Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (39 page)

“This is a police matter, sir. We already have an all ports warning out for Ian Clarkson’s vehicle. I’d ask you to stay well out of it and let our men handle the matter—”

“Sod you,” Rhys snapped, and rang off. No way in hell he’d let the police handle this, they’d only bollocks things up.

Ian was far too unpredictable, and Natalie far too precious, to trust her safe return via the bloody police.

As he started the engine, his mobile rang again. “Yes?” he snapped. “What is it now?”

There was a pause. “Mr. Gordon? Alexa Clarkson.”

“Oh. Sorry. You know Natalie’s missing, I presume?”

“Yes. How awful…and I’m certain Ian’s to blame. The police were just here, asking if I’d seen or spoken to him today. I haven’t.” She paused. “In fact, I’m calling because I know where he’s taken Nat.”

“The police just told me sat nav shows her in Wapping.”

“Then I’m right. While the police were here at the hospital, my housekeeper called. She noticed a set of keys missing from the hook in the kitchen. At some point in the last day or two, Ian took the keys to the
Alexa
, our yacht. It’s docked in Wapping. I’m certain that’s where he’s taken Nat.”

Rhys listened intently as she relayed the quay number, a description of the Ferretti yacht, and directions to the marina. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Good luck, Mr. Gordon. I hope you find her.”

“I’ll find her. Thanks.” He promised to inform Alexa the minute he had anything to tell and rang off, then immediately dialled the Wapping police station. Rhys relayed the information Alexa had given him to the dispatcher. “Send someone out there at once.”

“I’ll notify the Marine Support Unit. A Fast Response Boat will be launched immediately.”

“Just tell them to hurry.” He rang off, revved the engine, and headed at top speed for Wapping.

Chapter 50

“What’s this?” Ian snarled.

He thrust Natalie aside and lunged down to retrieve the mobile. “It’s a fucking mobile…with the sat nav enabled.” He turned on her, enraged. “You clever little bitch! No wonder you kept stalling for time.”

Trembling, Natalie skittered away down the banquette. “You can get away if you leave me behind. I’ll only slow you down—”

“Oh, no.” He reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her off the banquette. “No more of your bullshit. You’re coming with me.”

Grimly Ian considered and discarded the idea of untying the boat and making his getaway on the river. The
Alexa
would never outrun a police boat; she was made for cruising, not speed. His only hope of escape was the Audi.

And it might even be too late for that, thanks to Natalie and her bloody mobile.

“Don’t try anything,” he hissed as he propelled Natalie forward. He brandished his gun. “I’ve had enough of your stunts. One more, and I’ll use this.”

Natalie knew Ian meant what he said. Numb with fear, she stumbled as he thrust her across the stateroom and down several steps onto the aft deck. Waves washed against the hull and a warm breeze carried the smell of the river.
Keep calm
, she told herself.
Don’t panic
.

Sod that. She’d never been so frightened in her life.

Ian stepped off the boat and pulled her roughly down onto the quay. “Hurry,” he snapped as she stumbled.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” she retorted. “Why don’t you go on without me? I can’t walk fast in these bloody heels, or I’ll turn my ankle.”

“Shut up.” He continued to drag her along behind him down the wooden quay, intent on getting them both the hell out of there.

Natalie knew she had to stall; her life might depend on it. Every step they took down the quay was one step closer to his car, and Ian’s escape. Once they were in the Audi, he could take her anywhere. And without her mobile, the police – and Rhys – would never find her.

She couldn’t let that happen. But how was she to stop him?

Suddenly, she had an idea. Not the most brilliant idea, perhaps, but with no weapon and no one to help her, it was the best she could manage…

The quay was constructed of wooden boards nailed crosswise, with a narrow space between each board.Sending up a silent prayer that her ploy would work and that Phillip Pryce would forgive her, Natalie thrust one of her spindly Louboutin heels firmly into the space between one of the boards.

It worked a treat. It also, unfortunately, very nearly dislocated her ankle as Ian continued to drag her forward. She let out a cry of pain. “Ian, stop! I’ve caught my heel.”

He let go of her hand and reached for his gun. “Take the fucking shoe off!” he snarled.

