Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (38 page)

“There’s only a tube of lipstick and a couple of quid in there,” she protested. “It’s a Phillip Pryce original—”

“Give it here.” He snatched it from her. As he glanced inside, the car in front of them suddenly slammed on its brakes. Ian cursed and tossed the clutch aside.

“Fucking idiot!” he muttered. “These London drivers get worse every bloody day.”

The clutch slid off the seat onto the floor near her feet. Natalie was dismayed to see that the mobile had slid loose when Ian tossed it, and was partly visible.

He hadn’t noticed it yet. “Can’t you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” He kept his eyes on the road as he negotiated a traffic circle. “You know, I like you, Natalie. I always have done.”

“Well, you’ve an odd way of showing it. Blackmail, trickery, scaring me half to death—”

He smiled briefly. “You’ve forced me to be creative.”

Ten minutes later, they were headed along the Victoria Embankment, following the Thames River. In the sweep of the Audi’s headlights, for it was fully dark now, Natalie glimpsed boatyards, quays, and warehouses. Her unease grew as the car slowed and stopped at the end of a quay. Yachts, narrowboats, and sailboats were tied securely to pilings and bobbed gently on the tide.

She looked around uneasily. “I don’t see a hotel.”

“That’s because there isn’t one.” Ian shut off the engine and pocketed the keys. He held up another key, this one dangling from a floatation ring. “We’ll be spending tonight aboard the
Alexa
.”

He indicated a Ferretti yacht, perhaps 16 metres long, tied up at one end of the quay. Natalie let out a short breath. The
Alexa
was beautiful, no question, with sleek lines that spoke of fine – and expensive – Italian craftsmanship.

“She holds twelve. Of course, tonight—” Ian’s gaze lingered on her face “—it’ll just be two.”

Natalie fought down the panic that threatened to overset her. How in the world would the police rescue her from a bloody
boat
? “I hope you’re not planning to take us out on the river. I get seasick. That might put a damper on things.”

“There’s no need to leave the dock. The galley’s stocked with enough provisions to last a week.” He reached across her and opened the door. “I do hope you’re worth all this trouble. Remember, don’t try anything, I still have the gun. Let’s go.”

“I’m too bloody tired to try anything,” Natalie snapped.

“You do like to whinge, don’t you?” Amused, he got out and shut the door.

As he walked round the car, Natalie retrieved the clutch. Quickly, she thrust the mobile behind the lining once again, just before Ian opened her door. She slid her legs out and reluctantly took his hand. There really was no graceful way to exit a car wearing such a short, form-fitting dress, and the heels made running impossible…

Ian slid his arm around her. “It’s time to pay up, Natalie,” he murmured. “It’s only fair you show me some appreciation for keeping your father’s secret all this time.”

“I’d like to kick you square in the balls.” She fell silent as they passed another couple coming down the quay. “And I will,” she added in a low voice, “at the first opportunity.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” With a low laugh, Ian placed his hand on her lower back and thrust her forward, down the quay and up the ramp to board the
Alexa
.

“Phillip Pryce’s exclusive line of clothing for Dashwood and James further distinguishes the department store as an innovative purveyor of style and value. This is fashion for real women, fun and on-trend, wearable and affordable. Pryce is unquestionably a new star in the London designer firmament.”

Jacques finished reading the
Telegraph’s
online article and closed the laptop. “Hear that? You’re a star, Phillip!”

“We’re all stars,” Phillip corrected him, and grinned at the motley collection of models, stylists, PR people, and assistants still milling about backstage. “Great show, everyone. My sincere thanks go out to all of you. Don’t forget to head up to the fourth floor for the after-party!”

“Where’s Natalie?” he asked as he glanced around him. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She left,” Bryony said. “Said her grandfather took ill. He’s in hospital, a heart attack, or something.”

“Oh, poor Nat,” Jacques exclaimed. “She loves Sir Richard to bits. I hope he’ll be all right.”

Rhys came backstage. “Is Natalie ready? I told her I’d meet her here for the after-party.”

“She’s gone,” Phillip told him. “Sir Richard was taken to hospital.”

“What?” Rhys asked sharply. “When?”

“About half an hour ago,” Bryony told him.

“I spoke to Sir Richard not five minutes ago,” Rhys said grimly. “He’s at home, getting ready to come to the party. He’s not in hospital. He’s fine.”

