Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (46 page)

“But we won’t be paupers,” he pointed out. “Your dowry will pay off my debts and my father will reinstate my allowance once he knows I’m married. He has a soft spot for beautiful women. He would never let you starve.”

He had really thought it all out. And he was absolutely convinced that she would be swayed by his looks and title into agreeing to his ridiculous proposal. She looked at his arrogant, petulant face and wondered what she had ever found attractive about him. Anger and indignation rose in her, but she swallowed them down with an effort. It would do her no good to lose her temper. The coach had slowed to a walking pace now. Beth made a sudden lunge for the door.

She almost made it. She was halfway through it before his fingers got enough purchase in her hair to wrench her backwards. She cried out as he tore her away from the door and threw her into her seat. Jewelled pins flew in all directions and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

His smile had vanished, and they locked gazes, his hot and brown, hers cold and blue.

“I will not marry you, Daniel,” she said very clearly and slowly. Her scalp was on fire, and tears of pain stood in her eyes.

“Yes, you will,” he replied, gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet as the coach came to a halt. The driver had jumped down, and caught Beth as Daniel pushed her roughly out of the door. Her suitor jumped down after her, and one on either side of her, the two men held her firmly by the arms so she could not attempt to run.

“Because if you do not,” Daniel continued pleasantly, “then this will be my new home from tomorrow. And I have no intention of spending any time here, not when there is such a pleasant alternative available.” They started to walk towards the entrance of a large gloomy building, half dragging, half carrying Beth between them. She looked up in horror at the unmistakable shape of the Fleet debtors’ prison.

* * *

The card game was well under way when the filthy dishevelled woman dashed through the open front door and burst into the drawing room before anyone could stop her. Several ladies screamed in terror, and some of the gentlemen leapt to their feet.

Lord Edward was horrified at this intrusion into the sacred portals of his home by what was clearly a madwoman of some sort. She skidded to a halt a few feet into the room and stared wildly around, until her eyes rested on Sir Anthony, who, having declared himself too nervous to be able to concentrate on cards tonight, was standing behind Isabella, observing her game.

“Beth...” she tried to say, but no sound came out. Her chest was heaving with the effort of running at full pelt in inappropriate clothing. The whalebone of her stays cut into her waist, and she had an agonising stitch. She pressed her hand to her side and willed him to understand what her eyes were trying to say.

“How dare you barge into my house like this?” Sir Edward roared. “John, remove her from the room and call a constable at once!”

To the horror of the company, before the footman John had taken more than two paces in the intruder’s direction, Sir Anthony shot across the room, drawing his sword as he ran. It seemed as though he was going to run the woman through, but before anyone could stop him he had reached Sarah, and turning her round he took hold of the neck of her dress and pulled hard, tearing it down the back from neck to waist. Raising his sword, he slashed through the laces of her stays expertly, without drawing a drop of blood.

“This is getting to be a habit,” he muttered to himself.

Isabella fainted, landing on the floor with a crump, but no one took any notice. The spectacle before them was far too interesting for anyone to take their eyes away from it long enough to attend to their swooning hostess. Had Sir Anthony gone mad? Was he going to ravish the woman before their eyes? Who was she, anyway?

“Breathe,” Sir Anthony commanded, taking off his emerald green coat and throwing it round the maid’s shoulders.

Released from her restrictive clothing, she took several deep breaths, leaning against him.

“Beth,” she croaked again after a few seconds. “He’s taken her.”

“Who has?”

“Lord Daniel. He threw me out of the coach.”

The room was silent. Everyone was listening avidly.

“Did you see which way they went?” Sir Anthony asked. His voice was harsh and commanding, quite unlike his normal effeminate trill.

Sarah nodded, her chest still heaving, and seeing the eyes of several gentlemen fixed on her breasts, she drew the coat tighter around her.

“They went up the Strand. I think he’s taking her to the Fleet prison,” she said.

“Why would he take her to the Fleet? That’s ridiculous!” said Lord Edward; but Sir Anthony was already out of the room, heading for the stables.

* * *

In the Fleet chapel the minister was waiting as they entered, the Book of Common Prayer open before him on the lectern.

