directions, then headed off as fast as they could into the gardens.
Wide, long, densely planted, the gardens weren’t designed for rushing through, for easy traversing. Quite the opposite. The action unfolded slowly; Gerrard took his eye briefly from Jacqueline to confirm that the gardeners had reached the higher reaches of the Garden of Diana-there’d be no escape for the Frithams that way. The stablemen, Matthew and Sir Vincent weren’t as far advanced on the northern ridge, but they’d be in place before the Frithams could divert in that direction.
He swung the telescope back to Jacqueline-and watched Jordan and Eleanor hustle her toward the stone viewing platform at the end of the Garden of Apollo.
Jacqueline all but sobbed with relief when Jordan reached up and yanked his kerchief from her mouth.
“There!” His eyes were flat, hard and cold. “We’re too far from the house. You can scream all you like-there’s no one to hear.” He glanced back at the house; a mocking smile curved his lips. “They’re all too busy putting out the flames, and no doubt bemoaning the loss of that bloody portrait.” His fingers tightened about her arm. “Now come on!”
He hauled her on. She dragged and stumbled as much as she dared, but she wouldn’t put it past Jordan to knock her unconscious and carry her-it would be faster; she didn’t want to provoke him to the point he realized that.
Eleanor, pale, tight-lipped, had hold of her other arm; she, too, pulled her on. They were both taller and stronger than she; together, they could almost lift her from her feet.
She knew the portrait was safe; it hadn’t been in either Gerrard’s room or the makeshift studio. Her father had taken possession; Compton and Treadle had carefully stowed the framed picture in her father’s study.
Now didn’t seem the time to mention that.
She’d almost managed to catch her breath, to shake off the effects of those terrible moments in the parlor, worse than any nightmare she’d ever dreamed. She’d never forget the sheer evil she’d sensed; the sun on her face assured her she was in the real world, yet…She dragged in a breath, fought to steady her voice. “Where are you taking me? What on earth do you hope to gain by this?”
“We’re abducting you,” Jordan coldly informed her. “Your sluttish behavior with that damned artist left us no choice.” His tone suggested it was entirely her fault. “They’re going to think we’re on our way to Gretna, but in reality, I’ve a nice little inn down the coast in mind.”
He glanced at her. “A few nights alone with me, and I’m sure your father will see the sense in agreeing to our betrothal.”
She was certain she knew the answer, but still asked, “Why do you want to marry me? You don’t even like me.”
“Of course not. Innocents have never attracted me.” He glanced at Eleanor, and smiled-a secret smile Jacqueline wished she hadn’t seen-then he looked ahead, after a moment continued, “No doubt your artist has taught you a thing or two-it’ll be interesting to find out how far he’s taken your education. However, beyond the necessity of bringing about our marriage-no, I have little personal interest in you. All I want is Hellebore Hall.”
“Why?”
He frowned, jaw tightening; he didn’t look at her. “Because it should be mine. I need it more than you.”
The stone viewing platform loomed before them; they forced her up the steps, Eleanor going ahead and tugging, Jordan pushing from behind. Once on the platform, they turned to the path leading to the Garden of Diana, their usual route between the Manor and the Hall.
Jordan thrust her before him; she stumbled into Eleanor and out onto the path. “We’ve horses saddled and waiting-we’ll be away before they realize-”
“Jordan.” Eleanor had halted. Staring up at the ridge, she pointed. “Look!”
Jacqueline lifted her head, and saw figures, still too far away to recognize but their number suggested they were gardeners or grooms, running along the higher paths out along the ridge. They were already pouring into the upper reaches of the Garden of Diana; there was no way Jordan and Eleanor, even alone and racing, could reach the path out.
Relief slid through her; she sagged, staggered back a few steps to lean against the side of the platform. “Untie me.” She held out her hands, bound with laces. “There’s no point going any further-you’ll have to go back and explain-”
With a snarl, Jordan turned on her. “
He hauled her back up the steps, then out onto the path leading up the garden to the wooden pergola from which paths led on to the northern ridge and the stables. “We’ll take horses from your stables.”
They’d gone twenty yards, out into the open, when Jordan abruptly halted. Head up, scanning ahead, he swore. “They’re up there, too.”
Jaw clenched, he towed her around and propelled her before him, shoving her back to the stone platform. Once under the wooden roof, he halted; still gripping her arm, eyes wide, a touch wild, he looked first one way, then the other.
Eleanor was looking, too. Even paler than before, breathing rapidly, she turned to Jordan. “What now? We can’t get out.” Her gaze shifted to Jacqueline. “She’s all we have to bargain with, but I haven’t a knife or anything to threaten her with-have you?”
Jordan patted his pockets, then pulled out a penknife. He flicked it open; the blade was less than two inches long.
“That’s no use!” Incipient hysteria rang in Eleanor’s voice.
Jordan was silent, staring down at the blade, then he drew in a huge breath, lifted his head and looked down the gardens.
Jacqueline had no idea what he saw, but calmness enveloped him.
The wild look in his eyes faded, and he smiled. Coldly. “It’ll do for what we need if combined with something else. Something more dramatic and final. And so very apt.”
He tightened his grip on Jacqueline’s arm, ruthlessly shook her. “Come on. I know just how to make your father and all the rest agree to everything I want.”
Going down the steps, he hauled her after him, then set out, striding rapidly along the path into the Garden of Mars, heading toward the cove.
Gerrard swore. Releasing the telescope, he swung around, ducked into the smoke- blackened room and headed for the door. “They’ve taken the path to the cove.”
“The cove?” Barnaby followed. “But there’s no escape that way.”
“No escape,” Gerrard ground out. “But something better. A gun to hold to our heads.”
“Gun?” Barnaby kept pace as Gerrard ran down the corridor, then went quickly down the stairs. “What gun?”
Gerrard strode onto the terrace. “It’s called Cyclops.”
By the time Jordan dragged her up the steps of the last viewing platform, Jacqueline had solved his cryptic utterance; she knew where he was going.
She’d slowed them as much as she’d dared; she had a stitch in her side, her breathing was quite genuinely labored, and her legs wobbled alarmingly. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the seat and recover. Jordan, who walked the gardens so often, appeared unaffected by their race down the valley. Eleanor, however, was flagging badly, as exhausted as she.
Seizing the moment when Jordan paused to note how close their pursuers were, Jacqueline dragged air into her lungs, straightened her shoulders, tried to ease the ache in her bound arms.
Jordan tightened his painful grip on her arm. “Come on.” His tone was tight. “We’ve got to get there ahead of them.”
He thrust her down the steps, following closely, jerking her upright when her ankle threatened to give way. He snarled, “Don’t you
