“Can’t,” she coughed, thumping at her chest. “Fire. Smoke.”
Fear slithered down his back. Roper was resourceful, he reminded himself. Everyone on his staff was resourceful. They were fine. Everyone was going to be fine. Yet panic crawled beneath his skin.
Violet held open the library door then hurried past him to unlock the secret exit. She eased the door open the tiniest crack and peered outside before nodding and motioning him and Lily through.
“They must all be over by the sanctuary,” she whispered, as if the frenzied mob might somehow overhear their voices and come running with their pitchforks and torches. “It’s clear. Hurry.”
He tugged the linens up over his daughter’s face and stepped through the door. By the sudden tensing in Lily’s limbs, the multiple layers of wet cloth were still not one hundred percent capable of shielding her from the slowly setting sun. In another hour, perhaps, the world would be bathed in darkness. But for now, they needed shelter.
“Let’s go.” Hunching over to give Lily as much protection as possible, he pushed toward his rose garden. “Out past the back lawn.”
Violet hurried ahead and glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “I don’t see anything except the woods!”
“Exactly.” He kept moving forward. “The trees will provide shelter, at least until the fire comes too close. If we’re lucky, we may even stumble across one of my overfed horses.”
Actually, he heard horse hooves right now. He paused, spine bent over his daughter, and strained to listen. Perhaps one of his worthless beasts was finally coming to him, instead of the other way around. Smiling, he lifted his head to call out to Violet when the horse burst around the corner.
Not his stallion.
The horseman dug in his heels and sped straight toward Violet. The rider’s blinding white cravat fluttered in the wind, clashing incongruously with the black slash of his eye patch.
“Violet!” Alistair screamed, but the wind whipped his words over the trees.
The rider yanked Violet up by her hair and the back of her gown. He swung her up across his legs and yanked her upright into his lap.
Alistair hobbled forward, unable to move any faster with his injured daughter in his arms but equally unable to countenance the horrific abduction taking place before his very eyes.
With a self-congratulatory smile, the one-eyed knave tipped his hat and rode off with the woman Alistair loved.
Chapter 40
Scalp stinging from her hair being half-ripped from her head, Violet flailed at her captor. Mr. Percy Livingstone had found her at last. There had been no chance of avoiding capture. And now that he had her, he planned to kill her. If she let him. She struggled to break free.
He trapped her arms to her chest and chuckled in her ear. “It won’t be as easy as all that, Miss Whitechapel. I may only be able to enjoy watching with one eye, but I’ve finally got you where I want you.”
Violet slammed the back of her head against his chin. “On a horse?”
“On my lap.” He jerked her to one side, ripping a hole in her gown. “You interrupted my fun with your little student. I intend to finish what I started with you instead.”
Furious, she tried to slam an elbow into his groin. “Good luck. You’ve got to get down sometime, and when you do I’ll gouge your other eye out.”
He tsked. “Why so unfriendly? Surely you’re not saving yourself for your reclusive benefactor.” He laughed. “If so, don’t bother. I whipped those simpletons into such a frenzy that not even a cinder of that abbey will remain.”
Violet choked. “You—”
“Turnabout is fair play, is it not?” Percy Livingstone’s chilling tone set gooseflesh down her back. “Surely you cannot fault me for seeking vengeance. A fire seemed terribly apt.”
She jerked away from him. “The people in that abbey are innocent!”
“Not my problem. Besides, the smithy and his boys are only after the little vampire girl and her father. The rest are just icing on the cake. Aren’t backwater superstitions a delight?”
She struggled against his tight grip. “Why are you doing this?”
“I believe my countenance speaks for itself. An eye for an eye, as they say. And I could hardly forgo a tête à tête once your lover ruined my good name in the courtroom.”
She stilled. “What?”
“Didn’t he tell you? I was informed only yesterday, myself. All accusations ruled invalid. Imagine, me having to apologize to you for vilification of character! And monetary recompense. The very idea. I decided to pay you what you deserved face to face.” He pinched her cheek roughly. “A hundred pounds loosens many tongues. Imagine my further delight to discover the townsfolk more than willing to fight my battles for me. And all I had to do was sit back, light my pipe, and wait for the cockroaches to scuttle free.”
Violet’s mind raced as his meaning sank in. Invalid accusations. Alistair hadn’t told her yet, because Alistair hadn’t known. They hadn’t stepped foot outside the sanctuary since the previous morning, much less inquired after correspondence. His solicitor had won. She was free!
Or would be, if she weren’t trapped atop a horse with a madman.
She had to think. She had no pistol. She had no knife. She had no weapon of any kind except her brain, and if she couldn’t come up with something brilliant soon, she would be halfway to Lancashire before sunrise.
The horse. The horse was the answer! Rather than try to slip free, what she ought to do was knock him loose. But how, when he held the ribbons and she bounced upon his lap?
