My Wayward Lady (22 page)
Desperately Harriet crept soundlessly around the room in search of a weapon, but could lay her hands on nothing more threatening than the poker leaning up against a fireplace that looked as though it had not been used during the past twenty years. It was not possible to conceal it while waiting for a propitious moment; therefore, she would have to strike the minute he appeared. Carefully she hefted it, testing its weight and envisioning how she would have to position herself in order to bring it down with all her force upon his head. Or course, immobilizing Sir Neville would only be her first challenge. After that, she would have to deal with the servants, though judging from the condition the place was in, there were not many of them.
Holding the curtain up to hide her, Harriet craned her neck around the corner of the window trying to get a better view of the place in order to establish the location of the stables and determine the possibility of finding a horse there on which she could flee. It was a desperate situation, but she was resolved not to be conquered by it. Having concocted as much of a plan as was possible, she took up her position to one side of the door, her hands firmly wrapped around the poker, and she waited.
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While Harriet was biding her time with as much patience as she could muster, Adrian was galloping north toward Hertfordshire at breakneck speed. Discreet inquiries had revealed that Sir Neville Fletcher's family estate, now fallen into as much disrepair as its owner's reputation, lay not far from St. Albans outside the little village of Smallford. He figured that Sir Neville had only an hour to an hour and a half's head start on him at most and that he would have had to change from the hackney to a traveling carriage at some point. At any rate, a man on a horse could travel faster than a carriage, cutting across country to save time and distance if need be, while a carriage was obliged to stick to the main roads. Given these circumstances, the marquess hoped to arrive at Fletcher's estate not too long after Sir Neville himself, and thus come to Harriet's aid before too much damage had been done.
Lord Chalfont had seen enough of Lady Harriet Fareham to know that her own resourcefulness would keep her captor at bay for a little while. She was a clever and courageous young lady, already angered by Fletcher's brutish treatment of Fanny. This anger would fuel her resistance at the outset, but eventually she would be no match for the bigger, stronger Sir Neville and whatever servants he managed to command. Once again the picture of Harriet struggling in Sir Neville's grasp at the Temple of Venus rose before him and Adrian 204
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gnawed his lip in frustration as he leaned forward over Trajan's neck, urging him to even greater speed. The marquess was banking on the premise that an estate let fall to rack and ruin would have few servants about, servants who would be no match for the man who had once given an entire regiment of French cavalry pause. Skirting St. Albans and its crowded streets, he turned off the main road and headed toward Smallford on a less traveled road until he found a likely looking farmer whom he stopped to ask directions. Inclined to be conversational at first, the man became a good deal less friendly when he learned of the marquess's destination. Apparently Sir Neville's reputation was as unsavory in the country as it was in town. At last a park with its crumbling gate came into view. Adrian rode boldly up the gravel drive, scanning the countryside on either side of him for any signs of activity, but there was none. Only some fresh looking tracks made by the wheels of a carriage in the gravel gave any indication that the estate had been visited recently. A deserted air hung about the place as though no one, not even servants, lived there. Passing through gates that hung awry on rusty hinges, he trotted up to the door and dismounted, noting with satisfaction that there were still no signs of activity: no stable boy came to hold his horse, no butler stood in the doorway. If it had not been for the scuffed-up gravel indicating that a carriage and its occupants had arrived not long ago, the marquess might have thought that even Sir Neville and his captive had not been there.
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Adrian banged the heavy brass knocker repeatedly until at last the door swung open and a cadaverous looking face peered around it. "There is no one at home," a sepulchral voice intoned as the door began to close again. The marquess leaned one broad shoulder against the door, effectively forcing it open as he replied in the friendliest of tones, "Of course there is, my good man, and I suggest you take me to him immediately or it will be the worse for you." The servant looked anxiously around him. Though he had been well paid by Sir Neville, he had not been paid well enough to deal with this sudden and totally unexpected change in events. The master had assured him that nothing more would be required of him than making sure that there was food in the house, a few fires lit, and that the girl did not escape. No mention had been made of a large, determined, and dangerous looking man coming in pursuit of her. He wavered. Sir Neville was a vicious man to cross, but he was no more threatening than the person who now stood glowering at him as though he were about to tear him limb from limb.
"Loyalty, or whatever it is that binds you to your master, will do you little good, for when I am finished with him he will be ruined and therefore no longer in need of your services. Now, where is the young lady?"
"No—I mean, I cannot say—" the man stammered. Adrian gripped him by the throat until his eyes bulged.
"Cannot say, or will not say. I shall find him anyway, but your telling me will save me time and you a good deal of discomfort."
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"She's—she's up there," the man gasped, clawing ineffectively at the hands gripping his throat and nodding over his right shoulder. "The first bedchamber in the east wing."
The marquess relaxed his grip. "Very good. Now, if I were you, I would make haste to clear out of here for things are bound to. become very unpleasant."
"Yes, sir, very good, sir." The man scuttled off into the gloom as Adrian turned and ran up the marble staircase two steps at a time. Reaching the top, he stopped, listening for any signs that either Harriet or her kidnapper was near. At first he heard nothing, then a cry, hastily muffled, and a crash.
"Harriet! Harriet!" he shouted. "I am here." He tried the knob of the first door on the right with no success. Stopping to look around and make sure that he had followed the servant's directions correctly, he put his ear to the door and listened. Unmistakable sounds of a struggle issued from the other side. Adrian threw his weight against the door, but though it rattled, it did not give. Forcing himself to stop and examine the lock, he observed that it was not all that strong and, gritting his teeth, he stepped back and threw himself against it once more with all his might.
