An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of taking you in a carriage,” he sneered, seeing her fear in spite of her efforts.

  “Nor anywhere else,” Anne said sharply. “Danielle…”

  “I will take you wherever and whenever I choose.”

  “Not willingly as long as you hold the child.”

  His smile held a malevolence that struck terror into her heart. The man was mad.

  “Why, I enjoy a spirited woman, Anne. Taming you will be especially rewarding, after waiting so long for the treat, but since I want your full attention, the girl can go. It’s nothing to me, although Meraux may fuss at losing his tasty little morsel.” He shrugged. “I would not mind a piece of her myself.”

  Revolted by his remark, Anne blocked the image of Danielle in this man’s hands. Stay calm, Anne. He wants you to react. “I am surprised at your choice of companion, Major. The Frenchman is so…common. However did you take up with him?” Anne asked, with just the slightest hint of interest.

  “Meraux is less than nothing, but he is not without funds for the fleecing. He was sniffing around Oporto trying to find you and those brats of his. It was easy enough to persuade him to finance a little trip to England.” Reynard discarded the Frenchman with a flick of his hand. “I do find him more tiresome every day, however.”

  This said in an off-hand manner that led Anne to believe Monsieur Meraux did not have an assured future. Perhaps this animosity was something she could use, and she made a mental note of it. She had expected the difficult conversation to continue, but silence reigned and she dared to close her eyes. For a time she felt his gaze on her, then nothing, and when she peered at him from under her lashes his face was turned to the covered window.

  By the time the vehicle stopped, hours later, she had lost any sense of where they were, but knew they had long since left Westhorp land. If you have guessed wrong and he has not taken you to the Grayson estate Nicholas investigated yesterday…Anne’s heart plummeted when she stepped from the coach and saw the tenant cottage crouched before them. Only the sight of a manor house in the near distance kept a sob from escaping. Numbly, she moved forward at the Major’s prodding and entered the shabby dwelling.

  “It’s about time you got here.” Meraux threw a handful of cards on the table and stood, staring at Anne with dislike. “With our new guest. No trouble, I suppose?”

  “Of course not. Our guest has done everything she was instructed to do. Haven’t you, Annie?” The Major tugged at the ties binding her cloak and pulled her close to him. “That is the case, isn’t it? You did keep your mouth shut.” He slipped his hand under her cloak and dug his fingers into her breast. “Isn’t that right, Lady Westcott?” He pinched her nipple until she felt her legs quiver.

  “Yes,” Anne choked out, cursing the weakness that had her eyes swimming with tears.

  Staggering as he thrust her away, she careened into the wall and clung to the rough planks. Where was Danielle? Anne could do nothing until she had the girl safely away. Fighting back despair, she concentrated on following the conversation, her French deserting her at first, until she fell into the way of it.

  “So, she did not tell. She’ll be missed and that will bring someone running to the rescue. Westcott was sniffing around the main house yesterday. It’s time we got out of here,” Meraux said. “I’ll get the girl and we can be on our way.”

  “No.” The Major took off his coat and threw it on a chair along with his hat. “I’m hungry, and thirsty,” he said, splashing some spirit into a glass. “You.” He pointed to Anne. “Get rid of that wrap and serve me some stew.”

  Anne removed her cloak and after a quick glance around, hung it on a nail jutting from the ladder she supposed led to the upper floor. The thick folds hid the bulge of the pistol and as long as no one brushed against it, she was safe. Her mind racing, Anne located a bowl and utensils, ladled some so-called stew, and placed all in front of the Major. It did not look too appetizing to her, but then nothing would, since she was hard put to retain what little breakfast she’d had.

  Danielle must be upstairs. How was Anne going to get to her? What in heaven’s name would she do if the Major decided to leave now? She stood passively beside his chair, as ordered, refilling his glass when told to do so.

  Meraux, who looked even less appealing than he had in Portugal, with his pasty complexion and forehead glistening with perspiration, dropped into the chair opposite the Major and pushed his glass toward her. Anne had the wits to look at the Major for permission before filling it and was rewarded by an almost imperceptible lessening of his attention to her. No doubt he thinks you are too afraid of him to offer any resistance—which is not far from the truth.

