Chapter 17
Rian was still deep in conversation when Liam interrupted him. “Where did our wives disappear to?”
Apologizing to his companions, Rian looked at his brother for a moment before scanning quickly over the room. “I think I saw them go outside,” he said, indicating the French doors, and recalling the flushed look on Felicity’s face. “They probably were in need of some air.”
“Do you know how long they have been there?” Liam did not wish to disturb them unnecessarily if they were sharing secrets.
Rian frowned. Some time had passed since he recalled seeing either woman last, and he felt as if they should have returned by now. “I’m not sure, but let’s join them, shall we?”
The night air had gone from pleasantly cool to chilly enough that any lady venturing forth would be in need of a wrap. Seeing no sign of either woman on the terrace, Rian glanced over the balcony to the pockets of blackness that made up Isabel’s garden. “You don’t think…” he said, gesturing to the shadows below him.
Liam shook his head. “No, it’s far too dark to tempt Felicity to wander about looking for ideas,” he said. “What could she see?”
“They must have gone back inside. Perhaps they are with Emily?”
“No, both Charles and Emily left almost an hour ago.”
“I didn’t get to say goodnight.” Rian frowned.
“Worry not, Catherine said it for you, and I am certain Charles much preferred being kissed by her than you.”
A sudden chill ran down Rian’s back and he knew it had nothing to do with the cool night air. He shivered. “Just someone walking on my grave,” he said, seeing his brother notice the tremor.
He had his hand on the lever that would open the door and take them back into the ballroom when a sound made him freeze where he stood. Looking quickly at Liam’s face, Rian saw that he had heard it too. Both men paused, straining their ears and waiting for the sound to repeat itself. It did. A barely audibly whisper that made Liam’s chest tighten as he ran the length of the terrace searching for his wife. He almost didn’t see the secluded alcove where Felicity lay. Her face was now a ghostly white and her skin clammy with beads of perspiration dotting her skin. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered erratically, and her breathing was an uneven rattle.
“Felicity!” Liam cried, gathering her into his arms, his face filled with wretched despair.
* * * *
Dipping a cloth into a small basin of cold water, Liam gently sponged his wife’s brow. Though the fire in the room blazed brightly, the color had not returned to her face and she remained listless. He didn’t need a working knowledge of medicine to know something was very wrong with her. Under his breath he cursed the footman. How long did it take to fetch a doctor?
One of Isabel’s servants, alerted by the sight of Liam holding his wife’s inert body in his arms, had had the sense to take them directly to a small receiving room, thereby avoiding any curious stares from the other guests. Rian had sent the man to fetch a doctor, and then gone to look for his wife. Liam felt as if hours had passed even though a glance at the clock ticking quietly on the mantel told him it had not even been ten minutes. He reasoned that finding a physician might prove problematic at this hour of the night, and all he could do was pray the man would be sober. In the meantime he anxiously awaited Rian’s return with Catherine. The fact that Felicity had been found alone gave him a terrible sense of foreboding.
His wife suddenly began tossing her head from side to side, muttering unintelligibly. “Hush, hush,” he soothed, passing the cool, damp cloth over her forehead. This was definitely more than just too much wine or rich food. Damn it! Where was the doctor? He started at the sound of the door being opened and relief flooded through him as a round faced man with ruddy cheeks entered, with Isabel close on his heels. Relinquishing his position next to his wife, he allowed the doctor to take charge and examine Felicity, which he did with an efficiency that Liam found reassuring.
“What happened?” Isabel asked. “Felicity seemed to be in perfect health just a short while ago.”
“I don’t know. She was like this when we found her.”
“We?”
“Rian was with me.”
“Where is he now?” Isabel sounded concerned.
“He has gone to find his wife.”
Isabel said nothing more, and they both turned their attention to the physician, who had his ear pressed against the narrow end of a small conical instrument lying upon Felicity’s chest. After a few moments he raised his head in concern. Liam watched as the doctor gently pushed back Felicity’s closed eyelids, shaking his head at her unresponsive state. After sniffing the breath that escaped her parted lips, he stood up and addressed Liam directly.
