by Jenna Jaxon
“But you are very exceptional, Lady Celinda Graham, as your name proclaims.” Jenny laughed and released her. Suddenly she believed that everything would turn out just perfectly for her Christmas Season. She poked her head out of the door, but saw no one. “I believe Lord Somersby must have gotten lost. Not that I’m complaining. Come on. We must return to the ballroom and look for Alec.” She linked arms with Celinda, her heart brimming full of holiday joy in anticipation of seeing her true love at last.
* * * *
Richard, Lord Somersby, carefully set the glass of lemon water down on a small table some distance from the entrance to the room designated for the ladies’ convenience. It wouldn’t do to have the glass shatter in his grip and call attention to his presence. The fair Jenny would be all too aware of him once he became her husband. He’d make certain she knew to whom she answered and the consequences she faced if she did not please him.
He hurried toward the ballroom, a hasty plan forming as he muttered curses under his breath. He’d show them both, by God. Isley, that mealy-mouthed pup, wasn’t going to stand in the way of his winning this wager. Did Miss Crowley think she could deter him? She would be sadly mistaken. She’d learn that he always got his way, especially when a wager was involved.
First, he’d need to get Isley out of the way. He’d brook no interference from him while his scheme was being accomplished. Lord Brimmell and Lord Beaumont could subdue him easily, tie him to a chair, gag him, and shut the door. By the time he managed to free himself, Miss Crowley would be thoroughly compromised and on the way to becoming Lady Somersby.
Richard stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. He closed his eyes briefly, recalling Jenny’s soft, full, red lips. He’d dreamed of those lips for days now, and of the luscious body that accompanied them. The wait to taste them was almost over. One advantage of becoming her husband would be his complete control over those lips, when and where they might serve him best. A benefit he aimed to take full advantage of as soon as he could make her marry him.
Chapter 13
Alec shifted impatiently, his gaze darting around the busy dance floor searching for the sweet figure in white he’d only glimpsed during the first dance. The one his eyes had sought all evening. Where the devil had she and Lady Celinda gone?
Jenny and her companion had appeared almost late to the ball. He’d had no time to even speak to her before Somersby had whisked her away and into the first set. Fortunately, Lady Celinda had managed to distract him during the dances that followed, for he couldn’t help being obvious about searching for them as he and his partner circled the room. She’d informed him of her own part in enlightening Jenny about Somersby’s reprehensible behavior and the breath stealing news that Somersby had fallen out of favor with her.
“I believe, Mr. Isley, you will find her opinions of you and Lord Somersby have quite reversed.” Lady Celinda smiled up into his face, her crystal blue eyes tip-tilted like a cat’s, smug after stealing the cream.
“Reversed?” Alec almost faltered to a halt. He recovered and strove to turn them before they crashed into the onlookers at the far end of the ballroom. “She’s no longer infatuated with the cur?”
Lady Celinda gave his arm a squeeze. “Even better, her opinion of you has changed drastically as well.” She giggled. “Dear Mr. Isley, you look quite like a waterspout.”
Alec snapped his mouth shut, his head still reeling at her revelation. Jenny’s affections now lay with him? His chest tightened and he suddenly had to remember to breathe. A tug on his jacket brought his attention back to Lady Celinda.
“Miss Crowley and Lord Somersby have just gone apart into that corner. I think I should go join them, for propriety’s sake,” she said, dropping his arms and heading toward the edge of the dance floor. “When we return, I suggest you ask her for the supper dance. That should give you plenty of opportunity to discuss whatever you may have on your mind.” She nodded gaily to him and hurried off toward the couple in the shadow of the far pillar.
As he watched Lady Celinda’s progress, keeping a weather eye on the couple in the corner, he tried to affect a cheerful countenance, but it was devilishly hard to do. All he wanted was to bolt over to them, toss Somersby out the French doors, then fall to his knee and beg Jenny to marry him.
“Why are you standing here wearing such a pudding face?” Eric Conroy, Jenny’s cousin, strolled up beside him, pounding him on the back. “There are an awful lot of very pretty girls about, Isley. You should take advantage of such variety before one of them manages to leg-shackle you.”
