The Reluctant Suitor (77 page)

“But not to be compared to Lady Adriana,” she managed in a snide tone, as if she truly resented that fact.

“Oh, I see you
are
jealous, Mrs. Elston,” he crooned and then chortled as if amused by the idea. “You were certainly envious when Lord Colton turned his attention upon her, weren’t you? Oh, I know how you adored the man, my dear, but one of these days he’s going to be sorry he ever came back from the wars. I intend to have his cods on a roasting stake, and then I’m going to mount Adriana as many times as I please while he’s forced to watch. I owe him that before I kill him.”

Felicity couldn’t resist asking, “Do you hate everyone, Roger?”

“Why, no, my dear. I don’t hate you. Or Adriana. Haven’t I treated you well and loved you in my fashion?”

“In your fashion?” Felicity demanded incredulously. “Hurting me whenever you touched me? Is that what you call love? Or would it be better described as brutality?”

He waved a hand arrogantly to dismiss her argument. “There are definitely those I hate. Some I’ve shrewdly removed, and no one’s been the wiser. Others have yet to feel my revenge. I had Lord Colton in my sights once after rallying men to aid me, but he lived in spite of the hole I put in his back, and he married Adriana that very same night. I hated him for that! I hated his father before him, and I took my revenge upon him, subtle though it was, but that is neither here nor there. What I must decide at this present moment is what to do with you fair damsels.”

Roger strode to the far end of the shop, allowing Felicity to dump the contents of her goblet into a tall copper kettle that sat beside her. Pandora craned her neck to see what she had done and then briefly sneered at the waste of good port. Before Felicity had a chance to stop her, the actress raised her own glass and finished the wine off with one flip of her wrist. Felicity stared at her in paralyzed horror, knowing with a certainty that she had just gulped down a lethal dose of arsenic.

The miller turned and, seeing their drained glasses, set aside his own. “Time to be about the business of taking you two to wherever I’m going to take you,” he announced and then gestured toward the nightgown and cloak that had fallen from Felicity’s arm when she had entered and which now lay in a heap upon the floor. “You might as well let dear Pandora wear those things you brought over, my dear. ‘

Twould be difficult to explain to anyone we pass why I have a naked woman riding in the back of my cart.”

Beneath Roger’s smirking gaze, Pandora dragged on the nightgown and then wrapped the cloak about herself. As he silently gestured for her to move toward the door, she complied, afraid to do otherwise.

Bidden in like manner, Felicity followed the woman, and a few short moments later, the two of them were climbing into the back of the cart as Roger freed the reins.

It didn’t take Felicity long to realize they were not heading toward London after all, but in more of a westerly direction, toward the rolling countryside interspersed with lofty manors and sizable estates through which the River Avon twined. It was also an area where Roger could dispense with them fairly easily and they wouldn’t soon be found, if at all. If she didn’t manage to get away from him alive, it would probably take weeks, perhaps even months, before anyone found their bodies.

Beside her, Pandora began to groan and writhe in agony. Fearing to do otherwise, Felicity emulated her

as best as she could. When she heard her husband’s sadistic laughter, her neck crawled at his callousness. For all his talk of being fond of her, he seemed highly amused by the idea that he had been successful in poisoning her. It was actually what she hoped he’d believe. Indeed, her ploy would likely be the only way she’d be able to escape alive from this ordeal. It all depended on what her husband intended to do with them
after
he decided they were dead. She was not particularly fond of being buried alive, but then, Roger was not all that ambitious either, especially when it involved hard work, which digging a grave definitely was. Considering his aversion to any laborious task, there was a strong chance that he’d just dump them somewhere alongside the road and be done with it. She prayed desperately that that would be the way of it, and that it wouldn’t be long after he had left them that she’d be able to find help.

Pandora finally stopped her anguished moaning, and again Felicity followed her example. Even so, she reached across very carefully and pressed her fingers to the woman’s wrist. Alas, she could detect no pulse and could only conclude the actress had indeed died from port that Roger had poisoned.

