Page 91 of The Redemption of the Shrew

She glared at him. “It seems that you, too, will stop at nothing.”

That set him guffawing again. “I’ve won this trick, Gloriana. Once I’m done with you, de Bellechasse won’t want you anymore—definitely not as a wife. What a pity you’re not already married to him, for that would have made my triumph all the sweeter.”

Bit by bit, she was beginning to think clearly. They would pass through Islington on the way to the Great North Road. She was known there. She could take refuge at the school.

If she could get out of the coach, that is. Leveling a pistol at him should take care of that.

His hand came to rest on her knee. She shifted as far from him as possible, and he chuckled. “I plan to enjoy myself tonight. Naturally, I would prefer that you enjoy yourself as well.”

“How kind of you.”

“But that won’t stop me. One way or another, you’re mine.”

“You do realize, I hope, that once the scandal comes out, my brother will kill you.”

“And be obliged to flee the country, leaving his wife and children behind? I don’t think so. No, we’ll all do our best to scotch the scandal.” He walked his fingers up and down her thigh, then leaned down. For a ghastly second, she feared he meant to lift her skirts. She felt for her reticule and the reassuring bulk of the gun.

But all he did was pull a strongbox out from under the seat. “Since I anticipated some reluctance on your part, darling Gloriana, I have something with me that will ensure your enjoyment. As a willing mistress, you will be much better paid.”

She swallowed a retort and said with what she hoped was mild disdain, “I don’t need money.”

“I have something far better for you.” He fished in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the box. “A pity it’s so dark in here, but you’ll probably recognize it by feel . . .” After several moments, he snapped, “It’s not here!” He threw the box across the carriage. It bounced off the opposite bench onto the floor.

“What’s not here?”

His fist came at her. She ducked, and the blow glanced off her shoulder. She stifled a cry. He grabbed her arm and hissed into her face. “Where is it?”

“Wh-Where is what?” she quavered, scrambling for something to say—anything that would calm him.

He shook her. “You know damned well what. The Book of Hours!”

“But—But—” Her teeth chattered. What should she say? She had to feign surprise. “You had it?”

“Yes, you bitch.” His fingers bit into her arm.

Suddenly she knew that she had another weapon, one she’d aimed at Philippe for years. She could play a convincing part. She didn’t even have to dream up a line, for it came on its own. “Philippe told me he did!”

“What?” He let her go and sat back.

She let a long moment of silence pass, and then infused astonishment into her voice. “You stole my book?”

“Yes, you stupid bitch, I stole it, and it’s been in my strongbox ever since. Why isn’t it there now?”

“But—but I thought Philippe was the one who took it.” Did she sound sufficiently surprised, upset, enraged? “You were both there in the Dower House. He’s not a rich man, but you are. Why would you steal it when you could purchase a similar one? I never suspected you.” She added waspishly, “Of course, now I understand.”

His voice rasped in the dark coach. “Where has it gone?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “When I confronted Philippe, he said he had it, but he refused to return it unless I helped him.” Now she had a story that made sense. “He’s in some sort of trouble with the Home Office.” Hythwick would have no problem believing that, as he was the cause of it. “He seems to think wedding a well-bred Englishwoman will solve his problem.”

“That’s why you agreed to marry him?”

“Why else? I loathe the man, but I want my book back. I told him no book, no wedding.”

“He could have his pick of well-bred women. Why you?”

“I might ask you the same question. You can have your pick of willing mistresses. Why me?”

He chuckled and sat back against the seat. “Understood, and once again, I win. You’re a much more valuable prize than the book.”