A Lady Never Surrenders Part 34

"Almost there now, my love," he murmured. He seemed distracted, absorbed in some private world to which she wasn't privy.

"Where?"

He didn't answer. Oh, Lord, did he mean to shoot her somewhere outside of town and bury her?

The second she was out of this carriage, she would fight. If he meant to kill her, he'd have to shoot a moving target. Of course, his manservant was probably armed as well, and he had other men. ...

Despair gripped her. How was she to get out of this?

They halted abruptly. His servant stepped out, looked around, then motioned the viscount out. Two of the manservants grabbed her between them and carried her kicking and screaming in the back entrance of what looked like a perfectly respectable house on the outskirts of London.

There were no other houses directly nearby. Blast it all, where had he brought her? And why? Wherever it was, no one had been here in some time. The inside of the house looked deserted. All the furniture was shrouded in canvas covers, and there seemed to be no servants about.

His men released her inside what looked like a large study with only one door. After barking some orders to her captors in Portuguese, Rawdon shut the door and stepped in front of it to block it.

She flew to the one window, but it was locked, and all she could see outside was a garden. Screaming would do her no good. No one was close enough to hear her.

Whirling on him, she cried, "What are we doing here? Where are we, blast it?"

He shot her an irritated glance as he paced before the door. "Leave me alone. I have to think."

"About what?" She planted her hands on her hips. "Do you mean to keep me here? And for how long?"

"Quiet!" he roared. "Let me think!"

She shrank back. Best be careful of provoking him. And what did he have to think about?

As he continued to pace, obviously agitated and muttering to himself, it dawned on her. He must not have planned this abduction. When he'd suggested that he marry her, he'd seemed as surprised by the idea as she.

If he had planned it, surely they would already be on the road to Gretna Green. He would have brought supplies and made provision for stops along the road.

Dear Lord. He had come to court her-or to find out how much she knew about her parents' deaths, more likely-but when she'd recognized him, he'd made a spur-of-the-moment decision to abduct her. Which meant he had no idea how to proceed.

That could work in her favor. She could guide him in a direction that better suited her. Or at least that better slowed him down until she could find a way to escape or grab his pistol, whichever came first.

Deliberately she softened her tone. "My dear Lord Basto, I realize that you have much on your mind at the moment, but I have certain needs. If there is a retiring room..."

His gaze shot to her, worried, distracted. "I'm sorry, but as you say, I have much on my mind. It won't be long now. If you can just wait a bit more, I shall be in a position to give you every comfort, my love."

She gritted her teeth. She'd hoped that a few moments away from him would allow her a chance to escape. Still, it was a good thing she didn't really need a retiring room just yet, because if she had access to one, she might be tempted to throw a chamber pot at him just for calling her "my love."

"Something to drink would be nice, as well," she said. "I'm thirsty."

"All in good time, my dear, all in good time." He waved vaguely in the direction of what looked like a chair behind the desk, covered by canvas. "Why don't you take a seat until we leave?"

"When will that be?"

He began to pace again. "Soon, I hope. I have to arrange ... certain matters concerning our journey."

"Up north?" she prodded.

"Not exactly. I think it best if we-" He broke off, as if realizing he'd said more than he should.

Oh, dear, not up north? She should keep him talking, keep him thinking about the difficulties of his improvised plan. Perhaps if she could get him to realize that none of this would work, he would let her go.

"Are there no provisions here?" she asked.

"This house hasn't been used in some time. It belongs to a ... friend of mine."

A friend? Or him and his wife?

She dearly hoped it was the latter. Jackson didn't yet know that the viscount was Captain Rawdon, but there was more chance of his finding that out on his own than of his figuring out who some friend of the viscount's was.

She asked him more questions, but he grew agitated and ordered her to keep quiet. Agitated was bad. People started shooting when they were agitated. So she stopped talking and turned her attention to figuring out how she could escape.

A long time pa.s.sed as she considered and discarded several possibilities. Getting the gun from him seemed unlikely-he held it always at the ready and any time she even stepped near him, he brandished it at her. Could she pretend to be sick? He would rush to her side, and she could grab the gun?

But if he called in one of his men instead, she would lose that advantage. She might need it in a pinch. So far, it didn't look as if he meant to kill her. She could take comfort in that.

