“Lady Imogen, you’ve been missed,” the man said quickly. “Your father and Lord Cunningham have begun searching for you. They’ll be here in less than a minute.” He disappeared as soon as his message was delivered.
Imogen and Thaddeus stood and raced to put themselves to right. It was far easier for Imogen, who merely had to tuck her breasts back into her questionable bodice.
“Go back to your father as quick as you can,” Thaddeus ordered as he worked to figure out how to hide the stains that now adorned the front of his shirt and waistcoat. “Can you extend whatever excuse you made to join me here?”
“I told them I needed to go to the retiring room to find a maid to fix my hem,” she said, glancing down, distressed that the hem was still torn.
Thaddeus studied her hard for a moment. “You’d do well to run over to the refreshment room as fast as you can. Find a cake with red icing to eat. That could explain your lips and your absence.”
Imogen clapped a hand to her mouth, which she realized must be a dead giveaway for what she’d been doing. “I will,” she said, turning to rush for the door. She stopped when she reached it and spun back to him. “But what will we do? I cannot return to my father’s house. He won’t let me out again before my wedding day, and that’s only Friday.”
Thaddeus frowned and paused in his efforts to clean up. “I’ll think of something. I’ll steal you away tonight, I promise. Go back to your father for now. As soon as you see my signal, be ready to run.”
“Right. I will.”
Imogen nodded, then opened the door and dashed into the hall. She would have given anything to stay with Thaddeus or to run away with him right then and there. But she had faith in his ability to plan and rescue her well and truly by the end of the night. All she had to do in that moment was convince her father and Lord Cunningham that she’d merely gotten lost or failed to keep track of time.
She dashed across the hall to the refreshment room and bolted for the first table that held anything with pink and red icing. Without thinking, she grabbed the first cake and shoved it into her mouth, taking care to smear icing over her mouth.
Thaddeus’s plan was a good one, and she executed it just in time.
“Imogen. What are you doing in here?” her father demanded as he and Lord Cunningham marched into the room.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her mouth full of cake.
Lord Cunningham’s scowl of suspicion faded to his usual, lecherous leer. “I should have known the sweet would be stuffing herself with sweets.” He sauntered up to her and wiped a finger over the icing on her lips. He then brought that finger to his mouth and sucked on it. The entire gesture turned Imogen’s stomach.
“You stupid girl,” her father sighed. “I should have known better than to leave you alone. You came right here instead of finding a maid for that hem, didn’t you?” He nodded to her still-ripped hem.
Imogen couldn’t bring herself to answer. She merely lowered her head and put the remainder of her emergency cake back on the tray.
“Disgusting,” her father hissed, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the table.
“I don’t know,” Lord Cunningham said. “There’s something about the girl’s mischievous feast that makes her look almost debauched.” He followed his comment by adjusting his tented breeches as they made their way back across the hall to the ballroom. “I think I can forgive her. This time.”
Imogen swallowed hard, praying that neither her father nor Lord Cunningham would pursue the matter further and discover her secret. She glanced around the room as they rejoined the ball, desperate for whatever signal Thaddeus was about to send her when the time came for them to run.
Chapter 3
The last thing Thaddeus wanted to do was to leave Imogen to the mercy of her father and Lord Cunningham. He knew they would show no mercy where she was concerned, that they barely thought of her as a person in her own right as well. They saw her as a commodity to be used for their own purposes. He’d seen that sort of treatment happen too many times before to ladies of his acquaintance among the upper classes, and he was through with it.
“Oliver.” He caught the arm of his footman friend as the two of them made their way to the end of the hall where the entrance to the servants’ stairs stood. “I need your help.”
“My help, my lord—I mean, sir?” The young man looked truly baffled by the appeal.
“I need a way to whisk Lady Imogen out of the house and away into the night,” Thaddeus went on as the two of them ducked into the busy thoroughfare of the servants’ stairs. “Some way that will be discreet but will also enable us to escape to freedom.”
