Chapter 16 #2
“How nice to see the Manor alive with lights and colors,” said the duke.
He paused at the entrance to the ballroom, his gaze sweeping over the glittering chandeliers and profusion of pastel blooms before he turned to smile at Kyra.
“The flower arrangements look magnificent, my dear. Indeed, everything looks perfect. This will be an evening to remember.”
“Jack deserves no less,” she said softly.
“True,” he replied, a twinkle of candlelight reflecting from the diamond-paned windows to add a touch of sparkle to his eyes. “But I think he would agree that what we are really celebrating is family and friends.”
And the love that ties us all together, thought Kyra. Heeding Rafael’s words of caution that they must be mindful of doing nothing to put Matherton on guard, she decided not to say it aloud. But when the clock chimed midnight . . .
Stealing a glance at her father’s profile, she had a feeling he needed no words to sense the happiness bubbling up inside her.
The duke gave the room one more appraising look, then cleared his throat with a brusque cough. “I wish your mother could see how lovely you look tonight. And Lexy. They would both be so proud of you.”
Kyra blinked back tears, but managed a smile. “I shall try to be worthy of their memory, Papa.”
“You already are. And more, my dear.” He took a small oblong box from his pocket and opened it. “This was your mother’s.”
Nestled on a bed of midnight blue velvet was a simple strand of perfectly matched pearls with a teardrop emerald pendant.
“I had planned on giving it to you on your betrothal, but, well, I confess that something held me back.”
“Why now?” she asked.
“Oh, let us just say that it feels like the right moment.” The duke undid the gold clasp and carefully fastened it around her neck. “It suits you very well.” His voice turned husky with emotion. “You look like a fairy princess.”
“I’m even luckier. I’m a duke’s daughter.”
Her father gave her a quick hug before stepping back with a gruff chuckle. “Heaven forbid that I crumple that ethereal ballgown, so I shall refrain from a more crushing embrace. The silk and ruffles look like they are made out of spun sugar.”
Her clothing might be delicate, but Kyra no longer felt fragile.
“Now, I had better get Gorman and make one last check that all is in order in the wine cellar. The guests will be arriving soon.”
The duke set off down the corridor, and Kyra was about to follow when a flutter of the draperies at the far end of the ballroom caught her eye. The heavy gold-threaded damask fabric moved again in the breeze, revealing a scattering of pale pink petals on the dark dance floor.
Hurrying across the polished parquet, she found that one of the vases on the decorative plinth had tipped over, spilling the carefully arranged flowers. The latch must have come loose in the breeze, she decided, allowing the brass casement to swing open.
“Damnation.” The damage could be covered up by rearranging the other vases, and no one would be the wiser. But the symmetry would be ruined, and she wanted everything to be just right.
Kyra hesitated. The hothouses were only a short distance away.
If she went out through the music room and cut across the back terrace, it would take no more than ten minutes to replace the bouquet.
She stared down at the pristine hem of her gown.
It would likely not survive the trip outdoors unscathed.
“What does it matter if a bit of grass and mud clings to my skirts,” she said.
“After all, I’m a slightly soiled dove, so it’s an apt metaphor.
” In the past, the thought would have greatly upset her, but now it only provoked a rueful smile.
Let the gossips titter over lurid speculations if they wished.
She wanted every last detail to be perfect for Jack.
And for Rafael.
Hitching up her gown, she hurried through the side salon and made her way out to the graveled walkway leading past the conservatory.
The nightingales had struck up their evening serenade, and the soft song wafted through the swaying branches of the high privet hedge.
As she rounded the bend leading off to the hothouses, a dark shape burst out from the glade copper beeches, startling her into a stumble.
“Woof.”
“Oh fie, you naughty hound,” Kyra scolded, once she had steadied her nerves. “How did you slip away from Anna?” Her maid had promised to keep Hero—and his overexuberant paws—away from the festivities, but clearly he had other ideas.
He wagged his tail and with a canine grin appeared to be eyeing the tails of her satin sash.
“This is no time for rough-and-tumble games. One snap of your teeth, one swipe of those muddy paws and you’ll be on a diet of bread and water for the next month!”
Hero pricked up his ears and obediently fell in step beside her, close but not too close.
“I see you are a very intelligent dog,” she added with a light laugh. “You’ve learned your lessons well.”
“Unlike his mistress.” Matherton darted out from the trees and grabbed rough hold of her arm. “I guessed that you would be stupid enough to come fetch new flowers to replace the ones I knocked over.”
She tried to pull free, but his hand tighten like a vise around her flesh. “And call off your cur.” He brandished a spiked cudgel as Hero bared his teeth and gave a menacing growl. “Or I’ll bash the beast’s skull.”
“No, Hero!” she rasped. “Back! Back!”
The hound retreated, just out of arm’s reach.
“What madness is this, sir—she began, but her former fiancé silenced her with a hard shake.
“Stubble the chatter,” he snapped. “I warned you that there would be consequences if you defied me.”
“I haven’t?—”
“Liar!” He rapped his cudgel against the vase in her hands, shattering the delicate porcelain. “I’ve learned that Spanish half breed has been sniffing around London, asking questions about my affairs.”
Kyra decided protests were futile. Lifting her chin, she answered, “And he’s learned enough sordid details to put an end to your foul machinations. So unhand me and leave Pierpont Manor.”
“Oh, I will be leaving the Manor, seeing as your mongrel lapdog has forced me to change plans.” Swift as a serpent, Matherton twisted her arm behind her back, and pressed the point of the cudgel against her throat. “But you are coming with me.”
Fear spiked through her as the cold steel bit into her flesh. But thoughts of Rafael and a future together gave her courage—she struggled to break away.
Snarling an oath, Matherton shifted his hold, jamming the cudgel hard against her ribs while slapping his other hand over her mouth.
Kyra fought, but he was too strong, and the breath was being squeezed from her lungs. When he lifted her off her feet and swung around for the trees, she was powerless to resist.
“There will be a wedding as soon as we reach Gretna Green, and then I will most definitely be returning to Pierpont Manor to collect the dowry and patronage that your father will have no choice but to give me.”
Dear God, the man was truly a monster.
As for you . . .” Another rough shake. “You will soon learn never again to defy my wishes.”
Hero lunged and managed to seize her sash. A lashing kick from her abductor smashed against his jaws, but he held fast.
“Plaguey cur,” grunted Matherton as he jerked her around and kicked out again. Loosened by all the tugging, the smooth satin slipped out of its bow and slithered to the ground.
He whirled again and set off with a loping stride along the narrow footpath. A wave of nausea washed over her as the jagged shadows spun wildly before her eyes. But she willed herself not to swoon. While there was still a breath left in her body, she would not give in to despair.
Scotland was a long way from Kent, and surely the power of Love was more than a match for the power of Evil.