by Meara Platt
“Kendra and the boys might not be taking it well either,” the earl said with a sad shake of his head as the carriage rolled down the drive and turned eastward. “I’m sorry they were there to see Julian collapse. But it couldn’t be helped. We had no time to come up with a better plan.”
“It isn’t too late to end it now,” Rose implored. She knew the other children had taken this intrigue badly, for they had been unusually quiet, no doubt having second thoughts about it. Even Nicola was nibbling her lower lip in obvious consternation.
“Here, Rose.” Lady Darnley handed her the glass of lemonade. “You go first. You look like you need the fortification more than the rest of us.”
She nodded, for her throat was parched, and drank it down quickly. Too quickly. Ugh, it wasn’t very good and had an unusually bitter taste that stuck to the back of her throat and began to work its way into her stomach. Sour lemons?
“What’s the matter, Rolf?” Nicola took her by the arm. “You suddenly don’t look so well. Have you taken ill?”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel very well. I—I think it’s the lemonade.” Or too much sunshine. Or too much adventure. Her head was beginning to spin. “I must have swallowed some pond water, too.”
“Oh, dear. Honestly, you and my brother are a pair.” Nicola took a sip of her lemonade. “Mine tastes fine. Here, try it. Tell me if it tastes as odd as yours.”
She smelled it first and then drank it down.
In that moment, Rose realized something was terribly wrong. Her limbs suddenly felt like dead weights and her head was now spinning in earnest.
She stared at Julian’s family as their features began to blur before her very eyes. She tried to hold herself up but couldn’t. “Nicola?”
Her friend moved the basket aside and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I’m so sorry, Rolf. I know it isn’t fair to you, but we’re desperate and have no choice. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.”
“What? No! Not like this,” she attempted to cry out, but her lips and tongue were now as numb as the rest of her body. Her words must have sounded slurred and unintelligible.
“It has to be this way. You and Julian, both. Rolf, please forgive us.”
Both? Julian’s family had purposely drugged not only him, but her! “Why?”
She received no answer before she fell into oblivion.
CHAPTER 8
JULIAN AWOKE WITH a splitting headache, the hammer-striking-anvil sort that felt like one’s brain was about to explode. He tried to raise his hand to his brow to massage it, but couldn’t move it. “What the…?”
He managed to open his eyes to a squint and looked down. His wrists were bound with a cheap, frayed rope and he was tied to a bed—not his bed, but a thin cot fashioned out of rickety wood that would fall apart if he rocked back and forth hard enough, which he immediately started to do.
What the hell is going on?
After a few savage tugs, he freed himself from his bonds. However, sitting upright on the narrow cot proved much harder. It took a long moment and several deep breaths before he managed to roll forward and stand up. As he did so, he felt the chill of the cold stone floor against his bare feet. There was a musky dampness to the room and a sickly sweet aroma lingering in the air that he recognized as the scent of a brewing thunderstorm.
He didn’t care if the most violent storm of the century was about to unleash; he was getting out of here now.
He moved his limbs to stretch the ache out of them while he took another moment to survey his surroundings. Where was he? In some sort of crude hunting lodge, and although it didn’t look familiar, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he was still on Darnley grounds or somewhere close.
His steps were unsteady as he made his way toward the door and he had to pause another moment to gather his wits, no easy task to accomplish while his head was pounding with the force of a blasting cannon. His legs were still painfully stiff as well. They’d take a while to loosen up after having been bound for hours. Or was it days already? The last he remembered, he was drinking that odd-tasting wine by the pond. He’d gone swimming and then come out of the water to help set out the picnic fare. He’d taken off his soaked shirt and spread it out with the rest of the clothes his siblings had left in the sun to dry.
His pants had been soaked as well, but he hadn’t taken them off. Indeed, not! He glanced down. Good, he still had them on, but he wore nothing else. The pants were a little damp, which meant he’d only been unconscious for a few hours at most.
Where are my boots?
He’d taken them off before swimming with his siblings.
He took another long breath, forcing his muddled brain to think. Were his brothers and sisters safe? And what about Rose? Were any of them hurt? Or held captive along with him?
He needed a pistol. He hadn’t left his in his boot, had he? No, he hadn’t thought he’d require one at the pond.
The possibility that his loved ones were in danger got him moving again. Using care to be quiet, he attempted to open the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked and opened easily, but it hadn’t been oiled in ages and made a loud squeaking noise. “So much for taking anyone by surprise,” he muttered, disgusted with himself and the uncooperative door.
But no one responded to the sound. He shook his head, now thoroughly bemused.
Where are the guards?
Am I alone?
He made his way down the narrow hallway toward what appeared to be the kitchen, moving with stealth and stopping to search each room along the way. If his siblings were taken hostage, he might find them tied up in one of these small chambers.
The entire place was small, no more than four tiny rooms in all, none of them locked, and it didn’t take him very long to search each one.
Not a sibling to be found.
A good sign? Or did it spell disaster?
He had only the kitchen left to search. The short hairs on the back of his neck immediately began to prickle as he approached. Someone was in there.
Friend or foe?
He hoped it was foe. He needed to pound his fists into some blackguard’s face, if only to relieve his own frustration. Who had abducted him and why?
