The Deception (38 page)

I heard Harry grunt in surprise, but I kept my eyes fixed on the newspaper. I fervently hoped that I was not betraying Adrian’s confidence by speaking this way, but I thought that it was important for Harry to understand his brother better.

“People look at him and they see his physical beauty, his bravery, his integrity.” I turned to look at him. “But there is so much death inside him, Harry.” I gripped my hands tightly together in my lap. “Be glad you missed the war,” I said. “It is something that Adrian will probably never get over.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Harry said, “I never thought of him that way.”

“He is a man to keep his troubles to himself. I only told you this because I thought you needed to understand him better.”

Harry said, “You’re right when you say that he is a man to keep his troubles to himself, yet he told them to you, Kate. Do you still think that he doesn’t love you?”

Chapter Twenty-eight

I wanted to talk to Adrian immediately, but Mr. Crawford, Adrian’s agent, had arrived the night before, and he and Adrian were closeted in the estate office going over account books, so I decided I
might as well go into Newbury. Louisa and Paddy were over at Lambourn for the day, so one of the grooms came with me for propriety’s sake. My errand was accomplished easily and quickly, and in less than an hour I was back in the phaeton and eagerly heading for home.

Two miles outside of town we came upon a gig that was overturned on the side of the road.

I stopped. The gig appeared to have had only one passenger, the driver, who had just finished freeing his horse from the tangled harness when we pulled up.

“All you all right?” I called to the man. “Do you need help?”

He turned to me, holding the horse’s bridle close to the bit. He was a stocky, middle-aged man with dark eyes set close together in a square, powerful face. He wore plain, countryman’s clothes and could have been one of Adrian’s tenants. He tried to approach my phaeton, but as soon as he took a step his face contorted and I heard his breath hiss in pain. He halted.

“Are you hurt?” I asked sharply.

“Aye. It’s my left ankle,” the man said hoarsely. “I’ve done something to it for sure.”

I looked at the gig, which was resting on its side. It would take more than my groom to heave it upright, and the driver was clearly in no state to assist. I said to the injured man, “Where do you live? If I take you home, can you send some men back to retrieve your horse and carriage?”

“That I can.” The man gave me a grateful look. “My farm is just outside Thatchem. I would be fair appreciative of your help, ma’am.”

“Y’re addressing the Countess of Greystone,” my groom informed him snootily. “Mind yer manners now and call her ‘my lady.’ ”

I said, “This is hardly the time to worry about etiquette, Charlie. Get down, if you please, and assist this gentleman to take your place. You can remain with the horse and the gig until help comes.”

Charlie’s wizened face looked doubtful. “P’raps it would be best for us t’ send help from Newbury, my lady,” he suggested. “I din’t like the notion of sending ye off with a stranger.”

“Don’t be so stiff-necked, Charlie,” I said impatiently. “The man is clearly hurt.”

Charlie scowled.

We looked at each other.

“Have a little compassion,” I said.

We looked at each other some more. Finally he cast his eyes upward, climbed down from the phaeton, and went to take the horse from the injured man.

“I need to ask ye for some help to get to the carriage,” the man said gruffly. At this, Charlie grudgingly offered his arm. Hopping and leaning on Charlie, the farmer made his way to the phaeton. It took him several tries to heave his way up to the seat. Once he was beside me, he hung his head forward, as if he were afraid he was going to faint.

I waited until he straightened up. “All right?” I asked gently.

He nodded.

I asked the horses to move forward at a walk, afraid that a trot might jar the poor man’s ankle.

We continued north for a half a mile, and then instead of taking the road that would have brought me to Greystone, I veered to the east, toward the tiny village of Thatchem. The road was empty as I drove slowly along. “Is your farm before or after the village?” I asked.

“Before,” he answered gruffly. “We’re almost there now.”

To the left of the road was a pasture where a flock of sheep were grazing peacefully, the lambs cavorting and playing games in the bright afternoon sun; to the right of the road fields of wheat rippled luxuriously in the gentle breeze. We rounded a curve, and there before us, drawn up on the grass margin at the side of the road, was an elderly-looking coach with two horses still in harness. I frowned when I saw it, thinking it peculiar to find two disabled carriages on the road in one day. Once again I halted my own horses.