“What?” Phillip met Rhys’s gaze, his expression concerned. “Then someone’s fed Natalie a big load of crap. But who would do something like that?”

Ian Clarkson
. “Who gave her the message?” Rhys demanded.

“One of the events staff,” Bryony said. “Sir Richard’s doctor called, said Nat was to go to the GCCU at St. George’s—”

Rhys was already turning away to leave. Ian had tricked Natalie, the clever bastard, and God only knew where he’d taken her. He cursed himself for a fool for thinking they could outsmart the sociopathic little prick.
What was the saying? We make our plans, and God laughs…

“Wait!” Phillip called after him. “I just remembered…Natalie made an odd request recently. She asked me to put an opening in the lining of her clutch, the one she carried on her last trip down the catwalk. She said it needed to be big enough to accommodate a credit card.” He paused. “Or a mobile phone.”

Rhys met his eyes. “Let’s hope she has it with her. That mobile might be the only way we can find her, now.”

“Good luck.” Phillip and Jacques followed him out, their faces etched with concern. “Call us the minute you find her.”

Rhys grabbed his helmet and swung one leg over the Triumph. “Call the police,” he told them, and gave them the name and number of the detective staked out outside the Savoy. “Tell him what’s happened, and tell him she’s got her mobile. They can track her with sat nav.”

With that, he started the engine and roared off to St. George’s to find Natalie.

Chapter 49

The
Alexa
’s stateroom offered a panoramic view of the river Thames and a stylish interior. Under normal circumstances, Natalie might have appreciated the expanse of blonde wood with wraparound seating, and the small but elegant galley.

But as it was, she was far too jumpy to give a toss about anything but getting out of this nightmare unscathed. How long, she wondered, before Rhys and the police found her?
And they will find me
, Natalie told herself fiercely.
They will
.

“Would you like a drink?” Ian asked as he opened one of the galley cabinets. “You seem a bit on edge.”

She turned away from the view of the darkened river to glare at him. “And why is that, I wonder? I’ve only been blackmailed, abducted at gunpoint, and forced onto a boat in the middle of bloody Wapping, with no one knowing where I’ve gone, after a long, exhausting day. Why should I be on edge?”

He poured two glasses of Pinot and handed one to her. “Please, sit down,” he said, and indicated the table set for two. “I’m truly sorry if I frightened you, Natalie. I never meant to do that.” His expression was contrite.

And the crazy thing was, Natalie realised as she sat down on the banquette, he was completely sincere. “You let me think that my grandfather had a heart attack. I was sick with worry.” Her fingers tightened on the stem of her wineglass. “If not for you, I’d be at the after-party with Rhys right now.”

Ian smiled, unperturbed. “Ah yes, Gordon…by now, he’s realised you’ve gone, followed your trail to St. George’s, and found your abandoned Peugeot.” He took a leisurely sip of his wine. “I imagine he’s frantic right about now. Poor chap.”

Natalie’s throat tightened. Rhys. She was glad they’d patched things up before she left. She should never have doubted him. “He’ll find me.” Her words were low but fierce.

“I wish I shared your conviction, but I doubt it.” He placed his glass with deliberate care onto the table. “At any rate, it’s down to you and me. Let’s make the most of our time, shall we?”

Time
. It was the only weapon Natalie had. The police needed time to find them; and if the only way to buy time was to play along with Ian’s perverse game, then that’s what she’d do.

Ian retrieved a box of matches and lit the candles. “I’ve made asparagus quiche and salad. I hope you like it. I’m quite a good cook, you know.”

“Among your many other talents?” she snapped.

“Temper, Natalie,” he chided her, and smiled. “You’ll feel better after you have something to eat.”

She took a tiny sip of the Pinot. The table setting was lovely – china, crystal glasses, linen napkins. “I’m not hungry.” She was far too keyed up to think of food.

“You’ll change your mind.” Ian stood and went into the galley.

Her glance flickered to her purple clutch, tossed at one end of the banquette. Thank God she’d brought her mobile. She only hoped that Ian didn’t find it…

As he returned with the quiche and two plated frisée salads, Natalie attempted a smile. “It looks lovely.”

“I learned to cook from my stepfather.” He placed a slice of quiche on her plate and sat down. “Go on, try it.”

