Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (13 page)

“Very well. Have it your way.” Eugénie picked up the bundle. “You may still have these back.”

A kernel of an idea began to form, and he gave her his most charming smile. “Would you walk out with me tomorrow?”

She pulled her lower lip between her small white teeth. “For what purpose?”

“So that I can begin getting to know you, and you may learn about me.”

It was several moments before she answered. “Nine in the morning, before it becomes too hot.”

Will bowed, plucking the collection of presents from her as he rose. He’d be damned if he’d wait until the morrow. “I shall see you later.”

True to his word, Bates stood right outside the parlor. He escorted Will to the front door. “Good luck, my lord.”

“Thank you, Bates.” Will donned his hat. He was going to need all the good fortune he could get to change her mind. “I shall return in a couple of hours.”

After he visited the flower lady again, and found some pretty paper to wrap her presents in, that was.

Nathan Wivenly stared at the mulattress and the huge black man. He had too many questions. Who were they, how could they help him escape, and what the devil was he supposed to do for them? “You have the advantage of me.”

The woman grinned softly. “I apologize, sir. I am Miss Elizabeth Marshall, and this”—she gestured to the man—“is my betrothed, Mr. Joseph Conrad. You naturally wish to know more about us.”

Nathan nodded and pulled out a chair from the table so Miss Marshall could have a seat. Conrad stood behind her, as if guarding the lady from any harm. Nathan shook his head. If only they knew how weak he really was.

Miss Marshall folded her hands calmly in her lap and glanced up at her affianced husband for a moment before turning back to Nathan. “I am from Tortola and have been a free woman all my life. My father ensured that I had funds to do what I wished.” She grinned. “Within reason, of course. I have a small but profitable millinery business. Because my mother was a slave, I have devoted my life to helping others become free.”

Nathan glanced at Conrad. His countenance remained impassive.

“Mr. Conrad and I met when I was on a mission to St. Croix.” A soft smile dawned on her face as the man placed a large hand on her shoulder, and she patted it with her much smaller one. “He pretended not to be able to read and write so the missionaries would bring him to the church. I soon discovered his deception.”

Conrad shook his head sadly. “She was too intelligent. I thought she would tell them.”

“You did not!” she exclaimed, insulted.

A large smile cracked his face. “I was at your mercy.”

Nathan had never seen a darker-skinned person blush before. In fact, it might only be the chagrined look on her face. “Go on, please, Miss Marshall.”

“We started a correspondence, and after several months, Mr. Conrad informed me he’d earned enough from side jobs to buy his freedom. He is very stubborn and would not allow me to contribute.”

The good humor left Conrad’s mien. “I may be a slave, but I have my honor.”

“Yes, my love. It was not a criticism but merely an explanation. As I was saying, his owner had agreed to allow Mr. Conrad his freedom for a sum certain. Unfortunately, the contract was not in writing, and when the old man died, the son refused to allow Mr. Conrad to purchase his freedom. Instead he was sold to the owner of this plantation, Monsieur Leyritz.” She glanced at her betrothed again. “I approached Monsieur about purchasing Mr. Conrad, but the man set the price ridiculously high, unless I agreed to—” She paused for a moment, and Nathan could swear she was blushing again. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“There is no need,” Conrad said, his Dutch accent more pronounced than it had been before. “You are correct that the man asks too much.” He took her hand, holding it as if it were a fragile piece of glass. “It was to force you into a type of slavery.”

Miss Marshall cleared her throat. “We have decided our only recourse is for Mr. Conrad to escape to Tortola, where he will be allowed to live as a free man and we can marry.”

Nathan glanced from one to the other. “I take it that is where I come in?”

“Yes.” Miss Marshall nodded. “We need your assistance in hiring a ship to take us to one of the British islands. I do not need your money.”

Nathan felt his lips curl up. “That’s a good thing, Miss Marshall, for I haven’t any. Nor any of my possessions other than these clothes. In fact, how did you know I was here?”

