Wonderful (30 page)

“You’re mad if you think so.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Why must you always be so horrid? Why must you always chastise and belittle me?”

But he was already ignoring her to read what Miss Bernard had written.

“Dammit,” he cursed. “How did you get your filthy paws on this?”

Her first impulse was to deny and deny and deny, but saner instincts prevailed. “It was on the table in the foyer.”

“So you assumed you could open it and read it?”

“I’m about to be your wife. You shouldn’t have any secrets from me.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze growing angry. “And after perusing it, you felt I shouldn’t be allowed to see it?”

“Why should I have to sit idly by while an actress visits you? When Miss Bernard arrived, I nearly fainted. She blustered in as if it was perfectly acceptable.”

“As she’s a friend of mine, yes, it’s perfectly acceptable.”

“Well, it’s not acceptable to me! I had to endure her company for several minutes. If Mother knew, she’d just die!”

She paused, expecting an apology or empathy as to her plight, but her dramatic announcement had no effect whatsoever.

“Go home, Priscilla.”

“What? No. It’s raining, and we haven’t talked.”

“Trust me, we’ve talked plenty. Now go!”

“I won’t.”

He stormed over and clasped her arm, and he was pulling her down the hall as she dragged her feet and tried to refuse to depart. All the while, he was calling for the butler, for the servants, to fetch her cloak and bonnet, for her carriage to be brought to the door.

To her disgust, Bryce Blair was in the foyer, and when he saw her, he smirked and chided, “Look who’s back—like a bad penny.”

“I won’t be insulted by the likes of you,” she huffed.

“Too late,” he blithely replied. “You already have been.”

Mr. Blair said to Aaron, “Who let her in?”

“Believe me, she wasn’t invited.”

“I insisted we shouldn’t have stopped by,” Mr. Blair said. “May I please say,
I told you so?
Just once, can I say it?”

“Be silent, Bryce,” Aaron snapped.

The butler rushed up, several servants dashing behind him, everyone in a dither over Aaron’s irate shouting.

“Is there a problem, Lord Run?” the butler inquired.

“Miss Cummings is leaving,” Aaron advised him, “and she is not to be permitted inside again.”

There was a gasp of surprise, and the butler stammered, “I…understand, Lord Run. I didn’t realize she was…ah…”

“It’s all right.” Aaron’s gaze drifted over the assembled group. “You didn’t know before, but you know now. If she ever manages to slither in again, I’ll have your hides. Am I making myself clear?”

There was frantic nodding all around.

She leaned in and whispered, “Aaron, you’re embarrassing me in front of the servants. If they watch you berating me, how will I ever earn their respect?”

“You don’t need to earn their respect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell your mother I’ll be by tomorrow at noon to speak with her.”

“About what?”

“I’ll tell both of you then.” He glared at the butler. “I want her out of here in the next thirty seconds. If her carriage isn’t ready, she can wait out in the rain.”

This elicited more gasps from the staff and had the butler stammering again.

“Yes, Lord Run…ah…yes, I’ll see to it.”

Aaron turned to Mr. Blair. “Evangeline is in trouble. Let’s go.”

He and Mr. Blair raced out.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I have great plans for you, Evangeline.”

“Would you call me Miss Etherton?”

“There’s no need to be so formal, is there?”

Evangeline glared at Mr. Rafferty, wondering if he wasn’t mad.

She’d been locked in the small parlor for hours. She’d paced and knocked and begged for help, but no one had passed by.

Rafferty had finally arrived, but a servant had swiftly barred the door behind him. He was grinning, trying to appear charming and unthreatening, which was impossible.

He was built like a pugilist, with broad shoulders and big hands, and his nose was crooked—as if it had been broken in a fight. He had a scar too, a dangerous looking one over his eye.

She was thirsty and starving, and the tray of wine and cheese was still on the table—mostly untouched. In the beginning, she’d poured herself a glass of wine, but after taking a few sips, she’d grown very dizzy, gradually becoming so disoriented that she suspected he’d drugged it.

She’d increased her pacing, had let her temper flare, had pinched and slapped and talked to herself, all in an effort to keep herself focused, to ward off any narcotic effect.

