Hostage to Love Read online

  She covered her mouth to hide her grin when Aunt Gabrielle’s butler admitted them. Their curious appearance caused his imperious air to fail him. “Lady Belden is in the drawing room,” he said in a faint voice.

  Henrietta ran along the corridor. She waited impatiently, until Phillipe and her father joined her, then they all went into the drawing room together.

  Aunt Gabrielle shrieked. The two dogs erupted into fits of barking. She fell back onto the sofa again and for once, had nothing to say.

  Philippe picked up her fan. He fanned her briskly. “Aren’t you pleased to see your brother?”

  “Oh, Phillipe.” She touched his face as if she feared she was dreaming. “I had begun to fear I would never see any of you again.”

  Henrietta knelt to soothe the dogs, glad her aunt seemed better. She suspected that once Aunt Gabrielle recovered from their return, there would be some sharp questions for her. But happiness sparkled inside her and she would worry about that later.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Henrietta searched for Christian’s card on the silver tray in the hall. She found it among those from the afternoon callers and held it to her nose, searching for his musky scent. Then she rushed to tell her aunt. After luncheon, she changed into a flattering apricot muslin morning gown trimmed with green ribbons, which she thought brought out the green in her eyes.

  She’d spent most of the morning with Aunt Gabrielle. After learning of the men’s rescue, her aunt had forgiven Henrietta the worry she’d caused, and showered her with hugs and kisses. Such a display of excessive Gallic emotion made Henrietta exhausted.

  Philippe had taken to his bed again, with Mademoiselle Josette never far from his thoughts. He fretted about his servants and his chateau. Henrietta thought he would make a poor émigré. His roots were firmly in French soil, and his keen sense of patriotism would bring him back when aristocrats were no longer hunted like prey.

  Her father intended to return to the country the next day. Estate matters had been neglected and would need his attention. She wondered if he would see Verity before he left. Her thoughts turned to Christian. How might she convince him to let her perform on the stage after they were married? One season would be enough, she was not unreasonable.

  Sally fussed and fiddled around Henrietta as she sat before the glass. Henrietta tried to be patient with the new maid. She missed Molly who was an excellent lady’s maid, but truth to tell Henrietta had grown accustomed to looking after herself. It wasn’t just that which had begun to irk her. It was the customs and rules London society imposed on one. She found the endless advice on her carriage and deportment and demeanor suffocating. She missed the sense of freedom. She couldn’t step out the door without announcing where she was going and have a maid accompany her.

  Henrietta had discovered a dislike of footmen at the table waiting to jump to her every need. She was perfectly able to open a door herself, for heaven’s sake. It had become tedious. Must she always wear gloves? They were beastly and hot especially in summer in the crowded ballrooms. When riding in the park, one never galloped. Most preferred to gossip.

  She had to endure her aunt’s lecture on propriety, and how she must never mention her experiences in France at social gatherings. She’d done nothing wrong; in fact, her aunt constantly said how proud she was of her. It pricked at her sense of fairness. Must she tiptoe through life with downcast eyes? She simply couldn’t adopt the missish behavior she’d encountered among the young women of the ton. At least when she married, she would become her own person.

  Would Christian be an indulgent husband? With one last-minute glance at her gown in the glass she went downstairs. A pair of steely gray-blue eyes swam into her vision and warmth spread through her. She had witnessed the steely side of Christian’s nature. He could handle himself well when faced with danger. And though he was gentle and loving toward her, he may not be so easily persuaded to support her on the stage.

  As soon as Christian entered the drawing room, she sensed something was amiss. With polite reserve, he bowed before her aunt, then greeted Henrietta formally, raising her hand to his lips. It was as if their romantic adventure had never happened. His manner heightened her sense of dislocation. He was dressed as the elegant gentleman he was in fine clothes, but something had changed. She tried to catch his eye, searching for that twinkle she loved, but his eyes looked grave and there was no sign in his smile of the closeness they’d shared.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Hartley.” “I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude,” her aunt said. “I shall never forget what you did for us. Words cannot say enough.”

  “I was glad to be of service, Lady Belden.” He sat in the damask wing chair. “It was Lord Beaumont who cared for your brother.”

  “Verity and I helped too,” Henrietta said.

  “Hush, Henrietta,” her aunt said. “Of course, I am grateful to you. You were very brave and resourceful. I have told everyone you have been in the country. I hate to think what society would make of your involvement, should gossip spread.”

  Henrietta stared first at her aunt and then at Christian. “So, it must all be swept under the carpet?”

  Aunt Gabrielle frowned and pulled her shawl around her. “Your reputation must remain unimpeachable.”

  “But after I’m married what difference can it make?” Henrietta stared at Christian. “Christian? Don’t you agree?”

  If she expected him to come to her aid, she was sorely disappointed. “I believe Lady Belden is correct in this.”

  “You sound so pompous, Christian!” Henrietta said, outraged. “And I know you are not like that.”

  “Lower your voice, please, Henrietta.” Aunt Gabrielle hastily gathered up her shawl and lorgnette. “I shall give you two a moment alone. Cook wishes to discuss the menus. You must excuse me.” She hurried from the room.

