Benedict's Bride

by Janet Woods

  Nervously she gazed around her, but saw nothing. She chided herself for being silly, but nearly jumped out of her skin when the curtain of leaves was swept aside. At the same time a squirrel streaked up the trunk chattering with alarm. Halfway up it turned and streaked down just as fast. Leaping to the ground it and ran jerkily towards a stand of silver birches.

  ‘Odd behavior for a squirrel,’ Kitt rumbled.

  Her hand had flown to her chest. ‘Between you and the squirrel you’ve given me such a fright! I came to find the ball. It was so peaceful here I just wanted to stay for a while and think.’

  ‘It’s no good trying to hide from us, Amber, dear. Come on, take my arm. I’m under orders to bring you in. Emma and Caro want to decide on a hairstyle for you before dinner. They’ll be busy getting themselves ready in the morning and won’t have time.’

  ‘I thought we’d already decided on one.’

  He chuckled. ‘Obviously not. We’ll be leaving for the church at eleven to stand up with Ben, and the earl will be coming to collect you half an hour later in the family carriage.’ He chuckled. ‘That thirty minutes by yourself is the only peace you’ll get tomorrow. Try and get a good night’s sleep. Are you comfortable in the room you’re occupying.’

  ‘It has a lovely view over the garden, and yes, the bed is as soft as a cloud. You know, Kitt,’ she said as they strolled back towards the house. ‘I couldn’t wish for a better family, even though I’m not used to having so many people looking after me.’

  ‘Having us all telling you what to do and how to do it, d’you mean?’ he said, and began to laugh.

  ‘Now you’re making me feel ungrateful. Emma and Caroline have hearts of gold, and their intentions are good.’

  ‘Which is just as well because as a pair they’re a force to be reckoned with. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to escape from them now and again. Ben will be easier to live with, I promise.’

  * * * *

  Safely hidden amongst the leafy branches of the tree Stephen Gould smiled. He could have taken her in the last few minutes, but with one of the men in close proximity, he wouldn’t have got very far. Tomorrow he’d have half an hour before she was collected. That wasn’t enough time to get clean away.

  He stared at the house. It was risky, but he’d have to fall back on his second plan - the one he’d prepared for during the afternoon. He’d take her tonight when the household was asleep. They wouldn’t expect someone to walk into the house and snatch her from her bed.

  He climbed down from the tree when it grew dark and stared towards the house. At least he knew that she slept in one of the front rooms.

  Patiently, he kept watch. Just after eleven a light appeared in an upstairs window. For a moment he saw the curve of her bosom outlined against the light, and her hair was a dark halo with the light shining through. He could make out the white column of her throat. She seemed to be looking up at the moon, and was probably dreaming romantic dreams about the viscount. His grin tightened. Romantic dreams or not, he was going to have her first.

  Pulling out his pistol he held it at arm’s length. He could have killed her now, but it would have been too easy. He imagined the ball tearing into the soft skin of her throat, and the blood gushing warmly through the vale of her breasts while she struggled to find the air to call for help. He’d never killed a woman.

  But he didn’t want the lady dead ... at least, not yet. He wanted to play with her, abuse her, so he could watch the disdain she’d expressed in her eyes to turn to fear before she begged him for mercy. When he had the ransom money safely in his hands, he’d be gone, and she’d be left to die alone in the dark.

  As for Patrick. A man who wasn’t prepared to shoulder any of the risk couldn’t be trusted. Like Jonas, Patrick was turning soft. Stephen strode off, his plan formulating in his head. He just hoped Maisie would do exactly as he’d told her.

  ‘Promise you’ll take me with you, Stephen,’ she said a little later, as they kept watch from under the oak tree.

  ‘Of course I will,’ he lied. ‘As soon as you bring me the ransom. We can’t go without that. You know what you’ve got to do and where I’ll be.’

  ‘The plan won’t work without your help. It’s not as if you haven’t done it before with him. You did leave him the note?’

  ‘Yes . . do we have to keep going over it? I’m not stupid.’