  “I am not ready to leave this charming abode,” the Major said when he’d eaten his fill, “but you are free to go whenever you like.”

  “You’ve got the carriage,” Meraux bleated. “Unless she learned since I saw her, Danielle doesn’t ride.”

  “You are not taking the French girl. I have another use for her.” The Major stretched out his legs, sipped at his drink, and watched his companion with veiled amusement. Meraux did not disappoint.

  “Merde!” The Frenchman surged to his feet. “What the hell do you mean by that? The girl is the reason I came to this god-forsaken country and I won’t leave without her! She’s mine. I paid plenty for her, damn you."

  “Sit down or walk out that door now.”

  Anne shivered at the menace in the low voiced words, and with a coward’s sense of self-preservation, Meraux sat back in the chair, a repellent scowl twisting his face.

  “The girl is worth more money than any amount you put up. Buy yourself a couple of whores to warm your bed.”

  “I want the one up there.” Meraux thrust his finger toward the loft, his expression so avid that Anne shivered.

  “You are becoming a nuisance, Meraux. Much more of this grousing, and I’ll start regretting this partnership.”

  “If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have found out what happened to your doxy,” Meraux sneered.

  Reynard laughed, and took another swig. “You fool. I never needed anything from you but your money. The idiots at the Consulate told me everything I wanted to know.”

  Meraux’s expression held such loathing that Anne stepped back. The man was a weasel, the kind who would stab you in the back if given a chance. Sickened by the both of them, Anne suppressed a shudder. She had to get to Danielle.

  Desperate for a chamber pot, she shifted again. Perhaps she could use it to her advantage. Much as she chanced by drawing attention, it was worth it if it got her up the ladder.

  Reynard suddenly pushed back his chair, and her breath quickened.

  “I believe I told you to be still, woman,” he said as he stood and loomed over her.

  Anne hung her head submissively. “I need a chamber pot,” she whispered, waiting tensely for his reaction.

  Reynard hesitated, and then grabbed her hair and forced her head up. “I ought to make you pee where you stand, but then I’d have to put up with the stink.” He jerked his head toward the ladder. “Go up there. You can join that damn brat. But first.…”

  His mouth came down on Anne’s in a brutal kiss, teeth grinding against her lips, biting, his tongue thick in her mouth, until she believed she would die from want of air. He raised his head, smiling as he watched her suck in breaths in noisy gulps. “We are going to have such fun.” He shoved her from him. Anne staggered to the ladder and clung to the rungs. “Take care of my little hostage.”

  Anne stared at him, not sure she understood.

  “You didn’t think I would release the bitch on your say so? She’s my ticket to some real prey. Your bloody viscount will be glad to take her place—and pay well to do it.” He roared with laughter. “Enough money and a dead viscount might even make up for all the hours I sat waiting in those filthy woods. And I would bet a monkey that the bastard is hot on your pretty little tail.”

  Anne went up th
e ladder as fast as she could climb, snatching the cloak on the way, his maniacal laughter spurring her on. Nicholas. He wanted to kill Nicholas still, even now, with her in his power.

  The second floor was more an open loft than a room, containing only a chair and a bed. Danielle was stretched on it, her wrists bound and tied to a hook in the wall over her head. An ugly bruise marred one side of her face and the fear in her eyes struck at Anne’s heart.

  “Mother Anne?” Danielle breathed, her initial expression of relief changing to horror. “I prayed you would not come. I am so sorry.”

  “My dearest child. How could I not?” Anne brushed Danielle’s tangled hair from her face and gently touched her bruise. “I am the one who is sorry for not taking better care of you. Now, let’s get you free.” She began working at the knot. “I need to use the chamber pot, and I imagine you do as well.” The rope parted, and she began to massage Danielle’s wrists. “Then you are going to escape,” she whispered, without a note of doubt in her voice.