There was a tremendous crash as the door suddenly gave way and slammed back against the wall, causing a painting to tumble to the floor. For a moment Lord Chalfont paused, fighting to master the surge of rage threatening to overcome him at the sight of Harriet, her face tense and white, struggling in Sir Neville's arms. Then Adrian's head cleared 207
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and a colder, more implacable anger took over. "I shall give you precisely ten seconds to unhand this woman and leave the room or I shall kill you," he announced calmly, pulling a deadly looking pistol from his pocket.
Sir Neville looked up, his face contorted with fury. "You!
How dare you draw on an unarmed man in his own home! At least put down your weapon and fight like a gentleman instead of a coward."
"I would if I had a gentleman to fight, but at the moment, I am hunting vermin and I find that this"—the marquess waved his pistol—"is the most effective means of eliminating them. Now, I really have no more time to discuss it as I must restore this young lady to her family. If you wish to remain intact, I suggest you leave. In fact, I suggest you leave the country entirely for awhile unless you want to have it bruited about that your fortune is built upon cheating at cards." Adrian held up his hand as Sir Neville opened his mouth to protest. "Do not bother to argue. As you know, I have a sworn statement from a reliable witness that will destroy your credibility even in the lowest gaming hell and I have also uncovered other witnesses. I shall see to it that those who have been swindled will be clamoring for reimbursement until you have not a feather to fly with."
"I refuse to be bullied, you bastard. You are bluffing." Sir Neville shouted, even as he released Harriet and backed toward the door. "You shall not get away with this, I tell you, I—" Standing in the doorway, he shook his fist at Lord Chalfont who, by now thoroughly bored by his opponent, had 208
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turned his back on him and was giving all his attention to the lady.
"Harriet, Harriet, my poor girl, are you all right?" He demanded frantically as he pulled her into his arms. At first Harriet did not move or respond in any way, for she was too overwhelmed by the horror and the swiftness of events to react at all.
After Sir Neville had locked her in, she had stood watch by the door, poker in hand, for what had seemed ages, though it had in fact been little more than an hour. At last she had heard heavy footsteps in the hall outside the door and knew her moment had come. Raising the poker high over her head, she had listened to the key grating in the lock and watched the turning of the doorknob in horrified fascination, her heart thumping so hard against her ribs that she was sure Sir Neville would also have been able to hear it. As the door had swung open, Harriet had brought the poker down with all her might, but unfortunately her captor knew her all too well. The moment he entered the room he glanced to his right and, seeing her there, sprang, twisting the poker from her hands as it arched toward his head. "Not so fast, my pretty lady," he said with a laugh as the poker clattered to the floor. Still clutching the hand that had held the poker, he had dragged her toward him, wrapping his other arm around her waist.
"You are a hotheaded little wench—just as I suspected you would be. I like 'em that way—all the better to tame." He leered at her lasciviously and Harriet, nearly gagging at the stale scent of spirits on his hot breath, shut her eyes. 209
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Suddenly he was kissing her furiously, shoving his thick tongue between her clenched teeth and gripping the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him, but Harriet refused to open her eyes or acknowledge any contact with him. A tremor of disgust began to sweep over her, but with a tremendous effort, she willed herself steady, rigidly maintaining an unresponsive posture as he pulled her closer to him. Struggling was of no use. She was already well aware of how easily he could overpower her and resistance only excited him all the more. All she could hope was that his passion would overcome his sense of self-preservation at some point and then, when his guard was down, she could break free and grab the poker. Emptying her mind of everything else, she tried to visualize where the poker had fallen in relation to her and to the door. His hands roved over her body, sending a wave of revulsion through her so strong that Harriet feared she might faint. This was how poor Fanny had felt, how all of Mrs. Lovington's ladies must have felt time and time again. Harriet vowed to break free and revenge herself on this man for what he had done to her and to so many others. She tried not to wince as one hairy hand tore at the lacy fichu around her neck. He was breathing harder now and his hold on her was loosening. Soon, she sensed, he would be in the grip of passion and too preoccupied to think of anything but gratifying his own lust, and then perhaps she could take advantage of his relaxed vigilance to save herself. The lace came away, revealing the flesh beneath it and Sir Neville stopped to savor the moment. He licked his lips in 210
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anticipation. It was in that instant that Harriet twisted and fought in his grasp, just as she heard her name being called. So frantic was she that for a moment she thought it was her own disordered brain supplying her with the comforting sound of Lord Chalfont's voice, but then came the thundering crash and, miracle of miracles, the rescue she had never let herself dare hope for.
He was here to save her. Sobbing with relief she had broken free as he had forced Sir Neville from the room. Now she turned to him without even stopping to wonder how such an incredible thing had occurred, how he had known what had happened to her in the first place, and then known where to find her. She had needed him desperately and he had appeared. It was as simple as that; so simple that it seemed as natural as breathing, and she had sought the comfort and reassurance of his arms as though she had always belonged there.
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For several moments Harriet remained in the marquess's embrace. Gulping in great gasping breaths of fresh air, she tried to regain her composure while she reveled in the strength of his arms around her and the warmth of his breath in her hair as he whispered, "There, there, my brave girl, everything is all right; I'm here and nothing shall harm you. Hush now." Harriet could not recall ever having felt so safe or so protected in her life as she did now, resting her head on the marquess' broad shoulder, feeling the hardness and the strength of his body against hers.
At last she raised her head. "How ever did you know what had happened to me and where to find me?" Adrian smiled down at her, the tawny eyes warm and comforting. "Believe me, once I knew that villain had discovered your identity I never let you out of my sight. If I was not with you, then my man Richards was keeping a watchful eye on you. I suspected that the blackguard might try something, and I made certain I found out the place he might take you should he slip through my guard which, I am ashamed to admit, he did."