“I shall be careful.” She climbed down from the carriage and looped the reins over a bush. “You must be, too.”
Regina gave her abigail no time to come to points with her. Rushing across the damp grass, she edged past the bushes and inched between the trees. She resisted calling Marcus’s name. If he was in the midst of the duel, she did not want to encroach on his concentration.
A glint of sunlight bounced off blond hair, and Regina rushed forward. “Benjamin! Thank goodness I got here before Marcus did.”
He turned and smiled. “I had hoped you would, Regina.”
“What—?” She gasped as her arms were grasped from behind her. A hand covered her mouth before she could scream.
The memory of fear became real. She tried to pull away from her unseen captor. Benjamin walked toward her, smiling. She could not believe when he laughed lowly. If this was his idea of a hideous joke, she would tell him.
He pulled something from his belt. She did not move as he held a kumya inches from her heart. The curved copper knife glittered in the sunshine, but she stared at Benjamin.
“You will not scream, will you, Regina?” he said in a conversational tone. “I have no desire to slice into you with this. Will you scream?”
She shook her head. He made a signal, and the sweaty hand lowered from her mouth. The hands holding her tightened as she shifted to look at a trio of men coming out of the shadows. When one smiled, she realized it was the man she had met by the creek near the cottage. Why had she been so mulish, wandering away from Beatty? More than anyone else, she had known the danger awaiting her at the hands of the servants of the Dey.
Her gaze went back to the blond man she had long considered a friend. This made no sense. “Benjamin, what are you doing with these men?”
“Making sure that my new employer is assured of a good deal while negotiating with the British government.”
“You work for the Dey?” she gasped, not believing the words even as she spoke them.
He raised the curved knife until the point was just below her chin. “Yes, Regina, and now you will, too.”
Eighteen
The small room on the upper floor of his club was empty when Marcus opened the door. Carrying an open bottle of wine and a glass, he went in and closed the door behind him. He sat with his back to the door because he did not wish to be disturbed by anyone or anything, especially his disturbing thoughts.
Dash it! First Sheldon had proven he was a coward by not showing up this morning for their duel. Then when he had gone to Jocelyn’s house to have the confrontation he had postponed too long, she had already gone out. Or had she not yet returned from some illicit assignation? The thought of her shock if she had come upon him in her foyer as she was coming home from a night with a new lover had amused him, but his amusement had faded when her butler had coolly asked him to leave a carte de visite as if he was nothing but a casual caller. He should be the one to choose the time to end their relationship, not Jocelyn.
Nothing was as he had intended it to be. He lifted the glass toward the window. Sunshine glistened through the red wine. Taking a deep drink, he fisted his hand on the arm of the leather chair.
By Jove, he thought, wine was supposed to bring forgetfulness and a surcease of cares. Although the hour was early, he was most of the way through this bottle, and he still had not found an escape from his troubles.
He would have been the last to label Marcus Aurelius Octavius Whyte as a naïve clod-pate, but he must have been to believe he could have everything just as he wished. Mayhap it would have been possible if Regina had been less charming and less enticing when he drew her into his arms. Now he feared the worst might happen. He might actually be falling in love with his own wife.
No, he would not let that happen. Then he might soon be caught up in the mundane life of a country bumpkin who came to Town for a Season along with his wife and collection of naughty children. Just like his boring father, who could spend a whole day poring over the newspaper and the long letters he received from his friends in the House of Lords. No excitement, no expectations, just the same thing day after day.
Yet, he missed the time he had had with Regina in the cottage. They had worked as a team there, delighting in the love that had overwhelmed him as much as it had her. How was he to guess that his virginal wife would thrill him more than Jocelyn’s practiced touch? How was he to have known that all his yearnings now would be for Regina? The thought of Jocelyn’s touch and kisses no longer sent any desire racing through him.
His hand clenched on the glass. Dash it! He had not been with Regina since their return to Town, and he craved that ecstasy. Draining the glass, he set it on the table. He stood. That silly pledge he had made to his grandmother would come to an end as soon as he could ride back to Berkeley Square, sweep his wife up in his arms, and carry her to his bed. He would keep her there until both of them were sated.
The door crashed open.
He whirled. “Beatty!”
“My lord!” She clutched the front of her shawl and stumbled toward him, refusing to let the club’s footman halt her.
Marcus waved the man aside. Putting his hand beneath her elbow, he guided her to the chair where he had been sitting. “Did Regina send you to me with an urgent message?”
He steeled himself for what he thought he would hear. Regina, suspecting or having discovered that he had gone to call on Jocelyn and not knowing why he went to give Jocelyn a look-in, might be willing to suffer in silence no longer. Such a scene was sure to be the delight of the ton, which was looking for some excitement to end the Season, but it could destroy everything he hoped would come to be.
When Beatty shook her head but was unable to speak, Marcus noted that her face was the same gray as her hair. He refilled his glass with wine. He held it out to her, then put it to her lips when she shook as if with a high fever.
Past her, he motioned for the footman to clear the gawkers from the doorway. There would be enough poker-talk about this as it was. He would not give the gossip-mongers, who would pry the truth from the footman at the slightest hint of a rumor, any more ammunition for a volley of scandal aimed at his family.
