Page 16 of Falling for the Earl (Improper Ladies #2)

L ucy gently investigated her aching chin. Her head ached as well. Aware of a rocking sensation, she opened her eyes. She was back in the smelly carriage again. The sky beyond the window was gray and tinged with gold and pink as the sun rose. Mr. Rattray sat opposite, watching her. Her stomach lurched, and she feared she might be sick. She lifted the rug over her lap and saw she was wrapped in her dressing gown.

“I haven’t touched you, Miss Kershaw,” he said, as if he should be applauded. “I won’t until we are married. If you mind your manners.”

She stared at him. “You think I’ll marry you? Are you mad?”

“Not at all. I have planned this to perfection.”

“Where is my aunt? Have you hurt her?”

“Merely a little laudanum. It would have given her a good sleep.”

She clenched her jaw in anger and then winced. He’d bruised her when he’d hit her. “You are a scoundrel. I always knew it.” Lucy looked around for something to hit him with. Her feet were bare. Where were her shoes? She must get away somehow. But there was nothing within reach, not even her luggage. She would have to bide her time.

“We will arrive within an hour or two,” he said. “You’d best rest until then.”

“Cambridge? So soon?”

He shook his head with a sly smile. “Epping Forest, my dear. I have rented a cottage near there.”

“You are a fraud,” she said. “You’re not wealthy at all. This carriage is the best you can afford. And I’m sure you have no country estate.” She sagged back against the squab. This was all her fault. He believed her lie and thought her wealthy. If she insisted she wasn’t, would he believe her? Or might he kill her? Chilled to the bone, she tightened her lips, lest she say something wrong. If only she could think, and plan, but she was still woozy.

He leaned forward, with a menacing expression. “You’d best watch yourself. It’s not wise to anger me.”

Lucy glared at him but fell silent. Best not to fight with him now. She would wait until they arrived. But her hopes faded at the thought of escaping through the forest with no one to turn to for help.

Another hour passed in silence. Finally, the carriage slowed, then turned onto a rutted drive deep within trees and dense shrubbery. They rocked along from pothole to pothole until Lucy became queasy. Then the carriage emerged into a clearing and stopped before a wooden cabin. It looked like a rudimentary hunting hut with shutters over the windows. No smoke came from the one chimney on the moss-covered roof.

Lucy gasped. It was even worse than she’d expected. Who would ever find her here? And who was searching for her? She feared no one. Had her aunt returned to London and gone for help? She wished she was confident of that. But even if they came after Rattray, how would they find them?

The groom opened the door and put down the step. “Out you go,” Rattray said, giving her a push.

Lucy glared at the groom, who merely shrugged. The muddy ground had no discernable path to the front door. Lucy’s toes squished in the icy puddles, her feet freezing. She shivered as her kidnapper followed her out of the carriage and took her by the elbow, urging her along toward the cabin.

She pulled away from him and turned to speak to the coachman, who had remained on the box. “This man is abducting me against my will!” she yelled at him. The groom sniggered while the coachman shrugged.

“We want our twenty pounds, Rattray,” he snarled. “We got you here by dawn, as promised. Pay up if you want us to take you the rest of the way.”

Rattray cursed and pulled bills from his pocket. “Here’s half. That’s enough for lodgings for the night. You’ll get the rest at the end of the journey,” he said as the groom came to snatch them up. “Change the horses and don’t get drunk at the tavern. We leave tomorrow at first light,” he warned. “And we have a good deal farther to go.” His hand tightened painfully on Lucy’s arm as he dragged her toward the door. She blinked tears away as she stumbled along.

The groom dumped Lucy’s belongings inside the door.

The cabin was every bit as bad as she’d feared. Thick dust covered everything, even the wooden walls. The soot-laden air smelled of damp. Shivering, Lucy looked longingly toward the fireplace. A pile of ashes filled the grate, an iron cooking pot hanging above it. She’d tracked mud over the bare boards, which hadn’t been swept or washed in years, with her cold, bare feet. There was only a soiled sofa, two threadbare chairs, and a table with a pair of candlesticks and a tinder box. The one other door must lead to the sleeping quarters , she thought as a shudder passed down her spine. No light entered through the shuttered windows. Perhaps the other room had a window without shutters. She could climb out during the night.

“The shutter is bolted shut in there too,” Rattray said, as if guessing her thoughts. He locked the door and tucked the key in his waistcoat pocket. He gestured to the sofa. “Sit down, and if you give me no trouble, I’ll let you dress, and we’ll keep the peace until tomorrow.”

“You can’t marry me. I won’t agree to it,” Lucy said, sitting gingerly on the sofa. It sagged beneath her.

“Leave that to me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Carlisle, then Scotland.”

She gaped at him. “Scotland? You are mad.”

His face went an ugly red, and Lucy shivered. He frightened her. He always had, she realized. If only Aunt Mary had seen that in him, too. Aunt Mary? Had he hurt her? “Where is my aunt?” she demanded.

“On her way back to London, I should think,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

“Aunt Mary will contact Bow Street,” she warned him. “They will come after you.”

“Perhaps, but that will take days. She would have to engage a Bow Street Runner, and just supposing he discovered our trail, which is unlikely, for no one has set eyes on you since we left London except the innkeeper and his servant, we shall be over the border by then.”

“Why do you want to marry me?” Lucy asked in desperation. “As you’ve planned this, you must have looked into the rumor and know I am not an heiress.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” he said over his shoulder while he inspected the wood box.

“What do you mean?”