In an area that was totally unfamiliar to Felicity, Roger finally halted the cart, dragged Pandora to the end of it, and, from there, let her body plummet to the ground. Taking hold of her wrists, he hauled her away from the road and then along a ridge that Felicity suspected ran parallel to a stream or perhaps even the River Avon. In the distance, she thought she could hear the burbling of a swiftly moving stream.

While her husband was engaged in the task of disposing of Pandora, Felicity tore off a tiny portion of her chemise and stuffed the piece into her mouth, hoping fervently it would be sufficient to stifle whatever sound would be evoked from her if Roger let her fall to the ground as he had Pandora. Even with her precautions, she was fearful that some grunt, gasp, or similar sound would issue forth from her mouth, which would indeed prove immensely hazardous for her. If Roger wasn’t thoroughly convinced she was dead, she wouldn’

t live out the hour.

Roger straightened as he reached a place favorable for his purposes. Bracing a booted foot upon the voluptuous actress’s hip, he sent Pandora rolling down the slope, and a short space of time later, a distant splash evidenced the fact that her body had rolled into the stream at the bottom of the ravine.

Panting from his exertion, he made his way back to the cart.

Felicity’s heart lurched in her breast as Roger clasped a hand around her ankle and hauled her toward him. Her skirts were nigh to her waist by the time she reached the end of the bed, but he tugged her around until she was lying parallel with the edge. She held her breath in agonizing fear, dreading her descent, praying she and her baby would somehow survive the fall.

Roger leaned forward over her and, slipping his arms beneath her, lifted her up in his arms, causing Felicity to grow weak with overwhelming relief. She was much smaller and therefore lighter than the actress had been. Perhaps for that reason, Roger had decided she would be more manageable if he just

carried her. In view of the rocks that jutted up here and there over the area he was traversing, he’d have certainly exerted himself far more had he dragged her to the same place from whence he had rolled Pandora’s body down the hill.

Felicity had to keep reminding herself over and over to stay as limp as a drowned puppy while Roger carried her toward the spot from which he would launch her toward the stream. Although it became more of a mental feat than a physical one, it left her head lulling loosely over his arm. Although it strained her neck muscles, the position allowed her to see the general area toward which he was taking her, albeit from an upside-down angle. They finally halted along a rise bordering a burbling stream, which Felicity could barely see at the bottom of the rock-strewn hill. Although the moon was out, she had no way of knowing actually how steep the incline was or the distance to the water. She could only hope that she’d still be alive when she finally came to rest.

For a long moment, Roger stood laughing to himself, as if he were actually anticipating whatever was coming or perhaps cheering himself for his ability to dispense with two more victims. Silently, fervently, Felicity prayed that whatever he was planning, she wouldn’t end up drowning. If she couldn’t stop him from killing her, she’d much rather have her head cracked open and lose consciousness than suffer the mind-reeling horror of not being able to breathe.

As much as she tried to prepare herself, Felicity almost panicked when he swung her this way and that in a quest to gain momentum. Then, quite abruptly, he let her go, and she found herself hurtling through space. Seized by fright, she came close to thrashing her limbs wildly about in a frantic attempt to somehow right herself, but she knew any movement would be visible in the moonlight, and it would mean her ultimate doom. If Roger saw anything that seemed even remotely suspicious, he would come after her. Thus, she remained frozen as much as she was able . . . Mentally, it was much like moving at a snail’

s pace while everything else around her was speeding past her with lightning quickness. Whether she’d be alive or dead when she came to rest, she had no way of predicting.

She did indeed fall to earth on soft turf, but upon rolling helter-skelter down the hill, she slammed belly-first into a boulder. If not for the rag she had stuffed into her mouth, the impact would have left her gagging in sudden agony. Pain seared through her, and immediately she felt a wetness gushing forth from her loins, and she knew at that very instant that Roger had finally managed to kill her baby!

