Chapter 27 #2
No, plague take it. She’d trained the maid too well not to kick up a fuss over her occasional adventures, and now she reaped the bitter harvest. It might be morning before anyone at the Queen’s House knew she was missing.
The coach stopped in front of a simple cottage where faint candlelight gleamed behind two windows. There were no other buildings nearby.
An ideal spot for murder.
An ideal spot for rape.
Panic started to dance inside. She tested her bonds again. No slack at all. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t helpless. She couldn’t be! But she felt it.
Lord Randolph opened the door, stepped out and spoke briefly to the man on the box, then he reached in to gather her into his arms. She stiffened, trying to keep from touching him, but then made herself relax. The more compliant she seemed, the more likely she was to have a chance.
In fact, she relaxed inside. He couldn’t rape her tied up like this, so her chance would come.
Soon.
The carriage rolled off, carrying on down the lane, and he carried her through the door into an unused kitchen. This was clearly a two-room cottage, with perhaps a loft overhead. Was she alone with him here?
She shivered, but really, one against one was better odds.
He kicked the front door shut, then carried her into the second room. A bedroom with one large, simple bed.
She couldn’t help noticing that he showed no strain. She forced back fear. So, he was strong. She had a pistol.
Untie me, she willed at him.
Instead, he laid her on the bed, and stood back to look her over with smug, greedy satisfaction.
“You’re a cozy armful, Lady Arradale, and I’m a lucky man.” He sat and put a hand on her left breast. She couldn’t help but try to fight, and achieved nothing more than a twitch.
“No stays?” he asked, and grinned. “Didn’t want any inconveniences in our way, eh?” But then his fingers tightened. “I do hope you’re not in the habit of playing these games—”
“No! You’re hurting me! I was already out of my stays when I found your note.”
He slowly gentled his fingers, then stroked her, but his eyes stayed cool. “I’m going to be angry, my dear wife, if I find you already broached. I like deflowering virgins. So, why did you come to such a scandalous assignation?”
She tried to look coy. “I was bored. And your message promised entertainment, my lord.”
He chuckled. “I suppose you were bored. Dull as plain water, the court of King George III. Well,” he said, standing to strip off his coat, “I don’t suppose you’re bored any longer, and I will be delighted to entertain you.”
She was still tied, but if he touched her again she was going to throw up. “Please don’t do this now! Not here!”
He shook his head, taking off his waistcoat. “Gads, you virgins. Always kick up a fuss. What the devil difference does it make when or where?”
“I want to be married!” she wailed, writhing desperately against her bonds. “I want to be in a better bed than this. I want rose petals!”
He burst out laughing, and she could see that in other circumstances he’d be handsome, even seductive. The dense idiot couldn’t imagine that any woman might feel sick at the thought of him forcing sex on her.
He walked out of the room and she sagged, though her heart still thundered. Had she made him stop? Was he rethinking? She tested the bonds again, but they were lengths of cloth, well knotted, and nothing was going to break them.
He walked back in and tossed a handful of rose petals over her. “There, my dear. Don’t say I don’t humor your whims.” Then he pulled off his cravat, and took off his shirt to reveal a broad, furry chest.
The petals were not sweet pea, thank heavens, but even so, her mind flew back to the White Goose, to Bey stripping for her pleasure. This corrupt reenactment brought tears to her eyes, and desperation to her soul.
Dear God, let Bey find me!
But then she remembered it could bring him to his death.
No! Keep him away. I can bear this, even rape, rather than his death.
Lord Randolph sat on the bed and pulled off riding boots and stockings.
In moments he stood in just his bulging breeches, and shook his head at her as if she were a silly ninny.
“Don’t be frightened, my rose. We’re to be married, so it’s no sin, and it’ll only hurt the once.
I’m a clever lover. You’ll soon come to enjoy it. ”
If he’d growled or said terrible things, Diana could bear it better.
This confidence, this smug belief that this was normal, was going to drive her mad.
As was the fact that she was still completely helpless.
Until now, she hadn’t really believed that this could happen to her, that there’d be no way out, no magical rescue.
She began to shake, and hated the weakness of it.
He leaned down and smoothed a hand over her brow. “Hush, now. Don’t get in a state. See, I’m going to untie you.”
Diana stilled. At last. At last. Just a moment with her pistol. Just one moment. She gazed up at him. “Oh, thank you, Lord Randolph.”
He produced a knife and placed it by the knot in the cloths around her legs. “Call me husband, my dear.”
Diana looked away as if bashful. “Husband.”
The knife snicked through the cloth, and she almost tried to kick free. No. Patience, she told herself. Wait until he releases your arms.
But then he straddled one leg and knotted the cloth around her other ankle.
“Why are you doing that?” she cried, trying too late to kick him.
He wrapped the cloth a few times around the rough post at one corner of the bed end and knotted it firmly. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you might try to fight. You’d likely hurt yourself, and we can’t have that.”
Realizing her peril, she really tried to fight then, but there was nothing she could do to stop him tethering the other ankle to the other corner.