A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (34 page)

Unfortunately, such contentment often shed its fine coat when met with disappointment as Alexander discovered moments later when his wife was nowhere to be found. How could a wife simply go missing? For that matter, how could a house
that heretofore had thrived on order and decorum appear dismal and boring during Francie’s absence?

His wife had well and truly gotten to him, wormed her sweet innocence and laughter right into his heart. He’d only been gone a half
-day and yet he missed her. Terribly. Couldn’t wait to see her. Talk to her. Touch her.

Dear God, he was in love with her!

The very thought made him light-headed and sick to his stomach. He loved his wife. How could it have happened? When? Should he confess? Yes, of course. He must be honest and admit the truth. Then what? Hand her the power to reduce him to a ninny? No, he couldn’t do that. He must maintain composure and a sense of order about things at all times. No loss of control, no weakness.

But this was Francie
. His wife. With bright smiles, open laughs, and an honest heart.

And he loved her.

But he wouldn’t tell her. Not yet.

“Alexander, is everything all right? You look rather pale.” Eleanor straightened her ample figure and peered at him from beneath her oversized sunbonnet. The kind Francie should avail
herself to on all occasions and usually did not.

He cleared his throat and pushed the love business back to its hiding place, deep in the darkest corner of his heart. “Yes, fine. But I seemed to have misplaced my wife.”

Eleanor removed her gloves and specks of dirt and manure sprayed the ground; fortunately, none landed on his boots. “She went to look after Sally.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners. “She received a missive this morning. Something went terribly wrong and Sally needed her.”

“She traveled alone?”

“Good heavens, no. Bernard went with her.”

This information brought a fine coat of sweat to Alexander’s brow. Bernard offered no more protection than Mr. Pib. He drew in deep breaths, mindless of the manure concoction fermenting a step away. “When did they leave?” He calculated the time it would take to travel to Amberden and back, with an hour or two tending Sally and the babe.

“Right after breakfast. Eight o’clock, I believe.”

“And the note? May I see it?”

“Inside. Come, I’ll fetch it for you. “

As they walked toward the front lawn, Alexander pictured his wife cooing over Sally’s babe as the hours passed and the sun set. Were that to happen, she would surely enlist prudence and remain the night rather than attempt to return home in the dark.

Wouldn’t she?

As Alexander tortured himself over his wife’s reasoning capabilities or lack thereof, a carriage bearing the Montrose crest clambered up the long drive.
Let Francie be inside
. Alexander squinted. Why was the driver doubled over in apparent pain?

When Eleanor spotted the driver, she let out a strangled cry. “Bernard!” Without a thought to decorum or her bad knees, she hiked her skirts and hurried toward the carriage as it jerked to an unsteady halt by a row of well-tailored privets. “Oh, Bernard, what on earth has happened?”

Fear choked Alexander as he took in the old man’s blood-soaked jacket, the nasty gash above the left brow, the broken spectacles. The man’s injuries were not the result of a mere accident. They were intentional and Alexander would wager his half of Drakemoor they’d been delivered at the hands of Jared Crayton.

Bernard squinted and clutched his left shoulder. “Crayton took her.”

“Where?” Alexander asked, refusing to panic even as Bernard’s words confirmed his worst fear.

“On the road...halfway...” Bernard gasped and fell forward, wincing in pain.

Alexander caught the old man and lifted him, striding toward the front entrance. He struggled to remain calm. His wife, the woman he loved more than his own life, needed him, and he would not disappoint her.
He would find her
.

“Oh, dear Lord, our poor girl.” Eleanor touched the edge of her husband’s jacket.

Alexander heard Bernard whispering and his gaze leapt to his face. The old man was trying to speak, desperately trying to stay conscious long enough to tell him something more.

“No, Bernard,” Alexander said. “Don’t try to speak. Just rest.”

“We must stop the bleeding,” Eleanor cried. “Did that brute beat you?”

