The Kidnapped Bride (20 page)

“Very well.” Sarah heaved a sigh. “You said the murderer would probably be looking for me, so I thought if I could draw him out, Jem would be able to capture him, and we could all be comfortable again.” In view of what had actually transpired, it sounded lame even to her own ears, and she looked away again, bracing herself for the explosion.

“Did you tell Jem what you expected?” Nicholas asked harshly.

“No.” This should help Jem’s cause. “I simply ordered him to fall back. I said I wished to be alone with my thoughts.”

But this explanation did nothing to mollify his lordship’s temper. Indeed, it seemed to exacerbate things, for his frown grew heavier and the grip on her shoulders began to hurt.

“Of all the crack-brained, idiotic women! In other words, having convinced your escort that no rescue would be necessary, you expected him to be ready to fly to your defense in the wink of an eye. By God, madam, you try me too far.” His grip was bruising her, and she struggled to free herself, but all at once he was shaking her. “I warned you, Sarah, last night in the garden. I don’t know what you deserve for this defiance, but ’tis plain as a pikestaff you’ve no notion of how to protect yourself, so I shall have to manage the business for you.” He seemed to realize what he was doing, because the shaking stopped, but he did not release her.

“What will you do?” She felt breathless and could barely force the words out.

He glared at her. “The first thing is to get you home. Come, I’ll toss you up.” Her horse had stood quietly and paid little heed now as Nicholas gathered the reins. Sarah took them silently, and he placed his hands on her waist, preparing to lift her. But suddenly he spun her around again and, before she had any idea what he was about, lowered his head to hers, gathering her to his broad chest in a crushing embrace. She fought briefly, but his lips seemed to burn against her own, and almost against her will, her body melted to his. She had never felt such feelings before, had never dreamed them possible. He kissed her lips, her cheek, and then muttered harshly against her curls, “Oh God, little Sarah, how could you be so foolish?”

Released by those words from what must have been a spell, Sarah stiffened and began to struggle again. “Let me go, damn you!” Nicholas released her immediately, and she stumbled but recovered herself sufficiently to deliver a resounding slap across his cheek. “How dare you, sir! To preach propriety on the one hand and treat me like a chambermaid on the other! ’Tis you who are foolish, my lord, to think that I should submit blindly to any decision of your making!”

With that, she turned away indignantly, but she had barely taken a single step before strong hands clamped her waist again, and she was hurled, skirts flying, onto her saddle. Such was his savagery that she nearly continued head over heels, but she managed somehow to keep her balance. Nicholas held her horse’s bridle.

“We will return to the Park together, my lady. I’ll not release you without your word to that effect, for I have no desire to chase you over the Common, and I doubt you wish to discover what I’ll do if you decide to defy me again.”

It was as though, once more, he had read her mind, but there was a new and chilling note in his voice which led her to suspect that if she opposed him any further, Nicholas would not hesitate to punish her as he had threatened. She certainly had no wish to discover if he were bluffing or not.

“I shall obey you, my lord,” she said quietly.

Nicholas said nothing more but released her bridle and swung into his own saddle. The ride back to the stables was accomplished in silence. When they arrived, he helped her to dismount, but when she would have turned away toward Dower House he held her arm.

“One moment, my lady.” He called to the head groom and, when that worthy stood before him, gave strict orders that in future no horse was to be saddled for her ladyship unless he personally gave the command. Nicholas spoke loudly enough so that Sarah was certain everyone in the area could hear him, and then, satisfied that he would be obeyed, he turned back to her. “You may go up to the house now, Countess, but I shall want to speak to you again shortly.”

Utterly mortified, Sarah could feel the warmth flooding her cheeks as she turned away, but conscious that even the lowliest stable boys were watching her, she managed to hold her head up until she reached the shelter of the trees. Then, the tears began to flow. She heard Nicholas shouting for Jem, but she scarcely spared a thought for the poor groom, so wrapped was she in her own shame and fury. How dared he speak to her so! She could not understand him at all. First, to scold her, then to kiss her, then to humiliate her in front of the stablehands. The man was clearly unhinged! And to think that earlier she had been hoping to discover some means by which to make him approve of her. She must be as daft as he was himself!

