CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Obviously, a wife must obey her husband in all important matters. If he continues believing his admonitions are his own ideas, so much the better.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Atherbourne in a letter filled with wifely wisdom.
Watching Caroline Thurgood serve tea in Mr. Thurgood’s red-draped drawing room, Sarah felt a twinge of foreboding. She swallowed and accepted the cup from her former student. Perhaps more than a twinge.
He will be incensed, she chastised herself. Only a day after he requested—very well, commanded—you to remain at home, you simply had to pay a visit to Miss Thurgood.
The girl had invited her for tea at her home on Grosvenor Street, two houses away from where Jane’s family resided during the season. As it was a quiet street minutes from Berkeley Square, she had reasoned the minor outing was the equivalent of remaining within Clyde-Lacey House’s walls. Near enough, at any rate.
Additionally, Colin himself had gone to White’s only this morning, saying he had an important matter to attend. And the other ladies in the household had gone shopping for books, taking numerous footmen with them. If they were permitted to venture beyond the gates of Colin’s designated fortress, then surely she should be as well.
Sarah sighed. Her logic was sound, but she was quite certain she would endure a good deal of displeasure from her husband upon her return, particularly since she had only taken two footmen and the coachman with her. They had been all that were available.
Be certain to tell your husband that during your next argument. Which should be coming shortly.
“The school is in Bath,” said Caroline, a glint of excitement in her eye. “Very respectable. I thought of you immediately, Miss Battersby.”
Sarah would have told Caroline she was no longer Miss Battersby, but the girl had not ceased chattering since Sarah’s arrival. Perhaps I should have spent a bit more time explaining the virtues of conversational restraint.
“The headmaster is a vicar like your father. He wrote to Papa of his simply desperate need for an instructor in deportment and household management, and Papa mentioned it over breakfast, and, well, here we are!” The girl took a sip of her tea, her lashes forming shadows on her cheeks. Then she grinned widely. “I have a letter in which Mr. Lawson describes the requirements and compensation. It is a marvelous position for someone of your talents. That is, if you have not already found a post.”
It was a marvelous position. Ideal for her in every respect. In fact, she felt a peculiar kind of regret that it had not been available two months ago. It certainly would have made her choices simpler. She could have moved to Bath with her mother. Perhaps rented a small cottage. Colin Lacey would have been merely a wistful autumn memory. Instead, he was now her husband. And she his wife. It was odd how fate led one down certain roads and forever closed others.
Clearing her throat delicately, Sarah set her cup in its saucer and opened her mouth to answer.
“Oh! Silly me, I almost forgot,” Caroline continued. “It is the very school Lydia—Miss Cresswell—will be attending in the spring. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Lydia is most fond of you, Miss Battersby.”
“Lady Colin Lacey.”
Long lashes swept down and up in a rapid blink. “I beg your pardon?”
Sarah gave Caroline a gentle smile and repeated, “I am now Lady Colin Lacey. No longer Miss Battersby. I have married since you saw me last. Forgive me for not saying so upon my arrival.”
“Oh!” Surprise turned to confusion. “But I thought—I was certain his name was Mr. Colin Clyde. Am I misremembering?”
She shook her head. The necessity of explaining why she had participated in a deception was one of the reasons for her reticence. “Lord Colin’s injuries were not caused by being thrown from his horse. He had been attacked by a dangerous criminal. When he arrived in Keddlescombe, he was fearful the villain might hear of his presence and perhaps follow him with intent to do further harm. To protect me and all those in the village, he used a false name.”
Caroline gasped and covered her lips with her fingers. “How very shocking. And gallant. Oh, you are so fortunate, Miss—I mean, Lady Colin. He really is quite dashing. I’m certain even more so now that he has healed properly.”
“Dashing.” Sarah smiled, recalling the previous day and night when he had pleasured her so diligently she had forgotten her own name. “Yes. Quite.”
A half-hour later, she and Caroline were saying their goodbyes in the foyer. Tying the ribbon on her bonnet, Sarah said, “You shall be a wonderful success in your debut, Miss Thurgood. I haven’t a single doubt.”
“Thank you for saying so, Lady Colin. Perhaps we shall see one another during the season.”
