Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (29 page)

Chapter 33

M
inerva was furious. At Geoffrey Huntley, and at herself for not guessing his intentions. She would have attacked him with her bare hands had they not been tied behind her back. And it was perhaps as well she was gagged, because she had a great deal she wished to say, none of it polite. Huntley might shoot her out of sheer exasperation if she were allowed to speak.

Her captor was jumpy. While he made her write her postscript to his ransom note, he'd threatened to shoot her when she had tried to delay, knowing the footman would be coming out to find her. She wouldn't have put it past Huntley to shoot the man. So she'd meekly allowed herself to be covered with a cloak to hide her identity and led, with the barrel of the gun jammed into her ribs, along a deserted route to the Mausoleum. Then he'd bound and gagged her and sat her down with her back to the huge sarcophagus that stood in middle of the square building.

There was nothing for her to do but wait for Blake. He'd come, she knew, and he'd bring the money. But she hoped he wasn't going to give in to Huntley's blackmail without a fight. Unfortunately she'd given him some incorrect intelligence. She thought her kidnapper only carried one gun. Now she knew he had a pair of pistols. She prayed Blake hadn't made any plans based on the supposition Huntley had but a single shot at his disposal.

It was a long wait in the somber edifice, whose thick stone walls repelled the heat of the sun. Dressed in summer muslins she was disagreeably chilled. After an hour or two her bottom felt as cold and hard as the marble floor. Huntley appeared to be feeling the strain of the wait. Most of the time he was outside, presumably on the lookout for Blake. Then he'd return and brandish his pistols at her in a manner that, she had to admit, unnerved her. He might be irrational enough that the sight of an innocent gardener would be mistaken for proof that Blake disobeyed his demands.

She had no idea of the time and the dim light through the small clerestory windows told her only that the afternoon was progressing, not how far.

Huntley came in again, his eyes as wild as his hair. “Almost six o'clock,” he said, on the edge of hysteria. “Not much time left.”

She cursed her gag, wanting to point out that five thousand pounds was a lot of money to find in a few hours. Midway between quarters, there would be few rents coming into the estate. The majority of the sum would have to be in silver and jewels. She had no idea if there was a jewelry collection at Mandeville to equal that in London. Most likely not. The only valuable gems she knew of were her emeralds. She'd be very sorry to lose them.

“He'd better not be playing with me, Duchess, because if I'm ruined I'm taking you with me.”

Alone again, she heard a scratching noise beneath the floor. When she was a small girl, exploring the Mandeville Park as the local residents were permitted to do at certain times, her brothers had told her the Mausoleum was haunted by the ghosts of those whose bones lay in the vault. She knew it wasn't true, of course. Merely a tale to tease their little sister. The Vanderlins were buried in the churchyard at Duke's Mandeville. Nevertheless, she felt a little uneasy. Especially when she considered the alternative. She'd sooner be confronted with ghosts than rats.

Expecting Blake to arrive at any moment, she wanted to be prepared, in case she could play a part in her own rescue. Her feet weren't bound and if she could manage to stand, tied hands or not, she might be able to inflict some damage by kicking. Alas for that plan, she'd developed pins and needles in her right foot. She was still wriggling her toes when she heard voices outside.

“Go to hell, Huntley.” Blake's deep tones were unmistakable through the partly open door. “I'm not giving you a penny until I'm sure that the duchess is unharmed. If you've harmed a hair on her head I'll tear you to pieces, and if you shoot me I'll do it from beyond the grave. And I can do it too. Believe me.”

She managed to roll over onto her knees, then struggled upright, resting her head against the marble sarcophagus for leverage.

The tall door creaked further open. “Are you all right, Minnie?”

But the minute she put weight on her right side, she discovered her foot was still half asleep. She gave a gagged shriek of pain as her ankle collapsed under her and she staggered a few steps, unable to use her bound arms to keep balance, before crashing against an iron railing or gate in a dark corner. She was rudely pushed aside when the gate opened and men poured into the building, led by Sebastian. The invasion within was greeted by a gunshot without.

B
lake walked up the steps leading to the Mausoleum's portico, trying to talk calmly to Huntley, who was blathering like a madman and waving his pistols around in a way that made Blake extremely nervous. As he reached the top, Huntley demanded he throw the bag, containing thousands in gold and jewels, onto the ground. But he wasn't about to hand over the booty without making sure Minerva was safe. Besides, the heavy sack was his only weapon.