He crept in, keeping to the shadows, which was easy to do because the room was dark and had several nooks and angled walls. He frowned, seeing no one at first, then heard a soft sob emanating from one of the kitchen nooks. He made his way toward the sound. Rose! Sparing a mere moment to assess the danger—or lack thereof—he hurried to her side.
Indeed, he wasn’t alone.
No, not alone. But this was worse. Rose had been taken, too. And still no guards close by.
What in blazes is going on?
She was tied to a chair, a handkerchief covering her mouth. Her head was craned awkwardly to one side and her eyes were closed. He noted the glint of tears trailing down her cheeks.
“It’s me, sweetheart. Julian.” He knelt beside her and touched her lightly on the shoulder to gain her attention.
Her eyes widened in fear the moment his fingers touched her skin.
She squirmed and tried to scream, but her throat was obviously dry and the hoarse yelp that sprang from her lips was mostly muffled by the cloth over her mouth. “It’s me,” he repeated, hoping to calm her before her soft cries alerted the fiends, wherever they were. “Rose, I won’t hurt you. I’m going to remove the gag at your mouth first, but you mustn’t make another sound.”
She recognized his voice and nodded.
He kept talking softly because she was still quite unsettled, not that he blamed her in the least. As he untied the handkerchief from her mouth, she began to tug at her ropes in a desperate struggle to break free. “Hush, sweetheart. You’ll only hurt yourself. I’ll get you out. Trust me.”
“I do,” she said the moment she could talk, although her voice was little more than a strained croak.
But at least she was able to talk and he hoped that she knew more than he did
about their circumstances. “Did you see what happened to my brothers and sisters? Are they here? I couldn’t find them.”
“They’re safe at Darnley Cottage. I promise.” She appeared ready to burst into tears, not that he would blame her, for even he was also on edge and utterly confused.
“You promise? How can you know for certain that they’re safe?” He eyed her curiously while untying the bindings at her wrist. She seemed to be as frightened of him as she was of their captors. No, he’d been drugged and was still off his stride. She had no reason to be afraid of him.
“I… I saw them. Those ruffians only took you and me.” Her eyes widened and the pulse at the base of her throat began to throb wildly.
He gently rubbed his thumb along that errant pulse in the hope that it might soothe her, but the gesture only seemed to make matters worse, so he stopped. “Why you? Do you believe your pottery ruffians are behind this scheme?”
“I… I don’t… I’m not sure. But it makes sense of a sort, doesn’t it?” She nodded emphatically.
In truth, it made no sense whatsoever. Sir Milton Aubrey, the fiend responsible for the sabotage of her kiln, could not possibly be so demented as to attempt this abduction. The last Julian had heard, the man had run off to cower in some remote corner of the world.
And why weren’t there any guards? Or locked doors?
This scheme had been so incompetently carried out he dismissed the possibility that Napoleon’s agents were involved. Nor was this a hoax. So what was the reason? “We have to get out of here before whoever is behind this mischief returns.”
“No! I mean…” Rose glanced at the window panes, her attention caught by the patter of rain against the glass. “We can’t go out there. We’ll be soaked.”
He shook his head. “What’s a few drops compared to the danger of remaining here?” Obviously, she wasn’t thinking straight. Poor thing, she’d had a bad fright. “We must go while we can.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“I… I… think we ought to stay. They aren’t coming back and there’s a storm approaching. Look how dark the sky has become.”
He ignored her comment, for there was no telling what their abductors might do or when they might return. Rose may have been drugged well after him, but she had definitely lost consciousness for a period of time, he could tell by the condition of her eyes. Whatever plans she thought she’d overheard could have been changed a dozen times and she wouldn’t know it.
He strode to the window and carefully peered out, first surveying the grounds by the door where a guard would logically be positioned. Still no one in sight. He looked upward to the gathering swirls of dark gray and the more ominous purple-black clouds in the distance. “Just our luck,” he grumbled, securing the window so that it would remain shut as the wind gusted, “storm of the century.”
The strength of the gusts had picked up, forcing air to whistle down the chimney. Rain now pelted the window panes and rattled the jambs with torrential force. Surely their guards would come inside soon. Not even beasts could stay out in this weather. “We’ll find shelter somewhere close by. Somewhere safe.”
Rose now stood beside him, leaning against the wall for support as she followed his gaze to the more ominous storm clouds in the distance. They would soon be caught in a heavier downpour. “They’ve gone,” she insisted, casting worried glances between him and the rain pounding on the window. “We’re on our own… and… we’d hear them if they came back, wouldn’t we? They wouldn’t bother to be quiet because they’d think we were still tied up.”
He sighed and did his best to keep his voice gentle despite his exasperation. “Rose, we’re in danger so long as we remain here. I may be able to get the better of one or two of our abductors, but what if there are a dozen men and they’re all carrying weapons?”
Her lips tipped upward at the corners in a hesitant smile and her gaze turned soft and worshipful. “I think you could vanquish every one of those rogues. There’s no one smarter or braver than you. I feel quite safe and protected when I’m with you.”
