Unmasking Deception, page 14
Adrian and Catherine were exchanging glances. “I think we need Lord Dominic. He’ll know what to do. And he has Napper, who was a soldier.”
Miss Mather hesitated. Was it wasting precious time? Or would he have more idea than she about Minton’s likely behavior?
He could hardly have less.
“Adrian, you had better come with me,” she said grimly. “Catherine, tell your mother what’s happening and assure her we are being discreet.”
Chapter Twelve
What the devil could be taking them so long? The old man refusing to believe evidence exonerating Dominic? Or perhaps there was no real evidence, nothing to discuss, and Richard had merely gone off elsewhere.
Dominic, bored with pacing the same few yards around Richard’s rooms, threw himself into an armchair and glared at Napper, who was asleep on the sofa with his wig over his eyes. Dominic felt he would explode if he didn’t get outside soon. The confinement of prison had been followed all too quickly by confinement in the Doves’ cellar and now in Richard’s poky rooms. He longed for fresh air, space to stride out, to breathe, to gallop…
It was no consolation that Napper must be feeling as bad. And Napper had taken this on for him. But Napper at least had the soldier’s ability to sleep in the hours of boredom. All Dominic could do was pace and brood and torment himself with delicious thoughts of Viola.
If he was freed—pardoned, exonerated, whatever course was taken—then he would at least be worthy. Only, he knew she needed to marry money, and he didn’t have any, at least not beyond the cozy little estate in Lincolnshire which paid him little more than pin-money each year. She might be prepared to live in a cottage or a garret with him, but he doubted she would inflict such poverty on her family.
Damn it, when he had even started thinking in terms of marriage? He had only met the woman a week ago, and surely his feelings were all muddled up with gratitude. Not that it felt like gratitude. Not when he kissed her. Not when he contemplated life without her.
“I need to get out,” he muttered. “Just see other beautiful women, remind myself that they exist, that she is not the only one…”
A loud thudding on the door interrupted him. Surprised, he knew he should still ignore it. Napper opened one eye but didn’t move.
Whoever was calling would assume Richard was out, which he was, and go away.
Unless Richard had forgotten his key.
Unlikely. But Dominic was bored, and it was an excuse. He reached for his wig and clapped it on his head.
“Don’t,” Napper said in alarm, swinging his legs onto the floor.
But it was too late. Dominic was already out of the room and striding down the narrow passage to the entrance door. Assuming the posture of a footman, he opened the door—and beheld Adrian Dove with a strange young woman.
Adrian blinked, then grinned. “Suits you, sir! We need to come in.”
Dominic let him, even bowed to the lady, but some portent of disaster was churning his stomach.
“This is Matty,” Adrian said in a rush. “Miss Mathers, I mean. She’s our governess. Well, the girls’ governess, really. Matty, this is Lord Dominic. And that is Napper.”
“Adrian, why are you here?” Dominic demanded. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. We can’t find Viola.”
The story poured out while he led them to the sitting room, and they sat down. Well, the others sat. Dominic could not be still. He had never felt such fear and such rage. Nor been so aware that he had to squash them, to think through them in order to have a chance of bringing Viola home safely.
“You know this Minton, I believe,” Miss Mather said anxiously. “Could he have abducted Viola?”
“Oh yes,” Dominic said savagely. He swallowed it back, throwing off his wig and already unbuttoning the liveried coat. “Not sure why, because she’s not rich, and only a fool would cross Wenning. But he’s up to something.” He couldn’t say, not to Viola’s young brother, that he feared Minton was more than capable of murder, that he would probably commit it again to save his skin if Viola asked too many questions.
And yet, the man had made no effort to cover her presence with him outside Hyde Park at the busiest time. That had to be good for her physical safety, if not for her reputation.
“What are you going to do?” Miss Mather called after him as he vanished into Richard’s bedchamber.
“Go after her,” he answered. “Find her. Bring her back.”
He emerged less than a minute later, wearing one of Richard’s black overcoats and stuffing Richard’s pistol into its pocket.
“I’ll come with you,” Adrian said, jumping up.
“No, you should go home, look after your mother and help maintain the fiction that she isn’t well.”
Napper had already removed his livery and wig and put on his old coat from prison days. “I will go with you,” he said aggressively.
Dominic nodded curtly. He didn’t want to risk Napper, but Viola was more important than anything else. As an afterthought, on his way down the hall, he nipped into his own tiny bedchamber and picked up the masks stolen at Maida Gardens, and stuffed them in his pocket, too.
*
The horses covered distance with frightening speed. Viola had the dizzying feeling of leaving everyone and everything that could help her further and further behind. They sped through toll gates, leaving London behind in what seemed like no time.
Not that she was resigned to her fate. Far from it. But there was little she could do speeding along the road with Minton in the carriage beside her. Her best opportunity, she decided, was when they stopped to change horses. She would insist upon refreshment and hope for the opportunity to sneak off, to beg, borrow, or steal a conveyance back to London. Her mother was expecting to attend a musical evening with her and would be both furious and worried sick.
