Hostage to Love

by Maggi Andersen

  He had expected as much. He could not lie to his friend and only hoped to rely on his discretion. He walked downstairs, buttoning his coat. The butler stood at the open door. “The carriage awaits, sir,” he said.

  Christian entered the sitting room where Anthony walked a path on the rug. He swung to face him, his eyes lacking their usual warmth.

  Christian fingered his hat. “How is Henrietta?”

  “She’s upset. She’s accompanying me to the country.”

  Christian gave a strained smile. He threw his hat down and waved him into a chair. “Hear me out, Anthony before you’re tempted to draw my cork.”

  After he had explained what had transpired concern softened Anthony’s brown eyes. “Do you really believe Hetta would prefer it this way?”

  “I don’t know. I’m about to leave the country. If I were to tell her the truth, she would wait for me,” He sighed. “And if I failed to return, she’d mourn me when she should be enjoying her life. I don’t want that.” He drew a deep breath. “She’ll meet many suitable men. She’s young, and adorable.”

  “She loves you.”

  “Time will take care of that.”

  “That’s noble of you, my friend. But it’s hard for me to witness her pain. I’ll agree to keep this to myself because I think you might be right. My daughter is intensely loyal. Now, tell me what you can about this undertaking.”

  “As you would be aware, the Convention has voted to execute the King. I am to be part of an operation to rescue the dauphin from the Temple. He won’t live to become King if we don’t. We have little time. It must never become common knowledge that England took any part in it.”

  Anthony sighed. “My best wishes go with you, my friend. If you return safely, and I pray that you do, I intend to tell Henrietta the truth.”

  Christian offered him his hand. “No need for that. If I return, I’ll tell her myself. I only pray she’ll still want to hear it.”

  * * *

  The audience clapped and cheered as Verity walked off stage. The theatre was full every night, and as usual, a crowd of gentlemen waited at her door. She sighed. She was exhausted and planned to flee London at the closing of the play. She hadn’t made up her mind yet where she would go. She’d been invited to the Prince of Wales party in Brighton.

  If a fragile hope had burned in her breast, that she and Anthony could be together, it was shattered her first morning back in London. She’d been rushing to the theatre and stood in the street as her carriage arrived. A man approached her. “Mademoiselle Garnier, I do declare.”

  The Marquess of Ramsbotham bowed. He smiled at her, but behind the smile, she caught a calculated look. This was not a coincidence. He’d been waiting to see her. She remembered how clever and ruthless he was. He had a good reason to want revenge. “Didn’t I say we were sure to meet again?”

  “So you did, my lord.”

  “You go to the theatre?” He took her arm in a proprietary manner and assisted her into the carriage. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed in beside her.

  “I don’t believe I invited you to join me.” Verity tried to still her anger. She must handle this man skillfully.

  “You intend to stay in London a while, mademoiselle?”

  “Until the end of the Season.”

  “Excellent. I plan a house party at my country estate in Surrey this coming weekend. Some of my guests are French émigrés. I’d should like you to join us.”

  “I’m afraid—”

  He gestured to silence her. “Surely, after what we have been to each other? Think on it if you will.” His ardent gaze searched her face settling on her mouth. “I would not want it known that our… meeting, was just a cold-hearted bargain.”

  The underlying threat was clear.

  He kissed her gloved fingers.

  Verity pulled her hand away. So arrogant and sure of himself, she wished she had her pistol. “How did you find your chateau, my lord?”

  His eyes grew hard. “Abandoned and in ruins.” He banged on the carriage roof with his cane.

  The carriage pulled up. He turned with a hand on the door handle. “Au revoir, mademoiselle. I will await your answer.”

  If she failed to go, he would involve her in a scandal, which Anthony might be drawn into. She moaned. Must she be forever dealing with men like Ramsbotham? She was too tired for it.

