She could tell him to come to the front door to speak with her, but looking at his determined face right now, he didn’t seem like he was going to be civil about this.
She was beginning to realize that love could be quite foolish at times. Indeed, she was the most foolish of all.
The man deserved at least a conversation face to face. What a silly plan. Marcus wasn’t going to come after her. He was going to marry Miss Canton.
And this elopement was truly quite insane. Seeing Knightengale in such a frenzy, made her realize that she had been selfish and immature.
Well, drat. She would have to come down and explain things to him. It was the only way to save him from being flogged by the men in the house if they caught him.
She fingered the curtains. If she swung them outside the windows and hung on to the ends, Lord Knightengale could catch her.
She told him her plan.
His mouth twisted into a frown. “I thought you had a rope or something. You could hurt yourself. Even break your neck.”
“I won’t break my neck.” At least she knew he cared.
She stared at Cleo and wondered if she could hold the cat as she hung. Cleo made her feel safe.
“Hurry up, Millicent. Someone may see us.”
“Are you afraid?” she said, smiling from the window. Perhaps he would leave and this would be like a bad dream.
“I am not afraid. I am merely trying to put some time between us and the Clearbrooks.”
The Clearbrooks! The thought of anyone catching them in the midst of an elopement made her shiver in dread. She would never hear the end of it. She needed to put a halt to this crazy plan of hers at once.
“I am thinking that perhaps we should not do this,” she called down to him.
A taut silence hung between them.
“If you do not come down, I am coming up,” he snapped.
She frowned. The man was insistent. “But if you would only listen, I—”
He grabbed the vines and started climbing. “I’m coming up to get you and won’t take no for an answer.”
“Well, for goodness sakes. You are going to break your neck. Don’t come up. I’ll come down.”
The man was almost as stubborn as she was. They would never agree on anything. It was a good thing she never meant to marry him. She swung her leg out the window and clasped one hand onto the curtain. It was a long way down.
“I’m here. Jump. I’ll catch you. Hurry.”
She let go and tumbled on top of the man, barely making him stagger.
He clutched her in his arms and smiled down at her. “You’re a feather, sweetheart.” He let her slip to the ground.
She took in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She could not believe she had just jumped out the window. Of all the stupid things she had done, this was the worst!
She looked into his beaming face and frowned. “We need to talk.”
“Not now. We have to move along.”
He grabbed her hand and yanked her away from the house, around the maze and toward his carriage.
“Lord Knightengale. Please, stop.”
He didn’t pay her any attention.
She dug her heels into the ground, but he continued to drag her past the evergreens and toward the lane in back. “I have something to say, and I must say it now.” Didn’t he realize she wasn’t even wearing a wrap?
Nothing.
She swallowed. The man was purposely not listening to her! She was made of better stuff than acting like some simpering female, trying to runaway.
And getting married, or even pretending to get married, to spite Marcus, was something a child would do. She was no longer a child, but a woman. And this was no play to be acted out. This was life.
“Lord Knightengale, please, listen to me!” She yanked at his hand, finally grabbing his attention.
He turned, his mouth taking on a hard edge. “What the devil is wrong now?”
She was a bit stunned by his language. “I don’t even know your first name.”
His face lightened. “Harold. My name is Harold, my sweet.”
He tugged on her hand, but she pulled back with all her might. He spun around, his expression angry. “Don’t dawdle. That’s my carriage. Ten more feet and we will be on our way. “
Her eyes fell into two slits of anger. “I am not dawdling. I have reconsidered. And am asking your forgiveness for being such a peagoose. Didn’t you notice? I don’t have a trunk or even a valise! Or even a wrap!”
“WHAT?” His face became a diabolical mask of rage.
This was not the face of the gentle man she knew. She wondered if dinner hadn’t agreed with him.
She lifted her chin and met his furious gaze with determined grays eyes. The wind was picking up and she was freezing. “I am sorry. But a woman has the right to change her mind, and I have changed my mind.”
“You do not want to go to Gretna Green?”
“No, I do not.”
What man would not be angry if a woman had teased him along like she had? Truly, she could not blame him at all.
“You want a wedding in the Abbey?”
“No.”
“Are you saying, you have no wish to marry me at all?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying. Forgive me. I led you on. Marcus was right. I am a flirt.”
His eyes turned an ominous black. “Too bad, sweetheart. The moment you jumped out that window, you were mine.” Two powerful hands seized her waist and deposited her into the carriage as if she were a bag of wheat.
She sank on the seat with a plop. Shock rippled through her. Her hip hurt from his apelike attitude. He wasn’t listening to her at all.
She looked up, furious. The lantern from the carriage illuminated his huge form, making her shiver. But she had started this, and she would finish it. She would try another tactic. “I can see how you might feel slighted, and I cannot blame you at all.”
“Slighted? Hell’s teeth, woman, keep quiet.”
She stiffened. “How dare you—”
“Shut up!”
She blinked as he dove into the carriage and yelled for the driver to move.
“How dare you talk to me that way. I won’t have it! I won’t have you!” She rose to alert the driver to stop when Knightengale flung her back into the seat.
