Marry the Man Today (15 page)

The women were calling down curses on the man.

And the gentlemen of the Commons had joined him in a clamorous protest over whatever trouble those damned women up in the Public Gallery were causing the honorable member of Parliament.

Furious at the lot of them, Ross himself was about to tackle Sayers and throw him over the railing, when he heard Miss Dunaway from beside him, her voice clear and in complete control.

"Please, everyone!" she said, raising her hand to the gallery, and then to the rioting below. "Stop this foolishness immediately."

The roar of outrage flared, then moments later the entire House of Commons and all its galleries fell to a breathless silence, every eye trained on Miss Dunaway.

"Come, ladies," she said, with confident dignity, taking up her wrap from the bench in front of her. "We know when it's time to leave."

Her ladies objected en masse.

"But, Miss Elizabeth—"

"I don't think we should g
o
—"

Vita pointed at Sayers. "Shut up, Wilton."

"Ladies, please." Miss Dunaway held up a gentle hand to her rowdy confederates. "I'm afraid we've reached the point of resentment and of diminishing returns. There's nothing more for us here."

She turned her quiet dignity to the enormous well of silent, upturned male faces below, ministers and peers, country squires and captains of industry, all of them staring up at her in what Ross could only interpret as awe.

Then, in perhaps the greatest show of statesmanship that he'd ever been witness to, the remarkable Miss Dunaway squared her slender shoulders and spoke an unerring challenge in a resolute voice that she surely meant to echo across the centuries from the diligent pages of the Hansard record.

"Make no mistake, gentlemen," she said, scanning the Commons with that utterly bewitching smile, "we'll be back. And one day we will stay."

B
rava, madam.

"Good day to you, Blakestone."

Then she turned up her chin again and walked past him. She started up the aisle to the sound of a befuddled Commons, leading her proud band of women past the sagging jaws of the two sergeants-at-arms and then the stunned Sayers himself.

Bloody hell, what an exit! The woman was magnificent, from her gilded auburn hair to those lovely ankles. Doubtless right down to the succulent tips of her toes and all the luscious parts in between.

He let her go, though he desperately wanted to chase after her with his congratulations. But that would surely take away from her triumph. Besides which he didn't want to seem too approving of her impossible campaign. Didn't want her to hear the pride in his voice. Or to learn that her group would be followed by his operatives.

And most certainly didn't need her to catch on to how firmly she aroused him.

He would wait and see her tonight. All through the night. In her private sitting room.

With her private smile.

And that particular pleasure would have to carry him through a busy day of diplomatic jousting.

Feeling as though he'd just battled a bully in the street, he waited until the chaos in the main chamber below had settled and Sayers had slinked off. Then he dusted off his clothes and left the gallery himself, nearly late for a meeting with Lord Clarendon.

Only to be met at the bottom of the stairs by a familiar face and a familiar smile.

"There you are, Blakestone, old man!" Lord Scarborough clapped him on the back. "I thought that was you up there in the gallery, tussling with those disorderly women."

Ross felt himself bristle, his jaw tightened for another fight. "A lot you know about it, Scarborough. They were treated deplorably, from all sides."

"Damn, I guess I missed that part. Only just came in on the end of the fracas."

"They were merely a group of women from the Abigail Adams, interested i
n
—"

"Ah, yes, that new ladies' club." The man was grinning broadly, a cat with cream on his whiskers. "My wife joined up a few months ago. Takes classes and goes to meetings of some sort."

"And, of course, you object to it." Taken aback by his own defensiveness, Ross waited for the usual diatribe against the very concept of a club for and by women.

But Scarborough only chuckled fondly. "Good God, no, Blakestone. I encourage the woman."

"That's very modern of you."

"To hell with modern." The man sent a glance around the lobby as though ready to whisper a state secret. "Best thing that ever happened to our marriage."

"How's that?"

"Let's just say that I don't know what they do over there at the Abigail Adams, but ever since Arlene joined them, well, the nightly activities in our bedchamber have become more . . . well, exotic."

"More exotic?" Ross drew a complete blank. Though the image of a silvery warm beach in the South Seas shimmered before his eyes.

Naked love .. .

"You know ..." Scarborough twitched his brows, then clicked his tongue twice. "... more
romantic."

Ross was feeling thoroughly dense, because exotic and romantic couldn't possibly mean what it sounded like the man meant.

Not about the Abigail Adams.

Not about Miss Dunaway.

"I'm sorry, Scarborough, but I don'
t
—"

"Good Lord, do I have to spell it out? Arlene and I have been married ten years and suddenly my wife can't get enough of me. You know, old man. In bed."

"In bed?"

"God, yes! Bless the Abigail Adams and all who dwell within. I've become an object of my own wife's lust, and I don't mind it one damn bit."

"Well, I guess you wouldn't." All this just because his wife joined the Abigail Adams?

What the devil was the innocent Miss Dunaway teaching in her classroom, anyway?

Scarborough brushed at the lapels of his waistcoat. " Yup, just like a pair of lovebirds, are my Arlene and I."

"The more power to you, Scarborough."

"Hell, I was just going to recommend that you have your own lovely wife join up with the ladies, Blakestone, but you haven't married yet, have you?"

"No, I haven't." He'd been about to spout the usual "Haven't found the right woman yet," but the comment hung up on the scent of roses still clinging to his coat sleeve.