She was kicking rocks from the path in a savagely unladylike manner by the time she reached Dower House, tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks, obscuring her vision. Thus it was that she failed to observe the figure perched on the top step.

“My lady! Cousin Sarah, what happened? Oh, I was afraid something would happen when I saw him ride out!”

Colin hurried down to meet her, and Sarah made an attempt to collect herself, rubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Your uncle is altogether abominable!” she fumed.

“What did he do?” Colin demanded. “Surely, he didn’t—”

“He sent me up to the house like a child!” Sarah muttered, “and in front of them all! And he said that I am no longer to ride without his express permission! I am his prisoner!”

“Miss Sarah, I believe your feet are damp. Surely, you will want to come up at once and change your boots.” It was Miss Penistone, standing in the open doorway, her features unruffled, her voice perfectly calm, and her words brought Sarah back to earth with a thump.

“Yes, Penny,” she said at once, striving to achieve that same ladylike calm. “I am just coming. Excuse me, Colin.”

“But I want to know what happened!”

“Her ladyship will speak with you later, Master Colin,” Miss Penistone interposed kindly. “But, just now, you must run along and allow her to change her dress.”

“Yes, do go, Colin. Your uncle will be here shortly, so you’d best make yourself scarce, else he’ll know you’ve had a hand in this.” The boy needed no further urging but took himself off immediately, leaving Sarah to seek comfort from her companion.

Miss Penistone listened calmly to the recital of woe, asking a pointed question or two and receiving answers that were, at times, a bit stilted. But when Sarah declared angrily that Nicholas was an insensitive brute and cruel besides, she dared to take exception.

“I think you owe him a sincere apology, my dear.”

“Penny! How can you say so, after I tell you of his abuses to me!”

“His behavior was not exemplary,” Miss Penistone agreed gently, “but he has been sorely tried. I truly believe he fears for your safety and is displeased only because you have defied orders meant to protect you.” She gave Sarah a straight look. “I think you had better go upstairs, Miss Sarah, and wash your face. And whilst Lizzie is helping you change, I trust you will think seriously on my words and try to see matters from his lordship’s point of view.”

Sarah was dismissed just exactly as she had been dismissed to think on her sins as a child. And if anything was needed to put the final touch to her misery, it was having Penny revert to governess. It was enough to set one’s teeth on edge! Nevertheless, she let Lizzie change her dress and went downstairs again half an hour later, when Betsy informed her that his lordship wanted a word with her in the drawing room.

Penny was in her favorite chair near the window, occupied with more of the interminable mending. Observing gratefully that she showed no inclination to leave her alone with Nicholas, Sarah dropped a stiff curtsy and waited mutely for him to say his piece.

“I wanted to speak with you, my lady, only because I feared you may have thought me a trifle harsh.”

Sarah looked up into his eyes, widening her own in mock innocence. “Harsh, sir?”

“I have no wish to seem so, ma’am,” he went on doggedly, “but it is my duty to see you safely through this business. I am certain you find my orders restricting, and I am sorry for it; however, until that villain can be brought to book, you will have to abide by them.”

“And if I do not?”

His features hardened. “I trust you will find it difficult to flout them, ma’am, and I should certainly not advise you to try it. My patience is limited. I should be sorely tempted, should you continue to be reckless of your own safety, to deliver you to Lady Hartley with my compliments. I believe I could trust her to keep you safe enough.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face, for although she was nearly certain he would never carry it out, the threat alone was enough to curb any inclinations toward further rebellion. No matter how restricted she felt at Ash Park, it would be much worse in London. Her aunt would scold, her uncle would be made uncomfortable by her very presence, and they would certainly never let her keep Penny. In short, it would be utterly dreadful.

“I hope you would never do such a thing, my lord,” she said tightly. “I shall endeavor to give you no cause for it.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “Then I am sure I shall have no further reason for complaint, Countess, Come, do not look so gloomy. ’Twas not my wish to frighten you. Well,” he amended, “perhaps that is not quite true. I do mean for you to understand that I am determined to protect you. There may be no cause for it, as I have said before, but I would prefer not to risk it.” He stood to take his leave, and obeying a gesture, Sarah walked with him into the hall. He pulled the front door open but stood looking down at her. “Sarah …” He paused, and she looked away. The tender look in his eye and the matching note in his voice were nearly as unsettling to her nerves as his anger had been.