“No more questions, now. We must send for the physician.” Alexander spoke before Bernard had a chance to tell his wife he’d been shot. Such an admission might well send the poor woman to the edge of sanity. Better let her think her husband’s shoulder had been pummeled with a fist.

“Yes. Of course, you are right.” She swiped her eyes and touched her husband’s pale cheek seconds before the old man lost consciousness. “All will be well, Bernard. The doctor will see to you and Alexander will find Francie.”

God willing, Eleanor was right on both counts.

***

Alexander grabbed his gloves and hat, anxious to begin the search for his wife. He’d wanted to leave immediately, but the large stain on Bernard’s jacket and subsequent loss of consciousness held him back until Dr. Stockert’s arrival. What must Francie be enduring at the hands of that bastard Crayton? The possibilities bombarded his mind with horrendous and unceasing visions.

If Crayton harmed Francie, Alexander would kill him—with his bare hands.

Dr. Stockert’s examination confirmed Alexander’s suspicions. Bernard had lost a large amount of blood. Fortunately, the bullet burst through the skin and didn’t necessitate fishing around for it—one bit of very good news. If they could keep the wound from putrefying, he had a chance.

All was as settled as it could be at Drakemoor with a nurse at Bernard’s bedside and the entire staff on the lookout for unwelcome guests. After Bernard’s bloody entry, Alexander had no choice but to alert the staff of Francie’s disappearance and Crayton’s part in it. There had been a time when Alexander would have taken a vow of silence rather than involve the staff in personal affairs. But that was before Francie.

“You know what to do, James?”

The butler responded without a single foot tap. “Indeed I do, sir.” He raised a pistol and said, “If Lord Crayton comes knocking, I shall keep him here at any cost.”

“Exactly right.” Alexander hesitated a second and then extended a hand. “Thank you, James.”

The other man’s foot lifted, halted, and settled back on the parquet floor without a sound. He stood taller, puffed out his chest, and accepted his master’s hand. “Godspeed, sir.”

Alexander nodded and turned on his heel. Given the opportunity, even the most ordinary of men would rise to the occasion. Perhaps he’d put too much on his abilities and too little on everyone else’s. There was indeed a certain amount of comfort knowing James would do his very best to protect Drakemoor and its inhabitants. Of course, Alexander would prefer to take on both tasks but he couldn’t search for his wife and protect his home. He had to accept assistance—a novel approach for someone accustomed to relying solely on himself.

He needed help if he were to find Francie, not only from those residing at Drakemoor, but those who might know the whereabouts of her abductor. Visions of black curls and a too-sultry smile flashed through his brain as he mounted Baron and sped down the lane.

***

“Alexander, what a true pleasure it is to see you.” Claire rose and smiled at him from across the room. “Do come in and I’ll order refreshments.” He’d come to her! For comfort? Commiseration?
Affection?
She would most gladly provide all three and more.

The object of her obsession raked a hand through his disheveled hair and made his way toward her. “I’ve no time for refreshments. It’s Francie,” he said in a voice that sounded wild and desperate. “I can’t find my wife.”

Wife?
Oh, how she abhorred that word when spoken in association with Alexander. She wanted to tell him his wife had vanished.
Poof
, all gone. If Jared possessed even a speck of common sense, he’d keep her well hidden, maybe venture to Italy or the West Indies for a time. She tilted her head to give Alexander a better glimpse of her long neck and tapped a finger to her chin as though thinking, which she was, but not about that chit. No, she was thinking of Alexander Bishop with his shirt off, muscles gleaming from the sun and sweat...

“Claire.” He touched her sleeve. “She’s gone missing. I’ve come to ask for help.”

She blocked out the pain in his voice. He should bleed with worry for
her
, not Francie Jordan. She looked up into the silvery depths of his gaze that shone bright, perhaps a bit too bright. “How may I help you, Alexander?” She loved the sound of his name on her lips and couldn’t wait to whisper it as he made love to her.

