“Please,” said the Marquis equably as the Captain and the Earl arrived at the stables in the Vauden Mews.
“Do we ride together or split up to see if we can determine which direction he took?” the Captain asked, swinging down from his saddle.
“Together, for I believe we are about to discover not only his direction but his destination,” said the Marquis, a cold smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Behind him came the clatter of boots down the stairs. The Marquis’s smile broadened, and he held up his hand to forestall further questions from his friends.
“You wished to see me, milord?” asked Friarly, still tucking his shirttails into his breeches.
“Yes, Friarly. Tell me, how long have you been in my employ?”
Puzzled at the question, the groom’s brows knitted together. “I don’t rightly recall, milord. Five, maybe six years.”
“And in that time, have I ever given you cause to distrust my judgment?”
“Oh, no, milord. Quite to the contrary.”
“Good, for I am going to tell you what, in my judgment, is the proper punishment for employees who take money from others to do some disservice to their employers.”
The groom blanched. “Milord?” He backed up, running into a stall post.
“Particularly,” the Marquis went relentlessly on while moving to block the man’s escape route, “if the disservice also leads to the ruination of an innocent young lady.”
Friarly looked anxiously from the Marquis to the Earl and the Captain, but they looked as forbidding as the Marquis. They spread out to block any path of escape. He looked back at the Marquis and extended a shaking hand in supplication. “Please, milord!” the man gabbled.
“Yes, Friarly? You wish to venture an opinion as to the punishment?”
“I didn’t know what use he was going to make of it. At least, not until it were too late!”
“Ah, but I disagree with you. You could have come to me, revealed all, and been a hero instead of a wretch who lames horses to prevent their being ridden to save a lady’s virtue.” The Marquis grabbed the man by his shirt, slamming him up against the stall. “Where’s he taken her, you maw-worm!”
“Crowden Park! Crowden Park!” screeched the man, his eyes showing white all around. “Please, milord! Have mercy!”
“Crowden Park,” murmured Stefton, stunned. His grip eased, and the groom slid to the floor, sobbing apologies and begging for mercy. “Stephen!” the Marquis bellowed.
“Yes, milord,” said a sandy-haired youth, coming out of the shadows.
“Saddle and bridle the bay, then lock Friarly in the tack room until I return.” He looked down at the gibbering groom. “If I were you, I’d pray no harm has come to her.”
“Isn’t Crowden one of your properties?” asked Soothcoor.
“Yes, on the road to Ilford.”
“East out of London. Not a direction we’d a been likely to go searching,” the Earl observed.
“Precisely.”
The gentlemen were grimly silent as they absorbed the implications of that fact. Finally, the Earl stirred and threw the reins he held back over his horse’s neck and prepared to mount. He paused and looked back at the Marquis. “Oliver, save a piece of his hide for me,” he said softly.
The Marquis nodded curtly.
CHAPTER 14
Catherine fought uselessly against the languor that drained her muscles and the cotton wool that filled her head. Her eyes drooped, sleep threatening to obliterate the world. She took deep breaths and blinked.
Masculine laughter, reminding her she was not alone, was like bellows to anger’s coals. Kirkson. He was responsible, and it was he who sat beside her now, laughing at her and gloating over his success.
“Wh-hat do you wa-ant?” She struggled to get the words out, but they lacked the intensity of the anger she felt.
“My dear Miss Shreveton, such naiveté! Why would any gentleman be reduced to kidnapping a young woman? Marriage, of course. Only in your case, not immediately. First, I intend to ruin you. Ruin you so thoroughly that no other gentleman would possibly want my leavings. Then, after a time, I shall marry you.”
