Sally MacKenzie Bundle (258 page)

“And don’t have your ear to the keyhole,” Stephen murmured as MacInnes walked past. MacInnes gave him an innocent look, which confirmed he’d be eavesdropping. Oh, well. Mags couldn’t have anything of a confidential nature to disclose.

Mags took a long swallow of brandy and sighed. “That man’s got a fine arse. You know I’ve always liked Scots.”

“I didn’t know that, Mags,” Stephen said, hoping MacInnes
was
listening.

Mags nodded. “Aye. I swear they’ve the biggest cocks—don’t you think so?”

Good God. “I have not made a study of male genitals.”

Mags laughed. “No, I guess you haven’t—but I have.” She looked at the kitchen door. “Think he knows about the Temple?”

“I have no idea.”

“Tell him, will you?” Mags winked. “I’ll give him special service.”

“Ah. Yes. I’ll be sure he knows.” He’d wager MacInnes would not be interested. In their travels together, he’d found the man as fastidious about such matters as he was. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Mags gazed longingly after MacInnes a moment more before she apparently shook herself out of her lecherous woolgathering. “Oh, right. I came about Brentwood, of course. He showed up last night, drunk. Said Lady Noughton had found out he was all rolled up and had shown him the door.”

Damn. He should have realized Maria would confront Brentwood immediately.

Mags took another swallow of brandy. “I told him I knew it, too. We had it out—quite a brangle—and I showed him
my
door.” She grinned. “Had him tossed out on his arse—I much enjoyed seeing Lord High-and-Mighty in the gutter.” She downed the rest of the brandy. “But you’d best be careful. He’s mad as a buck, and he knows you’re behind his troubles. I’d say he’s looking for revenge.”

Bloody hell, he had to warn Anne. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

Mags shrugged. “Had another customer. I
am
a business woman, you know.”

He wanted to shake her for delaying even a moment. Instead, he swallowed his bile and slipped a sovereign into her open palm. “My thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me? I have urgent business to attend to.”

“But how am I to get home?”

He put more money into her hand. “Take a hackney,” he said, and then jerked open the door. Sure enough, his valet almost tumbled into the room. “Perhaps MacInnes here can help you.”

It looked like rain.

Anne sat by her window, gazing out over the back garden, nibbling on the toast a maid had brought up with a cup of chocolate. She hadn’t wanted to go down to breakfast and risk encountering Clorinda, Evie, or the boys. She didn’t want to be with people yet. She wanted to savor this moment in private.

For the first time in ten years her heart felt light. She’d told Stephen her shameful secret, and he’d accepted it. She giggled. If she
had
been a virgin, she definitely wasn’t one now.

She saw Harry appear, sniffing at the base of the tree Stephen had climbed last night. Oh, dear. Had someone let him out by himself? That was not a good plan—the dog was quite capable of escaping from—No, there were Philip and George. Good.

She took a sip of chocolate, cradling the cup in her hands. Now, in the morning, it was hard to believe last night had not been a dream. But it had indeed happened—the ache in a particular part of her body confirmed it. Stephen had actually been here in this room, in that bed—in
her
.

The place he’d been most intimately throbbed at the memory, and she shivered with pleasure. She wanted to do it all over again as soon as possible.

To think the same body parts had been involved in her encounter with Brentwood, yet the experiences had been as different as night and day.

The boys were throwing something at each other, and Harry was barking furiously at them. Lady Dunlee would not be happy about the noise. She should go out and stop them. She would, in a moment.

Could she have conceived Stephen’s child?

She’d prayed so hard ten years ago that she wasn’t enceinte. She hadn’t been able to sleep, she’d been so full of dread, and during the day she’d burst into tears with no provocation. It had been such a relief when her courses had started. But now . . .

She laid her hand over her belly. She hoped Stephen’s seed had taken root.

She frowned. There was still the problem of Stephen’s travel. He would be gone so much. Yes, he’d said she could come with him . . . until they had children.

She put aside her chocolate and toast.

She could not put her children through what Papa and Georgiana had put Evie and the boys through—being raised by their older half sister and servants. Well, and she’d missed Papa, too, when she was younger.

But if she stayed home . . . how would she bear the months and months Stephen was gone? She’d pine for him and worry about him.