Slowly, she eased upright. He shot her a suspicious glance, but when she made no sudden move, he returned his attention to the uneven road. She would only have one chance. She would have to do it now, and do it fast.
Violet shot one hand forward to snatch up the reins. She jerked the ribbons from his startled grasp at the same time she pistoned backward with her other arm. Her elbow caught him square in the neck, snapping his chin upward and his head back.
His torso careening off-balance, he windmilled wildly to regain his equilibrium. Before he could do so, Violet swung her shoulder hard into his ribs and her elbow into his groin.
With a tiny “Oof!” he fell sideways off the horse, landing hard on the dirt and gravel.
Concentrating all her efforts on not tumbling off the horse herself, Violet hiked up her skirts and maneuvered her legs until she sat astride. She wasn’t used to riding this way, but as this horse had not come equipped for feminine modesty, allowances had to be made.
As soon as she was able, she turned the horse back toward home. Percy Livingstone lay on the rocky path, holding his groin with one hand and a seeping head wound with the other.
Her words came out strong and deadly. “Consider this moment your formal apology. If you come after me or my loved ones again, I will kill you.”
Before he could respond, she took off at a gallop for the abbey. By the time she arrived, the main structure and outbuildings still stood, but the sanctuary was nothing more than a heap of stone and char. Alistair and Lily were nowhere in sight.
Fortunately, Percy Livingstone had been right about the smithy’s focus—the servants were untouched by fire, but lined the walk with identical expressions of horror.
Violet slowed to a stop next to Mrs. Tumsen and Mr. Roper. “What’s happening? Where are Alistair and Lily?”
Mrs. Tumsen shook her head. “The madmen fled the premises as soon as the sanctuary was as good as gone. Haven’t seen that dear child or her father anywhere. I fear the worst.”
Violet’s anxiety lifted. If they hadn’t been spotted, that meant Alistair had reached the safety of the forest and saved Lily’s life.
Mr. Roper held out a hand to help Violet down. “How did you escape? And where did you get a horse?”
She shook her head. “No time for that. Can you bring a carriage to the woods behind the back lawn? Alistair and Lily are there waiting.”
Mr. Roper sagged in relief. “I am at your comm
and.”
Violet turned the horse toward the rear of the abbey and raced to where she’d last seen Alistair and Lily.
“Alistair!” she shouted into the darkness of the woods as she traversed the boundary where the lawn met the forest. “Alistair! Lily!”
“Here!” came a hoarse reply, at last.
Mr. Roper appeared behind her with the carriage just as Violet spotted the bottom of Alistair’s boots among the brush.
“Over there!” she called, motioning him from the carriage. “Alistair’s propped against a tree, holding Lily.”
Nodding, he crossed through the trees and carefully lifted Lily from Alistair’s arms. After settling the child in the back of the carriage, Mr. Roper came back to help Alistair to his feet before returning to watch over Lily.
When Alistair reached Violet’s horse, he shook his head and grinned up at her. “You won?”
“Of course I won,” she said with mock affront. “I always win.”
“Of course you do. I wasn’t worried for a second.”
She arched a brow. “Not for one little second?”
“Well, if you want to be technical, I was in a state of apoplexy more or less the entire time you were gone.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious as he held out his arms to her. “Never leave us again.”
She swung her far leg back over the side of her mount and slid down into his embrace. “I promise.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her tight. “As Lily’s parents, we’ll spend the rest of our lives in the pursuit of happiness... together.”
“Absolu—” Violet jerked her face up toward him. “As her what?”
“Violet Whitechapel,” he said, leaning down to steal a kiss. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Love clogged her throat. There was nothing on this earth she wished for more. Not just a family, but this family. Forever and ever.
She rose up on her toes and kissed him soundly. “I would love to.”
“I have a mother?” Lily shouted from the open carriage, her voice cracking on the final word. “Truly?”
“You have an entire family,” Violet corrected, still in a state of disbelief. “We all do.”
Smiling so wide it hurt, she slid her hand into Alistair’s and climbed into the carriage to join their daughter.
Epilogue
Six months later, Violet stepped from her bedchamber onto a stone balcony overlooking the Waldegraves’ new property. Her new home. A thousand far-off stars glistened overhead. A woman would be hard pressed to find fault with the sweeping Scottish manor overlooking the sea.
Lily’s burns had healed even better than expected, only leaving faint scars behind. The manor boasted plenty of wide, windowless rooms for her to roam during the day. Between the Highlands and the beaches, Lily’s nights were filled with sensory delights.
So were Violet’s.
Her husband approached from behind. Without a word, he slid his arms about his wife’s waist and buried his face in her hair.
“Sorry we left England, love?” Alistair asked quietly.
“Good Lord, no.” Violet leaned into him, allowing the sea-scented breeze to rustle her skirts and tangle her hair. “Are you?”
