Chapter Twenty-One
“Release me!” Elise shouted.
She thrashed wildly and Ramsey's grip on her shoulders turned painful.
“Well, now,” he said, his Irish brogue sharpened with raucous laughter, “what have we here?”
“Let me go!” She struggled harder, despite the pain of his beefy fingers digging still deeper into her skin. “My husband—” she began, but he cut her off with more foul laughter.
“Your husband committed you, my bonnie girl. So don't bother threatening revenge.”
“Price Ardsley is not my husband.”
“Don't know the man's name. Don't care. He put you here and plainly doesn't plan on you ever seeing the light of day.” Ramsey yanked her to him and, with one hand, stroked her hair. “That leaves you and I to sport, eh?”
Elise raised a foot and stomped on the top of his boot. He yelped and leapt back. She whirled and lunged forward.
“Bloody fool wench!”
He seized her from behind and flung her against the wall. Ramsey crashed into her back, knocking the breath from her. He snaked a hand around her waist. Elise wedged her hands between herself and the wall and clawed at his fingers.
“Damn—” he hissed, pulling his hand free.
He grabbed her arms and yanked them back. Her arms felt as though they would tear from their sockets as he crushed her to the wall.
“You're a plucky one,” he wheezed in her ear. “Most wenches here are too daft to even know their names. Takes all the fun out of the play.”
He pinned her arms between their bodies with one hand, then rammed the fingers of his free hand into her hair. Elise jerked her head aside, but he mashed her cheek against the wall.
“You haven't had a bath since coming here, but Sara kept you cleaned up where it counts.” He thrust his hips against her.
Elise's stomach churned, more at the knowledge of the shared intimacy when Sara had tended to her than the feel of his erection digging into the cleft of her buttocks.
“Not a pretty sight,” he went on. “Until she cleaned you up, that is. Then,” he roughly ground himself against her, “I knew you and I would be spending time together. I was waiting for the right time.” He laughed again. “You decided you wanted me now, eh?”
She shoved hard against the wall in an attempt to thrust his body away from hers, but he slammed back all the more brutally, groaning when their bodies jammed together. His fingers tightened in her hair and she cried out in pain.
“Aye, my girl,” he rasped. “Scream. In this place, no one will care, and I like it.”
He released her hair and forced his hand into the small of her back where his belt had been digging into her flesh.
His belt jingled and, for the first time, Elise felt loathing and fear vie in earnest with outrage.
Her body trembled and her knees weakened.
She twisted, but he yanked back on her arms, and she felt her arms begin to separate from their sockets.
His belt and trousers hit the floor with the buckle landing with a dull clank. He grabbed her skirts and yanked them up. Elise kicked backwards with the heel of her foot, hitting the hard bone of his shin. He grunted, but only spread his legs and thrust his hips into her.
“I will not be another of your victims!” she shouted.
She grit her teeth and jerked her head backwards.
The back of her head struck Ramsey's hard skull.
He shrieked, yanking hard on her arms as he fell back a pace.
Pain reverberated through her head. Elise bit her lip to halt the pain as he unexpectedly leapt back from her.
Iron fingers seized her arm and she barely registered the difference in this and Ramsey's hold as she was spun her around.
Elise gasped.
Price Ardsley stared down at her.
* * *
Two hours after the messenger arrived informing Marcus that Price had arrived at Danvers, a messenger arrived at the Josephine directing Marcus to come immediately to Price Ardsley's home.
Half an hour later, Marcus was shown into his private study.
A fire crackled in the hearth and Price sat behind the mahogany desk he had occupied when they had explained Elise's situation to Landen Shipping's board of directors.
A tumbler of whiskey sat before Price. How would this man explain Elise's situation when the board members appeared here later this morning?
“Please,” Price motioned to the chair in front of the desk, “have a seat.”
Marcus sat.
“Would you like a drink?” Price asked, straightening.
“Nae.”
Price leaned back. “Word will arrive any moment that Elise has been safely deposited aboard the Josephine.”
“You had until this evening. Why bring her so early?”
“I thought her speedy return would please you.”
“Her not being abducted would have pleased me.”
“Rest assured she is safe. So long as she—you both—remain in Scotland. You've said nothing about the boy.” Price sipped his drink.
“He is no threat to you.”
