Mistress by Marriage Read online

  Caroline’s response was to flip on her back and kick him in the balls. How on earth did she know where to aim? Perhaps it was just luck. Not his. He bit his tongue and doubled over on the seat.

  “Unh! Unh un uhn, oo unh!”

  Her feet were flying at him. Clearly he should have tied them as well. It was not too late. Fighting nausea, he fought off her feet, too. When he had recovered sufficiently, he pulled a length of rope from the pocket of his coat, grabbed her ankles and wound them up tight.

  “Unh! Unh unh unh unh!” She continued to tumble about like a furious red caterpillar.

  “Shut up, ye little b-witch.” It was imperative he get the wine into her as soon as possible. He felt as if he was wrestling with a bag of cats led by the redoubtable Harold. “I’ll just take yer gag off, ye hear? If ye say one damned word, I’ll slap it back on. Slap yer pretty arse too, see if I don’t.”

  “Unh oo.”

  Edward was pretty sure she’d just asked him to do an anatomically impossible thing. Mindful of his fingers, he untied the fabric around her mouth. It was new, silk and clean, save for the drool.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, her voice unnaturally calm.

  “Ain’t got no meanin’, missus. I got my orders. Now be a good girl and drink yer wine.” He took the bottle and a glass out of the basket. If it weren’t drugged, he’d be tempted to have some himself to kill the pain.

  “I don’t want any.”

  “Aye, ye do.” He poured some into the tumbler and held it to Caroline’s lips.

  “It’s poisoned, isn’t it? Like the tea.”

  “Poisoned!” Edward scoffed. “If it was poisoned, ye’d not be talkin’ now, would ye? Ye’d be buried in a deep ditch I dug. Wormfood. C’mon, drink up.”

  Caroline took a sip, then spit it in his general direction. His reflexes were better this time around.

  “Missed me, missus. Have it yer way.” He fastened the silk back over her mouth in a trice.

  “Unh unh unh, uh unh unh unh uh uh.”

  “Sorry. Can’t unnerstand a bloody word.” He picked up a sandwich and unwrapped it. “Umm-umm. This here’s a good lunch. Don’t suppose yer hungry either.”

  Caroline said nothing, her body deceptively still.

  “Don’t know where the next meal will come from, or when.” He wasn’t really hungry, but it was the only way he could think to pay her back for the vicious kick. He chewed loudly, smacking his lips, as he imagined one of the lower classes might do. Edward could only manage three bites before he quietly shoved the sandwich back in the picnic hamper, but not before risking his fingers to toss a slice of ham to Harold to shut him up.

  “If I was in yer fix, I’d lie back. Have meself a nap.”

  Silence. Excellent. Perhaps she’d recognized the futility of trying to do him further harm. It was all for her own good. Once he’d convinced her to give their marriage another go, she’d thank him.

  They’d been on the road all morning. Edward knew it was not much farther. He had hoped to carry a comatose Caroline into the house, but even if she was protesting in some form, no notice would be taken. The hired driver and his postboy had been paid well to turn a blind eye to any irregularities—a woman trussed up like a Christmas goose, for example. Edward had given a false name at the outset and they were to be left at a coaching inn in Ashford. His own coach had gathered up the Hazletts and Ben immediately after Caroline left Jane Street. They’d passed him a while back, where he transferred Caroline’s small valise to them. There would be time to get the servants in place and for his coachman Munson to collect them.

  He’d thought of everything except for the damned cat, who still glared at him malevolently despite the ham. Perhaps the creature would get lost in Bradlaw’s deer park. Be gored by a wild boar. Carried off by an eagle.

  Hm. There was something to be said for violent fantasies. No wonder Caroline had enjoyed her writing so. It must be powerful to make people behave in just the manner you wished. Lord knows, despite Edward’s every effort, he’d not been entirely successful with his own family, and certainly not with Caroline. Well, that was about to change.

