Chapter Eighteen

M abel held on tightly to the playing cards she had in her pocket as the carriage stopped. It was dark, and while they had ridden chiefly in silence, she felt the weight of Pascal's glare on her.

"Nous sommes ici," Jean said, peering out the window.

"Oui," Pascal said, his gaze on Mabel. "Keep your head down and don't make any trouble."

As they exited the carriage, Mabel tucked her chin to her chest, but she saw out of the corner of her eye the wooden sign swinging off the post. The Black Stag Inn. Mabel had never heard of it, though that hardly mattered. She wasn't familiar with England at all and likely wouldn't have any idea where she was until they reached France.

The carriage ride had been an arduous one, as their driver had been trying to outrun the sunset and then carried on at breakneck speed well into the evening. Mabel doubted they would stay at the inn long, but the horses needed to be changed, and Pascal was too spoiled and self-indulgent to go without a meal and some rest.

Before entering the building, she plucked two cards out of her pocket and scattered them at the doorway at her side, hoping the bits of paper would not blow away. With the rounded edges, they weren't like most cards, so they would stand out if Derek were to see them—he would know they came from her. It was probably foolish, but she hadn't any other ideas. She could only hope that by leaving a trail of sorts, some sort of calling card should anyone be coming for her, she might be able to help herself be found.

How she hoped to be found…

They entered the tavern, which wasn't empty as it appeared from the outside. Some sort of merry-making was happening. A group of men and some women were carrying on, singing, and drinking from tin tankards.

"All the better," Pascal said as they pushed through the crowd. "We're likely to go unnoticed by a bunch of drunkards, and the staff will be too busy dealing with them to pay us any mind."

Mabel didn't answer, unsure what he might do if she made a scene. She had thought about it, but considering how far she assumed they were from London, she wondered if anyone would take her plight seriously. Even if they did, she doubted anyone would want to stand up to Jean, who was particularly menacing looking.

Once their rooms were paid for, Mabel was followed by Pascal as they made their way upstairs. The housemaid who showed them to their room hurriedly lit the candles and stoked the fire as another maid came in with a kettle of hot water. She poured it into a chipped blue and white ceramic bowl that sat on a small table and left, followed immediately by the other housemaid.

Mabel spun around and saw Pascal kick the door closed before glaring at her.

"Must you be in here?" she said with a sigh. She'd hoped for at least a little time to herself.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Mabel thought for a minute to argue with her captor, but it would likely be in vain. He wouldn't let her go. So, she washed her face and neck in the water basin while her captor watched. He moved to sit on the bed across the tiny room as she dried her face with a towel.

"I'm sure you're distrustful, but I assure you, there's no need to watch me like a prisoner. I will not run."

"It's not only that, cherie," he said, pushing off the bed as he approached her. Mabel shivered with disgust as his index finger touched her shoulder. "You offered yourself in your sister's place, did you not? You said you would do anything. I intend to make good on that arrangement."

Mabel froze for a moment. Surely he didn't mean to bed her? She was married, for heaven's sake. Thinking quickly, she tried to appear nonchalant, ignoring the evil glint in his eyes.

"Very well," she said cooly. "But as I recall, the sight of blood never made you very amorous. Unless you've changed your tastes since then?"

Pascal squinted as his hand fell away.

"Oh. I see," he said with disgust. "Well, there's no need to rush, I suppose. I'll keep you alive until your ransom is paid."

"And then you'll kill me?"

"Oui. I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Because it is a sin, not to mention you'll be charged with murder."

He laughed, sending another shiver down her spine.

"My dear, the future king of France is a close, personal friend. He will not deport me to any country that calls for my hanging," he said as his cold fingers once again touched her, on the cheek this time. "Which means, I can do whatever I wish with you and no one will ever make me pay for it."

Mabel twisted her face away from his hand, but he grabbed it harshly, drawing it back so she stared directly into his angry eyes. Without hesitating, she spit in his face.

The crack across her cheek had been stiff and yet expected as she fell to the bed. Bringing her hand to her cheek, trying to soothe the tender flesh, she glared at Pascal.

"My husband will make you pay."

"Ha," he sneered, towering over her. "I'm sure your husband will just be pleased to be rid of you once this is over with. After causing him a world of embarrassment as well as siphoning a large amount of his fortune away, I should think he'd be glad when you're dead, with all the trouble you've caused."

"I didn't cause anything—"

"Haven't you? You can't imagine any of this would have happened without you being who you are," he countered, his sneer drifting over her with repugnance. "A whore."

Mabel didn't respond but tried to push out all the genuine guilt that continually bombarded her. Derek certainly would have had a quieter life had he married someone else. But she couldn't think about that now.

She had to escape.

