A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin (19 page)

“Dec? Are you all right?”

He looked up and met his cousin's stare. “I have to get her back, Will.” He had to. Somehow, in only a short time, she had come to be everything to him and he couldn't imagine a life without her.

 

Chapter 24

S
top looking out the window. There's nowhere to go. Peter or the servants will overtake you if you try to run.”

Rosalie let the curtain fall back into place on the window. Horley had left them in the carriage and gone to speak to the innkeeper—­no doubt weaving some fanciful tale about her. How else would he explain when she opened her mouth to shout for help?

As though her mother could read her mind, Melisande said, “Now don't go doing anything foolish. Peter is letting them know that you're sick. Mad. And not to listen to a word you say.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“If you had just done as you were told none of this would be happening to you. You think I'm happy that you're marrying Peter?”

“Then let me go. I love Declan. And he wants to marry me. I have a chance for happiness. You're my mother. Can't you want that for me?”

A flicker of something crossed Melisande's face, and Rosalie thought she might be reaching her. But then the carriage door was suddenly yanked open.

“Come. They have a room for us.”

“Just one?” her mother asked as she offered him her hand and stepped down from the carriage.

“It's all he has, but it's for the best. We can better keep an eye on her.” He held out his hand for Rosalie, but she climbed down without his help, holding her hands close to her sides.

“Did you speak with the innkeeper?” Melisande asked.

“Yes. No worry. He accepted my story of your mad daughter. I could have fed him any story so long as I lined his palm with coin.”

Splendid
. If that was true, she wasn't going to find much help from him.

The inn was crowded and the innkeeper hardly paid them notice. Indeed no one did as Horley ushered them upstairs. Only one bed occupied the room, barely large enough to accommodate two bodies.

Melisande motioned to the chaise near the window. “Perhaps the innkeeper can spare an extra blanket.”

“Oh, I sleep there?” Horley queried.

Her mother looked back and forth between Horley and Rosalie, appearing uncertain and uncomfortable. A first since this whole nightmare began. “Where else . . .” Her voice faded. The arch of Horley's eyebrow suggested just where else he thought he could sleep. “You wish to begin your wedding night?” Melisande demanded in a tightly controlled voice. “With me in the room?”

“You're mother and daughter. Is it not right to share?”

Rosalie pressed a hand to her stomach, afraid she was going to be sick.

Her mother turned and started pulling the bedding back with angry, stiff motions. Only Rosalie saw that her hands shook, too. “I think you can wait until Scotland to do your ‘duty.' ”

Horley sighed. “I suppose.” He moved toward the door. “I'll go see to our dinners.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Rosalie whirled on her mother. “Mama, please. You cannot want this for me . . . or for you.”

Melisande faced her, eyes suspiciously bright with what looked like tears. “What do you know of what I want? I want to be rich again. I want to be young and beautiful. I want men to want me again with the same desperation that they did before. What I don't want is an upstart daughter making me look a fool.” She pointed at Rosalie. “Now you'll do as I say. You'll forget about Declan just as I'll forget that my own lover will share your bed.”

“You speak as though I want this!”

Her face scrunched up, making her look almost unattractive. “How did such a stupid creature ever come from me?” She tugged the pins free from her dark hair as she moved toward the mirror. “I keep hearing that word come out of your mouth. Want, want, want. I
want
more than a paltry widow's settlement. I want a rich lover . . . a man who won't tire of me in a fortnight.” She stopped in front of the mirror and speared her fingers in the dark mass of hair. “It's time you learned that you don't get the things you want in life. I don't.” Her gaze lifted and collided with Rosalie's in the mirror. “And you won't either.”

T
he dinner of roast hare was surprisingly good, but that didn't encourage Rosalie to eat. Her stomach was knotted and queasy. Horley ate with relish, gulping down multiple glasses of wine between mouthfuls of food. Her mother picked at her food, focusing mostly on the wine as she stared back and forth between Rosalie and Horley with ill-­disguised animosity. She said very little, offering up only monosyllable replies to anything Horley said. He, on the other hand, grinned lasciviously over his wine cup, looking from Melisande to Rosalie.

