Authors: Anne Gracie
It was Gideon who’d changed her.
He’d ruined her for one such as Phillip. Gideon had taught her what a kiss could be. He’d shown her that love really could be joyful, and that life was for laughter as well as serious things.
She wanted him. Gideon. And in the morning they would speak and she would tell him what was in her heart.
She was so deep in thought that she did not hear the clip-clop of horses, nor the sound of wheels on the road behind her, or if she did, she did not spare it a thought. Not until it was too late…
Gideon prowled around the party, brooding, scowling, and generally giving the lie to all those who thought a rake was supposed to be charming. It had gone against every instinct he had to let her leave with only a footman to accompany her.
He wanted to be with her. Dammit, he
needed
to be with her. He wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss away her distress, her feeling of betrayal. She would be home now, in bed, his little love, no doubt sobbing her eyes out over a cowardly, faithless, unworthy weasel and his stupid, pregnant wife.
Prudence should not be by herself at a time like this, no matter what she thought she needed. But she was stubborn, his lady. And he could hardly complain about her fiery streak of independence when it was one of the things he loved about her. Only he
did
want to complain of it. Right now, he didn’t want her to be stubborn or independent or brave or self-bloody-sufficient; he wanted her in his arms, dammit, where she belonged.
A lady in a low-necked, bronze silk gown undulated toward him, a sultry smile of welcome on her face. Gideon glowered at her. How could he ever have thought this sort of empty dalliance had any appeal? She continued to flow toward him, open invitation in every movement of her luscious body, her smile deeper, more knowing.
Gideon bared his teeth at her, and she stopped, blinked, and hastily undulated away.
Dammit, he couldn’t stay at this blasted party. Sir Oswald would take care of his aunt and the twins. He might just pop out and stroll along to his aunt’s house—
to do what?
he thought savagely. Stare at Prudence’s empty window? Well, it was better than being here, he decided, and began to thread his way toward the hall.
Hearing a sudden commotion at the front door, he quickened his pace and arrived just in time to see a man in livery stagger inside, blood pouring from his head. A lady screamed. Another fainted. There was a flurry of activity as a small knot of people gathered, then hung back uncertainly.
“Get a cloth, quickly,” rapped Gideon as he lunged forward to catch the man, who was swaying on his feet. He carried him into the kitchen, out of the way of the guests. “You! Butler—send for a physician, fast, and you—fetch Sir Oswald Merridew here at once,” he ordered, his heart racing, for he knew the injured man. It was the young footman, James. Last seen escorting Prudence home.
“What happened, man? Where is Miss Merridew?”
“Taken,” gasped James. “Sorry, m’lord. They jumped me…from behind…Knocked me down…” He raised a hand to his wound and winced. “Took Miss Prue…carriage…black carriage…bay horses…one white foot.”
Gideon swore. Sir Oswald arrived. “Prudence has been abducted.” Gideon said tersely. “I’m going to follow them on horseback. You—” He snapped his finger at a nearby footman. “Fetch me a horse, the best in the stables!”
Sir Oswald, demonstrating the ability to take immediate action that had made him a rich man, turned to an onlooking servant. “Fellow—run around to my home and tell them to prepare my traveling chaise and fetch my pistols, too. And hop to it!”
The servant raced off.
“I’ll be close behind you, Carradice, m’boy.”
Gideon nodded and said urgently to the injured footman, “James, did you see which way they went?”
James frowned as he tried to gather his senses. “To-ward…moonrise.”
Gideon squeezed his shoulder in thanks. “Good man! Right, I’ll be off. I’ll get her back, don’t worry.” He stood and said, almost to himself, “Who the devil would snatch her off the street?”
James’s hand shot out and grabbed his coat tail. “Thought you’d know, m’lord. ’Twas her granfer. The old lord…I saw him.”
Gideon stared. “Why would her grandfather abduct her off the street?”
