Lady Eugenia's Holiday Page 7

  Eugenia glanced at his attire. It did not offend her. In fact, Eugenia found it quite enticing. His shirt lay unbuttoned around his throat. He took her hands in his, drew her close, and placed a gentle kiss upon her lips.

  He was truly the romantic figure from her dreams. How could she not lose her heart at the very sight of him?

  “Rothford!” she gasped, realizing their circumstance. “Please! We shouldn’t be alone … not here … not like this!” This was not at all proper. If they were to be discovered, the plans for Eugenia’s grand London wedding would be for naught.

  As the man of her dreams, he would hold her interests above his own. As expected, he froze at her alarm, realizing what she said to be true, and pulled away.

  “You’re quite right,” he said. “I forgot myself for a moment.”

  She straightened her thin nightrail and smiled with relief that he understood completely.

  “If I should visit again,” he smiled wryly, “perhaps I will act more in line with our stations.”

  She regarded him in the dim candlelight. It was a smile he performed when they were alone, only for her, during private moments such as this.

  One thing Eugenia had learned about him was that he never allowed that sweet side of him to show in public. Perhaps he thought it too undignified for a duke. That side of him absolutely enchanted her.

  “Eugenia, what am I to do with you?” he whispered, tracing her cheek with his finger.

  Even though they stood separated by several inches, Eugenia could feel their hearts embrace. They were truly kindred spirits. “I am sure you will eventually discover, given time.”

  He applied a warm kiss to her already glowing cheek, then made his escape out the French doors, onto the terrace, and into the darkness.

  He was truly all wonderful things of which dreams were made. And what Eugenia wouldn’t do to feel everything she had just felt again! Her heart pounded, blood surged thought her veins. Every part of her felt so alive when wrapped in his arms.

  Perhaps tomorrow, Eugenia mused, she might lose her way during the morning ride and find herself at Claremont Castle.

  The next morning the five of them, Cynthia, Penelope, Franz, Mr. Randolph Coddington, and Eugenia, headed out for their morning ride as they had done each morning since their arrival. Reaching the old log by the large oak tree on the hill, the designated return point, they decided to venture out separately and race home.

  As planned, Eugenia had an entirely different destination in mind.

  The group rounded the large oak tree, turned their horses, and all took different routes back to Brookhaven.

  Eugenia headed northeast for Claremont Castle. All she could think of was capturing another kiss from Rothford. No doubt he would be surprised and perhaps cross at first when he saw her. He might even scold her for the impropriety of a lady paying a gentleman a visit. That did not dissuade her, nor did she care.

  She felt certain he would be much too overwhelmed with emotion to turn her away. And it was for those few brief, stolen moments they would spend together that she took this journey. After riding at a canter for a good twenty minutes, she heard voices. Loud voices. Men’s voices.

  Pulling her horse to a halt, she dismounted and carefully moved into the brush to hide. Eugenia remained quiet, although she wanted to cry out when she recognized one of the two men standing in the dew-moistened field before her—the Duke of Rothford.

  She said nothing and remained quiet. There was an eerie stillness in the air. Eugenia began to shake, not from cold but from something she could not name.

  Perhaps it was because Rothford was not alone. Perhaps it was because he and the other gentlemen were armed.

  With the Duke was Foster, the same young man who nearly knocked her down that afternoon a few days ago. Eugenia was certain of it. Foster held a rifle against his shoulder, taking aim in the distance.

  “If you don’t go through with this, you’ll not have the favor returned,” the Duke ground out, sounding annoyed and impatient. “Come on, man, on with it. You’ll never have a better shot at Claremont than this.”

  Shocked into silence, Eugenia could not, would not, dared not, even if compelled to do so, utter a sound. It was fear. The sudden overwhelming feeling of danger pulsing through her body ordering her not to move.

  Several minutes passed when nothing happened. Then Rothford swore and pushed the young man roughly aside. The Duke raised his own weapon and fired without hesitation.