“Pirate attacks are not as common as they once were, and the news that it was your ship spread quickly.” She slid a look at Conrad before continuing. “When Mr. Conrad discovered a white man was being held here, he smuggled a letter out to me.” Miss Marshall gave Nathan a rueful smile. “I saw you once at the Moravian mission on St. Thomas with your eldest daughter. I came right away, hoping to find you alive.”

Nathan’s throat tightened. Good Lord, how he missed his wife and children. If his captors hurt them, he’d kill the blackguards. “My family, do you know if they are all right?”

Miss Marshall’s lips formed a thin line. “It is only talk, and I cannot confirm any of it, but it is said that your manager is stealing from the business and trying to get your wife to sell.”

His hands curled into fists. He’d kill Howden! “I need to return immediately. How soon can we leave?”

“I understand you were quite badly injured.”

He hadn’t been that close to death. At least he didn’t think he had. “Just a broken head and leg. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Conrad barked a laugh, but the woman just smiled softly. She was the most restful person he’d ever seen, particularly under these circumstances.

“We must assess your ability to travel.” Her voice was low and vaguely comforting. “It will not serve any of us if you were to sicken.”

“I quite agree.” Nathan grinned. “Shall I stand and skip around the chamber?”

“Can you?”

She had him there. “Probably not, but I can walk the length of the room several times before I tire.”

“We were going to take you to a small harbor, but you’d have to cross over the mountain.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “It will not work.”

Conrad moved next to the door. “Someone is coming. We need to go before anyone sees us, but will return later to-day or tomorrow.” He furrowed his brows. “Hopefully with a better plan.”

The couple left as quietly and quickly as they’d entered, and he got into bed.

Not three minutes later, the woman Nathan had decided was the housekeeper, entered with a dirty-looking white man. She placed a tray down on the table. “Tell Willy here if you need help getting up.”

“I think I can manage, but thank you.” He rose, steadying himself against the bed for a moment, more for effect than need. “Do you know when I’ll be released?”

“Can’t tell you. The monsieur’s guest”—she pronounced it mon-sure-e—“didn’t tell me. You’re in no state to go anywhere any way.”

Nathan smiled to himself. “Yes, you’re probably correct.” He walked with deliberately hesitant steps to the table and sat heavily. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“After the first scare, you weren’t a bit of bother.” She left the room, taking the man with her.

Nathan removed the lid, inhaling the fragrant stew. Wherever he was being held, the cook was definitely French. That, unfortunately, didn’t tell him a damn blasted thing, and he’d forgotten to ask Miss Marshall. He dug into the food. Regaining his strength would be the key to his escape.

Once he’d finished eating, he strode the length of the large room and back again until the shuffling of feet could be heard in the corridor. By the time the door opened, he was in bed pretending to doze.

“There now,” the housekeeper said, “what did I tell you? He’s in no shape to try to leave us. You just go on back to taking care of the field slaves and let me do my work.”

“Just as well,” Willy replied. “I got to take a load over to Le Marin in the morning. I’ll be gone a couple of days.”

“That’s clear across the island!”

“Don’t I know it,” he answered in a rueful voice. “That’s why I needed to make sure Mr. Wivenly ain’t got no fight in him.”

“What are you goin’ to do about the big Negro?”

“I got someone to put a powder in his food. He’ll be down for at least a day or so.”

Le Marin
, Nathan formed a plan of the island in his mind. He must be on the north end of Martinique. Only a day or two sail from St. Thomas, if the winds were right. He closed his eyes, intending to sleep, but rest wouldn’t come as he tried to pin his location more accurately. The only small harbors were on the west. Which placed him due north of Saint-Pierre, the island’s major port, where a gentleman owed him a favor. Provided his escape was successful, he’d be home in less than a week.

E
ugénie stared after Wivenly as he strode from the parlor with a jaunty step. Her meeting with him hadn’t gone at all as she had planned. When Wivenly stood close to her, his scent, very male mixed with something spicy, overwhelmed her common sense, and all she wanted to do was breathe him in. Perhaps if she didn’t allow him so close to her, he would not be able to make her do things she didn’t want to, such as kissing him. Though when he was not acting like a beast, she liked him very well.

