Unsuitable Wife Read online

  Justin glanced up as he heard his name, and stared in surprise at the figure riding full tilt towards him. “What the devil—Harry?”

  “Chatleigh! Thank God. He’s got Melissa!” Harry yelled.

  Justin spurred Diablo forward. “What are you talking about, Harry? Who has Melissa?”

  “Sir Stephen! He grabbed her off her horse.”

  Justin frowned, looking at Lawton as he rode up. “Lawton, what the devil is going on?”

  “It appears the countess has been abducted—”

  “The devil she has!”

  “—by her stepfather. Last I saw, they were in a carriage, going down that road.”

  “Sir Stephen? What the devil?” Justin’s face was blank, and then grim. “Damn! What are we waiting for?” he asked, and wheeled Diablo around.

  The carriage jounced over a particularly rough stretch of road, jolting Melissa’s head, and she moaned. “Ah, so you’re back with us, are you?” a voice said, and she was abruptly conscious. Slowly she opened her eyes to see Sir Stephen, sitting on the seat opposite, watching her.

  She sat up quickly, putting a hand to her head as it throbbed in response. She was in a carriage, she realized, looking around for a way to escape. A gleam of malicious amusement lit Sir Stephen’s eyes as she dove for the door. When it wouldn’t budge she shook it, and then scurried across to the other side.

  “Locked, my dear,” Sir Stephen said, and held up a key, his smile evil and triumphant. “But, come, don’t you wish to spend some time with your stepfather?”

  “I’d rather die!” she spat, and he shook his head.

  “Oh, no, my dear. But perhaps you’ll wish it, when I am done with you.” Melissa went very still. “You and I have much to settle.”

  “No!” She launched herself at him, her nails raking down his face before he could react, but after a brief struggle he caught her wrists and pulled them down behind her back at an angle that made her bones crack. She glared up at him, struggling helplessly in his grasp, and his smile deepened. “See, my dear, fighting does no good—damn you!” he exclaimed, as she spat. He thrust her roughly away from him. She landed awkwardly on the floor between the seats and scrambled as far away from him as possible, her eyes never leaving his face.

  Sir Stephen took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “You shall pay for that,” he promised, “and I shall enjoy making you pay.”

  “You’re sick!”

  “Ah, am I?” His eyes moved leisurely over her, and she clutched at the bodice of her habit. “But I shall get what I want, Melissa. I told you once. I always get what I want.”

  Melissa shivered and huddled into a corner, not looking at him. In the close confines of the carriage she could not fight him, and so it was best to save her strength. Perhaps once they had stopped, she could escape. She would have to bide her time.

  The drive seemed interminable, with the awareness of Sir Stephen’s eyes on her, but at last, all too soon, the carriage came to a stop. “It appears we are here, my dear,” Sir Stephen said, withdrawing the key. “I do hope you’re not going to try anything foolish? I should hate to have to strike you again. Besides,” the door swung open, “I believe Stokes has a gun. Out you go.”

  He reached for her arm, but she pulled away. Then, head held high, she descended from the carriage, to see that his accomplice did indeed have a gun, and that it was leveled at her. “Such brave men,” she said, scornfully. “So afraid of one woman.”

  The man grinned, exposing crooked, stained teeth. “Like my women wild, I do,” he said, and his eyes raked insolently over her. She looked wildly around for escape, but then Sir Stephen was beside her, grasping her arm again.

  “I wouldn’t, my dear. Inside with you, now,” he said, and dragged her towards a ramshackle old building, set beside an algae-covered pond. Though it was midday the place was gloomy, with the willows overhead blocking out most of the sun. Melissa recognized it with a jolt. The old mill. They were still on Chatleigh land, then. Oh, Justin, she thought, and wondered if she would ever see him again.

  Sir Stephen kicked the door open and she stumbled inside, floorboards creaking beneath her. A shaft of sunlight coming through a crack in the roof made the dust motes dance and showed a large, high-ceilinged room, empty except for the abandoned gears of the mill wheel. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of dust and disuse.

  “Her majesty don’t like the accommodations, guv’nor,” Stokes said, grinning again, and Sir Stephen turned.

