Cheryl Holt (31 page)

  20  

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?”

“You said you’d take me to my brother.”

“I lied.”

Ellen tugged at the rope that bound her wrists, but she was tightly secured. She wasn’t sure when Nicholas had tied her, but it had to have been shortly after he’d clouted her on the head. Once she’d realized they weren’t proceeding to the docks but were racing out of town in the opposite direction, she’d begun to struggle, and she’d been stunned to learn that though he often looked and acted like a bumbling idiot, he was very, very strong.

She hadn’t had a chance.

Up until that moment in her life, she’d never been hit, not so much as a swat on the bottom as a toddler, so she hadn’t comprehended how painful a blow could be, or how thoroughly it could rattle the senses.

She’d threatened to jump out of the gig, and she recalled dangling a foot over the side, the highway flitting past below. They’d been speeding through the deserted
countryside, so he was able to perpetrate his violence without fear of discovery. He’d jerked her away from the edge of the vehicle, had punched her hard enough that she saw stars, and next she knew, she’d awakened in a daze, trussed like a Christmas goose, and huddled in a ball at his feet.

She tried to figure out how long it had been since she’d exited the house, how far they were from London. Had anyone seen her leave the mansion or climb in the gig? She didn’t think so.

Alex was aware that she’d run off, but he likely assumed she was having a tantrum and would come back after she cooled down. If she failed to return, he probably wouldn’t even search. Why would he? They’d done naught but fight. No doubt, he was glad she’d gone.

She wouldn’t be missed, and at the notion of how alone she was, how alone she’d always been, tears flooded her eyes. She’d lived for twenty-eight years and had made such a negligible mark that she might as well have been invisible.

The wind rushed around her, and as she hunkered down, it dawned on her that the ring—her precious evidence of James’s innocence—wasn’t in her hand. Had she dropped it? Had it plummeted onto the road when Nicholas had struck her? Had he taken it?

As the frantic questions swirled by, they slowed to travel down a narrow lane that ended at a country cottage. There was no one to greet them, not even a caretaker, and Nicholas leapt out to help her down, but she recoiled.

“Where are we?” she repeated.

“Can’t you guess?” He gestured around the quiet yard. “We’re at Alex’s love nest. He brings his paramours
here when he’s eager for a lengthy tryst. He enjoys the privacy.” He chuckled, but it was more like a witch’s cackle. “It’s the perfect spot for what I have in mind.”

The hairs stood up on her neck. “What have you
in mind?”

“I won’t spoil the surprise by telling you.”

He reached out to her, and when she declined his assistance, he grew irate. As if she were a sack of flour, he hauled her to the ground. It was quite a distance, and with her wrists shackled, she couldn’t break the fall. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she cried out with agony and alarm.

What was the matter with him? Why was he doing this?

Previously, she’d spoken with him on a few brief occasions, but it was sufficient to judge his character as polite, bored, and lazy. After he’d become engaged to Lydia, she’d added other traits to the list—fortune hunter and dunce—but she’d never pegged him as an aggressive individual, nor had there been stories about his being crazed.

He leaned over her, evincing no sympathy over the undignified tumble.

“You can walk inside,” he said, “on your own two feet, or I can drag you. The choice is yours.”

After numerous attempts to get her lungs working, she replied, “I’ll walk.”

He yanked her up, then guided her toward the cottage. As the threshold loomed, she was overcome by a powerful impression that if she went inside, she’d never come out. Trying to delay, she dug in her heels, but she couldn’t halt their forward progress.

She screamed, but he merely laughed.

“Scream all you like. No one can hear. That’s why Alex bought the property. His lovers can shriek or shout or beg, and there are no neighbors to complain.”

“Alex is guilty of many sins, but he’s never stooped to kidnapping.”

“Not kidnapping, no. Not the sainted Alex Marshall, but as you mentioned, he’s committed his share of sins. You wouldn’t believe how many women he’s entertained here, and what he’s done with some of them. He’s not called the
rogue
of London for nothing.”

He pushed her, and she stumbled through the door and into a spacious parlor. The place was hedonistic, with red rugs and drapes, cushy sofas and chairs, and there were large pillows scattered on the floor as though a person could plop down just anywhere and get comfortable.

Her unease spiraled as she wondered if both brothers weren’t mad.

What sort of man owned such an indecent abode? And what sort of fellow would want his new sister-in-law to see it? Why torment her with such disturbing information? She was barely acquainted with Nicholas. From where had his animosity sprung? Why was he so rabid?

“Why are we here?” she inquired.

“All in good time.”

“I demand to know!”

“I liked you better when you were silent, so shut up, or I’ll hit you again.”

He had a vicious gleam in his eye, and she was terrified about what his next act would be. Torture? Murder? Any insane deed seemed imminent, and she refused to follow along like a lamb to the slaughter.

She flung herself at him, her entire bodily weight smacking into him. He hadn’t been expecting any resistance, so he didn’t block her or move out of the way. Her head crunched into his cheekbone, the collision cracking his jaws together so hard that he might have broken a tooth.

Howling and clutching at his injury, he lurched away. There was a deep gash, and blood dripped down, staining his white shirt. “You bitch! You bitch!”