“He won't take lightly that I kept his sister prisoner.”
“I have convinced him to accompany us to Scotland,” Marcus gave the planned answer.
Price seemed to contemplate this. “The longer the stay, the better.”
“Aye,” Marcus agreed.
The sound of boots on carpeted floor were heard, and Price said, “That would be our young friend now.”
As if on cue, the door opened and Steven entered. “Elise is safely on the Josephine.”
“She is well?” Marcus asked with as much calm as he could exert.
Steven turned his glare to Price. “She has a dislocated shoulder and looks as if she hasn't bathed since her abduction.”
Marcus jerked his gaze back to Price and barely managed to check the compulsion to lunge across the desk.
“Your brother-in-law will now take a message to the captain that he is to set sail before the hour is up,” Price said.
“I will not leave,” Steven shot back.
“Aye, you will.” Marcus prayed the boy wouldn't pull the pistol he'd noticed stuffed into his waistband. “You have pen and paper?”
Price produced paper from a desk drawer and laid it before Marcus as he scooted the quill, sitting at his left, up alongside the paper. Marcus wrote the note instructing the Josephine to set sail immediately, then folded the missive and extended it toward Steven.
“Anyone can deliver this,” Steven protested.
Marcus shook his head. “You take it, lad, and be on the ship when she sails.” This Marcus had not discussed with Steven, for the boy would not have agreed. Chances were, he wouldn't obey now.
Steven looked from Marcus to Price, then snatched the note from Marcus's grasp. He settled his gaze on Price. “We aren't finished.”
Price nodded with a sigh and Steven faced Marcus. “You shouldn't have come here.”
“Take care of Elise,” Marcus said.
“That I will,” he said, and left.
Marcus focused on Price. “My father, the Duke of Ashlund, will be waiting for the Josephine when she arrives. If anything happens to Elise or Steven, if any attempts are made to harm either of them, someone will set sail from Scotland before I step onto Scottish soil.”
“I have no intention of harming Elise.”
Aye, neither will you harm her brother, Marcus silently added. “How long am I to wait here?” Marcus asked.
“Until word arrives that the Josephine is well out of Boston Harbor. I estimate two hours.”
“A guard stands outside this door?”
Price gave a single nod.
“I would have preferred to wait at one of the harbor taverns,” Marcus said, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at the lie. He had planned all along to be here when the men of Landen Shipping arrived on Ardsley's door about the same time the Josephine left Boston Harbor.
“Shall I have refreshments served?” Price asked.
“Nae,” Marcus replied. “I dine only with friends.”
Nearly two hours of silence later, there came a quick knock on the library door. Price looked toward the door as it opened and Simons entered.
“Sir,” the butler said out of breath, “Mister Brentley and the other gentlemen from Landen Shipping are downstairs. They are demanding to see you—” A pounding of footsteps in the hallway intruded into Simon's speech. “There they are, sir. I feared they would not wait.”
Brentley appeared in the doorway. The rest of Landen Shipping's board of directors piled up behind him. Brentley stepped inside the room and looked at Marcus, who rose.
“We have just come from the Josephine,” Brentley said.
“The Josephine?” Price asked evenly.
“Yes,” Brentley replied, and the room broke out into a babble of voices. “Gentlemen,” he shouted. “Gentlemen, please!”
Another figure appeared behind the men. The din quieted as Steven pushed past them and halted beside Marcus.
“You should have sailed on the Josephine,” Marcus said.
“As should you have,” Steven replied.
“Price,” Brentley said, “we have just spoken with Miss Poteck and Elise.”
“Miss Poteck?” Price said as if he had never heard the name in his life.
“Don't,” Brentley cut in, his quiet voice harsh.
He produced two folded pieces of paper from his front coat pocket.
He unfolded them and held up one. “This is a signed affidavit from Miss Poteck, explaining in detail how you paid her to impersonate Elise Kingston.” Price frowned, but Brentley went on.
“This,” he lifted the other document, “is Elise's statement.” He continued in a half strangled voice, “She swears you kidnapped her in Scotland and brought her to Boston against her will, then incarcerated her in Danvers Hospital.” Marcus's heart raced as if hearing this for the first time.
Brentley lowered the papers. “If I had been given this information without the benefit of witnesses, I would put a bullet between your eyes.”