She sank onto the window seat. Why, why, why had she agreed to his plan for them to get to know each other better?

Because you want to be near him.

The voice in her head seemed almost as if another person had spoken.

He was right about one thing. She had nothing else to occupy her time. Her younger sisters were engaged with their governess, her brother was in England, Cicely had time for nothing but her wedding, after which she’d spend most of her days and nights with Andrew, and there were currently no children to rescue.

Why couldn’t Eugénie’s path with Wivenly be as easy as her friend’s?

Possibly it would be better if she learned about Wivenly as well. After all, it appeared she’d be stuck with him. Or perhaps she’d find he was in some way unsuitable, and she could make him leave. She refused to think about her mother discovering what he’d done with her.

A few minutes later the door opened. Thinking it was Wivenly returning to confuse her even more, she didn’t look up.

“What,” Cicely asked, “are you in such a brown study about?”

“You remember I told you I would break off my engagement to Wivenly.” Eugénie raised her gaze to her friend and frowned. “Somehow he talked me out of it.”

Cicely cocked her head to the side, appearing to be as confused as Eugénie felt. “But he took back his gifts?”

“Yes. I do not understand him at all.” At this point, she didn’t understand herself either.

Her friend sat next to her. “He is definitely not as easy to comprehend as Andrew. I wish I knew how to advise you.”

Eugénie’s lips drooped. She probably looked like the wilted flowers that had sat on the table. “He is coming tomorrow morning.”

“Is he? Being gloomy won’t help. I think you should tell me exactly what occurred.” Cicely smiled brightly and took Eugénie’s hands, squeezing them. “Yet first, what will you wear for Jeanne’s birthday dinner? It must be something pretty.”

“I haven’t given it much thought.” Eugénie didn’t really want to celebrate anything this year, but Maman looked forward to it, as did the children. “I’ll find something.”

“Then you shall wear your yellow and cream gown, and I’ll give you one of your birthday presents early.” Cicely rose gracefully.

Eugénie sighed. Everything about her friend was charming and bubbly.

“Come with me,” Cicely said. “We’ll have luncheon on the terrace at my house.”

“Wouldn’t you rather dine with Andrew?”

“I love spending time with him, but at present, I’d rather be with you.” She grabbed Eugénie’s hand and tugged. “We still have two weddings to plan.”

“It will take months for mine to come about.” She raised one shoulder in a shrug. “He must receive permission from the earl to marry me.”

Cicely stopped and slowly raised one blond brow. “Eugénie Marie Louise Villaret de Joyeuse, you haven’t told him you can marry on Tortola, have you?”

“Non.”
She lifted her chin. “And unless he can tell me why he is so determined to marry me, I shall not. He would carry me off just so he could have his way.”

Her friend raised her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. “He’ll be angry when he finds out.”

“To me it matters not one whit.” Eugénie snapped her fingers. “He wasn’t even interested in spending more time with me to-day.”

Did he know nothing about women? How were they going to learn about each other if he kept leaving?

“Well, in that case,” Cicely said, linking her arm with Eugénie’s, “you have my permission to make him suffer.”

“Merci beaucoup.”
Her heart lightened. “You are very good to me. We will make a wonderful campaign against Viscount Wivenly.”

Will had a quick meal at the Parrot before his meeting with the solicitor who’d promised to take a look at Uncle Nathan’s will. With any luck at all, there would be a way to marry Eugénie without having to wait for his father’s permission. He paid his shot, then made his way to Wimmelskasts Gade, which the English called Back Street, and the office of Mr. Olesen,
Advokat
. Will left a quarter hour later with a recommendation that Eugénie file a suit in the court to allow her to become emancipated. Waiting on his father would take less time, assuming the letters were not delayed or lost.

He arrived at Mrs. Rordan’s house and knocked on the door.

“Lord Wivenly.” She narrowed her eyes. “What brings you back so soon?”

