The Kidnapped Bride Read Free Page B

set of tall double doors opened into a warmer, more pleasant, though shabbily furnished room—the library, decided Sarah, if book-lined walls were any indication. A fire crackling in a fireplace between two pairs of French doors nearly dispelled the gothic gloom, and a huge black dog who lay before it, nose on paws, thumping his long tail, rose lethargically to his feet, stretched, and wandered over to sniff her skirt.
    “This is Erebus,” Darcy said conversationally.
    Sarah only glanced at the dog. Really, she thought, this was intolerable. Darcy seemed completely indifferent to her plight. Indeed, he behaved almost as though he were merely entertaining her for an afternoon, instead of having forcibly abducted her. Perhaps, if she cried … But the notion was quickly rejected. It would not do to show such weakness. Even the little experience she had had taught her that it was always better to play from strength. Besides, she was not by any means certain that she could simply cry at will. At the moment, she felt more like screaming.
    But first things first. She turned to him with melting eyes.
    “I should like to tidy myself, my lord. I must look a perfect fright. And, may I please have some water?” Her throat was parched, and her voice, usually low-pitched and melodious, sounded dry and cracked.
    “Of course,” he answered hastily, seeming relieved when she did not rail at him. “There is a small saloon the other side of the hall with a cheval glass. I’ll have Beck bring some water.”
    “Your coachman?”
    “My valet. I am afraid there are few servants here and no maidservants at all. It’s hard enough to keep them in so isolated a spot at the best of times and with money to pay their wages, but with things the way they’ve been, the wenches flat won’t come.” He shrugged. “There’s just Beck and Matty and Matty’s husband, Tom, who looks after the dog and the stables. He and Matty aren’t worth much, but they stay, and that’s what counts with me. Come along. I’ll show you the saloon. Stay, Erebus!” The big dog plopped back down, eyeing their departure with sad eyes.
    Darcy took Sarah’s elbow lightly and guided her across the hall to a doorway set beneath the curve of the stair. It opened into a saloon with furnishings as shabby as those in the library. No fire burned here, but the curtains had not been closed either, and golden rivers of sunlight sprawled lazily from two tall, arched windows across the faded carpet. The cheval glass stood against the stair wall where the light was not all that she might have wished, but when she tilted the glass properly, it was adequate. She stared at herself.
    “Merciful heavens!”
    “It was only to be expected, m’dear,” he observed with a sad grimace.
    “Please, don’t call me that,” she muttered grimly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “After treating me so shabbily, you can scarcely expect me to believe that you truly care for me.”
    “As you wish.” He bowed. “I’ll find Beck and send him with water and a hairbrush. Can you do your own hair?”
    She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I have never tried.”
    “Well, do the best you can. Have to see about finding you a maid, I suppose.” He paused as though he would say more, but then, with a shrug, he turned away and left the room.
    She stared at her reflection, fighting back tears that had suddenly and against all reason decided to plague her. It would do her no good to cry. She would need her senses about her to face whatever lay ahead. What, she wondered, did he expect to accomplish by this extortionate behavior? Why, it was straight out of one of those silly novels! She had behaved quite wickedly herself, to be sure. But he! Could he really expect her to develop any of the tenderer feelings for him now, after he had treated her in such a monstrous way? Why, he had sounded much like Grandpapa—callous, unfeeling, insensitive, and perfectly selfish—as though nothing counted except