Perhaps if she threw something at him, he would fire, then she could get away while he was fumbling to reload. She discarded that idea within moments, as his men came in and out, responding to various orders. Even if she got past him, she'd have to get past them, and there were at least three.

What she wouldn't give at present to know Portuguese. Especially when he seemed to grow even more upset after one of them gave him some report.

As soon as the fellow left, he turned to her. "My man tells me there are officers of the law at my doorstep in Bedford Square."

Jackson! If they could unravel the truth ...

"What did you mean when you said that someone shot at you yesterday?" the "viscount" asked.

She blinked. "Just what I said. I went with ... a friend to talk to our old nurse who lives in High Wycombe about what happened the day my parents were murdered, and on our way home, someone shot at us. We were forced to hide out until it was safe."

"d.a.m.n her to h.e.l.l," he muttered under his breath.

Her? His wife? And he'd just dropped his accent, too. Should she mention that? Or pretend she hadn't noticed?

"Her who?" she asked.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. "My ... er ... sister. She doesn't approve of my courtship of you."

Celia practically bit her tongue off trying to keep silent on that score. "So you believe she shot at me?"

"I don't know. But it's something she would do."

"Yet you still expect me to marry you, even though I'm likely to lose my life over it?"

Though his color turned gray, he came toward her with concern in his expression. "That will not happen. I won't allow it. You and I will go aboard a ship to Portugal and leave her and this d.a.m.ned country behind."

Oh, dear, he meant to carry her aboard a ship? No wonder he thought he could marry her with impunity.

"My sister may fend for herself, for all I care," he went on. His eyes softened on her. "As long as I have you-"

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" came a voice from behind him. "I should have known you were planning to desert me. When have you ever cared about your wife?"

As he whirled toward the door, an older woman wearing an expensive cloak walked in.

Uh oh. Mrs. Rawdon had finally made her appearance.

Blond and blue-eyed, she must once have been very pretty, but bitterness and tropical travel seemed to have eroded her looks. Perhaps the sour temperament that evidenced itself in her fierce frown had something to do with it, too.

"d.a.m.n you!" Rawdon cried. "How did you know we were here?"

"Don't insult my intelligence," she said contemptuously. "Did you think I was going to let you go a-courting every day to Halstead Hall without having a servant of yours in my pay? The minute you landed here, he came running to tell me. I got out a side door while officers demanded to see me.

"And here I find you were planning to elope-elope, mind you-with this ... this ... chit." She sneered at Celia. "Not that I'm surprised-after all these years, I'm well used to your tricks."

"My tricks?" he hissed. "I only ever betrayed you with one woman, but you have never let me forget it."

"And why should I?" she growled. "Long before that, I bought you body and soul. For all your talk about your lofty relations in Portugal-who don't give a d.a.m.n about you-everything you own comes from my family's money. Yet you were ready to throw it all away because some stupid marquess's wife was unhappy in her marriage."

Celia kept an eye on Rawdon's pistol, but he had the weapon firmly in his control. What's more, his wife was facing Celia, so the woman would notice any move she made in his direction and would alert him.

"I wouldn't let you do it then," Mrs. Rawdon went on, "and I'm not going to let you do it now. Certainly not for some timid chit half my age."

Timid? He must not have told his wife much about her, had he?

But that could work to her advantage. "Please, Mrs. Rawdon," she said in her best little-girl voice, even as she edged closer to the door, "I don't want to run away with your husband, so if you'll just let me go-"

"Do you think I'm stupid, missy?" Mrs. Rawdon snorted. "My servant told me all about my husband's fawning over you, and your ready responses. Of course, Augustus said it was all to convince you to confide in him, so he could learn how much you knew about your parents' deaths, but it didn't take me long to figure out he was lying. I could see all the signs of infatuation. I saw the same ones when he began falling for your d.a.m.ned mother."

Mrs. Rawdon pulled a pair of dueling pistols out from beneath her cloak. "Well, girl, my servant and I may have missed you on the road to High Wycombe, but this time my aim will be true."

