The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (51 page)

“But, Gideon,” she complained, in no more than a whisper, her resolve melting under his scrutiny. “You are such a tease.”

“We only do this once, Francine.” He gave her a cunning look. “How is this going to work if you don’t
listen
to me?”

Her gaze jumped to his, feeling the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Just fine, I should think,” she said, glaring at him through a smile. He relented with a silent chuckle.

“Please let me do this one thing, Francine. Let me do
this
right.”

“Right, for the sake of Society, propriety, posterity...”

“
Propriety be damned
,” he cut in gruffly. “I want this for
you
.”

That was the only thing he could have said to sway her, and there it was. She inhaled sharply, looking into his eyes and remembering how it had felt to have him treasure her innocence. “I love you, Gideon.” He stroked his thumb over her mouth, sealing the words in.

“And I you.” The words were a prelude to his kiss.

They took their time returning to the manor, walking side by side as they led the horses. They strode into the dining room for breakfast to find Perry, Shaw, Miss Faversham, Amélie, and Maryse already sitting and chatting. The men realized at second glance that the smaller gentleman with Gideon was actually a gentlemanly-clad Francine and stood.

She smiled back at them demurely and greeted the sisters, walking over to sit with them. They enjoyed breakfast, the men discussing the pending departures and the ladies discussing their shopping trip.

The sisters laughed and finished their breakfast quickly, wanting to set out. Nobody had ever taken them shopping. They were not allowed to go into town, much less into crowded boutiques and shops full of other people. They tittered away in French as everyone looked on in wonderment at their pure, unaffected behavior.

The ladies started at Harrods. Francine enjoyed perusing the displays, but it didn’t look much like the giant conglomeration that she had seen in the news. She assumed this was the original building, by the way it had overtaken several neighboring structures. Inside was a veritable labyrinth of merchandise from home furnishings to groceries and ready-to-wear clothing. She smiled as they moved from department to department. She had never really been much for shopping in her other life, but could see how it could become an obsession for some, especially in a place that seemed such a magical patchwork as this.

Keeping track of the sisters was like wrangling cats. One would see something and the other would rush over, only to have a newer and shinier item catch her eye, leading her off in the opposite direction.

Francine was excited to find clothes that didn’t need so much primping and preparation, not to mention assistance. She and Miss Faversham helped the girls choose some comfortable ready-to-wear dresses—simple, easy frocks for the country. She picked out doeskin riding trousers, shirts, jackets, hats, gloves, and boots to match, for all of them.

They purchased everything they could possibly need and then some, having everything sent to Roxleigh House.

They eventually left Harrods and returned to the bustling London streets. “I need a bookstore,” Francine said suddenly. They continued walking, avoiding the horse patties and dodging delivery people who were oblivious to their finery. Halfway down the block, Francine spotted a large bookstore. The sun was shining and the only clouds in the sky were from the coal burning fires at the factories.

Grover moved to follow in the carriage, but Francine waved him off. The street was so crowded with hacks and other carriages, it would be easier for them to walk back.

“We’re only going to that bookstore,” she said, pointing it out. “There’s no need to follow.”

The men nodded but kept a close eye on the ladies as they wandered their way to the shop. As they approached the bookstore, the sisters looked around, a bit disgruntled, and Francine glanced at Miss Faversham.

“Would you mind? Maybe you could take them to the shop across the street? I won’t be long,” she said.

Miss Faversham nodded and Francine thanked her. She heard a muffled squeal and turned, smiling at the sisters.

A bell rang at the door as she entered and a small, bespectacled man greeted her from behind a small counter. “Well, miss, what can I help you find today?”

“Can you show me where the most recent publications are?” He walked around the counter and led her to a shelf beside the front window.

“These are the newest periodicals and news sheets. The books are here on this shelf,” he said as he inspected some of the titles.

“Thank you,” she said, nodding. “Are you familiar with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”

He looked puzzled. “No, I regret I’m not, though I can add the name to my notes and—”

“No, no. No, please, don’t trouble yourself.” She began pulling books from the stacks and soon carried an armload to the counter.

“Here, miss,” he said, reaching out. “Will this be everything?”

“Yes, thank you. Will you have this sent to Roxleigh House?”

“Oh,” he said, then smiled at her. “Why yes, my
lady
,” he said deferentially. “I had no idea.”

“Pardon?”

“My lady,” he said as he walked back around the counter to the front table, picking up a sheet of paper and handing it to her.

She thanked him and he bowed to her. She walked outside reading.
Mrs. Witwick’s Society Page
, the title printed in fancy letters across the top. Francine giggled, thinking how much she missed the
New York Time’s “
Page Six.” She read the headline: “The Rake and the Recluse entertain Society with a spectacular soirée.”

Reading those words was the last thing she did.

Miss Faversham brought the sisters to the carriage to wait for Francine, and wait she did, for what seemed entirely too long of a time.

“I shall be right back,” she said to the sisters. “I’m going to go into the booksellers’.” She stepped out of the carriage and asked Grover and Gentry if they had seen Francine.

“No, ma’am,” Grover answered. “We saw ‘er enter the bookstore, but I don’t think she’s come out yet.”

Gentry nodded his head in agreement.