“Mr. Connor, your wife needs to be moved, and with all haste.”
Liam grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Good God, man, what ails her?” he demanded in a voice that shook with fear.
The rotund man shook his head. “I cannot say for certain, and speculation will be of benefit to no one—” The rest of the doctor’s sentence was interrupted by a worried husband’s frustrated curses. Taking no offense, the man waited until he was certain he had Liam’s full attention again. “I do believe, however, we should remove your wife to a quieter setting as soon as possible. Is your home far from here?”
“Not so very far,” Liam replied with a shake of his head.
“Good, then let us get her safely in her own bed so I may perform a more detailed examination that will tell me more.”
From out of nowhere Isabel produced a blanket for Liam to wrap around Felicity. “It might be best if you used the back stairway,” she told him. “It will be quicker, and you will be able to avoid needless speculation.” Opening the door, she spoke quietly to the footman outside. “I have ordered that your carriage be brought around, post haste.” Seeing Liam holding his wife in his arms, she beckoned him to follow her.
Isabel took them down a long corridor that led to the servant’s stairway, past the scullery and through the kitchen, surprising most of the staff with her presence. After being told their assistance was not required, they went back to whatever tasks they were occupied with. Though he was in no position to comment on it, Liam couldn’t help but find their reaction strangely unsettling. Had either he or Rian walked through the kitchen at either of their residences, carrying an unconscious woman in their arms, the sight would have generated a great deal of curiosity. Either Isabel’s servants took the concept of discretion to unheard of heights, or the picture they presented was so familiar an occurrence, it caused no alarm.
When they reached the small courtyard, the doctor helped him get Felicity into the carriage before entering himself.
At that moment Rian appeared in the kitchen doorway. He stepped past Isabel and looked up at his brother. “I’ll send a boy to rouse Dr. MacGregor.” It would not hurt to have a second physician in attendance, and their faith in the Scotsman was absolute.
“Where’s Catherine?” Liam asked, seeing Rian was alone.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure she’s all right. I just can’t find her at present.” The chill he had felt earlier returned, intensifying and clawing at his chest.
“No doubt she, too, is looking for you, and has possibly become lost. My house is large and unfamiliar to her,” Isabel said. “I am sure your wife is sensible enough to remain in one place and wait for you to find her. That way neither one of you will keep going in and out of different rooms, missing each other.”
“Thank you, Isabel. I am sure you are right,” Rian replied. Liam, however, was not fooled by the calmness of his brother’s tone. Rian was worried, but could only deal with one crisis at a time. He would resume his search for Catherine once Liam and Felicity were safely away. “Now hurry,” Rian urged, “and get Felicity home. Catherine and I will follow directly.”
“But we are taking the carriage.” They had all ridden together.
“Don’t worry, I will send them in mine,” Isabel offered as she stepped forward. “Quickly now, attend to your wife.”
Liam was able to nod his thanks to her just before Rian closed the carriage door and gave the signal to the driver to be on his way. He then gave directions to the boy who had been holding the horses, sending him to Dr. MacGregor and slipping him a coin for his trouble.
“I am sure all will be well,” Isabel said, placing a hand on his arm. “Dr. Wilson is a respected man, and no doubt he will conclude that Felicity is simply suffering the effects of too much rich food, good wine, and overall excitement. An opinion I am sure your own physician will agree with.”
Rian nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, Isabel. It’s just that Liam is so protective of her now, given her condition.”
“Condition?” Isabel raised an eyebrow.
Rian gave a little shrug. In a month or two a glance would reveal their wonderful secret to the whole world. “It is not common knowledge yet, but Felicity is with child.”
“Oh, I see.” Isabel moved ahead of him through the outer courtyard toward the door that would lead them back into the kitchen. The clever apothecary had warned her about all the possible side effects of the powder she had procured, but he had not mentioned any concerns should a woman be with child. Of course Isabel had not really cared about such things, and she supposed it was unfortunate that Felicity had shared her sister-in-law’s glass.
