Page 89 of Barbarous

Daphne woke in utter darkness, her hands bound together and secured to something over her head. Her arms had gone numb; she must have been in the carriage for some time.

Her eyes were accustomed to the gloom so at least she could confirm she was alone. She almost wept with relief; the men had not gone back for her sons.

If the boys and Rowena had made it to safety, then Hugh would already know what had happened. Malcolm must be desperate indeed to use so recognizable a conveyance to commit the crime of kidnapping a peer.

The coach windows had been blackened over with some substance but she could see light where there were scratches. So, it was still day—she hadn’t been gone that long after all. She lifted her arms to relieve some of the pressure on them, breathing deeply and ignoring the terror that clawed at her. Where was Malcolm taking her? He wouldn’t go to Whitton, where it would be difficult to keep her presence a secret. And Walter Hastings had sold the only other estate the Hastings family owned years ago. Where else could he take her? And what in God’s name did he think to do with her once he got her to his destination? Did he think to force her into marriage? Or perhaps he meant to extort more money from her?

Daphne closed her eyes against the deluge of unanswerable questions.

Why speculate? Instead, she concentrated on calming her pounding heart and husbanding her strength—for when she would really need it.

* * *

Hugh was ready to leave Davenport House within the hour. He met Martín coming from the kitchens, where he’d gone to fortify himself with something more filling than bread. Hugh watched as one of the housemaids came running up behind Martín. He stopped and turned to the pretty young woman, who leaned toward him as if her body were magnetically attracted to his. They exchanged a few quiet words before Martín laughed and ran his finger down her cheek.

Hugh shook his head. Martín had only been in the house an hour and had already made a conquest. It would be wise to get him away before brawls and fisticuffs broke out.

The younger man smirked as Hugh approached him, his swagger bursting with arrogance.

“I thought you went to the kitchen for sustenance.”

“Je l’ai fait,” Martín said.

Even as tense as he was, Hugh couldn’t help laughing. “In English, Martín.”

The three men left without delay. They would go to Lessing Hall and begin their search at Whitton. Hugh believed he would not have to search at all—he suspected Hastings would be contacting him soon. The man couldn’t believe Daphne would ever marry him—something she might have done if the boys were also in Hastings’s grasp. No, he must be holding her for ransom. Or perhaps as bait. After all, Calitain had come to Whitton looking for Hastings and was waiting for his money. Hugh had only his instinct to go on, but he thought they’d find Daphne wherever Calitain was holed up.

His head ached and became unaccountably hot at the thought of Calitain within leagues of Daphne. He wanted to ride directly to the shack where Martín had seen Calitain, but he knew that was foolish and unsafe—especially for Daphne if she was being held there. Cornering Hastings or Calitain could very well end in disaster.

No, they needed to find out what game Calitain was playing and Hugh needed to stop dwelling on the horror of Daphne in Calitain’s grasp. Instead, he should be thinking about whatever it was Hastings might be planning.

But that didn’t help his state of mind, either. Hastings had already raped Daphne once—which Hugh could not think about without becoming half mad. If Malcolm Hastings was caught up with men like Calitain, then he’d formed the worst associations a man could make. Hugh had seen the desperation in the other man’s eyes when he’d held him by the throat. He should have obeyed his impulses and killed him. He should have known that no good would come of releasing such a venomous reptile back into the world.

“Damnation!” he swore.

Martín must have heard him over the din of the horses’ hooves. “Ne vous inquiétez pas, Capitaine,” he assured him. “We ave time. And Aystink and Calitain? Pfft.” He made a dismissive motion with his hand along with the rude noise. “Dey are stupid men! Do not worry, milor’, Delacroix will find dat crotte de nez and ees cheap.”

Hugh shook his head. “It is pronounced his ship, Martín, not ees cheap. And it is not done to refer to someone as ‘dung of the nose’ even if it is true. We really must work on your English, my friend. But not right now. Now we must ride.”

Hugh leaned low and spurred Pasha into a headlong gallop, determined to win the race against time and fear.

* * *

The sudden sunlight was like sharp daggers in her eyes after the solid dark of the coach.

“If you lay a finger on me I’ll kill you!” Daphne snarled, staring blindly at the looming figure.

“Hush now, sweet cousin. One more sound out of you and I’ll bind your mouth so tightly you’ll scarcely be able to draw breath.” Malcolm edged himself into the coach sideways and shut the door behind him, plunging the interior of the carriage back into darkness. His arm snaked around her neck and she felt the sharp prick of a knife against her throat. He put his other hand over her mouth, leaving nothing to chance as he settled beside her.

“Nice and quiet, my dear,” he soothed, his rank breath on her cheek. “We’re changing horses right now and it would be a very bad thing if you called for help. I have this knife—” He skimmed the tip of cold metal down her cheek to punctuate his point. “I should hate to use it on you. I wouldn’t want to kill you but I wouldn’t mind hurting you just a little.” He dropped the blade to her throat. “Now,” he said, lowering the hand covering her mouth, “we can finish the conversation Lord Ramsay so rudely interrupted the last time we were together.” His lips brushed her temple and he squeezed her thigh. Daphne jerked away, more horrified by his touch than his knife.

“I shall never marry you, Malcolm. You will have to kill me, so you may as well go ahead and do so now.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He stroked her thigh, a smile in his voice. “Besides, I’m not interested in the rights marriage will grant me over your person. After all, I’ve had a sample without any of the bother. Don’t worry, sweetheart, if I want what you have under that skirt, I’ll take it without a license.”

Daphne’s mind stopped racing and cold clarity took hold.

“This time you’ll have to take me after I’m dead,” she hissed in his ear. He jerked away from her, but not far. A moment later she heard the striking of tinder and the lantern that hung just inside the door flamed to life. She turned away from the glare but that brought his repellent, bloodshot face into view. He grinned and looked from her face to her bosom and slowly back to her eyes. Daphne shuddered with revulsion.