It was time to dress Caroline in the heavy black cloak. She was as unyielding as a block of wood, but he eventually covered her and pulled the hood down over her face. When the coach clattered into the yard, Edward climbed out, dragged her over the seat and threw her over his shoulder as though she were drunk. The innyard was empty save for Munson, who had scared off all comers and was idling in wait for him.

Edward dumped Caroline onto the leather seats, making sure her pert nose poked out between the blindfold and the gag. Deciding it would be safer to ride up top with his coachman, he left his wife and her cat and their seething fury securely locked below.

Pope and Dougla.s.s. Either one, the other, or both. They weren't foolish enough to accomplish the deed themselves-oh, no-they had hired the basest villain who stunk like a Pimenta racemosa tree to drug and kidnap her. The criminal smelled just like one of her brother's house party guests, a planter from the Caribbean islands. Caroline had never seen him, but his scent had lingered everywhere. It had taken a full three weeks to air out the room he stayed in.

Caroline lay flat on her back thinking, perspiring from the heavy cloak that had been bundled over her. Good-quality wool if she hadn't lost all sensation. The new vehicle was considerably better sprung than the first, not that it made any difference to her. Her kidnappers might be rich, but no matter how much money they had, they would be sorry.

The knots were fiendishly well tied. She hadn't a hope of escaping. She couldn't see or move or scream, but she could still hear. She'd concentrated on every word the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had said to her. She wasn't to be harmed if she behaved. Hah. That's what all her villains said, and they never meant it.

If she was being held for ransom, they'd contact Edward. If they simply wanted to torture her-or anything else, like kill her-she'd better start saying her prayers. There was a great dark spot upon her soul.

Edward would surely pay. He'd gone to a considerable amount of discomfort when he moved into her house after the first threat. Throwing money at a problem was much simpler than sleeping on the floor like some s.h.a.ggy watchdog.

Edward. She might never see him again. Not that she'd planned to. Their break was absolute. She'd made that perfectly clear in her garden weeks ago.

Once she was taken to her destination, she would explain to Pope and/or Dougla.s.s that she'd already given up her writing, that she'd never harm a gentleman's reputation again by revealing any embarra.s.sing or egregious truths. She was going to become a recluse in the country with her cat. Harold purred in solidarity across the way. At least her abductor had not left the cat behind. Thoughtful of him really. Harold had done nothing but growl and spit at her abductor, bless his brave little heart.

Caroline hoped her accommodations would not be too Spartan or spooky. One of her heroines had endured bats in a cave (The Midnight Marchioness), another, giant spiders in a dungeon (The Baron's Bride). She had nothing against bats or spiders, but didn't care to share her nights with them. She'd never get a wink of sleep, and she was so very tired. The drugged tea had yet to lose its power over her.

Her eyes welled up under the blasted blindfold in the reluctant realization that the Hazletts must be in cahoots with her kidnappers. No wonder her housekeeper had been so insistent she drink every last drop of tea. Perhaps Edward's pension had not seemed adequate to the old couple-they had put up with a great deal working for her. But she'd always thought they liked her, even when she had a temper tantrum or interfered in the kitchen.

She turned her cheek to the seat and sniffled. The texture and scent of leather was comforting. She took a deeper breath to calm herself and paused. There was something beyond the leather, something beyond the bay rum that lingered on the cloak after the kidnapper carried her like a sack of potatoes over his broad bony shoulder. Lime.

Caroline choked. Either her kidnapper had stolen the special formula that Floris mixed up exclusively for her husband, or she was being held captive by Baron Edward Allerton Christie. No wonder Harold had been so obstreperous. The cat was an excellent judge of character. It was she who was not.

The carriage was slowing to a halt. Caroline had been at war with herself the past few miles, wondering just how she would approach the man who kidnapped her. It was perfectly possible her nose was in error and she was not in Edward's comfortable crested coach. It made no sense for him to s.n.a.t.c.h her en route to the house he had bought for her, unless, of course, there was no house and his carefully neutral letters over the past few weeks were nothing but big, fat lies.