  The crack of gunfire that echoed around them was not loud enough to mask Eugenia’s scream. Her gelding spooked and bolted, racing out of the bushes in front of the men before heading in the direction of Brookhaven stables.

  It was then Rothford faced her. He looked at her. She would never forget the dark, hateful glare of those eyes.

  Eugenia’s vision narrowed into blackness and her legs gave way under her. She didn’t remember hitting the ground. She must have fainted.

  When Eugenia woke, she felt disoriented and found herself lying in the center of a small copse of trees. This was completely different from the knee-high, golden grasses of the field she remembered.

  “Where am I?” she said, mostly rhetorically.

  Someone hushed her. She sat up to see Franz rushing to her side. His presence was totally unexpected. She could not imagine what he was doing here. Even with his poor riding skills, he should have been halfway to Brookhaven by now.

  “I saw Rothford kill a man!” she told him, warm tears streaked down her face.

  “Quiet! You’ve got to keep quiet!” he insisted. “I don’t know how long we can escape Thomas’ detection.”

  “You don’t understand, Franz. I saw Rothford deliberately take aim and shoot a man! It was murder!”

  Male voices rose around them.

  Franz clamped his hand over Eugenia’s mouth, silencing her. Her arms flew wildly about in protest. Quite unintentionally, as she struggled, she caught hold of his powdered monstrosity of a wig and pulled it from his head. Eugenia gasped when she saw his head of thick, dark hair.

  The pressure of his hand increased ensuring her silence and with a whisper bade her to remain silent.

  A few minutes after the voices ebbed, he eased his hold and apologized for having to take such action. Eugenia apologized for disheveling him.

  He helped her stand. “Now’s our chance. We must flee to safety!”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!” Eugenia stared at him … stared up at him.

  She was not quite sure how but she could have sworn he stood taller. Franz, she recalled, was her height, almost exactly. But now he showed no signs of a slouch. And there was something else decidedly different about him.

  “Where’s your accent?” she said, for it had miraculously vanished.

  This man was not the Franz Eugenia knew. This was a stranger who had emerged from her once dear Austrian friend. One that she thought she had known fairly well.

  “This disguise.” He gestured down the length of his torso. “I completely understand that my current appearance places me in an undesirable light. It can be explained to your complete satisfaction, I can assure you.”

  She could not even believe her own eyes. How did he think she would believe anything he had to say? Her once good friend stood before her as a stranger.

  “I will be more than happy to give you a full account.” A lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead. “But it will have to be later, once we are safe. We shall sit down and have a long discussion over a nice pot of tea. I promise. Now let us go!”

  Eugenia crossed her arms and planted her feet, determined not to move.

  “You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

  She had been wrong. There was something very familiar about him. The shape of his face, his eyes, his lips … It was then she realized why. This man looked a great deal like the Duke of Rothford.

  “How can I trust a man who hides behind the identity of a sweet, kind musician?” she said sharply,
wondering if sanity had left the world. “One who passes himself as a genteel Austrian but who is in fact a quivering English coward.”

  “I’m Edmund,” he told her.

  At least he had a name.

  “Please, if we’re discovered, Thomas will have no qualms about killing either of us as he did the Earl of Claremont.” He peered between the bushes and hedgerow out to the clearing beyond. “I’m sure they are looking for us—you. Please, Eugenia, we must leave.”

  What this Edmund said was enough to convince her to follow him. Rothford would be looking for her. She knew it. Eugenia couldn’t help but glance around when she stepped beyond the sparse outcrop of foliage that had concealed them.

  Eugenia lifted the skirts of her riding habit, which grew heavier by the minute, to trudge behind him. They spent more than two hours on foot over hard, rocky terrain, travelling too fast to hold a conversation.

  After the first hour, Eugenia begged him to stop so she could rest her weary feet. Edmund urged her onward, never giving her an ounce of consideration. The man was simply horrid. She hated him.