James fought for consciousness. “Hates her…hates Miss Prue…You got to find ’er, m’lord. In one of his rages, ’e was…” His head fell back, and his eyes closed, but he managed to whisper, “Last time…old devil…nearly killed ’er…”
Gideon swore again as he raced from the house. A late guest was just dismounting from a fine-looking bay gelding. No other horse was to be seen. Gideon couldn’t wait for the one to be brought from the stables. He strode forward and snatched the reins from the man’s hand. “Need to borrow your horse, sir. Emergency. Lady Gosforth will vouch for me.” And before the man could utter a protest, he’d leaped into the saddle and galloped off.
His mount thundered toward the rising moon as his gaze scoured the night for a black carriage pulled by four bay horses, one with one white foot.
Prudence lay huddled on the seat of the coach, numb with shock, fear, and confusion. One moment she’d been strolling along the street on a warm night, deep in thought, and then suddenly she’d been roughly seized and flung into a vehicle. She could see nothing. She was half smothered in some sort of thick cloth, like a cloak or a blanket. It was dusty, she knew that, as she could breathe only though her nose. A rag of some sort had been shoved into her mouth, and a gag tied over it, preventing her from screaming, or even breathing. Her hands were tied tight, with thick, rough twine that cut into her skin.
The carriage moved fast. It bounced over cobblestones, over drains and ruts, thudding into bone-jarring holes, swinging and swaying around corners at a fearsome pace. Prudence was tossed back and forth by the movement. Blind and bound as she was, it took all her concentration to remain on the seat. She was tossed to the floor several times. Hands grabbed her and hurled her back on the seat, not gently.
Finally, she managed to wedge herself into the corner of the vehicle and steady herself by bracing her feet against the floor and the side of the carriage. Only then was she able to consider her position.
For a few wild moments she’d imagined she’d been mistaken for someone else, kidnapped for profit. Or abducted for immoral purposes. There had been shouting when she was taken, but she’d been too occupied to notice, wholly occupied in fighting the rough hands that bound her. Hampered by the cloak over her head, she hadn’t stood a chance. There were three men at least. Two had climbed on top of the carriage. One was the driver. She’d heard them.
Another man was in the carriage with her. The leader. He’d addressed not a word to her, but she’d heard his cane rap on the roof, and the carriage had lurched off. She could hear him breathing, wheezing stertorously.
He said not a word, but slowly, imperceptibly she realized who it was. And fear lodged like a knot in her chest, for even through the heavy blanket she could smell him, the fusty, goaty old-man smell of him. Grandpapa.
She tried to say something through the gag.
Thwack!
The cane smashed across her shoulder and neck. Even through the blanket, it hurt. He had not spared his strength.
“Silence, bitch!”
Beneath the blanket, Prudence closed her eyes and braced her body. She knew he would not stop at a single blow. He never had before. Blind as she was, she would not know when the next one came, so she must be ready. She would survive this. She hunched her head into her shoulder. And waited…and waited.
Thwack!
The cane smacked across her arm.
“Don’t wriggle.”
It would be a long night. She sent up a quick, silent prayer that she would live to see the dawn. And waited for the next blow. It was a long time coming, but then—
“Send me off on a wild-goose chase, would you, bitch? Down to London!”
Thwack!
“Then all the way to Derbyshire!”
Thwack!
“And then on to Scotland?”
Thwack!
Prudence swallowed. She’d hoped the lie had bought them enough time, but…
Thwack!
“Waste my blunt on expensive frippery!” The cane cut sharply across her legs, and her instant reflexive gasp of pain almost choked her because of the gag. The blanket did not reach to her legs, and the deep blue silk and the silver tissue overlay provided no protection at all. Her beautiful party dress.
Thwack!
On her ankle bone. She heard the silver tissue rip, and he grunted with satisfaction. “Fine feathers do not make fine birds, missy.”
Prudence could do nothing but endure. She braced herself for the next blow, but he seemed to have calmed a little. The silence stretched, the only sound the horses’ hooves on the road and the creaking and groaning of the moving carriage.
“Wondering how I found you, eh?”
Surreptitiously, she flexed her toes. They moved. Her ankle throbbed but it wasn’t broken. She sighed in relief. She might still be able to run, if she had the chance.