  It was time to dress Caroline in the heavy black cloak. She was as unyielding as a block of wood, but he eventually covered her and pulled the hood down over her face. When the coach clattered into the yard, Edward climbed out, dragged her over the seat and threw her over his shoulder as though she were drunk. The innyard was empty save for Munson, who had scared off all comers and was idling in wait for him.

  Edward dumped Caroline onto the leather seats, making sure her pert nose poked out between the blindfold and the gag. Deciding it would be safer to ride up top with his coachman, he left his wife and her cat and their seething fury securely locked below.

  Pope and Douglass. Either one, the other, or both. They weren’t foolish enough to accomplish the deed themselves—oh, no—they had hired the basest villain who stunk like a Pimenta racemosa tree to drug and kidnap her. The criminal smelled just like one of her brother’s house party guests, a planter from the Caribbean islands. Caroline had never seen him, but his scent had lingered everywhere. It had taken a full three weeks to air out the room he stayed in.

  Caroline lay flat on her back thinking, perspiring from the heavy cloak that had been bundled over her. Good-quality wool if she hadn’t lost all sensation. The new vehicle was considerably better sprung than the first, not that it made any difference to her. Her kidnappers might be rich, but no matter how much money they had, they would be sorry.

  The knots were fiendishly well tied. She hadn’t a hope of escaping. She couldn’t see or move or scream, but she could still hear. She’d concentrated on every word the bastard had said to her. She wasn’t to be harmed if she behaved. Hah. That’s what all her villains said, and they never meant it.

  If she was being held for ransom, they’d contact Edward. If they simply wanted to torture her—or anything else, like kill her—she’d better start saying her prayers. There was a great dark spot upon her soul.

  Edward would surely pay. He’d gone to a considerable amount of discomfort when he moved into her house after the first threat. Throwing money at a problem was much simpler than sleeping on the floor like some shaggy watchdog.

  Edward. She might never see him again. Not that she’d planned to. Their break was absolute. She’d made that perfectly clear in her garden weeks ago.

  Once she was taken to her destination, she would explain to Pope and/or Douglass that she’d already given up her writing, that she’d never harm a gentleman’s reputation again by revealing any embarrassing or egregious truths. She was going to become a recluse in the country with her cat. Harold purred in solidarity across the way. At least her abductor had not left the cat behind. Thoughtful of him really. Harold had done nothing but growl and spit at her abductor, bless his brave little heart.

  Caroline hoped her accommodations would not be too Spartan or spooky. One of her heroines had endured bats in a cave (The Midnight Marchioness), another, giant spiders in a dungeon (The Baron’s Bride). She had nothing against bats or spiders, but didn’t care to share her nights with them. She’d never get a wink of sleep, and she was so very tired. The drugged tea had yet to lose its power over her.

  Her eyes welled up under the blasted blindfold in the reluctant realization that the Hazletts must be in cahoots with her kidnappers. No wonder her housekeeper had been so insistent she drink every last drop of tea. Perhaps Edward’s pension had not seemed adequate to the old couple—they had put up with a great deal working for her. But she’d always thought they liked her, even when she had a temper tantrum or interfered in the kitchen.

  She turned her cheek to the seat and sniffled. The texture and scent of leather was comforting. She took a deeper breath to calm herself and paused. There was something beyond the leather, something beyond the bay rum that lingered on the cloak after the kidnapper carried her like a sack of potatoes over his broad bony shoulder. Lime.


  Caroline choked. Either her kidnapper had stolen the special formula that Floris mixed up exclusively for her husband, or she was being held captive by Baron Edward Allerton Christie. No wonder Harold had been so obstreperous. The cat was an excellent judge of character. It was she who was not.

  The carriage was slowing to a halt. Caroline had been at war with herself the past few miles, wondering just how she would approach the man who kidnapped her. It was perfectly possible her nose was in error and she was not in Edward’s comfortable crested coach. It made no sense for him to snatch her en route to the house he had bought for her, unless, of course, there was no house and his carefully neutral letters over the past few weeks were nothing but big, fat lies.

