“I do not trust him.”
“Nor do I. But I will not let anything happen to you.”
Now she lay, trying to convince herself that Ned was right. Her window was open, and the cold November night was windy. As the tree outside her bedroom window creaked, she thought she heard carriage wheels. However, the sound ceased and she convinced herself she was mistaken. Rolling over, she punched her pillow and drew it over her head. Soon she was asleep.
* * *
Caro dreamed that someone was pulling her from her bed, wrapped in her duvet. When she tried to open her eyes, they seemed to be covered. Waking, she tried to scream, but something was over her mouth. It had a horrid, sweet smell. Then she fell heavily asleep again.
* * *
She awoke inside a carriage, alone. Dressed in her night rail, she was wrapped in her duvet and sheets. Her head thundered with pain. Drugged. She had been drugged. And now she was being driven away in a carriage. Harry!
She lay heavily on the seat, trying to pull her wits together. What did he think he was doing? If only she could move her limbs.
Did he think to take her to Gretna Green to force a marriage on her? She would never comply. Undoubtedly, he was attempting to ruin her. But she would rather live a ruined spinster than marry that red-headed brute.
At last, she was able to pull herself up and move the shade aside from the window. Craning her head, she saw that the sun had risen halfway. It must be near ten a.m. Soon she recognized landmarks. The Rose and Crown. The medieval church her father loved. They were on the London road, and very close to the capital. Not Scotland, then. What did Harry hope to accomplish in London.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
IN WHICH OUR HERO REALIZES
HIS FIANCÉE HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED
“Gone? For a ride, you mean?” Ned asked Hitchens.
“Your grace, his lordship wishes to see you in his library. He will explain,” Hitchens informed him upon his arrival at Braithwaite Manor the following morning.
What was this? More than a morning ride, it seemed. Where could Caro have gone, and why was he bid to the study? Unease touched him.
His heart almost misgave him as he looked at Lord Jonathan’s gray, damp face. The man was clearly unwell and laboring under strong emotion.
“Thank you for coming, your grace. I am afraid we are facing a very grim and tragic situation. Caro was taken from her room in the night, with nothing save her bedclothes. I suspect we will find that a carriage has been taken from the Northbrooke stables and that that egregious Harry Seaton has kidnapped, possibly drugged, Caro, and has made off with her we-know-not-where. Her mother has a weak heart, and the doctor has been sent for. She is most distressed, declaring our daughter ruined.”
Fury lanced through Beverley like a bolt from the heavens. “He means to force her to marry him at Gretna, by Jove.” His mind raced. “I will take Apollo, Jack’s stud, and go after them. Do not worry, Lord Jonathan. I will come upon them before nightfall. I’ll bring Caro safely back. Apollo goes like lightning, and they must be in a carriage. She will not be ravished.”
Caro’s father’s head was sunk in his hands. “It is all my fault. I should have listened to Jack. He never liked the fellow. Why on earth did I insist that my beloved daughter become engaged to him?”
“Never mind. All will be well. Now, I had best not delay. Have Pansy pack up a few things in a bandbox that I can fasten to my saddle. Caro cannot ride home in her night rail. Harry sounds like the veriest nodcock, kidnapping a woman in nothing but her night clothes. He’s bound to be thought a wrong ‘un.”
* * *
Though he tried to sound reassuring to Lord Jonathan, the duke was sick at heart. What Caro must be experiencing! Like Jack, he’d always detected the nastiness that lay under Lord Harry’s veneer. Caro had backbone, but what if the blighter had a gun? And if he forced himself on her at the inn tonight, Caro would no doubt consider herself ruined and bound to marry the blighter. She would think herself tarnished goods.
Kate was heartsick and shouldered the blame for ever bringing the man into contact with Caro. Jack was spitting mad and insisted on accompanying Ned, saying they could proceed twice as fast if they divided up the inns in each wayside stop. Plus, there were two approaches from Wiltshire to the Great North Road. Each must be covered.