“Huh. I’m waiting now for the most stunning one of all.” Alec glanced around, but found no sign of his lady.
“Ho! Spied out a diamond of the first water, have you? Good show.” Conroy nodded to Lord Beaumont, then turned back to him. “Which one? I don’t know I’ve noticed you paying your addresses to any one in particular, save Lady Celinda.” He waved a hand and swayed a bit. “Good looker and her father’s got deep pockets, but she’s a handful, let me tell you. I’ve known her all my life and she’s quite the hoyden. Sharp tongued as well.”
“I hadn’t noticed such flaws in Lady Celinda.” Alec bristled at the slight to his lovely partner. “She’s gone to fetch her, however. But, no, I’m referring to your cousin, Miss Crowley.” He twisted around, scanning the ballroom for what seemed like the hundredth time. Where the deuce had they gone?
“Oh, I say, that’s capital. Jenny is a tempting armful if I do say so.” Conroy grinned and clamped him on the back. “I saw them heading this way, not a moment ago.” He steered Alec out of the ballroom and down the corridor. “Here you go.” He opened the door to what turned out to be the viscount’s office and with a mighty shove, pushed Alec inside. Conroy shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
“What the devil are you…” Alec stopped as the figures of three men loomed out of the shadows at the rear of the room. With only one lamp lit and the fire banked, he couldn’t see their faces. Not that he needed to. “Somersby, I was sure you’d be up to something the moment I laid eyes on you here,” Alec sneered and whirled toward Conroy. “I’ll thank you to let me pass.”
“Can’t do it, old chap.” Conroy stood squarely with his back against the door. Unfortunately, Jenny’s cousin was a rather solid young man.
Alec could take him down, without a doubt, still he hated the thought of fighting with a man who might, in the near future, be a relation. With the odds at four against one, however, he couldn’t afford to be squeamish.
“Why are you backing Somersby? Jenny wants nothing to do with him.” Alec kept an eye on the earl even as he gauged Conroy’s weaknesses. He looked to indulge in food and drink without the benefits of a good regimen of boxing or fencing. The result of an altercation with him should be in Alec’s favor. Certainly the weakest link in this chain of rogues.
“Jenny doesn’t know what’s good for her,” Somersby broke in, sauntering up to Alec with a nasty smirk. “All of her family would rather see her married to me and eventually become a marchioness than settle for a mere baronet’s son.”
“We’re already betrothed, Somersby.” Alec regretted having to break his promise to Jenny, although he doubted she’d scold him for that revelation at this point. He hoped it would distract the earl long enough for him to overpower Conroy and make a dash for it.
A startled murmuring set up among the three other men, but Somersby hardly looked surprised. “My father informed me of that, but it will hardly matter. Once the company sees me compromise her, her aunt and uncle will have to consent to our marriage.”
“Over my dead body.” Alec’s blood roared and he leaped at Somersby, trying hard to wrap his hands around the blackguard’s throat. He did manage to connect with Somersby’s left eye before Beaumont grabbed his arms and Brimmell bore him to the floor, landing so hard his breath whooshed out. He lay floundering on the carpet, gasping for air that eluded him.
Somersby stalked over to him, holding the left side of his
face, already swelling. The right side shone livid, the eye filled with vengeance. “You’ll pay for that one too, Isley. It will take more than your pathetic efforts to keep me from getting my racing stable.” He drew back his fist and slammed it into Alec’s face. Pain exploded in his head, then mercifully darkness.
* * * *
“I don’t see Lord Somersby dancing, do you Mr. Pace?” Jenny frowned. She clasped hands with the gentlemen as they circled. She could find neither Alec nor Somersby. Very odd and quite disturbing.
“He may have gone outside for a breath of air,” Mr. Pace volunteered eagerly. “It is rather close in here. Your Aunt has such marvelous entertainments each year, Miss Crowley. They are so well attended, but of course that does make for a stuffy room.” He tried to smile at her, but kept glancing over her shoulder with a distracted air.