  * * *

  Before departing for the country, Anthony visited his bank and, on his way home, called into his club, Boodles in Pall Mall. He was warmly greeted by the Tories he found there, some drinking, discussing politics and gossip, some playing cards. Word had spread about he and Philippe’s escape from France, although the facts remained vague and they’d kept Henrietta and Verity out of it. Friends patted him on the back and expressed their pleasure at finding him safe and sound and back on English soil. In the library, he nursed a whiskey and talked to a friend, Sir Thomas Pendlebury, who filled Anthony in on the latest news from parliament, and England’s declaration of war with France.

  The news although not surprising, sent a bolt of fear through him. Christian’s assignment had become doubly dangerous. He remained worried about Hetta, too, who was cast down and unlike herself.

  Sir Thomas talked of the successes and failures of the émigré army, a coalition recently formed with Prussia, Austria, England, Russia, and Spain. If Philippe were fit, he’d join them he felt sure.

  A man he’d seen here at the club strutted through the room like a peacock, dressed in an emerald green silk coat. “Who is he?”

  “The Marquess of Ramsbotham,” Sir Thomas said sotto voce. “He talks of having invited friends to his country estate for a house party. No doubt one of his risqué affairs that one might call an orgy if one were so inclined. He is bragging that he has a star attraction. A French actress, Verity Garnier. Says they share some history.”

  Anthony clamped down on his jaw. When he gained some semblance of calm, he placed a hand on Sir Thomas’ shoulder. “I beg you not to put that suggestion about concerning Mademoiselle Garnier.”

  If Sir Thomas was surprised, he hid it well. “But of course.”

  Anthony stood and bowed. “It’s been good to see you.”

  “You’ll no doubt disappear into the country,” Sir Thomas said. “But don’t let too much time pass before we see you here again.”

  Anthony tamped down his fury and followed Ramsbotham into the gaming room. It was this man’s boat that carried Henrietta and Verity to France. He knew no more than that. He intended to find out more.

  “Marquess,” he said, bowing.

  “Lord Beaumont?” Ramsbotham returned a flourishing bow.

  “I seek a private word with you.”

  “As you wish.”

  He followed Anthony into the library which was now deserted, but for the pall of smoke left behind. They took the pair of oxblood leather chairs. Ramsbotham removed an enamel snuff box from his pocket, his eyes fixed on Anthony.

  “You are acquainted with Mademoiselle Garnier I believe,” Anthony said without preamble.

  The Marquess flicked open the snuff box, took a pinch, and sniffed it into each nostril. “I am. I wasn’t aware you were. Do you have a prior claim?”

  Anthony frowned. “How quaintly you put it. I would advise you not to speak out of turn in matters concerning Mademoiselle Garnier.”

  “Out of turn? I merely invited her to my country estate for the weekend. I have reason to believe, because of our… association, that she will come.”

  “Association?”

  “We are… intimate friends.”

  Anthony’s blood boiled. He fancied he saw a red mist before his eyes and wanted to roar with rage. With tremendous effort, and the determination that this man would never learn how disgusted and angry he was, he kept his voice cool and even toned. “If you say anything of this sort about my future wife, Ramsbotham, I shall be forced to call you out.”

  At his glacial command, Ramsbotham seized the arms of his ch
air, his eyes wide. “You plan to marry, Mademoiselle Garnier?” He recovered his poise and sank back again. “She said nothing to me when I saw her last.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Why, only the day before yesterday. On her way to the theatre, she graciously offered me a lift in her carriage.”

  “I’m not interested in what might have happened between you, Ramsbotham, although I suspect you have embroidered on the truth. I want the matter to end here. It never happened. Do I have your word as a gentleman?”

  “She is a lovely looking woman, but I must say you are insane to marry her. Why not just enjoy her?”

  Anthony curled his hands into fists. “I’m not asking for your opinion. I want your word.”

  Ramsbotham tucked his snuff box into a pocket and stood. “And why should I give it?”

  Anthony jumped to his feet. He stepped forward and grabbed the peacock by his pretty silk coat. “Because my sword hand itches to run you through, if you don’t.”

