Corey McFadden (43 page)

“Very well, my lord,” was all that Martin said, before disappearing. There was nothing odd, of course, about the earl spending his evenings with a lady, but Martin would give a week’s wages to know which one it was who had the man so besotted he was whistling around the house and smiling like a lackwit. It was most uncharacteristic of a man who prided himself on avoiding the snares set by so many enterprising young ladies and their mamas.

A short time later Radford came down the steps and stood while Martin helped him into his cloak, unaware that he whistled. Martin closed the door behind his master and shook his head. Was there a Lady Radford looming in his future? He should have known this easygoing bachelor household was too good to last.

* * * *

From the dark interior of the carriage,  John watched as Radford stepped through the cold rain into the waiting coach. The man was whistling! Radford was clearly not expecting another occupant and before the earl’s eyes could adjust to the dark, John struck him hard on the side of his head. The high and mighty Earl of Radford rolled to the dirty floor of the cab, insensible.

With a cackle of laughter, John sat back down on the seat and stared at his prey. “My worst enemies, right here at my feet,” he said, smiling broadly. “Life is good and it will soon get much better when I inherit your estate, Maudie.”

He leaned down, holding a length of rope in his hand and began to truss Radford’s hands behind his back, the same way Maude, whom he had knocked out as she entered the carriage earlier, was tied next to him. He bound the earl’s feet for good measure. Finished, he sat back and surveyed his prisoners.

“We will have a nice ride to Romney Manor to see Mama, and then you’ll be on your way to elope. So romantic. And not a word to anyone. It’s regrettable that your carriage will overturn on Miller’s Bridge and you’ll both drown. We shall all be so distraught.”

John smiled again. “Your uncle, my precious stepfather, will be beside himself for the ten minutes or so that he is sober on any given day. You know, he sets great store by you, Maudie. He hasn’t sobered up since you left us, except once or twice he’s roused himself to complain of your absence and ask when you’ll return from visiting your ‘friends’. Of course,” he went on, “your uncle won’t live much longer either. Just long enough to inherit your estate, Maudie. And no one will question his untimely demise. Why, it’s well known the man’s been drinking himself to death for years.”

John kicked at Maude with the toe of his boot. “And guess who his heirs are, Maudie?” He kicked again. She did not stir. “Don’t you know the law, Maudie? Why, his beloved wife inherits and his devoted children by adoption. So you see, we’ll get it all anyway, Maudie. Nothing grand, perhaps, but it’s enough to see us comfortable for the rest of our lives.”

He looked down at her and laughed. “You could have had it with me, Maudie, if you’d seen reason. I wouldn’t have been a bad husband to you.” He poked again at her with his toe.

“Why did you leave us, Maudie?” he continued, his smile twisting unnaturally where the long scar pulled at his mouth. “Couldn’t you bear the thought of my gentle touch on your beautiful breasts? I could have given you great pleasure, Maudie. Something different from the routine futtering you must be getting from his high and mightyship here.”

John kicked hard at Radford who gave a low moan in response. “Ah, are you awake, my lord? I knew it would take more than a crack on the head to keep you out, so I’ve come prepared.”

John fumbled in a bag on the seat next to him and brought out a small vial and a bit of cloth.

“Bless Mama,” he said benignly, as he poured the evil-smelling stuff into the cloth. “She provided me with a veritable arsenal of equipment so that if I found you, Maudie, I’d have no trouble ‘persuading’ you to come home to your loving family. But it was so easy, after all. You came right out to me. And you, too, your high and mightyship. Roll over, there’s a good boy.”

John pushed at Radford’s chest with his boot, then leaned down and pulled at his arms to bring his face up. The earl’s eyelids flickered open, but his gaze was unfocused and vague. John held the cloth to his nose and watched with satisfaction as Radford’s eyes closed slowly again. Letting go of his arms, John let the earl sag back to the floor.

“Now for you, Maudie, my girl. A little snort of chloroform to see to it that you stay asleep until I bring you to Mama. She’s meeting us by the way at Miller’s Bridge. I’ve sent word ahead to her, explaining our haste. I know she’ll be so excited to see you again. And so proud of her smart little boy.”

