Reaching into his pocket, Nicholas pulled out a note. “I understand you can read quite well. If so, read this.”
The youngster took the message from the self-styled highwayman. His brow furrowed as he picked his way through the words, some of which were unfamiliar. When he had finished it, his face paled at the threat to the lady he admired so deeply. Silently, he handed it back to the waiting man. “I understand, my lord. We will do nothing to endanger Lady Foxbridge. You can be sure of that. If you want us at any time, don’t hesitate to call us.”
For a moment, the brittle surface of Nicholas’s face splintered into a near smile. The child had the demeanor of a vassal knight offering his services to his lord. He could not help being touched by this simple show of the love Rebecca had inspired in all of these children. “I will remember that, Greggy. Go home, and wait until you are notified before you do anything. It’s all we can do.”
With a bow and a soft farewell, the lad ran to the door leading to the gardens and opened it to vanish into the night.
Clarisse watched as it closed quietly before she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell him what you told me about your opinion that Rebecca is dead already?” She had not thought that he would continue to welcome these urchins in his home since his wife and her radical ideas were gone.
He shrugged as he moved to gaze up at one row of windows along the wall. “Why rush the inevitable? If I had told him that, the news would have been all over the shire in hours. Then Rebecca’s captors would know their game was over. I do not want them to escape my revenge for daring to take something that belonged to me.” He smiled in eager spite. “I want them to come here tomorrow night, so I can see their faces when they are sent to hang.”
Reaching out, Nicholas took her hand and tugged her back to his side. He led her around the room pointing out things she had never seen. Any questions she had he answered quickly. Her smile grew wider as she imagined herself presiding over the fete. In her beautiful gown that was so conveniently the green of Foxbridge Cloister’s colors, she would be the center of attention instead of Rebecca. Even the announcement of the betrothal between Eliza and Curtis would be of secondary importance to the fact that she was once more at Nicholas’ side where she belonged.
“It will be a wonderful ball tomorrow night!” Clarisse exclaimed enthusiastically. Instantly her smile disappeared as she cooed, “Oh, Nicholas, I am sorry. I forget you don’t feel like entertaining. I know of no other man who would hold a masquerade ball when he knew his wife was in such danger.”
Nicholas stepped closer to her. Slowly his hands rose to stroke her arms bared below the sleeves of her gown, whose neckline was provocatively deep to show off the fine curves of her full bosom. She stared into his brown eyes that had darkened with emotion to the color of freshly turned earth. “It’s been a full day since Rebecca vanished. I have not slept, so I have had time to think through many things in my life. I have been thinking of the part you will play in the future events of my life, Clarisse. So many people told me I was foolish for trying to bring Rebecca into my life. Maybe they were right, for Rebecca never fit in here. My scarlet vixen, do you still care for me?”
In a seductive whisper, she said, “I have never stopped being fond of you. I thought you knew that. I hope this will all come to rights for us.”
He smiled broadly as his eyes swept her form. “That is my heartfelt desire.”
Clarisse did not resist as he pulled her tightly to him again. His mouth on hers sent a thrill through her. He leaned her back over one arm as he explored the length of her neck. Her fingers clutched on his back as she yielded herself entirely to the sensations bursting within her.
“Nicholas!” A shocked voice echoed hollowly through the huge room.
The two embracing separated to see Eliza and Curtis standing in the double doorway of the ballroom. Pain shone from the young woman’s eyes. At her side, her fiance scowled, his brown eyes filled with anger.
“Yes?” Nicholas replied coldly. It was clear he was displeased with the interruption. His arm remained securely around Clarisse.
Tears fell from his sister’s eyes. “How can you be kissing her when Rebecca may be—may be—”
“May be dead? Is that what you are trying to say, Eliza?” Nicholas laughed tightly. “I fear you may be right. You all may have been right. Rebecca was out of place at Foxbridge Cloister. Obviously too much so for whomever feared she was betraying us.”
“Nicholas, how can you be so unfeeling?”