“Are you well, Mr. Pace?” she asked, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder at whatever had caught the man’s attention.
“Oh, I am very well indeed, Miss Crowley.” He gazed around wildly, then seemed to draw himself up. “Have you promised the supper dance yet?”
Drat. She’d not seen Alec since she and Celinda had returned from the retiring room. Of course, she could dissemble and tell him she had promised it to Alec. But if Alec didn’t appear to take her in to supper she’d be caught red-handed in a lie. Best make the sacrifice. She stifled a sigh. “Why no, I have not, Mr. Pace.” Her heart sank to her toes.
“Oh, well, then, please allow me to do so, Miss Crowley.” With that statement Mr. Pace suddenly became deranged. He stopped in the middle of a grand circle, grabbed her hand and towed her from the floor.
Jenny almost tripped as he fairly ran for the archway that led to the Great Hall and the dining rooms beyond. “But Mr. Pace,” she called, trying to get his attention. She pulled on his hand, in an attempt to get him to slow down at least. He was like a horse with the bit in his teeth. “Mr. Pace, the supper dance isn’t over yet.”
He made no reply but simply propelled her into the Great Hall. Once there he continued to drag her forward toward the Christmas tree at the far end where four figures stood.
“Mr. Pace!” Jenny squeezed his hand with a determination fueled by sudden fear.
Pace gave a great yelp and dropped her hand. “Here you are, Somersby. And good luck to you.” He shook his hand and glared at Jenny.
“Lord Somersby?” Jenny stared at him, an icy lance piercing the pit of her stomach. She stared first at one then another man until her gaze fell on her cousin’s grinning, bacon-brained face. “Eric.” Fear and confusion made her speak sharper than usual. “What is going on?”
* * * *
Alec strained against the ropes that bound him. Not even rope. He grimaced at the smell of someone’s stockings that Somersby, presumably, had bound and gagged him with, then tossed him on the floor behind the sofa. They’d extinguished the single candle, leaving only the wretchedly dim light from the embers of the fire to see by. Even if someone came in, they likely wouldn’t realize he was there.
And soon it would be too late for Jenny.
Focus. He must focus on getting out of these bonds. The silk stockings were light and strong. Not stretchy enough, however, for him to squeeze his hands free.
Damn. He needed to hurry. Somersby had been hell bent on compromising Jenny and Alec had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. If he did manage to kiss her before the whole company, Alec would have little recourse, he supposed, unless their longstanding betrothal could be brought to bear on the situation. Of course, he wouldn’t put it past Somersby to claim he’d compromised her even further. At that point, betrothal or no betrothal, there would be no point in pursuing the matter. She’d be utterly ruined and likely forced by her family to wed Somersby.
Spurred by these thoughts, Alec drew his knees up and scooted a few inches. His hands were bound behind his back and both his knees and ankles were tied with the damned stockings. Somersby had taken no chances on his escape. All he could do was inch like a worm or roll like a hoop. Rolling would gain him more ground, but the sofa was in the way. He flexed his body like a jackknife scooting toward the end of the couch. He scraped his cheek against the carpet with each movement until the stocking that gagged him dropped down around his neck. Spitting out the gag, he coughed, trying hard not to cast up his accounts. Once the urge passed, he drew in a deep breath to shout for help, but caution stopped him. What if they’d posted a guard? Damn Somersby. If he’d left one of his friends on watch, the blighter would hear him and he’d be gagged again before he could say “Jack Robinson.” Best remain silent for the moment. After another inch or two, he stretched out full length and started to roll.
He had just worked up a good momentum when he fetched up against a small table. Pain shot through his hip. A crash above him and a shower of glass fragments littered his face. Sharp pin-pricks on his cheeks and forehead told him whatever he’d broken had shattered. Those tiny nips of pain reminded him of the larger ache radiating from his cheek.
He froze. If anyone stood guard over the door, that crash would bring them in seconds. He strained in the darkness to hear the rattle of the latch, but the silence remained unbroken. Good enough.
“Hello! Help! Help!”