After Jean delivered a tray of hot stew and fresh bread, Mabel forced herself to eat while Pascal watched. After she finished, she got into bed as Pascal sat in a chair pressed against the door, unwilling to share a bed while she was, as far as he knew, on her monthly courses.

"We're leaving in two hours," he said, kicking his dirty boots off. He blew out one candle and then another. "Wouldn't want to wait around for any rescuers, would we?"

Mabel turned her back on him and stared at the small, dirty window. It was terribly small. She probably couldn't even fit through it, she thought as the candles were blown out. At least, not with her gown on. She might fit in just her underthings… but that would be scandalous. She couldn't sneak out the window without any clothes on. She would likely be sent to prison if she was caught. Then again, she could toss her dress out first and put it on afterwards.

Yes. That was an idea.

She tried to close her eyes and rest, but Mabel could not sleep. Minutes passed, and soon, nearly an hour had gone by since the last candle had been extinguished, and the same crazy thought hadn't left her head.

What if she did climb out the window?

Sure, she might get caught. Possibly even killed, but then, staying would hardly be safer. And what if she was able to get away? What if she could hide or run away and get back to London somehow? It was worth a try, wasn't it?

As quietly as possible, she reached behind her and searched around for the tie at the back of her gown. Once she undid it, the garment loosened, and she could shimmy around and draw her arms from her sleeves. She gently pushed it down her waist and over her hips before kicking her feet silently beneath the covers. Then she worked on the petticoat and pulled her legs out of the dress until she lay on the bed in only a shift and corset.

Taking a deep breath, she shifted one leg, then the other off the straw-stuffed mattress. With a painstaking slowness, she rolled her body off the bed as her feet touched the wood floor. Gathering her dress in her arms, she tiptoed toward the window. Wrapping her fingers beneath the pane of glass, she slowly and steadily opened it up.

When it didn't squeak or creak, Mabel was sure she was the luckiest woman to have ever lived until she glanced down. There was nothing below her except a small, thatched ledge. She would probably break a leg if she tried to jump, she thought as she stuffed her dress out the window. It dropped with a soft thud. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Pascal sleeping as soundly as a snoring man could.

There seemed no reason not to try, as her situation was dire. Perhaps she could crawl across the ledge to a broader portion of the roof. Turning back to the window, Mabel silently sent up a prayer as she lifted her leg and began her climb out the window.

Making sure not to place too much weight on the sill, she gripped the wooden frame and, finding her footing on the roof, ducked her body beneath the open window and lifted her other leg.

The day had been warm, but the night was surprisingly cool, and it was nearly black outside, save the tiny sliver of the waning moon, partially hidden behind a large maple tree as a gentle breeze rolled through its leaves.

Mabel gripped the sill with her hands as she rotated to face outward. Realizing that she wasn't on a ledge that extended all the way across but instead was on what had to be the roof of a bay window, her heart dropped. There was nowhere to go.

"Blast," she mumbled as she eyed the stables' roof several yards away beneath her. The roof was thatched, and lord knew what lay beneath it. If she jumped, she would probably go through it.

Then again, she could crawl back through the window and attempt to overpower Pascal. Even if she succeeded, however, she was quite certain she couldn't defeat Jean.

The situation was bleak, and just as she had concluded that she would likely stay out on that ledge all night, the soft, distant pounding of horse hooves echoed. Someone was coming down the road. Worried about being seen, Mabel tried to press herself against the window as a slight creaking noise sounded behind her.

She instantly stilled as two dark-cloaked gentlemen on horseback came galloping into the stable yard. The only light came from two lanterns, one hanging off the doorway into the stables and one depending on the door to the inn and providing little illumination. However, the movements of the first man, who had come off his horse swift and eager, seemed familiar to Mabel. From two stories up, she squinted, unable to make out his face. The second gentleman took both horses to the stable while the first headed for the doorway below her. Glancing down, she watched as he came to the inn entrance, only to stop suddenly.

He seemed to bend down and pick something up.

Her breath hitched.

"Mabel," she thought she heard him say before pivoting his head over his shoulder to shout. "Silas! She's been here."

"Derek?" she shouted, just as a hand cruelly grabbed and twisted her wrist. "Ah!"

Pascal yanked her back, causing her to lose her footing as she fell. In an instant, she was being held by one hand as her body dangled from the window.

"Mabel!" Derek yelled from below.

"Merde," Pascal cursed, glancing past Mabel before refocusing on her. "Well, it seems our time has come to an end. Adieu."

Before Mabel could even consider what he was saying, she felt his grasp loosen around her wrist, and she dropped.

"AH!" she screamed as she fell from the side of the building, her body scraping against the edge of the bay window.

There wasn't enough time for her mind to reel over how painful it was going to be to slam into the earth. Before she could inhale again, she was caught by a pair of strong, almost punishing arms.