  ‘You won’t live long if you double-cross me,’ he warned, with enough purpose in his voice to make her shiver. ‘Besides, nothing will turn you into a lady. But who wants one. I love you just as you are. Just keep that footman occupied for half an hour or so, like I told you.’

  ‘Must I?’ she whined.

  He wanted to throttle her. ‘I’ll buy you that red gown you want, and we’ll get married the day after tomorrow, I promise. Now get into position inside the arbor.’

  A smile spread across her face and she kissed him before she scurried off towards the arbor of roses with its stone bench.’

  Now Stephen sat alone under the oak and watched the Stratton household settle for the night. Soon there was just a faint light left glowing from a night lantern.

  Just after one o’clock a scrawny young man came creeping through the shadows, whistling quietly to himself.

  Stephen stepped behind the trunk of the oak tree and patted his waistcoat, where several lengths of thin cord, a linen bag and a kerchief was hidden.

  ‘Maisie,’ the footman whispered a few moments later. ‘I got your note, so here I am.’

  ‘Over here, my big man,’ she said from the direction of the arbor, then, ‘You took your time. Ere ... keep your hands to yourself, and don’t be so flaming eager. I’m not lying on my back on this hard bench. Let’s make ourselves comfortable in the pavilion, first.’

  ‘I can’t stay long. If I’m missed there’ll be hell to pay. I’m supposed to be guarding the hall . . .’

  ‘Why, is the hall going to escape if you’re not there? Ooh! What’s that wriggling in your breeches, a puppy dog?’ Maisie giggled, and even Stephen smiled at that when the pair hurried towards the little pavilion. She was a born whore.

  Stephen headed for the house at a run, found the unlocked door and let himself in. The danger of entering a house full of people who might wake at any moment and challenge him was exhilarating. But he’d taken his bearings earlier, and knew exactly where he was going.

  The corridors and stairs were thickly carpeted, so his feet made no sound, but he was cautious, and took care.

  He found his prey easily. Amber Rose was lying in the bed, breathing softly, her hair spread across the pillows. He didn’t have time to admire her. Springing on to her chest so she couldn’t take a breath, he stuffed a kerchief in her mouth when she opened it, pulled a linen bag down over her head and tied a cord around her mouth, the knot over the gag.

  It was all over in seconds. She woke from sleep, struggling. A swift punch and her head rolled to one side. Pulling the covers back he tied her hands and feet then heaved her over his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief at her light weight. Throwing the ransom note on to her bed he silently made his way down the stairs and out of the house.

  Across the road in a secluded spot there was a carriage and pair he’d hired. His horse was tied to the back. He’d be at Hartford House before the occupants of the house woke and got the note.

  The woman began to come round when he reached the vehicle. She made muted protests, high-pitched with panic.

  ‘Be quiet, else I’ll kill you,’ he growled against her ear before he threw her into the carriage.

  She began to make little sniffling noises. It gave him satisfaction to think she was crying. He tied her legs to her hands at the back, drew the curtains across and rolled a blanket tightly round her body, tying it with a cord in case she tried to escape.

  She was trussed up like a pig now, and would be going nowhere. Climbing onto the coachman’s seat he set the carriage in motion. In case he was intercepted he placed a loaded blunde
rbuss within reach, a weapon that would kill or disable up to three people within the spread of its shot.

  * * * *

  Amber’s pain increased with every jolt, though the carriage was being driven at a slow steady speed. So the driver wouldn’t draw attention to himself, she thought.

  They’d been on the road for at least an hour. It had taken some time for her panic to subside. At first she thought she’d choke to death on the gag but she’d forced herself to take long, even breaths through her nose, something that had calmed her and allowed her to think more rationally. She could breathe through the fabric enclosing her head, so she wouldn’t die through lack of air.

  Her legs and arms were another matter. There was very little leeway in the binding, but she was able to move her feet within her tight wrapping and she used the motion to exercise them, so to avoid the cramp that would inevitably attack her calves if she didn’t. It was no use struggling. She used what ingenuity she possessed to provide for her own comfort and suffered the rest - the itches she couldn’t scratch, the gag that effectively drew the moisture from her mouth and tongue, the need to relieve herself and the slow burn of the anger restrained inside her.

