Chapter 27
The ground floor of the east wing seemed to be storage rooms, and deserted, and Diana found the unlocked door without trouble.
It opened with well-oiled ease, and she suspected that servants used it frequently to slip out in the evenings.
There were guards at the official gates, but there must be other ways out of the grounds.
If needs be, the railings were climbable.
A path led toward the gardens at the rear, and she followed it, making herself walk calmly along rather than creeping like a thief.
If she encountered anyone, she would just say she wanted some fresh summer air.
In a while, pretense became reality, and her fears eased.
No one was out here to harm her, and it truly was a beautiful summer night, drifting with subtle perfumes from rose, stock, and mignonette.
To add cream to the dish, she was about to have a clandestine meeting with Bey.
Whatever his purpose, this surely was a golden moment for hers.
She came to an arch through the tall hedge around the queen’s garden and paused, listening for any sound.
She was no longer afraid, but she wished Bey would show himself.
The silence was eerie. She told herself that she was early, and made her way across the lawn and around bushes toward the gazebo near the wall.
When it came in sight, shining pale in the moonlight, she could see no one inside.
“Hello?” she called softly, caution creeping up her neck. She slipped her hand into her pocket to the reassurance of the pistol as she stepped cautiously through another arch in a hedge.
A hand grabbed her arm. Before she thought to scream, another covered her mouth. She tried to pull her pistol free, but a second man passed some sort of bond around her, cinching her arms to her body. She kicked and her hard shoe connected with the man’s kneecap.
“Sapristi!” he hissed, and slapped her head so she saw stars.
“None of that,” said the man still covering her mouth. “Get her legs tied and she’ll be helpless.”
Still cursing, the Frenchman wound something else around and around her legs, then he stood and growled in French, “Not a sound, milady, or any more tricks or I’ll knock you out. Understand?”
De Couriac!
Despite a small beard, she’d swear it was him, and who else here knew she spoke French?
Fool! she berated herself. Fool! She should have guessed. If Bey could produce convincing forgeries, so could anyone else! But what was the purpose of this? What did the French want with her?
De Couriac thrust his face close to hers. “Comprenez vous?”
It was him, and fear poured through her. She nodded, trying desperately to decide whether it would be worth screaming anyway as soon as she could.
The Englishman took his hand away from her mouth, saying, “Don’t make any trouble, milady, and you’ll be all right.” He sounded uncomfortable with what he was doing, and even as if he was promising safety.
Before she could decide what to do, de Couriac picked her up and hurried toward the wall at the back of the grounds. The Englishman climbed to sit astride the top, then she was hoisted up and lowered helpless into other arms.
She gaped when she saw who it was. Lord Randolph Somerton!
“What are you doing?” she said in a furious whisper. “The king will see you hang for this!”
“Not a bit of it, my dear,” he said with a smug smile that made her long to have her pistol free and shoot him.
He carried her to a waiting coach and deposited her quite carefully onto the seat. Then, with a lordly air, he dismissed her captors.
“Are you sure you can manage?” asked de Couriac. “She’s a hellcat.”
“Respect your betters,” Lord Randolph snapped. “Begone!”
“Frogs,” he muttered, then moved out of Diana’s sight to give some directions to the man on the box. She cursed the fact that she couldn’t hear them, though what use they’d be, she couldn’t imagine. She was wrapped tight as a swaddled baby and could find no way to escape.
She noted that these bindings were unlikely to hurt her, and hoped that meant that Lord Randolph was up to mischief not wickedness.
He climbed in to sit opposite her.
“What is all this about?” she asked as calmly as she could.
“Isn’t it obvious? We are eloping.”
“You’re mad!”
“Still thinking I’ll hang, my lady?” He produced an enameled snuff box and took a pinch. “Put your anxieties to rest. The king will not be offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is to reward me handsomely. With an earldom, in fact.
“Yes,” he added, as she sat there, dumbfounded, “I’m to be not just your husband, but full earl, with all the privileges, powers, and properties attached.”
“The king would never support an abduction!”
“You think not?”
His glossy confidence made her waver. Would the king endorse this, perhaps to get rid of the blight on his kingdom she represented?
But surely the king wanted her to marry Bey.
