Wicked in Your Arms (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

G
rier clasped the piece of parchment close to her chest, the words printed there whispering through her head.
I long to see you without the presence of others. Meet me outside the back of the house as soon as you can get away. I wait with a carriage.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the servant who delivered the missive, a small tremor of delight rippling through her. The girl—Marie, Grier thought her name was—ducked her head almost shyly before slipping from the room.

Grier looked down at the letter again, and a secret smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Over the last three days, she and Sev scarcely had a moment alone. Her father insisted they be seen about Town as much as possible, presenting themselves as the happily affianced couple. But always they were surrounded by others. Grier told herself it wouldn't be like this after they married . . . that they would have ample opportunity to be alone together then.

But three days in his constant company and never a word in private, not a touch, not a stolen kiss . . . Her doubts had resurfaced to take hold, and she worried with the whirl of wedding and travel arrangements if a little regret had not entered his head.

She'd entered a state of breathless agitation. If he had the slightest remorse for his hasty offer of marriage, she hoped he would call a halt to this madly racing train at once. Tomorrow they left for Maldania. The next step toward their real life together. A life that could be hell for both of them if Sev was already regretting their union.

The letter crinkled against her fingers, reviving her with hope that Sev wasn't afflicted with regret.

“What do you have there?” Cleo asked, looking up from her novel, her finger marking her spot in the book.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing! Nothing made you smile?”

Grier's smile only deepened.

Cleo rolled her eyes. “A love letter from Sevastian, perhaps?”

“Something like that . . .” she hedged, rising from the sofa. “If you'll excuse me.”
Sevastian waited
.

Cleo waggled her fingers in the air. “Run along, reread your letter in privacy where I don't have to hear your lovesick sighs.”

Grier hurried from the drawing room, stopping only to fetch a cloak. Her heart raced at Sevastian's romantic gesture . . . it gave her hope that what he felt for her was deep and true . . . strong enough to withstand his grandfather's disappointment.
Strong enough to last.

She earned a few speculative glances as she passed servants on the stairs, but she didn't let it deter her. She stepped outside the back servants' entrance and burrowed into her cloak, scanning the narrow alley where deliveries were usually made.

A carriage idled alongside the wrought-iron gate, the driver blowing into his hands.

She skipped down the steps and quickly made her way along the path, mindful not to let the iron gate clang too loudly behind her. She gave a quick glance around to be certain that no one lurked about. No servant stood outside. She was all alone in the gray afternoon . . . only a few yards separating her from Sev.

Her feet flew faster, her heart beating like an anxious drum in her chest. Until this moment she didn't realize how desperately she needed to see him . . . needed soothing that everything was going to be all right.

At the carriage door, she hesitated, expecting Sev to reveal himself . . . open the door and greet her, assist her inside with him, perhaps pull her into his arms for one of those kisses that melted her from the inside out. She'd missed his kisses.

“Sevastian?” she called, looking to the left and right, wondering if she could be mistaken, if this wasn't his carriage at all and she'd made some kind of mistake.

A long moment passed until the door finally opened.

And yet it wasn't Sev's face that emerged behind the door.

His cousin stared down at her with a welcoming smile—a smile that did not reach his eyes. Her heart stuttered in her chest before resuming its beating. Something lurked in those eyes. Something that made her feel decidedly unsafe. The same as when she confronted a wildcat hunting in the mountains back home. He had that same cagey look in his eyes as an animal cornered.

Only he wasn't the one cornered.

“Ah, Miss Hadley.” He leaned out of the carriage. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Where's Sevastian?” She looked over his shoulder into the dim confines of the carriage even though she didn't really expect to see him there.

“He sent me to fetch you.”

She felt her brow furrow. “But the letter . . .”

“The missive was indeed from him.” He nodded jovially, his red hair bright even in the murky air. “He asked that I convey it to you and then fetch you for him.”

Grier frowned and angled her head, mulling.

If Sev longed to see her as his letter claimed, why would he have sent his cousin in his stead? It just didn't sound like Sev. In fact none of this felt quite like something Sev would do.

Malcolm stretched out a hand to her from inside the carriage. “Come. You don't want to keep Sev waiting.”

She shook her head slowly side to side and hedged back a step, now quite convinced something was amiss. The tiny hairs on her nape tingled in an alarming manner.

Malcolm sighed as if beleaguered and dropped down from the carriage. “Come, Miss Hadley.” His tone cut like the whip of a schoolmaster's rod and she blinked, her skin shivering with growing alarm. “I haven't all day to linger here.” He reached for her arm and she jerked it clear of his grasping hand.

“No, thank you,” she said sharply. “I just remembered I have several things to do today. I'll wait to see Sevastian at the theater tonight.” Reluctant to turn her back on him, she inched away again.

She didn't make it another step before Malcolm lunged for her and grabbed her arm.

She cried out and shoved at his chest with her free hand. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her and clamped down on her other arm, hauling her toward the open door of the carriage. She dragged her heels, but her soft-soled slippers slid like butter over the ground.

“Stop!” she cried, certain Sev was not behind any of this, but her mind didn't have time to process why any of this was happening . . . why Malcolm would treat her in this rough manner.

“Stop fighting me,” he panted, locking his arms around her and hauling her off her feet, squeezing her ribs to the point of agony.

And with those words, she knew she absolutely had to fight. He meant her harm. With her very last breath, she could not stop fighting him!

Spots danced before her eyes and the edges of her vision blurred. Realizing how close she inched toward swooning, she bucked against him in one fierce surge of strength.

He cursed. His arms loosened and she broke free for a fraction of a moment before he snatched her by the back of the head, digging his fingers deep into her hair. He spun her around and slapped her soundly in the face.