With her hands tied, she wasn’t capable of more. The lunge had thrown her off balance, and she’d collapsed to the floor. In her imagination, she pictured herself jumping up, beating him to a pulp, and running out, but the reality was that her skirt was tangled around her legs, and she had no leverage, so it was impossible to regain any momentum or scurry away.

He was on her immediately, his heavy torso pressing into her. His phallus was aroused from their skirmishing, and with sickening force, she realized what he intended.

Rape! Of all things!

Why would he? What was he hoping to achieve? Did he hate Alex? Did he hate her? She couldn’t fathom how they’d garnered such enmity, and she had no idea how to stop him. How could one reason with a lunatic?

“Get off me!” she hissed, striving to sound tough and brave.

“I was simply going to talk to you,” he claimed, “but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided to have some fun before we chat. Perhaps with the appropriate coaxing, you’ll tell me what I wish to know.”

“I’ll tell you now. Ask me.”

“No. It will be more amusing if I pry your responses out of you.”

He scooped her to her feet, his fury giving him the strength of ten men, and he grabbed her around the waist and towed her toward the stairs.

“What is it you want from me?” She was wrestling with all her might but couldn’t deter him.

“You’re being awfully stupid. I shouldn’t have to spell it out.”

She blustered, “You’d better release me.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“You’re in so much trouble already. How will you explain your shirt? Your face?”

“I won’t have to explain. I
never
have to explain.”

“Alex will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done to me.”

“Alex will never know.”

They arrived at the top of the stairs, and he lugged her down the corridor. As they went, she caught fleeting glimpses of the madhouse’s decadent salons. Would she come out alive? Unless she could escape—and fast!—the answer was certainly
no
. He couldn’t permit her to leave, for he couldn’t risk that she would notify Alex.

He halted at the last room and pulled her inside; then he hauled her to the bed and heaved her onto the mattress. She made another feeble attempt to flee, but she was winded and battered, so her effort was as unsuccessful as the others had been.

Before she could prevent it, her wrists were trussed to the bedposts. She kicked at him, not able to inflict any damage, and she was rewarded by having her ankles fettered, too. In a thrice, she was stretched wide, and she shuddered with dread, as he reveled in her predicament.

“I always thought you were very pretty, Ellen.”

Such a bizarre comment! Such a bizarre man! “Did you?”

“I’m curious as to what you saw in Alex.”

“In Alex?”

“Yes. If you were so hot to be debauched, why turn to him? Why not me?”

Was that what this was about? Was he jealous of Alex?

He was growing more peculiar by the second.

“Alex was kind to me.”

“Alex? Kind? How hilarious!” He waved toward a divan that was positioned in front of the hearth. “He really has a tawdry side to his personality, but I’d say he hid it from you rather well.”

“I never noticed any bad conduct,” she staunchly declared.

“If you’d chosen me instead of Alex, no scandal would have occurred. I know how to be discreet about my mistresses.”

“You
have mistresses?”

“Of course, and I’m adept at managing them. I especially don’t philander with the hired help while my fiancée is down the hall. I’m smarter than that.”

She couldn’t argue the point. She and Alex had chased disaster with a reckless abandon, and when calamity had crashed down, she’d had no one to blame but herself.

“Love makes people behave in strange ways,” she insisted.

“Love? You’re assuming Alex
loves
you? My God, but you’re naïve.”

He left her and proceeded to a dresser, retrieved an object from the drawer, then displayed it for her.

It was a knife! A huge, shiny knife with a ferocious blade! It looked very sharp. Beads of perspiration popped out all over her body.

He approached and rested the cool metal against her neck, letting her feel it on her skin, letting her fear escalate.

“You’re afraid,” he casually remarked. “Good.”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “Whatever it is you’re planning, whatever you want, just ask for it, and I’ll give it to you. You don’t have to . . . to . . .”

“I know I don’t,” he interrupted. “What happens next is up to you. Tell me about your brother and about this ring.” He showed her that he’d slipped it onto his finger. “You can invent any story you like, or you can be truthful. If you’re candid, I will rape you, then I’ll take you home, and this morning’s affair will remain our little secret.”

As if her ravagement would be a massive burden, he sighed; then he continued. “However, if you’re lying, I’ll rape you, then I’ll kill you. Very slowly. I’ll leave you bound to the bed, and I’ll send an anonymous note to the local magistrate so he can locate your corpse. I’ll also advise him that a reliable witness—who’s much too timid to come forward—saw Alex bring you here but depart without you.”

Alex would be charged with the crime! She couldn’t allow such an atrocity to transpire. Alex had done nothing! Nothing! If she was found dead in his private haven, he’d never be able to account for the circumstances.

“No one will believe that Alex murdered me.”

“Why wouldn’t they? The servants can all testify that the two of you fight constantly. You’re a shrew—everyone at the house agrees. Why wouldn’t he wish to be shed of you?”

“He loves me!” she contended, but if Nicholas was watching for prevarication, that was definitely a colossal falsehood. “He’ll search. He’ll find out.”

“I know Alex extremely well. He won’t bother to hunt for you, so don’t get your hopes up.” Lost in contemplation, he gazed out the window; then he murmured, “Yes, this is for the best. I should have done something similar years ago. I’ll be the earl, and I’ll have all the money. I won’t need to marry Lydia.”

“Alex is your brother!”

“A minor technicality, I assure you.” He held up his hand. “Now, about this ring . . .”