Midnight's Wild Passion, page 28
Sick panic constricted Antonia’s chest. “What is it? Is she sick again?”
Dear God, had Cassie suffered a relapse? The girl’s strength had returned so quickly, Antonia occasionally forgot how recently she’d hovered at death’s door.
The maid slumped against the armoire. Worried, Antonia rushed to pour her a glass of water. She extended it to Bella, who snatched it and gulped a mouthful.
“What’s happened?” Terror chilled her blood.
Bella looked up, her eyes glittering with tears. “He’s got her. I don’t know who else to tell. There’s going to be the most awful to-do. Oh, my poor sweeting.”
The glass trembled so violently, Antonia grabbed it. “Who’s got her?”
Bella glared at her. That at least hadn’t changed. “Who do you think? That ruddy bastard Ranelaw.”
After all her longing, the name was an arrow aimed directly at Antonia’s shredded heart. Before she thought to conceal her reaction, she retreated a shaky step, a trembling hand pressed to her breasts.
“The Marquess of Ranelaw?” she said hesitantly. “You must be mistaken.”
“He’s been after her from the start. The filthy brute. Now he’s taken her.”
Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas, tell me it isn’t so.
Immediate certainty weighted her belly, tightened her throat. Of course it was so.
Was this wicked act revenge on her for rejecting him? She hadn’t thought him so childish.
Or—what a gullible idiot she was—had he wanted Cassie all along?
“Taken her where?” she stammered.
“Who knows? I waited outside the Sheridans’, in case my lamb came to grief.” Her eyes sharpened with resentment. “For all that we’ve had our differences, you watch her like an eagle. But you weren’t with her this afternoon so I made sure she was safe.”
Cassie hadn’t been safe. Another layer of guilt to pile on the layers that already threatened to crush Antonia.
She stared blankly at Bella as she struggled to make sense of this. Did Ranelaw intend to marry Cassie? After proposing to Antonia only days ago? Immediately she stifled a surge of searing agony at the recollection. His proposal had been a ruse. Obviously. Cassie was much more eligible. Rich, young, pretty, untainted by scandal. So far, at least.
But Antonia wasn’t convinced he meant marriage to Cassie. Even now. She had a grim intuition that he sought the momentary gratification of a night’s passion, never mind the damage he did.
The man she’d first thought Nicholas to be might do this terrible thing. The man who had held her through a dark, passionate night was better than this.
Or so she’d imagined.
What a wealth of pain that admission masked. The enormity of his crime beggared description. She battered back the need to curl into a ball and scream out her confused rage.
Damn you, Nicholas, damn you to hell for a faithless liar.
Two men she’d allowed into her bed. Two men had betrayed her.
Later. Later she’d pick up the bleeding remnants of her heart. She’d always known it was dangerous to allow Nicholas close. Only now did she realize how dangerous.
Traitorous, heinous, contemptible villain.
“Bella, tell me what you saw,” she snapped.
The maid immediately responded to the voice of authority. The voice, did she but know it, of Lady Antonia Hilliard. She straightened and looked less likely to collapse. “I was in the street across from the mansion. I saw Lord Ranelaw come out of an alley with Cassie. Before I could do anything, he bundled her into a gig and took off like the devil was after him.”
“Perhaps he just invited Cassie for a drive,” Antonia said, even as she accepted with bleak certainty that Bella’s suspicions must be correct.
“That’s not how it seemed to me.” Bella didn’t sound like the harridan who dogged Antonia’s life. She sounded like a woman facing disaster. “What are you going to do?”
The lethargy that had infected Antonia for the last four days vanished. With sudden purpose, she whirled away and rifled through her bag.
Her hand finally alighted on the mahogany case holding her dueling pistols, a gift from her father on her sixteenth birthday. A relic of the days when the earl had been proud of his daughter’s spirit and independence. “I’m going to fix this.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ranelaw kept the gig traveling too fast through the thick traffic for Cassie to risk jumping out. She remained quiet. His reckless speed as he wove in and out of the other vehicles must make her nervous. The last thing she’d want was to interrupt his concentration and send them both hurtling onto the cobblestones.
When they reached London’s outskirts, he maintained the breakneck pace. Something in him responded to the velocity. He had a bizarre fancy that if he went far enough and fast enough, he’d leave his disasters behind.
The idea of flying into nothing was hellishly appealing.
“You’re not taking me to Antonia, are you?” Cassie’s voice was flat.
“What?”
He kept his eyes on the road although of course he’d heard her, in spite of the wind and the carriage’s creaking and the fact that he damned well wanted to postpone this particular conversation as long as possible.
“You’re not taking me to Antonia.”
She didn’t sound like the little airhead he’d danced with. He hated to think of Antonia, but he couldn’t help remembering she’d repeatedly told him Cassie was considerably smarter than she pretended.
Too bad. Cassie wasn’t as smart as he was. And he was far enough out of London to have her at his mercy. All the brains in the world wouldn’t save her now.
He should rejoice. He’d succeeded with such minimal difficulty, he hardly believed it. God couldn’t be on his side, not when his purposes were so wicked. Perhaps the devil seized control of his fate.
