Gayle Buck (25 page)

Captain Hughes had difficulty focusing his eyes, and his reply came slow and stumbling. “Lydia . . . Took her. Said . . . said Gretna Green.”

“But who . . . ?”.

In a single horrible instant; Michele watched through her mind’s eye as Lydia lifted the slate-blue domino from the bandbox, and in memory heard her say in her clear sweet voice, “It will suit you perfectly, Michele.” The drawing-room door had stood open and a visitor had come in. “Oh, it is you. Sir Lionel! Is not Michele’s domino perfectly lovely?”

With sick certainty Michele knew who had abducted Lydia and why. Her eyes flew to Lord Randol’s face. “Sir Lionel—he knew that I was to wear the blue domino.”

Lord Randol’s jaw tightened. A dangerous glitter came into his eyes. “The bastard,” he breathed.

Captain Hughes tried to haul himself upright, clutching Lord Randol for support. “Must . . . after them ... at once.”

Over his head, Michele met the question in Lord Randol’s eyes. She shook her head. “He has taken a hard blow to the skull,” she said quietly.

Lord Randol gave a sharp nod. “You are in no fit shape to chase after those two, Hughes. I shall go. Come, we must get you to the supper box.” Lord Randol supported the injured man to the supper box, with Captain Hughes weakly protesting his fitness the entire distance.

Michele rushed ahead. She discovered Lady Basinberry alone. “My lady! Where is my uncle?”

“Why, he stepped out for a moment,” Lady Basinberry said, astonished. She said sharply, “Michele, you have gone pale as a ghost. Are you quite all right?”

Michele waved aside her aunt’s concern. “Captain Hughes has been attacked and Lydia is gone—abducted!”

Lady Basinberry started up from her chair, alarmed queries tumbling from her lips. Michele told her hurriedly what little was known, as Lord Randol and Captain Hughes reached the box. She stood aside for them to enter, and Lord Randol lowered the ashen-faced man into a chair.

His lordship was breathing a little quickly from the exertion as he glanced from Lady Basinberry’s appalled expression to Michele. “You have told her? Then I am off.” He started to leave the box.

Michele stepped quickly after him and caught at his arm. “I am coming with you.”

Lord Randol impatiently shook his head, frowning. “I shall make better time alone. God knows how far along the road it will be before I catch them.”

Michele said lowly, “He has done this out of spite. When he discovers that he has Lydia instead, and that you have followed him, he will be in a killing rage.”

“Michele, let’s not argue over this. I shall bring her back, but alone.”

Michele shook his lordship’s arm and said furiously, “Do you think that I have found you only to lose you again?
Non,
I am going!”

Lord Randol covered her hand with his and warmly pressed her tightened fingers. He smiled at her tenderly, understanding at last. “Come, then.” He nodded to Lady Basinberry, and with Michele pressed close behind him, stepped out of the box.

“My
lord!”

Lord Randol turned. Ignoring Lady Basinberry’s sharp rebuke, Captain Hughes had managed to drag himself up. The man’s face was white as a sheet. “Bring her home safely,” he said hoarsely.

Lord Randol smiled, his expression one of grim purpose. “I swear it.”

A scant half-hour later, Lord Randol tooled his phaeton through the London streets toward the Great North Road. Beside him, Michele sat ramrod straight on the seat. She clenched the seat rail tightly with one hand. The breeze brushed her face and tugged insistently at the hood of her domino. She had long since discarded her mask, but there had not been time to change her attire and she was grateful for the warm lap rug that Lord Randol had thrown over her knees. Her light gown had not been donned with any thought to a fast, cool midnight drive.

Michele turned her head to glance at Lord Randol’s hard profile. His lips were set in a grim line and his body was poised to the job. The reins were handled expertly between his strong fingers.

He appeared to concentrate solely on his driving, yet he seemed to feel her regard, because he threw her a gleaming glance. The silver moonlight was kind to his scarred face. “Do not look so anxious, my love. The moon is nearly full and it lights our way well enough. We shall catch them.”

“But Sir Lionel will expect to be followed. He will not linger on the road,” Michele said, voicing her apprehension.

Lord Randol flashed a smile that looked positively fiendish. “I’ll wager my team against any jobber cattle that Sir Lionel could have hired. We’ve reached the edge of town. Hold on, my dear. I mean to spring ‘em!” He lifted the reins in the lightest of commands, signaling his leaders.