“Please excuse me, Isabel, but I need to find my wife,” Rian said, interrupting her thoughts as they made their way back through the narrow hallway. Rounding the staircase, he paid no attention to the door he heard opening behind him, and did not see the large, burly man who stepped forward with his arm raised above his head. There was a slight whoosh before Rian crumpled to the ground.
A moment of panic gripped Isabel until she reassured herself that he was still breathing. She glared at John Fletcher’s man, who now stood over the motionless form, blackjack in his hand. “You didn’t have to hit him so hard!” she hissed angrily.
“He’s a big ’un, missus,” the man said in his own defense. “I had to be sure he wasn’t going to give me any trouble.”
With one hand on her hip, Isabel pressed the other to her forehead. “Well, don’t just stand there, you bedlamite. Get him moved before someone sees you.”
Grunting, the hefty man took hold of one of Rian’s arms and hoisted him over his shoulder before following Isabel up the staircase to a bedroom on the upper floor. She watched as Rian was deposited none too gently on the bed.
“Make sure you are not seen leaving,” she instructed as John’s man moved past her.
After closing the door she remained where she was, content to simply stare at Rian. Then she walked over to the bed, and sat next to his unconscious body. Lost in thought she looked at him, marveling again at the rugged handsomeness of his features, especially now, when he was curiously defenseless. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. He did not move.
“It did not have to be like this, my love,” she whispered in a trembling voice, “but you left me with no other choice.”
Getting to her feet, she smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the front of her skirt before checking her appearance in the mirror. She adjusted one of the jeweled combs in her hair, and then left to join her guests, closing the door quietly behind her.
* * * *
John Fletcher made his way through the dark shadows of Isabel’s lower garden. The burden in his arms was cumbersome only because of the number of petticoats she wore beneath her gown. But he was able to reach the gate in the stone wall without mishap. He had unlocked the gate and eased the latch earlier that evening, and now it swung open readily at the touch of his boot. A carriage stood waiting on the other side of the garden wall. Obscuring the windows with dark shades, John made sure that, even if the conveyance caused some attention at this late hour, no one would be able to give any detail if asked. Even the horses were unremarkable. A pair of nondescript brown beasts, they snorted mildly as they waited, impatient to be about their business.
The man who had been standing holding onto a bridle with each hand, now hurried forward, and pulled opened the carriage door. John was pleased to see the interior floor had been covered with pillows and blankets, per his instructions. He carefully laid Catherine on top of the padding. Knowing she would be insentient, he could not have set her on the seat where she could roll off and hurt herself, so he had made the floor of the carriage as comfortable as possible. It had the added advantage of providing less room for her to be jostled about.
He had just placed a pillow beneath her head, and was carefully tucking a heavy blanket around her when Catherine suddenly reached out and gripped his arm.
“Please…take me home,” she begged, her voice sounding raw and husky, her eyes bottomless pools of azure blue. “Don’t give me back…to him.”
Although startled, John spoke cautiously. “Back to whom?” It was imperative to know how aware Catherine was of what was happening to her. Obviously she had not consumed as much of the drugged wine as Isabel had thought, or else the effects would not be wearing off this quickly. Her eyes, though still glazed, were rapidly clearing as she tried to scan his face. “Who do you mean?” John asked again in an urgent whisper.
“My cousin…Phillip.”
After climbing into the carriage, he pulled Catherine into a sitting position and put his arm around her for support. Her head lolled back against his arm, and she blinked rapidly as she looked up at him. Taking a small, green vial from his pocket, John carefully eased the cork stopper from the top with his teeth, and spat it out.
“Here, open up now. There’s a good girl.”
He put the small bottle to her lips, knowing Catherine would have knocked it out of his hands had her arms been working. Able to pour the contents into her mouth, John massaged her throat, making sure she swallowed. Some of the liquid spilled down her chin, but more than enough went down her throat, easing her back to oblivion. The drug’s effect was practically instantaneous. Time was of the essence, and John knew he had to make haste. Carefully he laid Catherine on the floor of the carriage and clambered over her slumped body. The man with the horses earned an extra gold piece to ensure his silence. John climbed on the driver’s seat, took the reins in his hands and urged the animals forward at a pace that would draw no attention.
