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He scratched his head. “Let’s see now, from here he dips down to Rochester, then Chatham. But if you don’t catch him before Chatham, you never will. Once he gets on the London Turnpike, he’ll whip up his cattle to breakneck speed. You won’t even see his dust!”
Tony waited no longer. She dug in her heels, urging Neptune to a full gallop. Mile after mile she kept her eyes narrowed for the coach, but with each successive mile the chance of catching it grew slimmer. Tony swayed from the saddle, almost falling over sideways. She caught herself in time and shook her head to clear it. She knew she was making herself ill again and fought with her own common sense about pursuing this hopeless mission further.
A voice inside her head told her if she was really replacing Anthony, he would not give up. Her knees urged Neptune to his top speed, and there far ahead on the outskirts of Rochester she saw the dark shape of the mail coach.
The coach driver first thought he was being held up; then, when he saw the young fellow had no weapon save his frenzied voice, he reluctantly slowed and brought the sweating team to a halt.
Tony had the very devil of a time persuading the mail carrier to give back the letter, and only when she asserted her authority did the man give way. “I’m Lord Anthony Lamb, my good sir, and I shall see you are immediately dismissed from your position if you do not return my property to me immediately. I’ve already dismissed the idiot footman who posted it by mistake. The information in this letter is so damaging, you’ll likely see the inside of Fleet Prison if you try to overrule my authority.”
The man complied, cursing under his breath, “Wot bloody chance does a bloke ‘ave against the bleedin’ gentry? Sod the lot of ’em.” When he climbed back on the box and whipped up the horses, Antonia knew her good fortune was due to the fact that he thought her a man rather than a woman. She clutched the letter to Watson and Goldman and slid from the saddle. Then, knowing she could go no farther, she sat down on the side of the road and cried her eyes out.
That is precisely where Mr. Burke found her. Lady Randolph had ordered Bradshaw ready the coach so Mr. Burke could go after her to Stoke. When he learned she’d ridden on toward Rochester he couldn’t believe it and urged Bradshaw to pull out the lead.
As Mr. Burke lifted her into the carriage, she looked up at him with deepest gratitude. Two pink spots burned feverishly upon her cheeks. “How would I manage without you, Mr. Burke? You are my knight in shining armor!”
A sinking feeling gripped Bernard Lamb as he read the small notice in theGazette.He read it two or three more times, wanting to reject it, yet finally having no choice but to accept it. He had scanned the newspaper for three frustrating weeks. Now finally here in black and white was the first indication there had been a boating mishap. The thing he had hoped for, prayed for, and planned for had come to pass. Yet it counted for naught. Christ Almighty, if what theGazettehinted at was true, the wrong bloody twin had drowned. Filled with uncertainty, Bernard read the item again. “The heavy squall that suddenly blew up last week along the coast damaged many sailing vessels moored in the Medway. We received an unconfirmed report that Lady Antonia Lamb was washed overboard and drowned near her home in Stoke.”
Bernard crashed his fist on the tabletop so hard that one of the table legs gave way. He then proceeded to kick it to pieces, needing to destroy something in his frustrated anger. As he thought more about it he began to have very mixed feelings. His murder plot had been successful and he congratulated himself on his cleverness, but a small shiver of paranoia touched him. His cousin, Lord Anthony, probably knew the lines and the rudder had been tampered with and if there was an investigation into the sailboat accident, suspicion must fall upon the one who had most to gain.
Bernard decided he had better keep a safe distance for the present. One twin had been removed. If aught befell the other too quickly, it would hardly be considered coincidental. Bernard would bide his time secure in the knowledge that he was capable of murder whenever the need arose.
A lovely thought came to him as he recalled the details of the visit to Stoke. He hadn’t visited Angela in days. He began to whistle as he picked up his swordstick and pulled on his new moleskin gloves.
Angela Brown was still sound asleep as Bernard let himself into her flat with his key. The theater didn’t close until midnight and by the time she took off her stage makeup and hung up all her costume changes, it was usually after one in the morning before she got to her flat.
It was a damned good thing Angela hadn’t brought anyone home with her, Bernard thought, or he’d carve up her plump white thighs. He flipped back the blanket and poked her with the sheathed swordstick. She murmured a protest, then suddenly sat up as she came awake.
“What the hellfire are you playing at?” she demanded.
“Hellfire … an apt punishment for a murderess, don’t you think?”
“What the devil are you talking about, Bernie?”
“You may soon have a nodding acquaintance with the devil, Angel Face.” He again prodded her. “There’s been a serious boating accident. My twin cousin has drowned.” He waved the newspaper under her nose, but didn’t hand her the notice to read.
Her eyes lit up with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re the new Lord Lamb?” she cried, leaping from the bed to throw her arms about him.
Bernard took hold of her hands and pried them cruelly from his person. He increased the pressure until she fell back upon the bed, then he backhanded her across the face. “No, you stupid bitch. You murdered the wrong twin!”
A look of horror crossed her face. “The girl? It wasn’t me, you pig, it was you!” Angela’s eyes became riveted upon his swordstick as he slowly drew the long blade from its sheath.
He began to toy with her. He pierced the flimsy fabric of her nightgown, slashing it open, then touched the cold steel to the inside of her knees. “Open for me, Angel.” He breathed heavily, feeling his cock turn to marble. Power was so exciting. It was stronger than a drug. Once he exercised power over another, he craved it again and again.
Slowly, with wary eyes, Angela opened her legs for him. The relief she felt made her weak as water as he laid down his weapon to remove his clothing. Angela cried out in terror, however, as he again picked up the swordstick and advanced upon her. His sex stood out like a weapon and she knew it was a sick game he played, making her wonder which one he would bury inside her.
As the sharp point came toward her she closed her eyes and bit her lips to smother the scream that gathered in her throat. With relief she felt the hard smooth shaft go up inside her, but when she opened her eyes she saw that he had reversed the stick and buried its handle inside her.
With startling clarity she saw what he wanted from her was abject fear. Although she was an actress, she did not have to exaggerate the sheer terror she felt at the hands of this handsome young sadist. Angela fed his power by begging and groveling before his authority. When she reduced herself to the status of a slavegirl, Bernard ejaculated and fell limply atop her.
When the Gazette was delivered to Lamb Hall, Tony and Roz were dismayed. They didn’t want Watson and Goldman to think Antonia was dead, nor did they want society in general to find out, because then how would she ever be able to take her place in it?
They consulted Mr. Burke and finally the three of them concocted a plausible tale which must go to the Gazette immediately. Tony wrote the notice herself:
Lady Antonia Lamb was safely rescued after being washed overboard from her sailboat. She will be spending the next few weeks in Bath recuperating from her ordeal. TheGazettewishes to apologize for any embarrassment to the Lambs, caused by yesterday’s erroneous report.
Chapter 11
During the long voyage of theRed DragonJohn Bull and Kirinda were never seasick at the same time. Though it went against the grain, they provided whatever service the other needed with uncomplaining dignity. John Bull was a far more tolerable sailor than Kirinda, however. She spent most of the time in her berth wishing the master had never saved her from the funeral pyre.
