Page 52 of Madcap with a Marquess
“An’ who in the bloody hell do you think you are?” Lionel scoffed.
“I am the Marquess of Rutledge.”
27
Rupert
Tenminutesprior.
Rupert dragged a hand over his face as he stepped through the door of Scythe Tavern on the outskirts of Littlebredy. It was coming on midnight and still no sign of Franny. A part of him wondered—feared—if she had absconded with that man she’d been riding double with earlier in the day. It was part of what kept his gut clenched up inside his throat all night while he searched for her. But the stable boy had said she had turned down East Road, which was in the opposite direction of the tenant farms.
He had scoured the town of Littlebredy’s village, including scaring the innkeeper half to death with his threats. The old man hadn’t been hiding Franny anywhere. And it didn’t appear anyone else in the village was either, though he had left word with the local magistrate to keep an eye out. He couldn’t imagine Franny had somehow managed to get herself taken in by a villager.
Which led him here, to the Scythe Tavern. He stepped around an indeterminable pile of liquid and grimaced—a despicable place he had only visited once before and promptly made the decision he would never again. With good reason. The food was terrible, the drink watered down, and the patrons…Well, they left much to be desired.
He strode through the taproom, scanning quickly with narrowed eyes. According to the stable boy he had interviewed after Mrs. Higgens had alerted him to his wife’s…whatever this was…Franny would be wearing a bicorne hat, a navy coat, and buckskin breeches.
He blew out a breath. He truly didn’t know what he was going to do with her. Throttle her? Most likely. Rail at her? Definitely. Kiss her senseless and then beg on his knees for her to stop being so careless? Unlikely, though, it was very tempting.
Second scan complete, his heart deflated. No sign of Franny. God, where was he going to look next if she wasn’t here? He approached the bar, and the barkeep hurried over.
“How can I help you, mi’lord?”
“I am looking for a woman dressed in men’s clothing. Have you seen any questionable gents here tonight? She has green eyes and delicate features.”
“Now that you mention it, there was a lad in the card room earlier that was rather…pretty you could say. Wearing a bicorne hat that he wouldn’t take off. Though that’s not unusual round ‘ere.”
Rupert’s pulse picked up. “Is this lad you speak of still here?”
“That I’m not sure of, mi’ lord. Last time I checked, he—or she— was.”
“Thank you.”
Rupert tossed a crown on the bar and hastily made his way toward the back door of the taproom. The door he knew led to the card room. He had played cards here once before, a young man thinking to have a reckless night of fun. But after having seen what kind of rabble the tavern drew and their penchant for cheating, he had gallantly accepted his losses, knowing full well he’d never be coming back.
He stepped into the hall. Well, he was back now, wasn’t he? He walked toward the doorway to the card room. He could barely make out two men at the far end of the darkened hall, one hunched over, groaning. Rupert stepped a foot into the card room when one of the men’s words stopped him dead in his tracks.
“The bitch! Arnie better have caught her. Let’s get out there. That wench needs to be taught a lesson.”
His stomach clenched, a part of him pulling back toward the men, the obligation to help the endangered wench tightening his muscles. But Franny first.
He stepped farther into the card room and quickly searched the faces of the players. No sign of a bicorne hat. No sign of Franny. Fuck.
He spun on his heel and rushed from the room. The men were gone. His pulse shot through him so fast it was barely a beat.Please don’t let the wench be Franny.
Rupert headed straight for the exit, pausing when his boot kicked something. He bent down quickly. A bicorne hat.Fucking hell!
He took off at a run.
He threw open the back door and lurched outside. And stumbled to an abrupt stop. In the light of the moon, he could make out three large figures standing around a smaller one on its knees.
Franny.
His heart screamed.
Her head was wrenched back by one of her captor’s grips, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, her chest heaving under her ivory lawn shirt. Another man held her arms secure behind her back, immobilizing her. And the third—
Rupert’s blood flew through him like a lit line of gunpowder. The third man was pulling out his cock right in front of Franny’s face. Rupert went up in flames. Oh,bloody fuck no.
