A Wager for Love Page 20

  Andover’s brows arched. “Does not what? Love you? My dear, that need not stop him from considering you his possession.” He smiled in triumph as he saw his barb had struck home.

  Anger showed briefly in her face. “I am no-one’s possession, I assure you.”

  “Good,” he responded lightly. “Then perhaps you will allow me to take you in to supper?”

  She was neatly trapped and she knew it. However, he gave her no time to object. “First, I have something to say to you in private, if I may. Oh no need to fear,” he assured her, seeing her apprehensive glance, and guiding her firmly in the direction of the hallway. “Saltaire’s study will do. It is off here somewhere, if my memory serves me right.” The Marquis had his hand on the door when a piercing shriek rent the air.

  “Whatever can that be?” cried Lavinia in alarm.

  The Marquis stopped. “It seemed to come from the street, you stay here and I shall go and investigate.” Andover hurried to the door, Lavinia following closely behind. He opened it and immediately the shrieks intensified.

  “Someone is in dreadful pain,” Lavinia said.

  The street was lined with coaches, but there was no-one in sight. “You go back inside, Lavinia,” instructed the Marquis firmly. “I’ll find out what is amiss.”

  “No, I’m coming with you, please hurry.”

  Fresh wails of agony broke the night air. “It seems to be coming from this direction.”

  All unsuspecting, Lavinia followed him. There was nothing to be seen. Suddenly the square went ominously silent. Lavinia turned to the Marquis. “That’s strange, there’s no-one here.” Her words were cut off as an iron hand clamped over her mouth.

  “My dear, I bitterly regret the necessity for this, but I fear nothing else will serve.” Astounded, grey eyes stared into the Marquis’s blue ones. His hand firmly over her mouth, he grasped her round the waist and half-dragged, and half-carried her towards the waiting coach. “Right,” he said briefly to the man waiting, who eyed him nervously.

  “Here, gov, I didn’t know you was going to be abducting someone, I mean …”

  “Hold your tongue,” snapped the Marquis, as he deposited Lavinia inside the coach. “Get up on the box.” He slammed the door, and the coach rattled out of the square.

  Regaining her breath, Lavinia stared at him. “Andover, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.”

  “Forgive me, Lavinia, it was the only way.”

  “Only way to what?” she enquired with a touch of asperity.

  “To get you away from Saltaire,” he replied simply. “I knew you would never come willingly.”

  She started to laugh helplessly. “This is the second time I have been abducted.”

  “The second?” he gave her an interested glance. “Who?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ah,” he smiled softly. “Saltaire, of course.”

  “You must release me,” she begged. “You cannot do this.”

  He shrugged. “I cannot let you go, Lavinia, and that’s the truth of the matter. When I first embarked upon this course, it might have been possible, but not now.”

  They were moving out of the City. Lavinia knew it was pointless to try to open the door and jump out. Even if she had not known the coach was travelling too fast, Andover blocked the door and she knew she could never get past him.

  “You had this in mind all along?” she asked dully. “Why?”

  “Why?” This was more difficult than he had envisaged. “It is a long story, Lavinia, and not a very pleasant one. It goes back a long way. and ended in Paris.”

  “With a girl called Isabella.”

  “With a girl called Isabella.” affirmed Andover, giving her a sharp glance.

  “It is for revenge then.”

  He shook his head. “You must understand, Lavinia. At first, yes. It was merely vengeance that drove me on, you might say even sustained me. But now it is for myself alone. I care not that you are Saltaire’s wife, nor indeed would it matter who your husband was. I only know I want you for myself’.”

  “Despite the fact that you are taking another man’s leavings?”

  He smiled tenderly at her then. “Foolish child, do you think I do not know, but even if you were, it would make no difference.”

  “And if I do not want to come with you?”

  He smiled sadly. “My dear, I hoped you would not ask that. You have no choice. Not now. When Saltaire finds you gone he will draw the obvious conclusion. He will not come after us, if that is what you fear.”

