Color of Danger (The Sullyard Sisters Book 2)

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Stratford came back and sat down, his thigh only a few inches from hers. “I only wish…”

  Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. What had he been going to say? He wished what?

  He pounded his fist on his thigh. “So she did this all because she thought you and I to be…?”

  Lydia nodded, wishing at least that much had been true. “She said that if I was out of the way, so to speak, she could then have you.”

  “The hell she can!”

  Lydia jumped at his loud exclamation, causing her leg chain to clank against the floor, sounding like coins dropped into an empty jar.

  “Forgive me, I’m just so overcome with anger and…” Stratford took her hand again. “I’m not upset with you, of course.”

  Thank goodness for that, at least. She lifted one corner of her mouth.

  “How does she think that putting you in here will make me want to be with her?”

  “I believe the word she used was ransom.”

  His mouth dropped open. “She’ll have you released only if I… am with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marriage, to that…” He shook his head slowly. A deep breath caused his chest to move out then in. “Then that’s what I must—”

  She squeezed his hand. “No! You mustn’t. Promise me you won’t. Give me your word.”

  “But, Lydia, you can’t stay here. You don’t belong here.”

  Tears clogged her throat as she forced out the words, “I shouldn’t have told you. It was a mistake.” I’m an idiot. Why did I confess something like that, especially in my weakened state? I should know by now I’m terrible at controlling my tongue. She let out a slow breath. “Don’t you understand? If you marry that shrew, she will ruin your life.”

  He squeezed her hand in return. His words were soft as he said, “Why do you care so much about my life?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. I can’t say the words. What would he think? When he first visited, it was out of family obligation. The most he feels for me now is friendship. Until lately, he’s hardly ever spoken to me at all. “I just wouldn’t want to see anyone shackled to that woman for the rest of his life.”

  With a glance down at her ankle, she realized the irony of her words.

  Chapter Eleven

  It didn’t take long for Stratford to reach the Queensbury estate. The property did adjoin his father’s, after all, though Stratford had always done his best to avoid Miss Queensbury whenever possible. Even when they were children and were sometimes forced to play together, he’d spoken to her out of necessity. She’d grown up to be a striking woman, but it was only on the surface. Stratford used to think something dark lurked inside of her. Something deceptive. After hearing what she’d said and done to Lydia, he was more certain of it than ever.

  He handed his horses’ reins to the groom and strode up to the front door. After a forceful knock, the door was opened by a young footman. Stratford leaned toward the other man, determined to see that vexing woman right that moment and not willing to take no for an acceptable answer. “I’m here to see Miss Queensbury.”

  “She’s not taking callers today.”

  “She will see me.”

  He lowered his eyelids halfway and started to close the door. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question.”

  Stratford caught the edge of the door to halt its progress. “You’re not listening. I’m here to see her, and see her, I shall.”

  “But, sir, I—”

  He stepped up, close enough that the footman had to move back a single pace. “I said, I will see her. Now. You can either show me to the parlor or I can stand outside where others can hear me bellowing at the top of my lungs until Miss Queensbury comes out.” He tapped his chin as if thinking up something new. “Say… or I could—”

  The door opened wider with a whoosh of air. “Please, do come in.”

  “Thought you’d see it my way.” He removed his hat but waved away the footman’s offer to take it. Stratford wasn’t planning on staying too long. Only enough time to accomplish his goal. To see that Lydia was released. Immediately.

  The footman showed him to the parlor and indicated that Stratford should take a seat. Instead, as soon as the footman had left, Stratford chose to pace. He did his best strategizing that way. Twenty-five steps across and back. He lost track of how many times he traversed the floor from fireplace to settee and the reverse.

  The shushing sound of slippers came from the open doorway. “Mr. Bexley. How delightful to see you.”

  Stratford stopped his frantic steps. Miss Queensbury stood there with her perfectly coifed hair, expensive, form-fitting gown, and flawless face. Pity her personality wasn’t as pleasing. “Good day.” He gave a small bow. Very small. Enough to be insulting should she choose to notice.

  Her slow smile gave him the feeling she cared nothing about his implied slight but that she’d been expecting him. Indeed, though he’d nearly been denied entrance, it was like she’d waited for that very moment when he would visit her and give her what she desired most.

  Then she had much to learn. He had come to free Lydia and would not be denied.

  “Where is your chaperone?” Stratford tapped one foot furiously, longing to be far away from the place, far away from Miss Queensbury. Although he’d never been close to her, by his own choice, he knew her to be devious at times. He had no desire to be left alone with her so she could claim later on that something untoward had happened, thereby insuring a swift marriage. Though Lydia had assured him that’s what Miss Queensbury wanted of Stratford, he hoped there was some other way, any way, to achieve his goal. He only wished he knew what that could entail.

  Miss Queensbury pointed across the long, narrow room. In a high-backed chair, half-hidden behind a large, potted fern, an older woman sat knitting. Stratford hadn’t even noticed her there before. The woman looked up briefly but said nothing and went back to her work. Stratford was relieved. At least someone was in the room besides the two of them.