“What is it, Beatty?” he asked, concern erasing his exasperation.
“Her ladyship …” She pressed her hand to her head. “Oh, my lord, I fear I shall swoon.”
“You will not swoon,” he said sternly. “Perk up, Beatty. Why did Regina send you here?”
Her eyes were hollow with bleak fear as she whispered, “Her ladyship did not send me.”
“Then why—?”
“She’s gone, my lord.”
“Gone? You mean she ran away?” He wanted to take back the words as soon as they had left his mouth, but he had seen Regina’s despair. Mayhap she had decided returning to the dowager cottage of Attleby Court would be the best way to deal with her—with their unhappiness. Was this the price he must pay for not listening to his heart? What a complete block he was!
“She’s gone! From the Park! Lord Daniston, I fear she has been abducted!”
“What?” he gasped, wanting to have misheard her.
“Not a sign of her, my lord, save for this. I found it in our carriage.” She held out a curiously carved item. “I have never seen the likes of it.”
Marcus snarled a curse as he grasped the powder horn which was decorated with silver filigree. It was nearly the twin to the guern el barud that had been dropped when they had seen the Dey’s man near Attleby Court. The Dey’s men had failed in whatever they had planned that time, but success might have been theirs today.
“How long ago?” he demanded.
“Maybe an hour, maybe two.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Before dawn. I sought throughout the Park for her before I came here to you.”
Before dawn! It was past midmorning. That was enough time for the bastards to be anywhere in any hole in Town or even beyond London. He opened his mouth to lash out at the abigail for being so want-witted to delay
even a moment in coming to him. Then he realized Beatty might have no idea of what this powder horn meant.
But he did. This had been left as a message to Regina’s family of what had happened to her. A message or a warning? Putting his hand under Beatty’s arm, he brought her to her feet.
“What shall we do, my lord?” she whispered.
“Find her.”
“But how?”
Marcus steered her out of the room, wishing he had an answer to give her.
The dowager duchess sat in her favorite chair and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. By her side, a footman held a bottle of sal volatile in case she fainted.
“Your father has sent to Bow Street, my boy,” she whispered.
“That will take too long.”
“Marcus, you must have patience. The Bow Street Runners will find her.”
He smiled grimly as he faced Mr. Fisher, who was standing between the Duke of Attleby and Miss Morrissey. “I would say they have not done so well so far. Neither this one nor Pennant.”
The gray-haired man arched a brow. “My compliments,” my lord. I did not think you saw through my guise.”
“Guise?” asked Miss Morrissey.
“Explain to her later,” Marcus snapped. “If my father hired you, Fisher, to watch over Regina, why are you here instead of recovering her? The least you could do is check Sheldon’s house.”
The Duke of Attleby ignored his mother’s gasp of dismay as he asked, “You think Sheldon is involved in this?”
“Who is Sheldon?” asked Miss Morrissey.
“Hush, my dear,” the dowager duchess chided. “The less you know about something, the better off you are. Trust me, it has worked for me for all my many years.” She waved to the footman. “Mayhap you should burn some feathers. Elayne does not look well.”
Marcus grimaced as he answered his father. “Sheldon must be involved in this. I suspect he made a doodle of me yesterday by kissing Regina just when he was sure I would see.”
“Regina kissed another man?” Miss Morrissey began to sob. “She would not do that! It is beastly of you to say such a thing! Especially when she could be hurt or—” Horror flashed across her face.
Taking her arm, Marcus drew her to her feet. “Grandmother, will you and Gardner sit with Miss Morrissey in her room?”
The dowager duchess put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “Come with me, my dear. There is no reason to let this little obstacle halt our plans for the wedding. Why, just before Marcus came in, I had the grandest idea! What do you think of—?”
Marcus gladly shut the door and saw the other men’s relief. “As I was saying, Sheldon infuriated me, and I challenged him to a duel this morning.”
“And Regina was determined to halt it,” his father said.
“To such a point that she went to ask Jocelyn’s help.” Marcus sighed. “I fear I flew into a pelter at that point, for Regina should not have had to suffer through Jocelyn’s taunts. No doubt, Regina guessed my fury was aimed at her when it was quite the opposite.”
The duke sat and shook his head. “I have warned you of the complications of the Whyte temper, son.”
“Yet she still tried to halt that dashed duel.”
“She loves you.”
Marcus stared at his father, surprised by his insight, but had no chance to reply as Mr. Fisher said, “There is no sense in discussing what has happened. We must be certain we stop whatever might happen.” He bowed his head toward the duke. “With your leave, Your Grace, I will contact my men to check Sheldon’s house. Mayhap we can find a clue to Lady Daniston’s present location.”
“In the meantime, I shall contact Liverpool,” said the duke, “and seek the government’s help. Robert does owe me a few favors.”
Marcus stared at his father, seeing him in a new light. Mayhap the Duke of Attleby was not the doddering gaby Marcus had considered him.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Mr. Fisher said stiffly.
“That is not acceptable. There must be something I can do!”