Celia's heart stopped in her throat just as Captain Rawdon stepped between them and aimed his own pistol at his wife. "You're not doing this again, Lilith. I wasn't there to stop you last time, but this time, I will die before I let you shoot another innocent woman. I've spent half my life covering up for you, and I'm not doing it anymore. I'll kill you first."

She laughed. "You don't have the stones."

Celia feared his wife might be right, for the captain's pistol wavered.

Oh G.o.d, this was what had happened to Mama and Papa. Mrs. Rawdon must have aimed for Mama, Papa had stepped in to protect her, she'd shot him, and then she'd shot Mama.

"I swear I will do it," he growled as he steadied the pistol on her.

Mrs. Rawdon fired, and Captain Rawdon fell, hitting his head against the corner of the desk as he went down. Knowing she would be next, Celia threw herself on him, pretending to weep, and extricated the pistol from his limp hands.

But as she came up aiming, Jackson stepped into the room behind Mrs. Rawdon. "Put the gun down, madam. Now."

Mrs. Rawdon's eyes narrowed, and she began to turn toward Jackson. Celia fired, hitting the gun in her right hand and sending it flying. But apparently that was the spent one, for Mrs. Rawdon was already steadying the other to shoot Jackson when he fired at her.

Mrs. Rawdon crumpled. Her pistol went off, but the bullet embedded itself in the doorframe just to the right of Jackson. Then she collapsed on the floor, still clutching her gun.

Jackson had shot her right through the heart.

Chapter Twenty-eight.

Jackson knelt and made sure that Mrs. Rawdon was as dead as she appeared, then rose to look at Celia.

Her gaze was fixed on Mrs. Rawdon. As the pistol fell from her numb fingers, she took the few steps to where he stood and stared down at Mrs. Rawdon and the hole in her chest.

He dragged Celia into his arms and forced her head against his shoulder. "Don't look, my love. Try not to look."

She was trembling now, belatedly reacting. "So much blood," she whispered. "I can't believe it." She lifted her face to him. "All these years of shooting, and I've never seen a person shot."

"Better her than you," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "After everything she did-" His voice turned fierce. "It was right that she was the one to die. I couldn't have borne it if it had been you."

Tears started in her eyes as she hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry, my darling. I would never have gone near him if I'd guessed that the viscount was Captain Rawdon."

"I know. I only made the connection after speaking to Elsie."

"Is he-"

Jackson glanced past her to the captain, who lay so still that Jackson suspected he too was dead. "I don't think he made it." His eyes narrowed on the gun lying near the man, the one Celia had used. "That's not your pistol."

"I didn't have mine." She cast him a teary glance. "I thought it was you coming up the drive this morning, and I ran out to meet you without thinking. Oh, what good is it for me to carry a pistol if I don't have it when I need it?" She cast a fleeting glance at the captain and the slow spread of blood over his left side. "I'm not sure I ever want to shoot again, anyway."

He cupped her head in his hands so she couldn't see the blood. "I pray that it's never a necessity. But if you find in time that you want to return to shooting, I don't mind. As long as you let me be the one to keep you safe."

As the fear plaguing him the past few hours caught up to him, he kissed her hard, wanting to rea.s.sure himself that all was well, that they were well. When he drew back, she looked calmer.

Then a sudden alarm hit her. "The captain's men. Where-"

"I took care of the fellow near the door, but I didn't see any others. No doubt they went running the second Mrs. Rawdon showed up packing her pistols. They probably knew what she was capable of. In any case, my men should be here any moment. After I arrived and noticed 'Basto's' carriage in back, I sent my coachman on to Bedford Square to fetch the officers my aunt sent there after we talked to Elsie this morning."

She cast him a tremulous smile. "I knew you would guess the truth eventually. I just kept telling myself that if I could stall him long enough, you would come for me."

Her faith in him brought a lump to his throat. He kissed her hair, her cold brow, her dampening cheeks. "You did very well without me, my love. But I'm sorry you had to see her die."

"After all she did, I should hate her. She killed Mama and Papa. She's the one who fired on us. And I suspect she killed Benny, too." She slanted a quick glance at the body. "But now she doesn't look dangerous at all. She just looks like a poor sad woman, thwarted in love."

A moan sounded from nearby. They turned in shock to see the captain move.

"He's alive," Celia said. "I don't believe it!"