His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance)

by Chatham, Victoria

  Tulley explained the need to take a small vessel to wait offshore and transfer to his barque, the Go Lightly, it having too deep a draught to enter Folkestone’s harbour.

  “However we have to do the thing, let’s get it done,” Lucius told him.

  By early afternoon they were underway. Seabirds wheeled overhead and Lucius, frantic to make the crossing and follow whatever trail Emmaline might have left for him, envied them their wings.

  Beside him at the gunwales, looking rather green, Edward gamely braved the stiff wind and far flung spray as the Go Lightly heaved itself up the face of one wave before sliding down the back of it.

  Noble and Tocky suffered below decks, a state that somewhat amused Lucius despite his dark mood.

  Ned proved himself further by furnishing the information that Styles might have stopped at the Flood Tide or the Full Moon in Boulogne, and would have likely hired a coach and horses at the White Horse.

  The crossing took little more than an hour but, as the barque nosed its way into the port at the mouth of the Liane River, Lucius could not wait to get his feet on dry land.

  “I’m sure you’ll find your Lady unharmed, milord,” Captain Tulley said.

  Lucius nodded as he set foot on top of the gangplank. “I pray you’re right.”

  Once ashore he took pity on Noble and Tocky, who both looked as green as Edward, and ushered them into the first inn they came to and asked for a private parlour.

  “Coffee, I think,” he said. “For all of us.”

  When the coffee had been brought he waved away the innkeeper and took a seat at the table.

  “We’ll do the same as in Folkestone.” Determination made his voice grim. “Noble, I want you and Tocky to make enquiries at the Full Moon and the Flood Tide. Edward, find the White Horse and hire a horse for me and carriage for you three and our equipment. I’ll get directions for the quickest route to Lille from the landlord here.”

  Edward was the first to return and he and Lucius waited impatiently for Noble and Tocky.

  “Perhaps they are unable to make themselves understood,” suggested Edward.

  Lucius shook his head. “I doubt it. Noble speaks passable French and Tocky appears to be able to make himself understood anywhere. Plus, with coin available to pay for a round or two of drinks, they may be gleaning more information than we expect.”

  “Maybe there was no news at the first inn,” mused Edward. “That would more likely explain where they are.”

  His nerves almost at breaking point, Lucius made a fist of one hand and drove it home into the palm of the other as he paced the small parlour. His expression became more grim and it was supper time before Noble and Tocky returned, both looking pleased with themselves.

  “They were at the Full Moon,” Noble reported. “and your lady was smart enough to carve her initials in the door frame, same as at the Anchor.”

  “An’ they caused talk right away,” added Tocky, “as the gentleman rushed the lady to an upstairs room. Said she was seasick and needed to lie down but I talked to a serving maid who said the lady was not sick but was enrager comme le diable.”

  “Mad as hell.” Lucius nodded and could not help but grin at the thought. “She would be and will make life as difficult as possible for Styles, I’m sure.”

  “As long as she don’t get hurt, my Lord,” Tocky said. “By all accounts this Styles is none too pleasant. Got a bit free with ‘is fists and the landlord would have turfed ‘im out if not for the lady.”

  “I take it they have already left?” Lucius stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “Aye, yesterday morning.” Noble told him.

  “I cannot stand the delay.” An image of Emmaline confined to a room was one thing, but the possibility of her being bound or held at gunpoint to ensure her compliance while on the move was quite another. “I’m going to ride ahead. You three follow at first light.”

  “My Lord!” Edward protested but his concern was brushed aside.

  “I have my Manton’s primed and ready, Edward.” Lucius reminded him. “If anyone dare cross me they will regret it.”

  “You are not riding alone, sir,” Edward persisted. “I took the liberty of hiring two horses.”

  “Did you now?” Lucius squinted at him through narrowed eyes, his lips pressed together as if to refrain from an angry retort. “We waste no more time. Lead the way to the White Horse.”

