Corey McFadden (32 page)

She felt the bouncing along of the carriage. She had been shoved over to the side and lay as she had fallen. Her arm was twisted up unnaturally behind her, and she could feel nothing in that hand. She had lain as quietly as she could, hoping to hear more of the plans. While lying in Hawton’s bed, she had heard nothing but a low, indistinguishable murmur from the next room, and there had been only silence since she had been thrown into the coach. All she knew was what she had heard on the beach—that Giles was dead, or soon to be, and she was to be accused of kidnapping the children.

Would they believe her capable of such madness? Of course they would, with Giles not there to defend her. She was a stranger here, and there was no one to attest to her good character. It would be an easy solution for the authorities to accept the evidence of Lady Eleanor and the steward that the ex-governess had run off with the children.

But where were they being taken? She could not bring herself to believe that Hawton meant to kill her and the children. He had had ample opportunity to do so on the beach. Of course, that would have meant disposing of their bodies locally, so perhaps he did mean to take them away somewhere and murder them in some godforsaken spot. But then, who was the child he had carried bleeding in his arms on the beach? And who were these men she knew only by their muffled voices who had pulled up a carriage in the middle of the night to Hawton’s door, surely by prearrangement?

“I’ll take the blanket off now, Joanna, but if you struggle, it will go right back on, do you understand?” a low voice hissed in her ear.

She nodded, uncertain if he could see the gesture beneath the heavy wool. She felt hands fumbling at the ties that bound her, and it was some time before she felt the bindings loosen and the heavy wool being lifted away.

She fairly gasped as the cold, fresh air hit her face, and she took deep breaths through her nose. The gag still bit into her mouth and she hoped he would remove that also. The coach was nearly pitch-black, but as she looked around her she could just make out dark shapes. She tried to move the arm she could not feel, and was frightened to find that it would not respond at all. She flexed the other arm and was relieved that she could move it.

“Don’t try anything or I’ll bind your arms, Joanna,” Hawton hissed again. She glared at him, able to speak only with her eyes.

“I could take the gag away. I would if I thought you’d be quiet. We’re a million miles from anyone here, so it won’t do you any good to scream. In fact, I rather expect one of those two gentlemen driving up front would silence you fast enough if they heard a scream. Will you be quiet?” he asked. He was too close, whispering near her ear. His tone made her skin crawl. She pulled back away from him but gave him a short nod.

He pushed himself even closer and reached around the back of her head, fumbling with the knot. As the gag dropped, he moved his face toward hers and she found herself staring into his dark, mean eyes, inches from her own.

“Don’t touch me or I will scream, Mr. Hawton,” she said in a cold, quiet voice, pulling away from him. “I’d rather be dead at the hands of those two up on the box than have you touch me.” She watched as his eyes narrowed. She thought he would come at her anyway, but with a foul oath he pulled away and sat back against the seat.

“Where are the children?” she asked, pressing the advantage for the moment. Perhaps he really didn’t want her to raise a fuss. Perhaps he was none too keen on dealing with those men either.

“At your feet, my dear, safe and sound. See for yourself.”

Joanna sat forward quickly and peered into the darkness at her feet. She could just make out the light color of Emma’s hair. She reached down with her good arm and placed her hand gently on the child’s head. Tears sprang to her eyes as the child looked up at her. She could see little but the shine of Emma’s frightened eyes, but it appeared the girl had a gag across her face.

“Take that gag off the child at once!” Joanna spat at Hawton, her rage outstripping her fear.

“I’m not sure I want to do that just yet, Joanna. Just be patient. I don’t want any more difficulty just now. I’ve had a troubled night.”

“You’ve had a troubled night?” Joanna said, her tone incredulous. “You’ve kidnapped us all and probably done murder as well, and you dare to tell me that you’ve had a troubled night?” Too angry to care what he would do, she reached down and put her one good arm around the slight form of the child, hauling her up into her lap.

“Where is Tom?” she asked, trying to settle Emma comfortably. The child was shivering uncontrollably.