Kate helped the cook as she provided victuals for their ride and, kissing them both, bade them on their way. Ned’s mind was blank with anger as he rode off, grateful that Jack had provided him with Apollo. He was to meet up with his friend in Aylesbury by four o’clock, and—provided he didn’t have Caro with him in the carriage—they were to proceed north together.
After inquiries at the obvious posting houses produced no accounts of the dashing red-haired Lord Harry and the carriage with the Northbrooke coat of arms, Ned conceded to himself that the beggar had taken her by the other route, being scouted by Jack.
He waited anxiously in Aylesbury at the Goose and Gander, where they had agreed to meet. What was his dearest love experiencing at the furious upstart’s hand? He was driving himself, and no doubt would wish to put as far a distance as possible between Caro and her home before he stopped for the night. Since she had been taken without making any sound to wake the household, it was a safe bet she had been drugged. Chloroform probably. Ned clenched his teeth and his fists. Spying a poker by the parlor’s fireplace, he grabbed it and commenced to make some little headway in bending it by the time Jack entered the room.
“Damnation!” Jack said. “I hope you had more luck than I!”
Ned stared at his friend. “No! But, dash it, Jack, they would have had to change horses once, if not twice!”
“We can travel on a ways, but if you didn’t find evidence they went your way, I don’t see how they can possibly be headed north.”
“Unless he has decided to take a slow route, avoiding the main roads.”
The ravaged look on Jack’s face was painful to observe. Caro was indeed like a sister to him. Ned said, “You know the roads around here far better than I do, Jack. Do we need to back track and start again in Wiltshire?”
The idea of his fair and delicate Caro being ravished by the brute, Lord Harry, was now a very real possibility. Everything in his body tensed. He was tormented by unspeakable scenes.
Hell and damnation! His natural chivalry was overlaid by a protective desire so strong that he could think of nothing but shooting Lord Harry. And a far less noble and unwelcome jealousy was making him ill. Thinking of that man pawing the sacred parts of her beloved body was unbearable. He wanted to throw back his head and bay like a wolf.
His mind kept spinning in these non-productive circles. Picking up the poker again, he succeeded in bending it with strength lent him by his frustrated anger.
“Put the deuced poker down, Ned.” Jack drew a map out of his pocket and spread it on the table. “We will backtrack, but we’ll join the back roads from around here, each of us a different one, and we’ll proceed back to Wiltshire from here, asking our questions. We’ll meet back at Northbrooke, unless one of us picks up their trail. If we do, God willing, follow the trail north, and pray you’ll be in time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE FINDS HERSELF
IN A PREDICAMENT
The carriage finally stopped in a mews in what looked to Caro to be Mayfair. In fact, the mews looked familiar to her. There was a thick fog, so it was hard to make things out clearly enough to be sure.
Caro had long since locked both the carriage doors. Harry speedily dealt with this inconvenience by shooting off the lock. When he entered the carriage, however, she had scrunched herself with her back against the opposite door and kicked out with both feet simultaneously, landing them on his chest. He staggered backwards through the open carriage door and landed on the cobbles.
“You little spitfire!” When he next came through the door, she repeated her action.
“I hope you break your neck!” she shouted, trying to wake
the neighbors.
Changing tactics, he pulled her out of the carriage by her legs.
“Try to behave with a bit more decorum. Your reputation is at stake.”
“What do you want from me, Harry?”
“What do you think?”
“I won’t marry you at gunpoint. And no clergyman would cooperate in such a thing.”
“There are other things besides marriage. Maybe I want to ruin you for your duke.”
She caught her breath and went cold. Merciful heavens. Please God, no.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she cried, “Help me! Help me, someone!”
He hastily put a hand over her mouth. “You vixen! Try that again, and you’ll be sorry!”
He pulled her toward the house. She tugged at her duvet with her free arm and threw it around her so that it resembled a lumpy toga. If she tried to break away and run, she would look exceptionally foolish dressed in a night rail and duvet. They descended into an area surrounded by a black iron fence. With one hand, her captor removed keys from his pocket and opened the door.
