Chapter 24

24

“Mr. Chipple,” she said, suddenly nervous. “I had no idea you were expected.”

He pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him. He was a very large man—not as tall as Christian but far bulkier, and his air of bonhomie had vanished. “I don’t believe I was,” he said. “But when a bleedin’ bastard the likes of Christian Montcalm blackmails me and then goes back on his word then there’s no doubt what Josiah Chipple will do about it. To him and to those who helped him.” He glanced around the shabby little room and sneered before turning his attention back to Annelise. “Sit down, Miss Kempton.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Sit down before I make you.” He didn’t wait. He pushed her so hard she fell back into the chair, and it almost toppled over beneath her. Shock spurred her reaction and she bounced right back out of it again, slapping him across the face.

A mistake, she realized in retrospect. Josiah Chipple was not the demi-gentleman she’d thought him to be, and as her father had warned her, one should never hit someone who’s likely to hit you back. His fist slammed against her cheekbone and she fell back against the oak casement, tumbling to the floor as she held her face in shock.

“And there’s more where that came from, missy,” he sneered. “You should never underestimate Josiah Chipple—I figured such a starched-up spinster would have the sense to know that. But you have no sense, have you? You let that bastard Montcalm carry off my daughter, and then you stayed to spread your legs for him, as well. You’re as great a whore as m’daughter, Miss Kempton, for all your fine ways. And I’ll be teaching you a lesson.”

Annelise didn’t move. Her face throbbed, and she’d caught her hip on the hard wood, but she knew if she rose he’d either hit her again, or she’d try to kill him. Since the only weapon in sight was a silver knife and fork

from the abandoned tea tray, and he was wearing a heavy leather coat across his impressive paunch, she decided her chances were not good. She stayed where she was.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Chipple,” she said in a frosty voice, trying to ignore the fact that her mouth hurt from where he’d hit her. She had come up with so many varied stories to explain her sudden departure from London that she couldn’t remember which one they’d settled on as the least destructive. “Your daughter isn’t here.”

“Of course she’s not. She’s off with that Dickinson boy, and it’s your family who’s hiding them. It took me long enough to track them down but I know they’re somewhere north of here. My men are searching for them, and they’ll be bringing them here before much more time passes. I’m not sure what will happen to your family—my men aren’t noted for their gentlemanly restraint, but you can tell yourself it was all your fault in the first place for interfering in my plans.”

“I didn’t interfere,” she said, close enough to the truth. “Hetty was miserably unhappy and she gave in to Mr. Montcalm’s blandishments and went off with him. Knowing that you’d never approve of such a match, I enlisted Mr. Dickinson’s aid and went after them and we were able to arrive before Montcalm had even attempted to molest her.” Of course, then Will and Hetty had gone at it, but she certainly didn’t need to apprise this dangerous bully of that fact.

“My daughter’s happiness is of no concern to me. She had a duty to perform, to marry well, and she’s both failed me and shamed me in the face of society. She’ll learn her lesson since clearly I haven’t taught her well enough in the past.”

The man sounded positively evil. “You wouldn’t hurt her!” she protested inanely, given that he’d already slammed his fist against her face.

If he’d hit a stranger, a well-bred member of society, then he’d have no qualms about beating his own.

His laugh was mirthless. “If I were you I’d be more concerned about your family and your own safety. You have a pretty young niece of no more than fifteen, do you not? There’s a lot of damage a rough man can do to an untried girl.”

Annelise stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to throw up. He couldn’t mean the horrible things he was saying—he was just trying to scare her.

“How did you know I have a niece?”

“Oh, I know all about you, Miss Kempton. I had you thoroughly vetted, even before I brought you into my house. I have ways of finding out everything, including that your drunken father deliberately killed himself and made it look like a riding accident, leaving you penniless and at the mercy of strangers. I’m sure he had no idea you were going to end up being at the mercy of me.”

She slowly rose to her feet, watching those hamlike fists warily. Her head was still spinning and her entire body hurt, but she wasn’t going to cower in a corner. “Where are the Brownes?” she demanded.

“They’ve been taken care of. Tied up and locked away. Put up quite a fight, they did.”

“But Christian isn’t even here!”

“Of course he’s not. He’s exactly where I want him to be. About to meet a knife across the throat and a watery grave.”

Annelise sank down on the window seat, trying to catch her breath.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s off on a wild-goose chase, thinking he’s going to find a long-lost brother. He’s fool enough to grasp at straws, and his friend was easy enough to bribe. By now he’ll be at the coast, meeting up with what he assumes to be friendly smugglers. I expect they’ll wait until they’re out to sea before they kill him, but the deed may already be done.”

