The Abducted Bride. Anne Herries

to lure Miguel Cortes from his home?’ Her clear eyes accused him. ‘I can see the truth in your face, sir. That is what the marquis intends, is it not?’

      Henri nodded but could not answer.

      ‘I see…thank you for telling me the truth. I was taken to serve the marquis’s purpose because he believes Don Miguel must come to claim his own bride.’

      ‘And for your own sake. Believe me—’ Henri was silenced by her look of scorn.

      ‘Not for my own sake, sir. Spare me such excuses, I pray you! I needed no help to make my own decision. Had I been given the time to consider, I might have decided against the marriage myself. I should in any case not have consented to the betrothal until I had had the opportunity to know Don Miguel—and if he is the monster you describe, I would have asked my father to take me home again.’

      ‘Nico was certain you meant to wed him, that you would not listen to his warnings but go your own way.’

      ‘The choice was mine. He had no right to interfere in my life.’

      Henri inclined his head. She spoke only the truth, they had none of them the right to take her from her father and hold her hostage. What could he say in the face of her anger?

      ‘Forgive me, mademoiselle. I shall fetch the tisane.’

      Deborah lay back and closed her eyes as he left the cabin. Her head did ache so very badly. It was so very foolish of her to give way like this! She felt weak and wanted nothing so much as a good cry—but crying would not help her. She must be strong and conserve her composure. She had to think of a way to escape her captors.

      Yet there was no possibility of escape while she was on board this ship. She could not swim back to England! She was helpless and it was her own fault. She should never have gone walking alone in the mist.

      They must have been waiting for her to leave the house. She supposed that if the marquis was determined to capture her he would have found a way—but she need not have made it so easy for him!

      Anger at her own carelessness banished her tears. She was not afraid of the marquis. Somehow she knew that he would not willingly harm her. The wound to her head had been caused by her violent attempt to escape.

      Her real concern was for her father and how distressed he would be by her disappearance. Even if he had received word that she was safe for the moment, he would not be able to rest. She could imagine his agony of mind—and what of poor Sarah? Would her betrothal be postponed or would they decide that it must go ahead?

      Would Deborah be returned to her father in time for her cousin’s wedding? Her mind was in such turmoil! If the marquis intended to use her as bait to trap Miguel Cortes…and what was she to believe about the man she had thought to marry? Could he really be guilty of the crimes Henri Moreau had described?

      Deborah shuddered at the pictures in her mind. What that poor girl must have suffered! It was too horrible to imagine. She was sickened by such cruelty and dare not think of what might have happened to her if she had been wed to such a man. It would indeed have been a living death.

      The marquis had tried to warn her, but she had refused to listen. Perhaps if she had not so brusquely repudiated his arguments he would not have thought it necessary to kidnap her.

      Moaning as she felt the throbbing begin at her temple once more, Deborah closed her eyes. It was all too difficult. She could not think any more. She needed to sleep.

      ‘You are sure she said nothing to you?’ Sir Edward looked sternly at his ward. ‘If she has slipped away on some foolish errand—a surprise for one of us—then tell me. I shall not be angry, but I must know what has happened to my daughter.’

      ‘She said nothing to me,’ Sarah replied, frightened by the bleak expression in her uncle’s eyes. He had always been so kind to her, so indulgent. She had never seen him like this before. ‘I know you are anxious, sir…but I know nothing. Except…’ She stopped, her cheeks flushing crimson. ‘No, she assured me it was not a romantic tryst…’

      Sir Edward’s hand snaked out, grabbing at her wrist. ‘What is this? Speak out at once!’

      Sarah dropped her head. Deborah had been missing for hours. In another thirty minutes it would be the appointed time for her betrothal, but it could not go ahead without her cousin. Sir Edward was so angry, but if Deborah returned from a shopping errand she would be annoyed with Sarah for giving away her secrets.

      ‘Tell me, girl! Or I vow I will cancel your betrothal.’

      ‘No! That is not fair,’ Sarah cried. Her head went up, eyes sparkling with indignation. ‘Last night at the palace—she slipped away for several minutes alone with a man.’

      ‘What man?’ Sir Edward’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you are concealing something from me you shall be punished, girl.’

      ‘That is unfair, sir,’ Sarah protested. She did not know this suddenly old man who seemed almost driven mad by his fear for Deborah. ‘She told me she had felt faint, that she needed air and—she left the hall with the Marquis de Vere.’

      ‘That scoundrel!’ Sir Edward turned pale. He staggered back as if from a blow and his hand dropped from Sarah’s wrist. ‘Why—why did she do such a thing? I did not press her to this marriage. If she has run away with this rogue rather than…’