  Amber’s self-control had never been put to such a test. Her body was so tense she thought it might explode and fly off in all directions once her bindings were released.

  To keep herself occupied she began to compose music in her mind, in time to the rhythm of the wheels and the thud of horses hooves. After a while the noise faded into the background and lulled her into a fitful sort of sleep.

  When she woke she had no idea of how much time had passed, but they were travelling over gravel. The carriage came to a halt and a couple of moment’s later the door was flung open. She was dragged out of the carriage, hoisted over her abductor’s shoulder and carried inside. The pain in her body was excruciating, but she only had the energy to whimper. Down some steps they went and she was dropped onto a mattress in a manner that knocked the wind from her body. Blessedly, the binds around her hands were loosened. There was the sound of someone walking away, a door was closed and a key turned in the lock.

  Carefully, she began to work on further loosening her bonds. It was agony as the life returned to her neglected limbs. The place where she was held prisoner had a dank smell, and when she pulled the hood from her eyes it was to encounter only pitch darkness.

  Discarding the gag she opened her mouth wide and drew in the deepest breath, then ran her tongue over her teeth and lips to moisten them as much as she could. When she felt stronger she massaged her legs then climbed unsteadily to her feet. Her body was attacked by pins and needles as the life came back into them. Cool flagstones were a balm against the soles of her bare feet. She reached out with her hands and touched something cold and smooth. ‘A bottle,’ she whispered, then felt another and another. ‘I’m in a wine cellar.’

  Taking a bottle from its rack she groped around to find something to open it with. Her hand fell on an iron ladle. Resting the handle against the cork, a few thumps from the heel of her hand sent it down into the bottle. She raised the bottle to her lips. Wine gushed into her mouth, over her chin and soaked into her nightgown as she gulped some of it down, grimacing at the sharp taste. If nothing else, it was wet.

  ‘Not too much,’ she cautioned herself.

  The direction the man had taken to the door was clear in her mind and she cautiously headed in the same direction, her arms held out in front of her. She stubbed her toes against some steps then went up them, counting as she went. The door she encountered was secure. An eye against the keyhole showed a faint lifting of the darkness, nothing more, and even that might be her imagination. Pressing her ear against the panel she listened for any sound to break the silence. She was about to feel her way down again when a clock began a deep chime.

  Six chimes later and she began to laugh. She knew that sound. She’d lived with it all her life. It was the long clock in the hall and she was in the cellar of Hartford House! She went back down the steps with much more confidence that when she’d gone up them. It wouldn’t take Benedict long to realise where she was. He would look for her here eventually. With him would come his brothers-in-law, and they would skin alive the person who’d abducted her.

  It had to be Patrick and Stephen, though she’d formed an impression that only one man had been involved. She remembered a faint smell of peppermint and connected it to the robbery at the earl’s house. Stephen Gould used peppermint lozenges. He must have learned of her legacy and abducted her for ransom.

  The thought that she’d brought trouble down on the earl’s house made her feel sad, and although she’d rather not believe that her cousin would commit such a crime against her, she had no choice.

  * * * *

  Stephen had forgotten about the woman Patrick had hired until she accosted him in the hall and said, ‘Is Lord Hartford with you, sir?’

  ‘Uh ... no, he’s not. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Just a minute or so. I usually come in at six and the clock was chiming as I arrived, though it sounded odd.’

  ‘Odd?’

  ‘I daresay you’ll think I’m silly, but it was as if it were ... laughing. It shouldn’t be run down since I only wound it yesterday. Could be the weather caused it, mayhap there’s rain on the way.’

  So, the Hartford bitch had been laughing. Not that she had anything to laugh about, and that would change when she’d been on her own for a day of two. He forced himself to smile at the woman’s fancy. ‘It does that when rain’s on the way. The metal expands, I believe.’