She looked out the window again. The boys and Harry were no longer in the back garden. Where had they gone? The clouds looked quite threatening. She’d best go see; there was no telling what mischief they could get into. There would be hell to pay if Harry was disturbing Lady Dunlee’s precious Miss Whiskers again.

She got up and shook her skirts out. In any event, a breath of fresh air would be most welcome; she’d always loved the windy, slightly wild air before a storm.

She had the bad luck of running into Clorinda in the corridor.

“How are you this morning, Anne?”

Clorinda looked genuinely concerned. Why? Oh, right—her excuse to stay home last night. “I’m very much improved with sleep, thank you, Cousin. It was a passing upset.”

Clorinda’s face lit with comprehension; Anne’s face, she was certain, lit with embarrassment. Blast, had Clorinda guessed her secret? No, she couldn’t have; she looked amused, not angry.

“So you had troubles of a female nature, did you? Why didn’t you just say so? We all have—or in my case, had—that time of the month.”

“Er . . .” Her “troubles” had definitely been of a female nature—last night’s events would never have occurred if she weren’t female—but her courses for this month had come a week or two earlier.

“I’m sorry I doubted you when you said you were unwell,” Clorinda was saying. She matched her step to Anne’s as they walked down the stairs. “I don’t know why I did. I should have realized you wouldn’t wish to miss seeing your betrothed.”

Anne ducked her head so Clorinda couldn’t see her eyes and her heighted color when the thought popped into her head, completely unbidden—she
had
seen Stephen, all of him.

They reached the foot of the stairs and Clorinda stopped to pat Anne’s arm. “As Evie may have told you—she said she was going to stop by your room last night—Mr. Parker-Roth was clearly disappointed when he learned you would not be attending the gathering with us.”

“I think Evie did say as much.” Anne couldn’t say for certain what Evie had said—she’d been too overwhelmed by what Stephen had so recently done with her to pay a scrap of attention to Evie’s bibble-babble.

“Oh, yes. He was most out of sorts and left the ball early—and angrily—after speaking to that Lady Noughton. He told his brother he wasn’t feeling well, but the gossip is he left so abruptly because he finally broke with the widow.”

“Oh?”

Was it true Stephen had just now given Lady Noughton her congé? He’d said they’d parted ways in February.

Had he lied? And if he’d lied once . . .

Last night had seemed too good to be true because it was.

Anne tasted bitterness. She was such an idiot, thinking the King of Hearts could be in love with her. Apparently her judgment had not improved at all in ten years.

“Are you certain you’re feeling quite the thing, Anne? You look rather pale all of a sudden,” Clorinda said.

“No, I’m fine.” Anne did not want to get into a discussion on the subject. “I’ll be better after I take some air. I was just on my way outside to see where the boys are.”

“An excellent idea. A little gentle exercise used to help me when I was in your situation, but do keep an eye on the clouds. And don’t be out too long or get excessively windblown. I wager your betrothed will be over shortly to check on your health.”

Anne nodded. Stephen probably
would
come by; it would be in keeping with his role of attentive fiancé. She put on her new bonnet—it didn’t give her any of the pleasure it had yesterday.

“Perhaps Evie should go with you. I believe she’s still in her room. Shall I—”

“No, thank you.” Anne did not care to have company at the moment. The twins didn’t count. They were boys—they would most likely not say ten words to her. As long as she wasn’t dying loudly, they’d never notice anything was amiss.

“Enjoy your walk then.” Clorinda headed toward the breakfast room. “But don’t be long; you don’t want to be away when Mr. Parker-Roth arrives.”

Actually she
did
wish to be away when that occurred—in Inverness, perhaps, or Boston—but she merely nodded.

She sighed with relief the moment the front door was securely shut behind her, and turned her face up to the sky. The wind felt good, even if the damp added to the chill of her heart.

She’d recovered from Brentwood; she’d recover from Mr. Parker-Roth as well.

Ha. This wound was far, far deeper.

She bit her lip. She could not be crying on her doorstep; Lady Dunlee might see. She clasped her hands tightly together as if she could grasp her runaway emotions.

She should not jump to conclusions. The gossips were often wrong, though it was true Stephen had spoken with Lady Noughton last night. He’d told her he had. She’d forgotten in all the . . . excitement of the evening.