Her eyes widened at the violence of his actions.
“I don’t think you understand, Miss Millicent Shelby. You are going to marry me. You are going to be my wife, and we are going to Gretna Green, whether you want to or not.”
Something in his expression made her blood run cold. “I don’t understand.”
His laugh made her ill. “I admit you are a pretty little parcel. In fact...” His hard gaze wandered over her as if he owned her. “I do not believe I can wait until Gretna Green.”
She scooted into the corner. “D-don’t you touch me.”
But his large form hovered over her. His foul breath fanned her face. She winced. The man had been drinking. She could smell whiskey. That must be the reason why he was acting so horrible.
“I can touch you any time I want.” He snatched her and tossed her onto his lap. “And when you’re my wife—”
She slapped his cheek. The sound reverberated throughout the carriage followed by the clip clop of horses’ hooves that echoed against the horrible silence.
He swore and swung his arm upward, slapping her back. Her head snapped against the seat and exploded with pain.
“It won’t take much to break your pretty neck.”
Her stomach rolled. She closed her eyes as tears stung her lids. But anger soon replaced her discomfort as his hand trailed near her ankle.
“We have to understand each other,” he said softly. “When you are my wife, you will be my property. You will do anything I say. Anything.”
She opened her eyes and spat at him.
“You little brat!” He slapped her again.
She saw black and tasted blood. Her head d
rummed with pain.
“That was only a tap, sweetheart. If I wanted to hurt you, you would be out for days.”
She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her entire body ached. She scooted as far away from him as possible and curled up into a tiny ball. “I d-despise you.”
He released a wicked chuckle. “I suppose you do. But I think we will get along very nicely.”
“You did this for my money?”
“My, my, you do catch on fast, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened when a sudden thought occurred to her. “You . . . y-you killed my father. You were involved in some way, weren’t you?”
His jaw hardened. “I have no idea what you are talking about?”
She wanted to pummel him with her fists, but the man would certainly hit her again. “I thought you cared for me.”
“I do, Millicent. You are quite pretty. You have a nice figure.” His gaze traveled over her again. “Yes, you will do nicely as my wife.”
“Marcus will kill you!”
His dark laughter chilled her bones. “Ah, but I will kill him first.”
The notion that this man may have murdered her father kept repeating in her brain. “What about the man in London?”
His eyes narrowed. “What man?”
She bit her bleeding lip. “Nothing.”
He clamped a powerful hand about her neck. “I would hate to make any marks upon this pretty white skin, wife.”
She leaned toward the window. “I am not your wife.”
His hand squeezed. “What man in London?”
“The man who confessed to the crime,” she choked out.
“Crime?”
“Of murdering my father,” she said, pushing his hand away.
He swore, making a fist and hitting the seat beside her. “This changes things! I’ll have to make it look as if he did it by himself.”
“Who?”
He raised his brows and laughed at her. “My father, who else?”
“Your father killed my papa?”
“Since we will be man and wife, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. What you have will be mine.” He chuckled, skimming a finger over her cheek. “And what I have is yours, sweetheart.”
She wished she had told someone where she was going. She was stupid. She was a flirt. Marcus was right.
Defiance filled her as she glared back at him. “How do you know I won’t tell anyone about your wicked plot?”
His lips took on a dangerous line. “I have my ways.”
An icy shiver shot down her back. Knightengale seemed a bit insane. After he gained access to her money, would he kill her? But Marcus and his brothers would discover his ploy and go after him. Her mind reeled. A lot of good that would do! Because by the time they learned of her location, she would be dead. And even if they made it to Gretna Green, would a marriage even be legal without Stephen’s approval? She had taunted Marcus with the very idea. She felt sick.
Oh, what did it matter about legality or not? The man would probably throw her on a ship to America with him and ruin her.
Dear God, she prayed, leaning her head against the coolness of the carriage window. I know I’ve been selfish and immature, but please help me, God, please help me . . .
Chapter Twenty-Three
Marcus strode into the Bath home and stared in the mirror, frowning as his black hair gleamed against the candlelight. The scent of lavender spiked his senses. He dropped his gaze and noticed a pair of lady’s gloves resting on the hall table. He picked them up, brought them to his nose and smiled. The little princess had forgotten them.
He slipped the gloves into his pocket, looking up as Cleo padded down the stairs. “Ah, I assume your mistress is not far behind?”
The cat crept up to him and purred, curling about his ankle.
His black brows lifted in surprise. “Oh, so now you wish to be friendly, eh?”
“Hello, Uncle Marcus!”
Marcus turned to see a pink bonnet bobbing up and down the hall as Gabby ran toward him.
His silver eyes twinkled. “Aren’t you to be in bed, little queen?”
She tugged on his hand. “I saw the prince outside my window,” she whispered. “But he looked mean. I think he is the black prince. You need to make him go away.”
Marcus’s lips curled into a genuine smile as he tied her dressing gown tighter about her waist. “The black prince? You mean, the dastardly, evil villain who kidnaps the lovely and beautiful princess in the tower?”