Oliver continued to gape at him. “But you’re a nob,” he said, then shook himself. “That is to say, my lord, you’re a better class. Why would you want freedom from all that?”
“Because it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Thaddeus answered with a wary grin. “Because having a title comes with a price. I’d rather be a footman permanently if it meant I could live, happy and at peace, with the woman I love.”
Oliver answered Thaddeus’s speech with a wry look of his own. “Then there’s things you don’t know about a life in service. If you knew, you’d change your mind. But I’ll help you and Lady Imogen escape,” he finished before Thaddeus could interrupt him with more arguments about who had the better life. “I’ve got an idea.”
The words were music to Thaddeus’s ears. He followed Oliver down the stairs and through a maze of hallways until they reached the kitchen. Lord Mapplethorpe’s staff was hard at work, banging pots, chopping vegetables, mixing bowls of batter, and minding a dozen steaming pots and kettles at least. No one seemed to notice two footmen crossing through the chaos to the small door that led out into the mews.
“These mews run the entire length of the block,” Oliver explained, walking Thaddeus down to the end so that he could see where they let out. Several carriages were packed into the space, their drivers loitering about, waiting for their masters to be finished with the ball. The lanterns they carried lit the space far more than it would have been on a normal night. That might not be an advantage for the sort of escape Thaddeus had in mind, but it might also be just the thing to put Imogen at ease.
The street outside of the mews was also crowded with carriages and lit with dozens of lanterns, but it was darker, and after a quick glance around, Thaddeus was fairly sure he and Imogen could escape into the night without a problem.
“Good,” he said, thumping Oliver on the back as they headed back to the house. “Now I just need to figure out a way to signal for Imogen to come down to the mews.”
“Fine ladies don’t even know where the mews are, let alone how to get there,” Oliver warned him.
Thaddeus stopped just outside Mapplethorpe’s kitchen door and turned to Oliver. “Then you’ll have to show her the way.”
“Me, my lord?” Oliver’s brow flew up.
“I cannot do it,” Thaddeus said. “Lord Marlowe and Lord Cunningham know me. They might not have picked me out of the crowd upstairs in this livery, but they would know in a trice what was afoot if they saw me directly.”
“But how should I convince a fine lady to come with me to a place like this?” Oliver rolled his shoulders nervously.
Thaddeus bit his lip, his mind spinning with ways he might be able to pull the whole thing off. He had to try something. He couldn’t simply let Imogen be dragged into a marriage against her will. And though it might have been boorish of him, he had no intention of letting any other man discover the secrets of her sensuality. The memory of her sweet mouth closed around his cock, drawing the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever felt out of him, threatened to distract him from his vital mission.
He cleared his throat and focused on Oliver. “Can you find her in the ballroom and give her a message that—” His mind raced for an excuse to get her away from her father and Lord Cunningham. With a flash, he stood straighter, his plan forming. “—that you’ve found a maid willing to
repair her gown and she must come with you belowstairs.”
Oliver looked doubtful. “Will she come? Moreover, will her father let her come?”
Thaddeus chewed his lip again before inspiration struck a second time. “Tell her that the maid is a highly-accomplished seamstress, that she attended a finishing school for young women wishing to better themselves.”
Oliver continued to frown. “Schools like that don’t exist for our sort, my lord.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Thaddeus shook his head. “It’s a message. She’ll know you’re speaking for me if you say that.”
“Very well, my lord.” Oliver sighed, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, friend,” Thaddeus told him as he walked back to the kitchen door. “I swear to you, if I can ever do you a kindness in return, I will.”
Oliver nodded before disappearing into the kitchen. That left Thaddeus alone in the mews with his thoughts and anxieties. The plan had to work. There weren’t many more opportunities for him and Imogen. Time was running out. He could feel their chances of slipping away to make a life together shrinking with each hour that ticked by.