  “Leave her to me. Go back and get the others,” he said.

  “And leave you alone? I see.” He leered. “Wouldn’t mind some time with her myself.”

  “Go!” Sir Stephen ordered.

  Stokes turned, grinning. “Yes, guv,” he said, good-naturedly. “Talk about it when I get back.”

  The door slammed shut behind him. Sir Stephen stared fixedly at it, his hand still gripping Melissa’s arm. He hoped Jenkins had arranged a suitable reward for Stokes and his wife, even if she had done such a good job luring Melissa away from the Hall. And he wondered if the Jenkinses had any idea what he had in store for them. No matter that they had earned their share of the ransom Chatleigh would pay for his wife. That money was his! He would share it with no one.

  “Well, my dear.” He turned to Melissa. “I believe you and I have some things to discuss.”

  Melissa jerked free from his grasp and spun towards the door, but he blocked her way. “Come, my dear, why fight when it’s inevitable?” he said, walking towards her, and she shrank back. Justin! she screamed, silently, but he was far away. There was no help for her now.

  “Down this way?” Justin said, standing in the stirrups and pointing down the road.

  “Yes, my lord,” Lawton said, riding up to him as Justin took off at a gallop. “But, my lord! We should have help!”

  “No time! Justin yelled back. “If that bastard has Melissa— The day I can’t take Sir Stephen is the day I die.”

  Lawton caught up with him. “Had dealings with him, have you, sir?”

  “Yes. He must want ransom.”

  Lawton threw him a startled glance, but held his tongue. So his lordship didn’t know. Could be the lad was wrong, but he didn’t think so. God help Sir Stephen when the earl did find out.

  He would kill him, Justin thought, his mind working coldly and clearly. When he got his hands on Sir Stephen, he would kill him. Damn the man! If he’d known Barton would try something like this, Justin would have given him anything he asked for. Instead, Melissa was suffering for it, Melissa, who was blameless, who had been so soft and sweet in his arms last night, his wife, his love—

  Diablo stumbled as Justin jerked at the reins, and then regained his pace. Good God in heaven, he loved her. Why had he not seen it before? Oh, he’d been blinded in the beginning by what he’d thought was her duplicity, but since then he had learned how wrong he had been. She was not a slut, but a sweet, generous, loving woman. And a desirable one, too. Even now, when his whole being was intent on rescuing her, he could remember all too clearly the nights when he had sought a bottle to console himself for not sharing her bed, the times when just the touch of her hand on his arm or the merest hint of her soft fragrance set his blood to boiling. And last night they had so nearly become one! He groaned at the thought. God help him, he loved her. She had brought meaning back to his life and eased the loneliness that had been inside him for too long. If he lost her, he didn’t know what he would do. She had to be all right. She had to be.

  There was the rumble of hoofbeats ahead. “What’s that?” Alfred said, and at the same time a carriage swept around a bend in the road. The riders had just enough time to crowd to the side to avoid being knocked down as it sped by, rocking back and forth on the rutted road.

  “That’s it!” Harry shouted, and set off in pursuit.

  “Damn!” Justin swore, setting off after Harry and the fast-disappearing carriage. He had no hope that Melissa was inside, but he could not let Harry face danger a
lone.

  Up ahead there were shouts and the sound of gunshots. Justin dug his heels in Diablo’s side, reaching for his own pistol as the carriage slew to a stop, sideways, across the road. Another shot, and Harry went down. Justin leveled his pistol. He was coming up fast on the carriage, he could see the driver, he took aim—and there was an odd, pulling sensation at his arm, making the shot go wild. The man fell off the box, clutching his shoulder instead of his heart, as Justin had intended. The man got up, began to run, and then fell, face first, in the dust.

  “Fine shooting, sir!” Harry yelled as Justin rode up.

  “Good God, Harry, I thought you were dead!” Justin exclaimed, swinging off his horse.

  “Ducked to dodge the bullet. But, sir, you’re hit!”

  “What?” Justin glanced down, becoming aware for the first time of a stinging sensation in his arm. “Just winged me,” he said, taking out a handkerchief and pressing it to his arm.