  “Then why abduct me?”

  “Would you have come willingly?” He shook his head. “I think not.”

  Lavinia bowed her head. “Would it make a difference if I were to tell you that my heart is given to another?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  “I see, and may I know the name of this ‘other.’ Or do I know it already?” he asked gently.

  She dropped her eyes.

  “So, it is Saltaire. My poor child, it is useless. Take me instead, for I at least love you.” He smiled wryly. “For the rest there is not much to choose between us, is there? Both have sordid pasts, ruined reputations. But I at least love you, Lavinia.”

  And I love my husband, her heart cried fiercely. No matter what his reputation might be, or that he cares nothing for me. I love him.

  But Andover was right. Saltaire would never come after them. She recalled his words to her. Never would he lift a finger to help her. Slow tears of despair rolled down her face. What about Kitty and Richard? Would they wish to know her, a woman with her reputation in shreds? A married woman who had run off with another man? She shivered. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I have a house not too far out of London. But never fear, we shall only stay there the one night and then,” he shrugged, “France, I think. You will like Paris, and it will like you.”

  “But what will it welcome me as? Your mistress? The world of the demi mode? Is that what it is to be?”

  He flushed a little beneath his tan. “Saltaire will divorce you, you may be sure of that. He will want no bastard inheriting his title.”

  The bluntness of his words shocked her, bringing her to the full realisation of the straits she was in. She moistened her lips. “I have no clothes and no maid.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “How like a woman. You can purchase what you need in France. For tonight my housekeeper can accommodate you.”

  A reprieve. There was a housekeeper. She had not fooled him though, amusement gleamed in the blue eyes.

  “Relieved?”

  It was the last word he said to her. The carriage turned a corner too sharply, perhaps due to the inexperienced hands on the reins, perhaps to the appalling condition of the road. It jolted hideously on a rut, and the Marquis, caught off guard, fell against the door, striking his head on the wood. A thin stream of blood trickled from a cut on his forehead as he lay slumped across the seat. Lavinia gazed at him in stupefaction. She pulled the check string sharply. The carriage stopped and she let down the window. “Come quickly, your master has been injured.”

  The postillion climbed down. “When we hit that rut the Marquis was thrown against the door,” explained Lavinia quickly. “He is unconscious.” The postillion looked at the inert figure of the Marquis. This was a strange set up if ever there was one. First the Lord makes off with the girl, and now this. He didn’t like it.

  “Lawks, what’s to be done?” he asked scratching his head.

  Lavinia thought quickly. This was her only chance. The Marquis could come round within minutes since it was only a slight wound. She doubted whether the postillion would stop her making her escape; he looked distinctly nervous.

  She must act now. “Do you know this road?”

  The postillion shook his head. “Not really, Miss. I was only engaged for the one night, see.”

  “Well,” she instructed him, “You must drive on, and stop at the first inn you come to. There’s bound to be one up ahe
ad.” She took a deep breath; it was now or never. “I thought I chanced to see a light a little way back. I shall go and seek help.”

  The postillion, glad to be relieved of the responsibility of taking any decisions, nodded. “Aye, all right, Miss.”

  Lavinia stepped down from the carriage, closing the door firmly. “Good, now drive on, and remember stop at the first inn. If I find help I shall send a doctor after you.” Quite how she was supposed to accomplish this she had no idea, but fortunately the postillion did not seem inclined to question her words.

  She watched as the coach disappeared down the road and then turned in the opposite direction. She dared not risk travelling on in the hope of finding an inn. If the Marquis was to come back … She shivered-whether from relief or shock she did not know. The night air was chill and she had no cloak. She smiled at the incongruity of her ball gown-here on this deserted stretch of road. On one account at least she had not lied; she had seen alight, but that had been a few miles back. Still there was nothing else for it, so firmly she set one foot in front of the other. She was bound to come to some dwellings sooner or later she told herself. It was just a matter of time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Most of the guests had already taken their leave before Lavinia’s presence was missed. Kitty, returning from a very satisfactory half an hour with·Richard, looked tor her in vain, and then at last confided her fears to her beloved. “Richard, I cannot find Lavinia anywhere,” her voice dropped a little. “Andover is not here either. You don’t think …”

  “No, but it would serve Saltaire right.”