He groaned and closed his eyes while struggling to contain his urges. He wanted to take Rose in his arms and kiss her into tomorrow. Hell, he just wanted to take Rose… into his bed. Into his heart. No, she was there already. Bloody nuisance. When had that happened? “Flattery will get you everywhere, but I beg to differ. You’re not safe at all, especially not from me. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“No, but I hope you’ll show me.”
“Rose, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I have no wish to ruin you.”
Her smile faded. “I’m ruined already. Alone in a cabin with you? And you’re indecently dressed. If word gets out, I’ll be as popular as a leper among society. I don’t care for my own circumstances. Being shunned will allow me to concentrate on my pottery business, but the gossip will tarnish my sisters, and they’ve done nothing to deserve the insults they’ll face. I fear for them.”
“All the more reason for us to leave right now. We’ll find our way back to Darnley Cottage before any outsiders realize we were ever gone.” He cupped his hand against her cheek, loving the soft feel of her skin and the way she warmed to his touch. “I’d never abandon you to suffer the consequences alone. You know that, don’t you? You needn’t fret on that account.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Are you suggesting that you’d marry me if necessary?”
“You’re my sister’s best friend and obviously loved by all my siblings. You’re kind and talented and beautiful. Lord, you’re so beautiful you take my breath away.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Thunder rolled overhead. Lightning struck nearby. More thunder and lightning erupted within him. “Don’t allow me to kiss you again. I don’t think I’ll have the power to stop.” He tore his gaze away from her beckoning lips and moved away to gather a few supplies to be used for their escape.
Curiously, the hunting lodge was quite well stocked with the sort of fare one might find in a fine country home. He paused a moment and frowned again. Their abductors were remarkably refined. Indeed, their tastes were far too refined for blackguards. “Rose, tell me everything you know about what happened to us over these past few hours.”
She let out a soft eep. “I don’t know anything.”
He paused in gathering their supplies and gave her an encouraging smile. “Yes, you do. You’ve already told me that the villains only took the two of us and left my siblings safe.”
“Um, yes. Truly, they are safe.”
He smiled again to coax her into talking. “And…”
She rubbed her hands along the fabric of her gown. “And then we were here.”
“But they’d drugged me first, which means someone tampered with the picnic basket and got to the wine bottle before it was sent down to us. This was not the work of an outsider. Someone inside the household was involved in this plot. But it still doesn’t make sense. If they were after me, why take you? The same is true for the other possibility. If they were after you, why take me as well?”
She now clasped her hands together and swallowed hard. “Perhaps they were afraid you’d follow them and find me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “So they brought me along, thereby making certain I would find you? Rose, it still doesn’t make any sense.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And what about these supplies?”
She swallowed again. “What about them?”
Was she being purposely dense or had the sedative affected her badly? Or did she know more than she was telling him? He studied the room once more, his gaze coming to rest on the storage chest that served as a window seat. “Do you suppose we might find a shirt and a pair of boots tucked in here for me?”
Rose shook her head in vehement denial and promptly sat down on the chest. She began to nibble her lip. The window seat was an obvious place to sit on a gloriously sunny day, but right now the window was rattling so hard it threatened to break
the glass panes. The spot was not safe. Rose was no fool, so why was she suddenly sitting there?
He gazed at her and then shifted his attention to the supplies he’d just gathered and set upon the table. A lantern, matches, bread that was still fresh. So was the cheese. He crossed to the cupboard and began to forage, finding a large tin. He shook it. “Let’s see what’s in here. Ah, currant scones.”
No one made currant scones as well as Florence, the Darnley cook. He took a bite of one to test it. “Blast.”
“What’s wrong?” Rose was still fretting, not only nipping at her luscious lower lip but wringing her hands as well.
“Everything about this scheme feels odd. I have no doubt our cook made these. So why would our extremely loyal, would-never-betray-the-family, long-time household retainer happen to bake up a fresh batch and store them here?”
Rose paled.
He eyed her curiously. What did she know that he didn’t? “Rose, get up.”
She stopped wringing her hands and curled them tightly on the edge of the window seat. “I’d rather not. I suddenly feel quite weak.”
He plucked her off the chest, but held onto her on the chance she truly was feeling poorly, which he doubted, for her cheeks that were ashen only moments ago now blazed a hot pink.
He lifted the lid off the chest with one hand and peered inside. “Damn it, these are mine.” He released her and knelt down to sift through the contents, picking up his boots, shirt, jacket, and cravat to hold up to her view. He dug down deeper and found a comb, razor, and strop. Unfortunately, no pistol. “What is going on? Everything in here is mine. Even more curious, there’s a change of clothes in here for you as well.”
Her silence was palpable, cutting through the thick air like a knife. He dropped the contents back into the chest and stood to face her. “Rose? You’re going to cut your lip if you chew on it any harder.”
“I… I can’t.”
“What? Betray Nicola’s scheme? My aunt and uncle were in on it as well, I assume, for she would have needed their permission to use one of their carriages to transport us here. Perhaps they all rode along in several carriages and made a jolly good outing of it.” He tried to stifle his mounting anger for he had no wish to scare Rose. The poor girl was also a victim and deserved his comfort and protection.