  Picturing perfect Edward as a rough, ungrammatical villain was a stretch even for authoress Caroline, whose imagination often ran quite wild. Why would he affect such a persona? She might have taken such fright at being kidnapped she could have had an apoplexy and popped right off to her final reward. Fortunately she was made of sterner stuff, and at the first opportunity would beat the stuffing out of whoever had abducted her, be it Edward or some sorry stranger.

  It was best, she decided, to play dumb, not voice her suspicions. At some point the silken blindfold would have to come off. What kind of kidnapper used silk anyway? All the evidence was pointing to her husband, who had quite obviously lost his mind.

  The carriage door opened.

  “ ’Ere we are, missus. Come quiet-like. I’ll carry ye upstairs, but yer not to make a fuss and make me drop ye. ’Twould be a shame to bruise that pretty arse.”

  Edward was inordinately fond of her bottom. She relaxed into her kidnapper’s arms and sniffed. Nothing but bay rum. Her fingers made a limited sweep over stiff clothing. Her kidnapper had bought a new suit for the job. Oddly enough, the criminal dandy handled her just as Edward had the morning he had carried her from the garden and made her his mistress. Caroline was nine-tenths convinced the man who cradled her so lovingly was well-known to her, but a threat nonetheless. She debated writhing in protest, but saved her strength for what might come later.

  They jostled up the endless stairs of a house that smelled of beeswax and roses. There was carpet underfoot, as their ascent was hushed. It was no cave or dank cellar. Wherever Caroline was to be kept—the attic? the roof?—it pleased her nose. As she was carried down a long hallway, she counted the steps away from the staircase. It would be helpful when she escaped to know just how far she had to run.

  Her kidnapper turned suddenly and the scent of flowers grew stronger. The distant bleat of lambs caught her attention. A window must be open. An open window meant it was not nailed shut. Another escape route.

  The man bent and deposited her on a lovely soft mattress. He took some care shoving a pillow beneath her head, but what she really wanted was a chamber pot shoved beneath her bottom. There was no way to request it, however, as her silken gag was still in place. Caroline heard the ominous click of the door and the turn of a key. She had been deserted without a word of intimidation or instruction.

  Well. She was still covered by the hot cloak, so she rolled a bit to give herself some relief. She could probably roll right off the bed in search of a surface with which to cut her bonds, but decided against it. He really couldn’t keep her like this forever.

  Caroline used the time to tick off the known facts of her abduction. She thought back to the little farewell party in the hallway, remembering Mrs. Hazlett’s agitation, once again realizing she had been drugged by her own housekeeper. Wherever Caroline was, it had not taken too long from London to get there—she’d felt the warm sun on her cheek when the villain dragged her out of the carriage so it was still afternoon. But the house didn’t smell like Christie Park. Edward might have run mad, but he wouldn’t take her to his family seat with his sister and daughter in residence, would he?

  Then there was Harold. Harold hated Edward. The cat had made his displeasure known behind his bars, yet that might be a normal reaction to anyone who intended his mistress harm.

  She could be all wrong about Edward’s involvement. Then she remembered Hazlett’s heartfelt words on Jane Street. And keep in mind not everything is as it seems. If that wasn’t a weasely warning, her name wasn’t Caroline.

  It was all too vexing. Despite the deep feather mattress, Caroline was growing ever more uncomfortable between the tingling of her tied limbs and the urge to relieve herself. She should at least work on removing the blindfold and the gag so she could see where she was and scream properly. Flipping face down on the pillow, she butted her head back and forth, thrusting her tongue up, biting, groaning in frustration. She managed to free one eye and immediately turned to take in her surroundings.

  The square room was handsome, opulent even. The walls were patterned an old gold, the furniture dark and massive. The bed she lay on could accommodate an entire family. An exquisite floral tapestry hung on one wall, and every flat surface was covered with vases of yellow roses, with a few daisies and greenery tucked in for contrast. Glass vases, which could be broken, the shards used as weapons of freedom.

  Caroline inched over to the edge of the bed. The carpeted floor was far away. She lay on the sort of bed one needed to mount steps to get into, at least if one was as short as Caroline. Edward would have no difficulty at all, the bastard.