“Where are we?”
“At my little London hideaway. Soon you’ll meet my mistress. But she’s a shockingly late sleeper.”
He drew her inside the tall, narrow house, into what proved to be a primitive kitchen with a small fire banked in the stove and a mound that was obviously the cook, lying on a cot. Dragging Caro up the stairs, he said to his servant, “Stir your bones, Sadie. We require breakfast in half an hour.”
Caro’s anger and indignation rose. Harry really was an intolerable popinjay. “How do you intend to keep me here?”
“I’ll tie you up, darling. Give you a few days to reflect on what it means to jilt Lord Harry Seaton.”
Fustian! They would see about that. A plan was already forming in Caro’s mind for escape.
The house was dark, all the draperies drawn. Caro could see little. Harry was evidently in prime twig physically, as he had no difficulty carrying her to the second floor. Her soon-to-be jail had peeling wallpaper, a narrow bed, fireplace, and wash stand.
He tossed her on a bed and pulled a length of rope from inside his great coat. Though Caro wiggled and heaped scorn and imprecations on his head, he completed the task of tying her hands and feet in short order. Throwing her duvet over her, he said, “I’ll bring you something to eat in a bit.”
The breakfast of stale bread, cheese, and a sliced apple which she had to eat from the horrible Harry’s hand were all the food she had for the rest of the day. No one came to visit her. She could hear Harry and the woman she supposed to be his mistress talking and laughing downstairs.
For her plan to work, she needed she needed Lord Harry’s absence. She spent the day praying for it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
IN WHICH OUR HERO TRIES A NEW STRATEGY
It was one a.m. before Ned and Jack met at Northbrooke Park, no closer to finding Caro than they had been that morning. The fifth duke of Beverley was in a black mood.
“That devil has probably had his way with her by now,” he said to his friend. “I never felt more like murder in my life.”
“You don’t give Caro the credit she deserves,” Jack said. “I doubt he will succeed unless he has someone holding a gun on her. I taught her to fight. She knows a thing or two.”
Ned remained sunk in gloom.
“Cleaverings is in London for the Little Season,” Jack said. “I propose we ride there tomorrow and pay him a visit.”
“Harry is the apple of his eye.” Ned’s voice and aspect were sour.
“I don’t think he’d back him in this.”
“Harry could be hanged for kidnapping.”
“Maybe he’ll handle it his own way, but if he knows anything, I think he’ll get Caro back.”
* * *
The following morning, Jack and Ned stopped at Braithwaite Manor to inform Lord Jonathan of their lack of progress and their future plans.
“Since she will not marry him, he plans to spoil her for you,” Caro’s father told the duke. “If he hasn’t already done so.” His face lost even more color.
“I realize that,” Ned said. “I don’t expect he will be gentle about it either. But he can’t spoil Caro for me. I love her and will deal with her with all the patience necessary. Pray, sir, put your trust in me. You are making yourself ill. That will make Caro dreadfully unhappy.”
“Bless you, your grace. You are a true gentleman.” Tears filled Lord Jonathan’s eyes. He had become an old man overnight.
“As I said: I love Caro, Lord Jonathan. Now, we will be off.”
Jack and Ned arrived in London in the evening, opened Northbrooke House, and then went to White’s. As they had hoped, they ran into Cleaverings eating his mutton.
Jack said, “We’ll join you if we may. We have rather important business to discuss with you. The duke has returned from the dead, as you can see.”
The marquis was all affability. “I say, welcome home! Was it as Caro thought? Had you lost your memory?”
“Yes. In Ireland of all places, where there wasn’t a person to identify me.” He told of Jack’s eventual discovery of him.
“Your business with me concerns that cub of mine, Harry, I presume. He’s cutting up rough about ending his engagement? He’s very attached to Caro, you know. Bad luck for him, I take it?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The fact is, Cleaverings, he’s made off with her. Drugged her. Kidnapped her. A hanging offense.”
