Emily Baker (20 page)

He favored her with such a look of approval she could have gagged.

“I actually had good plans for our little Jane’s future.” He cast a quick glance at Jane before returning his attention to Maura. “Once initiated into the full pleasures of serving as a sexual vessel, in a most public, humiliating, and scandalous manner—guaranteed to force all involved to silence—I intended to wed her to your former benefactor.”

Maura had stretched her foot out to see if she could catch the pistol with the toe of her boot. But the end of the sentence caught her attention, freezing her.

“My benefacter?” she inquired carefully as she turned her gaze to his.

“Why, yes. Did I not say former friend now that you so conveniently cuckolded him?” He smiled wickedly at her. “Dear Freddie Vaughn, our new Baron Stanhope, is the broken-hearted groom-to-be.”

Freddie?
A chill passed over her. What on earth did Freddie have to do with any of this? How could he have even considered such a vile plan, let alone fallen in with it.

“I thought you’d appreciate the irony.” Jameson’s light and dark gaze roamed her face. “Your dear Freddie was part of our little group tonight. In fact he was the guest of honor, so to speak.”

He laughed then. It was a chilling sound. “Not that he was ensnared easily, I can assure you. Your hold over him was stronger than I originally gave you credit for. Brava, my dear. But with work, and your misalliance with that wastrel Lynch, I was able to tempt Stanhope into joining my country extravaganza.”

Guilt swamped her at this news. Freddie was at the lodge and no doubt Percy was a part of the group as well. She couldn’t bring herself to ask. The betrayal Freddie had feared had allowed him to be drawn into the circles she’d worked so hard to keep him from.

“When . . . when . . .” The question wouldn’t form.

“When did he agree?” Jameson tapped his chin as though her question deserved serious consideration. “Thursday last, I believe. Although it could have been a bit before that. Or after. The timing does not especially interest me. The important thing was that he agreed so this particular plan could come to fruition.”

“Fruition?” Maura’s thoughts were spinning. If she hadn’t broken off with Freddie just when she did. If he hadn’t suspected what she had almost shared with that first passionate kiss with Garrett.

“Of course. I told you he was going to be the guest of honor. He and Jane. He was chosen to be the one to deflower, what he had been told was a willing participant, surrounded by the randy urgings of his peers, all of whom would then enjoy her charms for themselves. In return he would have gained her as a marriage prize.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “I realize you had hopes in that direction yourself, my dear. But truly Jane will make him a much more acceptable alliance.”

“So your goal in all of this is to matchmake for Freddie?”

“Oh, dear heavens, no. You misunderstand me. He is merely another pawn in a much larger game.”

“It doesn’t matter what you would have done to me at your little party.” Jane found her voice again. “I will never agree to marry any man who would take part in such horrendous acts.”

“Tut, tut, Jane. You betray your ignorance again.” He shook his finger at her like an indulgent father scolding a child. “And you interrupted. I will forgive you, later. Suffice to say you would have no choice, and you really should not blame the man. A little too much to drink. A pinch of some special encouragement I placed in his cup. The urgings of his friends, similarly fired up with my special mixture of spiced brandy, and he could hardly have resisted. Lust and mobs are very potent.”

“How . . . how did you intend to get Freddie to marry Jane, after . . . after . . .”

“Ah Maura. Can you not even bring yourself to say the words? After he violated her? After he’d taught her the very essence of what it is all men require from women? After she’d been broken and tasted and ridden to ecstasy by every man present?”

His gaze narrowed on Jane’s pale face. She lifted her chin and didn’t answer his taunts. “That is the easy part. Stanhope, aside from this one wayward slip, has been the soul of honor. Why, he even treats his mistress with excessive respect as you can well attest.”

Jane’s gaze slid to hers. Sympathy, understanding, and a quick questioning flash cycled through her wide blue gaze in an instant.

“You would have found out eventually, my dear.” Jameson’s voice held that note of thick amusement once more. “This is your rival for your intended’s affections, the woman he will always regret losing. God knows he blubbered as much to me often enough this past week or more.”