  The marquess held up his hands. “Such violence, my lord. Surely no woman is worth it.”

  “Shall this be the end of it?” Anthony repeated tightening his hold.

  Ramsbotham’s gaze slid over Anthony’s tense face, then the clenched fist creasing his expensive coat. “You have it.”

  Anthony let go of him suddenly. Ramsbotham staggered back. He steadied himself and smoothed his coat. “But only if she marries you. If not, I will continue to pursue her for my own ends.”

  “In that case, you’d best treat her well. If not, be sure I will seek you out.”

  “My, Beaumont, I must say I had no idea you were so impassioned. A veritable knight in shining armor. And I’ve heard you were a moderate fellow who preferred to rusticate.” He eyed Anthony uneasily. “She has got under your skin, has she not?” he said, with his unpleasant laugh.

  Anthony turned, stalked out of Boodles, and hailed a cab. He brooded while the carriage took him home. What had taken place between that man and Verity? He refused to believe she would choose the life of a courtesan. He knew her. She hadn’t expressed an interest in the affairs at court, or the excitement of the Prince of Wales’ set. She was a moral French woman. But when he tried to dismiss the whole as rubbish, her words returned to haunt him. You do not really know me.

  He sought Henrietta in her bedchamber where her maid packed her trunk. Hetta’s wan face bothered him, and he struggled against the need to reassure her, to tell her that Christian still loved her. Damn the man! Why must he be so noble? “Can you come to my bedchamber? I have something to ask you.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  When she entered, he turned from the window. “Tell me what happened on Ramsbotham’s boat. Everything.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I suffered from seasickness and stayed in the cabin most of the time.”

  “What about Verity?”

  Her face flushed. “She had to manage that awful man alone.”

  “How did she do that?”

  “I... I don’t know.” Henrietta studied the tip of her buckled shoe. “Something happened that upset her.”

  “You have no idea what it was?” Alarm filled her eyes at the sound of his voice, roughened with anger and guilt. Because of him, Verity and Henrietta had been in the clutches of that scoundrel.

  “I’m not sure. Verity was gone during the night.”

  “She went to his cabin?”

  “To appease him, I suspect. I’ve considered it since I came home. Something she said about my page costume not fooling men. I’m positive that whatever she did was to protect me.” Her cheeks reddened. “He showed some interest in me, and we were at his mercy.” Her green eyes beseeched him. “There could be no other reason, for she loves you, she told me so.”

  “Does she?” Anthony asked dryly, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. Henrietta wouldn’t lie to him. Did Verity go to that obnoxious Ramsbotham willingly? He found himself suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. Despite what she had said. He had to learn the truth, and that meant confronting Verity and demanding an explanation.

  Hetta put a hand to her mouth. “Have I said too much? I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

  He drew her into a hug. “No, sweetheart. You’ve done the right thing.”

  “Papa?”

  “Yes?”

  “The next morning, I found an empty bottle in the pocket of her gown. I’m sure it was laudanum.”

  “Did you indeed?” Might she have drugged him?

  “Are we going to the country today?”

  Anthony shook his head as he pulled on his gloves. “Tomorrow, Hetta. I have to go out.”

  She smiled, looking reassured. “Very well, Papa. Give Verity my love too.”

  He was halfway down the stairs when her words penetrated the heated fog of his mind. Henrietta had grown to love Verity too. That was not surprising. And as pleasing as that was, it did little to lessen his anguish.

  On the way to the hotel, his thoughts darkened. Had Ramsbotham forced her by threating to choose Henrietta instead? If so, he was a dead man. But that bottle… He snatched at the possibility it presented like a drowning man.

  Anthony crossed the foyer in a dangerous mood. He was close to losing control. He’d loved his wife, but he’d never suffered such passionate torment. He ran up the stairs to Verity’s rooms and knocked.

  There was no answer. She was there; she always rested between performances. He banged, called her name. Patrons would soon appear to investigate.