The marquis set down his knife and fork, his face rigid and losing all color. “When?”
“The night before last,” Ned said. “They did not take the Great North Road.”
“But this. . . this must be hushed up. Harry, my son. My heir. He cannot hang!”
Jack said, “Steady on. Caro must be our first concern. His intent is to ruin her, since he has not taken her to Gretna.”
The marquis put the heels of his hands to his eyes and leaned both elbows on the table. “Of course, you are right. I have been too indulgent. He thinks he only needs to take what he wants.”
“It can only be hushed up if we find them. Does Harry have a bolt hole in London? A pied a terre?”
“I have long suspected it. He does have a mistress. But I have no idea where he keeps her.”
“You must have some way of contacting him when he is in London,” Ned said.
“Yes. We leave messages at the club here. He has not been in tonight, that I can tell you.”
Ned pounded the table in frustration. “He’s never given any kind of hint where he resides?”
“None at all.”
“And just when we need him,” Ned said wearily. “The marquis of Somerset is from Town. He would know certainly.”
“Perhaps Harry will come in later,” Cleaverings said. “He often puts in an appearance at the Faro bank. But you must give me the first chance to speak to him. I can talk reason into him. Then perhaps, if Miss Braithwaite is unharmed, we can work to hush it up.”
However, all their waiting proved vain. And because Ned could not bear to think what was taking place, he became slowly and steadily foxed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE
PUTS HER PLAN INTO ACTION
Caro did not see Harry again until the following morning, when he brought her a baked egg, a rasher of bacon, and another sliced apple. Starving, she did not vouchsafe a word until after she had eaten, again at his hand.
When she had completed her meal, she said, “I am not a pet, Harry.”
“Oh, but you are. My pet. And I have great plans for you. I have a carriage race today, but tonight, I will initiate you into the mysteries of love.”
“Love! Huh! You know nothing of love. You are a bully. I will not allow you to put a hand on me.”
“Brave words, Spitfire. We shall see. I can be compelling when I want to be.” Laughing, he walked out of the room.
Things were desperate! She had no doubt that Harry could over
power her with his exceptional strength. The most she could hope to do was to delay matters. But dwelling on the possibility was not productive. It only made her feel a helpless victim.
Scooting off the bed, she managed to hop to the window. As she had noted the day before, it had a view of the mews. Awkwardly lowering herself to her knees, she was able to maintain her position, watching for Harry’s departure. It did not take long for him to appear.
Hoping that her recognition of the mews was real and not imagined, she watched him prepare his racing phaeton and finally leave. Fortunately, her hands were tied in front of her and not behind. Scooting over to the empty fireplace on her knees, she managed to grip the coal scuttle. She made her way awkwardly back to the window.
Sending a prayer upward, she raised the coal scuttle, and, using all her strength, she smashed the window over and over. She was successful! It was now gaping open. Caro wished she had a more powerful voice, but remembering her short-lived singing lessons, she took a deep breath down into her diaphragm. Then she yelled through the window as loudly as she was able.
“Help! Aunt Sukey! Help! I am a prisoner in the house next door!”
Waiting for a few minutes, she repeated her cry. It was surprisingly exhausting. However, she was able to do it a third time.
Time seemed to creep by like Aunt Sukey’s tortoise, Henry Five. Had she been heard? She had been yelling every hour, measured by a nearby bell which tolled from her aunt’s church. If she heard her, no one would be more intrepid than Aunt Sukey. But now, she was hoarse and Harry had returned, so she dared not yell anymore. She wondered if Harry’s mistress had heard. More than likely she had, but had done nothing to prevent it. She would want to be rid of Caro, would she not? Worn out, Caro curled up on the bed and fell into a light sleep.
Some time later, she heard heavy boots on the stairs. Caro woke with a start. Harry!
However, there was no sound of a key in the door. Instead she heard Aunt Sukey’s imperative, “Caroline! Are you in there?”
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