Page 22 of Lyon of Scotland
But this morning, something Oliver Huntly said at breakfast with Georgina had unsettled her. He spoke of playing cards last night with some others, including Lord Strathburn.
“He was rather in his cups. Odd, I did not expect it of him,” Oliver said.
Odd indeed, Hannah thought. She had not thought him so inclined either. Dismay sank through her—was he a secret wastrel like Whitworth? She had not noticed any sign of it when she saw him occasionally in Edinburgh, but then, she had missed it altogether in her fiancé.
She sighed. Was Strathburn another wish about to vanish from her life?
Walking through the rain, she thought of all she had to do that day, and hurried, head down against the increasing downpour. Hearing the creak of wheels and brakes, she turned to see a carriage draw up beside her.
“Miss Gordon!” The voice she despised. Frederic Dove opened the door and beckoned to her. “Come here!”
“I am only going around the corner to the College of Arms.” She kept walking.
“Get out of the rain. We must talk. I have decided to help you.”
“Help me?” Unlikely. She moved ahead. He thumped on the interior roof and the carriage rolled alongside to catch her.
“Come out of the rain! You will get soaked and be ill.”
“Why would you care? Leave me be.”
“Get in here now!”
As he spoke, someone grabbed her from behind. She had not noticed the large man who jumped down from the high carriage bench until too late. He lifted her off her feet and set a gloved hand across her mouth. While she kicked and shrieked, Frederic Dove threw the door wide and she was dumped inside. Holding her reticule close, she wriggled, pushing at the door with her feet. But the carriage lurched forward.
Dove grabbed her under the arms and yanked her up to sit on the leather bench beside him. “Listen to me. I can solve your problem.”
She struggled. “Let go!”
He lessened his hold for an instant and she launched for the door. Again he grabbed her and hauled her back with surprising strength, trapping her against him with one arm. The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, jouncing her on the seat as she pushed and writhed.
Dove held her in one arm and reached to produce a folded page from a pocket. “Here,” he grunted. “Read it. Sign it.”
“You’re mad! I will not sign anything.”
“Sign it. This will dissolve your obligation to me.”
“What?” She snatched the crumpled page as the carriage swayed.Agreement to marry—the words popped out. “But I am not marrying anyone!”
“I told you my cousin can make a match for you. The law requires a husband to take on his wife’s debts.” His breath was heavy on her cheek. “Or there is debtors’ prison. Those papers are prepared, too. My driver can take us to court to appear before a judge—or to my cousin’s home to make arrangements. One is better than the other, certainly.”
“I will do neither, and you are an evil man.” Freeing an arm, kicking out, she lunged for the door handle.
“Damned Scottish wildcat.” He yanked her back, twisting her arm until she cried out. Her head smacked against the wood trim that edged the back of the seat and she went still, dazed for a moment.
“This will help you decide,” he said as he took something from a pocket.
Hannah opened her mouth to answer, but saw the flash of glass and silver as he raised a tiny flask to her lips. She wrenched her head away, but he held her jaw and wedged the vial betweenher lips. Liquid burned over her tongue, tasting of strong spirit and something bitter, something vile. When she tried to spit it out, he clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Swallow—there. Just a bit of laudanum to calm you. I brought it just in case. Then we can talk and agree. Have a little more.” He forced her head back so the liquid dribbled into her mouth again and ran down her chin. Her tongue went numb with it, her lips too.
Coughing, she spit out what she could. “You are a pig! I will go to court—”
“And do what? I am known there. You are not. Sign this.” He thrust something in her right hand, as she still held the crumpled page in her left.
A wood-wrapped lead drawing pencil? Nothing made sense. “I will not trade myself in marriage so you can have money.”
“We will do this, Missy, and I will have my money. Then we can send you back to Scotland.” His hand wrapped over hers, heavy, forcing her fingers around the pencil, across the page. “You will be glad of this later. It’s for your own good—”
