Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Annabelle awoke with a head of lead. She groaned into the warmth that surrounded her, until that warmth stirred.
“Rest, miss. We’ll stop soon for food.”
“Food?” She could barely form the word, her tongue as thick as cotton. “Drink. I need—”
A flask was placed to her lips, making her splutter at the liquid’s harsh burn. She tried to push it away yet discovered her wrists bound. She opened her mouth to speak but mmph was all that came out.
“My ears still ring from your screams, my person still bruised by your fists, miss.”
She blinked into a blurry face: Arthur Harris. The blasted man smothered her voice with his palm.
“Mmph!” She blinked again at his blond, handsome self—collar creased below the fresh shadow at his chin—then narrowed her eyes at him.
“But if you are ready to behave like a sane creature and discuss matters civilly with me, I will remove my hand and release you from your restraints.”
She nodded, wary.
His knuckles grazed her jawbone as he let go his hold, allowing Annabelle to find her tongue again.
“Mr. Harris, you will untie me. Now.”
And he did, though the rake seemed to savor the act. He rubbed her wrists back to life, sparking fresh friction, until she pulled them free and roundly slapped his face.
“Ow!” He touched his cheek in shock. “What the devil was that for?”
“For abducting me! Ruining me! For trussing me up like some … some …” She could not find the word, which only frustrated her more, making her slap him across the other cheek instead.
“Damn blast it!” He quickly bound her wrists again. “I thought you’d be more rational, woman, but clearly you are—”
“Rational?” Annabelle’s rage reached new peaks. “I’ll tell you what is rational, sir. Rational would be delivering me to my father’s house. Rational would be dancing like a gentleman, rather than tripping and kissing me so shamelessly I—”
His whiskey-flavored tongue invaded her mouth as Arthur Harris took full advantage of her restrained state. He plundered her lips with abandon, stroking and teasing so thoroughly she relived last night’s kiss all over again.
When he was done, he met her eyes with thinly veiled desire, and she felt it too: a shameless hunger.
“Slap me again and I’ll do more than steal a kiss, Bella.” He panted, out of breath.
“You wouldn’t … dare.” She panted back.
“Wouldn’t I?” He crushed her to his chest, his waistcoat rough against her bodice.
Annabelle struggled to think straight. “I require you to stop the carriage, sir.”
He was not the least bit swayed.
“I must … I am in need of …” Her cheeks flushed. “I must relieve myself, and if you do not wish me to do so here upon the carriage seat, you will stop this coach at once and let me out.”
The blasted man laughed.
“I mean it, Mr. Harris. I will—”
“Piss yerself, Bella? Very well, miss.” He rapped the carriage roof until the wheels jolted to a stop. “Out y’ go.” He opened the door for her.
She looked from him, to her bound wrists, and scowled.
“Y’ wish me t’ untie yer first?” He smirked. “Oh no, dearie, you’ve proven yerself too reckless fer that.” He jumped out and neatly lifted her down, then nudged her toward the wooded roadside. “Be a minute, Fred,” he told the driver, who hopped down to check his team.
“Mr. Harris, you will untie me this instant and allow me the dignity I am afforded as a woman of—”
“Genteel birth? Esteemed society?” He somehow managed to make those words sound coarse. “Miss, you’re but a bird in need o’ pissin’, who’ll squat an’ do her business whether I hold yer upright or not.”
Her jaw dropped.
“And if you think I’d be so foolish as to bloody let you loose, Bella darlin’, you don’t know the half of me.”
He pushed her forward, and Annabelle, unable to delay nature’s call a moment longer, blushed five shades of red behind the copse of bush where he assisted her in her bodily function.
Elizabeth looked from her father’s scowling visage to her husband’s furious face and fast regained her wits. “Milton, please pour my father a stiff drink. And Papa, you will explain to us, calmly, I beg, precisely what has happened to Annabelle.”
Her father frowned at Elizabeth’s half-dressed state a second longer before he downed the brandy Milton handed him.
“That swine Harris did not deliver Annabelle home last night.” His tone was bitter.
“I took early to bed, in quite the state”—he glared again at Milton—“unaware she’d not returned.
A maid discovered her bed unslept in this morning, and when we scoured the house, she was nowhere to be found. ”
Elizabeth’s right leg seized into a painful cramp; she hadn’t realized she’d been tapping her foot this entire time. What father does not wait up for his daughter’s return after such ruinous night as was Bella’s?
She began to tap her left foot instead, grumbling, “I should never have left them alone. Never. Why did I let her convince me otherwise?”
“You left them alone?” Papa’s eyes flashed. “After that man—”
“Well, you did not check to see that she had returned safely!”
“Listen, both of you.” Milton paused to swig brandy straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked equal parts disgusted and exhausted. “If I know Harris, he’s either hidden Annabelle away at The Leaf, or he’s ferreted her to Gretna, both of which—”
“Gretna?” Papa’s face turned purple.
“To marry?” Elizabeth’s own voice squeaked.