Jane’s glance wavered from hers, and Maura felt the hard sting of Jameson’s words. So easily he would place a wedge between them to spite their mutual goal of freedom from him. He was a master manipulator. She maneuvered her foot toward the base of the pistol and waited.

“But I digress. After each of his friends had enjoyed your services in such a public forum, when you were slack and totally pliant from their lustful attentions, your mask would have slipped, revealing your identity to all. As your first, Stanhope would have been honor-bound to wed you. The circumstances would ensure silence from all concerned and a little fillip of power for the one who held the secret. Even the earl and your revered father would have complied with my requests.”

Maura shivered. She had misjudged him. Jameson was evil incarnate.

 

 

“Hold.” Garrett called out the command as a flash of something metal caught his eye. He swung down out of the saddle and picked up Maura’s jacket. Fear for her twisted anew in his gut. Her soft rose scent clung to the fabric he clutched.

Sean and Stanhope reached his side.

“What is it?” Sean was barely keeping hold of his own tension.

“This garment is Maura’s.” He and Stanhope answered in the same breath.

Sean’s gaze went back and forth between the two of them. “Right. Then we are on the right trail. They cannot be too far ahead of us.”

“Aye. Let us finish hunting the bastard down.”

The three of them remounted without further word and urged the horses to a still faster pace. There was a rise about a mile down the road. Anticipation tightened across Garrett’s shoulders.

 

 

“Do not look away, Jane. Look at her. This woman will be part of your life for some time to come. You should fully acquaint yourself with the face that would have come between you and your husband in your marital bed.”

Jane turned her face toward the window, ignoring his jibes.

He leaned toward her, intent on enjoying every bit of the verbal torture he spit at them and in tormenting them in other ways as well. One hand fell intimately against Jane’s knee, the other gripped her chin and forced her gaze back to his.

“You must face your fears, Jane. Look at them directly and know them for who they are. For what they are.”

He managed to sound sickeningly fatherly and lecherous at one and the same time. Maura’s stomach lurched. Then she realized that, however unwittingly, Jane had managed to get him to turn his back to her. She would not get a better chance to retrieve Sean’s pistol. She prayed she would be able to handle it properly once it was in her hands.

She levered her foot against the pistol and felt it move across the floor until it was directly between her feet. Then she dipped forward, and the cold metal filled her palm.

Was it heavy and solid enough for her to just thwap it against the back of Jameson’s head? Could she hit him hard enough, or was shooting him the better course? There was no time to debate. She scooped it up and straightened to face him.

“Stop this coach, now.” Her voice held firm resolve despite the quavering inside her.

He turned to face her, relinquishing his hold of Jane.

A frown flitted across his brows. His shoulders tensed as anger flashed in those strange eyes of his. Then he relaxed visibly and settled back against the cushions as though the loaded pistol pointed in his direction was of no concern.

“Now, Jameson.” Maura repeated her order.

“Stop the coach?” He chuckled. “Now, here? In the middle of nowhere? With no one to help you? I think not, my dear, dear, Maura. I shall, however, remember this for later. There are consequences to every action, my sweet.”

“And yours have just come,” she answered. “Stop the coach, now or I will shoot you dead where you sit.”

She prayed she would truly be able to carry out the threat.

His brows rose. “With that little thing? You might wound me, I’ll grant you, which will make me . . . less amenable . . . than normal, but kill me?” He shook his head, managing to look disappointed with her lack of understanding. “You would do better to hand me the pistol and begin your apologies.”

“Begin your own apologies.” Anger tightened her tone. “I will tell you one last time. Stop this coach or I
will
shoot.”

Silence held in the interior of the coach with naught but the rumbling of the wheels over the rutted ground. She could feel his gaze weighing her resolve. She meant every word.

“Very well, my dear. If you are so determined to play this farce out, I will stop the coach as you requested.” He eyed her again. “I will need to signal my man in order to give the command to halt.”

“Then do so.”

“As you wish.” He half-turned on the bench seat and raised his hand as though to open the small hatchway that would allow him to communicate more easily with the coachman.

She realized her mistake as he leaned forward.

“Maura!”

Jane’s shout jolted her just as Jameson’s hand came down without ever reaching the hatchway in the roof. His fist closed around her wrist with lightning speed and twisted cruelly. Pain arced up her arm. She maintained her hold of the pistol with an effort.

