Suddenly, the carriage skidded to an abrupt halt, catapulting her towards the opposite side of the interior. She hit the floor with a thud, scrambling to regain her purchase. Beyond the door, she heard the horses whinnying in fright. Something was wrong, but she could not see the front of the coach to decipher what.
Her whole body was shaking as she dragged herself back across the carriage, to sit back down on the squabs. Surely, they had simply hit a treacherous ditch, and would soon be on their way? She decided to remain where she was, and let the driver contend with the problem. After all, she would only get in his way.
No sooner had she made the decision to stay put than she heard the sound of strange voices—deep and masculine. Her eyes widened in panic. They sounded brusque and abrasive, muffled by the stormy winds that tore around the carriage. And the horses were whinnying far louder now, their worried snorts striking fear into her heart.
Should I investigate? Truly, she did not know.
She ducked back into the darkness of the carriage as a shadow loomed across the window. Glimpsing a figure, she almost screamed. It was a tall gentleman with fabric wrapped around the lower half of his face, a hat cocked atop his head, shrouding his features. She clamped her hands across her mouth as the door handle turned, and the door itself was wrenched open, letting in the elements. Only, that wasn’t what scared her. It was the barrel of the flintlock pistol, pointed at her face.
“You,” the disguised gentleman growled. “Give me your money and your valuables. All of it, now!”
Tears sprang to her eyes, as she sat there, utterly petrified, unable to speak.
“Are you mute?” the gentleman barked. “Your money, now!”
“I… I do not have any, Sir,” she whispered, barely able to breathe, much less speak.
“Nonsense. This is a Rowfex carriage. I would know the crest anywhere,” he snarled. “You must be one of their daughters, so do not try to fool me. Your money and your valuables, or I will take your life as payment. Perhaps I will take more, if I so please.”
She shook her head frantically. “Please, I have nothing. I… I am the governess. I do not have anything to give you. Please, I beg of you.”
His eyes narrowed. “What about that necklace?”
Her hands shot to the pendant at her throat, covering it as though that would somehow divert his attention away from it. It was her sole, treasured possession in this world—a gift from her mother, which had been passed down from her mother, and so on, throughout the female line of their family.
“It is worth nothing to you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
“I will be the judge of that.” He spoke very well for a common highwayman, but that did not make him any more amenable to Teresa. She gripped the pendant tight, frozen with terror. She would not give it up. She could not. It was all she had left of her mother.
“Please, Sir. It is all I have,” she begged.
“It is a small price to pay for your life, is it not?” he replied. She could tell he was smirking beneath the black handkerchief that covered his mouth. It would have angered her, but she was too terrified to feel anything.
He will kill me. I will die here if I do not give this to him. And yet, she could not bring herself to do it.
“It was my mother’s. It is all I have of her.” Tears trickled down Teresa’s face, as she sought to find some empathy in this man. “Please, do not take it. Please.”
“But I want it. Would you deny me what I want?”
“Please…” The word came out on a strained breath, her lungs empty.
He lunged forwards before she could attempt to defend herself, snatching for the necklace about her throat. His gloved fingertips scraped across her chest, tugging hard at the pendant. She thrashed against him, but there was nothing she could do. He was determined to have what belonged to her.
She was certain she could hear her own heart breaking as the chain snapped, the pendant falling away in his hand as he tore it away from her. Spurred on by sudden impulse, she dove forwards and grappled with the fellow, trying to wrest the necklace back, the two of them falling out of the carriage and onto the sodden ground beyond.
Pummeling him with her fists, she struggled in vain to retrieve her precious possession, but his fingers remained gripped around it like a vise, unyielding.
“Smith!” the gentleman yelled. “Smith!”
She tried to cover his mouth, but it was too late. Another figure appeared around the side of the coach. Teresa’s eyes darted toward a body on the wet road, blood mingling with the rainwater. The driver… She did not know what these brutes had done to him, but he did not appear to be moving, which meant she was in far more danger than she realized.
The figure, who appeared to be the man named Smith, hurried to aid his accomplice, grasping Teresa by the shoulders and flinging her away from him. She crashed into the exterior of the carriage, smacking her head against the wood with a hard thump that ricocheted through her. Dizziness swam through her skull as she struggled to get to her feet, knowing that her only choice was to run.
Before they could grasp at her with their disgraceful hands, she sprinted for the open fields beyond, the world around her rumbling with thunder, as lightning flickered through the clouds, striking the ground with a deafening crack. Grabbing the cotton skirts of her forget-me-not blue gown, she ran for her life, the squelching mud and slithering weeds trying to claw at her ankles with every step she took.
She had barely managed to run twenty yards when she felt something barrel into her, knocking her into the dirt, face first. She did not need to look to know it was one of the highwaymen. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his weight crushed her into the mud, stealing the ragged air from her lungs.
“You cannot run from me, Miss.” He chuckled darkly. “Perhaps you need to be taught obedience. I can think of a few lessons that might bring you to heel.”
She panicked as she felt his hand slide down her back and across her thighs, tugging up the edges of her skirts. “No!” she screamed, as she thrashed with all her might, desperate to get away from this callous wretch.
