by Meara Platt
“That’s where you’re wrong, missy.” Hugh’s expression darkened. He broke into a cruel, toothy grin. “And I’m going to show you just how wrong you are.”
Suzanne opened her mouth to defend herself, but before she could think of a word to say, Hugh lunged toward her, grasping her arm. She had time to gasp but not to call out as he looped one arm around her waist and slapped his other hand over her mouth. By the time she did manage to scream, the sound went nowhere. Hugh lifted her off her feet and dragged her deeper into the alley and the wagon that was waiting in back of the pub.
Chapter Nine
Frustration like nothing Benedict had ever known rippled off of him, making it difficult for him to stand still. But it wasn’t so much frustration for Lucy’s thick-headedness so much as for his own utter blindness in the situation.
“I simply do not understand why you felt it necessary to fabricate some story about being barren instead of rejecting my suit honestly,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose as the interminable conversation continued.
“But how can I be held accountable when I do not even remember saying such a thing,” Lucy appealed to him. She paused, tilted her head to the side, and tapped her lips with one finger. “I suppose I could have said it. Mama used to tell me that if ever I wanted to reject a proposal of marriage, claiming barrenness was the surest way to disengage a man’s interest.”
Benedict let out an impatient breath and threw his arms to the side. “But why? I find it entirely believable that your mother would say such a thing.” He tried not to sound too bitter as he spoke but failed. “But you never gave me any reason to doubt your affection.”
“I am an affectionate person,” Lucy argued. “I could not be expected to limit the wellspring within me. Not at such a tender age.”
Benedict clenched his jaw and stared at her. “It was two years ago.”
“Yes, and I am an entirely different woman now,” she agreed.
He stared indelicately at the mound of her stomach. “One who is most certainly not barren.”
“Charles needs his heir, after all,” she said with a smile that hinted she didn’t have the first clue how irritated he truly was.
She placed a hand lovingly on her stomach. That simple gesture twisted Benedict’s feelings inside of him. Lucy was happy. She’d clearly made a match with someone who fulfilled whatever flighty needs she had. And she was flighty. Enough so that Benedict began to wonder what he’d seen in her years ago. She was pretty, to be sure, but her looks were not nearly as captivating as Suzanne’s flame-haired beauty or her intelligent, teasing smile. Benedict seriously doubted he and Lucy would have been able to have half of the gripping conversations that he and Suzanne had had. And instinct whispered to him that Lucy wouldn’t have been half as alluring in bed.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You married Charles Hightower, correct?”
“Yes, Lord Crawford,” Lucy answered with a smile. “He’s a bit older than me, but I find him jolly good fun.”
“He’s a good man,” Benedict admitted, letting his shoulders drop and the tension drain from his back. “He will treat you well.”
“I should say so. He is terribly sweet, and he buys me the prettiest things,” Lucy beamed.
Benedict managed a smile. No, he would never have been truly happy with Lucy. “I’m glad that you are so well settled.”
“And you appear to be settled as well,” Lucy said, her smile growing. “Your bride, the lovely Lady—oh! I do believe I never asked the delightful, young woman’s name.” She laughed. “Oh, dear. What an oversight on my part. But at least I can call her Lady Killian and pretend my mistake never happened. I’m quite good at pretending mistakes never happened,” she added with a conspiratorial wink.
Benedict opened his mouth to inform her that Suzanne was not his wife but immediately closed it. To admit as much would be to ruin Suzanne’s reputation beyond recovery. He couldn't do that to her.
Hard on the heels of that thought came another, invigorating one. He had made a colossal mistake in impregnating Suzanne without making absolutely certain his plan would work. And as a man of honor, considering she was carrying his child, he would have to marry her. Only, there was no “have to” about it. His entire being lifted with joy at the prospect. He could marry Suzanne without any fear of ruining his chances with Lucy. Lucy had been a fantasy, one he was glad to let go of. Suzanne was real. She was his everything, his life. They could claim to have been married in Antigua only to have the records lost somehow. A quiet, country wedding to reinforce the bonds formed in the Caribbean wouldn’t be questioned. At least, not that closely.