Forgetting her scarcely touched meal, Melisande rose and undressed herself, heedless that Horley and Rosalie watched her. Dressed in her nightgown, she slipped beneath the sheets of the bed.

Horley looked at Rosalie. “What of you? You should get your rest, too. We have a long journey tomorrow.”

Nodding, Rosalie moved to the empty side of the bed. Even with her mother in the room, she wasn't sure she could sleep in such close proximity to Horley. Sinking down on the mattress, she unlaced her boots and set them carefully on the floor beside the bed.

“You're not changing?”

She only had what her mother packed for the both of them, and although they were of like size, she did not relish rifling through her mother's things to find something to wear. If her mother really cared, she would have pulled something out for her. Instead, Melisande was already snoring on her side of the bed, deep asleep with no thought to her daughter.

“I am quite fine in this.” She settled down next to her mother without another glance at Horley.

With her hand tucked beneath her cheek, she listened to Horley's movements, his smacking lips and slurps. He made no move toward the bed, and gradually some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

She held herself still, waiting for him to douse the light, knowing full well that she would not sleep. Even if she did not intend to slip from the room and escape, she would not sleep with Horley so close. She wasn't that trusting.

The sound from the inn belowstairs had quieted by the time he finally put out the light. She listened as he settled himself on the chaise. His breathing steadied to a soft snore after several minutes, but still she waited. The night lengthened, but she held herself still. At one point, someone's tread thudded down the corridor, but silence soon reigned again.

Rosalie carefully pushed the counterpane off her and stealthily slid her legs over the side. Bending, she slipped her boots on.

Horley snorted and mumbled something. She froze, bent over in the dark, her hands on her laces. Satisfied he still slept, she finished tying off her boots and stood.

She worked her way around the room, moving slowly, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. Her palms were sweating by the time she reached the door. A thin line of light glowed beneath it, alerting her of where to go in the dark. She stretched out a hand and groped air until she felt the door latch.

The hinges let out a creak so loud as she opened the door, it sounded like thunder to her sensitive ears. Clenching her teeth, she shot a glance over her shoulder, her heart pounding so hard her chest ached. The flickering light from the sconces in the corridor sent a shaft of dim light into the room and she could see Horley sleeping on the chaise, snoring deeply, his features lax. Hopefully his wine consumption would keep him in a deep sleep for many hours to come.

Although the sight of him, even deep asleep, sent panic fluttering through her. In some ways, her stealthy escape had been easier to execute in the cover of darkness.

She dove out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her with shaking hands. The corridor stretched long and empty. She made it to the top of the stairs, half expecting to hear Horley crying out behind her.

But he wasn't there. There was no cry. No hard hand clamping down on her shoulder. She was free. She hastened down the steps and stepped out into the main room. There was no crowd as earlier. A ­couple of travel-­worn customers sat at one table, nursing tankards. They didn't spare her a glance.

A serving maid looked up. “Can I help you, miss?”

This was her chance. She opened her mouth. And that's when the portly innkeeper walked into the room. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “You!” He looked around as though he expected to see her mother or Horley near. Finding no sight of them, he tsked his tongue and wagged a finger at her. “Now you didn't sneak out, did you? You're going to worry your family. You need to go back to your room.”

He came at her and she backed up several steps.

She held up her hands in supplication. “Please. You don't understand. They've abducted me. My name is Rosalie Hughes and they're forcing me to Scotland with them.”

He blew out a heavy breath, cocking his head to the side. “Not going to be difficult, are you, daft girl?”

“Papa,” the maid, presumably his daughter, said. “What is amiss?”

“No worry, Frannie. Just not right in 'er head, this one.” He tapped the side of her head. “Her family is upstairs. We just need to get her to them.”

The words were all she needed to hear. They were enough. She bolted. They weren't even interested in hearing her out. As far as the innkeeper knew, she was some daft, out-­of-­her-­head girl.