His hands started to sweat. There was nothing like being taken to task by an old woman one barely knew to make one feel six again. He cleared his suddenly phlegmy throat. “Apparently I did not follow through as I should have.”

She stood back, allowing him to enter the house. “Sounds like what my nephew did when he courted his young woman.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he followed her through the house, then opened the garden door for her. At least he wasn’t the only one who had problems with women. “I trust you have many great-nieces and - nephews now.”

“No, not at all.” Mrs. Rordan picked up the basket and handed it to Will. “She rejected him. He was so heartbroken he went off to sea.” Pausing, she tugged on a pair of leather gloves. “That was over twenty years ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

“I’m sorry.” Will tugged on his neckcloth. He must speak with Tidwell about the amount of starch in the damned thing.

Mrs. Rordan waved her hand. “He’s probably better off. She married for position and has since turned to fat.” She clipped a pink rose, placing it in the basket. “There aren’t enough bonbons in the West Indies to make up for an empty bed.”

“Did her husband die?”

“No, he’d rather sleep elsewhere.” She cut a few more flowers. “And the whole island knows it.”

Will found himself feeling bad for the woman whose husband cheated on her. Yet, hadn’t he planned to do the same to Eugénie? Though now he knew he would not, could not be unfaithful to her. When had that changed? “It cannot be a comfortable position for her.”

Turning, Mrs. Rordan regarded him with a steady gaze. “Not for any woman.”

Will held out his arm to escort her back to the house. “I quite agree.”

A saucy smile appeared on the old lady’s face, and Will could see vestiges of the beauty she’d been. “Eugénie is a lucky young woman.”

“As I am a fortunate man.” He was surprised to find he meant it. If only his affianced wife would concur.

Instead of going back toward town, Will skirted Denmark Hill to another step street—the place seemed full of them—ending up near Wivenly House. He was about to knock on the door when a movement caught his eye. Eugénie and Miss Whitecliff stood by the lower gate. Eugénie kissed her friend on the cheek, then turned to cross the step street to her own house. As soon as the Whitecliff gate closed, a man Will had never seen before darted out of his hiding place behind the bushes lining the street, grabbing Eugénie.
What the hell?
He dropped the flowers and ran.

An arm as strong as iron caught Eugénie around the middle, knocking all the breath out of her. She struggled to get air back into her lungs again, making ready to scream, when a gloved hand covered her mouth.
Mon Dieu
. Biting down on the gloves, she kicked her legs back, but her skirts hampered the movement. Then she threw back her head, hitting his chest, but it was more like wood. Perhaps if she made enough trouble, he’d drop her. She squirmed and struggled as best she could, but he just laughed.

“There is no one around here this time of day to come to your rescue, and I’m being paid far too much gold to deliver you.”

Gold? Who would pay . . . ?
Slavers
. Had someone decided to stop her from saving the children by abducting her?

She elbowed him in what felt like a rib, yet he didn’t loosen his hold at all.

She could not disappear. It would kill her mother.

Suddenly the blackguard’s hold slackened, and Eugénie slipped enough for her feet to touch the stone steps. She screamed as loudly as she could. When the sickening sound of crunching bone reached her, she glanced over her shoulder. Wivenly stood a few steps up, making him even with the giant. He ducked, but droplets of blood sprayed out, landing on the stairs and bushes. Oh God, she prayed it wasn’t Wivenly’s.

Eugénie had to do something. He’d never win against that
canaille
! But what? If only she had her dagger, she’d stab the scoundrel who tried to kidnap her. She must begin carrying it everywhere, even to Cicely’s house. The only thing she had was a hat pin.

A very long, strong hat pin.

It might not help much, but anything was better than nothing. Pulling it out, she moved behind and to the side of the giant.

“Eugénie, no
.
”

She heard Wivenly bellow as she pierced the man’s armpit with the pin.

The blackguard roared and reached out for her, but other hands pulled her away. People started filling the street and the thug fled, pushing men out of his way.

Her heart thudded as if it would escape the confines of her chest, and the roaring in her ears deafened her. A wave of nausea gripped her, and she started to topple, but strong arms held her up and the familiar scent of an unknown spice calmed her fear.