“Uncle Nick! Uncle Nick!” Colin was fairly flying down the path, his eyes alight with excitement, and the moment was broken. “You’ll never guess who’s here! It’s Gram! Gram’s here! Her coach is still at the front door!”

Nicholas smiled ruefully at Sarah. “I think you are soon to experience the privilege of meeting my mother.”

“Your mother! But she is in Yorkshire!”

“Not, it seems, at the moment. Indeed, unless Colin has gone round the bend—which I’ll grant you his present behavior would indicate—she appears to be on the premises. Would you like to come along now to meet her?”

But this Sarah could not agree to, despite Colin’s adding his persuasion to his uncle’s. Her mental state was still anything but calm, and she was certain that Nicholas’s mother would wish to be private with him at least long enough to catch up on all that had occurred at Ash Park. But she agreed that she and Miss Penistone would come a little early so as to make her ladyship’s acquaintance before dinner.

In honor of the guests, dinner was put back to the more civilized hour preferred by town folk, and as she dressed for the meal, Sarah was conscious of a wish that she could appear to better advantage. She wished it even more when she entered the library with Penny to discover the presence of two strange gentlemen. Colin grinned at her from his place near the fire, as the earl and the two strangers got somewhat hastily to their feet.

“My lady, may I present Sir Percival Packwood and his son, Lionel. Sir Percival is recently become my father-in-law. This is Lady Moreland, Darcy’s widow.”

Sarah made a brief curtsy to Sir Percival, but her eyes returned involuntarily to his son. Lionel Packwood wore bright yellow pantaloons under a coat of bottle green, but it was primarily his waistcoat that made Sarah stare. That startling article was fashioned of bright yellow-and-red-striped satin and was certainly a wonder to behold. Lionel himself had more nose than chin, auburn hair, and eyebrows a shade or two lighter above pale blue eyes that were set a touch too close together. The generous nose and his cheeks were daubed with liverish freckles, and though his teeth were fairly even, his lips were too full for Sarah’s liking, particularly the lower one, which Lionel had a tendency to push into greater prominence whenever he wished to appear meditative.

His lordship’s actual words finally penetrated, and she dragged her eyes away from Lionel, who was grinning fatuously at her. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but did you say Sir Percival is your father-in-law?” Nicholas nodded with a glint of amusement, and she turned to the older gentleman, her hands outstretched. “Then, congratulations are in order, sir. I collect you have married Lady Moreland.”

“Lady Packwood now, ma’am,” corrected Sir Percival with a smile rather unfortunately like his son’s. There the resemblance ended, however, for where Lionel put Sarah in mind of a bantam rooster, Sir Percival looked much more like an emperor penguin. He was a biggish gentleman, conservatively dressed in buff pantaloons and a dark coat, and broader amidships than above or below His round, pale face was framed by dark, tufting sidewhiskers and bristling, salt and-pepper eyebrows. Now that she thought about it, perhaps it was a walrus he reminded her of. She would ask Penny for her opinion later. Sir Percival, still talking, informed the room at large that, her ladyship having taken it into her head at long last to get riveted, he hadn’t given her time for a second thought.

“Quite right, my love!” trilled a voice from the library threshold, and they all turned to greet her ladyship. Lady Packwood might have been buried for years in the wilds of Yorkshire, but one would never know it to look at her. Though Sarah knew the woman to be nearing the half-century mark, she was dressed in the height of fashion and looked ten years younger in a copper-green satin dinner gown that would have looked very well on Sarah herself. On her ladyship, it was stunning. She had kept her figure, and the color of the gown was particularly good with her hair, which was light brown with deep golden highlights. The puffed sleeves were perhaps a trifle fuller than Sarah would have had them, the lace trimming a trifle longer, but on the whole, she decided as she made her curtsy, Lady Packwood was a very well-preserved specimen.