Or, she suddenly wondered, had his behavior in the queen’s garden turned the royal couple completely against him? She tried desperately to remember any sour nuances earlier at the Drawing Room. She didn’t think there’d been any …
“The king told you this?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“In person?”
He looked down his nose at her. “The king has many demands on his time, Lady Arradale. I received his instructions by letter.”
Lud! She’d been tricked by an excellent forgery, so she couldn’t look down on him for suffering the same fate. But why? The French …
Time for that later, now she must convince him to return her before any of this came out.
“But Lord Randolph,” she said, trying to keep to her foolish persona while making her point, “how can you be sure that the letter you received from the king wasn’t a forgery?”
“A forgery? You little widgeon”—oh, how she hated that smug, superior smile—“the letter carried the king’s seal.”
She opened her mouth to point out how easy that was, then shut it, appalled. Forgery of the king’s seal was treason!
“I see you understand at last,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be as good a husband as you allow me to be. Give me no trouble, and I’ll be kind.”
Diana suppressed a growl, and strove for silliness. “But what if your letter was a forgery? I don’t want to be married to a man in the Tower for treason.”
A flicker of uncertainty did cross his face, but then smoothed away.
“Don’t be foolish. Of course the king wants you and your property in a man’s hands, and who else but mine?
” He leaned forward and tapped her nose.
“I have to thank you, my pet. Without your little games I’d have had to make do with being a countess’s consort.
Now I’ll have it all. What’s more, until my father dies, I’ll outrank my damned elder brother. ”
“What games?” she asked, wishing she’d dared bite that finger.
“Why, your will-she, won’t-she at the shops yesterday, and your making sheep’s eyes at Lord Rothgar at the Drawing Room today, just to make me jealous.”
“I did not!” she protested, truly offended by the description.
“‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’” he said with a chuckle. “After all, you ran out eagerly enough in response to a letter from me, didn’t you?”
R for Randolph? She almost let out that she’d thought the R was for Rothgar. In fact, her mind was scurrying around the fact that the letter had been in Bey’s handwriting. A forgery to deceive them both! Clearly Lord Randolph was someone’s dupe.
And de Couriac had been part of it.
This was a French attack on Bey.
Oh Hades, she was bait! He was to come after her, and be killed somewhere in the secret dark where it could be blamed on footpads.
“It was that which alarmed the king, you know,” the fool was saying, lounging at his ease. “You showing interest in Rothgar. Running after him in the garden was just too much, my dear. The last thing the king wants is more power in that man’s hands.”
What should she do?
What could she do?
She had to get the dolt to untie her.
“The marquess will not marry,” she said. “Everyone knows that. I was just having a little fun with him.” She wriggled. “Please, Lord Randolph, won’t you untie me? I’m getting pins and needles.”
He glanced out of the window. “Not long now. Then I’ll untie you, my pretty, never fear.”
At the look in his eyes, she went cold. “You’re not to do anything until we’re married!”
“Am I not?” All humor left him, and he seized her chin. “Let us start as we mean to go on, Diana. I tell you what to do. You do not tell me.”
Striving to hide pure rage, Diana forced a weak smile. “I’m sorry, my lord. But please. It wouldn’t be right. Why can’t we be married properly with a big wedding? I’ve always wanted a big wedding.”
“Too late, my dear. But when we return from Scotland, you can have a grand wedding if you wish. I will allow you anything within reason as long as you’re a good, dutiful wife.”
He sat back again, confident lord of his world.
Diana had never before been aware of swelling with rage. It made the bindings constrict around her, and her head pound. She closed her eyes, hoping to hide it. Oh, she’d kill him. He couldn’t keep her tied up forever, and as soon as she was free, she’d kill him.
Even though he was a stupid, arrogant dupe, and the Chevalier D’Eon was the true villain.
The coach slowed and turned and her eyes flew open.
They’d arrived somewhere and Lord Randolph intended to rape her. If there was any hope of rescue, it would come from Bey, and he’d be riding to his death. She fought down panic. She’d have her chance as soon as he untied her, and then he’d see about dutiful wives!
The moon showed a country lane between hedges. Someone must have the job of telling Bey where to come, for this spot would not be easily found. Would he be wary?
What about Clara? Would she have raised the alarm? Though it would all be horribly embarrassing, she’d welcome the king rousing the army to find her.