Hugh shook his head. Martín had only been in the house an hour and had already made a conquest. It would be wise to get him away before brawls and fisticuffs broke out.
The younger man smirked as Hugh approached him, his swagger bursting with arrogance.
“I thought you went to the kitchen for sustenance.”
“Je l’ai fait,” Martín said.
Even as tense as he was, Hugh couldn’t help laughing. “In English, Martín.”
The three men left without delay. They would go to Lessing Hall and begin their search at Whitton. Hugh believed he would not have to search at all—he suspected Hastings would be contacting him soon. The man couldn’t believe Daphne would ever marry him—something she might have done if the boys were also in Hastings’s grasp. No, he must be holding her for ransom. Or perhaps as bait. After all, Calitain had come to Whitton looking for Hastings and was waiting for his money. Hugh had only his instinct to go on, but he thought they’d find Daphne wherever Calitain was holed up.
His head ached and became unaccountably hot at the thought of Calitain within leagues of Daphne. He wanted to ride directly to the shack where Martín had seen Calitain, but he knew that was foolish and unsafe—especially for Daphne if she was being held there. Cornering Hastings or Calitain could very well end in disaster.
No, they needed to find out what game Calitain was playing and Hugh needed to stop dwelling on the horror of Daphne in Calitain’s grasp. Instead, he should be thinking about whatever it was Hastings might be planning.
But that didn’t help his state of mind, either. Hastings had already raped Daphne once—which Hugh could not think about without becoming half mad. If Malcolm Hastings was caught up with men like Calitain, then he’d formed the worst associations a man could make. Hugh had seen the desperation in the other man’s eyes when he’d held him by the throat. He should have obeyed his impulses and killed him. He should have known that no good would come of releasing such a venomous reptile back into the world.
“Damnation!” he swore.
Martín must have heard him over the din of the horses’ hooves. “Ne vous inquiétez pas, Capitaine,” he assured him. “We ave time. And Aystink and Calitain? Pfft.” He made a dismissive motion with his hand along with the rude noise. “Dey are stupid men! Do not worry, milor’, Delacroix will find dat crotte de nez and ees cheap.”
Hugh shook his head. “It is pronounced his ship, Martín, not ees cheap. And it is not done to refer to someone as ‘dung of the nose’ even if it is true. We really must work on your English, my friend. But not right now. Now we must ride.”
Hugh leaned low and spurred Pasha into a headlong gallop, determined to win the race against time and fear.
* * *
The sudden sunlight was like sharp daggers in her eyes after the solid dark of the coach.
“If you lay a finger on me I’ll kill you!” Daphne snarled, staring blindly at the looming figure.
“Hush now, sweet cousin. One more sound out of you and I’ll bind your mouth so tightly you’ll scarcely be able to draw breath.” Malcolm edged himself into the coach sideways and shut the door behind him, plunging the interior of the carriage back into darkness. His arm snaked around her neck and she felt the sharp prick of a knife against her throat. He put his other hand over her mouth, leaving nothing to chance as he settled beside her.
“Nice and quiet, my dear,” he soothed, his rank breath on her cheek. “We’re changing horses right now and it would be a very bad thing if you called for help. I have this knife—” He skimmed the tip of cold metal down her cheek to punctuate his point. “I should hate to use it on you. I wouldn’t want to kill you but I wouldn’t mind hurting you just a little.” He dropped the blade to her throat. “Now,” he said, lowering the hand covering her mouth, “we can finish the conversation Lord Ramsay so rudely interrupted the last time we were together.” His lips brushed her temple and he squeezed her thigh. Daphne jerked away, more horrified by his touch than his knife.
“I shall never marry you, Malcolm. You will have to kill me, so you may as well go ahead and do so now.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He stroked her thigh, a smile in his voice. “Besides, I’m not interested in the rights marriage will grant me over your person. After all, I’ve had a sample without any of the bother. Don’t worry, sweetheart, if I want what you have under that skirt, I’ll take it without a license.”