  What was one more bruise or bounce? Caroline slid her legs over and hoped for the best. One ankle twisted hard as she landed. She wound up on her rump rather than on her feet, which was just as well, as hopping was not her forte. Hampered by the folds of the heavy cloak, she scooted along as best she could until she came to the penwork table near an armchair by the hearth. It was an attractive piece, its turned legs and curved column easily toppable by a determined woman with destruction in mind. Using a shoulder, she knocked into it as hard as she could. As the table tipped, the vase dumped out its water and flowers but remained unfortunately intact. It was heavy lead crystal, ideal for wielding in one’s hand and cracking a skull or two, but in Caroline’s current condition, useless to her.

  She growled. Then she rolled, twisted, slunk. Chairs fell, andirons clanked, chamberpots emerged from their gloom—also useless and unbelievably tempting. Caroline was shrieking beneath her silk scarf as she caterpillared around the room, leaving a trail of frustration behind her.

  “What the devil?”

  Edward stood in a doorway, half undressed. He was stripped of his rough tweed coat and shirt, but still wore ill-fitting trousers and boots that had never seen the inside of Mr. Hoby’s workroom. His hair was longer, his chest was bronzed, but he was definitely Edward, not a stranger who contracted kidnappings for a living. Caroline glared at him with her one eye and shrieked louder.

  Edward surveyed the wreckage in the room.“Good God, Caro, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “As if you care!” she shouted, but the words were naturally inaudible. He’d already dosed her with that vile tea and kidnapped her for heaven’s sake, and now he was more concerned about a few bumps and bits of furniture. What on earth was he planning to do to her? She gave the chamberpot a vicious kick and her toes curled in pain.

  “Hold still. I didn’t plan on beginning quite this way, ” he muttered. He got down on his knees and fumbled with her blindfold. She glared at him with both eyes. Caroline hoped she was sending the very clear message she hated him above all other men.

  “I’m not fool enough to remove the gag or the bindings, so you’ll just have to sit here and listen, all right?”

  Caroline shook her head. No, it was not all right and never would be.

  “I know you’re angry. I’m sorry if I frightened you. You were meant to sleep through the trip, you see. I only pretended to be some thug in the event you woke up, because I needed to buy time to get you here. You would have tossed me out of the carriage if I came to you as Edward Christie, and given me one of your little lectures. All summer you kept pushing me away. But now we’re together and we can talk like a normal cou
ple, iron out our differences, start fresh.”

  Normal! Edward was as mad as the old king, but didn’t seem to know it. He had a loopy smile on his face and appeared to think his scheme was a stroke of unsurpassed genius.

  She might have to kill him to get her freedom. The thought had some appeal. It had taken her weeks to make peace with her decision, years really. No more trying to trick herself into thinking she could ever have a proper life. No more marriage. No more temptation.

  No more Edward.

  “I’m going to unfasten the gag. I warn you, the Hazletts and Ben will not come to your aid no matter how much of a fuss you make. I’ve engaged them for the week. They’re getting settled in and will not be on duty until tomorrow. I’m to take care of all your needs myself, but if you bite me I daresay I will not be as effective as I might. Do we have an understanding?”

  Again she shook her head. A week of enforced togetherness? The summer had nearly destroyed her. She’d lulled herself into thinking love for her was almost possible, even though she knew better. What she and Andrew had done all those years ago was unforgiveable. If Edward discovered the truth—

  Bad enough he thought he knew the worst. An affair with Andrew was nothing to what really happened between them.

  No, she’d not make any of this easy for him or her wretched, betraying servants. Whatever they had planned, she was an expert in sabotage.

  She chomped at his fingers for show, then uttered her first words in hours. “I must relieve myself. Untie me, or we both shall be sorry.”

  Edward raised a damnably elegant eyebrow. “Is this a ruse to escape?”

  “Do you want to wait to find out? It won’t be long.” That was the mortifying truth. Caroline could not believe she was having a discussion about such a thing.

  Edward reached into his ugly trousers and pulled out a lethal-looking knife. “You must promise not to run away.”