“Release the pistol or I’ll break that traitorous little wrist.” He hissed the words between his teeth, his face all too close to hers. The stench of stale whiskey and tobacco from his breath sickened her again, intensified by the urgency of their struggle and the pain he was inflicting on her.

“No!” Jane launched herself at Jameson’s back. “Release her, you fiend!”

He swung his elbow back, catching Jane full in the stomach and launching her backward into the bench seat she’d just left. Her head banged against the side of the coach and she lay there limp once more as the pistol went off in Maura’s hand, firing her one shot harmlessly through the side of the coach.

Jameson leaned atop her, anger evident in the hot gaze boring into hers.

“You wasted your shot, my dear.” He snarled the words at her. “And caused me considerable concern.”

He twisted her wrist again, his gaze narrowing as he watched her.

Pain raced through her in a white hot spear that launched up her arm and ripped a cry from her. She dropped the empty pistol to the floor.

He slid his other arm between them and grasped her free wrist before wrenching both her arms up over her head. She gulped air in hot gasps as fear ratcheted higher within her. He gripped her hands together in one fist, freeing his other hand.

Satisfaction leered out of his gaze and curled his lip.

“I think you will begin your apologies for this misadventure right now.”

“No.” The plea whispered out of her, despite the anger and loathing warring inside her.

“Oh yes.” He trailed his hand down her arm with deliberate slowness. She struggled trying to free her hands, longing to claw at his face. He held them tight. His face was only inches away, enjoying her panic.

The coach continued to slow, and he didn’t seem to care. Lower and lower his hand moved, light and caressing, over her upper arm and then lower still. He stopped just above her breasts. A low satisfied chuckle burst from him.

“Anticipation.” He enunciated the syllables carefully.

He undid the buttons of her blouse. As she tried to wriggle free, his weight and strength, the confines of the coach, made her efforts ineffectual. His fingers barely brushed her. In too short a time, cool air touched her skin, nearly paralyzing her with dread. Naught but her chemise covered her now.

“So vulnerable.” Jameson’s appreciative tone rasped her fears. “Quite wasted on fools like Stanhope and Lynch.”

“They are both more men than you.” She managed the taunt despite a shaky voice.

“How will you know until you have a true comparison? Shall we begin?”

His fingers caressed her once more, slow and deliberate, as if he had nothing but time on his hands. He stroked her underarm, her shoulder, and then circled lower. She sucked in a breath as his hand claimed her breast through the thin silk of her chemise, kneading and pinching her but with the gentlest of pressures.

“Mmmm. Very nice.” He dipped his head, plumping her breast so that her nipple crested higher, as if offering itself to him. His mouth closed over her through the silky fabric, hot and wet. She could feel his tongue moving against her as he suckled more of her into his mouth.

“No.” She struggled against him. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, nipping hard and making her writhe against the seat. The foreign feel of wet silk separating them made his attentions seem all the more disgusting. She tried to twist away.

“That’s it. Give me that fire that glows within you. Fight me—it makes the pleasure of this conquest all the sweeter, for both of us.”

Her stomach churned from his threat as his fingers dragged her chemise aside, baring her breasts.

His mouth covered her nipple once more, with nothing to protect her from his slick, wet heat. He suckled her hungrily, making obscene noises of pleasure as he did so, nipping and bruising her tender flesh deliberately. He pulled her arms higher over her head to keep her taut against him as he transferred his sordid attentions from one breast to the other and back again. She fought to keep silent, to stay still and not fuel his lust for power, to stop herself from pleading with him. She’d never felt so panicked, so helpless.

He moved his hand between their bodies, and began to hike up her skirts. She could feel the weight of his desire despite the layers of trouser and skirts still between them.

Higher and higher, cool air touched her calves, her thighs.
No, no.
The denial seared her brain but would not come out of her mouth.

She struggled again, and he bit her nipple hard enough to make her cry out.

The coach door opened behind him. He turned his head away from her for a moment but kept her held fast and helpless. She fought tears of frustration and fear.