  ‘That’s likely the explanation, though I’d heard that the house is haunted. Not that I’ve heard anything untoward myself, but sometimes I feel as though someone’s watching me from up on the landing there, where the portrait of the gentleman is. He has right wicked eyes.’

  The hair stood up on the back of Stephen’s neck as his glance followed hers to the portrait. There was a family resemblance to Patrick, though the portrayed had eyes that seemed to glare straight into his. It was probably Patrick’s great-grandfather.

  The woman shivered, gazed nervously around her and brought her arms across her chest. ‘I’d heard the house had been sold. Lord Hartford hasn’t paid my wages and I wondered if you could advance me them, seeing as how you’re a friend of his. Do you know who the new owner is?’

  Stephen thought quickly. This woman could quite easily queer things for him if she got an inkling of what was going on. But ridding himself of her would cause more problems than it was worth. Someone would look for her.

  ‘I’ve bought the place,’ he lied. Fishing in his pocket he brought forth a couple of coins as he searched his memory for her name. ‘Mrs. Phelps, isn’t it? I won’t need your services. I’m going abroad for several months and have just come to make sure everything is still secure. Will this cover what’s owed to you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She pocketed the money. ‘Perhaps you’ll be in need of a housekeeper when you return, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine I will.’ He couldn’t leave her here. ‘I’m going into Poole shortly. to deliver the carriage to the livery stable. You can ride in it if you wish.’

  ‘That’s right kind of you, sir, but I’m going in the opposite direction, sir. It’s only a short walk.’ She curtseyed and walked towards the door.

  Stephen doubted if she’d be back; the locals were a superstitious lot.

  But Mrs. Phelps did go back, and as soon as Stephen had gone. Rather than leave the hens to be killed by foxes she’d decided to take them to her sister’s cottage. Just as she was about to shove the first bird into a sack she heard a high-pitched sobbing wail coming from inside the house.

  Dropping the sack, she picked up her skirts and ran.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shaken from sleep by his man when it was barely light, Benedict’s bleary gaze encountered Archie and Kitt, who were standing behind George. He came wide awake to gazed sharply from one to another. ‘Something’s
happened to Amber, hasn’t it?’

  ‘She’s gone, Ben. Someone gained access into the house during the night and abducted her from under our noses. I haven’t had time to question the staff properly yet, but it seems that someone was less than vigilant. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Archie, so don’t feel guilty.’

  ‘They left this on her bed. It’s addressed to you, but we opened it,’ Archie said, and threw down a piece of paper.

  Benedict quickly read it. ‘They want one thousand guineas in exchange for her safe return.’

  One person must deliver it. Place it at the base of the twisted oak at seven-thirty a.m. then ride away. You’ll be watched. A note will be delivered by hand to Laconbridge House informing you of the whereabouts of Miss Hartford, two hours after the ransom has been delivered. Any attempt at trickery and Miss Hartford will be killed.

  Damn! It’s open ground all the way back to the forest from that oak. They’ll have the shelter of the copse behind them and will be able to pick us off. There will be nowhere to take shelter. He looked up at them. The money and his own safety was of less importance to him than the welfare of Amber Rose. ‘Can we raise that much between us? I have approximately two hundred and fifty guineas in my strong box.’

  Kitt nodded. ‘We have the rest. We stopped off at my residence and have brought with us everything we have available. It will just about cover the ransom.’

  Taking a key from his bedside table Benedict threw it to Kitt. You know where my strong box is.’ He swung his legs over the side of bed and suffered George’s attempts to dress him with impatience. Thrusting him aside he pulled on his breeches and riding boots, then he snatched up his jacket. ‘Does my father know, Archie?’

  ‘We came here first.’

  ‘Then we’ll go straight there after I’ve delivered the ransom. We haven’t got much time.’

  ‘What about the wedding?’

  He shrugged. ‘There won’t be one, unless I get the bride back. We’ll deal with that problem when the time comes. George, tell the staff what’s going on. I imagine we’ll have to postpone things.’