Page 43 of Lady, Behave
“John!” His father a-fixed his monocle to his left eye. “You told me you’d—”
“Abducted her!” Gyles yelled. “That’s what he did. Where is she?”
“I—I put her in the stables.”
“Stables!” Gyles pushed him toward the stairs. “You little turd! Lead on!”
“John!” His father, breathing hard, grew florid and apoplectic. “You said—you said you’d put her in—”
“Yes, well, doesn’t matter where,does it, ‘Dad’?” Gyles sneered and pushed the boy down more steps. “He’s got her, and you allowed it!”
Fellowes was suffering a bit of a rough patch getting down quickly enough for him. At the bottom, he stood, weaving in place as Gyles grabbed a fistful of his coat and bellowed, “Out now! The stables, man. Step to it!”
Gyles trooped Fellowes through the house to the back stairs, his three companions following. A stammering, stupefied earl brought up the rear. At the kitchen door, four servants stood agog as the parade passed them by into the small kitchen garden. Before them loomed the stables. The double wooden door stood open, and Gyles pushed Fellowes through.
“Adelaide!” Gyles yelled.
But when no sound issued forth, Gyles caught up John’s arm and wrenched it high, eliciting a yelp. “What’ve you done with her? Adelaide!”
A moan met his ears.
“Where?” He poked puny John in the ribs with his pistol.
“Here! Here!” The little man scampered like a child to the back stall and rushed in to stand, panting, against the rotting wooden frame.
“My darling,” Heath crooned to her as he lifted her up from the hay. Never in all his life would he forget the pitiful sight of his beloved, her horrified blue eyes stark with fright and wild relief; her pretty apple green gown torn and dirtied; her body trussed up at her feet and bound by the wrists with rough old rope. Before he killed the man who’d done this to her, Gyles unwound the rough hemp wound around her mouth and neck, then sheltered her in his embrace. “Come here, sweetheart.”
*
She lay inGyles’s arms for blessed long minutes as he muttered senseless comforts to her. She didn’t care what he said, she knew only his solace and the safety of his presence. What he asked, she had no answers for. What he required, she had no idea. What she wanted was only to stand once more and to confront the putrid little pego who had the gall to put a stinking potion to her nose and make her swoon like a cut flower under his hand. She did not wilt for any man. This violent fellow would pay.
That was all she could think of.
So when at last Gyles helped her to stand on her own two feet and he ran his warm seductive hands along her ribs and hips, she began to think of how he might do that in some other place, some finer time with more delightful intentions than he had at this particular moment. With that, she knew she was recovering her senses.
At the moment, Gyles began a diatribe against the little twit who had the audacity to manhandle her person. Did God know if he’d handled her very fine person more than he should? She didn’t.
But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that lack to destroy the safety Gyles brought her. Not now. Gyles was here to think for her.
But she had her own relevant statements to make to this idiot who had abducted her.
“Thank you, my darling,” she whispered to Gyles and kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you found me.”
“I will always find you, my sweet. You are my own.”
“I am indeed.” She tried to smile at him, but her lips were cracked, and her cheeks were sore. So much for looking like the rescued damsel. For her hurt, she whirled toward the silly man who had done this foul deed.
“You, John Fellowes, are a disgrace.” She pushed away from her beloved and wobbled but stood steady. Then she stepped toward the little heathen, who held himself up with the aid of the stable wall. “You profess to love people, and yet you took me in broad daylight. You should be brought before a court to stand trial for such a crime.”
From the corner of the stall, an older man who looked far too like John to not be related groaned. “He is my boy.”
“He is my abductor,” she spat. “If I find that you have abused me or used me in a foul manner, I shall have the law on you.”
“I never touched you! I wanted to marry you. Marry you!”
Gyles snarled. “You are not worthy to touch her shoes.”
“Why?” The little curate stuck his neck out. “You’ll take her even if she’s been soiled?”