It was a very long moment before Felicity could bring herself to move. She feared every bone in her body had been broken, but when she heard the distant rattle of hooves on the road, she realized that Roger was leaving and that it was safe for her to drag the gag from her mouth. She did so, and promptly heaved up her stomach. With each spasm, the gushing fluid flowed more profusely from her loins, but now it was warm and sticky. Although the first had likely been that which surrounded a baby in the womb, she knew this could only be blood, and that if she didn’t somehow find help very, very soon, she’

d probably bleed to death.
Somehow
she’d have to crawl, climb, or claw her way back up the hill to the road and trust that some passerby would come along and take pity on her before it was too late.

R
iordan Kendrick sat glumly in the corner of his landau as he stared out the window into the night. Since Adriana’s marriage to Colton, he had had no heart for the gathering of friends and acquaintances, yet this evening he had finally relented to Percy’s plea to join the couple for dinner. Seeing Samantha in the latter stages of her pregnancy only reminded him of what he had missed not being able to claim Adriana as his wife. At times, he found himself inundated with impressions, her silken arms twining about him in the darkness, her soft lips responding to his, her thighs opening to welcome his throbbing maleness into her sweet, womanly softness.

Gnashing his teeth, Riordan rubbed his chest, wishing he could relieve that damnable, nagging emptiness where once a heart had throbbed with life . . . and hope. He was wise enough to know he
would have

to get over the pain of losing Adriana and turn his mind toward the task of finding another woman whom he could love, but as yet, he hadn’t felt the least bit ambitious about motivating himself in that area. None of the available maidens in the area appealed to him. The ones he had once thought might have had a chance of satisfying him if he had been forced to choose another were now married. But even then, he had considered them only briefly, not wanting to face the loss of his ideal. He had loved Adriana deeply, would probably always love her, but as painfully brutal as the truth seemed to be of late, she now belonged to another who had proven his love for her just as strongly. Colton had certainly seemed willing to die to ensure their union, which left him, Riordan, sadly coveting the wife of another man, a man whom he admired and respected . . . and totally envied.

Riordan frowned in sudden perplexity as he realized his driver was drawing the landau to a halt on the open road. “What is it, Matthew?” he asked when the older man opened the small window above the forward seat. “Why have you stopped the carriage?”

“There’s someone lyin’ aside the road, milord, an’ if’n I can believe me poor eyes, I’d make it out ta be a fair-haired lady, sir. She may be dead . . . or perhaps bad hurt. Shall I climb down and have a look, milord?”

“No, keep your seat, Matthew. I shall see to the matter myself.”

Riordan pushed open the carriage door and stepped lightly to the ground. Making his way forward alongside the landau, he paused beside the dickey seat to receive a coach lamp and directions from the driver, who then pointed toward the inert form. Lifting the lantern high to light his way as he progressed toward the dark shape, Riordan watched for any meager sign of life. The fine leather soles of his boots crunched against the roadbed, but he could detect no smallest evidence of reaction from the woman, who was curled in a small knot on her side near the edge of the road. From what he could determine, she was already dead, or at the very least unconscious.

Squatting down on a well-shod heel beside the woman, he lifted a slender wrist in his hand and searched for a pulse. It was faint but still detectable. He set the lantern on the road near her shoulder and then proceeded to turn her over.

“Mrs. Elston!” he cried, promptly recognizing Samuel Gladstone’s granddaughter. He vividly recalled having met the beauty a number of months ago when he had visited the miller. Although at the time he had hardly been cognizant of any woman other than his lovely Adriana, he had been pleasantly taken aback by the girl’s exceptional pulchritude in spite of the fact that he had considered her pale blond hair and blue eyes the exact opposite of his ideal, which Adriana had unknowingly done much to solidify in his mind. Later, he had heard some talk about Samuel’s granddaughter having married the young miller, the same cad who had been so rude and possessive of Adriana during the Autumn Ball. However briefly he had considered her, Riordan had mentally marked the lady off his list of alternatives.