Sarah smiled and murmured a neutral, “Mmm.” In truth, she did not know where she would be come spring. Colin had stated explicitly that he had only married her to give her his protection. She, on the other hand, had married him because she could not bear to be parted from him. What would happen when the crisis with Syder was over? Would Colin’s interest fade? Pity and charity could last only so long, after all.
Caroline picked up an unsealed letter from the tray of calling cards on a mahogany table beside the door. “I intended to give this to you. Mr. Lawson’s letter. You are most welcome to take it, of course. I certainly won’t be needing it.” The girl laughed. “I don’t imagine you will either. You are a lady now. I feel as though I should curtsy.”
Sarah looked at the folded paper in her hand. A part of her wanted to accept it, to tuck it away just in case. Another wanted to decline, to believe in him, in her marriage. She watched as Caroline placed it back on the tray. “No curtsy necessary, I assure you. Thank you for a lovely visit, Miss Thurgood.”
“It was my pleasure, Lady Colin.”
Outside, waiting for the carriage to pull around from the mews, Sarah breathed in the wintery air and wondered if perhaps she was making a mistake. Surely it would do no harm to take the letter with her. She looked to her left. “Thomas,” she said quietly to the tall, brown-haired footman. “I—I seem to have forgotten something. Would you be so kind as to retrieve it for me?”
He argued for a moment, claiming his duty was to be her shadow, but she explained that she would be alone for less than a minute. Reluctantly, he complied, warning her to “stay put until the coach arrives, if you please.”
In the seconds he was gone, the coachman at last pulled the carriage onto the street. It came to a stop directly in front of her. She frowned as she focused on the door, noting the Duke of Blackmore’s crest was not present. Most peculiar.
Then, it flew open. A hard band circled her waist and squeezed until all the air was forced from her lungs, lifted upward until her feet left the ground and her ribs were crushed under the pressure.
She couldn’t breath. Could not understand. Her lungs burned and her legs kicked, meeting only hard leather boots. She was half-thrown, half-shoved into the carriage, landing painfully on her knees. Her head collided with the opposite wall. Sharp pain exploded in her skull. Dazed and beginning to see spots, she struggled to gather enough air to scream. Distantly, she heard a shout, but by then, the coach was moving, the wheels clacking and rolling, carrying her away from safety. Blood pounded in her ears. Pain pulsed inside her skull.
“Why, Miss Battersby. A happy coincidence, indeed,” came the vile voice of a snake.
The shock of it sent nausea into her throat. She thought he had slithered away, no longer her concern. She’d been wrong.
“I must say, I do enjoy seeing you in that position. A female on her knees. Holds a great many … intriguing possibilities.”
Her need for air warred with her need to retch. With gasping, wheezing breaths, she struggled to rise, bracing a hand on the wall. Her bonnet had slid forward so the brim kept him from her view as she scrambled to rise. Finally, she sat on the seat opposite the man she despised more than anyone else—with the possible exception of Horatio Syder.
“Wh—What do you think … you are doing, Mr. Foote?”
Felix Foote’s pomade-slicked hair gleamed in the light from the window. His brown-toothed grin was both gleeful and grotesque. “I am earning my prize, my dear Miss Battersby.”
“I am married now. My husband will kill you for this.” She did not know if it was true, but it did seem like the thing to say in this situation.
His laugh was nasal and high. “Your husband? Your engagement was a fraud, Miss Battersby. I knew.” He tapped a finger against his temple, his too-small eyes shining with triumph. “I came to London to find proof. His name is not Clyde. You scraped up his remains after Mr. Syder finished with him and dressed him in your father’s clothes.”
Dizzy and yet hearing everything with preternatural sharpness, she blinked and pulled air into her aching lungs. “It does not matter how it started,” she said. “We are married now. Colin Lacey will not allow his wife to be taken.” She hoped it was true. Prayed it was true.
His smile turned into a snarl. “He is a corpse. Mr. Syder will simply give the matter some finality.”
As though the snow outside had found a way inside her veins, Sarah shivered and froze. “You are in league with Syder. That is how he learned Colin was in Keddlescombe.”