Daphne’s mind stopped racing and cold clarity took hold.
“This time you’ll have to take me after I’m dead,” she hissed in his ear. He jerked away from her, but not far. A moment later she heard the striking of tinder and the lantern that hung just inside the door flamed to life. She turned away from the glare but that brought his repellent, bloodshot face into view. He grinned and looked from her face to her bosom and slowly back to her eyes. Daphne shuddered with revulsion.
Malcolm laughed. “Now, now, my dear, I know you are eager, but you must wait for those pleasures,” he said, purposely misconstruing her reaction. “Although it seems as if you are not very good at waiting.” He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket with his free hand and tapped her on the nose with it before holding it up before her face for her to see.
Daphne didn’t need to read it; she recognized Hugh’s bold handwriting.
“You disgusting, loathsome swine.” She could hardly force the words past her fury.
“Tut, tut,” he warned, raising the knife once again, pressing it into the hollow of her throat. Daphne stared at Malcolm’s slimy smile, the urge to disregard the knife at her throat and slam her forehead into his mocking face almost unbearable. As if reading her mind, he pressed the knife harder. “No, you will not do what you are thinking, because I will not hesitate to begin carving on you, and that might diminish your value with that great buffoon I hope will pay so much for you.”
So that was his plan, extorting money from Hugh for her release. Daphne could not help the hope that flared in her breast. Hugh would find her.
Once again Malcolm read her face with ease. “Oh yes, I mean to sell you to the highest bidder.” He gave a rude bark of laughter. “Well, the only bidder. But I am not a stupid man, nor am I in a hurry. Maybe I won’t turn you over to him so readily. Maybe I’ll keep you for a while and see if he is even more generous the second time I make my demand. When he understands how serious I am.” He smiled at whatever vile thoughts were in his head before pressing the knife harder. “I should have liked to bring our charming sons along. They look very much like I did at their age. Handsome young fellows, and clever like their father, I’ll bet.” His smile dissolved as quickly as it came, and for a minute Daphne thought he might press the knife deeper. But he lowered the knife to her thigh, shaking his head.
“I’ve been watching you for quite some time, my dear, and I have seen Ramsay with the two brats. It would seem he has formed some inexplicable attachment to them. You cannot have told him the truth about his little cousins.”
“There is nothing you can blackmail me with. He knows the truth.”
“My, my! You must have given him a better ride between those sweet thighs than I recall having. Perhaps I will have to revisit your pleasure palace before letting him have you back?” He stroked her thigh and leaned closer, sour alcohol misting her skin.
Daphne jerked back, relieved to the point of fainting when he chuckled and relaxed against the seat.
“Don’t worry, pet, there will be plenty of opportunities for me to scratch your itch later. I’ve not sent Ramsay a list of my demands yet, so we have some time. I need to make sure you’re nice and snug before I alert him to my plan.”
Daphne almost laughed. The stupid man had forgotten the boys and Rowena would have seen the coach and its crest. She turned to face the blackened window and hid her smile.
* * *
It felt as though the journey would never end. After the horse-change—when Malcolm entered the carriage and held her at knife-point—the
lumbering coach had stopped to change horses again, but that had been hours ago and Daphne thought the new horses must be half-dead by now. Not that Malcolm let that sort of thing concern him.
Thankfully he’d left her alone in the carriage shortly after their departure from the first posting house and she’d not seen him again. She could not say how far they’d traveled, but she could see the sky was dark through a tiny scratch in the window. At this time of year the sun did not go down completely until well after nine o’clock. By that reckoning they must have been on the road for at least ten hours. It had been shortly after noon that she’d finally herded the boys into the barouche for their trip to the park. Where was he taking her? Whitton Park? If so, it would not be longer than a few more hours. But surely he would need to change horses again or—
The rickety coach shuddered to a halt and Daphne struggled to sit up higher on the seat, biting back a scream at the pain in her arms. She heard the murmur of men’s voices and then the sound of the steps being lowered before the door creaked open.