  “You were lucky, my lord,” Lawton said, riding up.

  “Yes, but it made my shot go wide.”

  “Just as well.” Justin stared at him. “How else could we find out where the countess is?”

  Justin wheeled around and stalked over to the man, still sprawled in the road. Grabbing his collar, he hauled him to his feet. “Now, I am only going to ask you this once,” he said, softly, pressing his pistol against the man’s nose. “Where is my wife?”

  The man’s eyes went wide with fear. “I don’t know, my lord—” Justin cocked the pistol. “In the old mill!” he babbled. “The old mill.”

  “Excellent. And who is with her?”

  “S-Sir Stephen, my lord.”

  “And no one else?”

  “N-no. Don’t shoot!”

  “It isn’t even loaded,” Justin said, and thrust him away.

  “But mine is, so don’t you get any ideas,” Lawton said, holding his pistol at the ready.

  “Alfred!” Justin yelled. “Can you handle this ruffian?”

  Alfred rode forward. “Course I can, my lord. What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Take him back to Chatleigh. There’s an old barn, used for storing hay. Put him in there. Make sure he’s guarded. And take Harry with you.”

  Harry, dusting himself off, looked up. “No, sir,” he said. “I’m coming.”

  “Good God, boy, I can’t let you get into this,” Justin said. “Melissa’d never forgive me if you got hurt.” If he got her back safely.

  “I don’t care.” Harry’s chin thrust out in a manner strongly reminiscent of Melissa. “He’s got my sister.”

  “And a gun, most likely.” Justin raked his hand through his hair. “All right. But you’ll stay behind us, Harry.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Justin turned. “Off with you now, Alfred.”

  “Yes, sir. Where will you be?”

  “At the old mill,” Justin said, swinging up into the saddle.

  “There’s no way out,” Sir Stephen said, and Melissa, who had been eyeing the mill’s door, jerked her eyes back to him. “You might as well stop fighting it, daughter.”

  “You’re mad if you think you can get away with this!” she snapped.

  “Ah, but that’s just what I do think. You see, daughter, you are my safe passage.” He took a step towards her, and she fell back. “Your husband will have to do as I ask.”

  “Which is?”

  “Why, pay ransom for you, of course. He won’t dare to do anything else, as long as I have you. And then I may send you back. Maybe.” He chuckled. “I have been waiting a long time for this.”

  “I’ll never give into you. Never!”

  “But you will, my dear, you’ve no choice. I intend to have you, at last.”

  “No—”

  “Come, Melissa, why fight it? Give in and enjoy it.”

  “No,” she moaned, and as he reached for her, her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the floor.

  Sir Stephen stared down at her, taken aback. “Damn,” he said, softly, and prodded at her with his toe. “Melissa.” She moaned in response, and he swore again. Damn! This was all he needed, for her to faint. He wanted her conscious, fully aware of what was happening to her. Only then could he enjoy it. “Damn it, wake up,” he said, bending over her, and at that moment Melissa’s feet came up and caught him full in the chest.

  Sir Stephen staggered back, tumbled over a loose board, and ended up in an undignified heap. Melissa didn’t stay to see the effects of her action, but scrambled to her feet, running for the door. Behind her she heard her stepfather wheeze and cough, and that spurred her on. She had to get out, onto the road where perhaps she could find safety.

  The bolt of the old door was rusty and stiff, but fear lent strength to her fingers, and at last it gave. The door creaked open and she was out, taking great gulps of the fresh air and running, running. She hadn’t gotten very far when footsteps behind her alerted her, and she turned just as Sir Stephen crashed into her. “No!” she screamed, and pushed. He lost his footing on the uneven ground and tumbled again, this time landing, with a splash, in the mill pond.

  Good, she hoped he drowned! A sharp pain lanced her ankle as she stumbled over a rock, but she couldn’t stop, she dare not stop. Oh, please, she thought, her breath coming in sobbing gasps. Oh, God, please! And then arms, slimy and dripping wet, caught her about the waist and knocked her to the ground.

  “Where is the old mill?” Lawton said, as they rode off.

  “Down here, about a mile. Used to be a busy place,” Justin said, “but when the old miller died no one was hired to replace him. Must be a ruin by now.”

