Page 17 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
Chapter Nine
“So where doyou suppose that whippersnapper scoundrel has taken my bride-to-be?” Lord Windermere snarled as Caroline looked up at him from her position on the cold ground.
The moonlight caught the gleam of malice in his eyes, turning them to chips of ice. He loomed above her, his broad shoulders blocking out the stars, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Somewhere in the distance, a fox barked, the sound sharp and unnerving in the stillness.
Poor Venetia. Was this what she would have been subjected to if Lord Windermere had succeeded in spiriting her away? That snarling voice, that barely contained violence, that absolute certainty that he owned whatever he desired? The thought made Caroline’s skin crawl.
Yes, and didn’t that mean the two of them had been justified in doing everything she could to ensure her escape? Caroline had no regrets about breaking the window of his lodge. Not when faced with this man’s true nature, laid bare by his thwarted desires.
She turned her cheek and curled herself up into more of a ball at his feet. The gravel beneath her dug painfully into her side, and the chill of the ground seeped through her borrowed clothes, into her very bones. She didn’t want to speak more than she had to, and she hoped that appearing pathetic anddefenseless—which is what she was, really—he’d think she was nothing more than a stable lad who was of no use.
“Cat got your tongue, boy?” Windermere prodded her roughly with the toe of his polished boot.
“Please, sir, me ma will be lookin’ for me,” Caroline mumbled, trying to keep her voice low and gruff. Her throat ached from the effort of maintaining the deception. Maybe that would appeal to his better nature.
But, of course, he didn’t have one.
“Then she’ll find you locked up because the magistrate is where I’m taking you for affray and destroying property.” His voice carried the casual cruelty of a man accustomed to wielding power over those he considered beneath him.
Caroline gasped as she rolled to avoid his boot, which she suspected, rightly, he was about to use on her. The movement sent sharp pain through her shoulder where she’d been manhandled by Windermere’s servant.
“The magistrate? He’ll hang me, sir! Please, no!” Real fear colored her voice. It wasn’t difficult—the threat of discovery loomed as large as the threat of punishment. Her heart hammered so loudly in her chest she was certain he must hear it.
“Then tell me what you know of the young lady who has just made her escape.” His voice softened. No, lowered with menace. That’s how bullies operated. He crouched down, close enough that she could smell the brandy on his breath. “You know your mistress’s habits. If you take me to her and help me finish what I started tonight, I’ll spare you and you won’t hang.”
The night air seemed to grow colder around them. Caroline covered her face with her hands, partly for effect, partly to hide the feminine features that might give her away. The dirt on her palms smudged across her cheeks, providing an additional layer of disguise. “You want me to nab on me mistress? When I’s gone to so much trouble to save her after she begged me to help her?”
“No doubt she paid you handsomely.” His tone suggested he found the loyalty of servants to be a commodity, something easily bought and sold.
Caroline nodded cautiously, careful to avoid looking at him directly. She didn’t want to be scrutinized too closely, but they were in the dark, and she was lying in the dirt at his feet at the bottom of the steps. The shadows were her allies now, concealing what daylight would surely reveal. “Then arguably playing turncoat and working for me will be far more rewarding, since it’ll mean you don’t meet your death at the bottom of a hangman’s noose.” His teeth gleamed white in the darkness, like those of a predator about to strike.
“You want me to turn me mistress in?” Caroline clarified, her mind racing through possibilities. The bindings around her chest felt suddenly constricting, making it difficult to breathe. “And you promise you’ll not turn me into the magistrate?”
Lord Windermere’s expression twisted into something like amusement. “That’s my stipulation. You accept it?”
Caroline drew in a shuddering breath while her mind spun. Perhaps this could play into the hands of justice. As long as he didn’t know she was not a lowly servant, he’d think he had leverage over her. If he hauled her in front of the local magistrate and her identity as Miss Caroline Weston was revealed, Caroline’s reputation would be in tatters, but she would argue he tried to kidnap her. That would certainly be a desirable outcome.
Then she remembered how men like Windermere could hoodwink others of their kind and, if the magistrate were not an honorable man of the law, Caroline would be in a worse position as Windermere exerted his superior standing. Her reputation would never recover. Frederick would be devastated, and even Henry might look at her differently. The thought made her heart twist painfully in her chest. She recalled the way Henry had looked at her—or rather, at “Flash”—with casual dismissal,never recognizing the eyes that had gazed at him across countless ballrooms.
No, better that she maintain her deception and try to lure Windermere to where he’d be caught in the act of trying to kidnap Venetia. If she played her part well, she might yet turn this disaster to her advantage.
“Yes, sir,” Caroline whispered, infusing her voice with defeat. “Can I go now, sir?”
Windermere laughed. “You’re going nowhere. Black!” He barked, and a servant materialized like a specter, his face impassive. “Take this boy back to the stables and lock him into one of the stalls. In the morning, we’ll get back onto the road. Miss Playford will be back home by then, but I don’t foresee much trouble with her aunt. It’s just a question of time.”
So Mrs. Pike was as complicit as the girls had assumed, thought Caroline, frightened yet resigned as she was hauled, none too gently, to the stables behind the hunting lodge. The servant’s grip on her arm was bruising, but she didn’t dare protest. As they crossed the moonlit yard, Caroline glanced up at the night sky, wondering if Henry had realized yet whom he’d left behind.
The stables smelled of hay and horses, a familiar scent that should have been comforting. The leather of saddles and bridles, the earthy aroma of the animals themselves, the sweet musk of clean straw—all reminded her of happier times riding with Henry at her family’s estate. But as Black thrust her into an empty stall and shot the bolt home with a resounding clang, the familiar environment became a prison.
“Don’t try anything, boy,” growled the servant. “His lordship ain’t known for his patience.” His heavy footsteps receded and when he was gone—and with him the light—Caroline sank onto a pile of straw, fighting back tears. What a fine mess she’d made of everything! Here she was, trapped in Lord Windermere’sstables, dressed as a boy, while Henry rode off with Venetia, unaware of her true identity.
Yet despite her predicament, a small part of her thrilled at her own daring. She’d saved Venetia. She’d thrown objects at a lord of the realm. And for one glorious moment, she had been free of the constraints that bound ladies of quality. The memory of Venetia’s face as Henry had swept her onto his horse—a mixture of terror and relief—made it all worthwhile.
Now she just had to work out how to escape before Windermere realized who she really was. The sovereign Henry had tossed her was still in her pocket, warm from being pressed against her body. It would be useful—but only if she could find a way out of this stall, past the watchful eyes of Windermere’s men, and back to civilization before dawn broke.
Perhaps all was not lost after all. She was Caroline Weston, after all—the girl who had nearly escaped to Gretna Green at seventeen, who had bested Frederick in chess more times than he cared to admit, and who’d helped save Venetia.
Surely, she could outwit Lord Windermere.