Picturing perfect Edward as a rough, ungrammatical villain was a stretch even for auth.o.r.ess Caroline, whose imagination often ran quite wild. Why would he affect such a persona? She might have taken such fright at being kidnapped she could have had an apoplexy and popped right off to her final reward. Fortunately she was made of sterner stuff, and at the first opportunity would beat the stuffing out of whoever had abducted her, be it Edward or some sorry stranger.

It was best, she decided, to play dumb, not voice her suspicions. At some point the silken blindfold would have to come off. What kind of kidnapper used silk anyway? All the evidence was pointing to her husband, who had quite obviously lost his mind.

The carriage door opened.

" 'Ere we are, missus. Come quiet-like. I'll carry ye upstairs, but yer not to make a fuss and make me drop ye. 'Twould be a shame to bruise that pretty a.r.s.e."

Edward was inordinately fond of her bottom. She relaxed into her kidnapper's arms and sniffed. Nothing but bay rum. Her fingers made a limited sweep over stiff clothing. Her kidnapper had bought a new suit for the job. Oddly enough, the criminal dandy handled her just as Edward had the morning he had carried her from the garden and made her his mistress. Caroline was nine-tenths convinced the man who cradled her so lovingly was well-known to her, but a threat nonetheless. She debated writhing in protest, but saved her strength for what might come later.

They jostled up the endless stairs of a house that smelled of beeswax and roses. There was carpet underfoot, as their ascent was hushed. It was no cave or dank cellar. Wherever Caroline was to be kept-the attic? the roof?-it pleased her nose. As she was carried down a long hallway, she counted the steps away from the staircase. It would be helpful when she escaped to know just how far she had to run.

Her kidnapper turned suddenly and the scent of flowers grew stronger. The distant bleat of lambs caught her attention. A window must be open. An open window meant it was not nailed shut. Another escape route.

The man bent and deposited her on a lovely soft mattress. He took some care shoving a pillow beneath her head, but what she really wanted was a chamber pot shoved beneath her bottom. There was no way to request it, however, as her silken gag was still in place. Caroline heard the ominous click of the door and the turn of a key. She had been deserted without a word of intimidation or instruction.

Well. She was still covered by the hot cloak, so she rolled a bit to give herself some relief. She could probably roll right off the bed in search of a surface with which to cut her bonds, but decided against it. He really couldn't keep her like this forever.

Caroline used the time to tick off the known facts of her abduction. She thought back to the little farewell party in the hallway, remembering Mrs. Hazlett's agitation, once again realizing she had been drugged by her own housekeeper. Wherever Caroline was, it had not taken too long from London to get there-she'd felt the warm sun on her cheek when the villain dragged her out of the carriage so it was still afternoon. But the house didn't smell like Christie Park. Edward might have run mad, but he wouldn't take her to his family seat with his sister and daughter in residence, would he?

Then there was Harold. Harold hated Edward. The cat had made his displeasure known behind his bars, yet that might be a normal reaction to anyone who intended his mistress harm.

She could be all wrong about Edward's involvement. Then she remembered Hazlett's heartfelt words on Jane Street. And keep in mind not everything is as it seems. If that wasn't a weasely warning, her name wasn't Caroline.

It was all too vexing. Despite the deep feather mattress, Caroline was growing ever more uncomfortable between the tingling of her tied limbs and the urge to relieve herself. She should at least work on removing the blindfold and the gag so she could see where she was and scream properly. Flipping face down on the pillow, she b.u.t.ted her head back and forth, thrusting her tongue up, biting, groaning in frustration. She managed to free one eye and immediately turned to take in her surroundings.

The square room was handsome, opulent even. The walls were patterned an old gold, the furniture dark and ma.s.sive. The bed she lay on could accommodate an entire family. An exquisite floral tapestry hung on one wall, and every flat surface was covered with vases of yellow roses, with a few daisies and greenery tucked in for contrast. Gla.s.s vases, which could be broken, the shards used as weapons of freedom.