  “Why didn’t you take my side?” Henrietta asked when the door closed.

  He gave a slight smile. “You should listen to your aunt, Henrietta. She has the wisdom of her years.”

  “Pooh!” She grinned. “Toad eater!” This at least brought a short laugh from him.

  She studied him, admiring the set of his shoulders in the blue coat. The color made his eyes look bluer.

  He made no move to join her on the sofa. Henrietta stood and walked over to him. He leaped to his feet, conscious that a gentleman never sits in a lady’s presence. She shook her head at that, placed her hands on his chest, rose on her toes and lifted her face for his kiss.

  He dutifully pecked her cheek.

  She frowned and stepped back to better study his face. He looked unhappy. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong.” Christian backed away from her with an eye on the door.

  Henrietta followed. She took his hand, intertwining his long fingers with hers. “Yes, there is.”

  He gently withdrew his hand from her grasp. “Did you sleep well?”

  “What is this? Polite conversation?” she threw at him. “Have we just met?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Why won’t you kiss me?”

  “Henrietta, for heaven’s sake. We aren’t married. What if the servants came in?”

  “They won’t.”

  His dark eyebrows rose. “How can you be sure?”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t dare?” His lips trembled slightly. “Not even with the tea tray?”

  She giggled. “I threatened to send them to the country if they came before I called, even if it was a matter of life or death.”

  Christian appeared to wrestle with a similar emotion. He studied his boots. “Now we’re back in London, I don’t want you to feel you must hold me to my proposal, Henrietta.”

  Shocked, she drew in a ragged breath. In profile his face looked set, his jaw tense. “You’ve changed your mind? You no longer wish to marry me?”

  “You’re very young.” He frowned, looking at her at last, his eyes imploring. “You have not ye
t experienced a London Season. You must admit you want excitement in your life, and for a while in France I thought I might share that desire. But I’m a dull dog, really. I’d want to spend most of my time in the country. You’d become quickly bored with me.”

  She gasped as her chest tightened painfully. What was he telling her? He’d been caught up in the excitement? It wasn’t love but merely a lighthearted distraction? She spun away from him and sat on the sofa. “You said you loved me.” She clasped her trembling hands tight.

  “I do. But my love might not be enough to sustain a happy marriage. Not when we want different things. I may not be the man for you.” His blue-gray eyes were shadowed. Of course, he loved her. She waited for him to come to her. To take her in his arms and confess that this was all a fudge.

  When he failed to cross the room, she shook her head, confused. “Not enough? Love is everything.”

  His smile was sad. “To someone of your tender years it does seem so.”

  She stared at him. The man standing before her wasn’t the Christian she’d come to love. This man was a stranger to her. She swallowed. “Very well. I release you.” It hurt her throat to say the words. Her heart ached unbearably, and she swallowed her tears. She would never let him see them.

  He remained where he stood. “That is wise, Henrietta.”

  She lowered her head before he saw too much. “You make perfect sense, Christian. I don’t wish to be buried in the country nor be merely a wife and mother. Not yet. London is exciting. And then, there’s my stage career to organize.”

  She did not say that she longed to be loved by him, passionately, above all things. That she would have gone willingly into the deepest depths of the country just to be with him and would never have mentioned the stage again if he so wished it.

  The pain of his rejection was like a physical wound. She could scarcely breathe. She rose unsteadily from the sofa. Dropped into her best curtsey. “If you’ll forgive me, I promised to call in and see Philippe. He isn’t so well today.”

  She didn’t understand it. His eyes looked so bleak. He bowed stiffly. “I’m sorry to hear it. Please convey my wishes for his rapid recovery.” He rushed to open the door for her before the footman in the hall could. She passed through without a backward glance. Oh, you would be so impressed with me, Verity. I will make a fine actress. She gathered the shreds of her self-control around her like a cloak, raised her chin and climbed the stairs. At the bannister rail, she watched him take his hat, gloves, and cane from the butler. Christian walked out the front door and stood on the porch. She held her breath and waited for him to turn back. And for a moment she was sure he would. But he pulled on his gloves and walked down the steps. The door closed, and he was gone.

  In her bed chamber she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed unrestrainedly. Why wasn’t Verity here when she needed her? Her father would be angry with Christian. He would never understand. Neither did she. Was he that rake her aunt had warned her about? Despite her pain and confusion, she couldn’t believe it.

  * * *

  Christian halted beneath the street lamp and looked at the balcony where he’d first caught sight of the lovely girl he’d hoped to make his own. Those dreams had turned to dust. It was as well that she hadn’t employed that fighting spirit of hers to keep him to his word. He would have weakened quicker than under torture. It was better this way.

  That morning, his spymaster had dropped a final mission in his lap. Christian must return to France immediately, a significant and dangerous assignment. He refused to leave a broken-hearted young woman behind to mourn him if he failed to return. Knowing how loyal Henrietta was if he told her the truth she would wait for him. Far too long. His hunched his shoulders and walked home. He’d hated hurting her, hated seeing her so confused. But now that she detested him, she would put him out of her heart and mind when the suitors came calling. And there would be many.