The injured farmer I had rescued reached over and pulled the reins from my hands. I swung around, said, “What do you think you’re doing?” and tried to snatch them back.

He shoved me aside. Hard. I had to grab the seat to keep my balance, and it was then that I heard another voice say, “Get down from the phaeton, Kate. You are coming with me.”

I looked back to the road, to the man who had been concealed by the coach and who was now approaching the phaeton. My heart began to slam, and I tried once more to grab the phaeton’s reins. If I could only get control of the horses!

The erstwhile farmer brought the side of his hand down on my wrist with a numbing blow. I gasped.

“Get down, Kate,” my uncle said again.

I could hear my own rapid breathing. “What do you want?” I demanded.

“I want you to get down,” Charlwood said. “If you don’t do so immediately, Carruthers will hurt you.”

I looked at the grim face of the man sitting beside me, and slowly, favoring my aching wrist, I climbed to the ground.

“That’s right,” my uncle said. “Now you will get into the coach.”

It seemed that Charlie had been right after all.

“I have no intention of getting into that coach,” I said. My mother’s brother stepped toward me, gripped my arm with one hand, and with the other he hit the side of my head so hard that the world reeled around me. Then everything went black.

* * * *

When I woke up I was in the carriage. My head ached and there was a ringing sound in my ears. My wrist hurt, and when I tried to move my other hand to rub it, I couldn’t. It took me a few moments to realize that the reason for this was that both my hands were tied.

I leaned my aching head back against the cushion and tried to remember what had happened to me. Eventually I did, and the recollection did not make me happy. The only encouraging thing about my present situation, I thought, was that there was no one inside the carriage with me.

I looked out the window and saw that we were driving between high hedgerows along a twisting country lane. It could have been any one of hundreds of similar country lanes anywhere in Berkshire. It was definitely not the road to Charlwood, and my heart sank at the thought. Adrian might think to look for me at Charlwood, but he would never find this anonymous lane.

A few minutes later, the carriage turned in through a broken gate and proceeded slowly up a rutted track. It stopped before a cottage with a thatched roof in obvious need of repair, a fenced pigsty in need of a pig, and a vegetable garden in need of some plants. I felt sick when I thought how far removed from the main road this place was.

Adrian would never be able to find me here.

The coach door was thrown open and a man stood in the doorway. It was not my uncle but the man he had called Carruthers.

“Get out,” he said. Even his accent had changed. His dark, close-set eyes were narrowed as he looked from the sunlight into the dimness of the coach.

I pressed my back against the cushions and said, “No.”

He said in a perfectly expressionless voice, “If I have to knock you out again, I will.”

The thought of being unconscious and at this villain’s mercy was not edifying. I slid to the edge of the seat and then to the doorway of the coach. Carruthers lifted me down, and the feel of his hands on my waist made me want to shudder.

“I will double whatever Charlwood is paying you if you let me go,” I said as my feet touched the ground.

He didn’t reply, merely took my upper arm in a grip that would leave ugly dark bruises and began to walk me toward the cottage. I stumbled as I was ruthlessly dragged along, and his fingers bit deeper into my flesh as he held me up.

We reached the cottage door and Carruthers pushed it open. He shoved me into the dark interior and I lost my balance, tripped on my skirt, and couldn’t recover because of my tied hands. I went down to my knees. The man towered above me in the narrow passage and waited silently for me to scramble to my feet. Then he opened a door that led into a room that had probably once been someone’s parlor, and nodded for me to go inside.

The room I stepped into was small and low-ceilinged, with two windows in the far wall and a heavy wooden chair set in the middle of a worn grayish-colored carpet. I drew a deep breath and once again said to my captor, “I meant what I said, Carruthers. I will double Charlwood’s price.”

A flicker of amusement flashed across his face and then was gone. “If I sold out my customers, I wouldn’t have any more,” he said.