Huntley laughed like a maniac. “I've ruined you anyway,” he screamed. “I've written and posted letters to
The Times
and
The Morning Post
and
The Gazette,
telling them all about you.”

That's when he told the other man to go to hell and dared him to kill him.

“Are you all right, Minnie?” he called into the building.

The scene erupted into chaos. As Sebastian and his men appeared, a bullet tore into the wooden door, just above Blake's head. He felt a sting in his upper arm, a fraction of a second before the sound of another shot. Huntley was out of firepower. With enormous pleasure, Blake spun round and started beating the blazes out of him until a pair of arms grabbed his shoulders.

“Stop it, Blake, you're hurt,” Sebastian said.

“I am now,” he replied, flinching at the pressure on his wound. “Let go. That's devilish painful.”

“You're bleeding. One of the bullets must have hit you.”

“Flesh wound. Let me finish this.”

His intention of reducing Huntley to butcher meat was interrupted by a furious guttural noise. He turned to find Minerva, her hands tied behind her back and her mouth in a gag. Nevertheless she managed to express herself quite eloquently.

Letting Huntley slump half conscious to the ground, he was about to embrace her, then stopped.

If he didn't love her so much he'd kill her.

“I have two things to say to you, Duchess.” He folded his arms and looked down at her. “First, I am never letting you out of the house by yourself again. You simply cannot be trusted not to do something foolish and get yourself into danger.”

She growled ominously.

“Secondly, if you do find yourself in a dangerous position, you will not, repeat, not, attempt to save yourself. You may be the brains in our partnership, Duchess, but I am the brawn. Any fighting that's needed falls into my purview. Understood?”

He turned to his cousin. “Sebastian,” he said, ignoring the rumble of resentment emitted by his wife. “Thank you.”

“That's all right. I owed you one for introducing me to Diana.”

With that Blake knew he'd been forgiven for the cruelties he'd inflicted on his cousin in the past. His own resentment had disappeared too. There was no need to say any more. They were men.

“Would you and the servants deal with this piece of vermin? I'm going to take Minnie back to the house.”

“I'm not sure she's in the mood to go with you, old fellow.” Sebastian grinned broadly.

“Too bad.”

He snatched his bride by the waist, slung her over his shoulder, on the unwounded side, and marched down the hill. As soon as they were out of sight, in the shelter of a stand of beeches, he stopped. Her kicks had almost subsided and the timbre of her throaty communications had changed.

“Are you going to behave now?” he asked with mock sternness as he slid her to her feet. He was fairly sure she was laughing. She nodded. “Turn round.”

The knot tying the cloth gag was tight and took a minute or to work loose. “Yech,” she said in disgust, when he finally freed her.

“Keep still. I should have borrowed a knife from one of the men. The knot on your wrists is worse than the gag.”

“Don't you dare do that to me again.”

“I think you rather enjoyed it.”

“Humph.”

“I thought so. I'll be happy to accommodate you anytime. There you are.” The ropes fell away.

She spun round, doubtless ready to say something acerbic, and her mouth fell open, horror replacing indignation on her face. “Oh my word! You're wounded. My poor darling, there's blood all over your coat. We must get you to a doctor at once. No wait, I must bandage it. I'll use my petticoat.”

She raised her skirt and would have slipped off her undergarment, which he would have quite enjoyed, but he really couldn't have his wife wandering around the park in nothing but a transparent gown, especially when there wasn't the slightest need.

“Stop, Minnie. It was only a graze.”

“Are you sure?”

“It isn't even bleeding anymore.”

Her forehead creased, she eyed it with misgiving, gently touching the torn cloth with her finger and confirming that the blood no longer flowed and was already drying. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He held her close and basked in the relief that she was alive and unhurt. His hands traveled down her back, below her stays to her waist, to feel the warmth of her skin through the light cloth of her garments. Her vitality of body and spirit flooded his senses. “You can kiss me,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Cradling his head as though it were a precious and fragile treasure, she pulled it down to meet her parted lips. Soft heat filled his mouth and what started as the merest touch grew deeper. He'd never experienced a kiss of pure love but he had no trouble recognizing it. Pure love and, he knew with a profound conviction, a mutual joy that they had found each other and were alive for a shared future.