“You can’t really intend to drag me all the way to the border,” she said once.
“Lord, no, there’s no need of such melodrama. My house in Buckinghamshire will be quite adequate.”
Of course. That was where Dominic had been bound when his pursuit had caught up with him and forced him to hide in Maida Gardens that night. It seemed so long ago.
“Adequate for what?” she demanded. “We cannot be married without a license. Or my guardian’s consent.”
“Your guardian being the Earl of Wenning.”
“Who is likely to kill you,” Viola said with relish. “Or at least thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
“Oh, I doubt that. He will be more than eager for us to tie the knot after you have spent a night, or even part of a night, under my roof.”
“And how is he supposed to know?” she jeered. “He is not in town.”
“He will know in time. We may announce our engagement when we return to London, subject to his lordship’s consent.”
“And you really think this is the best way to endear yourself to Wenning?” she said incredulously.
“His affection—or lack of it—is immaterial,” Minton snapped. “It is his support I need.”
Because you murdered Crawley? And the truth is likely to emerge at last? She didn’t point out that noble connections had not saved Dominic. In fact, the idea that she was alone in a closed carriage with a man who had killed in cold blood made her cringe inside. Not only that, he had let Dominic take the blame. This was a man of no conscience, no scruples, no morals.
“People saw us together near Hyde Park,” she pointed out desperately. Somewhere, she still hoped she could persuade him that his course was dangerous rather than advantageous. “Your Buckinghamshire estate is the first place they will look.”
“The first place who will look?” he asked, clearly amused. “Your mama? She will be far too busy covering up the fact that you’ve gone to tell anyone.”
“You misjudge her. She will tell family and friends who will act immediately.”
“Perhaps,” he said complacently. “After she—and they—have wasted all evening searching London for a sign of either of us.”
He had a point. When they realized she had not come home, they would send to all the likely places she might have gone—Amelia’s, Lady Trewthorpe’s, even Lady Darblay’s, since she was a sort of cousin by marriage, and she and Catherine were particularly friendly with her daughter Hope…
And then someone would scour London for Minton, trying to be discreet. He was right. It would be ages before anyone thought to look further afield, and even then, there would be nothing to say which way she had come. Her only hope was that someone would think of Minton’s Buckinghamshire home if they could imagine a supposed gentleman behaving with such evil.
Dominic would know. Perhaps word would reach Lord Richard, and he would suggest it…
No, she was alone and had to get herself out of this.
The horses slowed, then turned through a gate to a country inn. Not fashionable, she could see from the people walking across the yard, but respectable and large enough to change horses. And supply refreshment.
“Thank God,” she said. “I am thirsty and hungry.”
“There will be plenty to eat and drink when we reach my house.” Despite the pleasant weather, he still wore his driving coat, a many-caped affair with large pockets in the seams. Into one of these pockets, he often thrust his hand, as he did now, as though fingering something inside while he uttered his smug, complaisant statement.
“I cannot wait that long,” she said flatly.
“You will not expire from not eating for a few hours,” he said dryly. “You may have a cup of water or small beer in the carriage.”
“That will help, but I need to go inside.”
“No, you don’t.”
She stared at him. “Sir, do I really have to spell out to you the consequences of refusing me? I assure you it will not be pleasant being cooped up in a carriage with me.”
For a moment, his fingers stilled in his pocket, and he looked so appalled that, in spite of everything, she wanted to laugh. Of course, her mother would be equally appalled by the vulgar tone of her remarks, but she had to be unladylike to get out of the chaise. And indeed, after a moment’s hesitation, no doubt weighing the disadvantages, he did open the door and push down the steps.
Alighting, he turned and handed her down. When he drew her hand into the crook of his arm, she tried to pull it free, but he held onto it with a grip of steel while he snapped a few words to the postilion and began to walk toward the house.
Any hope she might have harbored that he would let her go inside alone died when he held the door for her with a murmur of, “No tricks. You can be my disobedient wife here, too. And I don’t need my valet to subdue you.”
They wouldn’t necessarily think well of him, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind that. And no one was likely to interfere between a man and wife. A quick glance around the room showed her a farmer and his wife tucking into pie and ale, a group of men who might have been traveling merchants at one end of the room, and a more genteel couple at the other.
A plump woman who was probably the innkeeper’s wife bustled up to Viola and Minton. “Evening, sir, ma’am, what’s your pleasure?”
“Two glasses of small beer, and direct my wife to a cloakroom.”
“Come with me, ma’am,” the woman said comfortably. She whisked her away from Minton—a joy in itself—and past the genteel couple, who did not appear to be talking to each other. Or at least the lady, who appeared to be a few years younger than Viola, was ostentatiously turned away from her companion, a man in his forties who was more likely to be her father than her husband, at least judging by the scowl on his face as he determinedly ate the meal in front of him.
Viola willed them both to look at her, and when the girl cast a quick, curious glance, Viola smiled at her.