Mr. Fisher stared. “Stay here, my lord. Her abductors may wish to contact you. We do not yet have proof that this plot goes beyond the environs of London. If her kidnapper wishes to bargain for ransom, he will wish to communicate directly with you.”
Marcus nodded, hating his impotence, hating knowing there was nothing he could do to save his wife. He followed Fisher out of the room and watched from the stairs while the Bow Street Runner left.
Dash it! He found it difficult to put his faith in those men. The first had made such a spectacle of himself while he loitered in the Park that the dowager duchess had banished him. Then Fisher had used the excuse of being a friend of Miss Morrissey’s to come into the house. Marcus wondered how long Regina’s father had been paying Bow Street to protect his sister.
None of it had helped. Regina was gone … because he had fallen prey to Sheldon’s obvious—in retrospect—attempts to goad him. Too late, he knew Regina had been right. He had let pride betray him.
Now she was gone.
He heard his grandmother’s voice from an upper floor. Hurrying down the stairs, because he did not want to confront her now, he called for his horse. Dash it! He was not going to wait for Fisher’s bumbling to alert Sheldon that they knew of his involvement in this abduction.
A quick search of Regina’s room gained him Sheldon’s card with his address. With a smile, he noted it was only a few streets away. So much the better! He would confront the sly fox in his own earth, then he would bring Regina home for the talk they must have.
Marcus wondered what he had drunk to suffer such a head. Or how much. He must have been as drunk as a piper. Otherwise, his skull would not be throbbing as if a hundred blacksmiths were beating upon it.
Dash it! He had, he recalled grumpily, every reason to drink. No man had more troubles than he did. If only the woman he had married by proxy had been the wife he had expected, things would be perfect now. He would have Jocelyn and Regina. His adoring mistress and the mother of his children. It would have been perfect if he could have convinced Regina to cooperate.
Regina … Regina … The name repeated over and over to the pulse of pain in his head. He must find Regina. She needed him. He needed her. She loved him. He …
He opened his eyes and gazed up at the silhouette he would know anywhere. “Regina?” he whispered, not sure if he could say anything else without detonating the cache of anguish in his head.
“Hush,” she said as softly. “Do not make haste waking up. They must have hit you pretty hard if you have been senseless this long.”
Hit? What was she prattling about now?
The answer burst into his head along with another throb of pain. Regina had been abducted. He must have been attacked by the same men. He was barely able to think after being fetched down, but he knew they were fortunate to be alive still. Not wanting to think how readily that could change, he tried to sit.
It took more strength than he had anticipated, nearly more strength than he had. He motioned Regina aside. He did not need her hovering over him when he was so damnably feeble. What little pride he had remaining demanded that he keep that weakness secret.
He looked around the room, but the walls were plain and there was no window. A single door was closed. Locked, he suspected, although there was no need when three men were sitting on a small rug in front of it. None of them, he noted, as his mind cleared, was Sheldon.
Regina held out a cup to him. Hoping for wine, he had to be grateful when water splashed over his dry lips.
“How long have I been senseless?” he asked.
“They toted you in here less than a half-hour ago.” Sympathy darkened her green eyes. “How do you feel?”
“I would be feeling much better if we could put this muddle behind us.”
“I can agree on that.”
“In agreement again. A historic day for us, Regina.” When she smiled, he leaned towar
d her. He froze when metal clanked. He looked down to see a shackle on his left foot. “How utterly charming,” he muttered when she pointed to the other manacle about her ankle.
“I was attached to the table before you arrived,” she said before he could ask. “I collect that they thought we could be trusted not to devise a way to escape together.”
“Mayhap they guessed the nob they gave me would scramble my brains completely.”
She lowered her voice to a nearly soundless whisper. “What are you doing here?”
“I was trying to rescue you.”
“Rescue me? How could you be so foolish? Did you ride right into their clutches?”
He was surprised he could smile. “To own the truth, I did not want to wait on Fisher.”
“Mr. Fisher?”
“He’s a Bow Street Runner. I suspect your father hired him when the situation became more complicated in Algiers.”
“Then you should have done as he wished.”
He folded his arms over his chest and glowered at her. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”
Regina whispered, “I am surprised you came after me.”
“I had no desire to see you abducted by them.” His frown refocused on the three men sitting on a small rug by the door. “Dash it, Regina! I have no desire to be rid of you.”
“I stand in the way of you marrying Jocelyn.”
“Marry Jocelyn?” He laughed shortly, then grimaced as another lightning flash of pain scored his head. “She has less interest in marrying me than you do. Ironic, isn’t it? Marcus Whyte, heir to the Duke of Attleby and the prize of the Marriage Mart, has tangled his life with two women who despise the idea of being married to him.”
Regina gazed down at her hands, which were toying with the chain holding them together. “I do not despise the idea of being married to you.”
“But you would prefer not to be.”
“I am not the wife you want.”
“True.”
Tears filled Regina’s eyes at his curt answer. It was so different from the affirmations of love he had whispered when he held her in their bed. What a noodle she had been to believe those nothing-sayings! Quickly she told herself that she need not worry about their marriage if they did not find a way to get themselves out of this predicament.
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