  Edward grabbed his cloak while Lucius threw a saddle bag over his shoulder and together they marched out into the night.

  CHAPTER 30

  Every muscle, every fibre, every nerve ending shrieked with pain and fatigue and nausea cramped her stomach. Emmaline supposed it was reaction to the grey, unfriendly waters of the English Channel as well as the coach’s constant motion and she wished for nothing more than it should stop.

  Peregrine sat beside her, pointing a pistol at her. The expression on his face told her he would not hesitate to pull the trigger. Opposite her, the man he hired to keep an eye on her should he fall asleep leered at her, revealing broken and badly stained teeth.

  Emmaline put her hand over her eyes and closed them. It did not help. If anything, the waves of nausea washing over her worsened.

  “Peregrine,” she hissed. “Unless you want me to be vilely unwell on the floor of this coach, you will stop and let me get some fresh air.”

  Peregrine reached up and rapped the roof of the coach and ordered the coachman to halt.

  Emmaline wrenched open the door without waiting for the coach to stop and tumbled out before the step was let down. Her head spun and her stomach heaved. For a moment she thought she would faint but, holding on to the door as she took deep, reviving breaths of fresh air, her vision cleared and she was able to steady herself.

  They had halted on a bare, wheel rutted country road surrounded on all sides by empty fields. Lime trees grew along one side of the road offering some shade. There was no sign of houses, barns, or anywhere she might look for assistance.

  Peregrine handed her a flask.

  “Take a drink,” he ordered.

  “With how much laudanum is this laced?” Emmaline shot back.

  “None, you witch. It’s just brandy.”

  Carefully wiping the neck of the flask, Emmaline sniffed at it.

  “You don’t trust me?” Peregrine raised a sardonic eyebrow.

  “Have you given me any reason why I should?”

  Emmaline sniffed the flask again and, now satisfied it was only brandy, raised it to her lips. She let the spirit lie on her tongue before swallowing and appreciated its sharp bite. It warmed her throat and settled in her stomach and, much to her surprise, she felt a little better.

  “Come on.” Peregrine grabbed her arm and hustled her back into the coach. “I need to be in Lille before nightfall.”

  “Why?” Emmaline asked as she took her seat.

  “To make arrangements to re-unite you with Raoul du Lully,” replied Peregrine. A sly look crossed his face. “He is so looking forward to making you pay for his brother’s death.”

  “And how does he propose to do that?”

  Peregrine’s grinned.

  “Once he has paid me then I have the pleasure of pleasuring you, whether you will it or not, while Monsieur du Lully enjoys the performance.”

  Emmaline shrank back in horror.

  “Paid for me? Performance? W-what are you talking about?”

  Now Peregrine laughed but the sound of it sent chills down Emmaline’s back.

  “Don’t play the innocent, my dear. Raoul offered 50,000 francs reward for discovery of your whereabouts, did he not?”

  Emmaline felt the blood drain from her face and gasped in dismay. She heard again footsteps on a stone floor, Raoul issuing orders to his corporal, the pop of flames and the choking smell of smoke. She closed her eyes and sank back against the tattered upholstery.

  “Ah, I see you do remember.” Peregrine watched her through narrowed eyes. “He was, as I believe you know, inordinat
ely fond of his brother whom you killed, and he wishes to exact his revenge.”

  “And how came you to know of it?” Emmaline watched Peregrine’s face, looking for any signs of falsehoods. “How do you know Raoul?”

  “I discovered that we share many interests,” Peregrine explained. “But men with our tastes have naturally to be cautious. A friend’s house here, a select club there. A smaller, more discreet Hellfire Club if you will with a foot both in England and France.”

  “And the performance?” Emmaline’s voice was no more than a horrified whisper.

  “You will be coached beforehand, believe me.” Peregrine sneered as he looked her up and down. “I doubt you will be as talented as Miss Blair, but there are potions that will help you relax and we must satisfy du Lully.”

  “Miss Blair? You mean your guest at Lady Darnley’s?”