  With a sweep of her hand, Miss Queensbury indicated a group of high-backed chairs on the opposite side of the room from the chaperone. “Won’t you be seated?”

  Perhaps if he stopped fidgeting and lit somewhere, his heart would cease its unsteady hammering. All he wanted was Lydia’s freedom. Was he willing to do anything to make that happen?

  With a nod to Miss Queensbury, he accepted her offer and sat in a chair that was farther away from the others. He had no desire to be any nearer to her than inhabiting the same room, and not even that. With a pout, Miss Queensbury took the chair nearest his, but she perched on the very edge of the seat. Was she hoping that would put her closer to him? That her proximity might make a difference in his decision? He huffed out a loud breath at the idea.

  “Something the matter, Mr. Bexley?”

  His gaze flew to hers just as his hands formed fists in his lap. “The only thing the matter is what you’ve done to Miss Sullyard.”

  “Miss Sullyard? I thought she was married to your cousin. Wouldn’t that make her Mrs. Bexley? And from what I hear, she’s in her confinement and as big as an elephant.”

  He leaned forward, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around her dainty white throat. “You know very well I’m speaking of her sister.”

  “Little Patience? Why would you think I’d have anything to do with her? She’s no more than a child.”

  He sliced his hand through the air. “Stop it. This instant.”

  Her only reaction was a slow, feral grin that stretched over perfectly even teeth.

  “You know I’m referring to Lydia.”

  “I do?” Miss Queensbury placed her fingers over her collarbone, the very picture of innocence.

  “She told me what you’ve done. That you admitted to having her taken to that hole in the ground.”

  “Did she? Well, I will concede she’s tolerated that unearthly pit for far longer than I thought she could. Longer than most could have. Why, the smell alone could knoc
k someone senseless. I guess she does deserve my admiration for her stamina.”

  “The only thing she deserves is for you to undo the damage you’ve done. That poor girl is dying in there. Dying. Do you hear me?” His voice grew louder with each sentence.

  She lightly patted her hair above her left ear, as if his shout has disturbed her coiffure. “I heard you. Quite well.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not going to do anything. The next step, my dear, is up to you.” She tilted her head and stared at him. Was she waiting for him to get on bended knee right there? Then she’d be waiting a very long time.

  Some part of Stratford had hoped it wouldn’t come to a demand of marriage. That Miss Queensbury would give up her insane notion to possess him in exchange for Lydia’s freedom. But hadn’t she all but stated it would take him proposing to make it happen? “When Lydia told me what you said, about me… proposing to you, I hoped it was some kind of mistake. A misunderstanding.”

  “Did you? How interesting.” She glanced out a nearby window, giving the appearance of sudden boredom, despite her words.

  “I can see by your responses that her information was correct. You aren’t denying it. Any of it.”

  Miss Queensbury leaned forward, one hand leaving her lap to rest on the side of the chair. “How do you like going to Bedlam to see her so often? Isn’t it the most revolting place you’ve ever encountered?” Her eyes gleamed with the light from a nearby window. She was enjoying Lydia’s discomfort.

  “How do you know I’ve been visiting her?”

  She flipped her hand in his direction. “You said you’d spoken with her.”

  “That could have been accomplished in a single visit.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “You couldn’t possibly know that. I’ve never seen you there.” Unless she was hiding, peeking around corners. Not that it would have surprised him.

  “I have spies everywhere. And they’re all willing to do my bidding for some extra money. It’s amazing what poor people will do for payment.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve actually done this to her. How did you accomplish it? It had to have taken more than money to buy someone off. You would have had to have skirted hospital admittance rules in order to have Lydia committed.”

  “People can be very resourceful when need be. You’d be surprised, and might I add, pleasantly, what I’m capable of. When you marry me, I’ll show you just how… talented I can be.” She wiggled her fingers in some sort of proposition.

  His skin crawled. “You can’t be serious. That you won’t have her released until I… I…” He couldn’t form the words. The very notion of marrying her was preposterous.

  “That’s correct. I see you understand the situation perfectly. If it hadn’t been for your reputation as a rake, I would have pursued you instead of Nathaniel in the first place in order to gain a respectable dowry from my father. You’re much more desirable.” She batted her eyelashes and allowed her gaze to stray down to his trousers.

  The thought of having anything to do with Miss Queensbury, much less that, made his stomach clench. “There has to be another way. What will it take for you to have her released?”

  She shook her head slowly. “You’re a clever man. I think you know the answer to that. There are only two choices. Marry me, or Miss Sullyard rots in Bedlam. Til she dies.”

  “You can’t do this!” He spread his hands. “Why are you torturing her?”

  Miss Queensbury blinked. “Your tendré for the little madhouse miss is splendid.” She laughed. “That makes this all the more enjoyable for me. Not only will I gain a Bexley for a husband, Lydia will be denied a future with you. Or any other man. Because really, who would want her now that she’s been declared insane? From now on she’ll be tainted. People will stare at her and whisper to each other about her. Her life in this town will be useless.” She shrugged. “Not that it wasn’t already.”