He drew back to feast his eyes on her beloved features: pale flawless skin with pink-tinged cheeks, perfect straight nose, bow-shaped mouth of dark rose, and eyes like a clear sky, flashing with passion for life and for him. How had he ever thought her insipid? Minerva would doubtless continue to drive him wild, and not always with desire, but she would never disappoint him. His heart lurched with dread that he might have lost her.

“How did it happen, Minnie? How could you be so stupid as to let Huntley seize you?”

“When I received his note I thought he must be trying to get the money from me, since he failed with you. I never thought he'd
kidnap
me. I was very sensible, you know. I told the footman to come and find me.”

“You have to stop thinking you are invincible.”

She looked quite unabashed and her mouth took on a mulish, very Minerva-ish set. “I just intended to slow him down, persuade him to wait while we made our own plans. I couldn't allow him to ruin your life.”

It was his turn to be unimpressed. “I can save myself. Next time, tell me before you go off on a mad adventure.”

“So that you can stop me?”

“So that I can go with you.”

Her smile lit his heart. “Agreed. Perhaps we'll find ourselves a convenient screen to hide behind.”

There was no answer to that but another kiss, until she remembered his wound and insisted on going back to the house to have it cleaned and dressed. They wandered along the shaded paths hand in hand, fingers enlaced.

“What shall we do about Huntley?” she asked.

“Sebastian and the men will bring him back and we'll have to decide. He said he'd already written to the newspapers. Who knows, for once he may have spoken the truth. Will you still love me if all the world knows I can't read?”

“Of course I will.”

“In that case I don't care.”

Chapter 34

T
he yearling was a beauty: a glossy bay, polished mahogany with points of ebony. Minerva stood quietly at the railing and watched him canter around the paddock, detecting the power and grace of a future champion.

The man holding the lunge in the center of the ring was a thoroughbred too, as golden as the horse was dark. She could never have enough of looking at the Duke of Hampton, who managed to look ducal even with buckskins and top boots splashed with mud and engaged in a most unducal task. With as much concentration as Minerva would devote to a new edition of the
Edinburgh Review,
he put the unbroken colt through his paces with gentle command, beating time on the earthen circuit with a long whip. The appearance of heedless arrogance that used to mask his inner uncertainty had given way to confident authority that reflected ease and, she fancied, deep happiness. That she had contributed to and shared that happiness made her chest swell with reflective joy.

Sensing her presence he looked up and returned her smile. Her heart turned several somersaults. He brought the colt to a halt, patted his neck, rubbed his nose, and murmured lavish praise. “Enough for today,” he said and nodded at the waiting groom to take the youngster, then loped to the fence and vaulted over to join her.

“He's doing well,” she observed.

“Brilliantly,” he said, with a boyish grin. “That one's going to win the Derby, I swear. I can't wait till the fellows in the Jockey Club see what I found in France.”

“Have you settled on a name yet?”

“I'd like to name him after you. Minerva's something. What's the goddess's symbol?”

“An owl.”

“Minerva's Owl! I wonder what Sebastian Iverley would think. He may have forgiven me for the past but I'm not sure he'd appreciate the compliment.”

“What about Minerva's Shield? Though that's really naming him after yourself, since you take care of me so well.”

“Minerva's Shield. I like that. In honor of you and because I will always be there to protect you.” Their eyes met in a moment of deep and wordless communion. Longing for his touch, clasped hands were all she could allow herself in the presence of the groom. “I sincerely hope,” he added sternly, “that rescuing you from peril won't be necessary again.”

“Not unless Huntley returns. I doubt he'll dare, though I still wish we could have delivered him to the magistrate.”

“Into the hands of English justice? I thought you disapproved.”

“I cannot conceive of a fate bad enough for him. I wouldn't even mind seeing him rotting in the hulks.”

“I appreciate your thirst for revenge. Putting him on a boat to New York with a little money seemed a tame solution, even to avoid scandal.” Not caring about the servants, he kissed the tip of her nose.

“That's another thing,” she said. “I was thinking today how unfair it is to inflict Huntley on the Americans. What did they do to deserve him?”

“By all accounts they're a very capable lot. I'm sure they can survive him.”

They'd reached another paddock, containing a mare and foal. Minerva laughed at the ungainly little filly with its spindly legs and soft fuzz. “Is this one a Derby winner too?”

Blake shook his head. “Not bred for the turf. If she turns out well I shall give her to you, since you've agreed to join me in the hunt.”