  “Indeed.” Peregrine smiled his wolf’s smile at her dismay. “Miss Blair does so delight in disrobing and performing accordingly with any available gentlemen. A talented tableau artiste, even though I say it myself.”

  “You are disgusting,” Emmaline snapped.

  Peregrine laughed. “That’s as may be, my dear, but I am the one who has been paid handsomely by my Aunt to spirit you away and will again be paid handsomely to deliver you to Raoul, so what do I care?”

  Emmaline closed her eyes and shuddered. She could clearly see both brothers. Etienne, slim, tall with curly brown hair. Raoul, not as tall but as slim as his brother, with the same brown but less curly hair.

  And their eyes. Black as olives, each of them. Windows to the depths of their depravity.

  She shuddered again.

  Peregrine laughed. “The prospect does not please you?”

  “What makes you think it should?” Emmaline glared at him.

  “From what I heard, they were rather fond of you.”

  “You heard wrong. I was nothing more than a shield for their unspeakable practices.”

  “And their fondness was for that very reason. But,” Peregrine frowned, “if you found them so disgusting, why did you stay?”

  Emmaline took a deep breath.

  What did it matter now? As long as she mentioned no names, as long as she continued the ruse of her involvement, it could not.

  “For the information I could steal from Etienne and send to Wellington,” she said quietly.

  “You were a spy?”

  “I believe that is the common term, yes.” Emmaline turned to Peregrine but he had slumped back into his corner.

  She felt alarm as she saw his mouth twist into a smile, drew back as he sat upright again.

  “That should double your price nicely, I think,” he said.

  Emmaline’s eyes opened wide. “You are going to ask Raoul for more money because of that?”

  “But of course.” Peregrine nodded his head, the look in his eyes almost fevered. “Two years of betrayal? Oh, yes, that should definitely double the price on your head.”

  The coach came to a stop and Emmaline looked out to see an ivy covered inn.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The outskirts of Lille. You’ll stay here while I go and negotiate with du Lully.” He waved the pistol under her nose. “And don’t get any ideas. Behave the same as at each inn where we have stopped. You’re sick and wish to go directly to your room.”

  Peregrine gave her no choice. His grip on her arm was painful as he hustled her through the front door. He soon procured a room for them and led Emmaline up a bare staircase, above which a second flight of stairs led up to a narrow landing. The room he shoved her into was dim, the sloping roof indicating that it was directly beneath the eaves.

  She frowned as she looked at a dilapidated brass bed and a chair with a broken cane seat beside it. Nothing here offered any warmth or comfort.

  “You’ll stay here and keep quiet,” Peregrine said. “I’m leaving Gaston outside the door so don’t think you can slip away into the night. When I come back I’ll bring you some supper. I don’t want you wasting away.”

  Emmaline glared at his retreating back and as soon as the door closed behind him, she rushed to it and turned the handle.

  His laugh drifted through the wooden panels.

  “I knew you couldn’t resist trying,” he said as he held the door fast and turned the key in the lock.

  Emmaline turned and rested her back against the hard wood. What to do now? She kicked back in temper and immediately Gaston banged his fist against the outside of the door. From below stairs someone shouted to keep the noise down. If she made more noise would that help or hinder?

  “I am not going to submit to Peregrine’s plans,” she said aloud. “I am not. I will not.”

  She listened at the door, heard the scrape of a chair as Gaston settled into it. Reaching inside her bodice, she pulled out the knife and quickly carved her initials in the doorframe. EC, there for anyone who was looking for it.

  Silently thanking Ned for the gift she went to the window and looked out. It was already dark.

  Clouds hid the moon and a brisk breeze tossed the leaves on nearby trees and rustled in the ivy. Emmaline unlatched the casement windows and opened them wide. She put her head and shoulders through the frame and squinted up and down and to each side.

  For as far as she could see the brickwork was covered with glossy, dark green leaves. She reached out, grasped a stem firmly and tugged as hard as she could. It barely gave. Would it hold her weight? There was only one way to find out.