Her head snapped back. She bit the inside of her cheek, and the copper tang of blood filled her mouth, running over her teeth in a warm, metallic flood.

Stunned from the blow, Grier fell limp, the struggle temporarily gone from her.

Malcolm swung her up in his arms like a limp doll and secured her inside the carriage. She was dimly aware of the door closing and his weight dropping down beside her.

The carriage started to move, swaying her on the squabs, and she panicked, a fist wringing her heart. Seized with the need to act, she jumped upright, fighting the surge of dizziness.

She flung her body at the door, grappling for the latch, her hair a wild tangle around her.

“Oh no you don't!” Malcolm's hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her forward, crashing her head into the carriage door with crushing force.

Her body crumpled, pain vibrating in her skull.

She toppled back onto the carriage floor as though every bone in her body had suddenly dissolved, was nothing more than liquid.

Unable to move, helpless in her own skin, she gazed up at the carriage ceiling as darkness crept over her in a descending fog from which she could never escape.
Sev
. Her lips moved numbly around his name.

Malcolm's face filled her hazy vision.

She lifted a hand in a weak attempt to strike him, to claw at his shadowy face, but she never made contact. Her hand fell limply at her side, dead weight.

And then there was nothing.

E
vening light trickled through the damask drapes as Sev faced his future father-in-law in his well-appointed library.

“What do you mean you can't find her?” he demanded. “She's not a glove to be lost.”

“She's not here,” Jack repeated, waving his hands. “She took no carriage. All the mounts are accounted for in the stables. She's gone.”

Cleo cleared her throat from where she sat in shadow near the window. She was elegantly attired in a grand gown fringed with satiny pink rosettes, ostensibly ready for their evening at the theater. It only served to remind him of the evening he would not be sharing with Grier.

He stared pointedly at Cleo. “Did you want to say something? Do you know where Grier is?”

“I didn't want to say anything sooner, but as you're here now . . . clearly something has gone amiss.”

“You know something of Grier's whereabouts?” Jack snapped. “We've been looking for her for hours now and you haven't uttered a word,”

Cleo ignored Jack, training her gaze on Sev. “She received a letter this afternoon . . . from
you
. I assumed you were together all this time.”

His heart stuttered in his chest before it picked up speed and began racing. “I didn't send her any note.”

“She rushed from the room as soon as it was delivered. She didn't say, but I suspected that the two of you planned to rendezvous.”

“Who delivered it?” His gaze yanked to Jack. “Assemble all the servants at once.”

With a quick nod, Jack marched from the room, bellowing for his butler.

In moments, Sev stood on the bottom steps of the grand staircase, overlooking two dozen liveried servants. Their upturned faces watched him warily. A few whispered among themselves—until Cleo quickly pointed out the girl who had delivered the note to Grier that morning, and a hush fell as all eyes swung to her.

“There she is. Marie.” At Cleo's announcement, the whispering began anew.

Sev stepped down one more step and addressed her in an even voice, trying to hide his anxiousness lest she become even more agitated. “Marie, did you deliver a note today to Miss Grier?”

She muttered something softly beneath her breath, her wide eyes fearful. Sev cocked his head in an effort to better hear her and resisted the urge to storm across the foyer and grab her by the arms and give her the shake his tightly stretched nerves urged him to do. He'd have nothing out of her if she was too frightened to speak.

“Speak up, girl. Answer him!” Jack growled, making her jump.

Sev flicked him an annoyed look and moved into the mass of servants to stand before the cowering maid. Ducking his head, he connected with her fearful gaze. Using a gentle voice, he asked, “Who gave you the note to give to Miss Hadley?”

“He was out back. Just a driver. He asked me to deliver the letter for his master. I didn't see him though . . . the gentleman was waiting inside the carriage.”

Sev swept his gaze over everyone in the foyer. “Did no one see Miss Hadley outside?”

“I saw her through an upstairs window,” a maid volunteered. “She was behind the house, talking to a gentleman.”

“Who?” Sev demanded.

The servant shook her capped head. “I've never seen him before and I would have remembered for certain.”

“Why?” Sev pressed, desperate for some clue, something, anything that would lead him to Grier. “Why would you have remembered him?”

“Well, it was his hair. It was a really bright red—almost hurt my eyes to look upon it.”

Red hair. So bright it could hurt one's eyes. He knew one such man. Or rather, he didn't know him. Not in the least. Not if he would abduct Grier.

“Malcolm,” he breathed. A myriad of feelings flooded him.
Betrayal. Confusion
. Why would Malcolm steal Grier away? Simply because he didn't wish Sev to marry her? He couldn't wrap his head around it.

Even as he failed to understand why, the reality of the situation pressed down on him.

She was gone.

Malcolm took her . . . could harm her . . .

Impotent rage burned through him. His hands curled into fists at his sides until he wanted to break something. Namely his cousin.

“Your cousin?” Cleo angled her head “What would he want with Grier?”

“To keep us from marrying, I suspect. He wasn't keen on our match . . . unfortunately now I realize just how much.”

Jack blustered, various shades of red and purple churning over his face. “If he harms one hair on her head—”

“She will come to no harm,” Sev swiftly cut in, his voice an icy wind, even as he knew nothing anymore. Not the ground he stood upon, not the gnawing fear inside him.

He never suspected Malcolm would do such a thing. Why should he care so much whom Sev married? It didn't affect him.

“Where did he take her?” Cleo echoed his own thoughts, looking at him with expectation bright in her eyes. As though he should know.

Sev shook his head, despising that he didn't. That this terrible thing had somehow come to pass and he hadn't seen it coming.

“You don't know?” Jack bellowed.

“No. He didn't exactly inform me of his plan to abduct my fiancée.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Look,” he said in a calm voice that reflected none of his turmoil. “He doesn't know I know that he took her.”