The Kidnapped Bride (11 page)

He poured himself a glass of brandy, sloshing as much onto the desk as into the glass. When she fell abruptly silent, he sneered. “How dare I, indeed! As though it weren’t enough that I must submit to a trimming from Nick—”

“A trimming!”

“A damned impertinent lecture! Harped at me like a blasted schoolmaster!”

“What did he say?” If Sir Nicholas had ripped up at him, no wonder he was so out of curl now!

“That’s none of your affair,” Darcy replied with great dignity. Then he rather spoiled the effect by muttering, “Said an elopement must cast a blot upon the family escutcheon, or some such addled rot.”

“Well, neither an elopement nor an abduction is exactly the height of propriety,” Sarah pointed out.

“Well, he don’t know about any abduction!” Darcy snapped. “And don’t you go putting any such notions in his head either, Sarah, or it will be the worse for you. Dash it! I’m your husband, ain’t I?”

“You are, sir.”

“Well, don’t forget it. Just because I made some damn fool promises….” He broke off, swallowed his brandy, and stared at her speculatively over the top of his glass.

His gaze made her nervous. She knew he had imbibed a great deal and wondered how much more he could hold. There was a scratching at one of the French doors, as Erebus asked politely to be let into the warmth. Darcy, still staring at Sarah, didn’t seem to hear him, and Sarah ignored him. There was a new feeling in the air, and her defenses were aroused. She eyed her husband warily. He raised his glass in a toasting gesture. Then, noticing that it was empty, he banged it down on the desk again and attempted to refill it. But his hands shook, spilling brandy every which way.

“The hell with it!” he exclaimed at last, sending glass and decanter spinning to the floor. “To hell with stupid promises, too!” And despite his shaking hands and tipsy gait, there was a glint of purpose in his eye as he advanced upon her.

With a gasp of dismay, Sarah recognized his intent, and scrambling hastily to her feet, she moved away from him. “My lord, please consider! Your promise! You must not do this!”

“Must not, shall not,” he mocked in a sing-song voice, following unsteadily as she backed away from him. “Everyone tells me how to behave. But I’ll be damned if I’ll stand peaceably by whilst you seduce Sir Blasted Nicholas under my very nose. Our agreement is at an end. I am your husband,” he insisted, his words slurring, “and, by Jove, you shall honor the connection with no interference from Nick!”

Sarah had managed to get behind one of the chairs near the fireplace and was attempting to keep it between them. Darcy’s eyes began to develop a glazed look, and he seemed to sway from side to side. Perhaps, if she could just keep him talking long enough, Sir Nicholas would come, or Darcy would simply pass out.

“You are raving, my lord,” she said now, more calmly than she felt. “I am your wife and must, if you insist upon it, submit to your demands. But not like this. Your own sense of honor would make you sorry for it once you are yourself again. Besides, there is no reason for it. I have not tried to seduce Sir Nicholas, nor would he respond if I did. He would never interfere between you and your wife.”

“Can’t interfere,” snickered Darcy, grasping at the single word. “Not here. Gone to visit our old Nanny Bates. All the way to the village. Won’t be back for an hour or more.” He swayed again, but then, as Sarah moved in the opposite direction, he suddenly lunged toward her, his hand clamping around her upper arm with incredible strength.

“Let me go!” she cried, trying to pull away. But it was no use. Inexorably, he pulled her toward him. But as she cried out again and began to struggle fiercely, there came a resounding crash against the nearest French door. Sarah’s struggles ceased as both she and Darcy turned toward the sound. Erebus, plainly and vocally expressing his disapproval of the goings-on in the library, was already gathering his huge body for a second assault. Darcy’s hold loosened, and it was all Sarah needed. Without a moment’s thought or hesitation, she wrenched free of his grasp, planted both small hands firmly against his chest, and shoved with all her might. Toppling like a felled tree, Darcy struck his head against a hearthstone with a dull thud, then lay completely still.

Dismayed, Sarah dropped to her knees beside him. But a quick examination showed that he was breathing steadily, and although there was a rapidly rising lump on the back of his head, there seemed to be no blood. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, she got to her feet again, wondering if she ought to send for Tom. Darcy probably ought to be got to bed, but on the other hand, he would be coming to his senses soon, and she had no wish to be present when he did. Until he had shaken off the effects of the brandy, it would be far better that she play least in sight. Otherwise, he might still demand a husband’s rights, and there was no one who would interfere if he did.

