The Vengeful Bridegroom Page 14

  And how could she forget her very own thorn, Alec? If the young woman found the dagger first, Matthew’s life might be forfeit.

  Alec. Someone who troubled Madelene a great deal. She had yet to ask Mr. Westcott the reason why this young Italian girl lodged here, and so far from London or her home in Italy. An even odder question remained behind her purpose to dress as a young man and hide her identity. Only a few people had been alerted to Alec’s true gender, including Mrs. Lavishtock, who seemed to know everything before it was told to her.

  No matter all the mysteries surrounding the young woman, Madelene would have the dagger; of this, she was quite determined.

  Gabriel had returned from a late-afternoon ride with Alec, when the butler Graham stopped him in the hallway with a note before he could breach the stairs. Leaning on the newel post, he scanned the contents.

  The missive from Hayden Bush requested Gabriel’s presence at his home at the earliest opportunity. Given Bush seldom required his assistance, Gabriel told Graham to have one of the groomsmen saddle another horse while he washed the dust from his ride. He would leave immediately.

  Madelene curled up with Jane Austen’s novel, Sense and Sensibility, in the library, which was where Graham found her to deliver another note.

  Anxious to receive word from her brother, Madelene leapt from the chair to take the missive and rip open the seal, perusing the few lines the note contained. She sank back into her chair in complete puzzlement. Her brother had indeed sent a message instructing her to meet him at the Pickled Goose on the outskirts of Ludlow. He made no mention of the dagger, only the urgency to see her and to tell no one her plans.

  Deciding to change for the assumedly brief journey, she rose from the chair with the missive in her hand. How could she plan to leave the house with no one the wiser? Especially her husband?

  Mr. Bush. She informed Graham to explain to Mr. Westcott that Mr. Bush had requested her presence unexpectedly and to arrange a carriage. She did not intend to be away long.

  Mr. Graham scratched his chin, then shrugged. It made no matter to him that the master and mistress were going to the same place, but separately.

  Dressed in her favorite white muslin trimmed in pink and a deeper pink spencer to match, Madelene, with the assistance of a footman, climbed into the carriage, instructing the groomsman as to their destination.

  Practically sitting on the edge of her seat for the journey to Ludlow, Madelene worried her reticule strings. What would he say when she told him about the dagger’s whereabouts?

  After thirty minutes of a bumpy, jolting ride, the groomsman finally slowed up the horses and brought them to a weary halt. Looking out the window, Madelene saw they stopped in front of an inn, with a swinging sign, The Pickled Goose.

  The groomsman assisted her down the carriage steps, murmuring he would wait for her. She walked across the threshold, eagerly looking around the common room. No signs of her brother. Indeed, the tavern room remained empty without a whisper of another being.

  “Hello? Hello? Matthew, are you here?” Silence.

  She saw a door to the right and walked toward it, her reticule tight in her hand, her heart beating frantically, in hopes she would find her brother in a reasonable condition.

  She pushed open the door and walked into what looked to be the dining room, dimly lit, with several small tables and chairs. She peered around the room for sight of her brother.

  He wasn’t there.

  She caught her breath. Someone sat in darkness, not too far from a feeble fire in the fireplace.

  “Thank you for joining me, Miss Colgate,” the congenial, Italian-accented voice welcomed her, the figure remaining in the shadows.

  “Who, who are you? Where is my brother?” Madelene stood near the door, ready to run in the opposite direction of the danger she felt emanating from him across the room.

  “You have not heard of me? I’m Count Taglioni. Ah, a slight ruse to bring you to me. Your brother isn’t here. I wanted to see you. Please have a seat.”

  Who was this count and why did he want to see me? “Thank you, but I prefer to stand. I don’t know why I’m here, but my intention for this visit is to be brief.” Madelene hoped the harshness in her voice penetrated to the man across the room. She had no interest in any charades this man had planned. Her hand on the doorknob, she began to turn it.

