If Crayton harmed Francie, Alexander would kill him—with his bare hands.
Dr. Stockert’s examination confirmed Alexander’s suspicions. Bernard had lost a large amount of blood. Fortunately, the bullet burst through the skin and didn’t necessitate fishing around for it—one bit of very good news. If they could keep the wound from putrefying, he had a chance.
All was as settled as it could be at Drakemoor with a nurse at Bernard’s bedside and the entire staff on the lookout for unwelcome guests. After Bernard’s bloody entry, Alexander had no choice but to alert the staff of Francie’s disappearance and Crayton’s part in it. There had been a time when Alexander would have taken a vow of silence rather than involve the staff in personal affairs. But that was before Francie.
“You know what to do, James?”
The butler responded without a single foot tap. “Indeed I do, sir.” He raised a pistol and said, “If Lord Crayton comes knocking, I shall keep him here at any cost.”
“Exactly right.” Alexander hesitated a second and then extended a hand. “Thank you, James.”
The other man’s foot lifted, halted, and settled back on the parquet floor without a sound. He stood taller, puffed out his chest, and accepted his master’s hand. “Godspeed, sir.”
Alexander nodded and turned on his heel. Given the opportunity, even the most ordinary of men would rise to the occasion. Perhaps he’d put too much on his abilities and too little on everyone else’s. There was indeed a certain amount of comfort knowing James would do his very best to protect Drakemoor and its inhabitants. Of course, Alexander would prefer to take on both tasks but he couldn’t search for his wife and protect his home. He had to accept assistance—a novel approach for someone accustomed to relying solely on himself.
He needed help if he were to find Francie, not only from those residing at Drakemoor, but those who might know the whereabouts of her abductor. Visions of black curls and a too-sultry smile flashed through his brain as he mounted Baron and sped down the lane.
***
“Alexander, what a true pleasure it is to see you.” Claire rose and smiled at him from across the room. “Do come in and I’ll order refreshments.” He’d come to her! For comfort? Commiseration? Affection? She would most gladly provide all three and more.
The object of her obsession raked a hand through his disheveled hair and made his way toward her. “I’ve no time for refreshments. It’s Francie,” he said in a voice that sounded wild and desperate. “I can’t find my wife.”
Wife? Oh, how she abhorred that word when spoken in association with Alexander. She wanted to tell him his wife had vanished. Poof, all gone. If Jared possessed even a speck of common sense, he’d keep her well hidden, maybe venture to Italy or the West Indies for a time. She tilted her head to give Alexander a better glimpse of her long neck and tapped a finger to her chin as though thinking, which she was, but not about that chit. No, she was thinking of Alexander Bishop with his shirt off, muscles gleaming from the sun and sweat...
“Claire.” He touched her sleeve. “She’s gone missing. I’ve come to ask for help.”
She blocked out the pain in his voice. He should bleed with worry for her, not Francie Jordan. She looked up into the silvery depths of his gaze that shone bright, perhaps a bit too bright. “How may I help you, Alexander?” She loved the sound of his name on her lips and couldn’t wait to whisper it as he made love to her.
“I have reason to believe Crayton has kidnapped Francie.”
Claire drew a hand to her lips in feigned surprise. “Kidnapped? Are you certain?”
“Reasonably, yes.”
He must stop speaking as though someone had pummeled his chest. She clasped his hand and delighted as heat and desire shot through her. Soon she would be at liberty to touch his entire body. “How utterly barbaric. I’d not thought Jared capable of such a deed.” In truth, he wasn’t. The final plan had been her idea and it was working splendidly.
“The man is capable of more than you can imagine. You must help me find them.”
Not very likely. She gently disengaged her hand and turned away for fear he’d see the hatred on her face. “How could I possibly help?” Pray, Jared had already ravaged the bitch.
“Do you know where he might have taken her?” She hid a smile. The velvet timbre in his voice stroked her senses as she envisioned his naked body. She would have him. Soon. The very thought made her bold and anxious. “She’s not worthy of you, Alexander.” She slipped a hand into the pocket of her gown and clutched Francie’s locket and wedding ring. “She has no breeding, no grace, no refinement. You deserve much better.” Claire turned to him and traced the scar on his face. “You deserve me.”
His jaw twitched the tiniest bit. A sign of interest, to be certain, though he was much too noble to state his desire at present—but he did desire her—all men did. He merely needed a bit of persuasion. She removed the locket and ring from her pocket and opened her hand so Alexander could understand well and truly that his wife was indeed gone. “She’s not coming back.”
“Those are Francie’s. Where did you get them?” He took them from her, his gaze wild and frantic. “There’s blood on the ring. Claire, where the hell did you find them?”
“Blood?” She inched closer and inhaled his spicy scent. “Hmm. So there is.” She shrugged. “He’ll never let her go. And now that I have you…” She offered him her most dazzling smile and just the tiniest hint of cleavage. “I’ll not let you go either.”
He took a step toward her. “Answer me.”