The noise at the door had ceased, but now there came a single, sharp bark, and she glanced over to see Erebus sitting patiently upon the flagstones, tongue lolling and tail thumping. Thus reminded, she moved to the French door, unlatched it, and let the huge dog in, taking a firm grip on his collar to prevent a curious advance upon his fallen master. A cold, wet tongue in the face was only too likely to bring Darcy to his senses before she was safely out of the way. But Erebus was pleased enough to follow her upstairs. Pausing briefly at Miss Penistone’s door, Sarah looked in with a brief hope that that lady might be awake. But Penny was sleeping deeply. Sarah moved on to her own bedchamber, closing and automatically locking the door behind her. With Erebus trailing happily behind her, she stepped to the window to look out at the courtyard, thinking that Sir Nicholas or even Tom might approach from that direction. Whoever discovered him first would surely help Darcy to his bed, and with any luck at all, he would not, when he awoke, remember the events preceding his accident.

But twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of anyone, and there had certainly been no sounds to indicate that Darcy had been helped upstairs. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and she got up, adjusted the thin shawl carefully around her shoulders, and moved slowly toward the door. Except for the click of the dog’s claws on the hardwood floor as he trailed behind her, the house seemed entirely silent.

She reached the door and hesitated. Having got herself out of a sticky situation, it would be sheer foolhardiness to put herself back in the lion’s den, so to speak. But she could not sit still while her thoughts played merry havoc with the possibilities. The worst one, of course, was that perhaps Darcy had injured himself more seriously than she had thought, but the simple fact of the matter was that she could not bear not to know what was going on.

One hand on the latch, the other reaching for the key, she turned to gaze at her furry companion. “I am no doubt a fool, Erebus,” she said softly, shaking her head with a wry smile when he wagged his tail. “All right, then. But I hope you know enough to protect me if I need it.” A moment later, she pulled the door slowly open.

With Erebus at her side, she made her way to the first floor without incident. But she had taken only a step or two toward the gallery landing when suddenly the stillness was shattered by a barely muffled explosion of sound. Sarah froze, but the big dog’s ears lifted, and surging forward, he began to bark as though he would rouse all the inhabitants of the Common. Bounding down the stairs, he came to a skidding halt at the library door, only to demand entry by scratching madly at the wooden panels.

Sarah followed more slowly. After that one loud noise, silence had fallen again except for the noise of Erebus’s onslaught. She wondered why no one else seemed to have heard the explosion. The maidservants had, no doubt, retired to their rooms at the top of the house, but Tom at least ought to be about somewhere.

“Hush, Erebus.” She laid a hand upon the dog’s broad head, and he seemed to understand her, falling silent as she reached to open the door. Sarah gripped his collar to prevent him from bursting into the room as well as to keep him near enough to protect her against whatever or whomever she might find.

At first, since her gaze moved directly to the solitary pillow lying on the hearth, the room seemed empty. She noted briefly that the French doors were standing wide open. Then, she saw him. He was no longer lying in front of the fireplace, to be sure. Instead, he was lying, face down, in front of his desk.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Sarah managed to stifle the scream in her throat as she moved closer. She loosed her hold on the dog, who promptly bounded into the night through the open door, but she scarcely noticed his barking. Her attention was focused on Darcy.

Did he breathe? She could tell nothing by looking at him. She knelt beside him and felt at once the sticky, wet stuff soaking through her skirt from the carpet. Her hand came away red with blood.

“Darcy! My lord, answer me!” As she grasped his shoulder, shaking it, trying to turn him, she saw the pistol. It lay between him and the desk, and dazed, Sarah reached to pick it up. She was as certain as she could be that he was dead. Still clutching the pistol and feeling rather sick, she got to her feet. A sudden chill shot up her spine, giving her gooseflesh, and without taking her eyes off the body, she clutched her shawl more closely around her shoulders.

“Foolish beyond permission, madam, but I must admit I wondered how long it would be before you murdered him.”

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling and dropping the pistol as though her fingers had been scorched. “Sir Nicholas!”