The brief exchange with Catherine had rattled him, though he was hard pressed to understand why. His past was littered with a great many incidents he was not proud of. Acts he had committed that were both illegal and immoral in nature. The law, from John’s point of view, was an unreliable guide. Enforced by those who, more often than not, would willingly turn a blind eye if it proved beneficial for them to do so. So what if his actions were not always to the advantage of those who employed him? It was what it was, and this was how he managed to survive in the world. This time, however, something felt different, but what it might be remained a mystery. He had never questioned Isabel’s judgment before, yet recently he found himself questioning the rationale of her instructions. How dangerously close was she to taking a step that would prove her undoing?
John Fletcher was under no illusions about what was going to happen to the blonde woman after she was handed back to her cousin. He had known from the very first, given Phillip Davenport’s perverse predilections. Rape would merely be a way to whet the bastard’s appetite.
“Bella, what have you involved yourself in this time?” John muttered as the carriage rolled along dimly lit streets toward its destination. He thought about Isabel and her ill-fated lust for Rian Connor. Even he knew that this was not the way to bring any man, much less one of Rian’s temperament, back to her bed. But he’d been on the receiving end of Isabel’s temper in the past, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience.
Isabel had told Phillip that she was not concerned with Catherine’s welfare, but that was only because she did not know the man’s aberrant nature. There would be no bedroom in a back alley brothel waiting for Catherine when her cousin was done with her. Phillip Davenport could not take the chance that Catherine might escape a second time. Or that Rian Connor might find her.
Outside of a dark alley, John brought the carriage to a stop. Another conveyance waited at the appointed place. He frowned, recognizing that a part of him had hoped Phillip would be delayed by some unfortunate occurrence. Then John could have taken the unconscious woman somewhere else. Perhaps keep her safe while he persuaded Isabel to abandon this course of madness she was hell-bent on pursuing. But Phillip Davenport was here, and his agitation as he exited the carriage told John he was not pleased at having been kept waiting.
“You’re late,” he snarled.
John shrugged. He was not intimidated by Phillip’s show of temper. Jumping down from the seat, he opened the door and reached inside for Catherine, but Phillip‘s voice stopped him. “Don’t touch her!” he snapped, as he licked his lips in anticipation of receiving his prize.
Unable to hide his disgust, John stepped back as Phillip awkwardly pulled Catherine into a sitting position before roughly hoisting her over his shoulder. Her long hair had come loose from its elegant arrangement, and now fell free. White curls and ribbons swept the dirt of the street as she was moved from one vehicle to the other. John could only assume the driver of Phillip’s carriage was under similar orders to offer no assistance.
“I had to give her an extra jolt,” he told Phillip. “She did not drink enough of the wine, and was coming around. I took the liberty of presuming you did not wish to have her kicking and screaming before you were able to secure her.”
Phillip cursed. “How much did you give her?”
“All of it.” John held the green vial aloft. Even in the dark it was easy to see the bottle was empty. Another string of obscenities filled the air. “You’ve waited this long,” John said, keeping his tone calm and even. “What difference will another twenty-four hours make?”
Phillip gave him a long, hard stare. “Tell your mistress any business between us is now finished.”
The last glimpse John had of Catherine was an image of her seated on her abductor’s lap, her head cradled against his chest. There was something about the way Phillip’s hands fluttered over her, touching her skin and smoothing her hair, that struck John as obscene. For a long time he stood and stared into the dark street, his eyes following the route Phillip’s carriage had taken. Coming to a decision, he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring he had slipped from Catherine’s finger. He admired the diamond’s luster for a few moments before returning it to its hiding place. Back on the driver’s seat, he turned the carriage around, and headed back the way he had come. Isabel would be furious with him, but that was something he would deal with. His mouth twisted into a grim line. Perhaps it was time to remind her ladyship that the past was not always so easily buried and forgotten. Especially when it was your own.