Had he hoped to render her unconscious? And then what? What was his scheme? Would he use her for illicit purposes? Sell her into slavery? In the desperate period she’d been secreted away, a thousand anxious scenarios had arisen. He had to be disappointed to find her hale and alert. What would he try next?

“I want to explain our procedures,” he said.

“You don’t have to explain. I’m grateful that you offered me a position, but I can’t accept it.”

He chuckled. “You’re sassy, aren’t you?”

She continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure Florella is looking for me.” Evangeline stepped to the door, acting as if she could simply stroll out. “She’s probably frantic.”

“Don’t worry about Florella. I sent her packing, and she won’t be back.”

“Why would you do that?” Evangeline employed her most stern, schoolteacher’s tone. “How am I to get home?”

“You
are
home.”

“No. I’m not staying, Mr. Rafferty. I’ve been very clear.”

“I’ve been very clear too. So…this is how it works.”

“Mr. Rafferty! You’re not listening to me.”

“And you’re not listening to me. We’ll have a contract for five years.”

“Five years!”

“Yes, and at the end of it, we’ll review your status and earnings. I’ll decide if I should renew.”

“I don’t mean to insult you, sir, but I truly believe you may be insane.”

“Not insane. Not about you. You’ll make me a fortune. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I won’t make you a bent penny. Now I must be going. I have to locate Florella.”

“She thinks you walked out of here and suffered a mishap.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because I told her you left, and we hadn’t seen you again. If she’s searching at all—and I hate to tell you this, but she has a very short attention span—she’s searching out on the street.”

Evangeline pounded on the door. Quick as a flash, he yanked her away. His expression turned stony, any pretense of courtesy abandoned.

“You can’t leave, Evangeline. Not until I’m through with you.”

“And you can’t keep me here. I’m engaged to be married. People will be alarmed over my disappearance.”

He pointed to her hand—that had no ring on it. “You’re engaged? Who is the lucky fellow?”

“Aaron Drake, Lord Run,” she lied, figuring mention of an illustrious person would frighten him. “His father is Earl of Sidwell.”

“I know George Drake. He owes me a fortune, and as to Lord Run, I could have sworn he was betrothed to Priscilla Cummings.”

“He was,” she blustered, “but he changed his mind and asked me instead.”

“Really? I would guess you haven’t a farthing to your name, while Miss Cummings is rich as Croesus, and Lord Sidwell is in debt up to his eyeballs. Why would Lord Run toss her over for the likes of you?”

Why indeed?

She’d never been a good liar, and her cheeks heated, a red flush coloring them. Still, she persisted. “He’ll be very angry if I’m harmed.
Very
angry.”

Rafferty’s lewd gaze swept over her. “If you were anything to him at all, he lifted your skirt a few times, which means you were naught but a bit of fluff, and his kind is all the same. He’ll move on to his next doxy without a second thought.”

She was quite sure his description was accurate. In fact, Lord Run was probably glad she’d fled. She’d brought trouble and drama into his life, when he detested both. He was probably celebrating, toasting himself for being shed of her so easily.

Who would miss her? Who would realize she’d vanished? No one knew when or how she’d left Fox Run. No one but Florella knew she was in London, and she was barely acquainted with Florella. Florella had no duty to search or worry.

If Evangeline met with a bad end, who would ever be apprised?

It was such a sad, sobering prospect. She’d always been alone, with Miss Peabody the closest thing she’d had to a mother, and Rose and Amelia her only friends. They’d never learn what had happened, and London would be the last place they would assume her to be.

Mr. Rafferty could perpetrate any foul conclusion, so she had to muster her wits and prepare to escape. He couldn’t watch her every minute. He couldn’t remember to lock every door and every window. The instant she had the chance, she would run away.

“I should like to write to Lord Run,” she pompously announced—as if she had his London address and could contact him there.

“No, and let’s get back to our arrangement.”

“We shall never have an arrangement, Mr. Rafferty.”

He ignored her and continued. “Have you done any acting?”

She’d performed in theatricals at school, but she’d never admit it.

“Acting? No. I’m a schoolteacher.”

