Innocence Lost (22 page)

Megan felt cool wetness against her dry lips. Fighting fear, she took a generous swallow and almost gagged. The putrid beverage tasted worse than it smelled.

"What was that?” she croaked when the cup was taken away.

The woman chuckled. “Water. Not fresh like you're used to, Your Grace."

Lifting her chin, Megan asked, “Who are you, and what do you want from me?"

The woman ignored the questions. “How is Nicholas?"

Megan closed her eyes as her husband's smiling face flashed into her mind. Relief nearly overwhelmed her. He must have gotten away. “How do you know my husband?"

"I knew him a long time ago,” the woman answered in a low, sorrowful voice.

"Then why have you accosted me?"

"You will understand all in due time,” the woman said, turning toward the door.

Megan struggled against her bindings. “Wait! Where are you going?"

"Worry not, Your Grace, you shall see me again soon."

When the woman left the room, a shuffle sounded behind Megan. Her heart leaped into her throat and she twisted around.

She saw only a vague silhouette within the shadows. But the tall, muscular form allowed her a small measure of relief. He wasn't one of the scoundrels who had taken her from Kenbrook.

"Do not be alarmed. I will not hurt you unless you force me to,” he said, so softly she had to strain to hear him.

She swallowed hard. “What is it you want?"

"You,” he whispered.

She could not stop shaking. Fear held her in steel claws. She struggled against her bonds, and knew that she could not keep him from taking her.

The door crashed open. Megan swiveled around. The movement dispatched a blinding bolt of pain through her head and wetness sprang into her eyes. She winced, but remained focused on the woman entering the room.

This one didn't stay within the shadows. She sauntered into the light and smiled a triumphant sneer. Her green eyes glistened with vengeance. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Angela taunted as she perched her fists on her hips. Megan sat there gaping at the spiteful face of Nicholas's ex-mistress, uncomprehending.

"What's the matter? Someone finally slice off that sharp tongue of yours?” Angela scoffed and took a step forward. She raised her hand.

"Angie,” the man's voice rang out in warning.

Angela looked up. She sighed and took a step back, her scornful eyes exuding a promise that she'd not be thwarted again.

Megan knew she had heard the man's voice before, but she couldn't identify when or where. The back of her head started to pound again and she drooped. The room tilted. She vaguely heard the man swear before she felt his arms close gently around her. Megan forced her eyes back open.

A strangled gasp caught in her throat as she focused on him. “Mr. Williams?” she whispered, searching his face for an explanation.

He motioned for Angela to leave.

Angela slammed the door on the way out. When the rafters stopped shaking, he said, “I must apologize for Angela. She has a temper the devil wouldn't even own."

Megan had never been more confused. “How do you know her?"

"She is my sister,” he replied.

"Your sister?” Good Lord.

"Come, I would like you to eat. Then we will explain.” He assisted her to the edge of the bed. “I am going to untie your legs, but you must promise not to run. I assure you that you will not like the consequences if you try. Do we agree?"

With no alternative, she nodded.

"Good.” He removed a six-inch blade from his shirt and sliced through the rope around her ankles. “I'll be right outside the door to allow you a moment of privacy before we dine,” he replied, indicating the bed with a dip of his head.

Thank God. Her bladder felt close to bursting. Even though her wrists were bound before her, she removed the chamber pot from under the bed and managed quickly. As he led her from the room, she couldn't stop the questions from leaping into her mind. Mr. Williams was Julian's first mate, so what part did he play in this? What would they do to her? Was she being held for ransom?

They entered a tiny dining room, not even one-quarter the size of Kenbrook's larder. The paint on the walls had peeled off in chunks and a large greenish-black stain lingered in one corner of the ceiling. The small house looked to be falling apart. The two windows had been covered with threadbare curtains, the many holes patched, giving her no indication of her location.

Mr. Williams seated her in the chair to his left, then an expressionless, elderly man with a bad stoop served the meager repast. She ate the bland quail and thin brown sauce without speaking. Her hands remained bound. Mr. Williams hadn't allowed her that liberty and she damn sure wasn't about to beg for it. As her shock waned, her anger ignited. And by the time the meal was over, she had invented some of the most gruesome and vile forms of punishment imaginable to inflict upon her captors.