She would not let him intimidate her. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, and yet I behaved as a lady should, with grace and proper decorum. And then she appeared like a bit of windblown baggage and you actually wed her. Have you no idea what an insult that was to me?” She sighed. “Drakemoor was the true object of your affection; we all knew that. I daresay even she knew it. Still, I was quite put off by the whole affair. But Jared has her now so you’ll not need to feign affection for her in order to share your precious Drakemoor.”
“Where is she, Claire?”
He could be quite frightening if he chose to. She liked this side of him. Perhaps he’d show her more. “How should I know?” That should stir him up a bit.
Alexander grabbed her arm and yanked her to within an inch of his face. “You know and you’ll tell me.”
Indeed, she quite desired the angry, more primitive aspect of Alexander Bishop. “Will you leave bruises on my arm for my father to wonder about?” She smiled up at him. “He’ll not be pleased.”
Alexander’s silver gaze narrowed on her neck. “Do not tempt me.”
Claire laughed and stroked his cheek. “I think you are the type of man who is only tempted when he wants to be.” She leaned on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to be tempted, Alexander?”
He released her arm and stepped away, his face void of the emotion that possessed him moments ago. “I should like to speak with your father.” He straightened his cravat and stood waiting like an impenetrable wall.
“My father? Whatever for?”
“I plan to inform him of your part in Francie’s kidnapping.”
“Hah! He’ll never believe you and I’ve admitted to nothing.”
His gaze sliced her. “But you have.” He opened his large hand to expose the ring and locket. “By your possession of these.”
She glanced at the revolting objects. “They prove nothing.” Father would never believe him.
“I also plan to present him with a list of names.”
“Names?”
Alexander’s lips worked into a smile that chilled her. “You haven’t always behaved as a lady should, have you? I have a list of the men and boys with whom you shed your ‘grace and proper decorum’. Do you not think the stable boy with nary a hair on his chin is not as eager to spout his prowess as the widower with nary a hair on his head? Indeed, they will talk.”
She feigned righteous anger. “How dare
you imply that I have been less than—”
Before she could finish her tirade Alexander interrupted, “Very well then, you won’t mind if I have a moment with your father.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’m a businessman, Claire. I study the market and take calculated risks that bring huge rewards. Do not think I conduct my personal life or affiliations with any less stringent guidelines. If I say I have names, I have them, and I will use them if need be.”
Cruel man. Vicious. Unworthy.
“Tell me where my wife is or by all that is holy, I’ll expose your indiscretions, beginning with Pastor Hulings.”
***
Alexander sped to the cottage on the far side of the duke’s property. If Claire were lying, by God, he’d plaster her indiscretions in The Times for all of London and half of England to see. He’d called her bluff when he told her he had the names of the men and boys she’d dallied with, but as he’d warned her, he was quite good at calculating risk. Too many men owed him money and favors; the names could be easily gotten and then even more easily spread throughout the countryside.
He had to find Francie, had to save her from the beast who threatened her. Alexander crested a hill and spotted the cottage Claire described. He forced himself to remain calm as he neared, for if he lost his head, he might jeopardize his wife’s safety.
Let her be well. Let her be safe.
Alexander approached the cottage quietly and dismounted. Where was Crayton’s horse? Had they already left? Or had Claire lied to him? Dread seized his heart as he inched open the door.
The inside of the cottage was dim with late afternoon shadows and he had to adjust his eyes to make out objects. A chair. Vases of flowers. A bed. He squinted and drew near the latter.
“Francie?”
She shook her head and pulled on a leather strap binding her wrists to the headboard. “No. Please, I beg of you. Please.”
The sight of his wife tied to a bed sickened him. Cursing, he rushed to her and knelt before her. “It’s Alexander, my love.”
She turned to him, a wild, near-hysteric look in her eyes. “Alexander?”
He touched her tear-stained cheek with great tenderness and even greater caution. “It’s all right, Francie. He can’t hurt you now.”
“Alexander,” she whispered. “He vowed to get me. I fear he’ll be back.”
“No, no, my love.” With a bit of effort, he unbound her hands and pulled her against his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered into her hair. “On my life, no one will harm you.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment and thanked God she was alive. “Where is Crayton now?”
“On his way to Devonshire, I think. A servant came hours ago with a message and he left. He has a gun, he shot Uncle Bernard...and Claire...” she broke off sobbing and Alexander pulled her closer.
“Your uncle is being tended by the physician at this very moment. He arrived at Drakemoor a short time ago.” He paused, debating whether he should tell her the state Bernard had been in. He decided on the truth. “He lost quite a bit of blood.”
“That evil man shot him.”
“And he shall pay. Come, my love, I need to get you out of here.” Alexander lifted her into his arms and carried her from the cottage. Her eyes fluttered shut and she went limp, her face pressed against his chest. He could have lost her today. His heart pounded so hard it hurt to breathe. He could not lose her. Alexander lifted Francie onto Baron, climbed behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, Francie,” he breathed into her hair.
He rode with as much speed as he thought she could tolerate. When they were still some distance away, he found an isolated area amidst the trees and stopped. They would rest awhile and then continue their journey to Drakemoor. Alexander dismounted and helped his wife down, then with great gentleness checked her for injuries. His rage grew with each abrasion, each cut, and when he’d completed his examination, he vowed, “I will kill him.”