“But why?” she demanded. “He didn’t hurt your daughter!”

“I’m past worrying about my daughter’s feckless choices. The man knows far too much about me to return to society and start wagging his tongue. Any man who crosses Josiah Chipple and then threatens to expose him has signed his own death warrant.”

“You think I’m not going to tell people what you’ve done?” she demanded. “That you struck me?” The moment the words were out of her mouth she realized how unwise they were. Particularly with Chipple’s unpleasant smile.

“You’re not going to be telling anyone anything,” he said. He cocked his head to look at her with a judgmental eye. “You won’t fetch much, but if I cut out your tongue it should improve your price.”

“My price?”

“I traffic in human goods, Miss Kempton. Something that wouldn’t go over too well in the society that still accepts the money that comes from it.

Not just Africans, but young women from the poorer ports of Europe and

North Africa. There’s a large market for women with pale skin in the brothels of Arabia, and even with your drawbacks you should still bring in a pretty penny.”

“You’re mad.”

“Not at all, Miss Kempton. I’m a businessman. I haven’t made up my mind whether you’ll have my daughter for company in the hold of the ship.

Now that I’ve decided to cut my losses there are still a great many ways to make up her value to me.”

She hid the shiver that swept over her at his cold words. “No man would pay money for me, Mr. Chipple,” she said. “And I would ensure my behavior would make me even less appealing than my physical defects.”

“Oh, you’re not half-bad when it comes down to it. A little old, and much too tall, but you could still fetch a decent price. And we make certain the women are well broken in before they land on the auction block. It’s surprisingly easy to break a woman’s spirit if you know how to do it. I might just take over that little task myself.”

She believed him. She would rather be hit again with those brutal hands than have them on her for any other reason, and she’d kill him before she’d let him. If she had anything to kill him with.

She rose, slowly, so as not to alarm him into another cruel action. “What if I tell you I won’t fight?”

He nodded. “It would be the smart thing to do. If I know my men there’s not much left of your family, and Montcalm will be dead before dawn. Putting up a fight will just make things more unpleasant for you.

Someone will still be cutting out that infernal, nagging tongue of yours, however. Probably me.”

She tried for a seductive smile. It felt stiff and wooden on her face, and she expected the side of her mouth was swelling, but she was a desperate woman. Who had just spent a very instructive night. “If I’m to be a slave I would think there’d be reasons a man might want my tongue intact,” she said in a silken voice, moving toward him. “Particularly if I’m well trained in certain arts.”

She’d managed to surprise him. His laugh was unpleasant. “You’ve been having a good time with Montcalm, haven’t you? Filthy lecher. But your point is well taken. We’ll just make certain you’re sold into a place where no one speaks English, and it’ll be up to them whether they want to limit your value as a whore. I expect someone will kill you before the year

is out, but that’s of no consequence to me. Well-bred women seldom survive long.”

She hid her horrified reaction. “You’ve done this before?”

“A number of times. M’poor wife didn’t even make it off the ship.”

“I don’t understand why you hate me so much, Mr. Chipple. I’ve never done you any harm.”

His laugh was humorless. “You’re just like all of them. Thinking you’re better than me, just because you were born to a drunken lord who killed himself and left you without a farthing.”

She took a deep breath, thinking of the marble bust that was just out of reach. “I am better than you, Mr. Chipple. Not because of my birth, but because you’re a loathsome, evil man who traffics in human misery. You’re a revolting little toad whose ill breeding would have shown itself even more flagrantly than it already has with your ostentatious, tasteless house and your appalling manners. Sooner or later you’ll be caught, and you’ll be hanged like the baseborn monster that you are.”

He leaped for her, as she expected, but she was fully prepared and whirled to one side as he crashed down against the chair. By the time he caught his footing and started to turn on her she’d picked up the marble bust of Diana, and brought it down squarely on his head.

He dropped like a stone. Her hands were shaking, and she looked down at the marble, now marred with blood and hair. There was no mistaking the horrifying crunch of bone when she’d hit him, and he lay perfectly still, blood seeping from beneath his head.

She’d killed him, and she was glad. She was half tempted to lean over and bash him one more time, just to make certain, but she resisted the impulse, setting the statue down on the table once more. She skirted his body and crept to the door, putting her ear against it. There were men in the hallway, not that far away, and from the tone of their conversation their morals and intentions were not an improvement on the late Mr. Chipple.