  Venom accompanied his words as he ground out, “You are pure evil.”

  She didn’t even flinch. Acted almost proud of the sentiment. “Nevertheless, you have a choice. Since you appear to have a fondness for her, I’ll give you three days to say your farewell to her before you officially propose to me. I think that’s more than fair on my part. After all, I did have to wait through all the muddle of watching Nathaniel marry Kitty. And, I’ve been quite patient for the several weeks that Lydia has been a guest of Bedlam.”

  She stood. “I believe this concludes our meeting. We understand each other, I’m sure. I’ll see you back here in exactly three days time.” She looked at the case clock in the corner and back. “Good day.” She turned and sauntered from the room, hips swaying, a giggle floating from her lips.

  Stratford wanted nothing more than to tear her to shreds until there was nothing left but a tendril of blond hair and a scrap of dress fabric.

  He sighed and ran his hand down his face. At least one thing the woman had said was true…

  It had come upon him unawares. Crept up like a stranger in the dark. Yes, he had developed a tendré for Lydia. Deep down, he knew it was much more than that. Could it be that the rake had finally taken the tumble and fallen in love?

  He had to save Lydia. In order to do that, he’d be tied forever to a heartless shrew and wouldn’t get to explore his growing feelings for Lydia. But wasn’t that a small price to pay for saving the woman he was coming to love?

  Chapter Twelve

  Lydia stared at the door, willing Stratford’s face to appear through the bars. She now regretted her honesty with him. What would he do with the information she’d supplied about Miss Queensbury? Would he heed Lydia’s plea to not marry the shrew, or would he go ahead and dive into a terrible, loveless marriage?

  She tugged his coat around her shoulders. She still had the blanket but chose instead to wear his garment. It felt somewhat like a hug from him. Too bad she’d pulled away from him when he’d actually tried to give her one. But she’d been afraid. Reminded momentarily of Mr. Steele when he’d tried to feel beneath her blanket.

  She’d not had word from Stratford since their last discussion. Though it had only been three days prior, Lydia had come to expect Stratford every day. When had her whole world started to revolve around his visits?

  You’re in love with him. Of course you rely on his company for your happiness.

  She let out a sigh. Where was he? Was he even coming back?

  Fear gnawed at her. Perhaps he was marrying Miss Queensbury, after all. Hadn’t he said he’d do as much?

  Why? Why had she confessed the truth? Yes, she’d rationalized that someone else might tell him, but what if she’d made a terrible mistake? That he’d gone right to Miss Queensbury and capitulated to her terms?

  But she was still in Bedlam. That had to mean something, didn’t it? That Stratford was still free of the clutches of that woman. She closed her eyes, willing it to be true. It had to be. While he had come to visit her on several occasions, he certainly couldn’t harbor any feelings for her beyond friendship. Could he? Until recently, he’d barely given her notice.

  She shook her head as the realization sunk in. Stratford had changed. She’d even commented to him about it. He’d been nothing but gallant, kind, and supportive. Her champion.

  So wouldn’t a champion go the extra distance to help her gain her release from Bedlam?

  She counted out loud to twenty as she wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked to and fro, not caring that at the moment she resembled some of the other patients she’d observed on her way to her cell that first day.

  If Stratford had done it, truly done it, she’d be forever in his debt. And she would always carry the guilt that it was her fault.

  She could never be happy again.

  Footsteps approached from the corridor. Lydia gazed at the door. Had he returned? Was she wrong in her assumption that he’d given in to Miss Queensbury’s demands? She climbed to her knees and waited. Any second now,
the key would turn in the door. It would squeak open, and he’d be there. Just as he had been for the last few times.

  Voices. More than one. And not that of her normal keeper. Lydia opened her eyes wide, afraid to blink, as she stared at the small window. The key did indeed turn. The door squeaked open. Lydia’s mouth went dry, feeling like that moment, that very instant would determine the rest of her life. Would it be Stratford or—

  Quick footsteps, from more than one person, entered. Hushed words were interchanged. Lydia stared into the near darkness, barely able to make out the forms of two people. One tall. One short.

  The hiss of a match striking something was followed by the soft glow of a lantern. As a pool of light grew increasingly larger, Lydia was finally able to make out the identity.

  “There she is! Lydia!” Patience set the lantern on the floor a couple feet away and then stumbled toward Lydia, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

  “P-Patience? Why are you… Is Kitty…?” Had something bad happened to their sister? Or to the babe?

  The second person stepped into the light of the lantern. Nathaniel.

  Lydia sucked in a sob. If he wasn’t with her sister then… “Oh no, is Kitty…”

  He grinned. “She’s well. And you now have a nephew.”

  She let out a whoosh of breath. “Thank goodness. I was so concerned. And—”

  He held up his hand. “We can discuss all of that later. But right now, we’re here to take you home.”

  She blinked. “Home?”

  Patience wiped tears from her own eyes. “Yes. You get to leave this filthy place.”

  Lydia frowned, her mind suddenly sluggish. “But…” She glanced down at Stratford’s coat. “My clothes… I don’t have—”