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here you are, awake and in reasonably good health, so do sit up and rejoin us. Lady Leverton and I have been having a most revealing conversation.”
“Pig!” Jacqueline spat in furious French. “Dog! You are a disgrace. How dare you do this!”
“Madame, I dare because I have little left to lose now. My life is at stake, and that I care to keep, even if all else eludes me at the moment. Fortune has hidden her face, it seems, but all is not yet lost if I can keep my head. So reassure yourself that you are in little danger as long as you cooperate with my requests.”
He smiled, turning again to look at Celia, who lay upon the settee in the parlor. Her head throbbed wickedly as she stared back at him.
“You should have gone to America, my dear,” he said, “but since you have not, I am forced to make arrangements that will be less than pleasant for either of us. If you’d done as you were told, none of this would be necessary.”
There was a silky menace in his cultured tones, malice in the clear eyes that regarded her so calmly.
“My husband will kill you if you so much as promise to harm us,” Celia whispered, but Easton only laughed softly.
“That is exactly what I intend to avoid, child. Why do you think I’m here? I’d be safely in France if not for your husband—whose influence seems to reach much farther than I guessed. Every port I visited was closed to me. Damned officious men, those excise officers, and more efficient than normal in the performance of their duties. Not a one of them wanted to accept payment in lieu of arrest. I barely escaped them. I suspect Lord Mowry’s hand in this, and of course, my great-nephew must be behind such rabid pursuit.”
“What do you hope to gain from this farce—gratitude for abusing us?” Celia demanded more forcefully than she’d thought she could do as she pushed to a sitting position and smoothed her skirts back over her legs.
Jacqueline sat stiffly in a nearby chair, eyes huge in the glow of fire and lamps, her mouth a thin, angry slash.
Easton merely lifted a brow, the pistol in his hand a warning to both they need not attempt escape. “I need you as assurance of my safe passage from England. Once I am away, I will release you. It is a proposition that Colter will most likely view as agreeable, once given the alternatives.”
“You’re mad,” Jacqueline whispered, and Easton’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.
“No, Lady Leverton, merely desperate. Beware desperate men, as we have a tendency to be unreliable at times. This pistol could discharge quite unexpectedly.”
Celia rose to her feet and the barrel of the pistol instantly swerved toward her. “If you do shoot,” she said calmly, “you can only kill one of us.”
“This fires twice, an excellent model. I hardly need remind you that I possess more strength than either of you, and it would be no trouble to save powder and ball. Come here, child, since you promise to be rebellious, and secure your cousin with the sash from her dress. Tie it tightly, or I’ll assume you’d rather me assure her presence by more final means.”
Angry, frustrated and frightened, Celia did what he told her to do, using the blue silk sash from Jacqueline’s dress to tie her to the straight-backed chair by the fire. She could feel her fear, though Jacqueline said nothing, only stared balefully at Easton. While she tied the knots, Celia tried to think of a plan for escape.
Apparently Easton had already managed to secure James and Renfroe, for there was no sign of either of them. She hoped they were still alive, that he’d not been vicious enough to kill them.
Outwardly calm, Celia’s insides thrummed with tension as she tied the final knot and straightened to meet Easton’s narrowed stare.
“If you wish to test them, please yourself,” she said, and saw the suggestion of a smile on his mouth.
“Quite a little rebel, aren’t you? Rather like your mother, as I recall. She was spirited as well.” He moved to test the bonds, then nodded. “Very good. Now, remove your own sash, please. I shall do the honors this time.”
When she was tied with her hands in front of her, he put a burgundy cape around her shoulders to conceal her hands. “After you—and give no sign of distress or I’ll shoot you. That is a promise. I may not kill you, but the pain will be severe enough to make you wish I had.”
Celia had no choice but to go with him, and she saw from Jacqueline’s terrified eyes that there was little hope of rescue.
Easton put her into a carriage, a fast, two-wheeled gig drawn by a pair of Colter’s spirited bays, and she wished that she had the nerve to signal to Smythe of her plight.
Oh, where is Santiago when he’s needed? she wondered with a spurt of real fear when the carriage door slammed shut behind her and Easton took up the reins. No one save the elderly Smythe was in sight, and of course, he knew Easton as a relative and would suspect nothing.
The afternoon light was fading, and a cold wind penetrated the closed gig and the wool lap robe Easton had carelessly tossed over her. Once out of the gates, the gig turned east along the coast; marsh marigolds had begun to bloom in the damp woodland and wet meadows, tiny bits of yellow like scattered sunlight. A ringed plover churned along a spit of sand below the road, and the gig spun just as relentlessly toward its unknown destination.
“Where are we going?” she asked, though she suspected he would not answer.
“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, my lady,” Easton said, a mocking emphasis on the title that was still so new to her.
“You’re quite right, but vengeance is deadly. I should know that well enough, as I’ve seen for myself how fatal it can be for those who pursue it.” Her fingers curled into the folds of the burgundy cape, the wind a rushing sound, the wheels whirling over chalk and sandy road an incessant hum that threatened to drown out their words. “Release me, and I’ll ask Colter to withdraw his charges against you.”
“My dear, naive countess, it’s not up to him.”
He smiled as he glanced at her, his hands competent upon the reins, the whip in his hand a cracking shot that urged the horses to a faster pace.