"Mabel," Derek's voice sounded through the jumble of limbs and fabric. "Mabel, are you all right?"

She flailed and swiveled as he set her feet down to the ground, but she jumped against him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"Derek! Derek, thank God."

"Easy, love, easy. What the devil are you wearing?" he asked, setting her back so he could observe her attire. Fury flashed across his face, discernible even in the darkness. "What the…" His nostrils flared. "I'll kill him."

"No, no, nothing happened."

"You're practically naked!"

"Derek, listen to me."

"Hush," he said, his arms not releasing her. "You're safe. Silas!"

The duke came forward.

"Countess," he said, almost jestingly formal considering the situation.

"Take her inside. And for the love of God, get her dressed."

Mabel bristled.

"I threw my gown over there. I wouldn't have fit out of the window had I been dressed."

"Then you should have stayed put."

"And been carried away to France? I think not."

"Now, see here," Derek started as a commotion came behind them. As all three turned, two men on horseback escaped from the barn and took off down the road. "Bloody hell!"

"Derek, wait!" Mabel yelled as her husband tore away from her. "Where is he going?" she asked the duke.

"To catch them."

"He won't be able to."

"I wouldn't doubt him, my lady. Derek is an experienced horseman," Silas said as Derek stormed from the stables on the back of a horse, racing down the road. "And he has every intention on dragging that man back to London with him."

"But why?"

"Well, for the suit."

"What suit?"

"The defamation suit. He plans on suing the comte as well as the Times for the article declaring bigamy."

Mabel closed her eyes as shame drained through her. A lawsuit would only prolong the humiliation. They would be talked about and gossiped about for years, no doubt. Lord, how Derek would despise her at the end of it.

"What's this? What's all the noise?" a man, the innkeeper, said from the door that had opened behind Mabel's back. "Good Lord! What do you think you're doing?"

"Come," Silas said, directing her toward the door before addressing the man. "This woman is in need of a hot bath, immediately, as well as something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not terribly concerned about that," Silas said as he shuffled through the doorway. "But I suggest you bathe and get dressed as quickly as possible. I'd rather not have to answer to Trembley as to why you are still in your underclothes when he returns."

Mabel couldn't argue with that and was quick to make use of the tin hip bath that was carried up into the room that she had previously been in. The same two tired maids from before appeared. They hurried up and down the stairs to fill the hip bath as quickly as possible while shaking out and brushing Mabel's dress once they retrieved it from outside.

Having no qualms about modesty, Mabel was quick to undress while the maids helped with soap and towels. It was a reasonably short bath, and she was soon dressed again in her violet gown.

After her hair was braided and twisted up at the back of her head, Mabel came out of her room and headed down the stairs to meet a waiting Silas, who had a mug of some kind of steaming beverage.

"It's tea. Drink it up."

"You certainly believe that we are in some sort of hurry," Mabel said, ignoring his command.

"Because Trembley will undoubtedly be here any moment."

"Are you so sure of his abilities?"

"Are you so disbelieving in them?" he asked, which caused her to glance away. "I assure you, countess. Derek is more than capable of handling this."

A part of her wanted to argue that he couldn't possibly. Even if he did capture Pascal and drag him back to London, the fiasco that had been caused had already gotten so out of hand that he would never be able to control all of it.

But before she could decide whether or not to tell the duke her fears, they were interrupted by a terrific din coming from outside.

"Ah, that should be him," Silas said. "Best to get outside then. He'll want to leave immediately."

"Well, let's not keep him waiting," she said, her voice surprisingly sharp as her nerves displayed themselves in aggravation. She was thankful he ignored it. She knew Silas didn't deserve her hostility, and Derek certainly didn't, but she was embarrassed her issues had brought such trouble and mortification to her husband. If she could, she'd make herself disappear and take the first ship back to Philadelphia, but that wasn't an option. She was stuck here, facing Derek, who was bound to be even more furious with her than he had been that morning. He would likely never let her forget what a difficult situation she had put him in, and she loathed herself for it.

Indeed, as she followed Silas into the stable yard, she could barely look up. It was only through side glances that she saw an unconscious body, most likely Pascal, lying over the backside of a horse before she was being helped into the same carriage that Mabel had been carried off in. Silas decided to ride alongside the carriage and went to saddle his horse.

Moments later, Derek entered the carriage, and within seconds of the door closing, they were off. He hadn't even sat down yet, but Mabel was so deep in her own shame that she couldn't keep it in anymore and had to speak.

"I know you must hate me," she blurted out, her hands balled into tight fists. "I would understand if you never wanted to see me again. If you wished for a divorce, I would grant it."

The air between them became heavy and thick as the last of her words seemed to echo in the small area. But she couldn't face him. Shame consumed her until he finally spoke.

"Never."