Keeping his eyes shut, he rolled back a few feet, slithered around the table and headed for the door again, continuing to shout the whole way. If he could get there, he could pound on it with his heels and have a better chance of attracting attention. Pray God someone other than one of Somersby’s cronies. If he ever got his hands on Somersby again he’d probably kill him, consequences be damned. And if he’d compromised Jenny, then he certainly deserved to die.
At last he bumped into the door, faint light from the hall spilling under the crack. He rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain as his weight bore down on his bound hands, drew his knees up to his chest and kicked out. The hollow thump reverberated all the way up his legs. He paused to listen for rescue then, hearing none, set up a barrage of pounding kicks. Had it been flimsier, the door would have collapsed immediately. Lord Marbury’s stout English oak panels, however, took kick after punishing kick, with no result other than a tingling ache growing in his feet. Still, someone must hear the substantial racket of kicks and shouts and come to investigate.
Visions of Somersby dragging Jenny beneath the mistletoe, of his vile lips descending on hers spurred him to thrust quicker, raining blows so fast his legs began to cramp. He must get to Jenny before it was too late. Why hadn’t the damn stockings given way by now?
His heels were drumming so loudly now he failed at first to notice the metallic sound of the latch jiggling. Immediately he stopped and listened.
“Is someone there?” he called, praying for a friendly answer.
“Mr. Isley, is that you?”
Thank sweet Christ. “Lady Celinda? Yes, it’s Alec…Mr. Isley. Please, for God’s sake, open the door. I must get to Jenny.”
The latched rattled again. “It’s locked. Shall I go fetch Lord Marbury?”
“No time for that. Has the company gone in to supper yet?”
“Not yet, but in a few moments. I’d gone in search of Jenny when I heard the thumping down here.”
“Damn. Somersby intends to compromise Jenny before all the guests as they go to supper.” And then the earl would die. “Is there no key in the lock?”
“No. But…oh,” her voice suddenly seemed louder, “I believe it’s in the lock on your side.”
“They must have left by the French door so as not to be seen.” He remembered Conroy twisting the key in the lock. Luckily the pig-wigeon had forgotten it. “Wait a moment.” He maneuvered himself onto his knees and rubbed his cheek along the door jamb to locate the lever. A stab of pain near his eye said he’d found the key. Balancing precariously he grasped the key in his teeth and rotated his head to turn it. His teeth grated on the slick metal as he tried to get a purchase on the head of the key, but to no avail. Damn it. He’d no time le
ft.
He bit onto the key again, his teeth grinding sickeningly on the iron, and jerked his head back. The key popped out and into his mouth. Lord, don’t let him swallow it.
“Mr. Isley, what is going on?” Lady Celinda’s worried voice boomed through the empty keyhole.
He fell to the floor, his mouth near the light of the crack. With a huge thrust of his tongue, Alec spit the key out and it slid under the door.
“Can you see the key, Lady Celinda?” he asked, his heart in this throat.
“Yes, yes, I’ve got it.” The lock rattled once more and the door swung open.
“Mr. Isley! What has happened to you?” Lady Celinda held a candle up to his face and he blinked at the sudden brightness.
“No time to tell it, my lady. Untie me. I’ve not got a moment to lose.”
Lady Celinda set the candlestick down and bent to work on the knots. “Turn on your side and I can get your hands.”
“Thank you. Then you must run and stop the company from entering the Great Hall. Somersby won’t make a move until he has witnesses. Find Lady Marbury and tell her what Somersby is about.” His bonds loosened and Lady Celinda gasped.
“Are those Mr. Pace’s stockings? He’s the only gentleman here who wears them clocked with pink rosebuds.”
Alec groaned and spat. He slipped his hands through the silk and threw them to the floor. “Go!” He tore at the stockings that bound his legs as Lady Celinda scampered away without another word. One more knot and he was free. He leaped to his feet and staggered as circulation rushed feeling back into them. Righting himself, he raced through the doorway and bolted down the hall for the Great Hall as the grandfather clock began to chime the hour.
Midnight.
Chapter 14