  The dark figure stood, alerted to her intent to depart. “Your intentions, my dear, mean little to me.” Like a hunter stalking his prey, he walked toward her, and she finally caught sight of a tall man with a pale face and dark mustache. The look in his black eyes made her take a step back; nausea assailed her stomach.

  Her back to the door, she watched as he drew closer, a sweet smell emanating from him. She began to reach into her reticule for her handkerchief, when he stilled her hand with his own.

  “Madelene, my dear Madelene. I have watched and waited for you for some time.”

  “Whatever could you want with me?” She concentrated on his waistcoat, unwilling to look into his face.

  “Many things, but first the dagger.”

  Madelene looked up in surprise. “The dagger?”

  “Sì. I have left a ransom note for your husband to bring the dagger here in exchange for your safe return. We will have a little time to wait. This will be an opportunity to get familiar with each other.”

  Madelene gulped. She had to get out of the room, away from the count. But how?

  Chin up, Madelene looked him squarely in the eye. “I do not know of any dagger, and have no intention of becoming familiar with you in any way. I am extremely undone that you have brought me here on false purposes.”

  “You lie molto bene. Siete una bella donna.”

  She closed her eyes against his stare, much too close for her sensibilities. A gloved finger ran down her cheek.

  “So lovely,” he whispered.

  Whereupon she retched all over the front of Count Taglioni’s well-tailored coat.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After a brief conversation with Bush, Gabriel quickly remounted and headed home, spurring the gelding to his top speed. His insides tight, he felt something was wrong and knew it could only be Madelene. Who sent the message he was wanted by his friend, and for what reason?

  His purpose at the moment was to see Madelene safe. He threw himself off his horse before it barely came to a stop and threw the reins to one of the footmen.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he ran down the hall and yanked open Madelene’s bedchamber door.

  It was empty.

  His jaw tightened when he realized a terrible possibility. Could Madelene herself have sent him the note? Had she run from him again? He sat heavily on the edge of her bed.

  “Mr. Westcott. What are you doing here and where is Mrs. Westcott?”

  Gabriel looked at Fanny standing in the doorway.

  “You don’t know?” he asked her.

  “No, Mr. Westcott, sir. I thought she was to meet you at Mr. Bush’s home. She left not long after you, and has not yet returned.”

  Gabriel stood up and stalked past the maid. He would uncover the events of the night. If Madelene indeed had left him again, he hesitated about following her. He couldn’t keep her here and couldn’t keep finding her and bringing her back, if she truly wanted to be free of him.

  What else could he do? Weary from the rides and his wife’s shenanigans, he roamed down the stairs, seeking port and answers.

  Mrs. Lavishtock knocked on the door to the drawing room before entering at his direction. Standing near the empty fireplace, Gabriel watched as his housekeeper entered the room. With her hands on her hips and a glare in her eye, his servant looked entirely miffed at him. What had he done?

  “Mrs. Lavishtock—”

  “Mr. Westcott, why are you not out searching for your wife?”

  Her question took him by surprise, and her attitude irritated him. “Mrs. Lavishtock, what I do or don’t do is none of your concern. However, would
you happen to know Mrs. Westcott’s whereabouts? She has gone missing again. I’ve decided to give her what she so obviously wants, her freedom.” He took a long swallow of port.

  Mrs. Lavishtock harrumped at him. “She is a young, newly married woman and confused. She needs time.”

  “Which I have given her.” He waved his hand in the air as if to discard her notions. “If I were to look for her, would you have an idea of where she might be?”

  “I heard her tell the groomsman to take her to an inn on the outskirts of Town.”

  “Perhaps she has a mind to take the coach to London?” All this surmising was a complete waste of his time.

  Holding her hands in front of her, she ignored his question and told him calmly, “Why don’t you give Mrs. Westcott a reason to stay?”

  “Whatever can you mean? She is infinitely safer with me than with her reprehensible brother.”

  “If you believe this, then you must go and bring her back.”

