Page 103 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“You must not worry.” He brushed a kiss against her mouth, and she fought the urge to scrub her hand across her lips. “You must rest now, my dear. You are looking quite fatigued.”
As Jonathan turned to go, Phaedra had a wild impulse to dart past him, but she knew she would never make it to the door. She must remain calm. James’s life could depend upon it. Jonathan was clearly planning something, and James would not be on his guard against the gentle-seeming man-any more than Hester or Ewan had been.
She raced after Jonathan and caught his arm. “Jonathan. Let me help you to destroy the marquis.”
He patted her hand with an indulgent smile. “I could not do that. It would be far too distressful for you.”
“No, I hate him!” The shrillness of fear in her voice made her words sound genuine. “He seduced and abandoned me. I will never be happy unless you grant me this.”
Jonathan’s brow furrowed. Her heart plummeted in despair. She would never fool him. Then he nodded gravely and said, “Very well, my dear. I will come for you when it is time.”
“Jonathan,” she pleaded, but he was already leaving, locking the door behind him.
Phaedra could no longer keep her frenzy at bay. She rattled the handle, but quickly realized the futility of it. Racing over to the window, she pounded against the wood, then attempted to pry free the boards. Hopeless. Jonathan had obviously taken care to leave nothing in the chamber-not even fire irons-that she could use to smash her way to freedom.
Phaedra spun away from the boarded-up window and began rummaging through the drawers of the dressing table. Surelyshe could at least find a hairpin and attempt to pick the lock on the door. But it seemed Jonathan had even considered that possibility, for her search turned up nothing.
He had done a most thorough job of sealing her off from the world. There was no way out, no one to hear her. Her only choice was to wait-if she could keep from going mad herself before Jonathan returned. What if he changed his mind and simply went ahead and- She refused to consider that grim possibility.
Instead she spent her time in the useless pursuit of examining the past, entertaining guilt-ridden thoughts of how much she had had to do with Jonathan’s broken mind. Had she given him the wrong impression when she had risked her life to nurse him through the pox? Had she been too kind to him over the years, or not kind enough? Would it have made it better or worse if she had-
Phaedra sank her head between her hands. She did not see how it could possibly be any worse. The time dragged by until she wanted to scream. She had no notion of how many hours passed before the click of the lock announced Jonathan’s return.
As Phaedra raised her head to look at him, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was ghostly pale, her hair wildly disheveled. Jonathan, by comparison, looked perfectly ordinary, his neckcloth arranged somberly, his demeanor calm. Anyone might be forgiven for supposing that she was the mad one.
“It is time, my dear,” Jonathan said solemnly. He extended his arm in a courtly gesture to escort her downstairs. Phaedra wanted to shrink from him, but her recent terrors had left her so light-headed that she was obliged to accept Jonathan’s support.
He led her to the small parlor below. The rest of the house was dark and silent, but here a small fire glowed on the hearth. The candles were ordered in such grim array that the room had a funereal look.
“The marquis will be here soon,” Jonathan said. “I told him I had tidings of you.”
Phaedra concealed her alarm. She could not formulate her own plans until she knew what Jonathan meant to do. He drew her over to the sideboard and indicated a large crystal pitcher, filled with what appeared to be water.
“Pure vitriolic acid,” he said. “I have diluted a small portion and added it to this.”
Jonathan held aloft a full wine decanter for her inspection. “Rascally merchants do it all the time to improve the body and color of inferior products. I have added far more than is safe. His lordship will seem to have perished from drinking badly adulterated wine.”
Phaedra’s gaze flicked with horror to the crystal decanter. The burgundy liquid sparkled a rich red. Never had death been put in a more inviting form.
Jonathan arranged the decanter and the glasses neatly upon the tea table, then tugged her by the hand. “You will wait in the next room behind the door. You can see everything from there. You shall have your vengeance soon. Phaedra.”
His eyes glazed over as he said, “It will be a most hideous painful death, but no more than the marquis deserves. Then nothing will stand between us, my love.”
As Jonathan bent to kiss her cheek, Phaedra could no longer conceal her revulsion. She felt relieved when he permitted her to slip past him into the dining room. She hoped he would close the door; then she might be able to escape through one of the long windows and warn James before he reached the house. But whether Jonathan simply reveled in gazing upon her or he did not yet completely trust her, Phaedra was unsure. Whatever his reason, he kept her within sight during the strained half-hour of waiting that followed.
She started when finally there came a thundering summons at the front door. Jonathan’s features suffused with an expression of suppressed excitement as he held one finger to his lips. Warning Phaedra to remain silent, he closed her in the dining room. She could hear his footfalls fade as he stalked toward the front door.
Phaedra whirled about frantically, but she knew it was already too late. By the time she escaped through one of the windows and raced around to the front, James would be inside the house. Indeed she could already hear Jonathan returning. Cautiously, Phaedra inched open the door and peered into the parlor.
Jonathan addressed a shadowy figure beyond his shoulder. “Come and warm yourself at the fire. I will fetch you a glass of wine.”
James swept in, impatiently stripping off his gloves. Phaedra’s heart constricted with a mingling of joy and fear at the sight of the familiar hard angles of his face, the waves of dark hair, the cool blue eyes that were so blessedly sane.
With a choked cry, she flung open the salon door and ran to him. She had but a glimpse of his astonishment as she hurled herself into his arms.
“Phaedra, thank God,” he said. “I have been going out of my mind searching for you.”
She sagged against him, gasping out words that were barely comprehensible. “James, take care. Jonathan, he’s mad. He?—”