“How do I know you haven’t laced it with something? A sedative, perhaps?”

He laughed, cut himself a piece, and took a large bite. “There. No sedatives. No poison, either.”

Natalie picked up her fork and had a taste. “It’s good,” she admitted.
Stall for time, keep him talking
… “You’ve mentioned your stepfather. What about your mother?”

“She abandoned me when I was five. Ran off one night and left me in the flat, alone.” He held up the bottle. “More wine?”

“No, thank you… What did you do?”

Ian shrugged and wiped his mouth. “I went into care. I went through twenty-five foster homes by the time I was nine. I wasn’t wanted in any of them. But that’s the way the council handled things back then – don’t let a child in care get too attached, because they’d leave soon enough, shunted on to the next place.”

Pity for that little boy, alone and unwanted, softened Natalie’s words. “That must’ve been incredibly hard. I can’t imagine.”

“No, you can’t.” He laid his fork aside. “You grew up with dogs and horses and weekend gymkhanas, living the sort of life that I could only dream of, then.”

“Still, you made something of yourself, Ian,” she pointed out. “You’re on the board of Dashwood and James, you’ve got an excellent job and a beautiful home—”

“The house belongs to Alexa,” he cut in. “Like every other place I’ve ever lived, it isn’t mine. Until you help me get that partnership, I won’t have achieved nearly enough.” His eyes, dark and gleaming in the candlelight, met hers. “But enough of me…let’s talk about you, Natalie. You’re far more interesting.”

“No, I’m not.” She pushed a bit of frisée around on her plate, echoing the circular, panicked thoughts in her head.

“On the contrary,” Ian murmured as he reached out to touch her face, “I think you’re fascinating. And very beautiful.” He leaned forward to kiss her.

“I think,” Natalie said hastily, dropping her fork to her plate as she drew back, “we need music. To set the proper mood.”

Ian looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not stalling, are you, Natalie?”

“Of course not. I just…need a bit more wine, and some music, to help me relax. This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

“Very well.” He tossed his napkin down and went aft to turn on the stereo. The muted sounds of a jazz quartet filled the air.

“Better?” he inquired as he topped up her drink and resumed his seat next to her.

She managed a nod and a tiny sip of wine. “Yes, much.”

“Good.” He rested his arm along the back of the banquette behind her and leaned closer. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment, Natalie.” He began, hungrily, to nuzzle her neck.

She pushed him away. “I need the lav. I want to freshen up a bit, first—”

“You don’t need the lav. And you don’t need to freshen up.” His jaw tightened. “You’re stalling, Natalie, and you’re trying my patience. No more games.”

And before she could react, his mouth descended hard on hers, and he forced her back against the banquette. Panicked, she twisted her head away. “Ian, please, wait—”

“I’m done waiting,” he said, and dragged her legs roughly up onto the banquette. “I’ve waited far too long as it is.”

She reached up to rake her nails across his cheek. But Ian anticipated the move and gripped her by the wrist. “Natalie,” he breathed, “I’m disappointed in you. You’re not showing the proper enthusiasm. You’ll have to do better.”

As he gripped her wrist and forced his mouth once again on hers, Natalie twisted away and tried desperately to kick him, but the weight of his body pressed atop hers limited her mobility. Unfortunately, all she managed to do was kick the bloody clutch to the floor with her foot…

…where her mobile phone flew out and skidded to a stop, landing smack in the middle of the stateroom floor.

Rhys turned the Triumph into the entrance to St. George’s General Critical Care Unit and skidded to a stop. He scanned the car park and immediately saw Natalie’s yellow Peugeot. It was empty, and locked. A quick word with the ward sister at the front desk established that no one recalled seeing a young woman wearing a short black cocktail dress and silver high heels.

“I most definitely,” the ward sister informed him primly, “would have remembered that.”

Rhys turned away with a muttered curse and strode back to his motorbike. His mobile rang just as he swung his leg over. He grabbed it. “Yes?”

“Sergeant Bixby, Central London Police. We’ve pinpointed Miss Dashwood’s location. She’s in Wapping, just a couple of miles from Tower Bridge.”

“Wapping,” Rhys repeated grimly. “What the hell are they doing there? Never mind, I’m on my way.”