“I will not agree to this!” Beth cried as they came to a stop at the altar. “I do not want to marry this man. I have been taken by force!” She addressed the minister, who looked down at her, his expression resigned and indifferent.

“I think the lady needs a little persuasion before we begin, my lord,” he said. “But pray be quick about it. Time is money, as they say.”

Lord Daniel took Beth by the shoulders gently.

“Beth, come on, see reason. I love you, truly I do. Once we are married I will turn over a new leaf, I promise.”

“You think I will believe anything you say?” she cried. “No man of honour would behave as you have this night! I would not marry you if you were the king himself!” She pulled backward suddenly, tearing herself from his grip and would have run, but the coachman moved forward, blocking her escape. She turned back to Lord Daniel, and bringing her hand up hit him with all her strength across the face. His head snapped to one side, but before she could raise her arm again, he caught her by the wrist.

“By God, you will regret that!” he roared. His face was white, her handprint standing out livid across his cheek.

The minister tapped his fingers impatiently on the prayer book.

“My lord,” he said, “if this is going to take time, might I suggest you return another day?”

“It will take no time at all, I assure you,” Lord Daniel replied. “Hold her,” he said, pushing her backwards to the coachman, who gripped her arms. In one smooth move, he drew his sword and pointed it at her chest. Her pupils widened, but she looked at him without flinching.

“I do not think that even
this
minister will marry you to a corpse. And my solicitor will certainly not release my dowry to you. You are wasting your time.”

“I think not, my love. I have no intention of killing you. Hold out her hand,” he commanded the coachman.

“What are you going to do?” the man asked. His voice was uncertain.

“I am going to cut her fingers off, one by one, until she agrees to marry me,” Lord Daniel said coldly.

Tom felt Beth cringe instinctively backward into him. He did not like this. He had been promised ten guineas for allowing Lord Daniel to board the coach and had thought Beth would be persuaded to marry him en route.

“I don’t want nothing to do with no bloodshed, my lord,” Tom said, his voice shaking slightly.

“Don’t worry, man, you’ll be well recompensed,” Lord Daniel said dismissively, gripping hold of Beth’s wrist himself and holding it out horizontally.

“I will not marry you, whatever you do,” Beth said, her voice trembling.

“You are very brave, my love, but also very stupid. Just how many fingers do you think I will have to cut off before you see sense and change your mind?”

“Oh, just the one, I would think,” came a pleasant voice from the corner. “It is an excruciatingly painful operation, after all.”

Lord Daniel spun round, dragging Beth in front of him. Sir Anthony was standing nonchalantly in the doorway. His wig was slightly askew, and he was missing his coat, but otherwise he looked exactly as he had an hour earlier when he had wished Beth a pleasant evening as she stepped into the coach. Except, of course, for the pistol in his hand, which was levelled at Lord Daniel’s head.

Lord Daniel raised his sword, pressing the blade to Beth’s throat.

“I will kill her,” he threatened.

“Be my guest, my dear boy,” Sir Anthony said. “Although I would beg you first to think about the consequences if you do.” Behind him, Lord Edward appeared. Apparently on the point of barging past Sir Anthony into the chapel, he was restrained by another figure, who materialised a moment later from the shadows. Beth saw Richard, sword drawn, face white. A second later Edwin came into view. Sir Anthony showed no sign of being aware of the three men waiting tensely a few feet behind him. He continued chatting amiably.

 “Firstly, of course, if you carry out your threat I would then be in the tiresome position of having to seek another bride. Secondly, I assume you have been driven to this desperate act because you wish to avoid imprisonment for debt. If you kill her, you will certainly avoid that, but then I shall be forced to shoot you, which I could really do without the bother of.”

Lord Daniel snorted with laughter.

“You?” He said derisively. “You haven’t got the skill or the balls to shoot me.”

