Her Ladyship's Man (12 page)

Melanie was sure it would, being liberally laced
with heaven only knew what kind of heathenish potion. "That sounds lovely, Davies, thank you, although I'm sure it won't be necessary," she answered, stifling a delicate yawn behind her hand. "I am so fagged, I vow I shall sleep until morning. Please see to it that I'm not disturbed, won't you?"

"Very good, my lady, and I will have one of the maids bring you the milk in the event you should want it," Drew said, pleased with the way things had worked out. With Melanie lightly drugged with laudanum, he would have no difficulty keeping his rendezvous with Sir. "Sleep well."

"Oh, I will," Melanie demurred, praying she hadn't overplayed her hand, possibly alerting him to her true purpose. "Good night, Davies."

Once in her room, she had the maid assist her into her nightrail, yawning and rubbing at her eyes like an exhausted child. As she expected, a second maid appeared with an appetizing glass of warm milk, dusted with enough nutmeg to mask whatever drug may have been added. She pretended to drink it, but the moment the maid's back was turned she dumped the suspicious mixture into the chamber pot. Satisfied she had succeeded in duping the young girl, she climbed into bed, sleepily bidding her a good night as the door closed.

Melanie spent the next half hour waiting in the darkness until she was certain the maid wouldn't return, then she got up and cautiously lit one candle, hurriedly donning her oldest gown of blue serge. This accomplished, she extinguished the candle and got back into bed, pulling the covers up over her head. She hadn't long to wait; scarce twenty minutes later the door creaked open, and two figures stealthily approached the bed.

"There you see, Mr. Davies," the young maid who
had assisted her whispered eagerly, " 'tis just as I said, the poor wee thing was that tired. She barely stayed awake long enough for me to tuck her into bed."

"Are you certain she drank the milk?" Drew asked softly, bending over Melanie and watching the even rise and fall of her breasts beneath the rose counterpane. Her cheeks were warm and slightly flushed, and in the faint light from the hallway he could see the shadows cast by her thick lashes. A strand of black hair lay across her high cheekbone, and it took every ounce of will he possessed not to brush it aside.

"Every drop, sir," he was assured by the breathless maid. "My lady even complained there was too much nutmeg, and asked me to tell Mrs. Musgrove."

He smiled at that. "I shall tell her myself," he said, turning away from the bed. "In the meanwhile, I want you to check on her every half hour. She should sleep well until morning, but in the event she wakens, try to keep her in the room. I don't know what time I will be returning, and I don't want to find her roaming the halls when I do."

"Very good, Mr. Davies," the maid agreed, trailing him to the door. "I'll tell Millie, too, mayhap she will help me keep watch." And the door closed behind them.

Melanie waited for another ten minutes, then scrambled hurriedly from the bed. Not daring to risk lighting another candle, she found her shoes in the darkness, slipping her bare feet into the soft leather slippers. She fumbled for her cape, flinging it about her shoulders and then racing from the room as silently as a ghost.

There was no one about as she crept down the stairs, although she could hear the sound of laughter coming from the servants' hall. Well, let them laugh, she decided crossly, her fingers shaking as she cautiously lifted the door latch. It would seem the entire household, including the motherly Mrs. Musgrove, was involved in Davies's nefarious plot, and the very notion filled her with indignation. Was there no one she could trust, she wondered somewhat angrily.

It was cool outside, the late April evening still carrying a touch of winter's chill. Melanie's slippered feet made no noise as she crossed the cobblestoned street, hiding herself behind a neighbor's house, where she could watch the back of her own house without being seen. She waited for what seemed an eternity before a caped figure came out the servants' exit. She had no trouble recognizing Davies's broad shoulders and proud carriage as he turned down the street, his long-legged stride making it difficult for her to keep up with him.

Drew kept his head down, his collar turned up against the damp wind as he walked purposefully toward the inn where he had arranged to meet Sir. There was much he had to tell his superior, and he found himself dreading what his reaction might be. Although he admired Sir and would willingly lay down his life on his behalf, there was no denying that the man was as cold and ruthless as the sea. If he believed Melanie to be involved in whatever rig Barrymore was running, then he would be totally without mercy.