When Mr. Williams escorted her into a dismal drawing room and seated her on the tattered sofa, she had grown livid. How dared they do this to her! He took the cushion beside her. She scooted as far away as she could and turned to the windows. From the amount of sunlight pouring in, it looked to be about midday. She squinted into the brightness, but all she could see were trees. How much time had passed, she wondered? She shook her head, certain she hadn't been gone any longer than a day.

The sound of ripping fabric drew her attention. Near the flagstone fireplace, Angela stood watching her with an intense, cold glare, shredding a handkerchief. No doubt she sought revenge for being thrown out. Megan almost smiled.

A veiled woman dressed in black shuffled into the room. Megan felt her mouth drop open when Angela assisted the newcomer onto the chair across from her. She hadn't thought Angela capable of that sort of kindness.

After she managed to rein in her shock, Megan inspected the new woman. She wore a dark bonnet with an attached black veil that obscured her features, but Megan guessed by the woman's smooth, exposed hands that she was fairly young. “I'm sure you're curious as to why you are here, Your Grace,” the woman in black announced.

That was the same female voice that had asked about Nicholas. Megan nodded to the inky shroud.

The woman inclined her head and Mr. Williams began to speak. “An eye shall go for an eye, so the Bible says,” he quoted.

She searched his stony face. “I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Many years ago, your brother ruined my sister's life,” he answered, vengeance igniting in his eyes.

"Angela?” She didn't think Julian even knew Angela.

"My other sister.” Mr. Williams nodded toward the woman wearing the veil.

Were all these people mad?

Angela jumped to her feet. “That lewd brother of yours defiled my sister, and when she told him she was breeding, he threw her to the wolves."

Megan gasped. What a horrible lie!

"When I went to see your brother,” the veiled woman began, “he acted in the worst possible way. Then he had a servant escort me home. But it wasn't for polite assistance, I assure you,” she said. “Lord Amersleigh had that servant tell my father I was an opportunistic little trollop trying to force marriage on him. He threatened to have my father stripped of his title and shipped to Australia in chains if I ever came near Kenbrook again.” She paused and Megan felt the woman's eyes boring into her.

"Father was livid,” she continued, “and barely refrained from beating me to death. But what he did was much, much worse."

"What did he do?” Megan asked, unable to conceive of anything worse.

"He found me a husband,” the woman answered. “And I quickly learned what a cruel man Arthur Wakefield was.” She ripped the bonnet and veil from her head.

The sound that escaped Megan's lips was half gasp, half sob as she gazed upon the disfigured face. The right side of the woman's head looked as if it had been crushed and melted by fire. Her right eyelid remained partially closed and her mouth drooped down at the corner.

"Dear God,” Megan rasped, her disbelieving gaze roving over the pitiful sight before her. “You're Emily Wakefield?"

The corner of Emily's mouth lifted. “I discovered the very first night that Arthur Wakefield was a monster. I was so very frightened of him,” she said, “but it was nothing compared to when he learned I was not a virgin. Arthur beat me and called me filthy names. I lost consciousness after the first few blows, but when I woke, there was blood everywhere. And the pain was excruciating."

Megan flinched.

"I soon learned that I no longer carried the baby, nor would I ever be allowed to conceive again,” she said. “And it was all Lord Amersleigh's fault."

Megan released a shuddering breath. “What are you going to do?"

No one answered. And Megan wondered how they intended to get even.

Nicholas stirred and opened his eyes. Everything hurt, including his hair. He blinked until his vision cleared and saw that Julian sat on a nearby chair reading something.

"Megan,” he forced through his cracked lips.

Julian looked up and walked to the bed. His brows furrowed. “Nicholas, my friend, how are you feeling?"

"Megan?” he choked out.

His friend could not mask his worry. “I would bargain my soul to know, Nick,” he answered.

Nicholas began to rise, but a scorching pain in his shoulder brought him back down.

"Have you lost all good sense? You were shot yesterday,” Julian chided, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder to keep him from leaving the bed.

"I have... to find her."

