A Desperate Wager (23 page)
Authors: Em Taylor
Fifty-Seven
Sarah wanted to devour Nathaniel. Their lovemaking had been wonderful, but she was still restless. He had allowed her to take control and set the tempo, and her climax had overwhelmed her.
His sudden surge of emotion still appeared to frighten him with its depth
. Also, his determination to give her a sense of control and freedom reminded her what a complex man he was.
He was kissing her eagerly now, one hand in her hair, guiding her, wresting control from her as the other tweaked and flicked her nipple, causing tension to pool again in her belly. She realised with a start that he was hard again inside her when he began to thrust.
As he flipped them both over and rested his elbows behind her bent knees, Sarah knew this child was the product of a loving relationship. Something that she could not have guaranteed a month ago.
“Stop tugging at your bandage,” Nate chastised as Sarah adjusted the white linen wrapped around her upper arm.
“
It looks ugly,” she grumbled, making a face as the carriage hit a rut in the road and jarred them. They were en-route to a ball being hosted by one of the oldest aristocratic families in England. The Thorpe ball was always one of the great squeezes of the season, and Nate had been keen to attend due to the number of peers whom he would be able to coax into voting for his bill. Once they had consumed a few glasses of champagne, they would be easier to convince. Sarah was still in full mourning and she loathed the black bombazine gown she was forced to wear for the sake of propriety. “I wish I had asked for long sleeves.”
“
My love, everyone in the
ton
knows that you were shot. And they shall appreciate you wearing a bandage because much though it is healing nicely, it is not yet fit for the ballrooms of London. Besides, it is something for them to gossip over.”
“
I do wish the Thorpes lived in Mayfair, rather than on the banks of the Thames. It takes so long to get to their house.” Sarah knew it was hardly Nate’s fault, but she felt unsettled and grumbling made her feel better.
“
But they have a beautiful garden. I shall take you into it later tonight and we can dance again.”
“
The way we did when we were courting?” She sighed heavily. “If only we could, but I’m in mourning.”
“
I know and I am sorry. I also think you are beautiful and no matter how many bandages you must wear, you shall remain beautiful. And if you continue to grumble about the journey to the Thorpes, I shall have to ravish you, right here in the carriage. Would you like to turn up to the ball looking dishevelled and tumbled?”
“
It would give the
ton
something other than the fact I am attending a ball a mere month after my father has died and my bandage to talk about. It would also stop them from speculating on which of your mistresses shot me and why?”
“
Which of my mistresses?” Nate sounded as if he was choking on the words. “What on earth makes you think I have a mistress?”
Sarah giggled.
“Oh my darling, I do not believe you have a mistress. I may have been an innocent on our wedding night, but even I cannot imagine when you would have time to fit in a mistress given the number of times you tumble me.”
Nate chuckled, pulled her close and pressed a light kiss to her temple.
“You are far too adorable for me to be tempted by anyone else.”
“
It is as well you only wager for the hand of adorable women when you are in your cups then,” she answered.
“
You shall never allow me to forget how we came to be married, will you?”
“
Never. It is such fun teasing my staid, gruff duke.”
“
If you continue to call me staid and gruff, I shall be forced to ravish you to prove otherwise.”
Sarah giggled again.
“You would not dare.”
A thrill shot through him, straight to his groin. Without even trying, his vivacious little wife made him hard as a rock. He pressed a kiss to the column of her neck as he used one hand to cup her breast, allowing his thumb to tease her nipple to a stiff peak, even through layers of clothing.
“Nathaniel!” Her voice was only slightly reproving and she looked at him through hooded lids. She was as aroused as he was.
“
Never dare me. It is as dangerous as wagering against me.” He breathed in her rose and vanilla scent before reluctantly sitting back.
“
The last time you wagered, you lost. You had to marry me.”
“
My darling wife—my hand of cards may have been more than twenty-one, but I consider myself the winner in that game. Twenty-three is my new lucky number.”
“
You must be the only gentleman in history to be happy to lose a wager.”
“
I may be.” Nathaniel grinned at her and looked out of the carriage window. They were now crawling along in a line of carriages all waiting in turn for their occupants to disembark at the front door of the Thorpes’ town mansion.
Sarah was mind-numbingly bored. She sat in a group of elderly dowagers, listening to them gossip and exclaim loudly about the low-cut necklines of some of the young ladies who were dancing. Then they discussed the most eligible bachelors on the marriage mart and commiserated that so many young men were reticent to be leg-shackled, even at the age of five and twenty, an age that Sarah thought was terribly young for a man to settle down and set up his nursery.
Nathaniel had been busy. She had watched him make his way around the ballroom, discussing business with various peers, bowing politely to the ladies whom the gentlemen accompanied.
When Miss Amelia Trotter approached him, Sarah could not help the small monster of jealousy tugging at her inside. What she wouldn’t give to walk up to her husband, put a proprietary hand on his arm and steer him off into a waltz. Instead she had to watch as Nate politely bowed to the woman, exchanged a few polite words and took his leave. He had done everything he had to in order to remain polite but distant, but Sarah could not shake off the dislike which bubbled to the surface.
When Miss Trotter moved off and sought out Lord James
Eversley, Sarah felt more than a little uncomfortable. James was a very eligible bachelor and deserved much better than Amelia Trotter and her nasty attitude. She watched James reluctantly scrawl his name on her dance card and politely take his leave. She would have to tease him about that later.
