Scandal Becomes Her. Shirlee Busbee

the perilous journey down to the ground, “and I shall throttle you.”

      Nell squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly terrified as she felt them swaying wildly in the air. He must have used a rope, she thought. Attached it somehow to the balcony and climbed up it. And now, dear God! We are going down it!

      Frightened by the knowledge that if Tynedale’s grip on her or the rope slipped she would go crashing to the stone terrace below, Nell remained frozen as he made the descent. The instant she felt his feet thud against the ground, she screamed again, kicking and twisting wildly on his shoulder.

      “I warned you,” he growled.

      His grip shifted and she slid upright. The next instant there was a blinding explosion in her head and the world went dark.

      But Nell’s screams had not gone unheard. Above the sounds of the storm, Robert barely heard the first scream. But he had heard something and, about to enter the house, he stopped at the door and listened. He had just decided he was imagining things when a faint sound came to him again. The wind and rain and the bulk of the house distorted the sound, yet Robert was convinced that he had heard something. A kitten? A dog howling?

      Frowning, he entered the house. Sir Edward was just crossing the black-and-white-marble-tiled floor of the main hall and he smiled in his direction.

      “Drew buy the horse?” he inquired with a lifted brow.

      Robert laughed. “It was a near thing, but Henry and I convinced him that it would not be wise.” The frown returned. “Have you heard anything strange tonight?” he asked.

      “Strange? No. Just the usual shrieks and creaks of the storm. Why?”

      “I thought I heard something…” He shrugged. “It is probably nothing, but I think I’ll take a look around before I seek my bed.”

      Finding nothing amiss, Robert was feeling rather foolish several minutes later when he tapped on Nell’s door. He was not alarmed when she did not answer; Sir Edward had mentioned that she had retired just as soon as they had returned home. She was, no doubt, asleep. Robert smiled. Nell was known to sleep like the dead and even with a storm howling outside it was unlikely that anything short of a lightning bolt next to her bed would disturb her. His smile faded. A lightning bolt or one of those damn nightmares.

      He stood there, undecided whether to intrude upon her, but prompted by some instinct, he tapped again and hearing no reply, opened the door and entered. Crossing the sitting room, a small candle held in his hand, he peered into her bedchamber, the bed and furniture outlined by the light of the dancing fire on the hearth. A sudden flash of lightning jerked his gaze to the double doors.

      He noticed two things simultaneously: Nell’s bed was empty and the glass doors to her balcony were thrown wide. Calling her name, in three swift strides he covered the distance to the balcony. It was empty. Only the storm howled back in answer to his next frantic cry of her name.

      A terrible feeling came over him as he remembered those nights when she had awakened the entire household with her screams from the nightmares that haunted her. In the grip of who-knew-what horrors, had she stumbled to the balcony and fallen? Standing in the rain-lashed darkness, his heart frozen in his breast, he forced himself to peer over the short railing to the ground below. Relief swept through him when the flickering flame of his candle showed him that Nell’s body was not lying crumpled on the stone terrace beneath the balcony.

      His relief was short-lived. If Nell was not in her bed, then where was she? A quick search of her rooms did not reveal her presence. He called her name again and again, his voice more urgent each time he called out, but only the sounds of the storm met his ears. Uneasiness growing by the second, he raced downstairs. Finding his father pouring himself a brandy in the library, he demanded, “Are you certain Nell went to bed?”

      “Said she was,” Sir Edward replied, surprised by Robert’s interest in his sister’s whereabouts. “Did you look in on her?”

      “Yes—and she is not there. I cannot find her anywhere. I’ve looked.” Robert bit his lip. “The doors to her balcony were thrown wide.”

      Alarm on his pleasant features, Sir Edward put down his brandy and swept past his son. With Robert on his heels, Sir Edward hurried to Nell’s rooms.

      The wind and rain were pouring in through the doors that Robert in his anxiety had left open. Paying it no heed, both men quickly lit several candles.

      Nell’s room was ablaze with light and in that bright light both men stared in mounting fear at the muddy boot prints that marred the surface of the cream and rose carpet that covered the floor. Muddy prints that led from the balcony to the bed and away again…

      “I knew it! I knew he was up to no good. It is that bastard Tynedale!” Sir Edward burst out, his face a mixture of horror and fury. “He has abducted her! And is probably at this very moment on his way to Gretna Green. We must stop them.”

      “Wait!” Robert said, when Sir Edward would have run from the room. “I know it looks suspicious, but how do you know that it is Tynedale that took her? I agree that it appears that someone has taken Nell, but we must completely search the house first. We will feel perfect fools if there is a simple explanation for this.”

      Looking at him as if he had lost his wits, Sir Edward snapped, “You rouse the servants and have them look. I am ringing for the coach and sending a note around to the twins—we may need their help. We must not delay.”

      Drew and Henry, full of anxious questions, arrived shortly. Upon hearing what was feared, outraged and hungry for Tynedale’s blood, they were impatient to set off in pursuit. The search of the household was completed and beyond a scrap of delicate material caught on one of the bushes leading away from the house, there was no sign of Nell.

      Within moments of finding the scrap of material, Sir Edward and Robert were in the family coach and rattling over the London streets. Drew and Henry, swathed in greatcoats, their heads bent against the storm, had chosen to ride astride and their horses splashed alongside of the swaying coach.

      Until the coach was clear of London, Sir Edward and Robert sat grim-faced and tight-lipped, neither inclined to talk. Finally leaving the city behind them, Sir Edward tapped on the roof and sticking his head out the window, yelled to his coachman, “Spring ’em!”

      The driver cracked his whip and the horses leaped forward. The coach, flanked by the twins, rocked and lurched through the night, the blackness lit now and then by the silvery flashes of lightning.

      Tynedale possessed nothing so luxurious as a coach—his had been sold weeks ago to pay off his most pressing debts. He was driving his curricle and even with the top up, he and Nell were pelted with rain as he urged the pair of rented horses on to greater speed. He didn’t believe that anyone had heard Nell’s cries, but he was taking no chances. Besides, he had to have her safely hidden away by daylight. He had known from the beginning that Gretna Green on the Scottish border was not feasible—and the first place the family would look for her. He smiled tightly. There were other ways to bring about a hasty wedding…Once he had compromised her, he was confident that their marriage would follow immediately. All he had to do was get through the next twenty-four hours and all his problems would be solved.

      Tynedale glanced over at Nell sitting next to him. She held herself rigid, one hand wrapped around the leather strap to steady her swaying body, her eyes fixed on the galloping horses in front of her. Wrapped from head to toe in the concealing folds of his cloak it was unlikely that anyone—anyone fool enough to be out on a night like this—would recognize her. The blackness of the night would have shielded them, anyway, and the storm was a stroke of luck.

      He would have preferred to have planned the abduction more carefully and he certainly would not have chosen a curricle in which to make his escape, but the news that Nell was leaving London on Monday had left him with no time to make other plans. That and the news that Wyndham had bought up all his vowels. Bloody stiff-necked bastard! Wasn’t it enough that Wyndham had beaten him in that duel earlier this year and scarred him