  He made no comment but put his glass down to head for the door, his decision already made. “She has no reason to fear me, I thought I had made that quite clear,” he muttered to himself, heading once again for the stables.

  Outside the drawing-room doors, Mrs. Lavishtock told the back of his head, “She has reason to fear for her heart.”

  Something white on the floor caught her attention. She limbered over and squatted to retrieve it, moaning on the way down, and way up. It was for Mr. Westcott. Perhaps she should open it, if it might help find Mrs. Westcott.

  Madelene’s feet ached. Her once pink slippers, now muddy brown, provided no protection from the pebbles and stones she trampled on her way back to Westcott Close. Rummaging in her reticule, she managed to find a couple of peppermints, which she hoped would settle her stomach.

  She couldn’t help but smile remembering the look of outrage on the pale Italian count’s face. He left the room immediately, locking the door behind him. Unperturbed at his anger, she searched the room and found an open window, her escape route. As soon as she managed to creep past the open windows, she looked for the carriage that had brought her here, but it was gone.

  With no other choice, Madelene scurried down the road, keeping to the side, where she could duck into bushes if she heard the count’s carriage behind her.

  The bright moon’s rays showered her with light, and she almost would not have been frightened, if every sound didn’t mean an animal eyed her for his next meal or highwaymen might rumble along to do her harm.

  She must be brave. Surely Mr. Westcott would come for her. He always did. After several minutes turned into an hour of trudging along the road, she had seen no sign of an irate count, wicked highwaymen, or a growling animal. Madelene began to breathe easier, but knew she still had a long way to go.

  Madelene heard the rattle of the carriage wheels before she saw it. Since it came in the opposite direction, the carriage couldn’t contain the count. She had to take a chance the travelers would assist her. Her white dress shone in the moonlight like a beacon alerting ships to the rugged coast. While waiting for the carriage to draw closer, she walked a few feet over to a boulder to sit and rest. Exhaustion weighing her very veins, she could go no farther.

  When the carriage neared, Madelene looked up and recognized the carriage, realizing the driver was none other than her husband. Mr. Westcott. Relief poured through her like sugar melting in hot tea. He had come for her. But while she was delighted to see him, it was obvious from her husband’s unsmiling expression that he did not share the same feeling.

  Would he believe her story? Madelene pursed her lips. She probably wouldn’t believe the events of this night. The third night in a row. Wonders that he came for her. She had to try to make him believe.

  Mr. Westcott stopped the carriage near Madelene, who walked over to the side and looked up at him in profound relief. “Mr. Westcott, I’m quite glad you’ve found me.”

  His stern gaze never left her tired and assuredly unclean face. “Mrs. Westcott, are you not heading in the wrong direction, away from Town? Your purpose, I assumed, was to catch the mail coach to London.”

  “No, I was brought here under false pretenses. This count arranged for me to be ransomed in order that you might bring the dagger here.”

  “The count? Count Taglioni? Has he hurt you?” His voice unnecessarily gruff.

  “No, but he wants the dagger. He planned to exchange the dagger for me. The note—”

  “A ransom note? I found no evidence of such at Westcott Close. Did something go awry with your planning? Or with the count?” He easily controlled the two horses, both restless to continue their journey.

  Madelene’s mouth dropped open. She had presumed—the count told her—what to believe? Should she take him back to the Pickled Goose to confront the count? He had probably already departed the inn.

  She felt the strain of looking up at him discussing how she came to be here. “Would you take me back to Westcott Close, where we can discuss this, and I’ll show you the note that lured me here.”

  He appeared to consider her request, then jerked his head toward the carriage door.

  The next morning, Mrs. Lavishtock and Madelene sat in the kitchen waiting for the bread to rise and discussing the courses for dinner. Madelene recalled last night’s events when Mr. Westcott had dropped her at the front steps and continued on to the stables. Not another word had been shared between them. He wouldn’t allow her to explain.