“Hello, darling, still awake?” Malcolm held up a lantern, casting a glow into the carriage as well as illuminating his flushed and excited face. Daphne shied away from the light and buried her face in the side of her arm, not bothering to answer.
“We’re here, sweetness.” His blunt fingers yanked at her bound wrists and Daphne had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. He cursed, frustrated when the knot held.“One of you get over here and give me a hand.” He was slurring, as if he’d been drinking.
The smaller man scrambled into the coach, studiously keeping his eyes away from her as he cut the rope that held her bound.
Malcolm raised the knife. “Now then, don’t try any of your tricks on me, sweet cousin. There would be nowhere for you to run even if you did break free. Behave yourself and perhaps we’ll let you have a little private time to take care of your womanly business. No doubt you’re busting for a slash.” His use of the vulgarism caused hilarity among his two henchmen. Daphne didn’t care. It was all she could do to stop from weeping as blood rushed into her limbs.
At least Malcolm looked beaten to an inch and it was her guess all three men would need several hours of sleep and rest before they were fit to make their next move, whatever that might be. She, on the other hand, had already enjoyed several hours of sleep and only needed to ease the screaming pain in her arms to feel normal.
Malcolm took her wrist in a proprietary grasp and pulled her toward a small thatched cottage not far from the coach. It was partly hidden by the scruffy oak trees the locals referred to as “Sussex Weeds.” The building itself was a ragged assembly of wooden slats with boards nailed over the spots that once had contained windows. It was a mean hovel, and Daphne would not have thought it occupied but for the light that escaped between the haphazard boards.
The big man pounded his fist against the door.
“It is Hastings,” Malcolm shouted. There was a long moment in which nothing but shuffling and murmuring could be heard behind the rude wooden door before it finally swung inward.
Daphne tried to step back but Malcolm’s grip tightened like a steel trap around her upper arm, almost as if he were. . . scared.
As well he should be.
The man who stood in the open doorway had one of the most frightening faces Daphne had ever seen. It wasn’t that he was deformed or hideous. In fact, his features might actually have been handsome if they’d not been so twisted with contempt. What frightened her—what almost sent her running—was the hatred that boiled off him like steam from a kettle.
He was tall and stocky, his ruddy face and clothing proclaiming him a sailor. His eyes narrowed and he gave her a rude once-over before moving on to Malcolm. Daphne wouldn’t have believed it possible, but even more menace filled his gaze when it settled on Malcolm. Her cousin must truly be a fool if he couldn’t see this man meant him grievous harm.
“Well, if it isn’t little Lord Hastings,” the man drawled, his mouth twisting as he misstated Malcolm’s title. His English was strange, as if rusty from disuse. He smirked at Malcolm before returning his gaze to Daphne. “What have you brought me? This does not look like money, lordling. Do you think to curry my favor by bringing me a whore?” He gave a rude bark of laughter. “I’m afraid you have mistaken my tastes, my friend.” Daphne was staggered at the derision he put into the last two words. It was a depth of loathing that should have put even a stupid man on notice. Not so Malcolm.
“Hallo, old chap,” Malcolm exclaimed merrily, as if he were greeting an old school chum. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve brought for you, Captain, something even better than money.”
“Oh?” The single word was pregnant with menace, but the man stepped aside and Malcolm shoved Daphne into the dingy hut.
A second man, who looked bored rather than evil, swept Daphne and Malcolm with a lazy, uninterested gaze, his leg slung carelessly over the arm of a rude wooden chair. He shot an amused glance at the man who’d answered the door. The two of them stared at Malcolm with an expression in their eyes that should have stripped the skin from his ignorant hide.
Instead, Malcolm flung his hand out dramatically. “My dear friend Captain Calitain—” He yanked Daphne close and forced her down into a curtsy. “Let me present to you One-Eyed Standish’s woman!”
Daphne fought the urge to run when both men looked at her with more interest than was probably good for her health.
