An Undomesticated Wife (25 page)

“Maybe an hour, maybe two.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Before dawn. I sought throughout the Park for her before I came here to you.”

Before dawn!
It was past midmorning. That was enough time for the bastards to be anywhere in any hole in Town or even beyond London. He opened his mouth to lash out at the abigail for being so want-witted to delay even a moment in coming to him. Then he realized Beatty might have no idea of what this powder horn meant.

But he did. This had been left as a message to Regina's family of what had happened to her. A message or a warning? Putting his hand under Beatty's arm, he brought her to her feet.

“What shall we do, my lord?” she whispered.

“Find her.”

“But how?”

Marcus steered her out of the room, wishing he had an answer to give her.

The dowager duchess sat in her favorite chair and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. By her side, a footman held a bottle of sal volatile in case she fainted.

“Your father has sent to Bow Street, my boy,” she whispered.

“That will take too long.”

“Marcus, you must have patience. The Bow Street Runners will find her.”

He smiled grimly as he faced Mr. Fisher, who was standing between the Duke of Attleby and Miss Morrissey. “I would say they have not done so well so far. Neither this one nor Pennant.”

The gray-haired man arched a brow. “My compliments,” my lord. I did not think you saw through my guise.”

“Guise?” asked Miss Morrissey.

“Explain to her later,” Marcus snapped. “If my father hired you, Fisher, to watch over Regina, why are you here instead of recovering her? The least you could do is check Sheldon's house.”

The Duke of Attleby ignored his mother's gasp of dismay as he asked, “You think Sheldon is involved in this?”

“Who is Sheldon?” asked Miss Morrissey.

“Hush, my dear,” the dowager duchess chided. “The less you know about something, the better off you are. Trust me, it has worked for me for all my many years.” She waved to the footman. “Mayhap you should burn some feathers. Elayne does not look well.”

Marcus grimaced as he answered his father. “Sheldon must be involved in this. I suspect he made a doodle of me yesterday by kissing Regina just when he was sure I would see.”

“Regina kissed another man?” Miss Morrissey began to sob. “She would not do that! It is beastly of you to say such a thing! Especially when she could be hurt or—” Horror flashed across her face.

Taking her arm, Marcus drew her to her feet. “Grandmother, will you and Gardner sit with Miss Morrissey in her room?”

The dowager duchess put her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. “Come with me, my dear. There is no reason to let this little obstacle halt our plans for the wedding. Why, just before Marcus came in, I had the grandest idea! What do you think of—?”

Marcus gladly shut the door and saw the other men's relief. “As I was saying, Sheldon infuriated me, and I challenged him to a duel this morning.”

“And Regina was determined to halt it,” his father said.

“To such a point that she went to ask Jocelyn's help.” Marcus sighed. “I fear I flew into a pelter at that point, for Regina should not have had to suffer through Jocelyn's taunts. No doubt, Regina guessed my fury was aimed at her when it was quite the opposite.”

The duke sat and shook his head. “I have warned you of the complications of the Whyte temper, son.”

“Yet she still tried to halt that dashed duel.”

“She loves you.”

Marcus stared at his father, surprised by his insight, but had no chance to reply as Mr. Fisher said, “There is no sense in discussing what
has
happened. We must be certain we stop whatever might happen.” He bowed his head toward the duke. “With your leave, Your Grace, I will contact my men to check Sheldon's house. Mayhap we can find a clue to Lady Daniston's present location.”

“In the meantime, I shall contact Liverpool,” said the duke, “and seek the government's help. Robert does owe me a few favors.”

Marcus stared at his father, seeing him in a new light. Mayhap the Duke of Attleby was not the doddering gaby Marcus had considered him.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mr. Fisher said stiffly.

“That is not acceptable. There must be something I can do!”

Mr. Fisher stared. “Stay here, my lord. Her abductors may wish to contact you. We do not yet have proof that this plot goes beyond the environs of London. If her kidnapper wishes to bargain for ransom, he will wish to communicate directly with you.”