  Finally, she stopped, dropped the two handfuls of her skirt, and refused to take another step. “Sir, I simply cannot continue.” Eugenia blurted through labored breaths. I must stop if only for a few minutes.”

  Edmund glanced around, perhaps checking for a glimpse of their pursuers. “Look, there’s a place just up ahead where we can rest.”

  Was he headed to some secret madman’s lair? Eugenia wasn’t sure if she could trust him any more now than when this whole wretched business had started. Once again she moved forward trusting, perhaps foolishly, that a place to sit did indeed lay ahead.

  They continued another fifteen minutes to a modest abode just outside a village. Edmund knocked on the door.

  A moment later it opened. An old man, in keen observation, saw they were in dire need of rest.

  “Please, please, come in,” he said, pulling the door open wide. “You must sit for a spell. Bess!” he called over his shoulder. “We have weary travelers who are in need of—” The old man squinted, looking closer at Eugenia’s traveling companion. “Your Grace? Edmund Mallick? We thought you were dead—lost on the Continent, I heard tell.”

  Edmund Mallick? Eugenia remembered Aunt Rose telling her that Thomas had inherited his title through the misfortune of his elder brother.

  “It was all a misunderstanding,” this Franz-Edmund-person explained.

  “Pray, come in, Your Grace … your young lady as well.” The old man smiled, motioning that they should make themselves comfortable.

  “Please, please, welcome, both of you.” The old woman appeared with a laden tray.

  He led the way into the small one-room cottage, and it wasn’t a very large room at that. The house was small, very modest. The occupants, obviously known to this Edmund, gladly saw to their needs.

  Franz … Edmund … whatever name he wanted to use, declined the elderly couple’s offer to put him and his female companion up for the night, though Eugenia had never felt more weary and sorely in need of a good rest.

  They did partake in a bite to eat and some tea. He did accept their offer of the use of their horse and cart for which Eugenia felt most grateful.

  “We must retreat to a safe place, far away,” Edmund whispered to Eugenia when the couple had momentarily stepped away. “We need to find a place where Thomas cannot find us. A place where we can regroup and you can fully rest.”

  Yes. Eugenia wanted to get as far away as she could from Surrey, from Thomas, and from Edmund as soon as possible.

  Chapter 7

  Franz-Edmund’s will was no match for Eugenia’s determination that they return to Brookhaven for some of her belongings. Upon arrival, they saw no one, not the guests, not any of the belowstairs servants were present.

  “No matter, we must quickly gather what we need and be off.” Franz-Edmund ran willy-nilly toward his room to fetch whatever it was he needed to collect while they were there. Eugenia ran to her rooms to have Katrina pack her bags.

  Eugenia dashed into her aunt’s room, which was the room before hers. No Katrina. She then ran headlong into her own shouting, “All my clothes! Pack everything!”

  Only Katrina was not to be found there either.

  Only moments later did Eugenia hear approaching footsteps. Relieved that Katrina had returned, Eugenia ran to the clothespress and flung open the door to choose the garments she wished the maid to pack first.

  “I want to take everything!” Eugenia called out to her aunt’s returning maid.

  “An excellent idea, although not necessary.” Thomas, Duke of Rothford sounded more amused than worried at the thought of addressing the eyewitness to his act of murder. “You’ll be coming away with me.”

  Eugenia stumbled back into the furniture, putting as much distance as she could between them. She had no intention of going anywhere with him. But she did not have much choice in the matter.

  Thomas grabbed hold of Eugenia’s arm and drew her toward him, causing her feet to skid across the floor. She put up a struggle as best she could, making as much noise as possible while kicking and screaming, but was too easily overpowered by him. The tears streaking down her face would not stop, nor could she wipe them away.

  No one came to her rescue.

  Edmund, she knew, was at the far end of the house, for that was where Franz’s room lay. More than likely he would not have heard her pleas for help. Perhaps he had chosen not to act the hero.

  Rothford could not have known that Edmund was in the manor, nor would Eugenia give him away. If the younger saw the elder, it would have complicated matters even further. She could not betray poor Edmund.