“Suzanne,” he said, turning to where he assumed Suzanne was standing, watching the whole, mad encounter from behind him.
She wasn’t there. Benedict frowned, turning this way and that in search of her. She had been there just moments before. His conversation with Lucy hadn’t taken that long, had it?
“Suzanne?” he called, worry beginning to form in his gut.
“She went toward the pub,” Lucy told him, her smile still benign and vapid.
“The pub?” Benedict gaped at her.
“Well, it’s a café during daylight hours and a pub at night,” Lucy explained. “Shawbury is too tiny to have proper meeting places for genteel folk.”
Benedict nodded at her explanation, as silly as it was, and strode past her to the pub. He threw open the door and stepped inside, glancing around. The single room was small but clean, with a few tables scattered here and there and a counter to one side. It was also empty.
“Suzanne?” he called, moving forward to see if there were any upstairs rooms, though it didn’t make sense to him that Suzanne would go upstairs. It didn’t make sense that she would leave his sight.
“No, I meant she went toward the pub,” Lucy said, popping her head through the front door. “She didn’t enter the pub. She went to speak to some rather frightening man in the alley beside the pub.”
Benedict could have wrung her neck. He leapt for the door, dashing outside and running around the corner of the building into the alley. “Suzanne?” he called, barely slowing down. The alley was empty, though. Shawbury was so small that there were no other buildings at the end of the alley, just a dusty path where deliveries to the pub and shops were likely made and a rolling meadow that stretched away from the village.
“That is curious,” Lucy said, waddling up behind him, one hand on her belly. “Where did Lady Killian go?”
Benedict wanted to know the same thing. There was no doubt that Stanley was involved, which meant he had to act fast.
“You there,” he called to a man in work clothes, carrying crates from a wagon in back of one of the shops to its door. “Have you seen a woman who is heavy with child being whisked off against her will by a brute?”
Part of Benedict was hoping for a shrug and a negative answer. Instead, the workman sent him a wary look. “I thought something was wrong there, sir,” he said. “The woman was crying and the man had his hand clamped over her mouth so she couldn’t call out. I assumed it was a domestic dispute, so I said nothing.”
Benedict cursed under his breath and marched toward the man. “Which way did they go?”
“That way, sir.” The man pointed off to the south.
“I need a horse,” Benedict shouted. “I need a horse saddled and ready.”
“You can take mine,” another man answered him from the far row of buildings. “I didn’t like the look of that mess either.”
Benedict charged toward the man. Sure enough, he held the lead of a tall horse who was already saddled. He handed the horse over to Benedict, who mounted in one swift move. “Thank you,” he said with a nod. “I’ll bring him back and compensate you for your troubles.”
If the man responded, Benedict didn’t see it. He nudged the horse forward, launching off along the road headed south like shot from a musket. There was no telling what Stanley woul
d do to Suzanne if he had enough of a head start.
It was a stroke of pure luck that Benedict had noticed Suzanne’s absence when he did. It meant Stanley didn’t have much of a lead. Indeed, after rounding a hill just outside of Shawbury, Benedict was able to spot a wagon near a cluster of trees between the base of two hills on the horizon. He nudged his horse to run faster, confident he could catch up to the blackguard before any harm was done.
He was able to catch up, but doubt gripped him when he saw that the parked wagon had only one man sitting in it, a driver. Fear that the men in town had given him the wrong information and that Suzanne was in horrible danger struck him as he charged on.
“Where is she?” he demanded of the driver as he pulled his horse to a skidding stop beside the wagon.
The driver jerked out of his hunched stance and turned to stare at Benedict with wide, frightened eyes. “I swear, I had nothing to do with it, sir,” the man insisted. “He paid me to drive him. He didn’t say what he was going to do.”