Once again, he laughed. “Because I have no feeling left for her.” He drew Clarisse closer. “I have decided to listen to the advice that you and Mother have offered so often. Clarisse has so pleasantly agreed to replace Rebecca as our hostess tomorrow. Haven’t you, my dear?”
Clarisse smiled superiorly at the astonished face of the young woman she suspected soon would be her sister-in-law. “Nicholas was just explaining the duties he wanted me to perform.” The others could not miss the true meaning of her words. Her satisfied expression resembled a well-fed cat. She had caught the prey she wanted.
Eliza turned to her fiance. “Curtis, do something! Tell Nicholas to stop being so callous! Rebecca is in trouble. He should be thinking of her and not some harlot.”
“Nicholas,” said the man uneasily, as he stared at his irate host, who clearly did not like his sister’s disparaging words, “under the circumstances, I think it would be best if you would reconsider your offer to Miss Beckwith.” He was not sure what else to say. That Nicholas would turn to his ex-mistress so quickly was a shock.
The black-haired man tightened his grip on the woman at his side. “I have no intention of retracting any of my offers to Clarisse. I trust you will remember who is lord of Foxbridge Cloister.”
Eliza bristled with anger. In the same icy tones her brother had used, she retorted, “And, Nicholas, I trust you will remember who is the lady of Foxbridge Cloister. Do you remember her? Her name is Rebecca North Wythe, and she is your wife. If you ever loved Rebecca at all, reconsider, please. Let Clarisse take Rebecca’s place at your side at the ball tomorrow if you must, but don’t let her take your wife’s place in your bed tonight.”
“I agree,” added another voice. They turned to see Margaret Wythe standing in the minstrels’ gallery. She gazed down at them. “Clarisse is most welcome to share Eliza’s room tonight.”
Nicholas’ scowl increased, but when he looked at Clarisse it was with a soft expression of apology. To the others, the gentle smile on his face translated into a promise that this night would be the last they would spend alone.
When Lady Margaret requested Clarisse meet her in her room to discuss plans for the party, the redhead ignored the cold stares of Nicholas’ family as she kissed him lingeringly. She swayed out of the room as if she was already the mistress of Foxbridge Cloister.
“Nicholas,” began Eliza, “please—”
He glared at her and his mother. “I can never please you two, can I? You so detested Rebecca for being from America that you could never force yourself to be decent to her, could you, Mother? Now it is too late.”
“Stop speaking of her as if she was dead!” ordered his heartbroken sister. “This isn’t like you, Nicholas! I thought you love Rebecca.”
“Were Rebecca and I given a chance to be in love before the nasty comments started? You made it quite clear from the beginning that you considered her unfit to be Lady Foxbridge. Now you act as if Clarisse is a stranger who has never entered Foxbridge Cloister. Can’t I ever love a woman who you approve of?”
“Love?” said Lady Margaret with the unladylike sniff she usually reserved for Rebecca.
“Yes!” he shouted so his voice rang through the hall. His eyes caught the motions of the staff listening outside the partially closed door. Within minutes, everyone in the house would learn of the loud disagreement. “I was entrapped into marrying Rebecca. You never guessed that, did you?” His eyes held his sister’s astounded ones. “Oh, yes, Eliza, it’s
true. I was near death, and she saw her chance to obtain wealth. She convinced an army chaplain to marry us by explaining to him that it was my desire to have her as my heir in gratitude for her nursing.”
Eliza shook her head in an emphatic denial. “Rebecca wouldn’t do that! I can’t imagine her telling a lie! Especially not to a man of the cloth. I have heard her with Reverend Middleton, and she doesn’t use excuses to escape duties for the church, even if she doesn’t want to do them. She would not lie to a chaplain! She is always so honest.”
His eyebrows arched sardonically. “This one time she lied. She wanted my title and the wealth that I foolishly spoke of to her. The best way to guarantee herself a share of that was by marriage. When I went back after being released from the hulks, she did not ask for an annulment. I was the way to get what she wanted. Now she is gone, and I can get on with my life as it should have been.”