“I don’t know, damn it. He’s somewhere in this pile on the floor,” Hawton spat back at her, his tone surly. He was feeling thwarted at the moment. He had badly wanted to kiss her, to reach into her neckline and squeeze her lovely little tits, and now she had one brat covering her lap and was threatening to scream the carriage apart. And he had had a rotten night, damn it, no matter how nasty she sounded about it. She should be down on her knees thanking him for saving their miserable lives so far, not challenging him as if she were the lady out for the evening air.

Joanna’s dead arm was coming back to life. It was on fire, tingling and burning till she thought she would scream anyway. Well, at least it probably wouldn’t turn black and fall off. Holding Emma to her, she leaned forward and looked about in the blackness of the carriage. She gasped as her eyes told her there were a number of bodies, at least three on the floor and, unless the darkness was playing tricks on her, three more on the seat across from her.

Her eyes finally found what she sought, the tousled, brown curls of Tom’s head on the floor against the far door. She shifted Emma to the seat next to her and leaned forward. The nerves of her arm danced with fire as she forced it to work, but she ignored the pain and gently lifted the boy to her lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. He did not stir, and she knew a moment’s terror as she felt his chest to be sure he was breathing. His eyes were closed and his breath was warm on her cheek. Incredible as it seemed, he was asleep. She carefully disengaged one arm and pulled Emma tight to her, holding her close.

The children safe for the moment, Joanna turned her attention to her captor. “Who are these others?” she demanded, taking courage from the warmth of the little bodies next to hers. “They look like children. And what has happened to the child who screamed on the beach?”

Hawton turned angry eyes on her. He was still smarting from her rebuff and mentally berating himself for allowing her to get the upper hand. But now that he was safe for the moment and the progress of the plan was in other hands for the time being, he found his courage and his energy flagging badly. He had not had the spirit to force Joanna to kiss him, and keeping himself from trembling convulsively in front of her was taking all the strength he had left.

“Who they are is none of your business,” he snarled in the dark.

“The children and I have been bound, gagged, thrown into this coach, and kidnapped by you, Mr. Hawton. That makes it my business.”

He said nothing, staring at the blackness in front of him. Joanna drew a deep breath. Fear clawed at her heart, but she must ask about Giles, however much she dreaded Hawton’s response.

“What have you done to Sir Giles, Mr. Hawton?” she made herself say, forcing her voice to be steady. She held her breath, hoping that he would answer and fearing that he would, as he turned his face slowly toward her. Even in the dark, she could see the malicious smile that curved his lips.

“Sir Giles will not be able to help you, Joanna,” he said smoothly, his courage growing with his words. “I regret to inform you that Sir Giles met with an accident this evening in Dufton. I believe he fell against a knife.”

Joanna drew in her breath sharply and sat back against the seat, clutching the children to her. Madly her mind scrambled away from what he had said. It could not be true! It could not! What would there be left for her if Giles were gone?

What kind of fate would snatch him away from her now, when she had just dared to dream of love again? She could feel the children’s strong little hearts beating against her hands. Their hearts beating. They were alive. She could save them yet from whatever evil Hawton and Lady Eleanor had planned. She would get these babies to safety somehow, and then she would face the loneliness that would stretch on and on, forever....

* * * *

Giles cursed himself for the hundredth time as he finally stumbled into the stables at Queen’s Hall, leading his badly lamed horse. It was late morning and he had walked most of the night after his sure-footed Red Devil had done the unthinkable, stepping into a deep rut on the dark road and laming himself. Giles was enraged with himself for the accident. He had known it was too dark to ride at that punishing speed, but he would not allow his or Red Devil’s common sense to set the pace. And now he had paid a price for his folly in the worst imaginable way, plodding along in the blackness at a snail’s pace, his imagination racing with the horrors he could conjure out of the dark. If they planned to kill him, what could they have planned for his beloved Joanna?

At first he had held some hope that he could get a ride from someone traveling along the same road, but that hope had faded over time. He had seen only one conveyance, a dark coach-and-four, just after Red Devil had gone down, and that had been headed in the wrong direction. At least Red Devil was quiet now. He was sure the leg was not broken, but there was no doubt the horse was in pain.

