The evening passed slowly for Tristan. There was no shortage of conversation, but he acknowledged to himself that the only reason he stayed was the chance of another word with Natalya. The Pridhams seemed intent on keeping him away from her, but he was determined to talk to her again before the end of the evening.
He escorted Mrs Ancrum to supper and they were soon joined by Tristan’s old friend, Major Moffatt, and his wife. No one could fault his attention to his companions, but although he listened with half an ear as Mrs Ancrum and the Moffatts discussed the imminent arrival of the Allied Sovereigns and the celebrations for the Peace arranged in London, he was all too aware that Natalya was nowhere to be seen. On the main table, Mrs Pridham was speaking earnestly to her husband and a few moments later she slipped out of the room.
‘You’re very distracted, Tris. Something wrong, my friend?’
Major Moffatt, sitting beside him, had leaned closer to refill his glass. Tristan met his eyes and decided against prevaricating.
‘I was looking for Miss Fairchild. Seems damned odd that she should disappear from her own party.’
The Major pushed the decanter away.
‘Not sure if it is of any relevance,’ he said slowly, ‘but I was one of the last to come in to supper. My dashed leg, you know. I like to wait, rather than hold up everyone else. I noticed Miss Fairchild reading a note.’ He continued in the same carefully indifferent voice, ‘Could have been a billet-doux.’
Tristan considered. It was most likely from Freddie, apologising for his absence on her special day. Why would he do that, though, when he had taken his leave of her in person? He frowned. Besides, it was not like Freddie, who found putting pen to paper a laborious chore. After a moment he excused himself from his companions and left the supper room.
In the hall, Mrs Pridham was talking to a maidservant. When the girl had hurried away, he approached his hostess.
‘Is anything amiss, ma’am? Can I be of assistance?’
She jumped. ‘What? Oh, no, no, my lord. I was…er…merely having a word with the staff. We have hired extra servants, you see. One needs constantly to keep an eye upon them.’
‘Forgive me, but surely that was Miss Fairchild’s maid I saw in the hall just now,’ he persisted. ‘I trust your niece is not ill?’
‘Natalya?’ Mrs Pridham gave a little trill of laughter. ‘No, she is not ill, my lord. Nothing of the sort. Natalya is never ill. Only…only it has been a long day and she is a trifle fatigued by all the excitement. She has gone to her room. That is all.’
She had retired from her own party! But perhaps it was not quite so strange. There was a notable absence of young people and no dancing. Tristan felt a stab of disappointment that she did not think his company worth staying for, but he shrugged it off. Most likely she was missing Freddie a great deal more than she would admit.
Mrs Pridham touched his arm. ‘Do, pray, go back to your supper, Lord Dalmorren. My niece would not wish to have any attention drawn to her absence.’
If Natalya was not coming back, then there really was no point in his staying any longer. Tristan gave his hostess a tight smile.
‘As a matter of fact, I had not intended to remain so long, ma’am. I shall take my leave of you now.’ She looked surprised, but he gave her no time to speak or persuade him to stay. ‘There is no need to send out for my carriage,’ he told her as he bowed over her hand. ‘I shall walk around to the mews and find it myself. Good night to you, Mrs Pridham.’
Outside the night was balmy. Tristan regretted now that he had brought his carriage. After all, it was not far to George Street, he might easily walk. Confound it, he would much prefer to walk. Beyond the flickering street lamps, a crescent moon was sailing in a cloudless sky. He recalled what James Moffatt had told him about Natalya receiving a note and he glanced up at the moon again. It was a perfect night for a midnight assignation.
Hell and damnation! Could it be that Freddie had duped him, that he had not yet left Bath? Perhaps Natalya had not retired. Perhaps they were even now in the garden together. Jamming his hat on his head, Tristan strode quickly to the far end of Sydney Place and made his way around the corner. As he had thought, the rear of the terrace was completely enclosed by a high wall. There would be neighbouring gardens on either side of the Pridhams’ residence and the mews buildings along the back. No easy way in or out, save through the house or the coach house.
‘Bah! You have let the woman get under your skin,’ Tristan muttered. ‘Get yourself home to bed, man.’
He found his carriage without difficulty. It was pulled up at the entrance to the mews, the driver and footman sitting together on the box. They were both slumped, the coachman’s hat pulled low as if he was asleep, but he heard Tristan’s approach and he straightened, elbowing his companion in the ribs to rouse him. As the sleepy footman scrambled down, Tristan exchanged a word with the coachman.
‘All quiet here, John?’
‘As the grave now, my lord,’ replied the old retainer cheerfully.
‘Now?’