“I will go check. I’m sure she just got caught up in the stacks. Please watch over the girls, Grover.”

“I’ll go with ye,” Gentry said.

The bell on the door chimed as they entered and a man walked out of the stacks.

“Well, well,” he said. “Two beautiful young ladies in one day. How did I happen to be so lucky?”

Miss Faversham smiled. “Is the other young lady back there?”

The man stopped, a furrow appearing on his brow. “The lady? No, she left more than an hour ago.”

Miss Faversham’s heart lurched and Gentry pushed past her. “Are you quite sure?” he asked gruffly. “An hour past?”

“Why yes,” the man said, concern lining his features. “I only just finished wrapping her purchases. The boy should be by any minute to take them to His Grace’s town house.” He held one of the packages up.

Miss Faversham clutched Gentry’s sleeve to steady herself.

“Do you know where she went after she left?” he asked.

“Well.” The man gestured to the street. “She walked out reading
Witwick’s
, and—and I do not know after that,” he said, looking back to Gentry. “I went to the back to wrap her books. She must be close by, miss,” he added, glancing at Miss Faversham.

Her face paled.

Gentry grumbled, taking the packages and turning to the door.

“Is there a problem?” the bookseller asked carefully.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Gentry turned back as they walked from the store. “If you see her, you will hold her, and you will notify His Grace immediately.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said quickly. “Post-haste.” The door shut, the bell ringing above the bookseller as he stood looking after them.

Miss Faversham strode ahead of Gentry, searching up and down the street, the sounds of the city muted in her mind as it raced for clues. As they walked toward the carriage, she saw a copy of
Mrs. Witwick’s Society Page
in the gutter. She reached for it and looked around again, handing it to Gentry.

He whistled for Grover, who drove the horses to them briskly with Smyth yelling to clear a lane.

“She’s gone,” he said to Smyth, handing him the bundled packages. “Take them to the house immediately and inform His Grace. I’m going to look around. I’ll return shortly.”

Smyth nodded and helped Miss Faversham into the carriage before jumping up to the rear step. Grover snapped the ribbons, racing toward Roxleigh House.

Hepplewort had waited in the carriage, shaking with anticipation from his slobbery jowls to his knocking knees. He sweated profusely, the stains gathering on his silk shirt and brocade jacket and making stiff, uncomfortable splotches on his clothing around the neck and armpits. He wiped his brow with his arm, streaking his sleeve.

He’d waited all week to find her away from the people that seemed to hang around constantly. He was so desperate and frustrated that he’d even tried to retrieve her from Roxleigh House the night before, but was thwarted. Then he caught her leaving the town house that morning, but that damned duke was close to follow. He cringed at the memory of their intimate ride.

When he saw her walk to the bookstore alone, the other three girls heading across the street, he squealed with excitement, then realized his error and hid from the window as she turned in his direction. He’d clasped his chest, breathing deeply as she entered the shop.

He sent his man to retrieve her as he watched. It all looked so easy; Morgan came up behind her like a lost lover hugging his beloved and no one paid heed, turning away from the improper spectacle. This beloved, however, went limp when her mouth was covered, not by a kiss, but a rag soaked in ether. He’d pushed her into the carriage, placing her on the seat next to Hepplewort, and then mounted the rear carriage step as the driver pulled away from the bookstore and drove them out of town.

Hepplewort had tied her hands and feet, placing a scarf in her mouth to keep her quiet should she awaken. It was several hours before he allowed her to come around fully, covering her nose with the ether-soaked rag whenever she stirred, making her his unwitting plaything. His pudgy hands roamed her body while she was unconscious. He scratched at her bodice, lifted her skirts slowly, stroked the bridge of her nose, tickled her ears, and massaged her pink lips while giving her an open-mouthed glare, his eyes glossy and his tongue licking the drool from his lip.

“Get my brother!” Gideon yelled at Smyth, who ran from the house and mounted his horse, bolting across the square. Gideon turned on Miss Faversham. “Explain to me precisely what occurred.” Miss Faversham stood tall, trying to remain composed as she told him everything she knew.

The front door swung open and Perry stormed in, followed by Smyth. “Are the horses ready?” Perry asked.

“No.” He gestured toward Smyth to run to the stable to help ready them. “It’s been nearly two hours. It has to be Hepplewort. I should have known better.” Gideon cursed. “I never should have let her—”

“Let her what, Gideon?” Perry said, taking his shoulders. “If you try to control her, you lose her. There is nothing you could have done differently. Let’s not waste time on what we cannot change.”

Gideon scowled and the servants scattered like mice for their holes.

Perry turned to Gentry, who had just entered after pulling up in an old rented hack.

Gentry shook his head at Gideon’s hopeful glance.

“Help Smyth ready the horses, all six,” Perry said. He looked to Gideon. “We can catch him. He must be bound for his estate—”

“Gretna Green,” Gideon cut in. “His intentions are to complete the contract.”

Perry shook his head.

“He couldn’t obtain a special license now. He’d need to take her to Gretna Green.”

“I don’t know, Rox—”

“Think about it. He’s entirely predictable. He refused to ruin her, he waited to take her, but he wouldn’t go through all of this only to screw it up at the end. He must marry her before he claims her, and…” Gideon clenched his jaw.