  “What would?” asked Saltaire urbanely from behind them.

  Richard threw Kitty a warning look but it was unheeded.

  “Oh, it is all your fault for being so unkind to Lavinia.”

  The green eyes narrowed. “Lavinia?”

  Richard placed a hand on Kitty’s arm. “You may as well know the truth, we fear Lavinia has gone.”

  For a moment there was complete silence. Under the skin, the bones of Saltaire’s face suddenly seemed sharply etched.

  “You are sure about this?” he asked softly.

  “Of’ course,” replied Kitty indignantly. “I have searched the house from top to bottom. This is all your fault, you have driven her to it.” Her voice broke into tears, as she turned into the circle of Richard’s protective arm.

  “You know where she is?” was all he said.

  Kitty shook her head. “She said nothing to me, not one word.”

  Richard looked the Earl straight in the eye, “I must tell you that Andover is missing as well.”

  “Is he?” murmured the Earl gently.

  Richard addressed Kitty. “I must go after them, Kitty. She is my sister and I shall bring her back.”

  “I think not.” There was a freezing quality about the EarI’s voice that silenced Richard for a moment.

  The Earl spoke again. “I shall bring her back, that much I promise you. This is my affair and mine alone.”

  This was a Saltaire neither of them had seen before. Gone was the Ianguid mocking air, his face was filled with grim purpose. When he called for his mount to be brought round to the house, and disappeared upstairs, Kitty did not need to ask why. When he returned a scant ten minutes later, gone was the elaborate ball dress. In its place he was wearing a plain dark coat, and had on riding boots, the whole covered with a cloak. No-one said anything as he buckled on a wickedly gleaming rapier. He then vaulted into the saddle of the extremely fresh horse with an ease that drew an admiring gasp from Richard.

  “How do you know where to find them?” asked Kitty, fear in her voice.

  “I know,” was all he would say, a white line of anger round his mouth. “‘When I return, Richard, I shall have your sister with me, never fear.”

  They watched him ride from the square at a pace that was scarcely suited for the town, controlling the freshness of his mount with experienced ease. Soon they were out on the open road. He never hesitated when he came down to the cross roads. Hadn’t he ridden this way many times before? Grimly he tried to shut his mind on the thought, but it was too late. As he rode on he recalled the times when he and Andover were inseparable companions, that is until they met Isabella CarIyon. He was back in that long warm summer. How long ago now? He had been just twenty-two. His mouth curled sardonically. Twenty-two and nearly as naive as Richard, if not more so. He had met Andover when he first came up to town. There had been an instant gravitation towards one another. Two of a kind? He laughed mirthlessly at the thought. They had indulged in all the usual pranks, boxing the watch, raising the hue and cry, and then they had met Isabella. Who had met her first? It didn’t really matter. She was at the height of her beauty then, like grapes with the bloom still on, waiting to be harvested, and on the point of contracting an extremely eligible match, the son of a Duke no less.

  A rivalry had sprung up between them. Lighthearted at first, neither of them realising what it would lead to, what bitterness would eventually lie between them. Indeed had they been told of it in those early days, neither would have believed it. But it had been there, almost intangible at first, and then increasing as the summer melted into autumn in a blaze of heat. The thunder of the horse’s hooves was the only accompaniment to his thoughts as the miles flew by.

  Isabella had played them off one against the other, until they were at each other’s throats, and then came the bombshell that her engagement was to be announced. Even to this day, Saltaire could remember his despair. He could not recall who had first thought of the plan. It might have been Andover or it might have been himself. All that really mattered was that what began as a jest in a tap room bar developed into a serious plot. They would kidnap her. Just to frighten her of course. He shook his head. This was folly, it was all in the past now. But how well he remembered it. His mouth curled. She had not behaved like Lavinia. There had been tears, tantrums, pleadings and finally, when she saw all else would fail, promises. Was that when he first began to despise her? Perhaps. Well, he had made off with her under Andover’s nose. Pursuit had followed, and from that day on there had been bitterness between them.

