Cupid Rides Pillion (eBook)

Barbara Cartland (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023
298 Seiten
Barbara Cartland eBooks Ltd (Verlag)
978-1-78867-743-1 (ISBN)

Infos

Rivalled only by the King's mistress, Lady Panthea Vyne was the most widely adored young beauty at the sumptuous Court of Charles II. But she could only think of the mysterious highwayman who had once saved her from a harrowing life of misery and shame - and now she learned he was under a sentence of death. Just as she despaired of ever clearing his name, she felt the full fury of the King's mistress. With all evidence pointing to her, she, Panthea, was being charged with murder! And the only way to clear herself was to betray the man she loved....

Textauszug

1 ~ 1658

It was dark in the coach and the flickering taper in the lantern seemed to accentuate rather than relieve the gloom, as the wheels rolled and bumped over the rutted, stony road.

The moon, however, was rising up in the sky, and after a while Panthea thought that she could see only too clearly the face of the man sitting beside her. He had taken off his broad-brimmed hat and was leaning back against the well cushioned seat as if at his ease, but she was well aware that his eyes were turned constantly in her direction.

She made herself as small as she could, so that she appeared to crouch in the corner of the seat making believe, with a hopeless hopefulness, that she was so tiny and insignificant that she might even be overlooked. She even prayed that the darkness might deepen and hide her completely.

He was watching her! She could see the sharp outline of his hooked nose turned away from her, and yet she knew that his eyes searched for hers. There was no need for the moonlight or the guttering candle to reveal to her the lines of his face. She knew the features too well – the tight, cruel, yet sensuous mouth, the square jaw which had a look of brutality, the bushy, longhaired eyebrows, which mounted guard over suspicious, glittering eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Yes, she knew his face as she knew her own – the face that had haunted her dreams and every hour of her waking life for the last two months.

She had been aware, Panthea thought, from the very first that she could not escape him. She had seen the look in his eyes when he entered the hall at Staverley and shrank from it in horror and disgust, but from that first moment it was too late.

She had known, though she hardly dared put it into words even to herself, that his next visit had been but an excuse to see her – then he had come again and again - always with the same excuse, always upsetting her father and frightening the servants into hysterics, so that she alone must remain calm in order to combat and defy him. And she had guessed that he enjoyed torturing them. She had seen it in the faint smile at the corner of his lips, in the depths of his eyes, which watched her as a cat will watch a mouse before it pounces. And then, at last he had spoken what was on his mind.

Almost involuntarily as her thoughts tortured her, Panthea made a convulsive gesture and instantly the man at her side leant forward. He was, for the instant, silhouetted against the window, and she saw his rounded head, the greying hair lank and straight.

“You are cold?”

His voice was very deep.

“N-no, I am warm, thank you, sir,” Panthea replied a little breathlessly.

“We have quite a long journey before us. Are you sure you would not be wiser to put a shawl around your shoulders?”

He reached out as he spoke, towards the coats and shawls that had been placed on the smaller seat opposite the one on which they sat. Panthea’s eyes were on his hands. There were hairs on the thick fingers, and she cried out again with a sudden urgency.

“N-no.  I thank you, but I want nothing!”

He leant back again, but his face was still turned towards her.

“You may relax,” he said. “There is no need for any further agitation.”

“You can hardly expect me to think that,” Panthea said with a sudden show of spirit. “In the morning my father will read the note I have left for him. He will be distressed, desperately distressed.”

“He will be glad to know that his son is safe.”

“Yes, he will be glad of that,” Panthea replied, “if indeed Richard is safe! You are sure -  absolutely certain - that you can save him?”

“I have given you my word.”

“But as he has already been captured,” Panthea said, “will you be strong enough, or  important enough, to release him?”

“I assure you, the power of Christian Drysdale is quite considerable,” was the answer given somewhat drily. “My friendship with the Protector is well known. My ability has never been questioned. I think it will not be hard for me to obtain the reprieve of a young Royalist more fool than traitor.”

Panthea’s chin went up.

“Must one be a fool to be loyal to one’s rightful King?” she asked.

Christian Drysdale snorted.

“Such words are treasonable,” he said. “I must ask you, now that you are my wife, to keep guard on your tongue.”

“Were I twenty times your wife,” Panthea replied, “I should not forget that our rightful King is Charles Stuart and that a usurper sits on the throne of his murdered father.’