Nothing new there.
The area was deserted. Fields lay on either side and deep ditches lined the roadside. If Cassie tried to escape, he’d have no trouble catching her.
He drew the carriage to a stop and turned to her, gripping her arm to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. “No, I’m abducting you.”
He braced for hysterics. But she didn’t tremble under his hand. Instead she fixed him with a steady and remarkably contemptuous gaze. “You want to marry me? Why not just apply to my father? I’m sure he’d listen. You are, after all, from a noble family.”
He released a scornful laugh. “Good God, no. I don’t want to marry you. I just want to ruin you.”
She reacted with a cool curiosity he couldn’t help but admire. “Why?”
He frowned. Strangely he hadn’t expected he’d have to explain himself. More strangely, the power seemed to have shifted to this astonishingly composed eighteen-year-old girl who regarded him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock.
“I’m a rake.”
Her lips tightened. “Of course you are. But you don’t want me.”
Ranelaw looked at Cassie. Really looked for the first time. She appeared neither dazzled nor frightened.
Instead she looked . . . disappointed.
“I’ve pursued you all season.” How was it that he felt at a loss? A few moments ago, he’d been master of his world.
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “But you want Toni.”
He jerked so sharply that the horses sidled and flung up their heads. He soothed them as his mind churned with bewilderment.
“Your chaperone?” He tried to sound as if the idea was ludicrous.
Her voice remained calm. “Yes, my chaperone. Lady Antonia Hilliard. As you well know. The woman who makes you light up like a candle. The woman you can hardly take your eyes off, no matter how much sham flirting you do elsewhere.”
“I was using her to get to you.” He already knew this remarkable young lady wouldn’t believe a word. Why should she? She was right. The only woman who interested him was the woman who turned his nights to fire and who had deserted him four days ago.
Cassie raised her eyebrows in open skepticism. “No, you weren’t.” Her voice developed an edge. “Surely you know this stupid prank puts her forever out of reach. What on earth are you thinking, my lord?”
“She’s not for me.” A fissure set up in the ice encasing him. He struggled to mend it. He loved that ice. It stopped him feeling. It stopped him yearning. He didn’t want to think about losing Antonia. He wanted to think about avenging poor, innocent Eloise.
If he couldn’t manage that, he didn’t want to think at all.
“Not after this, she’s not.” Cassie spoke with real passion. “She’s perfect for you. And you can restore her rightful standing.”
He stared at the girl in shock. Suddenly the whole sequence of encounters with Cassie made bizarre sense. She hadn’t been encouraging him. Or at least she’d only encouraged him so Antonia would continue to cavil at his unsuitable interest. “My God, you were matchmaking.”
Cassie didn’t even have the grace to blush. “I think . . . thought you were the man for her. She’s been alone too long. You made her . . . alive.”
Blast her, he didn’t want to hear about Antonia coming alive. It stirred too many memories. He closed his eyes and automatically tightened his hold on the girl’s arm. Not because he feared her escape but because every muscle clenched in denial of the truth she spoke.
“She’s not for me,” he repeated through stiff lips, and inwardly winced as with a silent scream, a great block of ice crashed from his soul into the murky ocean of his life.
“If you take me back now, she mightn’t discover what you’ve done.”
Now his victim proffered advice to save his sorry arse. Worse, a tiny, obscure corner of his soul heeded her.
None of which made him consider changing his mind. Even if he returned Cassie safe and sound, Antonia was still lost to him. He owed allegiance only to his sister. He’d pursue his plan to the end, no matter that his conscience kicked like a wild horse under its first saddle.
He forced himself to lie. “You mistake my interest in your chaperone.”
Disdain clouded her face. “If you insist.”
He frowned. “You should be afraid. Hell, you should be bloody terrified.”
“I could run away,” she pointed out with almost scientific detachment. “It’s not as if you have an army of henchmen to stop me.”
He cast a speaking glance over their surroundings. There was a village a few miles back. Another a few miles ahead. Neither close enough to offer shelter.
“And go where? You have no money. You’re wearing silly shoes that will carry you about a hundred yards before they disintegrate. You have no escort. I promise, you’re safer with me than with a mob of yokels.”
Her lips tightened. “Not if you intend to rape me.”
He realized that beneath her bravado, she was frightened. He stifled the unwelcome insight that he turned into the sort of degenerate who pulled wings off flies and set fire to kittens’ tails.
At least he could put the Demarest chit’s mind at rest on one count. When he’d plotted this abduction, he’d sworn to wring every last ounce of fear and misery from his victim. In recent weeks, his taste for theatrics had waned. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“You probably imagine I’m willing,” she snapped back. “You have an inflated idea of your attractions, my lord.”
Against his will, he smiled. “And you have a sharp tongue for a girl the world considers spun sugar.”
She raised her chin. “I’m stronger than I look.”
He was still smiling. He began to like Cassie. Which was a massive bloody disaster. While she remained a simpering little cipher, success had hovered within reach.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” he said dryly. “I swear you’ll return to London as virginal as the day you left. You’ll be ruined after a night with me whether I touch you or not.”