What had he said? That Lady Noughton had told him Anne had lifted her skirts for countless men?

Oh, she would like to strangle the woman—and perhaps Stephen as well.

Now where were the boys? Ah, there they were. She heard Harry’s bark and Philip and George’s shouts. They were indeed in the park across the square.

She stepped to the edge of the walkway and then saw a black carriage turn the corner. Would it wait for her to cross? No, she’d swear it was picking up speed. Reckless driver! One would think he’d exercise a little restraint in residential neighborhoods, but likely he was some half drunk young buck. She would wait for the vehicle to pass before attempting to reach the park.

Oddly, the carriage slowed just in front of her. Did the fellow need directions? He would quickly discover she was not at all knowledgeable concerning London streets.

A nasty-looking man with his hat pulled low and a muffler pulled up over his face was on the box and another jumped out of the coach body.

“May I help you, sir?” She did not at all care for the look of the fellows.

“Aye.” The man grabbed her, knocking off her bonnet. “Ye can help me by coming along quiet like.”

She drew in her breath to scream, but his hand, smelling of sweat and dirt, slapped over her mouth. He was strong. He held her so tightly, no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t free herself.

“Got ’er,” he shouted to the man on the box. “I’ll—Ow!” She’d managed to get her teeth into his palm. “The bloody whore bit me. Brentwood’ll have to pay me extra iffen she’s drawn blood.”

“Brentwood don’t have to do nuttin’,” the coachman shouted back. “Hurry up! We don’t want to be found out.”

Anne heard the boys yell and Harry bark. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw them running toward her. If she could just delay a few more seconds . . . but the man was too strong.

“Right,” he said and threw her over his shoulder, climbing into the carriage and slamming the door on her hope of rescue.

Chapter 20

Stephen leapt from the hackney as it pulled up to Crane House. Before he could pay the jarvey, the front door flew open and Clorinda tottered out, her handkerchief clutched in one hand, Anne’s crumpled bonnet in the other.

“Oh, Mr. Parker-Roth, I am so glad to see you.”

Ice filled his veins. Had Brentwood been here before him? “Where is Lady Anne?”

“Gone!” Clorinda shuddered. “With only her poor bonnet left behind. Oh, if only I’d come out with her, perhaps I could have done something.” She hid her face in her handkerchief.

“Stay here,” he told the jarvey. “I may have need of your services immediately.” Assuming he could get any coherent information out of anyone, that is. Obviously Clorinda would be no help. Perhaps Evie or Hobbes had seen something useful.

Hobbes was hovering just inside the door as he’d been the day the twins had gone missing, Charles the footman, by his side. “Thank God you’re here, sir,” he said.

Clorinda, still sobbing, tugged on Stephen’s sleeve. “You will rescue Anne, won’t you?”

“Yes.” He would die trying, if necessary, but the sooner he left, the better. Time was not in their favor. He turned back to the butler. “When did this happen, Hobbes?”

“Only about five minutes ago, sir. We were just about to send Charles here to alert you.”

Stephen looked at the footman. “Did
you
see anything?”

“No, sir, but I believe the boys may have.”

“I’ll speak to them, then. Where are they?”

“In the blue parlor,” Clorinda managed to say between her tears, “trying to comfort Evie.”

“Very well. Hobbes, send word to my rooms telling my brother and my valet they should come to Crane House at once. And have them bring my horse.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send Charles.”

“Excellent. Take the hackney.” Stephen strode down the hall, Clorinda in his wake. He heard Evie sobbing even before he got to the door. When he stepped over the threshold, he saw the twins, sitting close to their sister and looking very pale and anxious.

“Mr. Parker-Roth!” George saw him first and dashed over, followed closely by Philip.

Clorinda took their place on the sofa, wrapping her arm around Evie’s shoulders. Evie glanced up—she managed to look beautiful even with a red nose and swollen eyes—and smiled at him as if he were Michael the Archangel arrived to vanquish Lucifer.

“They’ve snatched Anne, sir,” Philip said. He was clearly trying hard to be brave as would befit a proper Viscount Rutledge, but his face was white as death and his eyes glistened with suppressed tears.