  Danielle let out a strangled cry, half laugh and half sob, and with Anne’s help sat up. “There is no way to escape and even if there was, you cannot remain here alone.”

  Anne put a finger to her lips. She did not think they could be heard, but better not to chance it. The men were gaming now, the slap of the cards and clink of coins providing a welcome cover. A third voice rumbled occasionally—the driver she guessed. Quietly, she and Danielle used the pot then pushed it under the bed.

  The window was small, the casement opening out. It was locked, of course, but closer examination revealed what she had dared to imagine—the frame around it was rotten, not unusual in so old and ramshackle a house.

  Anne first removed the pistol from her cloak, placed it in the pocket of her gown, and withdrew a small knife. No more than an eating knife really, but sharp enough, and she blessed the impulse that caused her to bring it. She stared at the little thing and swallowed a laugh. If you had visions of fending off the Major with it your wits were to let.

  In pantomime, she showed Danielle, who seemed to take Anne’s possession of knife and pistol as the most commonplace of things, how to knot the skimpy blanket into a rope once it was sliced into strips. Then she attacked the splintered wood around the lock, wondering all the while if Nicholas had returned from Winchester; had seen the Major’s note, purposely left on her desk; knew where to find them? Dusk was closing in, earlier than usual, but the rain had ceased. Hurry, hurry. The word beat in her head in time to the jabs of the knife.

  One last effort and she was able to pry out the lock. The window opened with a minimum of noise and she put her mind to the next problem—how to anchor the makeshift rope.

  The chair was fashioned from some sturdy wood, heavy of frame, and it took all their combined efforts to carry the thing quietly to the window. The high back held several thick cross slats, and they tied the rope to it and wedged the chair under the sill. Satisfied the chair was a decent anchor, Anne leaned out to see if there were any windows on the lower floor. It wasn’t a very tall house, more a story and a half. Nevertheless, she was sending a child into danger and her will faltered. What if Danielle fell? Was discovered? Got lost out there, alone?

  Anne started to say she had changed her mind, unprepared to feel Danielle’s fingers touch her mouth.

  “One of us must go, and I am the lighter,” she whispered. “I can do it, Mother Anne.”

  Anne studied her set face. Danielle was right. The chance had to be taken. “Stay on the road as best you can. There is a big house not far from here. Hide somewhere near it and wait for Westcott. I think he will go there. You do know that he will come for us?” Danielle nodded, and Anne held her tightly for a moment. Then, skirts kilted up to allow her more freedom of movement, her shoes tied together and strung around her neck, Danielle climbed onto the sash. She turned around to face the wall and began to lower herself, hand over hand.

  It felt like a lifetime, but could have not been more than minutes before Anne felt the rope slacken, followed by the two tugs that were their agreed upon signal. Danielle was down and free. Anne sent up a prayer of gratitude, drew up the rope, and closed the window. Nothing to do now but wait.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Westcott read Major Reynard’s note to Anne, shaking with rage and fear. Anne had gone; of course she had, foolish woman. How did she expect to prevail against a man like Reynard? She may be foolish but she is not stupid. She left this for you to find and will delay as long as she can. The thought of what might happen to her, and Danielle, in the meantime, he locked deep inside. He needed a clear head if he was to help her. Not if, never that. You will find her, and quickly.

  “Martin!” His bellow brought the man running and Westcott issued a stream of orders as he half-ran to the gunroom.

  “Lady Westcott and Danielle are in the hands of some very bad men. Have Max brought around. Tell Bill Fenton the Major has his mistress, and he is to mount half-dozen men and meet me in the front. Have them bring torches as well.”

  The butler hurried off, calling for Banks and the other footmen. Westcott unlocked a gun case, removed a shotgun and pocketed some ammunition. He wanted pistols as well, he decided after a moment’s thought.

  The gun drawer stood open, the key dangling, and the smallest of the pistols missing. Bloody hell. Anne had to have taken it. No one else would dare. He hoped to hell she knew how to use it. Westcott swiftly selected his weapons and headed out. Gloves, hat, and cape. No, too confining. His jacket would do. The pistols could go in his saddlebags.

