Page 27 of A Wallflower Never Forgets
“That will soon be remedied. And you won’t find it so…insufferable. I have so much to teach you about pleasure.”
It was all Melanie could do to keep the bile from rising in her throat.
The man continued to rant. Melanie tried to listen, but she was more interested in freeing herself. Whenever his back was turned, she would sneak glances around the room, searching for something she could grab and use as a weapon.
“Diana was loyal to me, and a passable bed partner,” he said, pausing. “But she became too careless and too greedy. She was besotted with DeLacey and stopped being useful to me. She thought me a fool, but I saw through her scheme.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she cried out. “I was just living a quiet life. Diana was glamorous and suited your world. What do you want with me?”
“Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been telling you?” he interrupted. “That is precisely why I want you. Diana was a conniving harpy. She may have been beautiful on the outside but on the inside she was putrid. Whereas you, my fair Melanie, are the epitome of grace. Your purity is what I crave.”
As she sat there, memories began to peek through the fog as Melanie struggled to remember what happened. She was grabbed from behind, and a foul rag was shoved over her face. Then, she remembered hearing Shep attack and was able to force her arms free to see her small dog thrown up against the side of the house, limp. The man holding her grabbed her tighter and placed a foul-smelling, damp rag over her nose, holding it tight. Dizziness began to take over, and she fought against her energy waning as she was being trussed up and tossed into the back of a flatbed wagon that had been waiting somewhere on the estate. Her head throbbed from where it slammed against something hard, maybe the floor of the wagon, and she could feel a wet, sticky sensation on her head, but with her hands bound, was unable to reach it.
“Why,” she cried out in frustration. “What do you want with me?”
“Haven’t you been listening to what I’m telling you? You are to be my…concubine. I love that word—it implies a level of warmth and tenderness. Don’t you think?”
“Never! You hurt my dog. Why did you do that?” Melanie could hear her heart pounding in her ears while her hands and feet strained against the bonds. She tried to stay calm, but so much had taken place. What had become of Shep? Her heart…her head…everything hurt. “Why did you do this to us?” she screamed. “My dog was little…”
“The damn dog bit me—through my pants, he bit me. It’s a deep cut, but I’ll have to take care of it later,” he yelled back before pausing. “Now, do calm yourself, my dear. You’ll need to be quiet,” he said more calmly. He retrieved the dirty cloth he had used earlier from his pocket and poured something from a dark blue bottle on it, and stuffed it in her mouth.
Tears streamed from her eyes as she gagged on the rag, shaking her head in denial. “Mmmmf,” she struggled to say something as she tasted a familiar, sickening, sweet substance on the oily cloth. She hated laudanum. It always made her sick. Her head hurt, and she was nauseous…but she needed to stay awake.
“I hate to leave you when we are just getting to know each other, but there are a few things I need to take care of outside before your gallant knight arrives to try to save you. So, as much as it pains me, you’ll have to remain tied up and gagged, my dear.”
He bent and pressed his lips to her cheek, and she growled through the gag, pulling away from his touch. “My sweet, beautiful Melanie, how I love your fire. I shall return.” He shut the door firmly behind him, the sound echoing in the sparsely furnished cabin.
She sat bound to the chair, her hands useless unless she could break through the ropes. Her heart raced as she felt around the back of the chair with her fingers, looking for anything that could help. The tips of her fingers brushed against a sharp edge on the side of the chair, and a spark of hope ignited within her. Every second counted. She leaned forward and moved her bound hands to the edge, rubbing an exposed part of the rope against it, straining against the bind, and praying she could wear down enough of the rope to tear through it.
As she worked, a wave of dizziness threatened to pull her under, the effects of the laudanum beginning to swirl through her mind like a thick fog. She struggled against the pull of the drug, but it was difficult. Still, he must not have put as much on the rag this time because at least she was still awake. Unless she broke through the rope her hands were bound with, she wouldn’t have much time to get the rag out of her mouth, and time was slipping away. Squeezing her eyes closed, she focused on the task at hand, mustering all her strength, both mental and physical.
Melanie silently prayed, more fervently than she had in a long time. She whispered a silent plea for Shep’s survival and one for Jonathan, hoping against hope that when Jonathan arrived to rescue her, he wouldn’t fall victim to the madman who’d abducted her.
Melanie scanned the interior of the cabin, and something began to shift, a memory…an unsettling sense of familiarity tickled the back of her mind. The place appeared to have been abandoned years ago, shrouded in dust and neglect. Thick layers of cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceilings, and shadows loomed in the corners of the dimly lit room. The bedsheets were stained and torn, while the meager furnishings—a rickety table and a couple of mismatched chairs—looked as though they had been left to the ravages of time. As she contemplated the decaying surroundings, a thought struck her. Could this be the gamekeeper’s cabin she had heard about?
Were they still on her brother’s estate? Each creak of the old plank wood floors beneath her feet reminded her of childhood stories whispered by her grandmama about how the gamekeeper’s cabin was said to be haunted by restless spirits. A gamekeeper died almost a hundred years ago in the cabin—and no one was ever able to explain what happened.
With her heart pounding, Melanie continued to try to untie herself. She felt the power of the laudanum pulling her down into darkness as the old eerie stories about the haunted cabin began to shape and swirl around her. Please, Jonathan. Please hurry… She envisioned his beloved face and clung to the belief that they would be together again.
Chapter Twelve
Jonathan, Worsley, Rochester, and several footmen were on horseback, riding just behind a pack of experienced hunting dogs. Jonathan hoped Melanie could hear the dogs barking and find comfort in the knowledge that they were looking for her. They had also placed additional footmen at the entrance as well as the perimeter of Rochester’s estate. A group of riders were also patrolling both the main and side roads. Unfortunately, they had miles of forest to cover—the greatest challenge. But his instincts told him that Talbot was still on the estate, somewhere in the woods with Melanie.
“He has Melanie out there, somewhere,” Rochester growled as they rode toward the woods.
“Aye,” Worsley agreed. “Nightfall is fast approaching, and Talbot will need a place to hole up for the night. After night falls, the search will be even more challenging.”
“I don’t care how challenging or how long it takes,” Jonathan said grimly. “We have lanterns. And plenty of men. And the dogs have her scent.” Jonathan had used Melanie’s woolen hat that he’d remembered was in his pocket for the dogs to sniff. It had saved them time from running up to her room.
“The bastard planned carefully, I’ll give him that,” Rochester said. “He thought to throw us off by driving a wagon in several directions. He must have been disguised as a tinker or an old farmer so as not to arouse suspicion of the men guarding the estate.”
“There are hunting cabins miles downstream,” Rochester said. “They should be empty. The gamekeeper left to visit his family, so his cabin should be empty, as well.”
“Aye, I remember exactly where those three hunting cabins are,” Jonathan said. “Let’s send a small contingent of men and dogs to check the hunting cabins.”
“Good,” Rochester said.
Many of their boyhood adventures had taken place in these woods. Like Rochester, Jonathan and Worsley knew the land like the back of their hands.