His sister began to cry in harsh, heart-wrenching sobs. “I hate you, Nicholas Wythe! Rebecca is one of the nicest people I know, and she loves you with all her heart. I never thought I would say this to my own brother, but I hate you! Rebecca deserves far better than an uncaring wretch like you. Your name should be dragged through the dirt when the truth is known.”
“Eliza—”
“Don’t try to explain. I can see the facts for myself! When she comes home, her reward for her bravery will be seeing her detestable husband with his sluttish mistress!” When he started to speak, she cried, “No, don’t say it! I don’t want to hear any more about your lust for Clarisse Beckwith!”
She whirled and raced out of the ballroom. Giving his future brother-in-law a wrathful glance, Curtis turned to follow. Nicholas looked up at the gallery when he heard the door slam as his mother left in anger.
He sighed as his shoulders drooped with the emotional load he was carrying. It felt as massive as the world mythical Atlas bore on his back. His eyes swept the room. Tomorrow night the chandeliers would be bright with fine wax candles. Below them, the guests would be whirling to the music from the gallery. He could see the patterns of the minuets and quadrilles. Amid them would be Lord Foxbridge with one woman by his side and another on his mind. While everyone celebrated the betrothal of Lady Eliza Wythe and Curtis Langston, Esquire, he would be waiting simply for the contact that would start the bargaining for Rebecca’s life and the loss of his own. He wondered if he would get to see her before they killed him. He would insist on it, so he would know she was safe.
Slowly he walked across the empty floor. Alone, he no longer had to play the role of the carefree widower bent on drowning his sorrows in the sweetness of an old mistress. It was a great risk he was taking with so many lives at stake, but it had been the only plan he could devise to throw Rebecca’s highwayman off his stride. If her captor thought she was less important to him than Clarisse, he might release her and try for the woman he thought Lord Foxbridge loved. He refused to consider the fact that Rebecca might be killed if the kidnapper decided she was superfluous.
He looked up in surprise when one of the double doors opened again. Quietly, his mother slipped in and closed it behind her. Crooking her finger, she urged him to follow her. He knew she was heading toward the priest’s hole hidden at one side of the room. One of their ancestors had been a Catholic when it had been dangerous to profess that faith, so there was a hiding spot for the family priest.
It was cramped for two people in the small space, but they could whisper without being overheard. Once their eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Lady Margaret stared directly into her only surviving son’s eyes. “Why are you lying, Nicholas?”
“Lying?” he equivocated. “About what?”
She cursed with a vehemence that surprised her son. For a moment, she smiled. “Didn’t you know that we ladies knew such phrases? Now tell me the truth. Why are you acting as if Rebecca matters less to you than yesterday’s weather? I know you don’t truly want Clarisse. You adore Rebecca. You acted as if you were nearly mad when her carriage was overdue.”
With a sigh, he said, “Yes, I love Rebecca. What I’m trying to do is find a way to convince her captor to release her. Whoever kidnapped her has direct access to information here or at Beckwith Grange. There is no other way he could have found out Eliza and Rebecca were driving out there alone yesterday.”
“And you are using Clarisse as bait in this plot? As your new love, she should be the tool used to force you to comply? Does Clarisse know why you are so amorous today?”
He shook his head. It was wrong to be willing to trade another’s life for Rebecca’s, but he hoped it would not come to that. Tomorrow night there would be many here to protect Clarisse. He hoped to disconcert the highwayman so much, he would not know what to do next. That might buy some time to exact Rebecca’s rescue.
Lady Margaret’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “So you are going to play God to bring Rebecca home to Foxbridge Cloister?”
“I have no choice, Mother. If I do nothing as they wish me to do, they will kill Rebecca.” Quickly he told her of the necklace and threat which had been waiting in his room this morning. “They will never release her. At least, this way, I’m doing something to try to bring the odds back into our favor.”
“Very well. I will play along with you in this gamble that you are taking. I will keep an eye on Clarisse for you also, so she is not spirited away as Rebecca was.” She placed her bejeweled hand on his arm. “Good luck, son.”