He stepped in through the open French doors, regarding her with narrowed eyes. “I trust you had good reason for this, my lady.”

She had been staring at him as though he were a specter, and it took a moment for his words to penetrate. Then, even though she knew what he meant, it was as though her brain refused to accept it.

“But … I … he … it’s not as you—”

“’Tis plain as a pikestaff what happened here,” he said grimly, moving closer but eyeing her warily as a new thought struck him. “I don’t suppose you’ve got the mate to that pistol in your possession? I’ve no wish to join Darcy in hell.” She shook her head, still struggling with his original accusation. Why was it that that particular tone of his always had the power to reduce her insides to jelly, to deprive her of the ability to think clearly?

“Please, Sir Nicholas … I didn’t—”

“Don’t bother denying it, madam. What with that dog running loose outside, there’s no way a footpad got in here to do this. I shall help you all I can, but we’ll never wrap this business in clean linen.” He moved past her to examine the body. “Shot through the heart,” he observed, turning the body over. “A pretty piece of shooting.”

Strangling a frustrated sob, Sarah turned away, bringing both hands to her eyes to blot out the brief vision of bloodstains across Darcy’s white shirt. Sir Nicholas got to his feet, fastidiously wiping his fingers upon a linen handkerchief. He glanced at Sarah, and his eyes narrowed speculatively. She faced away from him, her shawl clutched tightly around her, anchored at the elbows, her hands still covering her face. The expression in his eyes softened, and without a word, he stepped nearer to lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

“I trust you don’t mean to subject me to a fit of the vapors, my lady, for we must talk.”

Sarah stiffened at his touch, but her hands dropped away from her face, and turning to face him, she made a serious attempt to regain her composure. The shawl slipped, and she twitched it back into place, finding odd comfort in the familiar motion. “There is little to discuss, sir,” she said with only a slight tremor in her voice. “If you persist in this—”

“There is much to discuss,” he countered sharply. “I had thought you cared for Darcy, and yet—”

“Please, sir,” Sarah interrupted with careful dignity. “My feelings toward his late lordship are immaterial at this point—”

“The devil they are!” he growled. “They must have had a great deal to do with the matter at hand.” He gestured toward the body. “No doubt, you would like me to believe you had nothing at all to do with this. But I am not such a fool, my girl. You’d do better to—”

Sarah stamped her foot. “
Will
you be silent, sir! You must
listen
to me!”

Sir Nicholas gave her a searching stare. “Very well, but I cannot imagine what you think you can tell me that I shall swallow. Why, with that dog running loose—”

“Erebus was with me.”

“With you!” His eyes narrowed as the full impact of the simple statement struck him. “Then, how—”

“I let go of his collar when I saw the body. He went out through those same doors. He was growling. Barking, too.”

Sir Nicholas let out a long breath. “I see. Maybe you’d better tell me the whole.” And not before time either, Sarah thought with a sigh. He took her hand and led her to the settee, seating her so that she faced the fireplace, away from the desk. Then he moved to shut the French doors, pausing before he fastened the lock to open one again. “Well, come in then. I suppose you’ve cleared the premises of all intruders by now.” And Erebus, tongue hanging again and tail wagging, galumphed into the room and collapsed, panting, in front of the fireplace.

Sarah watched silently as Sir Nicholas selected a pair of clean glasses from a tray on the side table before turning toward the desk, where someone had replaced the heavy cut-glass decanter from the floor. Miraculously, it still retained nearly a third of its contents, and he poured out two brandies, then returned to her side. She protested rather feebly when he handed one of the glasses to her.

“Drink it,” he ordered, but with a gentle note in his voice. “You’ve had a shock, and whether you know it or not, you need this. It will help calm the trembling in your hands and bring some color back into your cheeks.” He stirred the coals with his boot, an action which his valet would no doubt roundly deplore, and then seated himself opposite her. “Drink, Countess.”

Her hands were trembling. She hadn’t noticed before. Obediently, she lifted the glass and sipped. The heady wine burned her throat and nearly made her choke, but she could feel the effect of its soothing powers almost before the first fireball hit her stomach. She glanced at Sir Nicholas. He seemed relaxed as he swirled his own brandy, giving her a chance to collect her thoughts. She wondered how to begin.