Murder. He was going to kill Richard.
Anne shoved her father away and made for the door of the carriage. She threw it open.
“Anne!”
The road was going fast underneath them. The coach swayed. Stanton grasped her hard, but she slammed his hand against the wooden frame of the carriage door. He released her with a sharp howl. “Anne!”
She had to get away. With a short prayer, she threw herself out of the carriage. The impact left her gasping. She rolled along the hard dirt road, biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Her wrist hurt so badly. Dear god, was it broken?
“Goddamn it! Anne!”
Get up. Get up!
The horses reared as the driver tried desperately to gain control over the carriage. But they were going too fast. The carriage listed to the side and crashed into the ditch along the side of the road. Anne struggled to find her footing, only just noticing the pounding of more horse hooves.
“Anne!”
Richard. Arms scooped her up and held her close. “Christ, Anne. I saw you jump out of the carriage, and—”
“Hand her over, Grey,” came her father’s cold voice. He struggled out of the wreck of the carriage without any regard for the horses or the driver. He cradled his hurt hand against his chest. “Or I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping.”
Richard only gripped her closer. “Do it. I’d love to tell them about how you’ve been covering up child murder for the last ten years to further your political ambitions.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, I intend to.” With Anne in his arms, Richard hefted them both onto the horse.
“Grey!” her father called as he started riding away. “Wherever you go, I’ll find her! I’ll tell everyone about your sister and that criminal husband of hers. Damn it! Grey!”
“He will,” Anne said quietly as Richard rode on. “We can’t stay on this road.”
“We won’t be. Caroline’s estate is nearby. I’ve already sent word ahead to her that we’re stopping there for the night and taking the train to Scotland in the morning.”
But Anne was too distressed to hear him. “Don’t you understand? This time he’ll have criminal charges brought against you. He’ll have you arrested. He’ll—”
“For what? Kidnapping?” Richard grinned down at her. “Did you miss the part about Scotland?”
Anne paused. “Scotland?” she echoed. Scotland.
Richard grinned. “I can’t kidnap my own wife, can I?”
Chapter 37
“Hastings agreed to meet us in Edinburgh,” Caroline said, once they had settled into her private rail car. The train was already gliding across the countryside and Richard felt each mile take a weight off his chest. Anne was safe. “His cable was quite terse.”
“Cables are always terse,” Richard reassured her. “It’s the nature of the telegraph.”
“Yes, well. This one simply said, fine. One word. If he doesn’t have someone to perform the ceremony, I’ll wring his neck.” Caroline looked at Anne, who was curled against Richard, her breathing even. She barely slept last night for fear her father would break down the duchess’s door with the authorities. Richard had held her all night. “Poor dear,” Caroline said. “To have no one in the world . . .”
“She has me,” Richard reminded her.
Caroline’s gaze met his. “Yes. Yes, she does. You’ll treasure her, won’t you?”
“All my life.”
“Good.” Caroline sat back and gazed out the window. “Husbands ought to treasure their wives,” she added quietly.
It was raining when the butler received them at the Duke of Hastings’s Edinburgh residence. As Caroline gave him her coat, she asked, “And where is my husband? Is he at home?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He’s right—”
“Here,” a voice interrupted.
They all looked up at the stairs as the duke descended. Richard had met with Hastings often for political matters. He was a serious man, formidable. Part of that was due to his intimidating height and build — he had quite the reputation at Richard’s boxing club — and the rest was a product of his cold, penetrating gray eyes. Many men in the Lords had difficulty meeting them directly.
“Hello, Julian,” Caroline said softly.
“Hello, Linnie,” the duke returned.
Caroline stiffened, as if the pet name were a jibe. She dismissed the butler and said, “Will you permit me to introduce you to—”
“Grey,” Hastings said with a nod. “We’re quite familiar with each other from Parliamentary matters.” He looked at Anne. “And Miss Anne Sheffield. I must say, this is quite the surprise. The last time I saw you, you were in a window seat pretending to read as your father discussed matters not fit for a young daughter’s ears.”
Anne raised her chin. “Depends on the daughter. I admired your position on the reform bill. It’s not every day I hear a titled gentlemen argue for giving working class men the right to vote. My father would prefer it remain a right of the privileged.”
Hastings tilted his head a fraction. “And you don’t.”
“No. I do not.”
“Interesting.”
Caroline stepped in front of Anne. “Enough. Do you have someone to perform the ceremony? I’m afraid your single word cable didn’t indicate.”
His icy eyes flickered to Caroline. “In the library.” He indicated a door with a nod. “When it’s done, you have a great deal to explain, wife.”
Caroline’s smile was sweet. “My darling husband, when it’s done, we shall have a wedding dinner for my friends, and I’ll explain when I damn well feel like it.” She grasped her skirts and strode into the library, followed by Anne.
Richard lingered behind and cut Hastings a look. “You might try not acting like a complete arse.”
Hastings returned his look with a cold glare. “You might try minding your own damn business.”