Francie pressed his hand against her cheek. Her lips trembled when she spoke. “I thought I might never see you again.”
He placed a soft, reverent kiss on her lips. “I feared you were lost to me forever. My life would be worthless without you. I love you, Francie, with every ounce of breath I possess. I’ve been a fool. An utterly, ridiculous fool.”
Her eyes glistened. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”
He kissed her temple. “That I love you? Or that I’ve been a fool?”
“Both.” Her voice fell to a husky whisper. “I thought I might die and never hear you speak of love. And now that you have, I fear once will never be enough.”
His hand trembled as he caressed her cheek. “That is quite fortunate for me, for I fear I will need to profess it several times a day.” He paused, then asked the question he dreaded most. “Did he hurt you? Did he...force you?”
She shook her head. “No, he did not.”
Relief flooded through him. His wife was safe.
“There’s something I must tell you,” Francie said. “It’s about Claire Ashcroft.” She bit her lower lip, a habit she had when caught in a bout of uncertainty.
He would spare her further upset. “I know she was involved in your abduction. I’ll see she pays for her choice of regrettable friends and ill pursuits.”
Francie worried her lower lip with greater ferocity and blurted out, “She’s my sister, Alexander.”
“Sister?” Surely, he’d not heard right. He searched her face, looking for something, anything, that would claim this word false. Claire and Francie could not be sisters. They possessed no like qualities save they were both females. They were as different as...Belmont and Philip, evil and goodness, arrogance and humbleness. Hatred and love.
“Claire is my twin sister. I learned of this today from Uncle Bernard when she discovered my locket. It all makes sense if one thinks about it. She could pass as Lord Belmont’s daughter with her black hair and fair skin. I, obviously, could not.” She raised a hand and fingered a lock of her glorious curls.
“She knows you are sisters?” he asked, still reeling from this latest discovery.
Francie shrugged as though the matter were of little consequence but he didn’t miss the fleeting pain in her eyes. “I thought she’d come to help me.”
Alexander eased her chin between his fingers and placed a tender kiss on her lips. “She’ll not bother you again. I promise.” Sister or not, he had plans for Claire Ashcroft. What would her father say when he learned she lifted her skirts for men and boys of every station? He’d not take it well, Alexander guessed.
“And Jared Crayton?”
He tensed. Mention of the man made him want to beat the bastard with his bare fists. He forced himself to relax and provide a reasonable answer. “I shall find him and deal with him.” He would not tell her of the unsavory characters he knew in London who could rearrange a man’s body parts in exchange for a satchel of coins.
***
Francie dreamed she heard hoofbeats, soft and steady at first and then louder, more persistent. It was him! She must escape before he returned. She yanked at the leather strap that bound her to the bed but could not free herself. She was well and truly trapped.
Jared Crayton said he would send for her. He would abuse her body, scar her soul, steal all hope for a future with Alexander, employing vileness and cruelty until he broke her. She would rather die. The hoofbeats stopped.
“No!” She thrashed about the bed, kicking and screaming. “No!” She would not give in. “Leave me alone! Don’t touch me, you horrible beast!”
“Francie. Wake up. Look at me, my love.”
Alexander? Her eyes flew open. Her husband stared back at her, an expression of such concern and heartache on his face, it pained her. “Alexander,” she breathed.
“You had a bad dream,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. No one will hurt you, I swear it.”
She blinked and took in her surroundings—she was in Alexander’s room, in his bed, and h
e lay beside her, freshly shaved and smelling of spice and mint. His silk robe hung open, revealing a chest that made her light-headed.
“Francie?”
His soothing tone coaxed the words from her. “The dream seemed so real,” she whispered. “I was trying to escape but my hands were tied and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t free myself.”
Alexander’s silver gaze burned into her as he lifted her hand and gently kissed each finger. “I swear, on my word and on my life, no one will harm you.”
“I believe you.” She stroked the jagged scar on his face, wishing she could have protected the little boy he’d once been. “And I swear on my word and on my life, no one will harm you.”
His lips twitched. “You will protect me?”
She nodded, warming to the idea of protecting her husband. “I will.” She might require assistance, but there was always George, who could tackle and foil an intruder, as well as the other residents of Drakemoor. They held great allegiance to their master. She’d heard of James’s vow to keep intruders at bay and Mrs. Jenkins’s stockpile of pots and pans at the ready to hurl from windows at unsuspecting interlopers. Even Aunt Eleanor admitted to tucking a kitchen knife in her apron—in the event action became necessary.
The residents of Drakemoor were no weaklings. To be sure, they were ferocious, loyal, and determined. They would protect their lord and mistress from all manner of beast—royal or not. Francie let out a long, calming breath. Indeed, they were safe.
“We’ll catch him and see that justice is done.” Alexander spoke with a steely certainty that made her wonder if the man had already been caught and was at this very moment receiving his torturous due.
“Have you located him?” She pictured broken bones and bruises. And blood—lots of blood.
“Not yet. But soon.”
“Are you certain?”
Alexander’s eyes gleamed. “Very certain.”
A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) Page 27