Calitain strode toward her without taking his eyes from hers. He stopped so close she could smell him. His initial smell wasn’t unpleasant—soap mingled with a hint of brandy—but something corrupt and rotten lurked just below the surface.
“Standish’s whore, eh?” He raised one eyebrow and gave her bosom a lingering look before turning to Malcolm. “What of it?” The words were like the crack of a whip.
Malcolm faltered, opening his mouth and then closing it again.
“Standish has many whores,” Calitain sneered, this directed at Daphne. “I have even had a few of them myself. Like that one in New Orleans, eh?” He turned to his silent friend and they both laughed in what could only be described as a very nasty fashion. Still chuckling, he walked around her, giving her rumpled and dirty walking costume an exaggerated inspection as he did so. “My, my, my,” he said, not bothering to explain himself, merely glancing again at the other man, who returned his look with one that was oddly . . . significant.
Malcolm found his voice. “You don’t understand, Captain, he plans to marry this one.” He sounded far less confident, almost whiney.
“Marriage?” His brows drew down like check marks over his tar-black eyes.
“Yes, he wants to marry her, the fool. Even though he’s already had her. As have I.” Malcolm added a manly laugh, as if to join in the merriment the other two men had just shared.
Calitain ignored him, instead focusing his penetrating gaze on Daphne. The pause dragged on until she wondered if he expected her to confirm or deny Malcolm’s words.
“You have had the big man, have you? Tell me, was he as good as you hoped?” He grinned at his friend. “Jean-Paul would like to know.”
Whatever he saw in Daphne’s face made him laugh even harder and it took a few minutes for both him and his associate to stop.
He wiped a tear from his eye before turning to Malcolm. “You have done well, little lordling.” He patted Malcolm on the head. His eyes were on Daphne, so he missed the venomous look Malcolm shot him. “Yes, you have brought me a nice present.” He trailed one finger down the curve of her jaw, toward her chin, and down her neck and lower, lingering on the swells of her breasts, which were visible through the keyhole neckline of the coat. Daphne believed he was on the verge of doing something vile to her right then and there, but in the blink of an eye he was holding Malcolm by the throat, slamming him up against the wall and lifting his feet a couple of inches off the ground. Daphne couldn’t help thinking Malcolm found himself in the same position rather frequently.
&n
bsp; “I. Want. My. Money.” The softness of his voice caused the small hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. “Your man Blake said you had it,” he continued, his voice silky smooth as he leaned close to Malcolm, who was choking. “I have to pick up my shipment and I have no time to find another rich English cochon to put up the money. If you have made me come here for nothing, I will not be happy. Do you understand this, lordling?” He leaned in closer to Malcolm, as if listening. “Eh, what is that you say? I can’t understand.” He cocked his head to one side with exaggerated concern, looking over at the other man, who laughed silently and shook his head.
Daphne almost felt sorry for Malcolm. Almost.
As suddenly as Calitain had grabbed Malcolm, he let him go and watched in amusement as he fell to his knees and fought to catch his breath.
Calitain lost interest in him while he flailed and turned his attention instead to the two openmouthed men who’d helped kidnap Daphne. He put his hands on his hips and let his mouth fall open, gaping mockingly before laughing. “And who are you two gentlemen, eh?” The word gentlemen dripped like poison from an adder’s fang.
The bigger man raised his hands in a placating gesture. “’Ere then, we’s just paid to do a job, sir. We don’t want no trouble,” he said in a soothing tone. The smaller man stood motionless beside him, clutching his hat in his white-knuckled hands.
Both were spared whatever Calitain was going to say by the sound of hoarse pleading coming from the floor.
“She’s the money,” Malcolm wheezed, pointing at Daphne. “She’s got control of her son’s estates—hundreds of thousands of pounds. She’s worth even more now that Standish wants her. He’ll bring the money for her and think nothing of it as he’ll only be expecting me.” He collapsed, exhausted by his brief soliloquy.
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