The coachman grunted. ‘About a half hour ago a carriage comes hurtling out o’ the mews.’ He jerked a thumb towards the footman, standing now beside the open carriage door. ‘Poor Simon there was walking around and had to jump out o’ the way.’
‘You sustained no hurt, I hope, Simon?’
‘No, my lord, although the driver was whipping up his horses like the devil was on his heels!’ the footman chuckled. ‘John says to me that like as not they are on their way to Gretna!’
A chill ran through Tristan as a scenario took shape in his mind. Natalya slipping away from her own party. A speeding coach. It all made sense. She was one-and-twenty now, she could marry whomsoever she wished, but Freddie was not yet of age, so they would have to fly to the border. So, Freddie’s leaving Bath early had been nothing more than a ruse. The chill was ousted by a white-hot rage.
‘Devil take ’em both,’ Tristan muttered as he jumped into his own coach, ‘Drive me home, John!’
They lurched away, pulling into Sydney Place and rattling through Great Pulteney Street with Tristan scowling into the darkness, but it did not take long for his initial anger and suspicion to subside. He knew Freddie. The boy could not have deceived him so cheerfully if he had been planning an elopement. And Natalya. He recalled how anxious she had been.
‘I feel like a sacrificial virgin.’
Suddenly he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
* * *
Natalya felt sick. She was lying on a hard leather bench that lurched and swayed. A moving coach. Cautiously she opened her eyes. She could not see anything inside the carriage, but the squares of dark blue-grey sky showed her that the blinds had not been pulled down. Against the window in the opposite corner was a black outline. A woman in a poke bonnet and with narrow shoulders. The fog was clearing from Natalya’s mind and cautiously she pushed herself up on the seat.
The woman put out her hand. ‘Drink.’
Moonlight glinted on a metal flask. Natalya took it and removed the stopper. She sniffed cautiously, then took a sip. Water. Some of Natalya’s terror eased. She took another sip, then addressed her companion with all the authority she could muster.
‘You must turn back immediately.’ There was no response. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘No talk.’
Natalya could not recognise the accent from just two words, but it was very thick.
‘This is an abduction,’ she said imperiously. ‘I demand you let me go.’
The woman did not move and her silence was more unnerving than anything else. Natalya felt the coach slowing and as they clattered over a bridge she fell on the door, hands scrabbling for the handle. She would jump out and risk broken bones if only she could escape! To her frustration she found the handle had been removed, as had the strap to let down the window. The woman opposite reached over and caught her shoulders, pushing her back into her seat with surprising strength.
‘You stay.’
Shocked, Natalya huddled back in her corner. She was very frightened, but she was determined she would not cry. Biting her lip, she gazed out of the window. She had no idea where they were, for she rarely went out of Bath and never at night. The landscape looked strange, unfamiliar in the darkness. She shivered and rubbed her bare arms.
The shadowy figure opposite shifted, her bulky figure blocking out even more of the light as she removed her cloak and handed it to Natalya.
‘Oh, so you do not want me to die of cold.’ The remark was met with only silence.
Natalya threw the cloak about her shoulders. It was too dark to see, but she could feel the quality of the wool. It was heavy and expensive. Her companion was no slattern from the gutter. Natalya guessed she was some sort of servant, but whether she was maid to a countess or a courtesan she had no idea.
The carriage rattled on through the night. The faint moonlight occasionally showed the black outlines of woods or buildings, but there was no sign of life and Natalya guessed it must be very late. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but it had been gone eleven o’clock when she had slipped down to the garden.
They drove past a posting inn, where lights shone from some of the windows and torches flared in the yard. The sober pace of the vehicle suggested to Natalya that the driver had no desire to stop and change horses. She would be missed, at some point, but would anyone guess what had happened? Would anyone know where to begin searching for her?
How foolish she had been to slip away without telling anyone. She had thought she was safe enough in the walled garden. She frowned. Had her abductors bribed the Pridhams’ servants, or had they overpowered them and left them unconscious, or bound?
The idea that someone had gone to such lengths to carry her off was frightening, but she forced herself to stay calm. She had a female for company, she must hope that was a sign they meant her no harm. Not yet, at least. While they were travelling she was safe, but she would need all her wits about her once they reached their destination, wherever that might be.
Natalya knew she should rest, but her overwrought nerves refused to give in. Sleep was impossible. She found her eyes continually opening to stare out of the window. In the far corner, her travelling companion had no such trouble. She was snoring loudly.
Quietly Natalya drew off her gloves and tried the doors and windows again, running her fingers around the frames. There was no way out, short of breaking the glass. She considered it, but not only would the broken shards be deadly, the noise would alert her captors before she could even begin to climb out.
