Page 89 of Scandalous Heiress
Chapter 15
Richard’s estate north of London was on a main road four miles from Hertford Castle.His holdings were modest but at one time had been profitable, even during periods when crop failures had decimated other nobles’ lands and tenants.Richard had been a good steward of his lands until the past eight years when he neglected reinvestment of money into farm equipment and storage facilities.His inattention to his work and his salacious endeavors with ladies who were not his to claim had cost him dearly.
Victor led Freddie up the byways toward Hertford at a gallop.He knew the road well, having visited his brother at his manor house frequently when a young man before his marriage to Alicia.In the dead of night, they traveled quickly.Passing only a night watchman or a drunk finding his way home, they made the house in good time.The Seton carriage, covering the miles more slowly, would arrive at most an hour later than they.
They approached the main gate and Victor slowed to a walk.When he raised his hand for Freddie to do the same, his friend nodded.
The elaborate iron gate stood open.In their haste, Richard and Tildon had forgotten to close it.
Victor fished out his pocket watch.Two-ten.All of them tucked in.
He grit his teeth.He prayed to God both his brother and Tildon were asleep, incapacitated and not tormenting Ada.
He growled, cursing himself that he might be too late.That the two men might have already done their worst to her.
Victor stopped beneath a huge oak tree, hoping the shadows would hide him and his friend.“We’ll go round the back to the kitchen entrance.We’ll more likely awaken a footman than the butler.If I’m right, Richard would still make his footmen sleep on the floor in the kitchen.”Bastard.
“No light from the second floor,” Freddie noted.
None anywhere shining through the windows.Victor’s heart took flight.Maybe he did have a chance to save her…
As they’d helped the Seton grooms and stable boys saddle their horses, Victor had described the floor plan of the house.The first floor, a few steps up from the foyer, had only public rooms, salons, dining room and breakfast room.“Straight up the curved staircase to the right is the master suite.Richard’s.”
Victor shook with outrage as he and Freddie circled the front lawn, keeping to the shadows.At the rear of the house, he led Freddie toward a copse where they looped the reins over branches and proceeded on foot, pistols at the ready.
They crossed the lawn, swift as eagles, the grasses soft and silent beneath their feet.He tried the door.And when it gave, he grinned at Freddie.
His friend crooked a brow—and waved him forward with his pistol.
They ran up the servants’ stairs, the way familiar to Victor who’d played hide and seek here with his brother.A different form of it tonight.
When they got to the second floor, he gingerly slid open the green baize door.There, before him, was the hall.Dark.Quiet.Moonlight streaming through the far Palladian half moon windows.But no rays of light visible beneath the frames of this bedroom or that.Nor even of Richard’s.
He caught his breath.Their prior plan was to search out the secondary bedrooms first.If they did not find Ada there, then they were to invade Richard’s suite.
Freddie advanced on the bedroom next to Richard’s.In a whoosh, he thrust open the door.Silent as a cat, Victor trod past him into the sitting room.Snoring in the bed, flat on his back, arms out, Tildon lay in his shirt and trousers.
The two left the way they’d gone in.
Victor indicated the other bedroom across the hall.But he had an inkling Ada was not there but in Richard’s bed.
At that door, Victor paused.His guts churning, he thrust it open to draw back at the odors of sweat, alcohol and vomit.And spread upon thechaise longuebeneath the wide window was Richard Cole, the Marquess of Ridgemont.His waistcoat and shirt unbuttoned, his braces down, he lay in a stupor.His fingers dangled to the floor.But he had once grasped the bottle of whisky, now turned on its side, its contents an ugly brown pool upon the plush Axminster carpet.
Freddie nudged him, his head tipping toward the far door to the bedroom.
There she was.Curled on her side, she lay upon the satin coverlet in the medieval poster bed that was the prized antique in the house.She faced the window.And in the moon’s glow, she was pale.The red gown that she’d worn to the theater was crumpled, a wreck.She still wore her shoes and stockings.So Richard hadn’t done his worst, thank God.In her hand, she clutched a handkerchief and beneath her on the floor was a rare blue and white Ming bowl.Victor recognized the porcelain as one he’d exported and sent to Richard one year for his birthday.She’d gotten sick in it.
Loathe to move her, Victor stepped nearer.“Ada, darling.”
Her lashes fluttered open but her eyes did not focus.
What in hell had he given her?
Freddie tore a knitted blanket from the end of the bed and handed it to him.“Hurry.I’ll watch him.”
Victor gave him his pistol, then wrapped the throw around her shoulders as best he could.
But she awakened, shrank from him and pushed at his chest.“No.No, don’t touch me!”