“Jims!” he shouted into the stables. Odd, he thought, that there was no one about. Albeit he was not expected to return at this time, the stables were usually bustling with activity from dawn till dark.

His heart clenched in his chest as he threw Red Devil’s reins over a post and ran for the house. Someone should have been in the stables—Jims came into the house only to eat and it was not yet dinner time. Were his worst fears coming true?

He burst through the rear door and ran through the back hall to the kitchen where he could be sure to find someone. He stopped open-mouthed at the door as he viewed virtually the entire staff seated or standing, some openly crying into their pocket handkerchiefs. Swiftly searching the room, he knew Joanna was not among them.

“Where’s Joanna?” he fairly shouted, his heart hammering in his chest. Oh, God, let him not be too late!

“How on earth did you know, Sir Giles?” asked Mrs. Davies gently, wiping her eyes. “Allow me to say on behalf of the entire staff that we are so dreadfully sorry. Had we known what sort she was, what she was planning, of course we would have stopped her. But we never dreamed....”

“What in the name of hell are you blathering about, madame?” he shouted, advancing into the room. “Jims,” he said, turning abruptly to the head groom, “Where is Lady Chapman?”

“We do not know, Sir Giles,” answered the man uncomfortably. “Mr. Hawton’s note says she kidnapped the children and ran off in the night, but I dunno....”

“What?” Giles thundered. “That’s absurd and you all know it! Where is Hawton and where is Lady Eleanor?” His face was murderous.

Only Jims dared to speak. “The note told us that Mr. Hawton has gone to try to fetch them back. He left early this morning, apparently, before dawn,” he said. “I’m not sure where Lady Eleanor is,” he finished, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Davies.

“I believe her ladyship is in her room, Sir Giles,” answered Mrs. Davies, her voice quivering. “Her ladyship was prostrate with the news. She said she overheard the quarrel that you had with Lady Chapman before....”

“What quarrel?” came Giles’s voice, dangerously low.

“Er, the words you had with Lady Chapman before you left. About her being a...that is, apparently she was a...” the woman stammered to an end, her face crimson.

“A what? Mrs. Davies,” asked Giles, biting back his frustration. “It’s important that you tell me what my stepsister said.”

“Lady Eleanor reported to us that you had discovered your wife was a tart, Sir Giles, before she came here, and that you planned to have the marriage annulled,” Mrs. Davies stated in a rush.

There was a moment’s silence, deadly in its intensity.

“There was no quarrel, Mrs. Davies. I want that understood by everyone here,” said Giles, raising his voice to a near shout. “My wife is innocent of all such charges. Is that clear?”

They found themselves staring at an empty doorway as Sir Giles, not waiting for an answer, had turned abruptly on his heel and strode away. For a moment there was silence in the room, then they all began speaking at once, a hubbub of accusation and denial, each claiming to have been the only one to have steadfastly believed in the innocence of poor Lady Chapman.

Giles took the back stairs three at a time. He did not bother to knock at Eleanor’s door, slamming it against the wall as he threw it open.

She was lying on her chaise longue in a dressing gown, a wet cloth thrown across her forehead.

“I thought I told you I did not wish to be disturbed,” she screeched, sitting up and tearing the cloth from her eyes. She froze at the sight of him, her face draining of color. He stood in the doorway staring at her, deliberately saying nothing, drinking in her reaction to seeing him.

“You!” she whispered. “I thought....” She broke off, her chest heaving.

“You thought what, Eleanor?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild. “You are surprised to see me?”

“Yes—I mean, no! I mean, you are supposed to be at some funeral in Dufton, aren’t you?” She spoke raggedly, her hands working convulsively at the wet cloth in her lap.

“Whose funeral would that be, Eleanor? Mine, perhaps?” He smiled a slow, twisted smile, aware how his lip pulled into a grimace from the scar she had put across his face.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Giles!” she cried. “You come barging in here, making absurd remarks, when you can see how upset I am. Don’t you know what has happened? Your precious little tart has stolen your money and kidnapped the children. What do you think of that?” she finished in a wail, burying her face in the cloth.