She raced through the main room, past the startled-­looking men.

“Grab her, Frannie!”

Footsteps pounded across the floorboards. Adrenaline spiked through her veins, propelling her out the front door of the inn. The night air was chillier than when they had arrived, penetrating the sleeves of her gown and making her wish for a cloak.

She dove across the yard and into the trees, and instantly it was like plunging into a deep netherworld. The soft sounds of the woods were all around her. Whispering wind. Creaking branches and rustling leaves. An animal scampered nearby as she barreled into the brush.

She had no idea where she was going, only that she had to get away. Even if the girl, Frannie, couldn't catch her, she was certain the innkeeper was waking Horley even now. Horley, who was determined and persistent and maybe just a little bit mad. He'd come this far. He'd convinced her mother this insane scheme was a good idea. He wasn't going to simply give up. He was going to come after her.

With that burning thought, Rosalie pushed ahead into the murky woods surrounding the inn. She didn't even care that the trees seemed like ominous skeletons, dark and encroaching on every side. It was the stuff of nightmares, but being forced to marry Horley, facing life without Dec—­that was the real nightmare.

She slowed her pace, trying to get her bearings. Her instinct had been to run. To escape. But now she realized she should have been mindful of her location in relation to the road. She would have to surface eventually and find help. She had no idea how dense these woods were. She didn't want to become lost, her body discovered weeks from now by some hunter. She shivered at the notion.

“Rosalie!”

She jerked at the sound of her name, close. Too close. Her heart leapt to her throat.

“You're really vexing me, Rosie! It's late and cold . . . and a branch just tore my jacket—­my favorite jacket!”

With a gasp, she started running again. Unfortunately, leaves and twigs on the ground crunched as she ran. Stealth was impossible. She froze with a wince when a branch cracked beneath her foot and Horley shouted, “I can hear you! Stop this game. You've already worn my patience thin. Show yourself and I won't thrash you to an inch of your life.”

She wasn't entirely certain he exaggerated. The man had abducted her. Who knew his limits? She didn't want to put him to the test and find out.

She rotated in a small circle, her gaze scanning all around her, desperately seeking something,
anything
—­some way of escape to present itself.

There was nothing. Nothing but brush and trees and bramble.

And then that changed. She cocked her head, listening. She could hear him now. Not far, crashing through the woods.

“Have it your way, Rosie! When I find you, your pleas won't matter.”

She took two careful steps, bringing herself flush with a giant oak. Perhaps it would hide her. If he didn't pass along the side where she stood.

Her hands pressed against the scratchy bark, scraping the sensitive skin of her palms. The solid feel of it seemed almost to absorb her shivering—­or at least helped her feel more in control.

She dropped her head back and looked up at the canopy of branches. Turning, she practically embraced its width, seized with an idea. She had climbed plenty of trees as a child, much to the dismay of her nanny, but it couldn't be that much harder now. She was older, but not old. She could still manage. She had to.

Securing a foothold, she clawed a few feet up the trunk, her gaze fixed on a low branch. She lifted her arm and stretched for it. Curling her fingers around the solid width, she scrambled higher and hefted her body over it, belly down. From there she rose until she was standing, both hands gripping the tree to keep her balance, and stared down, relieved to see she wasn't that high up yet. She had a good view of the area below. Which also meant she was visible, too. At least for anyone at a distance. She frowned. Too visible.

Gritting her teeth, she reached for a branch to start working her way higher and it snapped in her hand, shattering into twigs and fluttering down to the ground.

“Ah. Rosie. There you are. Come down, love, and take your punishment like a good girl.”

She gasped and peered through the latticework of branches at Horley. His face was cast in shadows, but his eyes glittered brightly, like a predator looking out from the dark.

“Not coming down? You don't want me to come up after you, believe me.”

She flexed her grip around another branch, clinging to it and holding herself utterly still. She couldn't speak, much less move. She definitely wasn't going to climb down and deliver herself into his hands.