Caroline inched over to the edge of the bed. The carpeted floor was far away. She lay on the sort of bed one needed to mount steps to get into, at least if one was as short as Caroline. Edward would have no difficulty at all, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

What was one more bruise or bounce? Caroline slid her legs over and hoped for the best. One ankle twisted hard as she landed. She wound up on her rump rather than on her feet, which was just as well, as hopping was not her forte. Hampered by the folds of the heavy cloak, she scooted along as best she could until she came to the penwork table near an armchair by the hearth. It was an attractive piece, its turned legs and curved column easily toppable by a determined woman with destruction in mind. Using a shoulder, she knocked into it as hard as she could. As the table tipped, the vase dumped out its water and flowers but remained unfortunately intact. It was heavy lead crystal, ideal for wielding in one's hand and cracking a skull or two, but in Caroline's current condition, useless to her.

She growled. Then she rolled, twisted, slunk. Chairs fell, andirons clanked, chamberpots emerged from their gloom-also useless and unbelievably tempting. Caroline was shrieking beneath her silk scarf as she caterpillared around the room, leaving a trail of frustration behind her.

"What the devil?"

Edward stood in a doorway, half undressed. He was stripped of his rough tweed coat and shirt, but still wore ill-fitting trousers and boots that had never seen the inside of Mr. Hoby's workroom. His hair was longer, his chest was bronzed, but he was definitely Edward, not a stranger who contracted kidnappings for a living. Caroline glared at him with her one eye and shrieked louder.

Edward surveyed the wreckage in the room."Good G.o.d, Caro, stop. You'll hurt yourself."

"As if you care!" she shouted, but the words were naturally inaudible. He'd already dosed her with that vile tea and kidnapped her for heaven's sake, and now he was more concerned about a few b.u.mps and bits of furniture. What on earth was he planning to do to her? She gave the chamberpot a vicious kick and her toes curled in pain.

"Hold still. I didn't plan on beginning quite this way, " he muttered. He got down on his knees and fumbled with her blindfold. She glared at him with both eyes. Caroline hoped she was sending the very clear message she hated him above all other men.

"I'm not fool enough to remove the gag or the bindings, so you'll just have to sit here and listen, all right?"

Caroline shook her head. No, it was not all right and never would be.

"I know you're angry. I'm sorry if I frightened you. You were meant to sleep through the trip, you see. I only pretended to be some thug in the event you woke up, because I needed to buy time to get you here. You would have tossed me out of the carriage if I came to you as Edward Christie, and given me one of your little lectures. All summer you kept pushing me away. But now we're together and we can talk like a normal couple, iron out our differences, start fresh."

Normal! Edward was as mad as the old king, but didn't seem to know it. He had a loopy smile on his face and appeared to think his scheme was a stroke of unsurpa.s.sed genius.

She might have to kill him to get her freedom. The thought had some appeal. It had taken her weeks to make peace with her decision, years really. No more trying to trick herself into thinking she could ever have a proper life. No more marriage. No more temptation.

No more Edward.

"I'm going to unfasten the gag. I warn you, the Hazletts and Ben will not come to your aid no matter how much of a fuss you make. I've engaged them for the week. They're getting settled in and will not be on duty until tomorrow. I'm to take care of all your needs myself, but if you bite me I daresay I will not be as effective as I might. Do we have an understanding?"

Again she shook her head. A week of enforced togetherness? The summer had nearly destroyed her. She'd lulled herself into thinking love for her was almost possible, even though she knew better. What she and Andrew had done all those years ago was unforgiveable. If Edward discovered the truth- Bad enough he thought he knew the worst. An affair with Andrew was nothing to what really happened between them.

No, she'd not make any of this easy for him or her wretched, betraying servants. Whatever they had planned, she was an expert in sabotage.

She chomped at his fingers for show, then uttered her first words in hours. "I must relieve myself. Untie me, or we both shall be sorry."