  He’d like to thrash them all.

  * * *

  Anthony entered Verity’s hotel with the intention of fixing a wedding date and carry her off to the country. Anna had followed him to another country, but he was young and brash then and very convincing. Now he suffered niggling doubts. Verity hadn’t wished to come to England. If it had been safe for her to stay in France, would he still have abducted her? He wasn’t sure. He suspected he was slightly mad when it came to Verity.

  He hesitated on the stairs. Since they’d reached English soil, she’d become more reserved. It was as if she distanced herself from him. Was the theatre his true rival? At her door, he banished the unwelcome thoughts before he knocked. He could do no more than declare his love, and trust she would come to accept the wisdom of their marriage.

  Verity opened the door wide. She smiled. He stepped inside and kissed her, a light touch of his lips on hers, determined not to let passion sweep all rational thought away. They must talk. It was difficult to be near her and not take her in his arms, but it would be the wrong approach. He had to prove there was more to their relationship. He knew it. But did she?

  “I have English whiskey.” She looked beautiful, if a little restrained, in her cream gown.

  He picked up the bottle. “Irish whiskey.” He turned with a smile. “You’ve never been to Ireland?”

  She smiled back. “No.”

  “I’d like to take you there one day.” He offered her a glass. She settled on a padded armchair in that graceful manner she had, her legs tucked beneath her. He poured a small amount into a tumbler and took the chair facing hers. He didn’t like how serious she was.

  “Did it go well at the theatre?”

  “They’ve taken me back. I will complete the season… and then…” She gave a shrug.

  He put the glass down, and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I want to ask you something.”

  Her eyes grew large. “Anthony—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Hear me out, please, before you answer.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve pushed me away these last few days. Why?”

  Her delicate eyebrows drew together. She shook her head.

  “I am not sure how much your stage career means to you. If it’s the reason for this sudden coolness, you must know it doesn’t matter to me. I want to see you happy, Verity. I want you to share my life.” He rushed on. “I’m perfectly willing to share you with the stage, if that is what you want.”

  Verity’s even white teeth pulled at her bottom lip, her eyes huge violet pools of emotion he couldn’t read, didn’t understand. Hating this distance between them he had to move closer. He placed a hand on each arm of her chair, gazing down at her. “Marry me, please, my love. I cannot live without you. I won’t. Not unless you give me a very good reason.”

  She brushed his hand as if she was afraid to touch him. “I cannot marry you, Anthony. Please don’t do this.”

  “Is it because you don’t love me? If it’s that, I’ll go out that door and won’t trouble you again.”

  Her smiled trembled. “That would be so easy, wouldn’t it? You don’t really know me, Anthony. You’re in love with a woman who doesn’t exist.” She reached up to touch his hair, but her hand fell away. “Perhaps you think me a little like your beloved Anna in some way. It would be a mistake for us to marry. I never expected it.” She took his hand and held it against her cheek. “If you feel you must do this because of what we’ve been to each other, you don’t.” She gazed up at him, her eyes pleading. “You don’t,” she whispered.

  Anthony fought the desire to carry her off to bed and convince her of his love. It wouldn’t work. Did she think that was the only reason he wanted her? There was so much more.

  “Please, Anthony, will you just go?”

  Pain and desolation swept over him far worse than when he’d been in the French prison. Whatever the reason, she’d made her decision. Perhaps it was made before he kidnapped her and brought her to England. He straightened. “Very well, Verity. I won’t trouble you again.”


  “Goodbye, Anthony.”

  Anthony picked up his hat and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked down the stairs, back into his old life, and the lonely weeks, months and years that lay ahead without her. It was too painful to contemplate.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Papa?”

  Henrietta gazed at him over the table. They’d both been silent during breakfast.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” He put down his cup, looking as downcast as she was.

  “Can I come with you to the country?”

  His eyes widened. “Of course. I must say I’m surprised. Don’t you want to stay in London?”

  “Christian… and I have decided not to be wed.”

  Anthony put his cup into its saucer with a clatter. “Surely he didn’t cry off?”

  “It was decided between us.”

  He frowned. “You two seemed perfectly suited. What happened?”

  She poked at the bread roll on the plate with her knife. She had no appetite to eat it. “I guess we weren’t.”

  “I don’t understand this, Hetta.”

  “I’m tired. I need a rest before the rush of social engagements becomes too hectic.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve explained to Aunt Gabrielle that I’d like to go home.”

  He threw down his napkin and rose from the table. Came over to raise her chin and gaze into her eyes. “If that is what you want. Tell your maid to pack. We’ll leave this afternoon.”

  He walked to the door.

  “Papa?”

  He turned, a hand resting on the doorknob. “Yes?”

  “What about Verity?”

  He shook his head. “If misery likes company, you and I shall make a good pair, Hetta.” He walked out the door.

  * * *

  Christian supervised his valet’s last-minute packing of the few necessities he allowed himself to take to France. A servant knocked at the door. “Lord Beaumont waits downstairs, sir.”