Wivenly
.

“I’ve got you.” His voice was gentle and calm. “You’ll be all right.”

She nodded against his strong chest, wanting to burrow into his warmth, wanting to feel safe again.

“You’re much too quiet.” He picked her up. “That can’t be good.”

She glanced up. His cravat had blood on it. “You’re hurt.”

“Not much,” Wivenly replied smugly. “He got my eye, but I broke his nose.”

Eugénie threw her arm around his neck, hoisting herself up a little to see the damage. If she could concentrate on him, perhaps she wouldn’t have to think about what had happened. “That is going to need a beefsteak.”

He grinned down at her. “Probably.”

They’d reached the Whitecliffs’ gate. “Take me to Cicely. I do not want Maman worrying.”

“Very well.” Wivenly furrowed his brow, then winced. “But we must tell her about this at some point.”

Eugénie didn’t want to tell Maman at all. It would worry her too much. Yet she was not so stupid as to believe that the man, or another, would not try again. And the neighbors would certainly say something to Maman or the servants. “We may discuss it after your eye is taken care of.”

“Will, what the—” Andrew, stood on the stairs, glancing from her to Wivenly before opening the garden door. “You’re going to have a nice bullace.”

She wondered what Andrew was not saying. “Yes, but he broke the brute’s nose.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” He laughed. “Will’s extremely handy with his fives.”

“Oh no.” Cicely’s hand went to her lips. “Look at you. What happened? Was that you I heard screaming?”

Really, Wivenly’s eye wasn’t that bad. “He will be fine. We just need a beefsteak.”

“No, it’s you!”

For the first time, Eugénie glanced down. Her skirt had blood on it. Warm air hit her arm where her sleeve hung half off. “I am well. I felt a little faint, so Wivenly carried me.”

Andrew put his arm around his betrothed. “Come, my love. Let’s get them inside.” He slid Wivenly a stern look. “Then they’ll tell us what happened.”

“Wait a moment.” Cicely pointed to some shrubs beside the stairs. “What is this doing here?”

A large bouquet of pink roses lay in the top of a bush.

Wivenly shifted her in his arms and picked up the flowers, handing them to Eugénie. “These are for you. I’d just come from Mrs. Rordan’s house when I saw you being abducted.”

They were a little battered, but not much. She buried her nose in them, taking in the sweet scent. “Thank you. They are lovely.”

What would have happened if he’d waited until morning to visit her again didn’t bear thinking of. If only he could be like this all the time.

Hervé swirled the fine cognac in the glass as he stared out over the peninsula that made up one side of the harbor. He was bored and tired of waiting for Yves to bring him Eugénie. Yet it was not easy kidnapping a young woman who didn’t seem to go anywhere but to the house across the step street and was never left alone when she did. Even watching her movements and those of her neighbors was not easy. There was no place to conceal oneself for any length of time, and lately there was the added irritant of a young gentleman who appeared to be courting her. Hervé took a sip, savoring the burn of the wine as it slid down his throat.

Yves strode swiftly into the room, came to a halt, and shook his head. “We would have had her but for that young man who saw Adao snatch her.”

“Where is this Adao now?”

“Where the authorities will never find him.” Yves poured a glass of white wine. “Why do you not simply tell her we have her step-father, and if she wants to see him alive again, she will come with us? We can make marrying the
comte
a condition of Mr. Wivenly’s release. Now that we have lost Shipley, one of us will act as the proxy for the
comte
.”

Running a hand over his face, Hervé glared at his brother. “Not only is that crude, but how do you propose I convince her he is alive?”

His brother took another swig of wine. “Show her something that belongs to him. We are family. There is no reason for us to do away with her step-father. Naturally she will come with us.”

No longer able to remain sitting, Hervé stood and walked to the windows. “I have nothing. When the pirate captain brought him to me, Wivenly had only the clothing on his back.”

“Ah,
mon frère
.” Yves smiled slowly. “You may not have a memento, but I do.”