck’s arrival the previous night. No doubt, Darcy had been the one to operate it in the past.

  Colin was fascinated by the tunnel and the secret panel, but she finally convinced him that they ought to be available when his uncle returned, whereupon he went quite cheerfully on his way. Then, certain that the explorations had undone her appearance, she retired immediately to her bedchamber and rang for Lizzie to repair the damages. Lizzie clucked and scolded, insisting that her charge seemed to have developed a penchant for turning herself into a perfect shag-rag, but Sarah only chuckled at her. The front window was open, and Lizzie had no sooner twitched the skirt of the moss-green silk frock into place than Sarah was certain she heard a carriage approaching. A few moments later, she and Penny entered the library to find Lady Packwood disappointingly in sole possession.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” she greeted, adding a cheerful nod to Penny. “Sit down and tell me all about last night. I trust you’ve recovered, for all I’ve heard is what Colin managed to worm out of the servants. I’ve been waiting impatiently for him to return from his visit to you, but now Dasher informs me he’s gone off to the stables. Boys! Men, too, for that matter. Here Nicky’s gone off heaven knows where, and Percy says it don’t concern us. I ask you, how much can one be expected to endure!”

  Laughing, Sarah obliged her with an outline of the night’s events, sketching her own role lightly and without dwelling upon Beck’s assault. She merely said she had managed to elude him and had started up the stairs when his lordship arrived.

  “And dubbed him chancery suit upon the nob!” announced Colin proudly from the doorway.

  “Dubbed him what?” demanded his grandmother.

  “Tipped him a settler,” explained the boy sweetly.

  “Go in or get out, brat,” ordered his uncle behind him, “and speak the King’s English to her ladyship, if you please.”

  Grinning impudently, Colin moved to stand by the fireplace. “Very well, sir. In plain English then, ma’am, Uncle Nick planted him a facer that knocked him into horsenails.”

  Lady Packwood laughed. “So pleased to have the matter properly explained. I collect that you knocked the villain down, Nicky, and if I read between the lines of Sarah’s tale, very likely saved her life.”

  Sarah flushed, avoiding Nicholas’s eye. His voice was carefully even. “I daresay, ma’am, but the villain is now safely locked in Newgate. I saw him sentenced myself.”

  “Will they hang him?” Colin demanded.

  “Of course,” Nicholas replied, watching Sarah.

  “You knew about Mr. Oakes, didn’t you?”

  “To be sure, Countess. I hired him.”

  “You hired him!” Sarah’s indignation lent a spark to her eye and an edge to her voice.

  “Indeed. Although to be perfectly truthful, he was already engaged upon the matter, in a manner of speaking. I tried to tell you yesterday, but you weren’t in a precisely attentive mood at the time.” He cast her a speaking look, then continued. “When I went up to Town after the murder, I went directly to Bow Street and spoke privately with Sir Nathaniel Conant, the Chief Magistrate there. It was he who informed me that Mr. Oakes was already searching for certain highwaymen in this vicinity. I simply hired him to investigate the murder as well, though we’d no notion then, of course, that the two matters were connected. Sir Nathaniel promised to provide a full Patrol once we had a definite lead.”

  Lady Packwood shook her head. “Gone are the days when a victim could send a special message to Mr. John Fielding, when he was Chief Magistrate, and be paid for his trouble. Mr. Fielding promised to dispatch a patrol in pursuit on a quarter-hour’s notice. I can remember my papa showing me an advertisement to that effect.”

  Nicholas smiled at her. “Nevertheless, ma’am, we can scarcely complain of shabby treatment. Sir Nathaniel informed me that a murder or any atrocious crime would always be investigated free of charge, but I knew that most Runners ask for a fee—country cases usually require a guinea plus fourteen shillings for living expenses per day—so I told Sir Nathaniel to tote it up to me. In addition, I offered Mr. Oakes a generous reward if he proved successful.”

  “But why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because, brat, Mr. Oakes asked me to keep mum. If word of a Runner’s presence had got out, the villains would most likely have gone to ground. He wanted their confidence bolstered, if anything, so they would come into the open.”

  “Well, it seems to me Cousin Sarah ought to get the reward,” Colin said brightly. “After all, she’s the one who discovered Beck and recognized him for the highwayman.”

  “Don’t worry, brat,” Nicholas said with meaning. “Cousin Sarah will get exactly what she deserves.”

  “I collect that the murder was the result of a falling out among thieves,” put in Lady Packwood quickly. “How lowering to think one is related, no matter how haphazardly, to a highwayman. At least, however, he seems to have been a successful one.”

  “Very,” Nicholas agreed shortly. “But, at least we need not suffer the indignity of knowing an Ashton has been hanged.”

  “Nonsense, Nicky. One was hanged just last year, a John Ashton, though I daresay you missed it, being with the Duke and all. But I heard quite a lot about it from friends who wished to know if he was related to old Moreland.”

  “I did miss it,” his lordship agreed. “It must have been a bit trying.”

  “Well, it was, for what must the stupid man do, but run up the steps of the Newgate gallows as fast as he could to dance and kick and shout to the crowd, ‘Look at me! I am Lord Wellington!’”

  “Good heavens!”

  “Exactly so. It was necessary for two men to hold him. When the signal was given, Ashton actually rebounded from the rope to the platform, apparently unhurt, and cried out loudly, ‘What do ye think of me? Am I not Lord Wellington now?’ At length the executioner was compelled to get upon the scaffold himself to push him off!”

  “Seems stubborn enough to have been related after all,” Nicholas teased, relaxing again.

  “Exactly what Percy said,” pronounced her ladyship with an indignant sniff. “Still and all, I’m grateful to Beck for saving us such an indignity. Really, it seems almost a shame that the man m
ust die after performing such a signal service.”

  Sarah tried without success to repress a chuckle, and Colin didn’t even try to suppress his amusement, but Nicholas frowned heavily. “Believe it when I say the scoundrel deserves his fate,” he said grimly. “And now, if the rest of you will excuse us, I should like to have a private word with Lady Moreland.”

  Sarah stiffened, watching in some dismay as Lady Packwood, Penny, and Colin obediently left her to her fate. She had stood automatically when they did and thought the room must have turned chilly, for she shivered when the door closed, leaving her shut in alone with his lordship.

  Nicholas moved to stand near the desk, and as the silence in the room lengthened, Sarah turned to face him. Her hands seemed to have a will of their own, clutching at each other just below her breasts when she would have liked them to rest relaxed at her side.

  “Please, my lord,” she began, bravely enough, “I know I behaved badly last night, that I should have heeded your warnings. I … I believed it was Colin again and sought to surprise him. It never occurred to me….” She broke off, but he remained silent, waiting politely for her to continue. She swallowed with difficulty. Truly, he was looking very severe. “It should have occurred to me. I know that now, and you must have much that you wish to say upon that subject, sir, but I beg you will not be too harsh.”

  “You deserve that I should scold you, do you not?” He spoke quietly, and Sarah nodded, her hands clutched more tightly than ever, her face pale. “In fact, Countess, you deserve to be punished severely for such foolhardiness.” Sarah was silent, her eyes downcast. “You might have been killed, you know. You damned well nearly were, for that matter. Had it not been that Mr. Oakes was hot on Beck’s trail, had in fact laid a trap for him—”