Scandal Becomes Her. Shirlee BusbeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
quite capable of ringing a peal over Tynedale all on her own.
Out of the corner of her eye Nell had seen her father come out of the card room and she was conscious of a feeling of relief. Tynedale had been annoyingly attentive since he had arrived a short while ago and he hovered over her like a bee around a sweet blossom. She was as susceptible to the notice of a handsome man as the next woman was, but aware that it was her fortune and not herself that aroused his interest, she had been trying to keep him at arm’s length, to no avail. He was either, she decided, very dense, very desperate or impervious to insults.
Meeting Tynedale’s limpid blue eyes she murmured, “Ah, there is my father. I am sure that he is ready to leave—I know I am. I shall be glad to retire and rest.”
“Must you go?” He flashed her a warm look. “I am afraid that the evening will become quite flat without your charming presence to enliven it,” Tynedale said, a winning expression on his handsome face.
Nell smiled at him sweetly. “Really? When there are at least two other heiresses in the offing?”
His eyes hardened. “Why must you think that my only interest in you is your fortune? Hasn’t it occurred to you that amongst all the chattering giddy females here tonight that you, and you alone, are the one who has captured my regard?”
She tapped a painted silk fan to her lips. “Oh, you’re absolutely right! How could I have thought any differently? Silly me. After all, I am only suspected of being half-mad, known to be a cripple and as near to being an ape-leader as possible.” She looked pensive. “Of course, I do have a rather vulgar fortune.” She grinned at his expression and added, “Naturally that must put me high on your list of possible brides.”
Fist clenched at his side, the scar flaming an angry red across his cheek, he muttered, “This isn’t the moment or the setting I would have chosen to approach the subject, but we could do well together, you and I. There is no denying that I could use your fortune…and you could use a husband. I may not have a feather to fly with at present, but your fortune would change all that.” Tynedale leaned forward, urgency in his voice. “You should consider the possibility—it would be a good bargain for you when all is said and done. Remember, I do have an old and valued title.”
“Thank you, no.” Insulted and annoyed, she said bluntly, “Since this conversation is already unseemly I will leave you with this comment: I would much prefer being considered an antidote than married to you.”
She turned her back on him, only to be swung around by his hand on her arm. Bending his face to hers, he growled, “You will come to regret those words.” He hesitated. “You must understand me: I have received unfortunate news and my need is great—I am a desperate man.” His voice took on a threatening note. “And desperate men have been known to take desperate measures. Be warned that I am not to be trifled with.”
“Take your hand off me,” Nell snapped, outraged. Her eyes glittering with indignation, she said, “I will give you a little advice, my lord: I am leaving London on Monday. Who knows when I will next return to the city, but when I do, keep away from me. I do not wish for your company!”
He let go her arm, a nasty smile on his face. “We’ll see about that.” He bowed. “Until we meet again.”
Deigning a reply she swept away, the skirts of her cream-and-gold-spangled gown fluttering behind her.
Sir Edward turned at her approach and his gaze narrowed at the expression on her face. He glanced over to where Tynedale stood.
“Should I be issuing a challenge to that puppy?” he asked as he took her arm.
Nell looked startled. “Oh, good heavens, no! Do not give him another thought.” She grinned impishly. “I promise you I shall not.” She pinched his cheek. “Do not worry, Papa. I will confess that he was brazen enough to suggest a match between us—I think his creditors must be dunning him. Do not let it upset you. I assure you that I gave him a decided set-down, he will not trouble us again.”
Sir Edward was affronted. “Suggested a match, did he? Without a word to me? Insolent bounder! How dare he? I shall have a word with him.”
Nell grabbed his arm. “Papa! No, do not. I beg you. Recall, if you will, that I am not an innocent miss dazzled by my first trip to London. I am quite capable of repulsing the attentions of a contemptible creature such as he is. Please do not let us waste another second of our time on him.”
He gave her a searching glance and, satisfied by what he saw in her face he nodded, and beyond a bit of grumbling about the effrontery of certain fellows said no more on the subject.
As Sir Edward escorted her down the steps of the Ellingson residence and into their coach, Nell discovered that it was raining. She had noted the heavy clouds late that afternoon, but she had hoped that they had been merely threatening and would blow over.
Damp from the dash to the carriage and listening to the pounding rain on the carriage top, Nell pulled her velvet cloak closer around her and grimaced. If it was a big storm and lingered, by the time they left on Monday, the roads were going to be atrocious.
A bolt of lightning crackled across the night sky and she flinched. Oh, bother. It was probably, she decided, going to be a long, wet, muddy and, no doubt, harrowing journey home.
A few moments later Nell and Sir Edward were home and rushing inside to escape the rain. After bidding her father a fond good night, Nell hurried up the stairs to her rooms, eager to get out of her finery and crawl into bed.
Twenty minutes later, she was cozily abed, having shed her ball gown and slipped gratefully into a nightgown of soft cambric. Sleep came at once.
At first, she slept dreamlessly, but then, gradually she became uncomfortable, her breathing heavy, her limbs feeling trapped. She moaned in her sleep and twisted in the bed, seeking to escape the invisible bonds that held her. Another nightmare, she thought, as she fought her way up through the layers of sleep.
A particularly nasty one, too, the sensation of smothering, of drowning in blackness almost overpowering. Still half-asleep, she struggled to escape the oppressive blackness, but her hands tangled in the same enveloping darkness of her dream.
Feeling herself sliding across the bed her eyes snapped open and to her horror she discovered that she was trapped—in a smothering mass of heavy fabric—and being swiftly hauled out of her bed. Panicked, she writhed and thrashed, her fingers clawing against the cloth that engulfed her in its folds.
“Be still!” hissed a voice she recognized immediately.
“Tynedale!” she gasped. “Are you mad? My father will kill you for this—if I don’t first!”
He gave an excited little laugh. “I will take my chances. Once you are my wife, I think that your father will change his mind.”
“But I will not!” she swore and increased her struggle to escape.
The breath was knocked from her as she was lifted and suddenly flung over his shoulder. Keeping one arm clamped across her buttocks, he strode across the room.
Wide-awake now, Nell’s brain raced. There was only one way he could have gained entry to the house: from her balcony and in through the unlocked glass doors. But how had he known in which room she slept? A chill slid down her spine. He must have spied on her, followed her home tonight from the Ellingson ball. He would have guessed her father would not retire immediately, but that she probably would. She had as good as told him that she would. Anger poured through her. All he had to do was watch the upper floor and observe in which room the candles were soon blown out. Blast him! And how lucky for him, she thought grimly, that hers was one of the few that possessed a balcony. Her heart sank. It appeared from both sounds and movement that he was taking her out the same way he had entered.
Knowing that every second counted, aware that once he had her away from the house and her father’s protection, that all was lost, she dragged in a deep breath and screamed.
His nerves razor-edged, Tynedale jumped