The ceremony was short, and the vicar left soon after. Richard loved the way Anne blushed when he gazed into her eyes and murmured, “With my body, I thee worship.” For they were not just vows, but promises to last a lifetime. They were words to whisper in bed during the years to come, as they aged.
Then he kissed her, and she smiled beneath his lips, and he knew the choice to marry her was the best decision he had made in his scandalous life. He would worship her with his body later, tomorrow, the next day, forever.
When they finally retired, Richard was relieved. He didn’t waste any time going to Anne’s bedchamber and dismissing the maid.
Anne sighed as he came up behind her and worked to loosen her hair from its chignon. “That was lovely. It was kind of the duke and duchess to help us.”
“You’re lovely,” he said, dropping a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “And I know what you’re worrying over.”
“Worrying?” she said innocently. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Richard shook his head with a chastising smile. “Don’t pretend with me. I know how that mind of yours works. We can’t help everyone, sweetheart.”
He couldn’t say he blamed her. Caroline tried to keep a brave face through the wedding dinner. While the Duke of Hastings was courteous, the strain between wife and husband was clear. Though Anne had softened the duke until he’d smiled — how could she not? — he’d never looked at his wife directly.
Anne leaned back against Richard. “I want to see everyone happy, now that I am.”
“Yes.” He began to unbutton her nightdress. “But you must know it’s not over for us, either. When we return, your father—”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Let us worry of these things later.”
It wasn’t long before he had her in bed naked, is lips and tongue speaking a language he could not say in words. Every kiss was a declaration, a promise, a vow. “I love you,” he whispered, as he kissed his way down her breasts, her hips, lower. “God, how I love you.”
She arched and cried out hi
s name. He loved how she then breathed words of assent, of commands, telling him yes and more and there; right there. When he settled between her thighs and pushed his cock into her, she held his face in her hands and told him she loved him back.
Richard fell asleep smiling.
Chapter 38
During the night, Anne woke in Richard’s embrace. The city lights from the open window illuminated just enough of his beautiful features that Anne could see he was still sleeping.
She smiled. Not so agitated now, was he?
Anne pressed a kiss to his temple and gently unwound herself from his hold to reach for the water on the bedside table — but found the glass empty.
“Drat,” she whispered.
“Mmm. What is it?” Richard murmured. His voice was gruff with sleep and Anne loved it.
She stroked his hair. “I’m going to get more water. I’ll be right back.”
Richard captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Quickly, please. I’ve a mind to make love to you again.” He yawned and settled deeper into the pillow. “And again, and again.”
Anne laughed quietly as he fell asleep once more.
She didn’t wish to leave the comfort and warmth of the bed, but after their hours of lovemaking, she was parched.
Lovemaking. Anne smiled down at her husband. Her husband.
She’d wake to this every morning: his kisses, the warmth of his arms around her. She couldn’t wait to see the sunrise light his features. To rise in a few hours and make love again before breakfast.
Perhaps she could convince him to spend one more day in Edinburgh; Anne had never visited Scotland before. What she had seen was exquisite, and she wished for a reprieve before returning to London and confronting her father’s crimes.
She wondered where Stanton was now. He’d be looking for her, she knew.
Safe. I’m safe. Richard is my husband, and I’m safe.
With a sigh, Anne rose from the bed and threw on her wrapper. Spring in Edinburgh was still crisp, colder than London. She shivered. The candle she lit offered little warmth as she closed the bedchamber door and made her way downstairs to the kitchens.
But as she came to the foot of the stairs, someone grabbed her from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shh. No screaming.”
Oh god. Stanton.
She struggled against him. Her father shoved her arm up between her shoulder-blades and Anne gasped in pain.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he hissed. “That I didn’t know you’d run to the Duke and Duchess of Hastings for help? I’m not a fool, Anne.” Her father thrust her arm at a more agonizing angle that left her immobile. “Stop moving. I don’t wish to hurt you, but I will if I have to. You’re going to come with me to my horse outside, slow and quiet.”
Anne shook her head, holding up the hand with the candle to indicate her ring. Richard had run out to purchase the simple band just after their ceremony.
“Do you think that ring makes a damn bit of difference? Do you think I don’t have it in my power to annul this marriage? I’m the prime minister.”
“Not for long,” came another voice.
Anne almost sobbed with relief when she saw her husband step out from the shadows of the staircase. When his eyes flickered to her, she saw an imperceptible softening of his features as if he were asking, Are you all right?
She nodded once. Fine.
Richard returned his attention to Stanton. “Let go of my wife, Sheffield.”
“She’s my daughter. You’ve taken her and forced her to marry you under duress. She’s an innocent you took advantage of and I’m here to save her from you.”
Richard gave a soft clap of his hands. “Excellent performance. Come up with those lies yourself?”
“They’re what I’ll tell everyone after I clean up this mess. You wouldn’t be the first loose end I’ve taken care of.” Anne froze as her father pulled out the pistol from behind his back.
At Anne’s muffled cry, he jerked her closer. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you had kept your fucking mouth shut, Anne.”
