The Courtship (28 page)

Yes, he had thought about it and just laughed, but now he wondered if he would make it without killing both of them. He thought of the folded letter he had left on her pillow and smiled yet again. The romance of it should surely appeal to her father. If Helen wished it, he would marry her three times during their life together.

It was a close thing, climbing down that thorn-covered trellis with Helen slung over his shoulder, too close for Lord Beecham's peace of mind, and when he finally got both his feet firmly on the ground, he raised his eyes to the heavens and offered up a very sincere prayer of thanksgiving.

He had his big girl. She wasn't trying to kill him because she was blessedly unconscious. He realized he didn't have all that much time. He didn't want to tie her up, at least not just yet.

He carried her all the way past the front entrance to Shugborough Hall, all the way to where the night shadows were deepest, to where he had hidden a carriage. He heard one of the peacocks bleat after him. He was breathing very hard.

He was, he thought, as he gently closed Helen inside the carriage, an amazing man, strong of back, mighty of will. He had wrapped her up in three blankets on the floor of the carriage, and tucked pillows around her. He hadn't wanted to take the chance that she would roll off the seat. He was still breathing hard when he climbed up onto the box and click-clicked the sturdy gray gelding forward. Both Eleanor and Luther were safe and snug in the Shugborough Hall stables.

He whistled into the soft night air as he drove the ten miles to the small hunting box he had rented yesterday morning at ten o'clock from Lord Marchhaven, who had asked Lord Beecham if he was planning on entertaining a hunting party. Spenser had just shaken his head and smiled. “Ah,” said Lord Marchhaven, nodding. “I am pleased that it is a nice house.”

“I will require it for perhaps a week,” Lord Beecham had said.

Again Lord Marchhaven merely nodded, then said as he and Spenser shook hands, “I have learned that sometimes in life a man is forced to do something that sits perilously close to the edge of scandalous to obtain the indispensable. Enjoy yourself, my lord.” It was obvious that Lord Marchhaven sniffed a week's worth of wickedness. Lord Beecham should have told him that he intended a lifetime of marital wickedness.

Well, as he figured it, Helen was indispensable to him. He believed, deep down, that he was also indispensable to her. Why had she refused him? It didn't make any sense.

The Marchhaven hunting box was an elegant little Georgian brick house, all stiff and starchy, nearly a perfect square, two stories high, ivy twining in and out of the red bricks. It was set on the edge of the Houghton Forest, much of it owned by the Marchhaven family, for hunting parties. No one was there at present.

When he finally carried Helen into the house, he was still whistling, thinking of how he had wheedled and pleaded and even drunk a glass of champagne with Bishop Horton to obtain a Special License, but he had done it. He whistled louder, so pleased with himself that he nearly dropped Helen on the stairs. His back hurt a bit, but he discounted it.

The house was simply set out. Upstairs there were four bedchambers, the master's bedchamber at the end of the hall. It was nice and big. So was the bed, at least large enough to hold six men side by side. Helen would be quite comfortable here. The headboard was slatted, a truly convenient thing for him.

He shook off the blankets and his cloak and gently eased Helen under the covers. He whistled while he lit three branches of candles, then started a fire in the large fireplace.

He looked around the bedchamber. It was excellent, just excellent. It was an ideal place for a man to bring the woman he'd kidnapped, the woman who must need learn that not marrying the man she bit on the neck wasn't to be tolerated.

He had given it a good deal of thought. Helen wasn't a milksop. If she could, she would brain him at the first opportunity. He couldn't allow her any opportunities, but accomplishing this did set many problems in his path.

He went back to the carriage, brought up the two valises, the second one his, and took the nice old gelding to the small stable to stick his nose in a trough of oats. Back in the bedchamber, he pulled out four of his cravats.

She would awaken soon enough. Ah, that marvelous potion Mrs. Toop had given him, stars in her eyes when he had pleaded his case, giving in quickly because of the glorious romance of all of it. “Just imagine,” she said, her hands over her large bosom, “my mistress will learn more about discipline. Oh, goodness, she will, won't she, my lord? Do you promise?”

Since this seemed inordinately important to her, Lord Beecham had quickly nodded and given her endless assurances that he had more to teach Miss Helen than any other man in all of England, and she would enjoy herself immensely, he gave her his word. Mrs. Toop had given him the vial of chloroform and told him how much to use on her sweet mistress.

His last view of Mrs. Toop was her standing at the inn door, her rheumy eyes glittering beneath the lamp that Geordie had proudly held up for three hours the previous evening.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted Helen to marry him. It was up to him now to convince her. He was prepared to do whatever it took.

He gave the smoking fire a big grin, added a couple more small sticks, turned on his heel and walked back to the bed.

 

Helen awoke slowly, which was strange, because usually her eyes opened and she was ready to bound out of bed, her body and brain thrumming with energy. But her eyes were slow to open. When she finally opened them she saw that it was daylight, bright daylight, with the morning sun shining through the uncurtained windows just to her left.

But she didn't have windows to her left. They were to her right. Something was wrong.

Her brain seemed on the blurry side, the way it felt just after Spenser had loved her until all she had left was a silly grin on her face.

She tried to sit up. She couldn't move. That was surely odd. She tried again. Then she realized that her hands were tied above her head. Tied?

She blinked at the sound of his voice.

He cupped her cheek in his palm. He kissed her mouth, lightly. “Good morning, Helen. I hope you're feeling more alert now? You've been moaning a bit for the last several hours.”