  Finally, Verity opened the door. She was dressed in a filmy negligee the lavender gray of a misty morning. “I thought this was at an end. I cannot keep doing it, Anthony.”

  Anthony strode into the room. “I’ve had an interesting day, Verity. I ran into the Marquess of Ramsbotham at my club.”

  “Oh!” Verity put her hands to her cheeks.

  His anger, which had never been directed at her, vanished, like water on a fire. “My love, I have a fair idea what happened on his boat, but I want you to tell me the whole of it.”

  She walked over to a bunch of red roses resting on the table. She plucked off leaves and pushed the stems into a crystal vase. Were the flowers from that bastard, Ramsbotham? The pain on her face was reflected in the gilt mirror. “Did he tell you I went to bed with him?”

  Suddenly it mattered not a damn. He moved behind her and stilled her jerky movements sliding his hands down her arms. He turned her gently to face him. “He inferred it. But I didn’t believe him.”

  She looked up into his face. “I didn’t. I drugged him with laudanum, but I told him we spent the night together. That is enough.”

  Anthony wouldn’t tell her that Ramsbotham must have known full well no penetration took place. He allowed the joy of her words to flow through him. “He won’t talk of it.”

  Her lips trembled. “He will. He’s an unscrupulous monster.” A sob sounded in her throat. She clutched his coat as he drew her against him.

  “He won’t because he’s a coward,” he murmured against her hair. “I threatened him to a duel if he persists. I told him I’d run him through. He knew I meant it.”

  She caught her breath on a sob. “I didn’t want to betray you, Anthony not in my heart or with my body.”

  “Why did you go to his cabin?”

  “I was afraid for…”

  “Hetta.”

  She drew away and gazed up at him. “How did you know?”

  “Hetta worked it out for herself.”

  “He almost raped me. I felt cheapened. Despoiled. I was determined never to have you touch me again.” She gave a sad laugh. “But I couldn’t keep to it.”

  “And you won’t keep to it now.”

  Anthony picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down.

  She placed her arm over her eyes. “Anthony, mon amour, this changes nothing.”

  Did she sound less sure? He moved her arm and gazed into her blue eyes. “You will marry me, Verity. Say it.”
/>
  She pushed at his chest. “I cannot!”

  “I love you. Do you want me to die from it?”

  She giggled. “Oh, you fool, as if you would.”

  Anthony kissed her. He lost himself in her scent and the familiar soft curves beneath his hands. He drew back to see if he was winning, if he convinced her, before lovemaking took them both away. His blood quickened, and he shuddered with fear at coming so close to losing her.

  Verity gave up pushing him away and, with a sob pulled him close.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mist shrouded the Chiltern Hills, softening the verdant landscape to a muted gray-green. Her father’s coach crossed the bridge over the Misbourne River and entered the broad high street of Amersham village. They slowed behind a cart laden with hay. Henrietta gazed out the window spotted with rain, at the sooty black and white timber framed buildings with their cobbled courtyards. The dark stone clock tower of the market hall, with its bell that called people to market every Tuesday, stood out against the gray sky. Nothing ever changed here. She found the fact both soothing and troublesome.

  Nanny Felton, once Henrietta’s nurse and henceforth part of life at Beaumont Court, stood at the door, arms folded. But there was no rebuke for Henrietta’s outrageous behavior which had set the two households on their ears. Instead, Nanny held out her arms and Henrietta gratefully stepped into them. She trembled. “There, there, my child. It can’t be as bad as that.” Nanny patted her back.

  “Oh, Nanny, I’m sorry I worried you. I think I’m being amply punished for it.”

  “Nonsense,” Nanny said briskly. “You’re tired. A few good nights of country air and nourishing food will set you to rights.”

  Her father was soon closeted with his staff. He’d appeared at breakfast, before they left London, and told her the news. He and Verity would marry as soon as the play ended its run.

  Although she was delighted for them both, it did little to lessen the despair that dragged her down. She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Molly hurried to greet her. “I prayed you’d return before I left Beaumont Court.”