“Are ye all right, Mr.—” The coachman gaped at them, his bright gaze moving over her bared flesh in appreciation. “I heard a shot.”

“A minor infraction, which I am dealing with, Bart. Our guest must learn the consequences to rash actions. Nothing more.” He hiked her skirts higher still, drawing the big man’s gaze to her legs.

“Can I watch?” Eagerness framed his question. Maura was horrified. His was the type of degradation with which Jameson had taunted Jane.

Jameson’s fingers dipped between her legs to massage her for the pleasure of his coachman. She tried, but failed, to shrink away.

“What do you think, my dear?” Jameson’s gaze locked once more with hers as he continued to rub and stroke her. “Shall we let Bart observe your punishment? There is power in public humiliation. Perhaps you will think twice about threatening me again.”

He dipped his head, not waiting for an answer as his mouth closed over her once more and he suckled her hard, pulling a moan of dread and pain from her depths. She closed her eyes trying to deny the truth of his threat, but the reality still burned bright in her mind, the leering gaze of the giant coachman did make the assault worse.

She arched her back, trying to buck Jameson off her, trying to free her hands, anything that might save her from his touch. His lips. His teeth. From the other man’s slack-jawed enjoyment.

A fleshy weight hit her legs. She gasped, and Jameson chuckled against her, his fingers searching for entrance between her thighs. In a moment the weight moved, and he was pushing her legs apart. She squeezed hard, trying to keep her thighs closed to him, and earned another painful bite on her bruised and swollen breast. She swallowed her cry, but he gained enough leverage to force her legs to open.

She twisted and squirmed, wishing she could overset him. Wishing she had shot him first or thwapped him then shot him. Wishing Garrett would arrive and put an end to this interminable assault.

Outside the coach there was a shuffling noise followed by a loud grunt and a muffled curse. But she was too intent on the struggle inside the coach to take it in.

“Jameson!” An angry shout filled the coach.

He lifted his head and pulled his hand away enough to brace himself on the seat and face the door.

“Release her.” The demand came from a man with a green mask covering half his face who now filled the coach doorway. She knew him instantly without having to wonder how she knew. Hope flooded her.

“I’m busy,” Jameson growled.

There was a distinctive click, and a much deadlier-looking pistol was aimed at them. “Release her.”

“Who
are
you?”

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?” With quick hands her rescuer reached inside, grasped Harold Jameson by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him bodily out of the coach. He landed hard on the ground with a grunt of pain.

Maura scrambled to cover herself, her fingers shaking as she tried to redo the buttons on her blouse. Tears burned her eyes as the fear she’d held at bay while Jameson molested her rolled through her.

“Take them both and bind them together.” Her green-masked rescuer tossed the order over his shoulder and turned back toward the coach.

“Maura.” His gentle tone undid her. Tears poured over her cheeks as she launched herself toward him.

“Garrett, oh Garrett.” She flung her arms around his neck and sought solace in his welcoming kiss. His mouth felt so good against hers as he held her tight against him.

“Where, how?” She couldn’t form the questions she wanted to ask.

“Hush, love. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” He smiled at her, his eyes aglow behind the green mask. “How is Miss Fuller?”

“Oh Jane.” Maura left the shelter of his arms to turn back to the younger woman still prone against the corner of the coach.

She ran her fingers over Jane’s scalp. “There’s a bump.”

“Move, will you?” Another voice demanded from behind Garrett.

A man in the same type of half-mask Garrett wore filled the doorway.

“Jane.” The girl’s name rasped out of him. He shed his jacket without a moment’s hesitation and draped it over her. “Jane, answer me.”

“I don’t think—”

Jane’s wide blue eyes fluttered open. She gazed up at the man looming over her with a dazed expression. “Who?”

He swept the mask from his face.

“Oh.” Color flooded her fair features. She pushed upright, clutching his jacket around her. “Sean. What happened? Jameson? Maura? Oh, my head.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh Sean.”

“Jameson has been dealt with,” Maura offered quietly when Sean didn’t reply. He seemed caught by looking, merely looking, at Jane.

“Aye, there is naught to fear at the moment,” Garrett offered.

“Oh.” Jane’s gaze took in his green silk mask. “Why, you’re . . . you’re the Green Dragon, aren’t you?”