There was little for him to do but pace the cobblestones of the mews, studying the path he and Imogen would need to run to get away.
“Something wrong, guv’nor?” one of the drivers near the mews’s entrance asked.
Thaddeus didn’t realize he had an audience in the crowd of carriage drivers waiting for the ball to end. “I am attempting to rescue the woman I love from a fate worse than death,” he told them.
A chorus of sympathetic hums from the shadows of the carriages and the mews answered him.
“True love,” one of the drivers said. “Ain’t nothin’ better, m’lord.”
“Certainly not,” Thaddeus agreed. “But my love’s blackguard of a father has promised her to an ogre of a man who will use her terribly if the wedding takes place.”
Murmurs of horror and indignation rang from every corner of the mews.
“That is why I am attempting to whisk my love away tonight to save her from—”
“Thaddeus.” Imogen’s desperate whisper stopped his story short.
Thaddeus turned to the kitchen door to find Imogen rushing through, Oliver a few steps behind her. “Imogen.” He rushed to her, pulling her into his arms and clasping her tight. He couldn’t resist kissing her with his whole heart as the chorus of carriage drivers made sounds of approval and even applauded.
Their celebration was premature, though.
“Ha! I knew some sort of mischief was taking place.” Lord Marlowe darted out of the kitchen, Lord Cunningham right behind him.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have let the chit go,” Lord Cunningham growled.
“I wanted proof of her wickedness,” Lord Marlowe said. “This way, we can take care of this pup without witnesses.”
Thaddeus thought fast, letting go of Imogen long enough to step in front of her, blocking her from her father and Lord Cunningham. “I won’t let you have her,” he said, ready to fight.
Lord Marlowe laughed. “You can’t do anything about it, boy. She’s my daughter.”
“I love her,” Thaddeus said. “Soon she will be my wife.”
Lord Cunningham snorted. “You’re wrong there. She will be my wife by Friday.”
“Over my dead body,” Thaddeus growled in reply.
“That can be arranged,” Lord Marlowe said in a sinister voice.
“I don’t care how you threaten me—” Thaddeus began.
His words were cut short as Lord Cunningham produced a flintlock pistol from his jacket. How he’d managed to conceal it there was a baffling mystery, but there was no arguing with the weapon.
“Would you rather I kill you or your whore?” Lord Cunningham asked, aiming the gun just over Thaddeus’s shoulder.
Imogen yelped and ducked behind Thaddeus even more than she was already concealed. Thaddeus spread his arms to shield her as best he could. “I won’t let you hurt her.”
“You can’t stop me,” Lord Cunningham said. “I’ve got a pistol. Either you’ll be dead or she will if you don’t bugger off immediately.”
“You don’t frighten me, Lord—”
With an ear-splitting crack, Lord Cunningham fired. Searing pain shot through Thaddeus’s left shoulder. Behind him, Imogen shrieked.
“He’s reloading, Herrington,” Lord Marlowe said with casual indifference. “You’d better run while you can.”
“And why should I?” Thaddeus demanded, clutching his shoulder. “You’ll only hurt Imogen if I do.”
Lord Marlowe snorted. “Do you think I’d kill the goose that lays the golden egg before that egg has been laid? Or rather, before the goose has been laid.” He laughed at his own joke.
“He’s right,” Imogen sobbed. “You have to run, Thaddeus.”
“No, I won’t,” he said, twisting to face her, though it meant putting his back to Lord Cunningham and giving him a huge target. Thank God pistols took so long to load. “I refuse to leave you.”
“You must,” Imogen said, weeping. “They won’t kill me, but you’ll be dead in less than a minute if you stay.”
“But—”
“Go! Now!” she ordered, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him toward the shadows of the carriages. “We’ll find another way,” she added in a harsh whisper.
He didn’t want to leave her. Everything within him raged that he was a coward if he abandoned her to her father and Lord Cunningham. If not for her promise—that they would find another way—he would have stayed and faced death. But she was right. They still had time, even if it was barely seconds. He would find another way to rescue her.