  Rothford was none too gentle with Eugenia, dragging her down the stairs to his awaiting coach, which whisked them away.

  The coach lurched forward, plunging Eugenia back into the squabs where she pressed into the corner to get as far away as possible from Rothford, who sat across from her. His dark eyes were more frightening than she ever remembered.

  “Well, it seems you have become more of a problem than you were in Brighton, my dear,” he said. His voice was not the warm, soothing tone she had bathed in the Brookhaven library last night. His expression was cold and harsh.

  Eugenia said nothing.

  “I find it difficult to believe you have no comments to make. It seems to me you always have something to say.” He regarded her from under arched eyebrows. “We both know what happened. I am well aware you saw me and I, most certainly, saw you. I have no idea how you came to be there but no matter …”

  She did not wish to appear completely intimidated and leveled a stern glance at him.

  “As you observed, Mr. Foster was not truly motivated to do what he had to in order to secure his title. I had no alternative but to intervene.” A sneer, not a smile, crossed his face. “I cannot allow you to bear witness against me, which leaves me with two choices. I give you the option of choosing to marry me or die.”

  “How gallant of you,” she replied. The choice was revolting and he was even more so.

  “I prefer not arranging another accident so soon after the tragic death of the Earl of Claremont. Of course, you haven’t heard the news, my dear, the earl was killed in a shooting accident on his own estate.”

  “Is that similar to what happened to your elder brother?” She instantly regretted her words. Eugenia could see the mixture of anger and hatred in his eyes. She hadn’t realized until this moment he would, as Edmund had told her, have no qualms about harming her.

  “I suppose I could arrange for you to conveniently disappear if you continue to prove problematic.” The murmured comment was a thinly veiled threat.

  “I have no wish to die,” Eugenia whispered, her voice all but gone. She felt tears spring to her eyes but the terror inside kept them at bay.

  “I’m glad to hear that, darling.” He reached across and patted her knee.

  The touch of his hand repulsed her. Eugenia wille
d herself not to react.

  “I believe our marriage will be readily accepted, especially after our very public courtship in Brighton. I suppose I should thank you for that.” He smiled and inclined his head in a gracious nod.

  Eugenia could slap Penelope for making her flirt with the Duke in the first place. Who would have ever thought she would be blackmailed into marrying him?

  “You were quite relentless in your pursuit. I doubt I would have made that much of an effort.” He sighed, apparently pleased with how easily his new plan dovetailed with their recent Brighton stay. “There are countless upstanding Society members who can attest to our attachment, making our sudden marriage all the more believable.”

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back against the squabs. The strong, confident, and smooth exterior added to the illusion of a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And in truth, who would stop him?

  Their destination, it seemed, was a small village. No, this place was much smaller than a village. A substantial donation from the Duke persuaded the local vicar to overlook the reading of the Banns or the need of a special license. Two witnesses were found for the marriage ceremony, the document was signed, then away Eugenia and Rothford went to Taramore, his country estate.

  Almost immediately after their arrival, Rothford employed the services of a Mrs. Bennett. “My beautiful bride, you are now Your Grace, the Duchess of Rothford,” the duke announced, holding his arm out for her at the ground floor landing. “May I introduce to your new lady’s maid?”

  The footman who stood sentry outside Eugenia’s bedchamber door and had followed her down the stairs only minutes before was nowhere to be seen. It occurred to Eugenia that he had been dismissed and Mrs. Bennett employed, being far better suited as a watchdog for the new duchess.

  The woman dipped into a modest curtsy but she did not appear genteel enough for a lady’s bedchamber. Eugenia felt certain that this lady lacked the skills to successfully employ curling tongs nor did she know how to lift a stain from Eugenia’s favorite muslin frock. Although stalwart and stout in appearance, Mrs. Bennett could use a few lessons from Eugenia’s Aunt Rose regarding inconspicuous conduct.