A carriage rumbling by made Drew pause at the corner, and as was his habit, he stole a quick glance over his shoulder. The small figure emerging out of the ever-deepening fog made him tense, his hand
reaching automatically for the knife in his pocket. But as the figure drew closer, he could see it was only a housemaid doubtlessly scurrying to an assignation of her own, and he turned away in disinterest.

The streets around the small tavern where he was to meet Sir were filled with revelers, and more than once Drew had to step aside to let them pass. He had almost reached The Blue Stallion when he heard a sharp cry behind him. He turned around in time to see the small maid, who was apparently still following him, being dragged into the darkened alleyway by a burly-set man. Cursing the man's poor sense of timing, he pulled the knife from his pocket and raced into the alley after them.

Melanie never even saw the man. One moment Davies was just ahead of her, and the next a strong set of arms had closed about her, a hard and filthy hand clamping over her mouth and choking off her scream. Despite her terror, Melanie fought with all her strength, her heavy skirts hampering her attempts to free herself. Her struggles only seemed to amuse her captor, who flung her against the brick wall in back of her, his brutal hands tearing at her cloak.

"Come on, dearie, give us a peek, eh?" He laughed drunkenly, his slurred words increasing Melanie's terror as it dawned on her what he intended to do. "Ol' Ben just wants some lovin', there's my girl." He slipped a hand inside her cloak, grabbing at the tender flesh beneath.

"No!" Melanie screamed, struggling furiously to free herself from this nightmarish situation. "Let me go!"

"Hush, you bitch!" Her assailant clamped his hand back over her mouth and nose, shutting off
her air and making it impossible to breathe. Melanie fought against the darkness that swirled around her, sheer terror giving her a strength she did not know she possessed.

Just as she was certain she would surely faint, the man holding her gave a convulsive jerk, his eyes widening for a moment and then slowly going blank as he slumped against her, his body sliding to the filthy stones.

Melanie first thought he must have passed out from drink, then in the flickering light of the torch burning near the alleyway's entrance, she saw the handle of the blade protruding from his back. She swayed on her feet, her mouth opening for the scream that was caught in her throat. Bright lights danced before her eyes as she tried to force her voice to work.

"Are you all right?" Another pair of arms, just as strong as the first man's but strangely different, slipped around Melanie's waist, guiding her gently from the alley. "Don't worry about that vermin, he won't cause you any further trouble. Poor child, did he hurt you?"

The voice was tender and reassuring and oddly familiar as well. Slowly Melanie managed to raise her head, violet eyes made wide from shock resting on her rescuer's face. "Davies," she said quite clearly, and then fainted into Drew's waiting arms.

"I didn't know what else to do," a frantic voice emerged out of the safe gray fog that sheltered Melanie, disturbing her slumber and making her faintly fretful, and she willed it to go away. "She'd fainted dead away from the shock."

"I agree you could hardly leave her lying on the
sidewalk, but you must realize this does complicate matters. I suppose I needn't ask what happened to the whoreson that attacked her?" A second voice was speaking, and Melanie's brows puckered faintly. What were all these men doing in her bedchamber? It didn't seem quite proper to her.

"Dead. I left my best knife in his back, too, blast it all. The mudlarks will have scooped it up by now along with whatever else they could steal from the bastard's body. God, when I think of what that animal might have done to her if I hadn't been there, I—"

It all came back to her then, the drugged milk, her escape from the house, and lastly the man dragging her into the darkened alley. Melanie sat up, the scream she had been unable to utter exploding from her throat.

"It's all right, Melanie." Davies was bending over her, his hazel eyes moving over her face with obvious concern. But rather than being assured, Melanie shrank away from him, cowering against the back of the couch on which she lay.

"You killed him," she croaked, her voice husky from strain. "I saw the knife in his back . . ."

"I had to, my dear, the bastard was going to rape you. It was the only way I could stop him," Drew explained soothingly, his heart twisting at the fear and revulsion he saw on Melanie's face. He hated it that she should look at him with loathing in her eyes.