He removed the two remaining logs and put them in the grate. Then lit the fire. “Your father will be the Marquess of Berwick before the year is out. And I’m a patient fellow.”

He straightened and looked at her, that gleam back in his eyes, which she’d come to dread. “That’s nonsense. The Marquess of Berwick is a widower,” she said. “He has two young sons.”

He shook his head. “One son now, for Giles just died. Unfortunately, Berwick and his other son, Sebastian, won’t last long. They are gravely ill.”

She stared at him, shocked. “I don’t believe you!”

“You will, when we get to Carlisle.”

“What could have happened to them?”

“I heard it’s poisoned water. Killed one of the staff, too. Very sad.”

“Poisoned water?” Her stomach roiled. Had he killed a child? “How do you know this? There’s been no mention of it in London.”

“I have connections in Carlisle.”

She put a hand to her stomach, fearing she’d gag, filled with utter terror unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. “Connections? A murderous servant in your pay? You are wicked!”

“I cannot take credit for it,” he said, unaffected by her accusation. “I’ve been in London for months. Any number of people would attest to it. And who would be interested in me? They might focus on your father, however. After all, he will inherit the estate.”

Lucy’s blood ran cold. “That’s absurd,” she gasped out, her fingers digging into her palms, wanting to hit him, to wipe the smug look off his face. “My father would never do such a thing, and he couldn’t. He lives in Bath.”

“But if proof is presented to the magistrate that he hired someone…in the form of a letter, perhaps…” He left the sentence hanging, a sneer curling his lips. “If he agrees to my terms and keeps his word, I shan’t send it, of course.”

“Forged letters? No one would believe it. Your plan will fail, and you’ll end up in Newgate.”

He raised his eyebrows, but his eyes had grown dark and angry. “Wait and see,” he spat out. “It will all become clear to you.”

Lucy, speechless, realized she beheld the devil. But he would not win. He mustn’t. Absolute terror racketed through her. She put a hand to her nape and found it wet with sweat. “I want to wash and dress. My feet are muddy, and I’m cold.” Her voice faltered, and she feared she would faint, but she gripped the sofa and glared at him. “I presume you have brought my luggage? I want to dress.”

Rattray chuckled. “Yes, milady .” He nodded toward the door. “You can change in there. I’ll bring you your luggage and a bowl of water.”

“No. First, put the water and my luggage in the room,” she said, folding her arms.

Rattray frowned but went outside to the pump. Lucy opened the other door and darted inside, hoping to find a window, but it was as Rattray had said, bolted shut. The shadowy room smelled just as bad as the other, perhaps worse. It didn’t bear thinking about as she stared at the narrow cot and its frayed coverlet. A table sat beside it with a stub of candle in a candlestick. Could she get hold of the tinderbox? Would he light it for her? If she could set the cabin on fire, she could escape into the forest. Rattray might be cruel and a ruthless murderer of children, but he wasn’t stupid. He had the cunning of a fox. How could she outwit him? She stepped back through the door as he came inside the hut carrying the bowl.

“My luggage,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Anything my betrothed wishes,” he said with a chuckle, holding out the bowl to her. When she took it, he dragged her bags inside the room but was out again as she moved toward the front door, planning to ditch the water and run.

“I wouldn’t do that.” He growled. “Don’t make me angry.”

Lucy silently went into the room and shut the door.

*

Without wasting time, Hugh left London within the hour and took the road to Chigwell with Luke beside him. He refused to think of it as a wild goose chase. He wasn’t about to give up until he found Lucy but admitted they had very little to go on. He didn’t want to waste time putting up somewhere for the night, but the night was cloudy, and he had to consider the safety of his passenger and his horses.

“The clouds are blowing away,” Luke said when Hugh had asked him what he thought. “I say we stop for dinner, water the horses, then go on.”

Hugh nodded gratefully. “An excellent suggestion. Mrs. Grayswood’s directions to the inn where she and Lucy spent the night will be helpful. Too much to expect the innkeeper to know of Rattray’s direction, I suppose, but we’ll stop there to dine and ask him a few questions.”

Darkness fell as they reached the inn. It was a shabby establishment, and if they’d toyed with the idea of a meal, they quickly discounted it. Even the aromas from the kitchen didn’t invite investigation. But the innkeeper was happy to talk about his recent guests and show them the bedchamber Mrs. Grayswood and Lucy had shared. It kept its secrets close, with no more than a delicate perfume lingering in the air. With a pang, Hugh recognized it as lily of the valley, Lucy’s scent, which he’d found so appealing. Breathing it now sent a rush of anxiety flooding through him, along with the fierce urge to get back on the road in search of her. An inquiry of the stable staff was more enlightening. The groom had heard Rattray say to his coachman that he expected them to arrive at daybreak, or they wouldn’t be paid. “They carried the girl into the coach, milord,” the groom said with a sad shake of his head. “She seemed deeply asleep. I realized when morning came and the girl’s aunt was so distraught that I should have done something to stop them, although they were armed. I did help the poor lady find a carriage to take her back to London.”

Hugh wrestled down another bout of fear. He had to keep a clear mind. It wasn’t time for speculation.

They were soon on the road again, the cool night wrapping around them. Would they be able to find Lucy in time?

“We’d best discuss how we’ll go about this rescue,” Luke said, showing remarkable confidence in their success. “It might be better if I handle Rattray, and you see to his servants, only two, according to the groom. By your expression, I fear you’ll kill the fellow.”

“Very likely,” Hugh said through gritted teeth. “But allow me the pleasure of dealing with him.”