  Pulling the battered chair to the window embrasure, she put her foot on its edge. Would it be stronger than the ivy? She took a deep breath, hoisted her skirts and stepped up on it. The chair wobbled slightly but held her. She caught the window frame for support, sat on the window ledge and swung one leg out.

  The hem of her skirt caught on the sill. She hoisted the fabric a little further and felt the ivy leaves cool and scratchy against her bare skin. She shivered as she remembered the magic Lucius’ fingers could conjure on the inside of her thighs but quickly closed that part of her mind.

  She drew her other leg over the sill and as soon as she had firmly seated herself, twisted around so that she was lying across it. She closed her eyes and waited for her head to stop spinning.

  Below her someone walked through the yard. Whoever it was tripped over a bucket, kicked it and let out a long Gallic curse. The bucket rattled across the cobbles.

  “Please don’t look up,” Emmaline whispered as she held on to the sill as tightly as she could. Her heart thudded with fear.

  Nudging her toes between the twining ivy stems, she pressed down. Good. The stems held. She took a firm hand hold, then another. As soon as she cleared the sill she reached up and pushed the windows back together, wishing there was some way she could fasten them.

  Pressing herself against the ivy, she gradually worked her way down the wall, pausing occasionally as she heard voices but no-one looked up. She doubted that Gaston would dare open the door without Peregrine’s permission, but there was no telling when he would return.

  Toe hold. Hand hold.

  One after the other.

  It was almost as easy as climbing down a ladder but her breath caught as her right toe hit a window frame.

  Damn! That must be the room below the one she had been locked in. She held tight for a moment, steadied her breathing and inched to the left, away from the window. Just as she came level with it the ivy under her left foot gave way.

  She felt it rip away from the wall. Fear of falling made her gasp in panic as she frantically searched for another foothold.

  There.

  Her toe nudged against the wall and she continued her descent until her feet hit solid ground. She stood still for a moment, perspiration soaking her brow and trickling between her breasts, her limbs trembling with the exertion.

  Glancing about she peered into the gloom, trying to get her bearings. She thought she must be at the back of the inn. Sniffing the air, she detected the familiar odo
ur of a cow byre. Where there were cows, there must be horses.

  Darting across the yard she pressed herself against the wall of the byre, feeling the rough brickwork beneath her fingers as she inched her way along it. At last she felt a wooden frame, upright planks filling it and an iron latch.

  She stopped. Listened. Steadied her breathing then carefully lifted the latch. It didn’t make a sound. As she pulled the door ajar its hinges protested, and the ensuing creak hung in the night air. She waited, but no one came running, no one shouted an alarm. She slipped inside the byre and pulled the door shut behind her.

  For the first time since she’d put her head outside of the window she was able to relax.

  But now what was she to do?

  CHAPTER 31

  Peregrine stalked the darkened, cobbled street. The houses loomed high above him and there were few people about. He was on the right street. He knew it.

  He had been here twice before, but on those occasions he had arrived and departed in daylight in the company of others and so had not paid much attention to what was around him.

  Looking up at tall, narrow windows, he stopped by a doorway and peered at it. It was somewhat familiar. He thought back. Closed his eyes. Remembered the brassware. A curved knocker with an ornamental cluster of oak leaves and acorns. He opened his eyes. Yes, it was the same. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached up.

  At this time of night the sound of the knocker echoed along the whole street. He waited.

  Nothing. No lights, no sound.

  A frown creased his face. What the hell? Where was du Lully?

  He stepped back and looked up. Each window was a black, soulless eye that stared down at him. He lifted the knocker again but before he could let it go, the door opened a fraction.

  “Who’s there?” The voice was cracked and dry.

  This was not du Lully. Peregrine pushed the door hard and stepped over the sill. As soon as he did he felt the muzzle of a pistol under his chin. He stopped, stiffened.

  “Not another step,” the old voice warned him. “Who are you? What do you want?”