“Smith!” the man yelled. A moment later, she saw the other gentleman appear, similarly disguised in black clothing, with a handkerchief wrapped around the lower half of his face.
“Yes, Boss?” he replied.
“Hold her down.”
Teresa screamed louder, fighting him with everything she had. She would not allow herself to be dishonored.
“What?” Smith sounded dubious.
“Hold her down!” the other man bellowed.
“Are you sure, Boss?”
“Do it, or you will be the one to suffer the consequences,” the other man shot back, venom dripping from his words. Meanwhile, Teresa howled and kicked, trying to escape the weight of him upon her. Her panic reached fever pitch, as she felt Smith grasp her arms, twisting them up behind her back with such vehemence that she thought he might tear them from her very body. The pain made her grimace, but she pushed it away, kicking and squirming with all her remaining strength.
Her skirts were almost up around her waist, the fight fading from her limbs, when a sound pierced the air. At first, she thought it was another fork of lightning striking the earth. Only when the two men jumped up in terror did she realize she was mistaken. It was a musket.
A second shot rang out, hitting Smith in the shoulder. He fell backwards, only to be dragged back up by the frantic hands of his accomplice. Putting his fingers to his mouth, the devil whistled so loud it shivered right through Teresa. The ground rumbled beneath her, as two horses appeared, charging towards the sound.
A moment later, Smith and the other man leapt up into the saddles and dug in their heels, thundering as far away from the scene of their crime as possible. Even then, Teresa could not bring herself to sit up. She lacked the strength, her body shuddering violently from the fear and the cold of the water that drenched her.
Black spots danced in her
field of vision as the dizziness took over. Soon, she was going to faint. She could feel it, creeping through her veins, threatening to steal away her consciousness.
He has my mother’s necklace… Despite everything, that was the only thing she could think about as she battled to keep awake.
She did not know who had frightened the two highwaymen away, nor did she care at this current moment. That wretch had stolen something more valuable than all the gold in the world. Determined, she tried to get to her feet, her knees knocking as she struggled upwards. Even though she knew it was futile, she tried to go after the highwaymen, only to collapse a moment later, hitting the ground with one conclusive thud.
Presently, she became aware of arms around her, picking her up and carrying her back to the road. Looking up at her rescuer, she saw his face illuminated in the flash of a lightning strike. Water drenched his hair, making the color impossible to decipher, but he had two shining, blue eyes that reflected the stormy landscape raging around them. His features were strong and masculine, with a hint of freckles across his nose.
“Did they hurt you?” the gentleman asked.
“They… they took my necklace,” she whimpered.
“Are you injured?”
Teresa shook her head slowly. “I… I do not believe so.”
“That is good news, indeed. It is fortunate I arrived when I did, otherwise… well, that does not matter now.” He offered a reassuring smile. “You are safe, Miss, but we must get you to a physician. You are so very cold, and your lips are turning blue.”
“You rescued me,” she murmured, holding his gaze.
He nodded. “You are safe now. But, tell me, where is it you are headed?”
“The Rowfex Estate.”
He stared at her in bemusement. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes… at least, I think I am. My mind is so clouded. I am to be the new governess to the Duke’s youngest children.”
A curious smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Is that so? And might I know your name?”
“Miss Teresa Dowels.”
“Well, Miss Dowels, my name is… you may call me Mr. Morton.” He carried her towards the largest horse Teresa had ever seen, its coat a moonlight silver, with a mane the color of white silk. “Now, it may seem somewhat uncouth, but I must ask that you ride with me the rest of the way. You cannot remain out here in the bitter weather, or you shall catch your death of cold. As for any further injuries, I will arrange for a physician, do not fear.”
She nodded uncertainly. This gentleman may have saved her life and her honor, but that did not mean she trusted him. “If you insist upon it, Sir.”
“In this instance, I must.”
With some awkwardness, Mr. Morton lifted her up onto the front of the saddle. He got up behind her and shuffled his long, dark coat from his shoulders, wrapping it around her with a gentle touch. She sank into its warmth, as he slung the strap of his musket across his chest, grabbed the reins, and led the horse towards the driver. The poor man was now sitting up in the middle of the road, his hand pressed against a wound to the side of his head.
Mr. Morton paused beside the man. “I shall send men to assist you.”
The man nodded weakly. “Gratitude, Sir.”
Setting off down the road, Teresa’s whole body stiffened. She did not like to be this close to a strange man, especially after what she had just endured. She glanced back, studying her rescuer more closely. He was a handsome man indeed, with chiseled features and a noble nose, and a sweet smile that reassured her of her safety.
Although she could not ignore that he only wore a shirt and waistcoat, as she had taken comfort in his coat. With it being so late, she hoped that nobody would see them on their journey to the Rowfex Estate. She did not want to have her reputation in tatters before she had even begun her new life. Not here. Not after what had just happened. She had almost lost her honor, and the tears began to fall as relief washed over her, the droplets hidden by the rain that spattered down.