“I assure you, my lord, I am possessed of all the necessary male appurtenances,” Sir Anthony replied, unfazed by this insult to his masculinity. “I also do have the technical skill to discharge my weapon. And even though I am terribly nervous at the thought of drawing blood – the sight of gore renders me quite nauseous and dizzy, my dear,” he said, smiling affectionately at Beth, whose eyes were blazing with rage and fear, “- at this distance skill hardly comes into it, does it? I couldn’t possibly miss.” He took one step into the room, and seeing Daniel tense, stopped.

“I will confess to you,” he continued evenly. “I am most terribly upset at the thought of taking a life, and although I shall do my best to aim for the heart and make a quick end of you, I am trembling so, that in spite of my best endeavours I fear I shall miss and shoot you in the stomach instead. I am assured that is a most lingering and agonising way to die.” In spite of his words, the hand holding the pistol was as steady as a rock, the facial expression pleasant, friendly even, the dark blue eyes glittering, cold and hard.

Lord Daniel swallowed, and the sword blade faltered slightly. Beth pulled forward, but his arm round her waist stopped her from escaping. Sir Anthony held one hand up to her.

“Please stay still, my dear,” he said. “I should hate for Lord Daniel to kill you by accident.”

“I cannot go to prison,” the young man said falteringly. “I could not survive it.”

“Oh I do not think it need come to that,” Sir Anthony replied.

In the shadows behind him Beth saw Lord Edward’s mouth open, and Edwin’s hand close over it to stifle his protest.

“What do you mean? If I don’t go to prison for debt, I will surely go for what I have done tonight. I couldn’t bear that.”

“I cannot stop you going to prison for your gambling debts, Lord Daniel. Although I would be willing to make a small donation in order to secure you decent accommodation until your father sees fit to pay your debt and release you.”

“He won’t,” Daniel said. “He has said so.”

“Oh, I know your father well, dear boy. He will not let the future earl of Highbury languish in a debtors’ prison for more than a week or two. As for tonight, well, you are amongst friends. I am sure that we can consider this little escapade as high spirits, a wedding-eve joke that was carried a little too far. If you let Elizabeth go now, you may leave, no harm done. No one need know any more about it.”

“You can’t be serious,” he gasped. “Why would you do that?”

“Oh, dear boy, you may not believe it to look at me, but I have done many reckless things in my time, some of which I have lived to regret. I would not see a promising young man be disgraced for something that I might have considered doing myself, when a little younger and more impulsive. Of course if you go through with your intention to murder the young lady, then I am afraid I will be powerless to help you.”

Lord Daniel thought for a moment. Beth’s legs were starting to shake, and she put all her effort into steadying them. If she fainted now, she would cut her own throat.

 “I have your word,” the young man said after a moment, “that you will all allow me to leave unmolested?”

The three men behind Sir Anthony nodded reluctantly, although Richard’s knuckles were white, he was gripping his sword so tightly, and his cousin’s face was puce with rage.

“You have my word as a gentleman,” Sir Anthony said.

In one quick motion Lord Daniel took the sword from Beth’s throat and thrust her roughly forward, before turning and running out of the side door the minister had escaped from when he had first caught sight of Beth’s rescuer.

Sir Anthony caught her as she staggered forward, and she leaned gratefully into him as his arms encircled her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she said, somewhat shakily. “But I would have been, if you hadn’t arrived when you did. How did you know where I was?”

He didn’t answer, looking instead over Beth’s shoulder. Lord Edward and Richard had seized the hapless coachman, who instead of taking the opportunity to escape with the minister, had frozen, afraid Sir Anthony would shoot him if he made a sudden move. As she turned to look, Richard punched him hard in the face, although the man had made no attempt to resist arrest. Blood spurted from his nose.

“Stop it!” she said. “What are you doing?”

Lord Edward and Richard both looked at her in astonishment.

“I thought it would be obvious,” Richard said. “This man abducted you.”

“Lord Daniel abducted me,” she pointed out. “This man was merely stupid enough to allow himself to be bribed.” She knew the wages Lord Edward paid, and felt sympathy for him, in spite of the ordeal she had just suffered.

Edwin now moved forward to stand in front of the man. He took out his handkerchief and gave it to the coachman, who held it gratefully to his nose. He was shaking so violently he could hardly stand.