She didn’t look relieved. She looked confused. “I don’t understand. If you don’t . . .”
She bit her lip and looked away, then met his eyes without wavering. He wished he didn’t recognize her bravery. Her voice was artificially even. “If you don’t want me in your bed and you don’t want to marry me, why do this nonsensical thing?”
He supposed shattering any illusions she held about her weasel of a papa constituted part of his revenge. His hands tightened on the reins. “Because of your father.”
Cassie looked more baffled. “My father’s in Paris.”
“Twenty years ago, your father was my family’s guest.”
He paused, searching for words. It proved more difficult than he’d imagined to alert this young girl to her sire’s sins. He plowed on, hoping the recounting would shore up his purpose. He had a sudden bleak recollection of Antonia telling him a story vilely similar to Eloise’s. “He seduced my sister and abandoned her to bear a child.”
Stubborn denial darkened Cassie’s expression. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
She shook her head. “My father may be a rake but he’s never ruined a girl of good family.”
Ranelaw’s lips twisted in bitter recollection. “Perhaps I should clarify—Eloise is my father’s bastard.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m under no illusions about Papa’s weakness for a pretty face, but he’s never worried the maids at Bascombe Hailey or the girls in the village. He wouldn’t seduce the daughter of his host, whether she was illegitimate or not.”
Ranelaw shrugged with genuine indifference. Cassie’s fate was sealed whether she believed him about Eloise or not. “Perhaps he’s changed his ways since his youth. Perhaps he’s become wise enough to pursue his vices well away from home and any unpleasant consequences. Not that he suffered any consequences from what he did to Eloise. All the misery was hers. Your father escaped scot-free.” He paused as old anger coiled tight in his belly. “Until now.”
“I refuse to believe you,” she said stiffly, although the gaze she fixed on him was troubled. He could see that his unhesitating certainty chipped at the girl’s trust in her father.
“Your prerogative. It makes no difference in the long run.”
Cassie looked increasingly upset. “Yes, it does. You tell me my father is a cad of the worst kind and expect me to accept what you say without proof.”
“The proof is surely in my scheme against you. But as I told you—whether you choose to believe me is completely up to you.”
Perhaps it was his blatant lack of interest in persuading her to accept his story that finally convinced. Devastation flooded her face. He stifled a surge of unwilling sympathy. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her, either because of his actions against her or for what she learned about her vile father. As it was, he clung to his vengeance by only the frailest thread.
“If what you say is true, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled. “Your poor sister. What happened to the baby?”
“Eloise’s daughter was born dead.”
“Oh.” Cassie stared down at her lap, at hands clenching so hard, the knuckles shone white.
Ranelaw braced for a volley of questions, further expressions of doubt about her father’s role in the tragedy, but she remained silent. Had fear obliterated her courage at last?
“Cassie?”
After a pause, she glanced up, her big blue eyes swimming with tears. She looked like a woeful young goddess. He felt no shred of sexual attraction, which was both a relief and a worry. He should want to fuck this girl. But his principal reaction was the impulse to hug her and tell her everything would be fine. Positively bloody avuncular.
“That baby was my sister,” she choked out.
He frowned. “Yes. Just as it was my sister your father wronged. She’s rotted in an Irish convent the last twenty years.”
“I’m still not sure I believe you.” But Ranelaw could see that at last she did. With a shaking hand, Cassie dashed moisture from her eyes. “If it’s true, it was unforgivably wicked of Papa.” Her voice strengthened. “But it’s not my fault.”
He scowled even as his conscience stabbed him yet again. “Your father needs to know how it feels to witness the destruction of someone he loves.”
Cassie’s glance sharpened. “Did Eloise ask you to avenge her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know she wants this?” she asked urgently. “Surely she wouldn’t wish disgrace on another woman, a woman who has never harmed her.”
His lips tightened. “She deserves recompense.”
To his utter shock, Cassie placed her hand on his arm. His muscles tensed with rejection, but she curled her fingers and clung. “You love her very much, don’t you?”
He glanced at her as if she spoke absurdities. “Of course I do.”
“She’s lucky to have such a brother.”
Suspicion rose in his gullet. “Don’t think to sweet-talk your way into making me let you go.”
“I wouldn’t.” She looked innocent. Too innocent. She must have some scheme in mind. Although for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what. “I see you’re determined.”
“I am,” he snapped, the declaration ringing hollow.
“You know ruining me won’t change anything. It won’t bring Eloise’s baby back or return her lost years.”
How dare the chit try to sway him with logic? “Your father will suffer. It’s enough.”
Cassie’s hand tightened. “Antonia won’t forgive you if you go through with this.”
He’d almost wavered until she overplayed her hand. A vast black wave of rage swept away any whispers of contrition. The same black rage that had gripped him since Antonia had refused his proposal, then strutted out of his life as if he was only a passing fancy.
“I don’t give a rat’s arse what Antonia thinks.” He lifted the reins, ready to drive on. “It’s a good few hours to Hampshire.”