He leaned forward. “We have mutual interests.” His eyes slowly traveled from her throat to her bosom to her legs and back, lingering and lighting until it felt like worms were eating her from the inside out. “Mine is you.”
It was all the warning she had before he was upon her, tearing at her skirts, sliding his disgusting mouth across her throat. She clawed his face, shoved his bony chest, screamed until her throat was ravaged. But he was so strong. He merely grasped one of her wrists and squeezed until she whimpered at the pain. His breath drifted across her face, smelling of rotting meat. Clutching and groping, his other hand tightened on one of her breasts, the pinching agony causing her to shriek.
“For every moment you resisted me, Miss Battersby, I will repay with—”
Scrambling for purchase, her boot landed forcefully between his legs, eliciting a high-pitched cry reminiscent of a strangled cat. Foote crumpled away from her, at last releasing her from his hold and his revolting touch.
Get away. Must get away.
She scrambled to the door. Wrenched at the handle. Clawed the leather lining with nails containing Felix Foote’s skin. Open the blasted thing. She must open it so she could get free. Get back to Colin.
The carriage stopped. The door popped open. And there, in the gap, was Horatio Syder wearing a top hat on his ruddy blond hair.
And smiling his welcome.
*~*~*
The fear had its own weight. It pulsed and hummed and shook and pressed in upon him until every nerve was screaming. It wanted to kill.
“Sh-she insisted, my lord. I were only gone a minute. Mayhap less.”
Colin did not wish to hear any more from Thomas. “Get out of my sight,” he said softly, leaning forward and bracing his hands on his brother’s desk.
Thomas hesitated, worrying his hat in his hands.
“Now!” Colin roared.
A snuffling sound from the girl beside Thomas’s vacated position drew his attention. “Miss Thurgood.” Colin tried very hard to keep his voice even. It was difficult with the fear pulsating in every heartbeat. “What can you tell me?”
“I—I don’t really … She was there for a visit, Lord Colin. We had a pleasant time. I served tea.”
“She was taken.”
The girl’s face scrunched and her long-lashed eyes welled. She nodded, apparently unable to speak.
His fists slammed the desk and he hung his head between his shoulders. “Did you see anything? When it happened?”
When she finally spoke, her voice was strangled with her distress. “I thought—I was standing in the morning room. It looks out on the street. When I glanced outside, I thought I saw a man I recognized. But I must have been mistaken.”
His eyes flew up to hers. “Who?”
“F-Felix Foote.”
Nostrils flaring, Colin reared back. “Are you certain?”
“Well, no. That is why I—”
“Is he in London?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “But why would Mr. Foote do Miss B—I mean, Lady Colin harm? He has always been quite fond of her. He even intimated that they were engaged. Of course, he did not know that you and she—”
Quickly, Colin took up a quill pen and scratched out a note.
“Do you know where he’s been staying? Did he tell you?” he barked.
Her fingers twisted together, her lower lip trembling. “Knightsbridge. H-he rented a house.” She gave the address, saying that Mr. Foote had sent her a letter previously containing his direction.
Coming around the desk at a swift pace, he brushed past Miss Thurgood and threw open the door to the study. “Digby!”
He strode into the foyer, shouting again for the sandy-haired butler. “Digby!” He did not have to wait long. Digby was ever efficient.
“Yes, my lord?”
He handed him the note. “See that this is delivered will all haste. The urgency cannot be overstated, do you understand?”
“Straight away, my lord.”
“And have a horse saddled immediately.”
His heart was pounding, but his vision was sharp, almost too bright. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to his bedchamber—their bedchamber—and dug through the wardrobe to find …
Ah, yes. There it was. The knife slid neatly into the waist of his trousers, just at the small of his back. He threw on his greatcoat and rushed back down to the foyer.
Harrison entered, doffing his hat and shaking the moisture from the brim. He took one look at Colin’s face and paled. “Who?” he asked.
“Sarah. Not an hour past.”
“I shall come with you.”
“No. Harrison, I cannot have anyone else—”
His brother gave him a stark, tormented stare. “I will not allow you to face this alone.”
Feeling like he’d been rammed in the chest by a bull, he nodded. “Best tell the groom to bring your horse ’round again. We leave now.”
*~*~*