  He was brought back to the present by his mount shying at a rabbit. The fitful moonlight disclosed a small huddle of buildings lying in a hollow. It was not far now. He breasted the hill and saw the posting inn. He would not need to change horses. His stables boasted the finest horseflesh in England, never had he been so grateful for that fact. Suddenly his eyes sharpened, and he checked the horse’s progress as he caught the outline of a chaise in the innyard. Thoughtfully he urged the horse on.

  When he reached the innyard, the ostlers were bustling about, rubbing down horses and fetching water. “This coach-to whom does it belong?”

  The man thus addressed spat, changing his mind about the terse reply he had been about to give when he saw the Earl’s face. He eyed him for a second before replying. “Don’t rightly know, Your Lordship. Came in about an hour ago, it did. The postillion in a right state, it seems his gentleman met with an accident.”

  The Earl was in no mood to listen to the ostler’s ramblings, “Where is he now?” he asked tersely.

  The man jerked his thumb in the direction of the inn. Carried him in there, they did.” Whistling tunelessly he went back to his work. The ways of the Quality were mortal strange. Rushing about in coaches in the middle of the night.

  The Earl entered the inn so quietly that it was several minutes before the innkeeper saw him. Instantly he bustled forward. This was a good night, two important visitors within the space of an hour. However, one look at the Earl’s grim countenance was sufficient to make the innkeeper wonder if it was going to be such a good night after all. Still, being impolite would gain him nothing. “Yes, Your Lordship, can I help you?”

  “Where is the gentleman who arrived in the chaise outside?”

  The landlord’s instinct for survival came to the fore. “Might the gentleman be a friend of yours, My Lord?” he enquired ca
utiously.

  “He might,” answered the Earl. “Now where is he?”

  The man’s face paled as he caught the Earl’s instinctive movement towards the sword hilt buried in his coat. “I don’t want no trouble here, My Lord,” he began.

  “Trouble?” One eyebrow rose haughtily. “There will be no trouble, my friend.” He leaned across the bar, practically lifting the poor man off his feet as his fingers snaked round the lapels of his coat. “Now, my good man, this friend of mine, where is he?” Having received his reply, he addressed one further question to the landlord. “This man, I take it he was alone?”

  “Alone?” The man rubbed his face. “Why yes, Sir, apart from his servant that is. Aye and mortal feared he were, lest the man snuffed it. But ‘twas nought but a light blow. He’s as right as a trivel now.”

  A little of the tension went out of the Earl’s face. “You relieve me, my friend. I should have hated to find that fate had been before me.” He turned one booted foot on the stairs. “Oh by the way, you had best send for a doctor, and mind, he must be discreet.”

  “A doctor?” stammered the innkeeper.

  The Earl sighed patiently. “Yes?”

  “Oh It is nothing. a doctor you say. Right.”

  Soundlessly the Earl mounted the stairs, standing for a second by the door ofthe private room. There was no sound from inside. Long lean fingers gripped the knob and slowly he opened the door. The sole occupant of the room was stretched out in an easy chair before a roaring fire. At his side on a small table was a bottle and a glass.

  “So, Andover, and where may I ask is my wife?”

  Slowly, Andover rose from the chair. “Saltaire!”

  “Yes, Saltaire.” mocked the other. “Were you expecting someone else?” He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside the other, the flickering firelight showing his face gaunt and menacing. “Now, Andover. I shall ask you again. Where is

  my wife?”

  Andover poured himself a glass of wine, his hand marvellously steady. “Your wife, Saltaire? What if I were to tell you she is waiting for me in the next room?”

  “I should be forced to call you a liar,” answered the Earl calmly. “Now, Andover, will you tell me?”