“I can’t, the straps are tiny, and there’s so many of them! And I can’t see a thing—”

With a curse Ian bent down to inspect the shoe. “Bloody fucking shoe! If I had a penknife I’d cut the straps off. But I don’t.” He met her frightened eyes. “And I haven’t any time to waste.”

“What…what happens now?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

“I can’t take you with me,” he snapped, “so I’ll have to leave you behind.” He straightened, keeping his gun trained on her. “I value my own skin more than yours. And I’ve no desire to add murder to my sins. Sorry, Natalie, but even
you’re
not worth all this trouble.”

And with that, he turned and sprinted down the quay, jumped into the Audi, and roared away.

Within minutes, Natalie heard the rumble of a motorbike in the distance, growing louder. She massaged her throbbing ankle and waited. Abruptly the motorbike’s engine cut off and someone pounded down the quay.

“Natalie!” Rhys said hoarsely. He took in her bent leg, and knelt beside her and held her tightly. “My God, are you OK?” he asked, drawing back. “Has he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine, except for a turned ankle.”

“What happened?” Grimly he worked the straps free and tossed the shoe aside.

“Ian found my mobile, and dragged me off the boat to his car. I panicked. I knew you’d never find me if we got in the car. I couldn’t think what else to do, so I caught my heel in the one of the dock boards. Ian was furious.” She looked up at Rhys, her eyes wide. “Phillip will be, too. These Louboutins cost a fortune, and I’ve ruined them.” Belatedly, shock set in, and she began to shiver.

“Sod the shoes. I’m just glad you’re all right.” He removed the other shoe. “Can you put any weight on your foot?”

Natalie nodded. “I think so…oh!” Pain shot through her ankle as she attempted to stand. “Well…perhaps not.”

Rhys swung her up into his arms. “Poor girl,” he said tenderly. “Those damned shoes will be the death of you yet.”

“Those damned shoes saved my life,” she retorted.

“Well, if nothing else, at least you proved you can think on your feet.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Natalie murmured. Despite the twist to her ankle and the fact that she couldn’t stop shivering, she wanted, more than anything else, to wrap herself up in a blanket with Rhys, and sleep…for days.

The sound of a motorboat launch rapidly approaching the quay cut through the darkness. “That’ll be the marine police,” Rhys observed. “They took their bloody time getting here.”

“I don’t care.” Natalie nestled her head against his chest. “You’re here, and Ian’s gone, and that’s all that matters.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Glad we agree on that.”

The police disembarked from the launch and pounded down the quay, guns drawn. “Has the suspect gone?” a heavyset sergeant asked them.

“Yes, ten minutes ago, no thanks to you lot,” Rhys said shortly. Briefly he related the details of Ian’s escape and added, “But it doesn’t matter. The police issued an APW before I left Knightsbridge.”

“Mr. Clarkson won’t get far,” the sergeant assured them. “We’ll just need a statement from you, miss.”

But Natalie, overcome from the trauma and the exhausting events of a long, trying day, had fallen asleep in Rhys’s arms.

It was late when Alastair returned from the hospital. Cherie looked up as he paused in the doorway. “How’s Hannah?” she asked, and set aside her tea. “The nurse insisted I go home, but I can’t stop replaying everything in my head.”

“She’s sleeping.” He seemed about to say more, then thought the better of it. “I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

“Alastair, wait.” She leaned forward on the sofa. “We need to talk. I won’t let you throw our marriage away.”

“You did that when you slept with Neil.”

“I never
slept
with Neil,” Cherie said sharply. “I’ll admit I was tempted, yes – only because he was there, and you weren’t. I’m not proud of that, mind. But nothing happened.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t trust you any longer.”

“I hardly think my almost-affair with Neil compares to your secret love child with Fiona Walsh,” she snapped.

“Good God, Cherie, you sound like one of those bloody tabloids!” Alastair said irritably. “I didn’t know Rhys was my son until today.”

“No. But you knew what you were doing when you slept with Fiona,
after
your engagement to me.” Her eyes met his. “I did the maths, Alastair.”

Suddenly all the fight went out of him, and he came and sat down heavily beside her. His face was haggard with exhaustion.

“It was stupid,” he murmured, and shook his head at the memory. “A mistake. It happened the night I told Fiona that you and I were engaged. She was beside herself, unable to accept it was over. I’d had a couple of drinks beforehand, for Dutch courage.”