  He was on the front door landing, waiting for Max and the others, when he heard rapid hoof beats and saw riders approaching. St. Clair and Carlisle? What the devil is the Captain doing here? And St. Clair, for that matter.

  “We came to warn you, Nick. Carlisle brought the information from London an hour ago.” The earl dismounted at the foot of the steps as Westcott ran down to join him.

  Carlisle stayed mounted and leaned over. “Strathmere finally heard from the War Office. I was in port, and he asked me to bring word to you. Reynard was discharged months ago for dereliction of duty, whatever that means. The Army pretty much threw him out, I wager. He sailed for Portugal, and they don’t know where he is now.”

  Westcott looked up at his friends. “He’s here, and he has Anne and Danielle,” he said harshly, forcing out the words. “I am about to go after him. Are you with me?”

  “Idiot. As if you need to ask,” Carlisle growled.

  St. Clair merely lifted his brows. “You know where to go?”

  “Back to Grayson’s, I think, but how long he will stay there is anybody’s guess. I’m sure Anne will do what she can to keep him from leaving before we arrive.” Fenton rode up then, leading Max. Westcott took the reins and swung into the saddle. “Lady Westcott took one of my guns, Fenton. Does she know how to use it?”

  “She does. Her father made sure of it.”

  Carlisle shot St. Clair a puzzled look and the earl grinned. “Nick’s lady is a resourceful woman.”

  Westcott heard the exchange and smiled grimly. She was, and it gave him some hope. He turned in the saddle and surveyed the troop behind Fenton. Several men held torches, unlit for now, while they still had some daylight. Grayson’s was a fair distance; they would need them later, but with luck they could get at least half of the way before dark.

  They stopped once, to light the torches, and then resumed their steady trot. Much as Westcott wanted to race headlong along the road, he knew better than to risk laming his horse on some unseen hole or fallen tree limb. He signaled for a halt a good mile from the manor house, and divided the men. Fenton would take half of them down a side road and come in from the rear, while Westcott approached from the front. He waited until the others were well away, ordered all but one torch doused, and keeping Max at a fast walk, rode as far as the curve onto the drive. Once beyond it they would be in full view of the house.

  “James, you stay with the horses. We’ll walk fro
m here. Pete, put out the torch and as soon as you have your night sight, you and Frank fan out and get to the stable. See if any horses are there.” Westcott looked at his friends, shadows now in the darkness. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Not a glimmer of light shone from the house looming up before them. Hardly unexpected, since Westcott knew from his visit yesterday the few rooms fit for occupancy were in the rear. If he was wrong…. They halted a few yards from the main entrance. Nothing stirred, not a sound to be heard, and he was about to lead them around the building when he felt a warning grip on his shoulder.

  “To your right, the window recess halfway along.”

  Carlisle’s voice, so low he hardly heard it, and Westcott slowly examined the area. There, a darker blot disturbing what should be empty space. This was no burly man, whatever or whoever it was, and driven by a premonition that was more hope than hunch, he went forward and risked a soft “Danielle.”

  A moment of absolute stillness. The blot moved, expanded, and she ran across the short distance, throwing herself into his arms with a muffled sob. “He has Anne! He has Anne!”

  “Shh…you are safe now, but we need your help, Danielle. We know about Anne. Where are they?” He laid a hand on the top of her head.

  Danielle took a shuddering breath and straightened. “Not here. There is a house…”

  “Wait. No one is here? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quickly then. You can tell us the whole but not out here in the open.” He turned to his companions. “I want to risk a light, Dev, but let’s see if we can get inside first.” As he remembered, a side entrance led through a scullery to the cavernous kitchen.

  St. Clair struck a flint to the small shuttered lantern he carried. No windows in this room and they felt able to light a few candles that were stuck onto an old table.

  Westcott took one look at the girl’s face and swore. “Bloody hell. Who did this to you, Danielle? Meraux?”