“Spenser?”

“Yes,” he said, lightly stroked his fingertip over her eyebrows, leaned down and kissed her mouth again.

She kissed him back before she quite realized what she was doing. She blinked up at him. “Why are my hands tied above my head?”

“So that you won't try to kill me. That is, you could try, but I don't believe that even you, my dearest, could manage it.”

“Why would I want to kill you?”

“The complete truth is that I have kidnapped you. You are quite alone with me. I have tied you down to my bed. In short, my sweet little Nellie, you are completely and thoroughly at my mercy.”

She did try to bring her arms down to punch him in the nose, but even though the bonds around her wrists didn't hurt or rub, and she realized they were his soft cravats and thus there was just a bit of pull in them, she couldn't get free.

Her feet. She tried to bring up her legs to smash him in the back. He had secured her ankles as well, again with those lovely cravats of his.

She stopped and just looked up at him.

He was smiling down at her. It was a smug smile, one also filled with joy—an odd combination, but it was so. She didn't know what to think, but she knew that she could not allow it to continue.

She tried not to grit her teeth, but it was difficult. She had to start somewhere, and so she said, “You will release me this very instant.”

“I don't think so, dearest. You would try to pulverize my liver.”

“No, I swear I won't. I won't even destroy your bloody manhood. Let me go now.”

“That is a lie of considerable width and breadth, Nell. Now, we do have a bit of a problem, and I want you to know that I have given it a lot of thought. When you must need relieve yourself, I will release both ankles and the wrist that's right here closest to the side of the bed. I will bring the chamber pot close to the bed. You will be able to manage. To assure myself that it could be done, I myself tried it earlier this morning. I was successful.

“You have slept a long time. Now, before you have your breakfast that I have myself prepared for you, let me release your hand and your ankles. And, Helen, don't be foolish. Relieve yourself, no more than that.”

She didn't say a word. To be honest, she was still too befuddled. She was alert, but befuddled.

“You kidnapped me?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I did. I even carried you and your valise over my shoulder, out of your bedchamber window. I didn't falter even once. I am still standing tall, at a minimum at least two inches taller than you.”

“But why? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Mrs. Toop wants me to teach you more about discipline.”

He released her right wrist and her ankles. He rubbed feeling back into them. “There. Now, I am not going to leave the room because I know you will immediately try to undo the knot on your other wrist. I will be right here.”

He patted her cheek lightly and walked back to the fireplace.

She used the chamber pot. He turned to see her begin to work on the other wrist knot. He grabbed her free hand and pulled it back above her head. “Lie down, Helen. Don't fight me.”

It was like telling a maddened tiger not to attack the nearest moving creature. She yelled and kicked with her legs and tried to jerk her hand free of his. She got a couple of good licks with her feet, but he finally managed to find the exact position to do away with any leverage she had. He tied her wrist back against the thick headboard.

He stood over her. “That was a nice try. Now, would you like your breakfast?”

“I will kill you, Spenser.”

He leaned down and kissed her hard, jerking back before she could bite him.

He smoothed her nightgown over her legs. Then, almost as an afterthought, and before she could fight, he pulled her right ankle out and tied it again. He had her now. “Very nice. Now let me tie your left ankle.” She tried to kick him, but couldn't manage it. Soon, her legs were nicely spread.

“After breakfast, dearest, we will enjoy dessert,” he said, and whistled his way out of the bedchamber.

He heard her yelling after him, hurling curses laced with various animal parts—all in all, not very creative—and he smiled.

She didn't have a chance.

F
IFTEEN MINUTES LATER Lord Beecham brought his captive some warm scones, sweet butter, apricot jelly, and a pot of tea he had made himself.

“The scones are not completely fresh. Mrs. Toop made them yesterday, at the inn, just for this special occasion. However, I did build a fire in the fireplace. The scones are all softened up, nice and hot.”

“What did you mean by dessert?”

He loved her mind. “Discipline, my sweet. Everyone seems anxious for me to teach you more about this very interesting topic. Perhaps you have become too predictable in your approach, too unimaginative. It is time to infuse new ideas, give new perspective.”

“What do you mean by everyone?”

“I must keep my sources private. I believe there is a fear of possible retaliation.”

“Spenser, you must let me go. If you do it now, I swear not to hurt you.”

“That's nice that you're calling me by my given name again. Does that mean you are no longer trying to hold me at arm's length?”

She jerked on her arms. Nothing happened. She was becoming very red in the face.

He patted her cheek, sat down in the chair beside her bed, and said, “Would you like butter and jelly on your scone?”

“I would like to feed myself.”

“All right.” He released one hand. He watched her flex her fingers, bend her wrist back and forth.

“Would you like butter and jelly on your scone?”

She nodded. At last her attention was on the food and not on killing him.

She ate two scones, both slathered with the apricot jelly, then lay back against the pillow and sighed. “That was delicious. Thank you. Mrs. Toop makes the best scones in the area. Now, I should like to be back at my inn by luncheon. May we leave now?”

“Would you like some tea now? Lemon? Milk?”

She got the very same look in her eyes as when she had confronted all those drunk young men from Cambridge in her taproom. It was blood. She had blood in her eyes.

He never should have given her the tea, particularly with added milk. She threw it in his face. Then her face scrunched up. “Oh, dear, I didn't think. I should have taken a drink first.”