“I presume you’re a virgin, or has Lord Run relieved you of your only valuable asset?”

It was such a rude remark that she actually tried to slap him. But he grabbed her wrist, stopping any blow.

“You’re feisty.” He seemed tantalized by the notion. “I like that. My customers will too.”

“Let go of me.”

She fought to jerk away, but he tightened his grip and drew her to him so their bodies were pressed together. She struggled to put space between them, but he was wiry and tough, humored by her paltry attempts.

“I’m eager to determine”—he was leering, smirking—“if I should have you first, or if I should keep you chaste and drive up the price.”

“The price of what?”

“We’ll sell your virginity to the highest bidder, Evangeline. Then, depending on your acting skills, we’ll sell it over and over.”

She wanted to laugh. Any innocence she’d ever possessed had been destroyed by Lord Run. There was no virginity to sell, but she didn’t suppose she should mention it.

“I don’t care what schemes you concoct for me,” she seethed. “I will never willingly participate in any of them.”

“You won’t? Not even when you realize that—in five short years—you can walk away rich beyond your imagination. You can take your earnings and move to Paris or Rome. You can live like a prosperous, sophisticated lady.”

“Because you speak of such a future so confidently, I assume you often cross paths with women who would salivate over such a fate. Unfortunately for you,
I
am not one of them.”

She managed to free her wrist, and she pounded on the door again, calling for help.

He clamped a palm over her mouth and pulled her away. She wrestled and scratched as he dragged her toward the sofa, but she refused to end up there. She understood what would happen if she did.

She’d surrendered her virtue to Lord Run, and he was the only man who would ever enjoy the privilege. She certainly wouldn’t offer similar license to a rapacious brigand like Rafferty.

They were at the sofa’s edge, and he was trying to force her down. She clawed her fingernails down his cheek, and he roared with outrage, the injury imbuing him with extra strength. He picked her up and tossed her onto the sofa, and he fell on her as she wailed and bit at him—but to no avail.

She was crying, begging for assistance, her pulse booming in her ears. There was banging and shouting too, that seemed to emanate from out in the hall, and the noises matched the rhythm of her thundering heart.

Suddenly, there was a loud hammering and a crash and…

Mr. Rafferty was yanked away so swiftly and so violently he might never have been there. Evangeline was dazed, and she slid to the floor. She wanted to stand, but couldn’t find her balance.

The melee was so confusing and occurring so fast. She couldn’t figure out what had transpired or who had arrived. Eventually, she was raised to her feet, and as she pushed her hair out of her eyes, she was staring up at Lord Run.

You came for me! You came for me!

The joyful sentence rang through her mind, and she yearned to hurl herself into his arms, to gush over how glad she was to see him, to ask how he’d discovered where she was, but she was too stunned.

“Evangeline, are you all right? Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

Before she could utter a word, Bryce Blair was there, and he shoved Lord Run aside.

“Evangeline?” he said more gently, and he retrieved her goddess statue from his pocket.

She frowned, not understanding why he had it, how he’d gotten it. Then…he said the strangest thing.

“Anne—you kept it all these years.”

“What?” she forced out.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Anne, and I finally found you. You’re home now. You’re safe.”

“Anne…?” she murmured.

She peered up at him, and a wave of anguished memories flooded in. It had been such a frightening day, and she’d been so tiny she could barely walk. She’d gazed up into one face. She remembered one face.

Her older brother—had Bryce been his name?—telling her to never lose the statue, telling her he’d find her someday and know who she was because she had it.

“Bryce?” she tentatively asked, sounding very young and not like herself at all.

“Yes, Anne. It’s me. Bryce.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted dead away.

*    *    *    *

“Hello, Aaron. Thank you for being prompt.”

Aaron nodded at Claudia, the woman who might have been his mother-in-law. He supposed he should have been suffering a flicker of emotion—regret, remorse—but all he could think was that he’d dodged a bullet.

Priscilla was seated in a chair in the corner, but she didn’t greet him or display any sign that she’d seen him.

“Have you talked to Priscilla?” he inquired.

“Briefly,” Claudia replied. “She mentioned you had another quarrel.”