“I love you,” he said, stealing a kiss as Lord Cunningham growled in victory, his pistol nearly reloaded. “And I will come for you, have faith.”
“I do, I do,” Imogen wept, then pushed him on.
Cursing in frustration and wishing he had a sword to run Lord Cunningham and Lord Marlowe through with, Thaddeus dashed down the length of the mews.
“Let me help you, guv’nor,” the carriage driver near the back of the pack said, hopping down to open the door of his carriage. “Somethin’ tells me you need to get away from here faster than you can on your feet, and I’m always one to help true love.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Thaddeus leapt into the offered carriage, but he hated himself for leaving Imogen to her fate. As soon as he could, he would formulate another plan and rescue her.
Lord Cunningham fired a second time, and Imogen screamed. Several of the horses, still fastened to their carriages, whinnied and reared as much as they could as well. The carriage drivers rushed to calm them and to prevent a stampede, which was exactly the sort of distraction Thaddeus needed to get away. And he did get away. Imogen could have wept with relief for that alone.
There was no time for weeping, though.
“I told you she was a faithless tart,” Lord Cunningham growled, lowering his pistol. He stepped closer to her and smacked her hard with the burning barrel of the fired pistol.
Imogen yelped in pain, spilling to the cobblestones. Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she let her tears flow freely. How could she possibly allow herself to be married to a brute who would abuse her in that way? And yet, how could she stop it? Everything depended on Thaddeus.
“You were right not to trust her,” her father said above her. He didn’t even try to help her up, but instead shouted, “Get up, you slut. You’re going home and you’re staying there until the wedding.”
Slowly, her body and face aching, she dragged herself to her feet. One of the maids from the kitchen tried to run out and help her, but Lord Cunningham smacked her as well. That raised a furor with the Mapplethorpe servants.
“We need to get out of here,” her father grumbled. “You haven’t made any friends in that house.”
Lord Cunningham grunted in agreement, but said nothing. As soon as Imogen was on her f
eet, he grabbed her by the elbow and marched her down the mews, searching for his carriage.
The ride back to her house was painful and brimming with despair. The best Imogen could say about it was that neither her father not Lord Cunningham interfered with her as she huddled in a corner of the carriage, nursing her bruised and stinging head. Lord Cunningham’s blow had hit just above her ear, and a small trickle of blood seeped across her hairline and onto her forehead. She reminded herself over and over as her father and Lord Cunningham plotted ways to murder Thaddeus that it could have been worse. It could have been much worse.
As soon as they entered her father’s home, she knew it would be much worse. Immediately.
“There’s no point in delaying any of this,” Lord Cunningham said as he and Imogen’s father marched her up the stairs to her bedroom, one on either side, like yeomen at The Tower leading her to the scaffold. “I should just fuck the chit to show her who her master truly is.”
A sob escaped from Imogen before she could stop it and she began to shake.
As they passed Alice’s room on the way to Imogen’s room, Alice poked her head out. “Are you home already?” Her question ended with a gasp when she saw Lord Cunningham.
“Get back in your room and stay there,” her father ordered.
Imogen caught Alice’s pale expression for a brief moment before their father lunged forward to slam Alice’s door on her face. He then continued marching Imogen to her room.
Once they were inside with the door slammed shut behind them, Lord Cunningham began to unfasten his breeches.
“Bend her forward over the bed and spread her legs,” he said, his voice gruff. “This won’t take but a minute.”
“No, no,” Imogen wailed, dashing to the other side of the room. But there was no place to hide.
Blessedly, her father looked uncertain. “How do I know you’ll go through with the marriage and the deal we made if I let you have her now?”
Lord Cunningham blew out an irritated breath and let his arms drop to the side, his breeches halfway unfastened. “I would never renege on our deal, Marlowe. You know that.”
The Faithful Siren Page 3