“Young Otterbury wrote. Letter waiting for me when I got back from Scotland. He let me know where you’d run off to. Hah! Currying favor. Used to work for me, did you know? Left the company some time ago. Been trying to get reinstated ever since. The fool! Do him no good, no good at all now…”
The last piece of the puzzle,
Prudence thought wearily. Phillip had betrayed her at every turn, in every way.
The silence in the carriage stretched and stretched.
Thwack!
“Damned if I’ll be locked up for your interference, you doxy.”
Locked up? What did he mean? This was not the frenzied attack of her youth, her grandfather in a spitting rage. There was something more…more leisured about it. Brooding. As if he had all the time in the world. And slowly building up to something…. She dared not think of what.
She did not know what was preferable: a burst of anger that was over in one violent outburst, or this waiting…not seeing…not knowing. Imagining all sorts of things. It was more horrifying, somehow. Long periods of silence and then, suddenly—
Thwack!
“I am Dereham of Dereham Court…I’d see us both dead before I’d let myself be imprisoned.”
Imprisoned for what?
she wondered.
See us both dead?
She huddled on the seat, choking for breath under the blanket, swallowing convulsively on the gag. She had never felt so alone. This time, there was no one to help her; no sisters, no servants to interfere. She was alone with him, helpless, in the dark in a carriage. On the road to hell.
For the moment, the blows were intermittent. It was not so bad. It was frightening, cowering in the corner, never knowing when or where to expect them, but it was better than a frenzied attack. Less physically damaging, she hoped. It might be more endurable in the end. Whenever “the end” would be.
But she would not give up. She would not be defeated. She had seen the light of happiness, and it was within her grasp.
He muttered to himself from time to time. Sometimes she could hear the words; sometimes she could not. Sometimes they made sense to her, sometimes they did not. Sometimes whatever it was would enrage him, and he would lash out at her, the only warning the whistling of his cane through the air.
“Run off to your lover, would you?”
Thwack!
“Harlot! Faithless whore!”
Her ear rang with the blow, drowning out the ugly names he was calling her. Names did not hurt, anyway. He’d called her those before. Her lover? How had he discovered that? It did not matter. She did love Gideon. She did not care who knew it. She didn’t have to hide it now, not even from herself.
She loved Gideon.
She conjured up his face in the dark, clinging to the thought of him. Her beacon in the storm. Gideon. His dark eyes that teased her to laughter, and at the same time promised untold, wicked pleasures.
And we will all the pleasures prove.
Pleasures, not pain.
She kept that thought at the forefront of her mind.
The horses would need to be changed at some point. It was a long way from Bath to Norfolk. They’d have to get fresh horses soon, even though the early fast pace had steadied. There might be an opportunity for her to escape. She tried to flex her cramped limbs unobtrusively.
Thwack!
Across her shin.
To block out the waves of hatred coming at her, she clung to thoughts of Gideon. Gideon, who made her feel beautiful. Gideon, whose kisses warmed her even now when she was trapped in Grandpapa’s cold and bitter hell. Gideon, who’d grown up as a sad and lonely little boy, in a house without love. He needed so much to be loved, even if he didn’t know it. And he’d said he wanted
her
, needed
her
, plain Prudence Merridew. He’d told her so with dark and potent heat in his eyes and poetry on his lips.
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove.
And she’d let herself fall prey to doubts! Allowing the words of men like her grandfather and Phillip to influence her. Blind, foolish Prudence. Doubting the man who needed her so much, the man she loved with all her heart, only because he was a rake. So what if he had not used the right words? He had wanted to love her, and even if—
Thwack!
What if she died tonight? What if she died without ever having the chance to tell him how much she loved him? Without ever knowing what it felt like to make love with him?
She would
not
die. She would survive this. She
had
to. She had to tell Gideon she loved him. She didn’t care about the consequences. And she was going to make love with him at the very first opportunity.
Gideon arrowed his steed into the night. He’d gambled on his instincts, his instincts that said the old man would make for his lair, for Dereham Court. On the outskirts of Bath, he’d spotted an old chap on a bench by the main road, nursing a mug of ale in the warm evening. He wrenched his mount to a halt.