That was all the information Benedict needed. He dismounted and marched to the carriage. “Where did they go?”
“Up the hill that way,” the driver said, pointing through the trees to one of the hills.
Benedict dashed off in the direction the man pointed, not thinking to secure the horse he’d borrowed. He wasn’t thinking at all, except that he had to reach Suzanne before Stanley could harm her.
“Suzanne,” he shouted as he sprinted up the hill.
“Benedict!” Her reply was frantic and high-pitched.
He picked up his speed, charging over the top of the hill. What he saw on the other side nearly caused him to stumble with rage. Stanley was attempting to pin Suzanne, face down, against the ground. He’d hitched her skirt up to expose her legs. Suzanne was red-faced and struggling for all she was worth. Her hair was disheveled, and a dark, red mark marred her beautiful face. Stanley’s teeth were bared as he grappled with her while also attempting to loosen his breeches.
Benedict tore down the hillside, launching himself at Stanley. He slammed into the man’s side, pushing him off of Suzanne, who rolled a few feet with the momentum of the impact. As much as part of him wanted to put everything into ensuring she was well, he knew he had a bigger war on his hands.
“How dare you touch her!” Benedict shouted, managing to pin Stanley on his back.
“She’s mine,” Stanley growled, writhing and kicking under Benedict.
“She is not,” Benedict shouted in return. He could feel Stanley about to break free of his hold, so he moved his hands to the man’s throat. “You have no claim on her. She never wanted to marry you.”
“I don’t care if she wanted it or not, she’s mine.”
Stanley kicked, sending Benedict flying backward and thumping to the ground. Benedict’s shoulder hit a jagged rock hidden in the grass. The moment of pain was just enough to allow Stanley to struggle to his feet and go after Suzanne once more. Suzanne had backed away from the fight, but was having a difficult time getting to her feet in her current shape.
In spite of the pain in his shoulder, Benedict didn’t hesitate. He pulled himself to stand and launched after Stanley again. This time, the brute sensed him coming. He turned away from Suzanne and raised his fists just as Benedict reached him. Benedict wasn’t ready for the blow that smashed across his face with shattering force, but he was able to stay on his feet.
“I knew you were hiding her from me back in Antigua,” Stanley growled, chasing after Benedict. “You wanted her for yourself.”
“I won’t deny it,” Benedict said, dropping into a defensive stance. Stanley had to have a weakness, and if he could find what it was, he could defeat the man. “But not the way you think. I love Suzanne.”
To the side, Suzanne let out a shout of surprise as she made it to her feet.
“Love is a fool’s notion,” Stanley growled. “She’s breeding stock, and you’ve bred her.”
“Her child is mine, yes,” Benedict said, dodging the blow Stanley threw at him. “But I swear I love her, and I will protect her and our child for the rest of my days, if she’ll have me.”
“I love you too, Benedict,” Suzanne called to him.
The joy of hearing those words, words he’d longed to hear for so long, nearly made Benedict lose his concentration. He barely slipped out of the way of Stanley’s fist and almost didn’t have the wherewithal to launch a counterattack. Only as an afterthought did he spin to the side, using Stanley’s momentum against him to throw him off-balance.
Stanley recovered all too quickly and jerked around to face Benedict again. “You can have what’s left of her when I’m done,” he growled menacingly. “But I warn you, it won’t be much.”
His grin sickened Benedict. So much that he wanted nothing more than to knock it off Stanley’s face. He charged forward, using the downward slant of the hill to add force as he jammed his shoulder into Stanley’s chest. Stanley must not have expected the move. He grunted as Benedict knocked him off his feet. The two of them flew through the air, but when they landed, instead of a dull thud, Benedict heard a sickening crack.