For a horrid minute, his mind took him back to the last time they had been searching for Rebecca and he had been wished good fortune in finding her. That day she had nearly died in the mantrap. The snare she was caught in this time was even more dangerous. The metal jaws of this trap had settled firmly around her to hide her from sight more easily than the copse had done.
“I will need good fortune to best these criminals. Go ahead and do what you must for the ball. I have some plans to make to keep Clarisse as safe as I can without divulging my plot.”
When the ballroom was empty except for him once more, he gazed at the banners of past battles. From some of them, the Lord Foxbridge of that era had not returned. He vowed that, from this conflict, the present Lord Foxbridge would emerge victorious or not at all. Without Rebecca, there would be no life worth living for him. His sister and Curtis could have the Cloister, and the title, which had never been that important to him, would go to their son.
He crossed the room and closed the doors of the ballroom where in the hours to come, hidden by a mask, Rebecca’s abductor would arrive to ask for the price of her life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A hand on Rebecca’s shoulder brought her awake with a cry after the second night in her prison. She stared up at the covered face of her jailer and knew her nightmare had not ended with her escape from sleep. Another scream came from her lips as her fingers moved down along her skin bared by the ravaged neckline of her dress. While she had been asleep, the gown had gaped to show the skin normally covered modestly.
She tried to move away, but his other hand held her shoulder to the cot. With a chuckle, he ripped the embroidered front of her gown away from the bodice and placed it in his pocket. She did not have to ask what he intended to do with it. The material would be used to prove to Nicholas that she still lived.
When the masked man’s hand slipped beneath the fine silk of her chemise to fondle her, she raised her own hand toward his face. In only one way could she force him to leave her alone. She must convince him that she wanted to try to remove the concealing cloth from his face. He must not be allowed to guess that she did not need to see his face any longer to discover the secret—a secret she had uncovered through his carelessness and overconfidence.
As always, he protected the features hidden under the mask. His hand lifted away from her to bat away her questing fingers. “You are slow to learn, aren’t you, Rebecca? I have warned you over and over that it’s your life you risk by grabbing for my mask!”
“You learn even slower!” she
spat as she stood and straightened her tattered dress. She wrapped the strip of material she had ripped from her petticoats around her bodice like a shawl to keep his eyes from viewing her so eagerly. “I do not wish to be touched by you.”
“‘You do not wish’?” he repeated with an explosion of laughter that resonated along the tunnel. “You have become quite the aristocrat, Lady Foxbridge, from the little democrat you once were. What a hostess you would have been at the ball tonight! As regal as any Foxbridge Cloister has ever known. Of course, Lord Foxbridge has wasted no time in securing a replacement.”
Rebecca’s wan face turned to him. “Replacement? What do you mean?”
He swaggered over to her and put his arm around her waist. His other hand slipped around the nape of her neck, and he tipped her head up so he could gaze into her confused eyes. “Clarisse Beckwith will be at your husband’s side tonight. Your husband had planned on her being at his side in your bed last night as well, but Lady Margaret vetoed that. It appears Lord Foxbridge has gotten over the shock of your disappearance swiftly. He’s quite sure you are dead and is most interested in renewing his relationship with Clarisse. Did he tell you that they used to be lovers? Maybe they have been all along.”
When he paused, waiting for an answer, she answered stiffly, “There are no secrets between my husband and me.” Horror sank through her like a lead weight as she prayed her words were true. She could not understand how Nicholas could deny her so quickly.
Her captor’s eyes twinkled in the light of the brand. When he spoke, the thick odor of whiskey bombarded her. “I admit he had me fooled, Rebecca, as much as you. I thought he truly loved you, but I may have been wrong. I may have obtained the wrong woman to bring Lord Foxbridge to heel. He says that he loves Clarisse and always has, despite the fact that he was trapped into marrying you and was too much of a gentleman to file for a divorce. I just don’t understand why he did not simply leave you in America and marry Clarisse. No one would have ever known the difference. I guess he didn’t want to be trapped by another woman.”
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