Cherie was silent.

“Fiona wept, she threw her arms around me and begged me to stay, and…God forgive me, I did. I slept with her.” He looked at his wife. “That must’ve been the night Rhys was conceived. It never happened again.”

“You cheated on me.” Cherie was calm. “After all, I only thought about cheating on you, with Neil. I didn’t. But I daresay I would have, given the proper chance.” She sighed. “I’d say that makes us even, doesn’t it? Neither of us is blameless.”

“No. No, I suppose not.”

“Do you think Fiona planned it?” Cherie asked after a moment. “She couldn’t have you, so she had your child instead?”

Alastair looked at her, startled. “I hadn’t thought about it, but perhaps she did.”

“Well,” Cherie ventured, “at least one good thing came out of this – Rhys. He’s your son. You must be terribly proud of him. He’s quite a remarkable man.”

“Sir Richard certainly thinks so. He’s offered Rhys a partnership. I still can’t believe he’s my son.” He looked at her, and smiled. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“No. What?”

“I’ll have a son to carry on at the store when I’m gone. And it means,” he added as he reached out to take her hands in his, “I can work more reasonable hours. We might even manage to have dinner together now and then.”

“Imagine that,” Cherie said dryly, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Chapter 51

The next morning, as Rhys lay in bed watching Natalie sleep, her lashes drifted open. “Good morning,” she murmured, and stretched.

“Good morning.” He smiled. “Have I told you how proud I am of you, darling? Or how much I love you?”

“You might have mentioned it, yes.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re amazing.”

“I thought I was spoilt and terrible with money and a not-very-good cook.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re all of those…but don’t forget that I’m impatient, demanding, and short-tempered,” he pointed out. “Not to mention offensive and ill bred.” He raised a brow. “Did I miss anything?”

“I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t change a thing.” She snuggled next to him. “Except, perhaps, your habit of ordering for me at dinner – crikey, but that’s annoying!”

“Old habits die hard, darling. But I’ll try. Good thing the city has plenty of restaurants. At least we won’t starve.”

“No. But we’ll need to keep extravagance to a minimum. So I expect we’ll be eating lots of spag bol at home.”

Rhys ran his hand leisurely along the curve of her hip. “I love spaghetti Bolognese as much as the next man, but we can afford to dine out at least once a week, surely?”

“We’ll have to budget for it,” Natalie said primly.

“Good thinking,” he murmured, and leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. “Are you awake now?”

Distracted by the warmth of his hand sliding down her hip, Natalie managed a nod.

“Then let’s stay in bed for the rest of the day,” he said as he caressed the inside of her thigh. “I have some ideas for what we might do.”

“Rhys,” she protested, torn between desire to do just that yet knowing that remaining in bed was impossible, “we can’t! Mum’s invited everyone for Sunday dinner, and I’m the guest of honour! We can’t not go – it’d be selfish, not to mention inexcusably rude—”

“Lesson number four, darling,” he murmured in her ear, unperturbed by her protestations. “You have to take your opportunities when – and where – you find them.”

And they did.

EPILOGUE

Thank goodness for the new, improved sound system, Natalie reflected as she set aside a tray of rings to answer the phone. ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ had never sounded better.

“Good afternoon, Dashwood and James jewellery department, how may I help you?” Natalie enquired.

“Nat, hi, it’s Alexa. Rhys told me I’d find you here.”

“Well, you know what it’s like at Christmas,” Natalie replied. “I’m helping out. Business has tripled since the re-launch. How’s Emily Kate?”

“She’s a lamb, aside from her aversion to sleep.”

Natalie hesitated. “What about Ian? Has he seen her yet?”

Ian, apprehended two days after his escape, was serving time in Broadmoor, a high-security psychiatric hospital.

“No. I can’t bear the thought of taking Emily Kate to that place.” Alexa paused. “Not that Ian has asked to see her.”

“Perhaps it’s better that way.”

Alexa’s laugh was bitter. “Better, not knowing her daddy’s a criminal sociopath? Yes. I’d say so.”

“Excuse me.”

Natalie looked up to see a tall blond man with penetrating blue eyes standing before her at the counter.

“Sorry, I have a customer,” she told Alexa. “I’m here if you need me…for anything.” She rang off and enquired politely, “May I help you, sir?”