Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

18

She fled as if the very devil himself were chasing her. The image of what Mr. Runyon did to that woman burned into her mind. Her skirt caught in the doorway and she jerked it free, not caring as the fabric tore.

Wildly, she looked around. Was this the way she had come? Where was Zander? Frightened, she turned, hearing a man’s steps on the walkway leading out of the orangery. He is coming after me.

She ran down the hallway, desperately searching for a servant, another lost guest, or even the door to the terrace. Bile rose again in her throat, halting her progress. She slowed and pressed herself against the wall, panting and wheezing, unable to catch her breath. A wave of dizziness stuck her, and the hallway swam before her eyes.

“Alexandra?” The silken tones echoed along the corridor. “Where are you hiding, my pet? My perfect pigeon? Shall we play hide and seek? I adore hide and seek. If I find you though,” his voice roughened, “you will pay a forfeit.”

Alexandra looked back the way she had come. Nothing moved. Ripples of fear coursed through her. Mr. Runyon hunted her.

A heel squeaked across the floor. “Silly girl. Are you jealous? There’s no reason to be envious, darling. She is just a servant, while you,” his words belied an evil intent, “are to be my wife. My…property.”

Alexandra’s heart raced. The hallway tilted again. Sconces dotted the paneling of the walls but gave off little light. The strains of music from the orchestra could be heard but were muted. The last time she had gotten lost during a ball she met Sutton Reynolds. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Alexandra’s mouth. The outcome tonight would be very different indeed.

“This is becoming tiresome, Alexandra. Your jealous fit bores me. Stop hiding. I am a man after all, and I have my needs. Needs I am longing for you to fulfill.”

The sound of the riding crop slapping against his leg jolted Alexandra out of her immobility. Her gaze swung down the dark hallway, trying to discern a door, a window, anything. Her ears perked up. She could swear she heard the creak of a chair in the silence. Someone was down this hall. Maybe someone who would help her.

“Alexandra, sweet!” The crop snapped from behind her. “Do not make me drag you back into the ballroom. Or maybe I should. Do you like being forced, Alexandra?” Mr. Runyon’s brittle laughter rang in Alexandra’s ears. “Do we need to take a turn around the orangery so that you may regain your…balance? You are most un-balanced, Alexandra. Pigeon. Sometimes, you even rave nonsense at me. Everyone knows your nerves are…delicate. I’ve made sure.”

He was insane. Oh God, I have to get away from him. Grabbing her skirts, she dashed across the marble floor, her slippers not making a sound. Her head ached terribly, the dizziness came at her in waves. Her right foot caught on the torn part of her skirt, and she faltered as one foot skidded across the polished marble. With a thud, her knee slammed into the floor. She sprawled across the tiles. Cold marble pressed into her cheek. She tried to keep still, hoping he would think she fainted.

A shadow loomed over her prostrate form. “Really, my pet, do you think I would let you get away? You are bought and paid for. Like the breeding stock you no doubt loved while you played farmer at Hermsbut Alley.” He deliberately mangled her beloved home’s name.

“Helmsby Abbey.” A gasping sob escaped her throat. She sounded like a wounded animal. The hallway tilted again.

“Oh, yes. That was the name. A dreadful hovel peopled with ancient servants who should have been sent out to pasture long ago. Come, let me help you up.” His words dripped with false solicitousness. “How you long for your home. Hopefully, you will see it again. Hopefully, your servants won’t starve. There are no guarantees, of course.”

“You-” Alexandra choked out, tears of shock running down her cheeks. “You said you would buy it for me. You said-”

“That’s right, pigeon. I did promise it as a gift, a wedding gift.”

A scorching pain seared through Alexandra’s chest. “You cannot possibly believe I would still agree to marry you. You are depraved,” she whispered as tears puddled on the marble floor beneath her face. She wished to be dead.

“Yes, you will. We’ve been betrothed for weeks now and money has exchanged hands. Lots and lots of money. Your uncle is a terrible faro player. It’s simple really.”

Alexandra clawed at the marble in desperate attempt to move herself away from him.

Mr. Runyon slid one foot onto the train of her dress, pinning her to the floor.

“Lord! You look like an inchworm, my dear Alexandra. As I was saying, your uncle owes me quite a bit of money. I promised to forgive his debt in return for you.”

