Chapter 3 #2
Nor would he be the only one to suffer. A traitor automatically fell under attainder, which meant that his title was annulled and his heirs deprived of all his property.
Chastity would fall under the cloud of shame, as would Cyn. A traitorous brother-in-law would play hell with his military career!
The dangers and widespread implications of the situation leached Elf’s belief in her ability to cope. She hadn’t any idea what to do. She truly wished Rothgar were close by. She would weakly toss all this into his capable hands and go back to planning grand entertainments.
But she was the only one here to do what must be done, and so she must do it. The first thing was to escape.
She felt the earl’s arm relax. Taking the chance, she ripped out of his hold. He reacted instantly, however, crushing her to him so ruthlessly she feared for her ribs.
“Give me trouble,” he said flatly, “and I’ll hurt you worse than this.”
Shivering, Elf knew he told the truth. Though willing to rescue a foolish young girl, he’d control her with pain if he had to.
She wished she knew him better and could anticipate his moves.
Before Cyn’s involvement with Chastity, however, the Wares and Mallorens had rarely met.
Lord Thornhill—as Walgrave had been then—had certainly not haunted the same spots as a lady.
In fact, report held him to be little more than a rakish idler.
He had not—as the saying goes—improved upon acquaintance.
Elf thought him quick-tempered, arrogant, and uncaring about people in his path.
Coming from a close-knit family, she had been shocked that he’d given so little thought to his sisters’ welfare.
Rothgar had forced him to admit that they were victims of their father’s ruthless ambitions, but Walgrave had not been particularly grateful.
After his father’s death, he did appear to have reformed his morals, but he’d grown colder and revealed a dark, simmering malice toward all things Malloren.
Heaven knows why.
He couldn’t, surely, claim to have loved his power-lusting father, and even if he did, why blame Rothgar for the fourth earl’s death? Even if Rothgar had pulled the trigger, he’d been forced to it.
Whatever the truth, Walgrave seemed to be trying to fill his father’s shoes in all ways, including enmity to the Mallorens.
It was, as she had said to Amanda, quite lunatic to feel a physical response to the man. Yet even now, literally a prisoner in his unkind arms, she could feel that erotic energy, feel it along her nerve endings and deep inside, where a wanton part of her stirred hopefully.
Oh, foolish creature, she told herself. Stop it!
As Elf was pushed toward the Stairs, she glanced back, wondering if Amanda would be following. What she saw, however, was three ominous figures close behind. All wore dark cloaks, tricorns, and masks. Despite the masks, they looked not one bit like merrymakers.
They looked like assassins.
“Yes,” Walgrave said, still speaking French. “You really are safer with me. They will slit your pretty throat without a care.”
And these were his conspirators? How could he be so foolish?
“Don’t be afraid, though,” he added without warmth. “If you do as you’re told, no harm will come to you.”
Boats were still depositing merrymakers, but by now there were plenty waiting to take revelers home.
Elf began to ponder ways to use the boatmen in order to escape.
At Walgrave’s approach, however, a powdered footman separated from a group of waiting servants and blew on a silver whistle.
Immediately, a personal barge glided toward them under the power of six sturdy oarsmen.
Elf watched with dismay. These were the earl’s own men in his livery. She should have expected it. Rothgar generally traveled the river in this style.
The center of the boat contained an enclosed area curtained in green velvet adorned with Walgrave’s crest and lit by hanging lamps. He pushed her into it, then took his place beside her, drawing the curtains as the boat shot off into the center of the wide river.
The area could seat about eight, so two didn’t crowd it, especially since Elf sat on one side while the earl lounged on the other.
She still felt trapped now she was alone with him.
She had no illusions about being able to fight him off.
He was twice her size and she knew he enjoyed all the usual manly sports, including the new one of pugilism.
“What are you going to do with me, my lord?” she asked, easily able to sound nervous.
“An interesting question.” He took off his mask and dropped it on a cushion. It had been merely a strip of black silk, but without it he looked a little less menacing. That did not mean, however, that Elf underestimated her danger.
“Take off your mask,” he said, studying her in a most disconcerting manner. Could he recognize her?
Elf put her hand up as if to hold her mask on, but in reality to cover her mouth and chin. “Oh no, my lord!”
“Why not?”