Michele grasped the rail beside her tighter as the well-matched team of four accelerated to a pounding gait. The wind rushed to meet them and at last succeeded in snatching off her hood. Her hair was whipped about her head, but Michele never gave a thought to the havoc wrought to her appearance. She could only think of her cousin, terrified and alone, somewhere ahead.

The miles passed quickly. Lord Randol alternated the pace of his team time and again to draw all the distance that he could from the horses. Michele discovered that it was wearying to shout against the wind, and so conversation with her companion was almost nonexistent.

Michele was aware of the passing hours as her body grew fatigued by its enforced bracing against the movement of the phaeton. She could hardly have been more tired than Lord Randol, however, she thought as she glanced at his lordship. Even though he still maintained his alert posture and his driving was as skilled as ever, there was a deepening frown that bracketed his mouth and contracted his brows. His right shoulder and side, though mended, were not as strong or limber as formerly and had to be paining him. Michele did not know how he kept at it without at least shifting his position on the seat.

Finally she shouted, “My lord, how much longer?”

Lord Randol spared her a quick glance and pitched his voice above the wind. “We should have gained on them considerably. I hope to run them to ground within the hour.’’

Michele had to be content with his supposition. She strained her eyes for any glimpse of a chaise-and-four, which was the most likely means of transport that Sir Lionel would have chosen.

Lord Randol again pulled his team down to a slower pace and she had to fight the impulse to urge him to retain their former speed. She knew perfectly well that the team’s strength had to be husbanded or the horses would be blown before ever they came upon their quarry. After a few minutes she spoke the thought that had been plaguing her for some time: “Perhaps they have stopped for the remainder of the night.”

Lord Randol laughed shortly. “I do not anticipate it. Sir Lionel, unless he has already discovered the mistake in identity that he has made, will be more than anxious to cover the distance to Gretna before first light.” He glanced at the lady beside him. “You see, he will want to present a
fait accompli
whenever I should arrive.”

Michele absorbed the implication of his words. She shook her head, wondering how an engaging gentleman like Sir Lionel could come to harbor such hatred that he would wish to inflict the utmost pain on those whom he despised so dreadfully. For that was what Lord Randol meant. A man driven by such obsessive black emotion was capable of nearly any act. She shivered, glad that it was not she who rode in that carriage ahead. She could only hope that Lydia, since she was not the object of Sir Lionel’s hatred, would not come to immediate harm while in his power.

“Ah, there they are!”

Lord Randol’s triumphant exclamation startled her out of her reverie. Michele stared at the chaise ahead of them. It bowled along at speed, and a horseman loped beside it. The set of the shoulders of the rider was familiar to Michele, causing her to draw in her breath sharply. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the rider was indeed Sir Lionel.

The distance between the chaise and the phaeton closed. The horseman glanced over his shoulder and then gestured wildly to the driver of the chaise. A whip snaked black in the moonlight, the crack loud even above the pounding of Lord Randol’s horses. The chaise began to draw away from its pursuer.

“They are outdistancing us!” Michele exclaimed, beating her fist against her thigh with the angry frustration mat welled up inside her.

Lord Randol laughed. His hands rose once more, sending the lightest of commands to his leaders. His horses increased their efforts, flattening out to an astonishing speed. Michele clutched the rail with both hands, fearing for her life. She threw a startled glance at his lordship. There was a faint smile curving his lips. His hard gray eyes glittered in the bright moonlight. He had lost his hat and his dark hair was whipped by the wind.

Michele looked wildly ahead, and her stomach contracted in sudden fear. Lord Randol had drawn the phaeton off to the far side of the chaise on the narrow road, so that it was in direct line with any oncoming traffic. As the distance was inexorably closed between the vehicles, there came to be but inches to spare between the phaeton and the chaise. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the blur of Lord Randol’s hands. She knew in that same appalling instant that his lordship meant to pass the chaise. Just as certainly, Michele knew that they would be overturned and killed. As the phaeton drew level with the chaise, she snapped her eyes shut.