At her horrified gasp he continued. “I thought you worth far more than what he owed, pigeon. Your uncle simply doesn’t value you.”

Dawning comprehension settled over her. She had never been free. Odious Oliver had sold her like a prize mare to pay off his debts. Her plan to wait him out had been in vain. Her betrothal had been decided before she ever arrived in London.

Odious Oliver gambled her away.

“I told your uncle I would purchase Helmsby Abbey from him as a gift to my betrothed. But if you don’t marry me, your uncle will not only be homeless, which I realize you could care less about, but your retainers at that estate as well. I shall throw them out into the streets and make beggars of them all. I shall burn that pile of manure to the ground while you watch.”

Her vision dimmed as if she were looking down a tunnel. Tiny pinpricks of light flashed before her. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because I can. I’ve paid for the privilege.” Hands, gloved in the finest leather, wrapped around her wrists. He pulled her upright so hard her arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets. Ice blue shards of glass watched her dispassionately. His handsome face contorted into a menacing mask. The monster before her in no way resembled the gentle man who once paid her court. The pressure on her wrists intensified. “My dear, sweet, clumsy little whore.”

Alexandra flinched. She thrashed, causing her head to ache as she sought to free herself.

Mr. Runyon sighed in disgust. “Just stop it.” He shook her until her head snapped back on her neck. “You are behaving like a child. You will learn to enjoy the things we do together, the things you will do with my friends. Lord Atkins is looking forward to furthering his acquaintance with you.”

“No. Never. You are sick. Disgusting. What you did to that woman-”

“Was only what she wished. I’ll admit Mary isn’t as fond of the crop as I would like her to be.”

“Please,” she begged.

He gave her a rueful smile. “You and I are going to have such fun together.” Grabbing both her wrists in one hand, he reached out with the other. The gloved hand lingered over the mounds of her breasts, squeezing them as if he tested their ripeness. “Lovely and tender like an unblemished peach.” His thumb rubbed against her left nipple, slowly.

Horrified, Alexandra felt her nipple harden into a point under the gentle urging.

Mr. Runyon chuckled, a nasty, rasping sound. “See? Whore.” Abruptly he pinched the nipple.

Alexandra shuddered in pain.

Lord Runyon licked his lips. “Oh, yes. Such fun we will have, for year and years.”

Ashamed and more frightened than she had ever been in her life, Alexandra began to weep in earnest. She continued to struggle ineffectually against him, nausea and dizziness nearly overwhelming her.

Mr. Runyon swung her around like a child. “Alexandra, I fear all this defiance on your part has done nothing but whet my appetite. I think we must find a quiet parlor before returning to the ballroom.”

“No. I’ll scream!” Alexandra stuttered between sobs.

“Then I shall gag you.” He shook her. “You need to learn proper respect for me, your master.”

“Hello, Archie. Am I interrupting something?”

Lord Cambourne, his tall form barely more than a shadow, stood in the hallway before them.

Sutton. Alexandra’s heart beat wildly.

Mr. Runyon stopped swinging her. He thrust her behind him, still holding her wrists in a bruising hold.

“Bugger off, Cam,” he sneered to Sutton. “My future wife and I are having a private discussion that is no concern of yours.”

Sutton took in Alexandra’s wrists, bound by Mr. Runyon’s hands. His gaze lingered on her face, before turning to Mr. Runyon. “Private discussion or not, betrothed or not, no woman is to be abused under my roof. Let her go.”

“You have no say, Cam. She’s my property. My betrothed.”

“Mary is missing. Have you seen Mary? Plump lass who takes care of things in the family’s wing?”

Mr. Runyon’s grip on Alexandra tightened. One slender hand reached around and caressed Alexandra’s face, the fingers tapping along her cheek. He viciously grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at Sutton. “A maid’s disappearance? Why should I care about the disappearance of some lowly servant when I hold my perfect Hampshire rose? Lovely, isn’t she, Cam?”

Alexandra closed her eyes against Sutton’s penetrating stare and her own shame. What must he think of her? Deep, wrenching humiliation flooded through her. Her stupidity had cost her the affection of the man before her. She disgusted him.

“Miss Dunforth.” Sutton addressed her but did not look at her. “Your dress appears to have a slight tear in it. Down the hall there is a small parlor where my sister is attending my grandmother. I will escort you there and call for a maid to repair your gown.”