Edward raised a d.a.m.nably elegant eyebrow. "Is this a ruse to escape?"

"Do you want to wait to find out? It won't be long." That was the mortifying truth. Caroline could not believe she was having a discussion about such a thing.

Edward reached into his ugly trousers and pulled out a lethal-looking knife. "You must promise not to run away."

"I made promises to you once. I shan't do so again."

Edward snorted as he sawed through the rope at her ankles. "You had no intention of ever obeying me. Or honoring me or loving me. Our marriage was based on the flimsiest of foundations. It's time we set ourselves on a different path. We're older now, wiser."

"La la la," said Caroline. If her hands were free, she'd stick her fingers in her ears.

"You will listen to me. I'll make you."

"Do you intend to keep me a prisoner? For how long, Edward? How did you wriggle out of your duties to the king's business anyway? I thought all peers had to be present in Parliament for the Bill of Pain and Penalties." A Bill of Pain and Penalties indeed! If her hands were not still tied, Edward would feel the full weight of her wrath as lead crystal rained down on his head. She had exceptional aim from years of practice. "I'll show you pain, my lord, and you've not begun to pay the penalty for kidnapping me."

"See here, Caro. I haven't harmed a hair on your head, although it could do with a good brushing."

"I've been drugged! Blindfolded! Tied up, threatened, and scared out of my wits!"

Edward cleared his throat. It must have discomfited him to talk in such a villainous, ungrammatical way. "It was necessary. I know you too well." He avoided her feeble kick and moved up to her wrists.

"You don't know me! You know nothing! And I hope the king throws you in jail, if not for kidnapping me, then for leaving the trial."

"He won't. I told him I had a death in the family."

"Yours, I hope, because I am going to kill you!"

Edward put the knife back in his pocket. "Really, Caro, now who is threatening whom? If you want to be untied, you'll have to change your tune."

"This is unconscionable. You know I have to-oh, good Lord. Please hurry, Edward. I won't do anything." For now. But as she said, she'd make no more promises to him.

Chapter 17.

"I am not afraid," Tatiana brazened. "Do your worst, my lord." His obsidian eyes glittered as brightly as the knife he held.

-Lord Lancaster's Lady.

Despite her shrieking, the fiend had tied her right back up again. He left off the blindfold and gag, removing the dark cloak before he set her back on the bed. He dragged out a large copper tub from the adjoining room, then paraded back and forth shirtless with pitchers of steaming hot water. The sheen of perspiration on his muscled torso was quite gratifying, but she was not about to express any admiration. No matter what provoking thing she screamed at him from her perch, he ignored her, though his cheek muscle jumped at every word. He had taken a vow of silence, but at a cost. She had no such compunction, and would harangue him until her tongue fell off.

"Edward, I demand that you let me go on to Dorset. There is a cottage in Dorset for me, is there not? With a charming garden as you described? Hollyhocks? Hydrangeas?"

He poured the water into the tub. His ill-fitting pants slipped, and she caught a glimpse of his bare backside before he hiked them up again. He'd overlooked something critical in his grand plan-a pair of braces.

On his next return, she queried, "How did you persuade the Hazletts to be in league with you in this criminal enterprise? It must have cost you a fortune. A pity, for the money will not be of any use to them in jail." She said the last in her loudest voice, just in case they were hovering in the hallway. Her loudest voice, however, wasn't very loud-she'd hollered herself quite hoa.r.s.e. Even from across the room, she could see the cotton batting in Edward's ears. Of course he wasn't responding, vile vermin that he was.

Why waste her breath when she could plan her escape? There were still three vases to throw, although the rest of the furniture looked impervious to breakage. Edward had tramped on and crushed the flowers on the carpet with his inferior boots, releasing their perfume. Under other circ.u.mstances, she would find the atmosphere impossibly sensual-a half-naked man toiling on her behalf, a well-appointed room in a remote country house (she was up high enough on the giant bed to see out the open window-nothing but rolling meadow and distant sheep), a bed large enough to contain any acrobatic activity she could dream up. But if Edward Allerton Christie the Elder had designs upon her battered and bound body, he was to be sorely disappointed.