Sighing, she sank back into her corner and stared out at the night. The sliver of moon had slipped to the horizon and in the near-complete darkness the horses had slowed to a walk. Natalya wondered what time it was. One o’clock, two? Three? Had she been missed yet, or were the guests still filling the Pridhams’ reception rooms, disguising the fact that she was not present?
Natalya would have preferred a small party with only true friends such as the Grishams and Mrs Ancrum. And perhaps Freddie. She counted him among her friends now, although her aunt had been most reluctant to send him an invitation. However, Natalya had insisted, more out of stubbornness and a desire to have her way in at least one small thing. That little victory had resulted in Natalya issuing an invitation to Freddie’s uncle, too, and she had discovered that her aunt was not at all averse to adding such a fashionable person as Tristan to her lists.
Tristan. Leaning her head against the squabs, Natalya stared out of the window, allowing her thoughts to move away from her predicament for a while. When had she begun to think of him by that name? It was as if she had known him for ever. She wanted so much to call him a friend, to trust him, but the feelings he aroused in her were confusing and frightening.
But not as frightening as her current situation. The woman snoring in the opposite corner was strong. From the rumble of voices overhead there were at least two men on the box. She was a prisoner and being carried far away from anyone she might consider a friend. She had never felt so alone before.
Something went past, momentarily blotting out the dim light. A horseman. Natalya banged on the window and screamed. The rider had pulled ahead of the carriage. She heard shouts, raised voices from the box, then the coach came to a stand.
In the opposite corner the woman had stirred and, although she could see nothing but shadows, Natalya guessed she, too, was alert and listening. The carriage rocked as one of the men climbed down. He opened the door and Natalya almost burst into tears when she heard a familiar voice ordering the man to climb back on to the box.
The woman in the corner muttered angrily. She rose from her seat, but Natalya was quicker. She jumped up, pulling off the cloak as she did so. She threw it over the woman and pushed her back with all her might. Then she jumped out of the carriage and slammed the door shut behind her.
‘Well done, Miss Fairchild.’
Tristan’s tone was calm, reassuring. She could only see his black outline at the side of the road, the moonlight glinting off the glossy flanks of his horse. It also gleamed on the barrel of the deadly pistol he was aiming towards the driver and the guard.
‘Now, ma’am, perhaps you could pick up that shotgun and throw it into the ditch. Thank you.’ He stretched out his free hand. ‘Time to leave, I think.’
Natalya did not hesitate. She gripped his fingers and put her foot on the toe of his boot. As she pushed off from the ground, he hauled her up and across the saddle in front of him. He muttered a terse, ‘Hold on’, and then they were moving past the carriage.
She heard the coachman angrily cursing his companion and ordering him to get down and find the shotgun, but Tristan had kicked his mount on and the voices were lost in the darkness. Natalya clung on as they cantered along the road until they came to a break in the hedge. Tristan slowed the horse and pushed through into an open field.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked tersely, keeping the horse moving.
Natalya had been clinging tightly to him, but now she sat up a little.
‘No.’ She could not stop her voice shaking. ‘Frightened.’
‘You were very brave. Nimble, too,’ he added, the harsh note in his voice replaced by a tremor of laughter.
She glanced down and saw that her white skirts were still hitched up above her knees.
‘Oh, heavens!’
Somehow she managed to pull the flimsy muslin into a more decorous covering, although she guessed she was still showing an inordinate amount of ankle.
‘I am afraid we cannot stop to make you more presentable,’ he told her. ‘We need to get away from here, out of sight of the road. They might yet come after us on foot.’
‘Very true.’ Natalya glanced nervously towards the road. ‘Let us get on, then.’
‘Very well.’ He settled her more firmly across the saddle. ‘Hold on tight!
* * *
Tristan pushed the hunter into a canter across the open field towards the trees on the far side. The green, unripe heads of corn brushed against his stirrups in a protesting hiss and, as a landowner himself, he winced at the thought of the damage he was doing to the crop, but it could not be helped. He had to move quickly and put as much distance as he could between Natalya and her abductors. She clung to him, arms around his waist and her head resting against his chest. He very much wanted to hold her close, but he needed to concentrate, to keep a steadying hand on the reins lest the horse should stumble. He kept up the pace and it was not until they were sheltered within the trees, out of sight of the field and the road, that he allowed the horse to slow again to a walk.
Immediately Natalya loosened her hold and sat up.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her. ‘Do you need to stop?’
‘No, please, go on,’ she urged him. ‘It is not the most comfortable journey I have ever undertaken, but I shall do very well.’
