Treacherous Temptations(68)

James and Hadley removed the painting to access the cupboard. Jenny tried several keys before its door finally opened to reveal a mahogany pistol case atop several thick leather-bound volumes. Hadley removed the box, and was about to close the door, when a gold gleam caught his eye. Handing the pistols to James, he withdrew one of the books. Embossed on the cover was the insignia of a sailing ship and the bold gold initials SSC.

His heart slammed against his breastbone. Sweet Jesus! It couldn’t be! After all this time! His hands shook uncontrollably as he flipped open the cover and thumbed through the pages of the missing South Sea ledgers—all the proof he needed to clear his father’s name.

“What is it?” Jenny asked anxiously.

Hadley could barely find his voice. “These books! Mary’s father had them all this time?”

“I suppose so,” Jenny said, “But I know naught except Sir Richard seemed eager to have them. But what of Miss Molly?” she recalled him back to his purpose.

“We’ll go after her at once, Jenny, but you must promise me something. If I do not return within three days, you must take these books to London and into the hands of Mr. William Pulteney of The Craftsman. Write that down for her James,” he commanded. “She must not forget the name, William Pulteney. No one else must know of the existence of these ledgers. Do you understand me, Jenny?”

She nodded wide-eyed.

“Now, have you the blunderbuss?”

…

Mary realized the futility of struggle. Jenny had flung herself in front of the horses when they loaded Mary into the traveling coach, and would have been trampled had not two footmen dragged her out of the way. When James appeared, she threw herself weeping into his arms while he helplessly looked on, for there was naught that he could do—that anyone could do.

Mary sat in the lurching vehicle with her eyes glued to the window, fighting the growing nausea borne of anxiety combined with the erratic rock and jolt of the carriage. Across from her, Sir Richard alternated between loud snores and sporadic bouts of flatulence and Lady Blanchard suffered in silence with a scented handkerchief to her nose.

Lord Barnesley, meanwhile, subjected Mary to a disquieting scrutiny that caused her to recoil closer to the window, yet she was determined not to be cowed by him. “Do I meet with your approval, my lord?” she affected aplomb.

“I won’t know until I have undressed you,” he replied softly. A subtle smile broke over his face as fire infused hers. “Come now, my dear, you are no longer a blushing virgin. Surely, Blanchard taught you a few tricks before he parted, for I am informed that he spent at least one night in your bed. Still, your education remains incomplete…a matter that will soon be rectified.”

What was that supposed to mean? Her instincts went on full alert. He looked to Barbara and Mary noted their exchange of sly smiles. Mary suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t quite comprehend what they intended with her, but knew she had to get away at the first opportunity. She had considered throwing herself from the carriage, but should she survive the fall without injury, she had no hope of outrunning the outriders that flanked the coach. Even the letter opener she had secreted from her desk was an ineffectual weapon against all three of them.

The journey, however, was lengthy enough to require fresh horses. Or perhaps they would even take lodgings at a posting house along the way, for there seemed little point in exhausting themselves when there was no one in pursuit to rescue her. Jenny and James were the only ones who knew or cared, but the two servants would be impotent against such a force majeure as presently occupied the coach. Should they stop overnight, however, Mary resolved to employ any means necessary to escape—but she was not so fortunate.

At the first coaching inn, the threesome never let her out of their sight. While the postillions changed horses, Lord Barnesley hired a saddle mount to ride ahead to Oldham. Sir Richard departed to purchase food and drink, leaving Lady Blanchard to keep her vigilant watch over Mary. As affixed to her as an additional and most unwanted appendage, she never left Mary’s side even to attend the necessary.

They drove through the night to arrive at Oldham late the next afternoon. The coach came to a clattering halt under the cobblestoned portico of an expansive, yet somewhat derelict mansion. The final jolt stirred Sir Richard back to a snorting state of wakefulness. He rose with a grunt the moment the door opened. Lord Barnesley met them just as the footman lowered the step and handed each woman down, first the countess, and then Mary.

“Guest chambers have been prepared,” he said. But Mary’s hopes for escape sunk when he added, “Two must suffice for the nonce for there was insufficient time to prepare a third room. You ladies will bed together tonight…” His predatory smile gave Mary chills. “But thenceforth, my lovely bride will bed with me.”

When they dined, Mary only picked at her food and sipped at a tankard of bitter ale, while the countess, Sir Richard, and Lord Barnesley conversed and laughed, as if carrying out an abduction and a forced wedding were nothing out of the norm. Midway through the meal Mary was struck by a most unusual lethargy and then the room began to spin. Voices buzzed. Faces blurred.

“Now we need not fear her slipping away in the night,” the countess declared.

Mary realized all too late that she had been the only one to consume the bitter ale. The others had all drunken wine.

“What did you use?” Barnesley asked.