Their talk that last night in the garden should have put an end to any hope of reconciliation. Despite the tender kisses, despite the scorching heat between them, they had agreed any further contact would be impossible. Caroline couldn't be his mistress, and certainly not his wife. Clearly Edward had forgotten and lost his sanity, but she was determined to remember and keep hers, for both their sakes.

At last he seemed satisfied by the volume of water. He sat down and wrestled off his boots, peeled off his stockings, stood up and dropped his horrid pants. Caroline shut her eyes, but not before noticing he was aroused beyond reason.

She waited in rigid resignation for him to carry her to the bath. Instead she heard a splash.

She cracked open one eye. He was scrubbing his armpit with his lime-scented soap, whistling. Whistling! She tried to shriek, but croaked instead.

"You know," he said conversationally, as if she were not tied up like a rabid dog, "I've become a terrible creature of habit. Some find the scent of bay rum pleasant, but give me my own lime cologne. My playacting the villain was as much torture for me as it was for you. I itch all over. I'm going to have Hazlett burn that suit." Water sluiced down his brown chest, beading on his nipples.

He lathered his bristled face and unkempt hair. This new, unimproved Edward confused her. He had never shared so intimate an act as bathing in front of her, except for the one time she'd barged into his dressing room and slipped into his tub uninvited. She'd made him like it in the end, but he was a man who thrived on a strict routine, and she was usually an unwelcome interruption. She had spent their year of married life weighted down by his continuous disapproval.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Caroline's old sense of humiliation fluttered to the surface. Perhaps he'd get soap in his eyes and go blind, she thought sourly.

He leaned back and poured water on his head, slicking back his long dark hair until every beautifully chiseled plane of his face was revealed. Then he pulled the wet cotton from his ears, tossing it among the flattened roses on the floor. "Did you say something?"

Caroline bit her tongue.

"This bath is so refreshing. I find travel arduous in the best of circ.u.mstances, don't you? You know, the water is still hot."

Caroline tasted blood.

"The tub is large enough for two. If you like, we can share it. Get the road dust off."

Caroline would like. She found herself furiously jealous of Edward's liquid display. "Will you untie me?"

"Unnecessary. I believe I'm perfectly capable of washing you. Everywhere." His smile was purely satanical.

"Absolutely not then."

"Don't be stubborn, Caro. I know how you like your baths. Do you remember the morning you surprised me in my bath at Christie Park?"

G.o.d, he remembered. Or could he read minds? "You were appalled at the disruption of your daily regimen. And your old valet-what was his name? The one before Cameron-couldn't look me in the eye for months."

"Well, as I said, it was a surprise. Poor Melrose didn't expect to find us in such a tangle when he came to barber me."

"I wish he'd cut off your-" She snapped her lips shut.

"Pardon? I must have water in my ears." He shook his head like a glossy spaniel.

"Nothing. Edward, while I appreciate your effort to get me in your clutches, I don't want to be clutched. I made that perfectly clear several weeks ago."

"I know what you said. I don't agree anymore. We may not be ideally suited to each other, but I'm sure we can find some common ground with a little work."

"The only time we'll find common ground is when we're both buried under it in the family plot. I a.s.sume there's still room for me at the churchyard?"

Edward looked a bit sheepish. They once had a discussion about her eventual placement. As an ever-organized Christie, he had dispa.s.sionately informed her of her future. Edward was to be the jam husband to his two wives' bread. The headstone was already in place, just waiting for the requisite dates. In Edward's case, Caroline hoped it would be soon.

"We have decades to go before we need worry about that, I trust." Edward rose from the tub, glistening like a pagan G.o.d. He bent, took the knife from his discarded pants and dripped across the carpet.

"You'll ruin the rug."

He glanced at the long water stain and the broken flowers. "I'd say it's already ruined. Bradlaw won't like it."