“My husband will give you so much money that you won’t ever need another customer for as long as you live,” I said.

“Oh, I doubt that, my lady,” he responded calmly. “Now, sit down in that chair so I can tie you up.”

I stared at him in frustration, thinking that I must be able to say
something
that would get through to him. His face was absolutely calm. It was amazing how so calm a face could look so brutal.

“Sit down,” he said again, and I realized that if I did not obey he would have no hesitation about making me. I did not want to be hurt so badly that I was incapacitated. I was going to need all my strength if I hoped to get out of this trap.

I sat in the chair. He tied my feet to the chair’s legs, then took a knife from his coat pocket and cut the rope that was binding my hands together in front of me. The instant my hands were free, I grabbed for the knife, hoping to catch him unaware. I could not knock his hand free from the handle, and my own hand closed around his hard lingers. I dug my nails deeply into his skin, drawing blood. The chair I was tied to rocked as I hung on, struggling to gain possession of that precious knife.

“You little bitch,” he muttered, and wrenched his hand and the knife out of my frantic hold. He took my already injured wrist in a punishing grip, pulled my arm behind the chair’s back, and twisted it upward.

Agony burned through me. Through the stabbing red-hot pain I heard him say, “Don’t ever try that again.”

I held as still as I could, sobbing with the pain in my arm and shoulder. He lowered my arm fractionally and said, “Give me your other hand.”

I shut my eyes tight and reached my other arm behind the back of the chair. He lowered my arm some more, then began to bind my wrists together. When he had finished he came back around the chair to face me.

I think he would have frightened me less if he had shown some emotion. I felt sick from the pain in my wrist, but I stared at him defiantly. His face was expressionless as he slowly looked me up and down, from my eyes, to my throat, to my breasts, to my belly, and then my legs. I felt as if he had stripped me naked, and I knew my cheeks were hot with fury and fright and humiliation.

“You’re a very nice package, Lady Greystone,” he said. “Maybe your husband
would
pay double to get you back. But as I said before, I don’t cheat on a customer.”

He stepped closer until he was standing directly over me, took a fistful of the hair that was streaming down my back, and pulled until my neck arched and I was forced to look up at him. He said, “I think I deserve a payment for the scratches you just gave me,” and he bent his head and covered my mouth with his so that I could not breathe.

It was awful.

Adrian,
I prayed.
Please, please, come and rescue me!

Carruthers lifted his mouth from mine and for the first time in our encounter I saw emotion on his face. I cringed away from the lust that was making his close-set eyes so hard and bright.

“A very nice package indeed,” he said.

I tried to kick him, but my legs were too tightly bound.

“My husband will have your head for this,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, and bent to kiss me again. This time I bit him.

He jerked away from me, swearing furiously. I was pleased to see that there was blood welling up in his mouth.

He said, “You slut,” and hit me. My head rocked back with the blow and the world reeled around me.

I struggled to clear my vision. “Villain!” I panted. “Bully! Is this the only way you can get a woman to kiss you? By tying her up and making her helpless to refuse?”

My breathing was the only sound in the room. Then he said with great deliberation, “Now we have a score to settle, Lady Greystone. But not until the customer is finished with you first.”

Things did not bode well for me, and after Carruthers left I had nothing to do but think about my dismal situation and try to work my hands free. I pulled on the rope that bound my hands until I was sobbing with the pain in my injured wrist, but the knots would not loosen.

I was going to have to deal with my uncle. I remembered the expression on his face the night he caught Adrian and me kissing in the garden, and I was very afraid.

The sun was in the western part of the sky and its rays were slanting in the parlor windows when Charlwood finally came. He stood in the doorway and regarded me in silence, and I could feel myself staring back like a terrified animal.

“Adrian will kill you for this,” I croaked.

“For what?” he asked lightly, and crossed the room to my chair.

“For kidnapping me,” I replied.

He smiled. “Well, if I am to die for kidnapping you, then I might as well go ahead and do a few more things as well.”