She scowled, slapping at his hands. “You are laughing at me. You don’t believe me. I am not a baby!”
He knelt down and fixed her bonnet. The girl was adorable. “Of course, I believe you. But I have business with the duke.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, very well. I forgive you.”
Marcus straightened. “Why, thank you.”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “Do you know, I don’t think that prince is a prince at all?”
“Ah,” he said, smothering a laugh. “I don’t think so either.”
Her eyes beamed with delight. “He is a frog,” she whispered.
Marcus brushed a hand through her curls and clenched his teeth to keep from laughing. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings again, but thunderation, she was becoming more like Milli everyday. “Scoot up to bed, poppet. Your mother won’t be happy if she finds you missing.”
“Oh, she knows I’m looking for my prince. I have five minutes before she comes to get me. I better run!” Her little feet slapped down the hall toward the kitchen with Cleo not far behind.
He chuckled. He shook his head and entered the duke’s study where Roderick and Stephen were waiting.
“So,” Stephen said, handing him a snifter of brandy. “You did the deed.”
Marcus narrowed his gaze and grimaced, saying nothing.
The duke shook his head and scowled. “Why the devil would you offer for that woman when you could have something better?”
Marcus took a sip of his drink.
Stephen clanked his glass on the desk and swore. “Confound it! I believed you the smartest of all the brothers, but now, I believe you are the stupidest Clearbrook I have ever met!”
Marcus pursed his lips just as Clayton walked past the door with a dark expression clouding his handsome features.
“So, you did it,” Clayton said furiously, taking in the faces of the other men. “You offered for the general’s daughter.”
Marcus opened his mouth, but was halted as Stonebridge stomped into the room. “For the love of King George, why would you do something so stupid? You don’t love Miss Canton.”
Marcus slapped his snifter onto the desk. “Do you mind if I say a word in my defense?”
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
Stephen glowered at him. “You must have a hole in your head.”
“Do you want a hole in your head?” Marcus asked, his voice clipped.
Stephen threw his hands in the air. “I cannot believe you are my brother. You played with Milli’s affections. Elizabeth is lived. Milli is—”
“Gone!” came Elizabeth’s voice as she exploded into the room. “She’s gone!”
Marcus grabbed his sister-in-law. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were wild with panic. “She ran off with Lord Knightengale.”
“That’s preposterous,” Clayton said. “Knightengale would never do such a thing.”
Elizabeth hands were shaking. “Milli’s maid delivered a note to Knightengale less than two hours ago. The girl was feeling a bit guilty when she saw the window open in Milli’s room and the curtain half ripped from its holder.” Elizabeth let out a sob. “And now Milli is no where to be found.”
A sudden hush came over the room as the reality of the facts finally sank in.
Stephen strode toward his wife and pulled her close. “There, there. We shall find her.”
“He’s off to Gretna Gre
en,” Marcus said harshly, feeling his entire world crumbling. Had he pushed Milli into that man’s hands? He would never forgive himself.
“Your Grace.” All heads turned as the butler walked into the room. He handed the duke a letter. “Came by special messenger only minutes ago.”
The duke grimaced and handed the note to Marcus. “Open it. It has the name of the killer. The Home Office was trying to keep things quiet. I knew the web was wider than they thought. I sent for the information as soon as we heard they had a man in custody. In fact, I demanded to know the man’s name immediately.”
Marcus put the letter aside. “I don’t have time—”
“Open it,” the duke snapped. “If I it is who I think it is, Milli is in more danger than I thought.”
Marcus paled. He slipped his finger over the seal and opened the missive. “Hell’s teeth!” He looked up. “Knightengale’s father confessed to killing William Shelby.”
Elizabeth gasped and buried her head in her husband’s chest. “Oh, Stephen.”
Marcus read the rest of the letter, wanting to tear Knightengale to shreds. “The man also admits his son was involved. Seems they owed Shelby a good sum, and were up the River Tick. They could not pay their vowels. Their I.O.U’s were rampant in London. They mortgaged most of the lands that were not entailed. In essence, they were dead broke.”
His face became a mask of rage as he passed the paper to Stephen. “It seems they were waiting until Milli turned eighteen, so they could have access to her inheritance.”
“He is going to marry Milli, then kill her,” Elizabeth screamed. She tugged at Stephen’s cravat. “Do something. Oh, poor Milli. I’ll go myself. I can ride.”
Stephen’s eyes had turned black with fury as gazed at Marcus and patted his wife’s shoulders. “We will get Milli back, dear. But you will not ride.”
Clayton grabbed the letter, looked it over, and scowled. “I don’t understand. He knows we would kill him if he touches a hair on her head.”
Marcus could hear his heart beat against his chest as he stared out the window where the moon peeked past the clouds. He had been a fool. He had underestimated Knightengale, and now Milli’s life was in danger. “He may travel to America or somewhere in the new world. The man may believe we won’t find him. Who knows, he may take Milli with him. He cannot kill her until he has all her money.”
The Mischievous Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 25