“I have reason to believe Crayton has kidnapped Francie.”

Claire drew a hand to her lips in feigned surprise. “Kidnapped? Are you certain?”

“Reasonably, yes.”

He must stop speaking as though someone had pummeled his chest. She clasped his hand and delighted as heat and desire shot through her. Soon she would be at liberty to touch his entire body. “How utterly barbaric. I’d not thought Jared capable of such a deed.” In truth, he wasn’t. The final plan had been her idea and it was working splendidly.

“The man is capable of more than you can imagine. You must help me find them.”

Not very likely. She gently disengaged her hand and turned away for fear he’d see the hatred on her face. “How could I possibly help?” Pray, Jared had already ravaged the bitch.

“Do you know where he might have taken her?” She hid a smile. The velvet timbre in his voice stroked her senses as she envisioned his naked body.
She would have him
. Soon. The very thought made her bold and anxious. “She’s not worthy of you, Alexander.” She slipped a hand into the pocket of her gown and clutched Francie’s locket and wedding ring. “She has no breeding, no grace, no refinement. You deserve much better.” Claire turned to him and traced the scar on his face. “You deserve me.”

His jaw twitched the tiniest bit. A sign of interest
, to be certain, though he was much too noble to state his desire at present—but he did desire her—all men did. He merely needed a bit of persuasion. She removed the locket and ring from her pocket and opened her hand so Alexander could understand well and truly that his wife was indeed gone. “She’s not coming back.”

“Those are Francie’s. Where did you get them?” He took them from her, his gaze wild and frantic. “There’s blood on the ring. Claire, where the hell did you find them?”

“Blood?” She inched closer and inhaled his spicy scent. “Hmm. So there is.” She shrugged. “He’ll never let her go. And now that I have you…” She offered him her most dazzling smile and just the tiniest hint of cleavage. “I’ll not let you go either.”

He took a step toward her. “Answer me.”

She would not let him intimidate her. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, and yet I behaved as a lady should, with grace and proper decorum. And then
she
appeared like a bit of windblown baggage and you actually wed her. Have you no idea what an insult that was to me?” She sighed. “Drakemoor was the true object of your affection; we all knew that. I daresay even
she
knew it. Still, I was quite put off by the whole affair. But Jared has her now so you’ll not need to feign affection for her in order to share your precious Drakemoor.”

“Where is she, Claire?”

He could be quite frightening if he chose to. She liked this side of him. Perhaps he’d show her more. “How should I know?” That should stir him up a bit.

Alexander grabbed her arm and yanked her to within an inch of his face. “You know and you’ll tell me.”

Indeed, she quite desired the angry, more primitive aspect of Alexander Bishop. “Will you leave bruises on my arm for my father to wonder about?” She smiled up at him. “He’ll not be pleased.”

Alexander’s silver gaze narrowed on her neck. “Do not tempt me.”

Claire laughed and stroked his cheek. “I think you are the type of man who is only tempted when he wants to be.” She leaned on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to be tempted, Alexander?”

He released her arm and stepped away, his face void of the emotion that possessed him moments ago. “I should like to speak with your father.” He straightened his cravat and stood waiting like an impenetrable wall.

“My father? Whatever for?”

“I plan to inform him of your part in Francie’s kidnapping.”

“Hah! He’ll never believe you and I’ve admitted to nothing.”

His gaze sliced her. “But you have.” He opened his large hand to expose the ring and locket. “By your possession of these.”

She glanced at the revolting objects. “They prove nothing.” Father would never believe him.

“I also plan to present him with a list of names.”

“Names?”

Alexander’s lips worked into a smile that chilled her. “You haven’t always behaved as a lady should, have you? I have a list of the men and boys with whom you shed your ‘grace and proper decorum’. Do you not think the stable boy with nary a hair on his chin is not as eager to spout his prowess as the widower with nary a hair on his head? Indeed, they will talk.”