His heart went out to her for her brave attempt to make light of the situation.
‘I wish I could have brought a carriage for you, but there was no time.’
‘Why did you come after me?’ she asked him. ‘How did you know?’
‘You had disappeared and your aunt was looking worried, but when I asked after you, she told me you had retired. I did not quite believe you would leave your own party, but I did not question it until my coachman told me he had seen a coach driving swiftly away from the mews.’ He decided only the truth would do. ‘I thought you had eloped with Freddie.’
‘But I had told you there was nothing between us!’ She gave a tiny gasp of indignation. ‘You did not believe me.’
‘I did believe you, once I had thought about it, only by that time I was back at George Street. I sent my servants to seek news of a carriage leaving Bath at speed while I went off to the livery stables. I apologise for not bringing another mount for you, but I knew I had to act quickly if I was to catch you and even the best of the other nags at the stable would have slowed me down.’
‘But why did you come alone?’ she asked him. ‘You might have been killed.’
His heart swelled a little at the thought that she might care what happened to him.
He said, ‘I did not want to risk a scandal by involving anyone I could not trust. I did not bring my groom with me to Bath and my valet cannot ride.’
She gave a little choke of laughter.
‘What an oversight, my lord. You should be more particular in your choice of servant.’
‘Yes, I should.’ He grinned into the darkness, relieved that she could still joke with him.
She shivered and looked nervously over his shoulder.
‘Are you cold?’
‘A little. I wish I had brought a cloak with me, or at least that I had not left my gloves in the carriage. My hands are chilled.’
Tristan unbuttoned his coat. ‘Put your arms around me, inside my jacket.’
After a slight hesitation she did just that and his skin tingled at her touch, despite the layers of silk and linen between them. She raised her head suddenly.
‘Oh, dear, how long can the poor mare carry us both?’ she asked him doubtfully. ‘I am no lightweight.’
Tristan laughed at that. He wanted to tell her that she weighed no more than feathers. That he would carry her himself, if necessary.
‘I am sure she is up to it, if we do not press her too hard. We will have to walk her until we can find a carriage. Or fresh horses.’
Satisfied, she leaned against him again, her arms hugging him. Her dusky curls were tickling his chin and he was tempted to rest his cheek against them, even to drop a kiss on her head, but he resisted. The situation was already delicate, he must not make it worse.
* * *
Natalya held on, settling herself into the rhythm of the mare’s gait as Tristan guided the creature through the dark woods. She felt no fear, riding through the night with her cheek pressed against his chest. It was strangely comforting as if they were enclosed in a bubble where nothing could harm them. She was safe, for now, but the fear for the future still lurked and must be faced. The abduction, her uncle’s refusal to tell her anything of her history or what was in store. She could not help thinking she was a pawn in some game she did not understand.
The horse stumbled and Tristan’s arm tightened around her.
‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice rumbled in his chest and against her cheek. ‘Were you sleeping?’
‘No.’
She was tired now, but she did not want to sleep. She wanted to savour this moment for ever, not worried about the past, or the future, just breathing in his scent, a heady mixture of soap, wool and leather, plus something unmistakably male.
They came eventually to a lane bordered by a straggly hedge dotted with trees. Tristan brought the hunter to a stop in the shadows. Natalya straightened, reluctantly ending the pleasant reverie and forcing herself to think of what was really happening. The cool night air cleared her brain and for the first time she was aware of how oddly Tristan was dressed. He had changed his silk knee breeches for buckskins and top boots, but beneath his riding jacket he still wore the white silk waistcoat and the intricately tied neckcloth with its diamond pin, which winked when he raised his head to study the sky, trying to work out their direction. Something twisted inside; he really had made haste to follow her.
‘Do you know where we are?’ she asked him.
‘No, but your abductors were carrying you towards the London road. I think we should head in the other direction.’ He pointed. ‘South.’
‘Very well. After all, this lane must lead somewhere.’
She tried to sound cheerful, she knew as well as he that country lanes could meander for miles. She snuggled against him again and closed her eyes. She felt safe with this man. Her rescuer. Like a prince in a fairy tale.
* * *
Tristan paused for a moment, gazing down at the dainty figure in front of him. She trusted him to look after her. To keep her safe. He was at once shaken and flattered by her faith in him and prayed he would not fail her. His arms tightened around her and for a moment he did rest his cheek against her hair. A few white rosebuds still nestled among the curls, cool as silk against his skin, and he caught a hint of their fragrance. Or perhaps that was just his imagination.
Bah! You are turning into a romantic fool over this woman!
Sitting up straight in the saddle, Tristan urged the mare onwards into the darkness.