A Proper Companion (31 page)

Hugh took one more look at Emily and grinned in
anticipation. He then walked into the deserted corridor and closed
the door behind him. He carefully locked the door, pocketed the
key, and headed for the taproom.

* * *

Emily opened her eyes and immediately shut them
again. Her head was throbbing. She must have drunk too much
champagne. She tried to raise her head but thought better of it and
let it fall back onto the pillow. How much champagne had she drunk?
It was odd, but she couldn't seem to remember much of anything. She
didn't even recall going to bed. Yet she still felt so sleepy.
Perhaps it was early morning, and she needn't worry about getting
out of bed just yet. Eyes still closed, she tried to remember what
had happened last night.

The ball had been a great success. She remembered
that much. The ballroom had looked spectacular, she was not too
proud to admit. She recalled dancing a few times and she remembered
how handsome Robert had looked as she watched him twirl someone or
other across the dance floor. She sighed at that remembrance.

Then her eyes popped open. All at once she
remembered the footman's message, the empty yellow salon, and
finally a familiar voice. Whose voice?

And so, Cousin, you shall avoid me no
longer
.

Hugh!

Emily forced herself up onto her forearms. Where was
she? She blinked her eyes and tried to make out her surroundings
from the dim light of the fire. The room was small, plainly
furnished, and completely unfamiliar. She appeared to be alone.

"Cousin?" she said into the dark.

There was no answer. She pulled herself into a
sitting position. The pain in her head pounded with such a force
that she covered her face with her hands. Once the pain had
subsided and she had opened her eyes again, she swung her legs over
the side of the bed. It was then she became aware that she still
wore her ball gown. In a panic, she reached up to her throat, but
felt her mother's emerald pendant still in place. She breathed a
sigh of relief that at least her precious emeralds had not been
stolen.

But why had Hugh abducted her?—for clearly that is
what had happened—and where was he now? What on earth did he want
from her? Her head ached too much to attempt to solve that
puzzle.

She stood slowly and began a survey of the room.
There was a gentleman's hat and greatcoat lying on a ladder-back
chair near the fire. Hugh's? She picked up the hat, but there was
nothing distinctive about it—an ordinary beaver—nor did the
greatcoat offer any clue to its owner's identity. They must be her
cousin's things. Unless he had an accomplice? Good heavens! She
really had no idea what was going on, or who was likely to come
through that door, she thought in a panic. She must get out of
here!

She hurried to the door but found it locked. My God,
she was a prisoner. Frantic, she went to the single window, lifted
the latch, and flung it open. She hung out the window from her
waist and looked around. She was clearly at an inn, as she could
see the stables and the kitchens in the light of the moon. Just
below her was the kitchen garden. Three floors below! She looked
desperately from left to right, but there was not a decent tree
within reach.

She bit her lip, determined not to cry, and turned
back into the room where she fell facedown on the bed. What could
she do? She had no desire to wait patiently for Hugh, or God knows
who, to come through the door. Particularly when she had no idea
what he could possibly want of her.

Emily's mind raced with notions involving her
cousin, even her dreaded uncle, but nothing seemed to make any
sense. Of course, none of their behavior toward her had made any
sense. She still did not understand why they didn't simply leave
her alone, ignore her completely if she was an embarrassment to
them.

She rolled over onto her back and sat up against the
bed pillows. Her head ached enough from whatever drug she had been
given, and any mental effort to understand this abduction only
increased her discomfort. But she couldn't let it go. She needed to
understand. She caught sight of the hat and greatcoat once again
and caught her breath. If a gentleman's things were in her room,
then he must intend to share it with her. Oh, my God, she thought.
They want to ruin me!

She had to get out of here, she thought frantically.
But how? She was unconsciously clutching at the bed linens in her
panic. She glanced down at her hands, and all at once an image of
her mother came to mind—her mother holding Emily on her knee as she
told her the story of her romantic elopement with Walter Townsend,
the story of how she had climbed out the window on knotted bed
sheets.