“I don’t think so, Cam. I will escort my betrothed to a room where she can be waited on by her maid, Tilda. I can’t bear for Alexandra to leave my side. We are announcing our betrothal tonight.” Archie sneered at him.

A slight tic appeared in Sutton’s cheek. He cocked an indulgent smile. “I don’t think so, Archie. Miss Dunforth will sit in the parlor with my sister and the Dowager.”

Mr. Runyon sputtered. The dark vein in his temple bulged as his gaze settled on Sutton maliciously. “You want her. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Sutton regarded him with an unwavering stare. “Your betrothed is of no import to me, other than that she is a woman, perhaps in need of assistance. A woman under my roof is in my care. Do I make myself clear?”

Alexandra swallowed. It was true then. He had no affection for her. He would leave her to her fate.

Mr. Runyon’s nostrils flared in irritation. He pulled at Alexandra.

“Don’t.” Sutton stepped forward. “If you persist, you will force me to explain your demise at my hands to the crowd assembled in the ballroom. And the reasons for it.”

The hall became deathly quiet.

Mr. Runyon’s voice was soft. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Archie flung Alexandra away from him, his face full of loathing, his breathing choppy from fear.

She fell to her knees against the paneled wall.

“You have no proof, Cam. None. The ravings of a dead man.” Archie lifted his chin. “The scandal would destroy any hope either of your sisters has for a decent marriage. Think of the shame the Dowager would endure.”

“Do you think I care a fig for scandal? I’d much rather you were dead,” Sutton drawled.

Mr. Runyon backed away from Sutton, his hands clenched into fists. The comparison between the two men was laughable, a pampered housecat attempting to challenge a panther.

Alexandra pushed her head against the wall. Nausea rolled through her.

“Miss Dunforth?” Sutton said softly. “Can you stand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Please go down the hall. The door is closed, but Harry stands outside. Will you recognize Harry?”

She nodded again, not daring to look at Mr. Runyon.

Sutton’s hand rested gently on her arm as he helped her up. “Allow me.”

Alexandra could hear Mr. Runyon panting in frustration. “Don’t you dare, Alexandra. I shall throw them all out. What will poor Mrs. Cowries do? A widow on her own.”

Alexandra gasped. He knew her housekeeper’s name.

“Oh yes.” He’d noted her distress. “I’ve seen them all. I will throw them out. Make them beggars. Your slow-witted groom, Michael? Who will employ him and see that his ill mother is fed? And Mrs. Cowries? I suppose begging in the streets will suit her,” Mr. Runyon snarled. “I shall destroy Helmsby Abbey brick by brick.”

“No.” Alexandra sobbed. She shook off Sutton’s hand. “I have to-”

Sutton stared down at her. “Badger? Is this what you want?”

“Of course, it’s what she wants. The contracts are signed, Cam. Not even you, the great Marquess of Cambourne can undo that legal document.” Spittle formed at the corner of Mr. Runyon’s mouth.

Sutton inhaled deeply. “Miss Dunforth?”

Alexandra looked at the two men. Terrified and in a panic, she simply could not think. Her head ached.

“Mr. Runyon, my head aches. I wish a small respite.”

“Fine. You had better appear in a quarter of an hour or I shall come looking for you, Alexandra. And I will not be pleased. Your defiance tonight has cost you one retainer. I shall tell you later which one it is to be.”

Alexandra put a hand to her mouth too horrified to reply.

“Archie, if you do not walk away now, I will kill you where you stand.”

“Please, Mr. Runyon. I beg you.”

“Remember, Alexandra. I hold Helmsby Abbey.” Mr. Runyon jerked a thumb at Sutton. “He cannot help you. Only I can. Fifteen minutes.” Mr. Runyon strode down the hall to the ballroom and disappeared.

“Badger?”

“Please, Sutton.” She clutched at his arm. “I cannot speak about this now. I need to sit. My head. I need my tea.”

Sutton shot her a curious look but said nothing.

Alexandra inhaled deeply of the cinnamon scent that swirled around him. She felt some of the tension ease from her body at his closeness. How she wished to wrap her arms around his body, to bury herself and her misery within him. Did he feel anything for her except a sense of duty?

Not daring to break the spell his presence wove around her, she desperately tried to ignore the rising panic within her breast. Fifteen minutes with Sutton was all she would ever have.