She couldn’t escape that way.

Annelise moved back, stepping over the body and lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the blood, and went to the window. It opened easily enough, letting in the cool fresh air of late afternoon. It wasn’t a particularly large window, and it was a good eight feet off the ground, but she had little choice. She climbed through, banging her head against the window frame, and jumped.

She landed on her backside in mud, of course. Even though the rain had finally stopped, the mud was everywhere, and she dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body. At least she still had the boots on.

She had no idea how many of Chipple’s henchmen were there, how long it would take them to decide to check on their nefarious employer. She could only assume that her time was limited, and meeting up with one of the men who were waiting outside the door seemed even less desirable than being trapped with Chipple himself.

Annelise had no idea where to start looking for the Brownes, and she didn’t dare take the time. She had to warn her sister, if it wasn’t already too late.

She had to warn Christian.

To her relief the stables were empty of Chipple’s cohorts, but in the front corral were at least half a dozen new horses patiently waiting. They hadn’t been unsaddled or properly cared for, and it took all Annelise’s resolution not to stop and tend to the poor creatures. They were ill treated and ill nourished, but she didn’t dare waste any time. She could only hope that at least one of Chipple’s men had some sense of responsibility for the animals, or at the very least a practical consideration that their mode of transportation needed to be protected.

Gertie raised her head when Annelise slipped into the inner room, instantly alert. She made a soft, welcoming noise, and Annelise breathed a sigh of relief only slightly tempered by nervousness. She had sworn never to ride again, and it had been almost five years since her last turn. And now she was planning to go haring off into the sunset in rescue of the ones she loved.

She was mad, but there was no choice. It was easy enough to saddle and bridle Gertie—she took to Annelise’s familiar touch with preening satisfaction. She had to drag a mounting block over to Gertie’s side—in the best of times she would have been able to simply leap on her back. One advantage of her unusual height.

But the unaccustomed ache in her hips and thighs precluded such energy, though she wasn’t about to consider what had caused such discomfort. Christian didn’t have a lady’s saddle, and she had no choice but to climb astride, bunching the skirts up around her long legs. The moment

she landed in the saddle she panicked, and her fear immediately spread to Gertie, who backed up with a nervous whinny.

Annelise took a deep breath, leaning down to touch Gertie’s neck, whispering calming words that were meant more for her than for her horse.

She was about to urge the horse forward when a small movement caught her eye.

Her first instinct was to get out of there. But if whoever or whatever hid in the shadows was any danger to her he would have attacked already.

“Who’s there?” she demanded in a sharp whisper.

A rumpled head of hair appeared over a bale of straw, followed by the stable lad’s woebegone face. Jeremy, she remembered. “I’m sorry, miss. I was afraid,” he cried.

He was probably not much more than fifteen. The age of her niece, the one Chipple had threatened. “Do you know where the Brownes are being kept?”

He shook his head. “Mebbe in the cellars—you can lock them easily enough, and I don’t think anyone would dare mess with Mrs. Browne if they had any choice.”

“Do you think you can help them?”

He shook his head again, frankly terrified. “I’m not sure where they are, miss. And I’m afraid of those men.”

He truly did look petrified. “But you could ride for help, couldn’t you?

Take one of those horses and go find someone?”

“Yes, miss,” he said, nodding, still not looking too eager.

Now that Jeremy would help, she had a decision to make. Should she go down to the coast, to warn Christian before it was too late? Or north to rescue her sister? Annelise knew where her duty lay. She knew where her heart lay. And she knew her sister was twice as formidable as Bessie Browne and Annelise put together.

“I want you to ride north to Marymede,” she said to him. “My sister and her family need to be warned that Chipple is sending men after them, as well. It should be easy enough to find—my brother-in-law is the vicar, and their house is next to the church.”

“Are more of those men there?” Jeremy questioned, looking less than resolved.

“Not if you get there first.” The boy was panicked and witless. Christian was a grown man, more than able to take care of himself, while the vicar’s

household consisted of her sharp-tongued sister, her gentle husband, her niece and possibly the two lovebirds, Will and Hetty. And somehow she doubted Will would be much defense against Chipple’s marauders.

There was no question what she should do. And no question about what she was going to do anyway.

“Go,” she said. “Head north and with any luck you should be there by daylight. Lives may depend on you.”

Probably the wrong thing to say to a trembling boy, but he straightened his shoulders and suddenly looked very brave. “Yes, miss. Are you coming with me?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m going to save your master.”

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