Emily jumped up and began to tear the linens from
the bed.

* * *

Robert was exhausted, angry, and worried sick about
Emily. He had stopped at four inns without success. He tossed the
reins of his horse to the ostler at the Swan and asked if he had
seen anyone of Faversham's description. When the ostler said that
someone who might have been Faversham had arrived about an hour
ago, Robert dashed to the entrance of the inn and flung open the
taproom door with a bang.

All heads turned toward the door, but only one
interested Robert. Lord Faversham sat near the fire nursing a pint
of ale. He looked up and flinched in alarm when his eyes met
Robert's. He rose abruptly and stood with legs apart in a stance of
swaggering confidence, his lips formed in a sneer. By God, he
thinks to challenge me, thought Robert with inappropriate amusement
as he pondered the image of this insolent young puppy attempting to
best one of the regular habitués of Cribb's Parlour.

As Hugh made a slight move forward, Robert bounded
across the room and landed a clean hit to Hugh's jaw before the
young man could react. Hugh staggered against the table where he
had sat, his tanker of ale tumbling to the floor with a crash. He
lifted his hand to his jaw and glared at Robert with a look of
outraged fury, and then launched himself at Robert with both fists
flying. The man had no science, thought Robert as he dodged the
random blows, which almost made him doubly dangerous. He must be
taken out quickly.

Hugh landed a lucky chop to Robert's chin before
Robert was able to restrain him through a series of expertly
delivered left digs, followed by a punishing right hook which sent
Hugh reeling. Robert pushed him back against the table and put his
hands to Hugh's throat.

"What have you done with her?
What have you done
with her?
" Robert's hands tightened on Hugh's throat, and he
wanted nothing so much as to kill him then and there.

Hugh sputtered and gasped, but was unable to speak.
His face began to turn a dangerous shade of purple.

The flustered innkeeper hurried into the taproom to
see what the commotion was all about. "Now, see here, sir," he
said, gesturing wildly at Robert. "Unhand that man at once! I will
not have murder done in my taproom! Unhand him, or I will send
straight away for the magistrate."

Easing the pressure somewhat, but without letting go
of Hugh's throat, Robert turned toward the innkeeper. "Did this
gentleman
"—he spat out the word—"arrive at the Swan in the
company of a young woman?"

"Why, yes, sir," the innkeeper said in obvious
confusion. He was unable to take his eyes off the darkening face of
Hugh. "He arrived with his wife, who was apparently quite ill. He
carried her in his arms wrapped in a warm cloak."

Robert snorted. "A touching sight, no doubt. Where
is the woman now?"

"Why, she must still be upstairs in their room,
sir," innkeeper said the. "She was not at all well, you see."

Robert breathed a sigh of relief that Emily must be
under this very roof. He released his hold on Hugh.

Hugh sat up and grabbed at his throat, gasping and
coughing, as he stared wild-eyed at Robert.

Robert glared at him with obvious disgust. "I should
call you out for this," he said in a sinister voice.

Hugh stared back at him with a look of utter panic
on his face.

"However," Robert said as he casually dusted off his
greatcoat, "I am not prepared to leave the country just now, simply
for having murdered you. Nevertheless, I think it best that you not
forget our little encounter this evening. Only as reminder, so to
speak, I believe I'll just rearrange your face a bit."

Within the space of a heartbeat, Robert had landed a
swift blow to Hugh's face. The man collapsed to the floor with a
moan. The unnatural angle of his bleeding nose showed it to be
broken.

"But I swear to God," Robert said as he stood over
the bleeding, whimpering Hugh, "if you so much as come near Emily
again, I will kill you. I suggest it might be more comfortable for
you to leave the country for a while. You would not want to run
into me unexpectedly, I assure you."

Robert turned to the innkeeper. "Please show me to
the room where you put the woman who arrived with this ...
gentleman. You must understand that she is not his wife, but that
he abducted her against her will."