Marcus nodded, hating his impotence, hating knowing there was nothing he could do to save his wife. He followed Fisher out of the room and watched from the stairs while the Bow Street Runner left.

Dash it! He found it difficult to put his faith in those men. The first had made such a spectacle of himself while he loitered in the Park that the dowager duchess had banished him. Then Fisher had used the excuse of being a friend of Miss Morrissey's to come into the house. Marcus wondered how long Regina's father had been paying Bow Street to protect his sister.

None of it had helped. Regina was gone … because
he
had fallen prey to Sheldon's obvious—in retrospect—attempts to goad him. Too late, he knew Regina had been right. He had let pride betray him.

Now she was gone.

He heard his grandmother's voice from an upper floor. Hurrying down the stairs, because he did not want to confront her now, he called for his horse. Dash it! He was not going to wait for Fisher's bumbling to alert Sheldon that they knew of his involvement in this abduction.

A quick search of Regina's room gained him Sheldon's card with his address. With a smile, he noted it was only a few streets away. So much the better! He would confront the sly fox in his own earth, then he would bring Regina home for the talk they must have.

Marcus wondered what he had drunk to suffer such a head. Or how much. He must have been as drunk as a piper. Otherwise, his skull would not be throbbing as if a hundred blacksmiths were beating upon it.

Dash it! He had, he recalled grumpily, every reason to drink. No man had more troubles than he did. If only the woman he had married by proxy had been the wife he had expected, things would be perfect now. He would have Jocelyn and Regina. His adoring mistress and the mother of his children. It would have been perfect if he could have convinced Regina to cooperate.

Regina … Regina … The name repeated over and over to the pulse of pain in his head. He must find Regina. She needed him. He needed her. She loved him. He …

He opened his eyes and gazed up at the silhouette he would know anywhere. “Regina?” he whispered, not sure if he could say anything else without detonating the cache of anguish in his head.

“Hush,” she said as softly. “Do not make haste waking up. They must have hit you pretty hard if you have been senseless this long.”

Hit?
What was she prattling about now?

The answer burst into his head along with another throb of pain. Regina had been abducted. He must have been attacked by the same men. He was barely able to think after being fetched down, but he knew they were fortunate to be alive still. Not wanting to think how readily that could change, he tried to sit.

It took more strength than he had anticipated, nearly more strength than he had. He motioned Regina aside. He did not need her hovering over him when he was so damnably feeble. What little pride he had remaining demanded that he keep that weakness secret.

He looked around the room, but the walls were plain and there was no window. A single door was closed. Locked, he suspected, although there was no need when three men were sitting on a small rug in front of it. None of them, he noted, as his mind cleared, was Sheldon.

Regina held out a cup to him. Hoping for wine, he had to be grateful when water splashed over his dry lips.

“How long have I been senseless?” he asked.

“They toted you in here less than a half-hour ago.” Sympathy darkened her green eyes. “How do you feel?”

“I would be feeling much better if we could put this muddle behind us.”

“I can agree on that.”

“In agreement again. A historic day for us, Regina.” When she smiled, he leaned toward her. He froze when metal clanked. He looked down to see a shackle on his left foot. “How utterly charming,” he muttered when she pointed to the other manacle about her ankle.

“I was attached to the table before you arrived,” she said before he could ask. “I collect that they thought we could be trusted not to devise a way to escape together.”

“Mayhap they guessed the nob they gave me would scramble my brains completely.”

She lowered her voice to a nearly soundless whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I was trying to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? How could you be so foolish? Did you ride right into their clutches?”

He was surprised he could smile. “To own the truth, I did not want to wait on Fisher.”

“Mr. Fisher?”

“He's a Bow Street Runner. I suspect your father hired him when the situation became more complicated in Algiers.”

“Then you should have done as he wished.”

He folded his arms over his chest and glowered at her. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

Regina whispered, “I am surprised you came after me.”