“I’m embarrassed, my lord. Truly, I’m a good girl. It was just a silly adventure . . .”
“Do you think you can stay masked for a week?” A trace of amusement crinkled his eyes, making him look quite the stranger . . .
Then his words penetrated.
“A week!”
“I can’t allow you out of sight until certain matters are finished.”
Treason, she remembered. How could he be so deranged?
“And,” he added, “if you’re thinking of trying to escape, be aware that those other men will catch you and kill you. It may be a strange notion, but you are far safer with me.”
Elf looked away, worried now far more than afraid. Amanda might not raise the alarm tonight, but if Elf didn’t return home tomorrow, she’d call out the military!
Therefore, she had to escape Walgrave tonight.
She parted the curtains, peering out at the dark water, at the bobbing lanterns of other boats, and the distant lights of wharves and buildings on the riverbanks. No escape there, and the assassins could be following.
“I’m sure they’re there,” he said lazily. “So. The mask?”
Elf turned back. “Let me keep it a little longer, my lord. Please. I’m so scared.”
He shook his head. “You’re a foolish creature. How old are you?”
“Twenty,” she lied.
“Old enough to know better, then. Give me a name. I’m sure it will be false, but I need to call you something.”
“Lisette. And it is real.”
Unconvinced, he said, “It will, at least, suffice.” He held out a hand to her.
Elf instinctively responded as she would with any gentleman. She placed her hand in his. Instead of kissing it, however, he gripped it and jerked her over onto his lap.
With a cry of alarm, she braced her arms against his chest to keep her distance, but with a sharp blow, he knocked them up and trapped her against his body. “We have a journey ahead, Lisette, and I require entertainment.”
The wretch! As Lady Elfled Malloren she wanted to slap him, but she had to play her part as silly Lisette. What’s more, now they were so close, the danger of recognition was much greater.
She twisted her face away. “Where are you taking me, my lord?”
“To my house.”
Which lay close to the river and could well have private steps.
Elf began to worry that it might, after all, be possible for him to keep her prisoner.
She couldn’t escape from the boat without drowning in the Thames.
At his private steps, with his servants waiting and six sturdy boatmen nearby, she couldn’t imagine breaking free. Once in his house, she might be caged.
She thought of one way to improve the odds. If he believed she was flattered by the attention of a noble seducer, and if he became sotted with lust, then his vigilance might slacken.
Could she do it?
After a moment’s cool thought, Elf decided she could. The safety of the nation apparently lay in her hands.
She turned back and relaxed against him. “I’ve never been in a lord’s house.”
To keep her head down, she acted coy, fiddling with the carved jet buttons on his coat.
It was black too, for these days he wore deep mourning at all times—a simple black frock coat and breeches.
Her fingers brushed against the finest quality wool, though.
Even for treason, Lord Walgrave did not dress poorly.
“Never been in a lord’s house?” He already sounded less alert.
One arm stayed tight around her, but the other slid up to stroke her neck.
“Then it will be an adventure, my dear.” His teasing touch sent shivers down her spine.
“You can order the servants about, bathe in milk, and take breakfast off golden plates. If you please me, that is.”
That was bringing matters to a head with a vengeance. But she supposed women fell at the crook of a finger from such a handsome young aristocrat. Or at the touch of a finger. The brush of his hand traveled to a spot just beneath her ear, causing a sensation so truly remarkable that she shivered.
“Oh, my lord, I’m a good girl,” she protested again, without much hope of convincing him. Wouldn’t a “good girl” find his touch repulsive?
Perhaps not.
“Virgin?” he asked bluntly.
She nodded, and in truth she was embarrassed now.
“I’ll take care with you, then. You won’t find it too unpleasant, and after the first time, it will get better. Now,” he said, ceasing his teasing touch and raising her chin, “tell me truthfully, do you have family who’ll kick up a fuss?”
If you only knew! Elf hoped that didn’t show in her eyes.
“At my being missing, my lord? I am visiting from France, living at the house of my English cousin. A married lady.” She took the opportunity to lower her head again. “I don’t think she’ll raise the alarm just yet—”
“How very obliging of her.” His voice had a cynical, knowing edge. “And what will happen when you don’t return in a day or two?”
She traced the braid down the front of his coat. “If I were with a fine lord . . .”