  “Why didn’t you go riding with Mr. Westcott today and not that Italian chit?” the housekeeper asked Madelene as she rolled and dusted more dough.

  “Mmmm,” Madelene answered absentmindedly while feeding Falstaff little bits of venison from last night’s dinner.

  Mrs. Lavishtock shook her head. “There’s something not quite right about that young woman. Did Mr. Westcott ever explain her presence here?”

  Before she could reply, Mrs. Lavishtock hurriedly added, “For sure, it’s none of my business, but she does seem a bit comfortable with Mr. Westcott. After all, going riding with him this morning and playing chess last night. I know it isn’t for me to say, but I would think the master would be spending more time with his new wife than some stranger that what passes herself off as a young boy, who is really a girl.” The housekeeper braced herself on the wooden table and pulled her hefty bulk to stand, finished with her summation.

  At the fireplace, the old woman checked on the gravy heating. “If you keep feeding that dog, he will get himself a belly. Strange dog. He seems to have taken a liking to you after all.” She turned back to stir the black pot.

  Madelene continued to sit at the table, almost in a daydream. Mrs. Lavishtock was not normally so loquacious, offering her thoughts on Madelene’s private affairs. Although she should really reprimand Mrs. Lavishtock over her gossiping, Madelene had quite a few other problems to solve, one of which involved her brother, and the other, convincing her husband she really had not tried to run away. It certainly would have helped the situation if she hadn’t lost the note instructing her to go to the inn. To fix one, she had to fix the other.

  Was Alec, in spending so much time with Mr. Westcott, any closer to getting the dagger? Perhaps the young woman needed to be curtailed in her habits with Madelene’s husband.

  Well, there was no help for it, Madelene thought.

  She would simply have to seduce her husband.

  How does one begin the art of seduction? She pulled little Falstaff onto her lap, where he happily nested. Thoughtfully, she stroked his soft fur while she planned, feeling comforted by his warm presence.

  Tonight. It had to be tonight.

  She had received a desperate letter from Matthew that morning, which she knew could have only come from him because he mentioned Mr. Brelford accompanied him. The only other person who knew about Brelford was her husband.

  Matthew planned to meet her tomorrow night on the other side of the lake. She had to find and bring the dagger with her, if she wanted to save his life.r />
  Again. She would certainly be glad when her brother could finally extricate himself from his own troubles, or rather, discontinue his reckless ways altogether. Rescuing him was a full-time obligation. Indeed, he was her brother, although she did love him and she would do anything for him. No matter what.

  In anticipation of her evening, Madelene took a light repast in her room. She needed all the time she had to buff up her courage and make herself presentable. This was an important night.

  There was no going back. After tonight, she would be unable to obtain an annulment. Madelene tried to convince herself that her sacrifice was for her brother. Then why did she keep remembering Gabriel’s kisses and his touch and want to know them again?

  Her only conclusion was that the man she married was not the man she remembered from before—with fury and hatred in his eyes, standing over her brother’s wounded form.

  Dress and hair prepared, all she could do was wait. And wait. Every few minutes, she would listen at the door for Gabriel’s footsteps, to no avail. Falstaff slept beside her bed, keeping watch over her.

  As time crawled, Madelene viewed herself with a critical eye in the looking glass. Perhaps a bit pale, and she’d have to practice her “fetching” look. She believed he found her handsome enough; he had articulated that sentiment on more than one occasion.

  But after last night?

  For this evening, she wore a pale yellow night rail and wrap. Oh, she simply must stop her hands from shaking and her heart from wanting to jump from her chest.

  Finally, she thought she heard the heavy thud of footsteps stop at her door briefly before continuing past. She sneaked a peek out the door to make sure it was, indeed, her husband.

  Because she had to wait a little longer while he prepared for bed, Madelene began to pace the room. Falstaff lifted his head with his eyes open slightly to see what was happening, then decided to go back to sleep and laid his head back on the floor.