He shook his head, then pulled her forward into his embrace. His hands cupped her face. He dipped his head to kiss her, his mouth hungry and his gaze full of promise. “The only place I’m sorry we left is our bedchamber. Care to join me for a moment or two?”
“Just a moment or two?” she replied archly, allowing him to take her hand and lead her back inside. “And here I was hoping we might manage to occupy ourselves until sunrise.”
“Just sunrise?” He slid her night rail from her shoulders and pressed a warm kiss to her breast. “And here I was hoping we could do this the rest of our lives.”
“Mmm. Perhaps we could start with this...” She let her mouth and tongue leave a trail of kisses from his bare chest to just below his waist. “Or did you have other plans?”
“I like your plans,” he said quickly, sucking in a breath as she continued the trail with her tongue. “I love everything about you.”
Sinking to her knees, she paused only to flash him a saucy smile. “Allow me to give you one... more... reason...”
* * *
THE END
In the Rogues to Riches series, incorrigible rogues sweep strong-willed young ladies into whirlwind romance.
* * *
Keep turning for a sneak peek at the first book!
Get yours: Lord of Chance
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In order, the Gothic Love Stories are:
Too Wicked to Kiss
Too Sinful to Deny
Too Tempting to Resist
Too Wanton to Wed
* * *
In order, the 12 Dukes of Christmas:
Once Upon a Duke
Kiss of a Duke
Wish Upon a Duke
Never Say Duke
Dukes, Actually
The Duke’s Bride
The Duke’s Embrace
The Duke’s Desire
Dawn With a Duke
One Night With a Duke
Ten Days With a Duke
Forever Your Duke
* * *
In order, the Rogues to Riches books are:
Lord of Chance
Lord of Pleasure
Lord of Night
Lord of Temptation
Lord of Secrets
Lord of Vice
* * *
In order, the Dukes of War books are:
The Viscount's Tempting Minx (FREE!)
The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower
The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress
The Major’s Faux Fiancée
The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride
The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway
The Duke's Accidental Wife
* * *
In order, the Magic & Mayhem books are:
Kissed by Magic
Must Love Magic
Smitten by Magic
* * *
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Acknowledgments
As always, I could not have written this book without the invaluable support of my critique partners and my amazing literary agent. Huge thanks go out to Lauren Abramo, Janice Goodfellow, Jackie Barbosa, Darcy Burke, Emma Locke, and Erica Monroe. You are the best!
Lastly, I want to thank my Historical Romance Book Club and my fabulous street team. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen.
Thank you so much!
Lord of Chance
Disguised as a country miss, Charlotte Devon flees London, desperate to leave her tattered reputation behind. In Scotland, her estranged father’s noble blood will finally make her a respectable debutante. Except she finds herself accidentally wed to a devil-may-care rogue with a sinful smile. He’s the last thing she needs…and everything her traitorous heart desires.
Charming rake Anthony Fairfax is on holiday to seek his fortune…and escape his creditors. When an irresistible Lady Luck wins him in a game of chance—and a slight mishap has them leg-shackled by dawn—the tables have finally turned in his favor. But when past demons catch up to them, holding on to new love will mean destroying their dreams forever.
Get yours now!
Sneak Peek
Lord of Chance
&nbs
p; Scotland, 1817
Mr. Anthony Fairfax might not be the lord of a manor, but he was king of the gaming hells. Or had been. Anthony glanced at his pocket watch. He should be resuming his throne at any moment. His luck was already turning back around, right here in a humble inn on the Scottish border. And Anthony knew why. He slid another look toward a certain young woman seated alone in the shadows.
Making her acquaintance was almost as tempting as winning the next hand of three-card Brag.
To feign disinterest in the twitches and tells of the other three men at the card table, Anthony lifted his untouched glass of brandy to his lips and leaned back in his chair. Careful to keep a subtle eye on the other gamblers, he glanced about the inn’s surprisingly well-appointed salon while he waited his turn.
This particular posting house was a bit dear, given the unpredictable condition of Anthony’s purse, but he’d chosen it for that very reason. Rich guests meant higher profits at the gaming tables.
Bored gentlemen—after all, who stopped at a small village on the border between Scotland and England save those on a long, dusty journey?—meant virtually every soul present had wandered into the guest salon after supper to be entertained for a moment or two. Drivers. Gentlemen. Ladies.
For Anthony, the most interesting of all was the intriguing woman in the corner. She drank nothing. Spoke to no one. Seemed uninterested in the bustle of life about her. Yet he knew she was not.
Light from a nearby candle reflected in her eyes every time she looked his way.
Anthony was certain she was the catalyst for his phenomenal luck this evening. A rush of hope filled him. As a lifelong gambler, he was accustomed to both long stretches of near-invincibility as well as dry spells of dashed fortune. From the moment he’d laid eyes on this mysterious woman, every hand he was dealt contained at least a flush or a run.
Too Wanton to Wed: Gothic Love Stories #4 Page 31