She spoke passionately, all fear forgotten, her breath coming quickly between her parted lips. The coach turned a corner and a shaft of moonlight fell full on her face, revealing the exquisite loveliness of her large eyes, separated by the delicate artistry of her tiny, tip-tilted nose, and the way in which the soft waves of her fair hair framed the white oval of her forehead.

It was a lovely face, the face of a child, but the man who looked at it was not touched by its youthful innocence. Instead, his eyes narrowed a little as he reached out his hand towards Panthea’s fluttering fingers.

“We will dispense with such nonsense for tonight,” he said, “and recollect only that you are married to me.”

His voice had an ugly, hungry note in it, and instantly Panthea forgot what she had been saying and remembered only where she was and at whose side she sat. She shrank into the corner of the coach again, hiding herself in the dark shadows as unobtrusively as she had done before, but now it was too late even to pretend herself invisible.

“Come nearer to me,” Christian Drysdale commanded.

Her shoulders were already taut against the corner of the seat, but she pressed them even harder in the desire to obliterate herself. There was a silence between them which seemed to her to be broken by the noisy thumping of her heart.

“Do you hear what I say?” Christian Drysdale repeated. “Have you forgotten your marriage vows so quickly? You promised to obey.”

“I-I am near you,” Panthea faltered.

He laughed a little at that, and she knew that he was enjoying this moment of torturing her, knowing that eventually he must get his way.

“Come nearer,” he repeated.

Panthea drew a deep breath, as if to give herself courage, before she answered.

“I am near enough. I have married you because you have sworn you will save my brother. I have come away with you now at dead of night, without telling my father, because I know he will be ashamed and disgusted at the thought that one of our family should marry a Roundhead. I have done all this, but you cannot  – no, you cannot  – make me feel anything but hatred for you.”

Her last words were spoken hardly above a whisper, the terror and fear Panthea felt for the man whom she had married seeming almost to stifle her – and now, having spoken, she dared not look towards him, but could only stare blindly ahead.

It was then, as she waited, afraid even of her own bravery, that she heard him laugh, the amused laughter of a man who is completely sure of himself and of obtaining what he desires.

“So you hate me!” he said. “Well, it will amuse me to teach you what love means.”

He put out his hands as he spoke, and at the touch of his fingers Panthea gave a sudden cry, half of despair and half of terror. Then, from beneath the sable and velvet handwarmer on her lap, there came a low growl and a snarl, and suddenly Christian’s hand was hastily withdrawn. He muttered an oath beneath his breath.

“Zounds, but what have you in your lap?” he enquired.

“It is only Bobo . . . my dog,” Panthea faltered.

“The cur has bitten me,” Christian Drysdale exclaimed. “I did not know you had brought him with you.”

“He goes everywhere with me,” Panthea replied.

“He will not come to my house,” Christian Drysdale announced. “I have no liking for animals, and especially not for one that has set his teeth in me.”

“I am sorry if Bobo has hurt you,” Panthea said. “He was protecting me because I cried out.”

“Put the little beast on the floor,” Christian Drysdale commanded.

“He is comfortable enough where he is,” Panthea answered, her hands caressing the dog, who was still growling low in his throat.

“You heard what I commanded you,” Christian said.

“Why should I obey?” Panthea asked. “The dog is mine. I love him and he may sit in my lap as he is always allowed to do.”

Once again she spoke defiantly, yet holding in check her hatred of this man who seemed with every word he uttered to grow more intolerable, more horrible. It was as if her tone and her manner stung him for the first time.

“You shall do as I tell you!” he shouted. “Put the dog on the floor.”

The coach was going uphill, the horses drawing their heavy load steadily and without haste. Panthea sat upright and very still, making no movement to obey her husband. As he waited,  she could feel the tension growing between them, and she lifted the little dog in her hands and put her cheek against his head. It seemed as if the caress snapped the last self-control of the man beside her. With a sound that was half an oath and half an expression of unbridled anger, he reached out his hand and snatched the dog from her.

There was a snarl and he winced for a moment as the animal’s sharp teeth buried themselves once again in his finger, and then there was the dull thud of a heavy stick, a cry of horror and agony from Panthea, and the sound of a small, unconscious body being thrown on to the floor of the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 4.12.2023
• Reihe/Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Reihe/Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Verlagsort: Hatfield
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: feminist romance • Strong women romance
• ISBN-10: 1-78867-743-9 / 1788677439
• ISBN-13: 978-1-78867-743-1 / 9781788677431