He pushed the cloth against Maude’s face, holding it there for several seconds. “That should do it, Maudie. I don’t want you dead yet, no indeed. I have plans for you and I want you alive for a little while longer.”

He pulled her up to the seat next to him and propped her limp body against the door. He watched to make sure she was still breathing and was relieved to see the slow rise and fall of her chest, although she had not stirred since he had first struck her in the head.

“Good girl, Maudie. I don’t really know how much of that stuff to use. Mama says a little goes a long way. Phew! It does stink, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’ll let down the window flap a bit. I don’t need it so dark in here now, do I, Maudie? I was so afraid you’d see me in the carriage and start screaming. I couldn’t have that now, could I?”

John reached behind her and pulled down a corner of the window cover, leaning forward to breathe in the cold, rainy air that swirled into the coach. He sat back and reached for the cloth, folding it up and placing it back into the bag on the seat. “There,” he said, smiling at her. “I don’t want to go to sleep myself, now do I? Not when there’s so much fun to be had and right in front of your lover, too. Too bad I can’t afford to wake him up to enjoy it.”

His eyes gleaming, he pushed himself closer to the unconscious Maude, staring at her as his tongue flicked out to lick his dry lips. “You’re much more complaisant tonight, Maudie, than you were on our last encounter,” he said, fingering the purpling bruise that swelled just over her temple. He reached into her low-cut neckline and fondled her breast.

She did not stir. “Frankly, I prefer it when you have a little spunk in you, although you still owe me for what you did to my face.” His breath came heavy now and he pulled her to him. Her head lolled against his chest.

“Not fighting me now, are you, Maudie?” he whispered into her ear. “Maybe you like what cousin John can give you. Here, Maudie, feel this.” He took her limp hand and pressed it against his crotch where his swollen member strained against his breeches. “You like that, don’t you, Maudie?” He rubbed her hand against himself and moaned. “It’s big and hard. Much better than you’re used to, isn’t it? Much better than his high and mightyship, isn’t that so, my lord?”

He kicked savagely at the earl, who did not stir. “Wake up!” He kicked again. “Wake up, you pathetic son of a bitch, and watch what a better man can do to your fancy piece!” He kicked again. “Wake up, I say! See how she likes it?”

John’s hands fumbled again at Maude’s breast and he leaned forward to nuzzle her cleavage. “See, she’s letting me do it! She wants it!” he cackled loudly. He pushed her back against the door and tugged roughly at her skirts, raising them until he could see her lace underthings, her long white legs exposed to his view.

“Watch me now, you pompous bastard! Watch me take her!” John fumbled at the buttons on his breeches, not noticing that the carriage had come to a stop.

Just as he succeeded in freeing his swollen shaft, there came a tap at the coach door. “What the hell is it?” he cried in frustration, darting a hurried glance at the door to make sure it was latched from within.

“We’re back at the waterfront, sir,” the coachman’s voice answered. “I’m off like we agreed and I’ll be takin’ my money now, if you please.”

“Not yet! I mean...can’t you wait a few minutes?” John looked over at Maude, noting in the dim light the way her white legs were stretched out against the dark seat, leading up to the dark triangle he could see under the sheer silk of her undergarment. “I—I’m not ready yet!” he fairly moaned in the heat of his desire.

“Right now, sir. I’ll not wait about in this rain. I’m wet and cold enough as it is.”

The door handle rattled menacingly and John was well aware the flimsy lock would break off with a good pull from outside. “All right, just a minute, damn you!” John worked frantically to button up his breeches, casting a look of sheer exasperation at Maude. “I’ll be back in just a minute, Maudie.” he whispered. “I know you’re anxious to see what a real man can do to you.”

He pushed her back up against the seat to look as though she slept, pulling her skirts down and straightening the lace at her neckline. Radford, he left on the floor, throwing a carriage rug over him. It was dark inside the coach and as street lamps were few in this area it was unlikely the coachman would see much when John stepped out.

John pushed open the door, just enough for his exit, noting that the dim light from the street fell on Maude but left the floor in darkness. Climbing down into the rain, John stood and glared at the coachman.