Richard put up his hands. Though he looked calm, Anne could see the swift rise and fall of his chest. “Think this through, Stanton. You’re in the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. If they hear that shot, are they going to be two more loose ends? And what of the servants? Put the pistol down.”
Her father seemed to consider that. Anne tried to hold still, but she could see he was facing every ugly decision he had made in his pursuit of money and power, and he could only run so far. Clean up so many messes. Tie up so many loose ends. He was like a cornered animal. His only thought was survival. It didn’t matter who he hurt.
“You’re right,” Stanton said, lowering the pistol.
But when Anne thought he might release her, he grabbed the candle in her hand.
And he tossed it right in front of Richard.
The result was almost instant. The flame caught on the window curtains and blazed across the carpet. Anne fought against Stanton — Richard was struggling to put the fire out — but her father held her fast. It wasn’t long before the fire reached the foot of the stairs.
She couldn’t see Richard anymore.
Anne bit her father’s hand and wrenched out of his grip. “Richard!”
Stanton smacked her so hard that she saw stars. “Shut up and move.” He shoved her toward the door, nearly yanking her arm from its socket.
Anne ignored the pain. She bucked against him, fighting the whole way to the foyer — she scratched and kicked and hit. She wasn’t going to let him take her without a fight.
Never again.
“Goddamn it, Anne!” He slammed her against the wood frame of the doorway, and Anne sagged in his grip. He bundled her up so easily, carrying her through the house.
More shouts. Was Richard warning everyone? Were they safe? Didn’t matter. She had to focus on herself. With a renewed sense of purpose, Anne shoved her way out of her father’s grip. He swore, taking hold of her again. His grip on her wrist sent another jolt of pain through her.
Fight. Think!
Her memory took inventory. It recalled every detail perfectly — every book, every table, every vase, every candlestick—
Candlestick.
Stanton reached for her, but Anne was faster. She grasped the candlestick from the table near the door and slammed it against his temple.
Her father staggered. “You bitch.”
“Call me that again,” Anne snarled. “Next time it’ll be in court.”
She hit him with the candlestick again. Stanton collapsed onto the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the head, but still alive. Still breathing.
Richard.
Smoke was filling the room fast. From the other side of the house, Anne heard shouting, but she couldn’t identify the voices, not with the fire roaring around her. “Richard!”
Hands grabbed her from behind. Anne bucked, screaming—
“Anne! It’s just me.” Richard. His arms were around her. Warm. Safe. Alive. “It’s all right. You’re all right. Come. We’ll escape outside through the servants’ quarters.”
“Wait! My father. We can’t just leave him.”
Richard looked at where Stanton was prone on the ground. She knew he was tempted; she was tempted herself. “You’re lucky I’m in no mood to see a man die tonight.” He grasped Stanton and hauled the other man up onto his broad shoulder. “And the bastard weighs a bloody ton,” he muttered. “Come. Quickly. The others are already awake.”
Anne followed Richard past the blaze, hurrying to the servants quarters below-stairs. The smoke and heat wasn’t as oppressive, but that fire was moving fast. They rushed down the hall and into the kitchens. Richard threw open the door to the back garden.
In the distance, the clanging bells of the fire brigade sounded. The servants were outside, coughing and watching the smoke rise to the sky. The Duke of Hastings was there, too, his face and clothes covered w
ith soot as if he’d tried to put out the blaze.
Hastings looked startled as Richard set Stanton none too gently into the grass. “I have a number of questions about why you’ve just dumped the damn prime minister at my feet,” he said, “but first: where is my wife?”
Richard straightened, alarmed. “I thought she was with you.”
“No, she wasn’t—” Hastings turned to the rising flames in horror. “Fuck.”
Hastings didn’t waste another moment. He ignored Richard’s shouts and sprinted back into the house to retrieve his duchess.
Anne clung to Richard as the blaze grew. It had reached the main part of the house now. The smoke stung her eyes, her throat. But she didn’t care about any of it, not while the Duke and Duchess of Hastings were still in that house. Oh god, how could she live with herself if her father was responsible for their deaths?
Richard stroked her spine absently, but she knew he was worried, too. Anne pressed her face to his chest, and the rapid cadence of his heart grew with each passing second, with each crash as the fire blew out another lamp. Her heart matched his.
Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t—
The kitchen door flew open.
The duke ran out with Caroline in his arms, her body limp. They were both filthy; the duke was coughing hard as he set his wife in the grass.
“You there!” he pointed to the nearest servant. “Go get a bloody doctor. Now!” His voice was raspy, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone. It left no room for questions.
The young maid ran.
Anne and Richard hurried over to unconscious duchess. She appeared barely alive.
“Where was she?” Richard said, removing his dressing robe to place it over her.
“Goddamn farthest wing of the house,” Hastings said. “She wouldn’t have heard our shouts there.” He held the duchess in his arms, stroking his fingertips across her face. “Linnie. Linnie. Wake up, sweet.” He shook her gently. “Wake up and you can go back to being mad at me. Scream at me. Just—” He held her tightly against him. “Christ, Linnie, don’t die.”
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