“Mama is going to die of shock.”

“You can tell her later. I met her when I was riding out this morning and asked her over to see the French horses. She's prepared to set foot in Mandeville now that there's no chance of having to meet any of our political guests. She and your father and Stephen will dine with us tomorrow.”

“You and Mama get on far too well together.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Montrose and I find ourselves in agreement on almost every subject. Lord, Minnie, I thought those politicos would never leave. It was such a marvelous feeling to wake up this morning and know we had the place to ourselves.”

A relative state of isolation, given the presence of over a hundred servants under the roof of the great house, but Minerva appreciated the sentiment. Even she'd been sick of company when the last straggler departed, a full week after the designated date for the conclusion of the gathering. Most, however, had left when expected, including the Louthers, who were back in London.

Minerva tried to coax the foal to come to her hand, but it skittered away. “I had a letter from Gideon today. Apparently the letters Diana wrote in strictest confidence to several of her dearest friends have born fruit. Gideon says it's all over London that Huntley was madly in love with me and tried to abduct me.” She paused to lend drama to the tale they'd all concocted and which Diana had brilliantly embellished. “Seems he came to the ball at Vanderlin House, hoping to win my affection, but the poor man never even had the chance to dance with me because I slipped off to the library to meet you.”

“Is that what happened, you saucy minx?”

“He was driven mad with envy and disappointment when I married you.”

“I don't blame him.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart you were ready to give him Warfield Castle. But, knowing him as you do, you detected the signs of increasing derangement and you couldn't send him to Parliament.”

“No indeed,” Blake said. “There's never been a madman in Parliament.”

She grinned back at him. “Driven over the brink, he tried to ruin you and seize me for his own.”

“And I nobly declined to prosecute him because of our long friendship.”

“ ‘The quality of mercy is not strained.' ”

“And of course to save the delicate nerves of my duchess from the distress of appearing in court.”

Minerva snorted.

“You mean people actually believe this utter nonsense?” Blake asked.

“They may have their doubts, but it's a good story. Once the newspapers hear it they'll forget that dull stuff about you being a bit slow in school. Everyone in London will be talking about our version of events. Besides, Huntley has disappeared and they all want to be invited to our dinners and assemblies. It's in no one's interest to believe him.”

“Are we going to give a lot of dinners and assemblies?” He sounded so mournful Minerva had to laugh.

“Dozens of them,” she said, tucking her arm into his. “All season long. I shall be the greatest political hostess London has ever known.”

“I'm glad to see recent experiences haven't diminished your confidence in yourself.” Then, more gravely. “You must do what you want and I shall do my humble best to support you. It's in my best interests to work hard for the reform of Parliament and then I'll never have to think about rotten boroughs again. I'm afraid you will feel the loss more than I.”

“That's not likely to happen soon, alas. Gideon also writes that the Prime Minister has reorganized the cabinet and buttressed his support. There won't be an election this year after all.”

“I'm sorry, Minnie. You must be disappointed after all your efforts to unite the opposition.”

“That's all right. Next year things may be different. There are no permanent victories in politics, neither are there permanent defeats. Things change all the time. It's what makes it so fascinating.”

“My father said the same thing. I suppose he was a very wise man. I wish I'd known him better.”

Blake had told her about his last conversation with the late duke, on his deathbed. That he'd never had the chance to explain himself would always grieve him, but Minerva believed the duke would have understood. He could remember his father with love.

Arm in arm and in comfortable silence they strolled toward the house, the raised portico of the garden front looming ahead of them. Instead of climbing the stairs to the upper terrace, Blake guided her into the walled rose garden. A quick glance confirmed the absence of gardeners. A smile formed within her.

“Let me see,” he said, tilting her chin with one hand. “No election means there's no reason for us to go to London until Parliament meets.”

“I'm afraid not. What a pity.”

“We could stay here all summer and autumn.” His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close.

“We could.”

“Or I could go on a horse buying trip. Would you come with me?”

“I might enjoy it. Especially if it were to Paris.” As long as they were together and his touch made her body hum with excitement, she wouldn't much mind where he took her.

“I've heard Paris is a lovely place to spend a honeymoon.”

And though she couldn't have agreed more, he stopped her reply with a thorough kiss. But Minerva had learned that it wasn't always a bad thing to be deprived of speech.