"Well, dash my wig!" the innkeeper cried. "I thought
there was something havey-cavey about the way he kept her covered
up and all. Follow me, sir."

With one last look at the bleeding, moaning man
crumpled in a heap on the taproom floor, Robert hurried after the
innkeeper. As they made their way up two flights of stairs and
turned into hallway after hallway—good grief, what a rabbit warren
this place was—Robert prayed to God that Emily was still safe, that
Hugh hadn't already ...

The innkeeper indicated a door at the end of a
narrow hallway. Robert hurried to the door and pounded. "Emily!" he
shouted. There was no answer, and so he tried the door. It was
locked. He turned to the innkeeper with an imploring look.

"I have a master key," the man said as he produced
it. He put the key in the lock, turned it, and gingerly opened the
door. Robert, more impatient, bounded into the room. "Emily?"

The room was empty. A wool cloak lay on the bed, and
a man's hat and greatcoat were tossed on a chair. But what caught
Robert's eye was the rope of knotted linens trailing from the
sturdy bedpost to the open window.

"Ha!" he shouted. "What a woman!"

He dashed past the confused innkeeper, laughing as
he made his way down the stairs.

Emily slowly inched her way down the makeshift rope,
uncertain of the strength of the knot she had tied around the
bedpost. Her heart pounded in her chest as she expected the rope to
give way at any moment and send her plummeting to the ground. She
reached a second-story window at last, and, while braced against
the narrow embrasure, her slippered toes clinging to the window
ledge, she thought to chance calling for help. The room appeared to
be dark; there was no glow from a fire or branch of candles. Taking
a deep breath, discounting the folly of disturbing perfect
strangers who might be more threatening than her cousin, she tapped
on the glass. There was no response.

"Oh, please!" she whispered as she tapped louder.
"Someone please be there!"

Still there was no response, and she was forced to
admit that the room was unoccupied. She tried to force the window
open, but it appeared to be locked from the inside. "Damnation!"
she cried as she slapped the flat of her hand against the window in
despair. There was nothing for it but to continue down to the
ground.

Emily gave the knotted linen a cautious tug. It
seemed to be taut enough, and so she grasped it tightly with both
hands and began once again to ease her way down. She kept her eyes
on the ground below.

It was close now—if the linen rope gave way, she
would fall only a short distance. She began to relax. When her toes
were no more than three or four feet from the ground, Emily braced
herself to jump.

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind, strong arms
closing tightly around her waist.

"No!" she screamed as she was pulled free from the
rope. "No!"

A wail of despair rose up from the back of her
throat as she realized she had been caught. She had almost done it.
She had almost gotten away. But, blast it all, she would not give
up without a fight. She began kicking and struggling against her
captor who, damn his eyes, was actually laughing.

As she kicked she was pulled close against a heavy
coat over a broad chest. She realized this man was taller and
broader than Hugh. Who was this? Her uncle? One of his henchmen?
She kicked out harder, though her soft evening slippers were
useless against the thick leather boots of her captor. As she was
pulled tighter against the broad chest, she caught a fleeting hint
of the aroma of musky shaving oil. Could it be ...

"What kind of welcome is this?" a soft, seductive,
wonderfully familiar voice said against her ear. "And after all the
trouble I've been through to rescue you."

Robert!

Emily turned in the arms that held her and threw her
own around his neck. He gathered her close as tears of relief fell
down her cheeks.

"I-I thought you were Hugh," she said in a quavering
voice.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, my love."

"Oh, no," she said, pulling back so that she could
look up at him. Her eyes bright with tears, but she gave him a
tremulous smile. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my
life!"

"My sentiments exactly, my dear," said Robert, the
laughter gone from his voice as he gave her a look of such warmth
that her breath caught in her throat. She was immediately reminded
of the look in his eyes last night just before he kissed her.

"B-but, what of my cousin?" she asked, unable to
take her eyes from his. "He was the one who abducted me, was he
not? I never actually saw him, but I thought I heard his
voice."