However, he did not seem to be a man of means, though it was hard to tell when he was sodden from the storm. A nobleman would never have suggested something like this. His station cheered her slightly, reducing her embarrassment. At least they were on an even footing. At the very least, she would not have to suffer the mortification of having her new employers know what had happened.
This is for necessity, she told herself. Your employers will see that this is only for necessity, once you explain. They did not need to know that those highwaymen had almost stolen her honor, as well as her mother’s necklace. She could leave that part out and tell them only that they were accosted upon the road.
Swallowing her sense of propriety, she watched the horizon. Her head pounded viciously, a pressure pushing at the inner sides of her temples. Staring straight ahead, she gathered her thoughts, letting gratitude wash over her. Things may have taken a turn for the dangerous, but at least she was still breathing.
She just hoped those highwaymen would not seek revenge upon her, for having escaped with her life.
Chapter 2
Luke Morton’s horse, Moonstruck, clopped to a halt outside the grand manor of the Rowfex Estate, its hooves crunching on the gravel. Soft lights glowed from the endless windows that ornamented the exterior, embedded in the elegant sandstone. He loved this house, a peace settling upon him whenever he was near it.
Home at last.
He did not know why he had pretended he was not the second son of the Duke of Rowfex, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, given the poor young lady’s perturbed state. If she had realized she was within the arms of her new employer’s son, he was certain she would have fainted into a catatonia from which she could not be stirred.
You have endured much this night. I am sorry for it.
It had been fortunate indeed that he had been returning from a military exercise with the local militia, to fulfil his military duties, at the very hour in which Miss Dowels had required immediate aid. Otherwise, he might not have had the advantage of his musket, nor happened upon her at all. He did not like to think of what might have occurred if he had not passed when he had.
She lolled forward, piquing Luke’s concern for her. She’d been in a daze since they’d left the wrecked carriage, the front wheels destroyed by those despicable highwaymen, and things appeared to be getting worse. She could barely hold her head up.
He had tried to urge her to rest against his chest, but she had stubbornly kept herself forward. He could not blame her, considering what those men had tried to do to her. It was a wonder she was even allowing herself to be this close to him. Although, he could not deny how pleasant it had felt, to have a young lady’s body flush against his. It was not something he had experienced too often, though he pushed any improper thoughts away, reminding himself of what she had endured.
She will not appreciate any amorous attention.
Instead, he satisfied himself with glancing at the curve of her neck, wondering what it might be like to kiss that soft, pale skin. If only to show her that there were good gentlemen in this world, who could show her the gentle nature of ardor. And, perhaps, that would serve to chase away the demons of those brutish wretches. But not right now. If he touched her, in any soft way, he was certain she would bolt.
Drawing as close to the front of the house as he could, he jumped down and pulled her from the horse, holding her tightly in his arms as he walked up the elegant front steps of the manor. She nestled her head against his chest, making him feel like her safe haven. He liked the way her head felt against him, though he did not dwell on such thoughts. He could not.
With some difficulty, he managed to grapple with the door handle and open it, stumbling into the entrance hall. The butler stood nearby, his face turning to a mask of alarm as he witnessed the limp young lady in Luke’s arms.
“Send for the physician,” Luke instructed. “Miss Dowels is unwell. Very unwell indeed. The coachman will require assista
nce, also—we must send men to attend on him and bring him back here.”
Miss Dowels stirred in his grasp, looking up at him with some confusion. She was a slender, pretty creature with raven black hair and dark brown eyes, that reminded him of a doe. High on her blanched cheeks, there was a small, pink birthmark in the shape of a heart. He admired it for a moment, forgetting why he was there.
“Mr. Morton… where am I?” she croaked.
“You are at the Duke of Rowfex’s residence.” He held her tighter as he moved further into the entrance hall and set her down on a green, velvet chaise.
Her eyes held a shadow of confusion. “Have they allowed you to stay by my side?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
She shook her head. “No, they must not see me like this. They must not see me with you. They will think they worst.”
“I will explain all, Miss Dowels. Rest easy, I will see to it that all is well.”
Just then, two more figures appeared on the curved staircase that led down from the first floor. Archibald Morton, otherwise known as the Duke of Rowfex, approached Luke and Miss Dowels, a stern look on his brow. He was a tall man of broad build, with salt-and-pepper hair, who shared the same blue eyes as Luke.
Beside him stood the Duke’s firstborn, and Luke’s elder brother, Edmund. Though he stood to inherit the dukedom, he also held a title of his own—the Marquess of Harpington. At nine-and-twenty, he did not look much like his father, with a curly tangle of fair hair, his eyes a much paler shade of blue, but they were of similar height and build, and gave off the same air of confidence.
A silvered scar cut down from the apple of his cheek to the bottom of his jaw, inflicted during his time fighting on the continent. There were other wounds, too, though they were not visible. A scar beneath his hair where he had been struck by a spray of debris, and a noticeable limp that grew worse in cold weather. Although, Luke’s brother always tried to walk straight, even though it caused him further pains.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Duke asked.
Lusting For The Broken Earl (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 29