Stanley was instantly still beneath him. Benedict reeled back, fists at the ready, but Stanley was dead. Benedict could see that much in an instant. It wasn’t until he caught sight of a trickle of dark red wetting the grass under Stanley’s head that he understood why. Gingerly, Benedict rolled Stanley just enough to the side to see that the man’s head had hit the same jagged rock that had injured Benedict’s shoulder. The edges of the rock were sharp enough that it had cracked Stanley’s skull at the top of his neck. The man’s death had probably been instant, which was more than the bastard deserved.
Benedict scrambled away from him, standing, then doubling over to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
“Is he dead?” Suzanne asked, rushing to his side and leaning against him.
“I think so,” Benedict panted.
“Good,” Suzanne said, then burst in tears. “Thank God.”
She sat hard in the grass, and Benedict sat with her. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, in spite of the pain in his shoulder, his face, and his lungs as his breathing returned to normal. As difficult as the fight and its result had been for him, it must have been a hundred times more traumatic for her. If he hadn’t reached the hillside in time, there was no telling what Stanley would have done to her.
“I’ve got you,” he said, resting his forehead against the side of her head. “I’ve got you now, and I’m not ever going to let you go.”
Chapter Ten
It was horrific. The entire scene had been devastating. Suzanne’s fear for herself and her baby had been nothing to the paralyzing panic she felt watching Benedict battle with Hugh. For those minutes, her world had hung in the balance. Benedict meant everything to her. He had changed her life in so many ways, made it better, freer. And even though the circumstances of their relationship were fraught and complicated, the last few months had been the happiest of her life. For a few, shattering moments, she feared she would lose everything.
And then Hugh was gone. It had happened so fast that she still couldn’t quite believe it as she sat on the hillside, watching Benedict and the driver Hugh had hired move his body into the wagon. Benedict and Hugh had grappled, they’d fallen, and that was it. Even though she’d seen the sharp-edged rock that had jammed into Hugh’s skull with the force of their fall, she still couldn’t believe it had ended so fast or so easily.
“Are you well?” Benedict asked, panting a bit, as he returned from depositing Hugh’s body in the wagon. Flecks of blood stained his jacket and a bruise was forming on the side of his face, but he had never looked more handsome or more heroic to her.
“I think I will be,” she answered in a shaky voice.
He offered her a hand to help her stand, and when that proved not to be enough for her, he bent and scooped an arm around her back to help her rise. “There isn’t anything wrong with the baby,
is there?” he asked. The concern in his gaze was touching. It was almost enough to send Suzanne into a flood of tears.
“Everything feels fine,” she reassured him with a smile instead.
“Stanley didn’t hurt you, did he?” Benedict’s expression darkened as he walked her slowly to the wagon.
“He tried.” Suzanne swallowed, her knees wobbling at the memory. “He said he was going to take what was rightfully his, then he was going to cut the baby from me as punishment for crossing him.”
Benedict’s arm went rock-hard around her. “I have no remorse whatsoever over his death,” he said in somber tones.
“Neither do I,” Suzanne admitted. “Which feels unchristian somehow. But I don’t care. He was an evil man, and now he is no more.”
Benedict lifted her onto the wagon’s seat, then climbed up beside her. The driver was already in place, and even though it was a bit of a tight squeeze, with Hugh’s body in the wagon’s bed, they were willing to make do.
The journey back into the village was silent. Benedict held Suzanne’s hand the whole time, in spite of propriety. She was glad for it, although the closer they came to Shawbury, the more anxious Suzanne became. She wasn’t certain what she’d find there. Reporting Hugh’s death to the authorities was one thing, but now that Benedict had been reunited with the love of his life, even though the circumstances were hopelessly muddled, she wasn’t certain where she stood.
“You found her,” Lady Crawford exclaimed joyfully, pushing herself to stand from the bench in front of the pub. Suzanne wondered if she’d waited there the entire time. If she had, it was a sign of how she must have truly felt for Benedict. “Oh, I’m so relieved. I told Mick here that I wasn’t going to move until you returned and I knew everything was well. He didn’t seem entirely pleased to have a lady sitting on his front doorstep, but I told him it would elevate the atmosphere of his pub.”