Nate had disappeared, presumably into the card room, and Sarah sighed and leaned to the left to hear what the Dowager Countess of Windrow was saying. Sarah agreed that indeed the Thorpe’s ball was the best squeeze of the season so far.
A footman appeared at her side. He was rather burly for an indoor servant and had a severe visage.
“
Your Grace, The Duke of Kirkbourne has asked me to carry you into the card room where he wishes the pleasure of your company.”
“
Oh he has? Well the Duke can just come here and fetch me himself. Please relay that message to my husband.” How dare Nate send an unknown servant to carry her around? He knew she hated being manhandled and although her walking without leg braces was improving, she could not manage more than a few yards entirely unaided.
“
I apologise, ma’am, but His Grace was quite insistent.” Sarah drew in a disapproving breath as the large footman leaned down, his rancid breath washing over her, and picked her up in a cradle hold.
“
Put me down, you brute,” she hissed.
“
I am sorry, Your Grace, but orders is orders.”
“
Orders
are
orders,” she sniped, hating that she was resorting to chastising the man over his grammar just so she did not make a scene. “I do not care if the Prince Regent himself gave you an order, I want you to put me down.”
They were now clear of the ballroom heading away from the card room. The footman looked unconcerned.
“I demand you return me to the ballroom. Or at least take me to the card room. Why would the duke tell you to bring me here?” The footman opened a large mahogany door and carried her into a sitting room—probably a morning room. It was a comfortable space with a large bay window looking out to the side of the house.
“
Perhaps he wanted an assignation.”
“
An assignation? We are married, for God’s sake.” Fear gripped Sarah. This was far from right. Nate would never have asked a servant to carry her anywhere. He was quite proprietorial when it came to who manhandled Sarah, especially if the person was male. It was quite sweet.
But it now raised alarm bells in her mind. Nate, while being very fond of their marital relations, was also a very proper gentleman. He would not arrange a quick tumble in someone’s morning room at a ball, especially while she was still in full mourning. No, she was most certainly in some kind of danger.
“Who really sent you to take me from the ballroom?”
“
Not at liberty to say, ma’am.” The footman produced a long strip of cloth. Sarah cursed herself. She should have made a scene in the ballroom. But it had happened so quickly and honestly, who would kidnap a duchess from a ballroom while surrounded by hundreds of people? How stupid she was. She should have sounded the alarm.
He approached her with the strip of linen and she opened her mouth to scream, but he was quicker and shoved a handkerchief in her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but was unsuccessful. As he tied a gag around her mouth, she lashed out at him with her hands, hitting, punching and scratching. She managed to punch his cheek and he reeled back momentarily, calling her a vicious little bitch. So much for respecting her rank.
What she wouldn’t do to have the use of her legs. She punched again but this time the man caught her arm in his, tied another strip of linen round her wrist and secured it to the other wrist behind her back.
She was now immobile, only able to move at the waist and neck. Angry tears welled in her eyes and as he slung her over his shoulders, she made one last attempt to hurt him. She head-butted him in the back, hoping to make contact with the area around his kidney. He grumbled slightly and adjusted her before heading out of the room. She tried to wriggle but to no avail. He was a big strong man and she was a crippled woman. She was entirely at his mercy. Her vision clouded but she needed to keep her wits. She would not swoon, not if there was the slightest chance she could escape.
The scratch of a bolt and the sudden cool night air made her shiver. They would not be seen now. Whatever this man had in store for her was going to happen, and she was completely helpless to prevent it.
Was he going to kill her or rape her or hold her for ransom?
He must have some link to the shooting and the carriage accident. Sounds of the ball continuing drifted on the cool breeze. Laughter and music confirmed that she had not been missed yet. Nate had only just gone to the card room. He could be there for hours.
The light from the house was fading and they were getting nearer the bottom of the large tree-lined garden. The man had stuck close to the trees so he would not be detected.
A wave of torpor swept over her. She was going to die and she would have to accept it. She didn’t want to and a small voice inside her railed at not being allowed to see her child born or to hold Nathaniel one more time. She was glad of the time she’d had with him, and maybe now he could find a woman whom he could dance with at balls and could run after his children in the garden.
A great sob escaped her, choked back by the gag. She hauled breath in through her nose just as another set of arms wrapped around her waist. A grunt of pain from the man holding her and his arm eased its grip. She was being carried away from him.
“You cad.” It was Nate’s voice. But it was not Nate who was holding her. A few thuds and some grunts came from a few yards away. She squinted and could just make out the forms of two men fighting. Nate was more slender than the supposed footman and he seemed to have the upper hand.
She had been dumped on the ground and her gag was being untied. Instinctively, she struggled. More thuds and a grunt of pain.
“It’s all right, Freckles.” James. It was James Eversley. She was safe. But what of Nate and the man he was fighting?
“
Who sent you? For whom do you work?”
“
I can’t tell you.”
“
Tell me or you’ll hang. If you tell me now, I’ll arrange for your transport. You may never set foot in England again but you’ll be alive. For whom are you kidnapping my wife?”
“
Lady Trotter.”
Sarah gasped.
“Amelia’s mother?”
“
Aye, the very one.”
The lithe dark form of her husband was straddling the pretend footman now, Sarah assumed he was tying the man’s hands with the bindings that James had removed from her hands and mouth.