“I had no desire to see you abducted by
them.
” His frown refocused on the three men sitting on a small rug by the door. “Dash it, Regina! I have no desire to be rid of you.”

“I stand in the way of you marrying Jocelyn.”

“Marry Jocelyn?” He laughed shortly, then grimaced as another lightning flash of pain scored his head. “She has less interest in marrying me than you do. Ironic, isn't it? Marcus Whyte, heir to the Duke of Attleby and the prize of the Marriage Mart, has tangled his life with two women who despise the idea of being married to him.”

Regina gazed down at her hands, which were toying with the chain holding them together. “I do not
despise
the idea of being married to you.”

“But you would prefer not to be.”

“I am not the wife you want.”

“True.”

Tears filled Regina's eyes at his curt answer. It was so different from the affirmations of love he had whispered when he held her in their bed. What a noodle she had been to believe those nothing-sayings! Quickly she told herself that she need not worry about their marriage if they did not find a way to get themselves out of this predicament.

Nor, she reminded herself with a slow smile, did she need to fret about owing a debt to Jocelyn Simpson. Marcus's particular had done nothing to help save him. That thought gave her the strength to search her mind for an idea that would free them. Mayhap there was a chance for both their escape and their marriage.

“And it is also true,” he went on, “that Fisher and his fellows are looking for you. Are we at Sheldon's house?”

“In a small building in the back.” She shuddered. “I do not believe we are the first to enjoy his hospitality, nor are we meant to be the last. How did you know to come here?”

He touched the back of his head and winced. “Sheldon was the obvious choice when he vanished at the same time you were abducted.”

“I own that I did not suspect him, especially since he wrote to Papa about his concerns for me.”

“Which persuaded your father to arrange for you to leave Algiers, so Sheldon could get you into his diabolical control.” He frowned, then cursed under his breath. “Who would have guessed that Sheldon is responsible for our marriage?” His hands fisted at his side. “Where is the bastard? He owes me for too much now.”

Regina looked away, not wanting him to see her despair. Would she ever lose her foolish dreams that Marcus might love her as she loved him? Now he could blame Benjamin as well as her for fouling his life with too many complications.

“Be brave, sweetheart,” he said and brushed her hair back from her face. “If we are near Sheldon's house, then Fisher will find us … eventually.”

Regina grasped his arm as the three men's voices drifted toward them. “We may not have that time.”

“Why?”

“They do not need two hostages,” she whispered. “Lie back down. Drop down, as if you have lost consciousness again.”

“Why?”

“Please. I think I have an idea that might work.”

His brows lowered. “What is it?”

Putting her hands on his arms, she pleaded, “Marcus, you must trust me. I know the Algerians. You don't. Let me do what I can.”

Marcus hesitated, and she knew what he was thinking as clearly as if he had spoken. It galled him to be dependent—even in this most dire situation—on his wife. His wife should be, as he had made obvious, a good hostess, a competent mother, and a receptive lover. She should
not
be willing to negotiate with kidnappers.

“Please, Marcus,” she whispered.

He nodded. She bit her lip when he collapsed back to the floor with just enough noise to sound convincing.

The tall man, who had spoken to her by the brook, stood and came over to where they were chained. He wore the free-flowing robes of Algiers, but seemed as ill at ease as he had while dressed in English clothes when he rode through the creek by Attleby Court. He reached down to grasp the chain on her leg.

“Are you unhooking us, Abdullah?” she asked in Arabic.

“We have spoken long of this,” he said, “and it is not right that a woman should watch her husband die when she is innocent.”

She drew her leg back under her and shook her head. “First you must tell me why my husband should die. My husband is not your enemy.”

“All Englishmen will soon be our enemies.” He squatted to bring his gaze even with hers.

She shook her head. “The English government and the Dey's government are allies. By the time you get me back to Algiers, the Dey and the Regent are sure to have signed another treaty.”