Melanie shook her head wildly, her dark hair flying about her shoulders. The memory of the blankness spreading across the dead man's face was imprinted on her mind, and she knew she would never forget watching the life flicker and then die in his dark eyes. Not all the Gothics she had read,
despite their lurid passages, had prepared her for the brutal reality of such a sudden and violent death.

"Drink this." A snifter of brandy was thrust into her hands, and she dully raised the glass to her lips. The sharp bite of the potent liquor made her choke, but as it hit her stomach, spreading its burning warmth through her frozen limbs, she felt some of the raw panic crowding her subside. As her control returned, so did an awareness of her surroundings, and she raised her head to gaze slowly around the darkened room.

It was small, and if the shabby furniture was any indication, a parlor of some kind. She could see a door in one corner of the room, and a large stone fireplace in the other. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, casting a warm reddish glow through the room and illuminating the features of the man standing over her.

He was tall, taller even than Davies, with a hard, muscular body that looked somewhat incongruous in his blue velvet evening jacket and cream satin breeches. Thick blond hair was brushed back from a broad forehead, and eyes the brilliant blue of a tropical sea glittered out at her from beneath a pair of straight, tawny-gold eyebrows. Even as part of her mind registered the fact that she had never seen a more handsome man, she also realized she had never seen a more dangerous-looking one.

As if in response to her thoughts, the man's full lips thinned into a cool smile. "I believe your employer has recovered from her fit of the vapors," he said, his eyes flicking over Melanie's head to rest on Davies. "Perhaps you can reassure her we don't
mean to slit her throat and dump her in the Thames."

Vapors! Melanie's brows lowered at what she considered a blatant insult. But before she could give voice to her indignation, Davies was bending over her, taking her hand in his as he knelt beside the couch.

"Are you feeling better, Lady Melanie?" he asked, noting her angry expression with an odd sense of relief. If she could look that annoyed, then he knew she was well on her way to recovery. "I don't think you're badly hurt. The wretch didn't have time to do much more than paw you, thank God, but if you'd like we could summon a—"

"You had best think of summoning the constable, you—you murderer!" Melanie exclaimed, flinging aside the comforting touch of his hand. "For you and your fine friend! The pair of you are nothing more than traitors, and I shall see that you hang for your crimes!"

"Indeed?" The other man seemed more amused than cowed by her threats as he sat in the chair facing her. "I'm afraid you might find that a trifle difficult, Lady Melanie, considering your present circumstances."

Melanie's chin came up a notch. It had dawned on her earlier that her position was not a good one. As a woman alone, she knew she stood little chance against two men, especially against a man who had already proven his willingness to commit murder, but she refused to give in. Judging from the sounds coming from the other side of the door, she knew they had to be in some sort of public place, an inn, perhaps, and the knowledge that there were others about bolstered her courage.

"I see nothing wrong with my present
circumstances," she replied haughtily, masking her nervousness with an air of disdain. "This is a public inn, after all, and if I were to call out for help, I am sure someone would come to my aid."

"Did anyone come bursting through the door when you screamed?" he asked in a falsely solicitous manner, smiling at her silent glare. "As you can see, I am master of the situation here, and I can assure you that no one will come through that door without my permission, including the constable, should you actually succeed in summoning one.

Melanie hesitated at the arrogant assurance in his voice before turning to confront Davies. "You can't hope to get away with this, you know," she told him angrily, deciding that she was wasting her time trying to reason with the other man. "Mr. Barrymore will know where I am, and you may be very sure both he and my father will not rest until you are tracked down!"

"And how will he know that, my lady?" Drew asked, recognizing a bluff when he heard one. "Are you trying to tell us you left a note?"

"Yes!" Melanie snapped, realizing now that that was precisely what she should have done. In most of the Gothics she'd read the heroines always left some sort of note behind for the hero to find. Unfortunately for her, she had neither a note nor a hero to extract her from her current dilemma, a prospect she found decidedly discouraging. Not that she would let her captors know that, of course.