“The lady is sleeping. She’s not feeling well,” he said in case the man had seen her face.

“That’ll be ten quid, sir, like you agreed.” The man stood a little too close, an edge of combativeness in his voice and stance, as if daring John to go back on their agreement.

“Right, of course.” John fumbled for his purse and drew out the coins. He was cold and getting wetter by the minute and it was not sustaining his amorous mood. “Ten pounds, as agreed.” He looked around him, blinking in the light from a street lamp. “Where are we?” he asked, distaste plain on his face. He could smell the stench of the wharves, rotting fish and other garbage. Dark things floated in the rushing gutter and he stepped hurriedly out of the foul water.

“By the Hawk in Hand, like this afternoon,” the man said with a sneer. He did not know what this dandified sap was up to—he’d been paid well enough not to care—but it would be a miracle if the fool could drive himself out of this area unharmed.

“I need to go north, out of the city. Which way do I go?” John asked grimly, pulling his coat up against the rain.

A hasty glance around told him it would be an invitation to vandalism to climb back into the carriage now and leave it unattended while he futtered his cousin. He’d be lucky to live long enough to finish. And although he had the brace of pistols he’d found at Romney Manor tucked into his bag, he would be at a distinct disadvantage if called upon to defend himself while ramming away at Maude. With a shrug of aggravation, he listened while the man explained how to get out of the city.

With the barest nod of farewell, the man melted into the shadows, leaving John alone in the dark. Snarling to himself, John wrenched open the door and picked up the carriage rug. His eye fell on his bag and he reached in and grabbed one of the two pistols, noting as he did that neither Maude nor Radford had moved. Good. They were both out cold and tied securely. It was a good two hours to Romney Manor and with luck they’d stay unconscious until he arrived.

He rather hoped Maude would regain consciousness after they arrived if only briefly while he look her. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes and maybe hear her scream. And if Radford was awake, too, so much the better. The man would be able to do nothing about it, bound as he was, and it would add immeasurably to John’s pleasure to be watched by the impotent high and mightyship while Maude was ravished right in front of him.

He climbed up on the driver’s seat and quickly tucked the rug around him, drawing his cloak tight to keep out as much of the wind and rain as possible. The pistol lay at his right hip, ready to hand. Several unsavory types had already pulled too close to the carriage, and John hurriedly flicked the reins to start the horses forward. It was cold and monstrously wet. But he would make Maude pay for all his discomfort.

* * * *

Radford lay, his head on a hard surface as drops of water splattered his face. He breathed in the cold, fresh air, and very gradually, a vague awareness of his surroundings began to penetrate the deep fog of his consciousness. At first he only knew that he was cold, terribly cold, but he could not wake up enough to pull the covers up over himself. Then he became aware that he was also painfully uncomfortable, that he was cramped and stiff and twisted into an awkward, unnatural position. He moved to stretch and realized that he could not, that he was somehow restricted.

Awareness flooded through him. With a jolt, he tried to rise and found that he could move no more than a few inches. His head ached unbearably. Trying to fight through his haze of pain and fog, he worked at piecing together where he was and how it had come to pass. He could see nothing in the dark.

Moving his head forward, his face hit up against what felt to be the bottom of a seat cushion. Below him, he could feel the sway of a carriage and he could hear hoofbeats. A coach...he was on the floor of a coach, tied up, and it was moving....

Slowly, fighting the pain and waves of nausea, he began experimenting with what he could move and how far. His hands were worthless. They were tied behind his back and he had no feeling in them. He pulled his wrists apart and was gratified to find there was some, although not much, play in the rope binding him. His feet were bound, but as he struggled to move, he found that he could inch himself up, using his knees and his arms against the floor and the front of the coach.

At last, after what seemed a long struggle, he achieved somewhat of a sitting position, facing the rear of the coach. He sat back with his eyes closed and fought against the pain and dizziness that threatened to engulf him and sink him back down into oblivion. There was a faint, unpleasant, medicinal smell. What was it? He took a deep breath.

Yes, that was it. Chloroform. The work of a gutless assassin.

He let the cool breeze blow over his face and he shook his head to clear it. He willed himself to be alert. Then he became aware that he was not alone.