Her husband’s jaw twitched. “Would both of you just sit!” he ordered.
As one, Elizabeth and Papa sat.
“I trust Harris with my life, so I trust him with Annabelle’s life too. She will not be harmed. She may be ruined in the eyes of society, but she’ll not be harmed. So you will calm your overwrought selves and listen to me.”
He rang the bell, no doubt in need of coffee rather than more spirits this early in the day.
“Neither of you understand whom we’re dealing with.
Finch hurts women and derives pleasure from hurting children.
Not only does he run a nasty gaming den and bawdy house, but he also deals in flesh. Human flesh.”
“You mean he … sells people?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes.”
“But slavery is illegal.” Papa pushed back. “Mr. Finch never once gave the impression he—”
“There are many ways to enslave a person, Winthrop, but once one human has bought another, for service of any sort, that relationship, the person purchased, it is a form of slavery.” Milton’s tone was laced with bitterness, and Elizabeth felt a sudden, sharp chill.
Had he not purchased her, too, in marriage?
“No, I cannot believe this.” Her father shook his head. “Not in London, not Mr. Finch. Not once did he allude to such dealings. Why, upon first meeting the man he struck me as—”
“He reels people in till they dangle from his hook, with no choice but to do his bidding.” Milton’s face hardened.
“And you believe he wishes to wed Annabelle because…?” Elizabeth drilled deeper. She’d not waste time on Papa’s circuitous thinking.
“Because he can.” Milton slammed the brandy bottle down so hard upon the bedstand she jumped.
“Because he has a grudge against me and knows that by taking your sister as wife he can insinuate himself into my life, forcing me to acquiesce again, as if I were his bloody—” He inhaled a shaky breath, not finishing his sentence.
“So it is because of you that Bella is now in danger.” Fresh anger surfaced, bubbling in Elizabeth’s breast.
“No,” Milton fired back. “It is because of your father that Finch now has the means by which to take Bella. I merely paved a path the day I married you.” He slumped against his bedpost, as if to prop himself up.
Elizabeth stared at the floor. She would not explode with fury, nor would she let her fear for Bella get the better of her now.
She mustn’t. “Then what do you propose we do, sir?” She stared Milton squarely in his face.
“Or are we to rely solely on Mr. Harris to keep Annabelle from Mr. Finch’s clutches? ”
***
Elizabeth’s words, her tone, hurt; Milton blamed himself enough for this mess.
“Harris will keep Bella safe. My faith in him is absolute. Whatever Arty does, he does for good reason. As for Hieronymus Finch, I’ll make sure that man does not lift a finger against anyone in my family again.”
“But if he’s taken her to Gretna…” Winthrop sniveled.
“And would that be such a terrible thing?” Milton snarled, taking two steps closer to tower over his father-in-law.
“Would you rather she be married to Finch? Abused? Shared? Pawned to other men for use?” He would not spare this worthless coward the truth.
“If Arthur Harris deems it necessary to marry your daughter to keep her safe from Ronny Finch then you should thank God he is so willing.”
Winthrop cowered in his seat.
Lizzie placed a hand on her father’s shoulder. “You needn’t be so harsh, sir.”
“Oh I think I must,” he bit back. “Neither of you can fathom what it is to be owned by that man.”
Silence draped the room until Milton cleared his throat—and mind.
“I will make inquiries today, to determine where Arty has taken Annabelle. You, Elizabeth, will accompany your father home and pretend to visit your ailing sister. Take Ginny as your companion, then stash her in Bella’s bedchamber.
She is roughly your sister’s size and coloring and can play the role of a young lady taken to her bed. ”
“And you, sir.” Milton turned to Winthrop.
“You must stall Finch for all you’re worth, because he will demand Annabelle’s hand in immediate marriage now.
Tell him she is overcome by the incident at the ball, that she is distraught.
Tell him she requires time yet to recover.
Do everything in your power to make him believe she resides within your house, because if Finch gets word that Harris has her, he will pursue them, ruthlessly. ”
“But how can I prohibit him from—?”
“Good God, man, it is your house! And she is your daughter!” Milton had long lost all respect for his father-in-law. “It is within your right to demand Finch leave your property.”
Winthrop looked like he would fold to a flea.
“Do you trust your servants?” Milton asked.
“Well, I … That is …” The fool faltered so long Milton turned to Lizzie.
“Some are trustworthy,” she told him bluntly, “some not.”
“I’ll install a man to keep an eye on things and ingratiate himself with staff. He’ll soon know what’s what.”
Elizabeth straightened her posture. “Very well. That is our plan for the moment.”
Thank heavens she was the opposite of Winthrop. Milton didn’t want his wife controlling him, of course, but her decisiveness was in other ways a gift.
“And we, sir, shall continue this conversation in more detail once I return.” She briefly met his eyes before she addressed her old man. “Come, Papa, let me show you to the drawing room. I will dress quickly. We can discuss Annabelle on the drive home.”
She led her father out, without a backward glance at Milton.