Hung up on a pair of flashing green eyes.

On a voice that had just laid bare the entire House of Commons.

"Well, enough about this old married man, then, Blakestone. Clarendon's expecting us in Aberdeen's office. It seems that the Russians are kicking up another fuss about the sultan's treatment of Prince Menshikov."

"That was three months ago. Great." Ross followed the man's jaunty step, doing his best to keep track of Scarborough's prattling about the tsar's newest diplomatic insult against the Sultan of Turkey.

But there was only one stream of thought running through his head, boiling his brain, lodging its heat in his loins.

And her name was Elizabeth Dunaway.

Chapter 10

If the
fi
rst woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again.

Sojourner Truth, abolitionist and orator,
1851

“H
av
e you any family in America, Lydia? Any good friends there?"

The weary woman looked up at Elizabeth across the small library table, her eyes wet and red-rimmed and steeped in unwarranted guilt. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry about anything." Elizabeth took hold of Lydia's trembling hands and held tightly. "You
do
have friends in America. You just haven't met them yet. But you'll find them all along the way. Waiting to help you, from the moment you disembark in New York until you've become comfortable in your new life."

"Friends." Lydia's smile sagged at one corner. "I'm so very glad to hear that. I'd be utterly lost otherwise."

"That's why you came to us."

"I thank God that I did." Her simple face filled with gratitude. "That Helen convinced me to come. Because though I'm terrified of the future, it can't possibly be worse than what's come before."

Elizabeth had learned only a portion of Lydia's current situation. As it should be, as it always was. The husband's wrathful nature. The beatings. An unsympathetic family. Nowhere to turn. Just enough information to help determine the best plan of escape.

And who might come looking for her.

"It's perfectly natural to be frightened. Leaving your homeland, your family and friends, a whole new life in front of you."

"A whole new name to learn." Lydia smiled bravely. A spark of hope flickered in her haunted eyes for the first time since she'd arrived.

"Speaking of that, you still have a day or two to decide on your new name. The only rule is that you can't use any name that would connect you to your old life."

"My husband's life, you mean. We never had children, and my own family's gone now. So I have no reason to hold on to my past."

"Then look to your future for your new name. Start with women you admire the most."

"That would make me Elizabeth Dunaway." Lydia actually laughed.

"I'm thoroughly honored, Lydia. But it wouldn't be wise to have two of us running around. Though I could use the extra pair of hands."

"Then put me to work. Please." Lydia opened her hands in a gesture of hope. "Any way you need me."

"Ah, then, perhaps you can help me decide on the best location for your abduction." The moment she spoke the words, a chill raced across her shoulders. A feeling that Blakestone could hear her every word.

"My abduction! How exciting! Rather like attending one's own funeral. What kind of location are you looking for?"

Elizabeth found herself leaning toward the woman, nearly whispering. "It has to be a very public place, large and thronging with people. Lots of movement, passersby, wagons, carts, vendors. And in broad day-light."

"Good heavens! So public? Won't people see everything we do?"

"That's the most important part, Lydia. I want them to see. Or think they see. The brighter the sun, the larger the mob, the blinder they are. An old Indian snake charmer's trick that works every time."

"But won't they hear something? A scream or a scuffle in the street?"

"No, because you won't scream, and we never scuffle. That's the beauty of the operation. It's an abduction that never really happens."

Lydia considered the scenario for a moment and then grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, I see! How amazing! Ascot and the Derby would have been perfect, but they've already been run. Now there's a blind mob for you."

"Exactly." A pity that Lady Maxton's Charity Ball was so soon. And the end of the Season was fast approaching.

"How did you ..." Lydia looked around for the word. ". ..
emancipate
the other abductees?"

Emancipate was the perfect word.

"Well, take the first one, for example. We picked high noon on the busiest day in the mummy room of the British Museum. In the crush, Lady Hayden-Co
l
e merely dropped a chloroformed handkerchief on the floor, then slipped secretly out a service door into the stairwell, where she dropped her bonnet and a man's leather glove. By the time she reached the ground floor she had aged thirty years and looked to everyone on the street just like a ragged old flower seller who then hobbled off into an alleyway. Never to be seen again!"

"Oh, my! How brave!" Lydia's eyes had widened to saucers. "Lady Hayden-Cole did all that by herself?"

"It took a crew of four, including me."

"Four?"

"Like a well-oiled machine, Lydia. We'll be there for you too. Everything will be worked out to the finest detail. We'll rehearse until you know exactly what to do when the time comes."

Because each woman needed to be an intimate part of her own liberation or it wouldn't count, not deep down in her heart. Taking possession of her destiny with her own two hands would set her free.

"Gracious!"

"In the meantime, we'll decide where, and that will determine how and when. I'll need to buy the steamship tickets, design the initial escape route, and make sure you reach Southampton in time for your voyage to New York."

"New York." Lydia shook her head in wonder. "It sounds like so much to do."

"That, my dear Lydia, is only the beginning of
a
—"

A brisk, familiar knock, low on the library door, made Lydia jump behind a chair. "Oh, dear, God!"

Elizabeth had seen that reaction too many times before; that helpless fear of being stalked and found and dragged back to her abusive homelife would haunt the poor woman long after she'd put the blue Atlantic between her and her nightmare.

"It's all right, Lydia." Elizabeth opened the door to her three-member crew of kidnappers.