Chapter Twenty-four

It was over in a flash. Michele felt a surge of air, heard the double pounding of hooves, and then the phaeton was past. She opened her eyes in time to witness the precise way that Lord Randol turned the phaeton so that it blocked the road. Then he snubbed the reins and waited. His left hand was clenched tight about the stock of his whip.

The driver of the chaise frantically worked his reins. His fearful curses carried clearly to Michele’s ears as she watched, appalled, as the still-charging team bore down upon them.

At the last possible moment the chaise swerved. The carriage came to an abrupt, inelegant stop just feet from the phaeton. The chaise driver sagged in relief on his box and his blown team stood quivering in the traces.

The horseman pulled up his mount. His face was shadowed under the hat he wore. He called out, “So you have given chase, my lord. I thought that you might, but the speed of your pursuit is astonishing. I made sure that you would be nursing a throbbing head for a few hours, at the least.”

“It is not I who suffer, but Captain Hughes. I have come as his deputy,” Lord Randol said.

A momentarily startled expression crossed what could be seen of Sir Lionel’s face. He turned his horse abruptly so that he could reach down to unlatch the chaise door. The door flew open. There was a startled cry, and out tumbled a flurry of arms and skirts.

“Lydia!” Michele exclaimed, rising. Her wrist was caught in a viselike grip and she was dragged back down to the phaeton’s seat. She turned furiously on Lord Randol. “Let me go! I must see to Lydia at once.”

“Not now,” Lord Randol said in a grating voice. He did not even glance at her, but kept his eyes on the tableau before him.

The young woman disentangled herself and stood up. Her unhooded hair gleamed unmistakably pale in the moonlight. She looked up at the horseman with undisguised revulsion. “You! How dare you!” she exclaimed. Then she saw the phaeton that blocked the road and bolted toward it. “Help me! I have been abducted! Pray help me!”

Sir Lionel watched Lydia go. His gloved fingers were tight on his reins, and bile rose to his mouth. He could hardly believe that he had made such a stupid mistake.

A touch of wind caught open the cloak of the woman who had started to descend from the phaeton, and the movement claimed his attention. It was then that Sir Lionel realized who it was that had accompanied Lord Randol. “By God,” he breathed. He reached into his coat pocket.

Freed by Lord Randol, Michele climbed down off the phaeton to meet Lydia. Lydia clutched at her thankfully. “Michele!” She burst into tears.

Michele held her cousin tightly. “It is all right. You are safe now,” she said soothingly. She glanced up, only to stare in horror. Sir Lionel had brought out a pistol, and now he leveled it straight at the woman he had claimed to love. Fury leapt like flames in his blue eyes. His lips were drawn back in an ugly snarl. Michele knew that his finger was tightening about the trigger, but she seemed paralyzed to move.

A whip cracked. Its tip snaked tightly about Sir Lionel’s uplifted wrist. Lord Randol yanked sharply on the whip, and Sir Lionel cried out in mingled surprise and rage as he was pulled from his saddle. There was a deafening report and a flash of sulfurous smoke.

Sir Lionel’s horse squealed and jumped away from the origin of the noise. One of Sir Lionel’s boots caught fast in the stirrup. The horse dashed across the road. The man bounced twice on the gravel before his boot slipped free.

The horse came to a shuddering stand, blowing nervously.

Sir Lionel lay on the ground, quite still. His neck was cocked at a grotesque angle from his body.

Michele shook so hard that she could hardly stand upright. Indeed, if she had not had her arms still about her cousin, she would have fallen. The brush with death left her shocked and cold.

“What happened?” shrilled Lydia. The whites of her eyes showed as she looked fearfully over her shoulder toward Sir Lionel.

“I ... I believe he is dead,” Michele said faintly.

Lydia broke away from her, hardly noticing when Michele sagged abruptly against the side of the phaeton. She took a faltering step toward the fallen man, then stopped in fearful indecision. She glanced at Lord Randol, who had jumped to the ground beside her. Clenched in his left hand was his coiled whip. “Is he truly? But how?” Lydia asked, bewildered.

Lord Randol walked rapidly over to the fallen man to look down at him. There was no pity in his eyes. “His neck is broken,” he said shortly.

The chaise driver spoke for the first time. “I never seen the loikes of that, guvnor. The whip caught his arm pretty as you please, and over he went outen the saddle. I’d wager any day that ye could clip a fly’s wings with that whip of yourn.”