  “But it’s serving Sir Stephen’s purpose. Wonder how he knew of it?”

  “God knows, but he was hanging around here before we went to London. I never thought,” he said, and then fell silent.

  “No, sir. Unless Jenkins told him about it.”

  “Jenkins!” Justin stared at him. “My God, you think Sir Stephen’s the one behind all the incidents?”

  “Who else, my lord?”

  “But good God, why?”

  “He wants Melissa,” Harry said, and Justin stared at him, blankly.

  “My God, of course, that’s it. He wants her money.”

  “But—” Harry began, and then stopped at a look from Lawton.

  “Well, he’ll not get away with it,” Justin went on. “It’s just him there, so we should take him easily, Lawton.”

  “And I, too,” Harry said.

  “No, boy, you’ll stay behind us—” Justin broke off abruptly. Up ahead there was the sound of a woman screaming, and he tensed. “My God! Melissa!” he shouted. He spurred Diablo forward, and at that moment the horse’s foreleg went into a pothole.

  Only Justin’s skill as a rider kept him from toppling over as the horse stumbled. “Damn!” he exclaimed, swinging to the ground. “Of all times for him to come up lame—go! I’ll follow.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes! And, Harry, don’t get shot! Go!”

  They took off, galloping hard, and Justin, leaving Diablo to fend for himself, ran after them. That had been Melissa he had heard screaming. He would kill him, he thought. Sir Stephen’s days were numbered.

  There was a bend in the road, and then they were around it, and the old mill was ahead. A woman ran frantically towards them, hampered by the full skirts of her riding habit, and behind her came a tall, thin man, water dripping from him. “Melissa!” Justin yelled, just as Sir Stephen caught her about the waist and brought her down.

  Harry flung himself off his horse and stumbled across the grass. “Get your hands off my sister!” he shouted, pummeling Sir Stephen on the back. Sir Stephen jerked in surprise, and then drove his elbow back into him. Harry fell back, sobbing for breath, but then launched himself again. Sir Stephen twisted, his fist ready to strike, until the sound of a pistol being cocked caught his attention. He looked up into the barrel of a gun, and froze.

  “I wouldn’t,” La
wton said. “Easy, lad,” he added, as Harry let one more blow fall. “Get up, sir. Slowly. “

  Sir Stephen rose to his feet, his arms upraised and his eyes never leaving the gun. Melissa glanced up and then crawled away, huddling on the ground with her arms clutched convulsively around herself. “Lissa,” Harry said, and dropped to his knees next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders.

  “H-Harry!” Her breath came in great sobbing gasps. “Oh, Harry.”

  “It’s all right, Lissa, you’re safe.” Harry looked up, his eyes full of appeal, as Justin ran towards them.

  “Oh, Harry, he said he—he said he was going to have me this time, and—”

  “Hush, Lissa!” Harry said, and looked up again as Justin stopped dead. Justin’s eyes sought Harry’s, looking for confirmation, hoping for denial, and their gazes, somber and serious, held for a long moment. “You’re safe. Chatleigh’s here.”

  “J-Justin? No, I don’t want him near me, I don’t want him to touch me—”

  “It’s all right, Melissa.” Justin crouched beside her and reached out his arm. Good God, he thought, blankly. My good God. “I’ve got her, Harry,” he said, and again they exchanged looks over Melissa’s head. “She’s safe with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harry said, getting to his feet.

  “Good work, halfling,” Justin called after him, and gathered his wife against his chest, rocking her back and forth. “Easy, Melissa, easy, now, my dear love, my wife, you’re safe now.”

  “But he said, he—and I knew he always wanted to—but I thought he would, this time—”

  “Hush, princess, you’re safe. He won’t bother you again.”

  “My lord,” Lawton called. “What do you want I should do with this one?”

  Justin looked up, and for a moment his face was so twisted with rage that Sir Stephen took an involuntary step back. “Take him back to the Hall and put him with the other, until we can get them to a magistrate.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Lawton said, approvingly; he, too, had been taken aback by the rage on the earl’s face. “The countess, is she—?”