"I know. We already have fifty-seven investigators searching for her. Allow us to handle this until you are able to sit a horse, all right?"

A knock sounded at the door.

Nicholas bade the visitor entrance.

Thomas Porter was a mammoth of a man who spoke very little, but he exuded competence and experience.

Nicholas thought him an excellent choice.

"Is there news? A ransom note?” Nicholas asked.

The investigator shook his head. “No note, Your Grace. My men lost the trail at the stream, however they are continuing to search the bank."

Nicholas swallowed hard. “Are there any leads? Any at all?” He looked around the room. Julian's shoulders slumped and he hung his head.

"None,” Joseph answered. Dark crescents hung under his haunted eyes and his hair was mussed as though the man had continually raked it through.

"Your Grace, do you know of anyone who would want your wife?” Thomas asked, taking a seat at the small secretary beside the bed to take notes.

"I have no idea who would wish her harmed."

Julian stiffened and rose from his chair. “Nick, what about Jeremy's sister?"

Joseph turned from the window. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyes seared with smoldering rage. “Be damned, this entire time I've been thinking a man was responsible.” A muscle ticked in his cheek.

Nicholas turned his thoughts to Phyllis Granger. He had not been acquainted with her sufficiently enough to deem her guilty of his wife's abduction. He avoided her like rotten fish whenever possible. He shook his head. “I honestly cannot say."

"Who is Jeremy's sister?” Thomas asked.

"Phyllis Longwell Granger, sister to Jeremy Longwell, the Marquess of Fielding,” said Julian. “And the chit has been obsessed with Nicholas for years.” The sharp, insistent ache in Nicholas's shoulder, the exhaustion and his weakness evaporated. His fury swelled.

"I'll speak to Phyllis and Angela Cooper at once.” Thomas paused to scribble in his notes. “Any other questionable incidents prior to Her Grace's abduction?"

Joseph turned to the investigator. “Thomas, the duchess and I were sent a bogus note regarding Julian several months ago."

Thomas glanced up from his notes. “Do you believe it has any bearing on your daughter's disappearance?"

Joseph explained its contents, but all Nicholas heard was a blur of sound while his fury mounted. God, what must Megan be going through? He groaned, unable to stop horrible images from slipping into his mind.

"I shall need to speak with Stuart Williams and obtain a writing sample to determine if it matches the false note,” said Thomas.

Julian shook his head. “I'm afraid that will be difficult. I dispatched him and the entire crew of the
Sweet Siren
to retrieve Mother and Father. They haven't returned.” Julian frowned. “I have known Stuart for years. I cannot believe he'd be involved. He saved Megan from being attacked at the dock. If he were a part of this, then that would have been the perfect time to take her."

"Unless, my lord, that hadn't been the perfect time to take her,” Thomas said. “His Grace, Claremont, indicated others were involved. This leads me to believe the abduction had been planned."

He snapped his notebook closed.

"And I have every intention of learning who these people are."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Julian still reeled from the investigator's assessment yesterday. Porter had it wrong. Stuart couldn't be involved in Megan's disappearance.

The door opened and Jeremy entered with Phyllis. The chit looked scared. Or was that guilt?

He rose to his feet with his father and Porter.

"His Grace, the Duke of Kenbrook, the Marquess of Amersleigh, and Mr. Thomas Porter,” Jeremy said to Phyllis. His voice turned steely. “They are here on a serious matter. Your Grace, Julian, Mr. Porter, my sister, Phyllis Granger."

If Julian hadn't been so bloody mad, he would have laughed. Phyllis gave the shakiest of curtsies, squawking some nonsensical reply, and plopped onto an empty chair.

Once they were all seated, Jeremy said, “Phyllis, you do know what this is about, do you not?"

Phyllis shook her head.

"Do not lie, Phyllis,” Jeremy said, his voice soft.

"I-I don't know,” she insisted, studying the lacy handkerchief in her hands.

"Perhaps this will refresh your memory.” Jeremy showed her the letter she'd sent to Megan, and her eyes widened. “Now, tell us why you wrote this."

"Sh-She, Lady Megan—"

"The Duchess of Claremont,” Jeremy corrected.