Garrett’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “Why yes, Miss Fuller. I am.”

He swept her a short bow.

“I’ve heard so many stories. It would appear that they are true. Despite my father . . . my father not being one who believes in your veracity.” She swallowed hard. Her eyes shimmered with tears. “I do not know how to thank you. I am in your debt, sir.”

“There is neither need for thanks nor a debt to be repaid, I assure you.” He bowed again with more of a flourish. As he straightened he swayed and caught at the coach door.

“Garrett!” Maura leaned toward him. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

He smiled at her though his face had gone pale beneath the mask. “I appear to have been injured. I—”

He slumped to the ground before finishing his sentence.

“Garrett!”

Sean knelt next to him and pulled him away from his slumped position in the coach doorway. As he laid Garrett out against the ground they could see a large stain of blood across the front of his shirt.

Fear exploded in Maura’s heart. She jumped from the coach without waiting for assistance.

“Oh Garrett.” She smoothed her hand over his forehead. “Garrett.”

“There is more blood than damage, I think. We will have to take him for mending.”

“Aye.” She was grateful for the calm efficiency of Sean’s voice. Despite owning a draper’s shop and running a school whose chief curriculum was needlework she had no experience with wounds beyond the plasters her father had put on his horses or the bindings he’d wrapped on his own injured knee.

“But where?”

“There is a farm not too far from here and a magistrate within a day’s ride from there. The farmers are friends, Maura, and will be able to tend his wound while we get this vile cargo off our hands.”

Sean stood. He glanced into the coach that still held Jane. “Stanhope! Are ye done back there?”

The name caught Maura’s attention. She straightened and turned to see Freddie come around the side of the coach. He stopped as his gaze met hers.

“Maura.” Warmth and relief flowed from him even as his gaze took in her position at Garrett’s side. “You are safe. I am glad.”

“Thank you, Freddie. Thanks to all of you.” She blocked out the horrifying images of what had almost taken place. She blocked out the recriminations springing to mind over Freddie’s part in the events that had made such an attack possible.

“Give me a hand here, Stanhope. We need to get him into the coach and be on our way.”

“What happened?” Freddie hurried to do Sean’s bidding. He looped his hands beneath Garrett’s legs as Sean took his shoulders.

“Hold on man, we have got to move you,” Sean told Garrett, who did not move so much as a muscle.

“Heave.” With a strain and a twist they levered Garrett into the coach on the bench Maura had just vacated.

“Can you drive a coach?” Sean’s dark gaze swept over Freddie in frank assessment.

“I . . . I have not done so in quite a while. But I have been known to appropriate the family coach in my younger days. I managed then. I am certain I can manage now.”

“Very well, you have a job.” Sean turned back to the two women. “If you will get into the coach, Maura, we will be underway. Jane . . . Miss Fuller, we will get you home as soon as possible.”

“As long as I am free of that horrid man, Jameson, nothing else matters.” Jane’s chin rose a fraction as she convinced herself of the truth in her declaration. “This man’s need for medical help outweighs my homecoming. I have been away for quite some time; what is one more day or so out of port.”

“You are a brave girl.” Sean reached up into the coach and touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, almost as if he were afraid she wasn’t really there.

“I will see to those blackguards.” He stalked off toward the horses and the men who’d been their captors such a short time before.

Maura turned to the coach and the injured man within. Freddie’s hand was instantly beneath her elbow. Courteous and caring, gentle Freddie. However had he involved himself in the exploits of not only Harold Jameson but the Green Dragon on the same night? At least he had come out of this on the right side.

“Maura. I meant what I said. I was afraid for you. I am very gratified to find you safe.”

“Thank you, Freddie.” She leaned up toward him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I . . . I’m glad you are here.”

Without further word he helped her into the coach and shut the door behind her. She settled onto the cushion opposite Jane, gently laying Garrett’s head on her lap.

“
Diabhal.
” Sean cursed at top pitch.

Fear shivered back down Maura’s spine. She leaned her head out the window as Jane’s hand gripped hers. It was a relief to see Sean’s angry but otherwise unharmed face loom into view as he pulled beside them on horseback.