“This way, ma’am,” the innkeeper’s wife said cheerfully, interrupting any possibility of speaking to the young lady.
Viola hoped to waste time at the inn, to give anyone looking for her—her cousins, perhaps—a chance to catch up. At the very least, the innkeeper’s wife would remember her now. At best, she wanted a chance to escape, either alone or with someone she could persuade to believe she was being abducted.
However, there was no opportunity to speak to the innkeeper’s wife, who opened a door off the main room. “End of the passage, dearie, I mean ma’am. No one will disturb you.” And bustled off, closing the door behind her and calling orders to her staff.
Viola hurried along the little passage, which was windowless, and had only one door, that to the cloakroom. So much for her wild hope of simply bolting out of a back door and running for the stables.
The window was her only hope, though it was both smaller and higher up than she would have liked. Ignoring the chamber pot and water jugs, she hastily dragged a box of cleaning utensils, a chair, and a bucket under the window, placed them on top of each other in a precarious pile, and managed to clamber onto the windowsill.
To her delight, the window swung all the way open, and it was just about large enough for her to get through. However, the business of getting her legs through first so that she didn’t land on her head, took some time to manage.
Below her was the ground and freedom. And to the left, the stables. The chaise had been turned, harnessed to fresh horses, and moved to the right, nearer the gate. The postilion was stretching his legs and patting the horses’ heads.
Another carriage, perhaps belonging to the sulky young girl and her scowling companion, stood close to her. Should she hide in there? Or risk running to the stables? She could hear the ostlers’ voices drifting over, but there was no one in sight to see her jump.
So she did. She was already sailing through the air when the young lady and older gentleman marched around the corner.
Viola landed with a jarring thud and fell forward, though she managed to save herself on her hands so that she didn’t plant her face on the ground.
“Good lord,” the man exclaimed, rushing toward her, the girl at his heels.
Viola sprang up. “Oh, please, will you help me? Are you by chance going to London?”
The girl’s eyes widened, all sulkiness gone.
“Actually, no,” her companion replied, “we have just left town. But, madam—”
“I am so sorry,” came Minton’s infuriating voice as he strode toward the little group. “I do hope my wife has not been importuning you.”
Drat it, I should have run to the stables after all. Viola could have screamed with vexation. “Please help me,” she pleaded, low and urgent. “That man is not my husband, and he is forcing me to go with him.”
The couple turned to him as though expecting explanation at the least, but Minton sighed with a very good imitation of weary sadness.
“Not this again, my dear. Please forgive my wife. She is sadly afflicted with bouts of hysteria, which is why I am removing her from the excitement and poor air of London. Even though I have much business still to conduct there. It is all for her good.”
“Liar!” Viola exclaimed. “I have never been hysterical in my life!”
“Then what do you call this outburst?” he asked gently and reached for her.
From sheer instinct, she jerked away, stepping behind the couple who were by now thoroughly bewildered.
But Minton followed immediately, seizing her by the arm and jerking her away. “I am so sorry, madam, sir. We shall just be on our way. She will calm down in the coach.”
“Perhaps a meal at the inn first would be best,” the girl said unexpectedly.
“I would like to,” Minton appeared to agree. “But you see how she is with any company at all. We must have peace and so must hasten home with all speed.”
Although she struggled, his strength was relentless. She longed to scream and hit, bite and kick, but surely that would only play into his description of her as hysterical. As he all but dragged her away toward the chaise, she saw her best hope of escape vanishing.
Then, suddenly inspired, she called to the concerned couple. “Please!” She ducked, avoiding the hand Minton tried to slap over her mouth. “Send word to Lord Richard Gorse!”
And then his palm was over her mouth, and she was marched the rest of the way and almost flung into the yellow chaise. At last, it seemed, she had enraged him, which was both satisfying and frightening, though she would never reveal the latter.
In any case, he was forced to rein in his anger, for the innkeeper’s wife appeared with two cups of ale. “There, let the poor young lady drink it in peace, and she’ll be right as rain,” the woman beamed.
There was pity in her eyes, though no sign of assistance. Debating her next move, Viola thanked her, which was more than Minton did. While she sipped at her own weak beer, he snatched up the other cup, gulped half the contents, and thrust the cup back into the woman’s hands. It seemed he wouldn’t trouble with much pretense in front of the lower orders.
He glared at her, the message in his eyes clear. Deliberately, she defied him, taking another tiny sip of beer.
The other carriage clattered past them to the gate, the girl’s curious face pressed to the window. Had they had time to do as she had asked them? She doubted it, though they might do so from home. It would be too late to preserve her reputation by then, she suspected. And her sisters would be blighted along with her.
The whole injustice of her situation made her blood boil. She wanted to hurl the contents of her glass in his face.
As though reading her thoughts, he snatched the cup from her, thrust it out of the window at the innkeeper’s wife, and commanded her to stand aside.
“Let them go!” he instructed the postilion, and the carriage was once more underway.
Chapter Thirteen
