“Midnight, here! Hyah!” Anne had never been the most talented rider, but she had enjoyed enough long days on Midnight’s back to know the pathways on the outskirts of the manor quite well; she reasoned if she cut across here, she could arrive quicker at the main road leading towards the Duchy of Amhurst - she could meet him at those crossroads. She spotted a sideways path and took quickly to it, the moonlight reflecting in a puddle of mud that Midnight whinnied as the horse’s hooves splashed through the puddle. The long and sloping road saw little traffic from carriages and merchants, on account of its steep and awkward slopes, but a lone rider would have none of those troubles. Dashing past darkened, swaying and leafy shapes and tall, unkempt grasses, Anne and her proud mount barreled through mud and tangling vines, the muck growing thicker with each cloven footfall. As blackened trees blurred past, tossed about by a cold wind that shivered along Anne’s lightly-clothed spine, she saw him everywhere - in everything. Her father had been right about her - she was proud, but most of all, could be quite stubborn. Stubborn enough to put herself at great risk… riding alone, a woman, in the dark, without a lantern… she had left in such haste that she had not asked Bertold to prepare a torch or lamp for her, and worse, she had driven her steed from the most populous roads, into darkened territory.
Only then, did Anne notice that something did not feel quite right. She heard not only Midnight’s hooves fall upon the derelict cobblestone roadway, but a second… and even a third set of steps, echoing down the paths. Anne felt it odd… practically none dared travel this roughly-hewn path. Anne tried not to worry about those extra hoof-falls, though her heart began to thump in her chest when she noticed the sound had begun to draw closer with each further step Midnight took, and now the phantom hooves fell so fast that they outpaced the sound of her own. Midnight stepped through a morass of muddy puddles, her pace slowing briefly before taking to the bridge up ahead - a rickety bridge of crumbling stones drawn across the river bank, the rushing sounds of a shrunken stream gushing along her ears. The bridge rose tall above the stream, and she dashed across it quickly… but not so quickly as she heard the stones rattle with the passage of a heavy burden just behind her, and when she finally glanced back, she saw a carriage, catching up to her, lantern lit bright.
Her heart stopped and terror froze the blood in her veins as a realization struck her hard as a musket-blast to the back. He would not give up - not so easily, and he would do anything he had to prove his point. Anne tightened her profile against the horse, urging Midnight on, spurring the creature into a fevered run as she heard horse hooves clopping behind her. The threat of losing a man’s love loomed as dark as the deep, starry night that had fallen over the trees, and no longer did only her fear chase her, but now something more threatened to claim her love, her comfort, her future, and now - her life.
“Midnight! Hya!” She glanced over her shoulder as she called to her steed; she felt Midnight’s pace slowing, the power of a single horse driven to its limit not quite as great as a slave-driver pushing two horses along the dark paths. Anne had pushed the poor horse hard, and now it threatened to leave the two of them stranded and in his clutches. Her hands shaking, Anne gripped the reins tight, leading her tired mount back to the roadway. Midnight gave her all, galloping along; even the horse pushed hard to blaze a trail safely for its master. She realized too late that the path ahead would slow her steed’s pace a great deal, and she led the creature down a side path, hopping along a rocky ridge - but it was too late. She had made a grave mistake, and as the earl’s carriage pursued her, catching up to her, she closed her eyes.
She saw him; her love, the only one who could still her heart. She wondered in that moment if she would ever see him again.
“M’lady! Come now, don’t lead me on so crass a chase across these beautiful lands! It’s dark, and dirty, and you’re out riding in darkness, alone,” she recognized that odious man’s speech as he hung from the opened door of the carriage. Midnight had slowed to a gentle gallop, and the chauffeur of the Carteret carriage had pulled his vehicle up alongside the poor creature.
“Midnight! Here, hya!” Anne tried her best to ignore the man, leading Midnight through some trees; the earl followed close behind, the path narrowing - but damnable fate saw that it did not narrow enough to cut off his approach. When they cleared the trees, the chauffeur drove hard until the earl could see her again.
“Come, now, I do love it when a woman plays hard to get, but my patience is nearly expended now,” the earl exclaimed with a haughty laugh. Hanging from the side of the carriage he grasped out at Anne, who kept herself tight and low to Midnight’s mane; the horse whinnied as it felt the earl’s grasping hands reach for its reins.
“Help! Help me! Please, stop,” Anne exclaimed, tears forming at her cheeks. The earl didn’t abate for even a moment.
“I told you you’d be mine - and you had no choice in the matter,” the Earl of Carteret bellowed as he grasped at Anne’s dress, trying to tug her off of her steed. “You should have listened to me. The harder you make this, the worse things will be for you, and for your father.”
“Just go away,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“I will HAVE what’s MINE! And not you, or Lawrence, or ANYONE will get in my way!” the Earl roared as he flung himself from the carriage, landing on the back of Anne’s horse. Her heart beat hard as she tried to shake him off, pulling away from the road and into the trees. The devil was not deterred, and grasped at Midnight’s reins; the creature cried out and bucked and tried everything it could to free itself of the man, as he struggled with poor Anne.
Anne closed her eyes as they converged back onto the main road - praying someone, anyone, would see them. Someone would stop this.
“Stop this damnable beast and speak to me! LOOK AT ME!” the earl shouted into her ear.
All she cared about was him. All she could see when she closed her eyes was him. Even with this demon of a man trying to control her, to have her for his own twisted and nefarious purposes, with her life and freedom on the line.
Would she ever see him again?
Chapter Sixteen
“So I try not to pry in to m’lord’s affairs too deeply, of course,” the driver said; his voice broke in to Lawrence’s sense of broken self-defeat, interrupting another dangerous reverie. “And of course, the lord is free not to answer, should he find it pushes too deep into his own personal situation, but… could I inquire as to who the… pretty young lady in the nightgown was, back at that manor we left?”
Lawrence had known the driver, Colby, for most of his life; the man was only a year or thereabouts younger than he, and had grown up as a daughter of one of the older maidservants, playing amid the fields of the Amhurst estate. When he came of age he worked in the Amhurst stables, and moved then on to learning the art of maneuvering carriages through the moors, carriages which had once carried the previous Lord Strauss through the paths and fields on late nights. Colby had never pried so much into Lawrence’s life; he had been a loyal servant, though, and Lawrence saw in him someone who had come up much the same as he himself had. Lawrence considered not answering the question - certainly such an inquiry from a servant or driver would provoke the fabulous rebuke of any other noble of good standing, but Lawrence had never been quite like other nobles of good standing, had he?
“She is… a lovely young woman, Colby,” Lawrence said, deftly avoiding a confrontation with the heart of the matter. He knew full well what the driver’s question had intended, but he had no desire to give the answer the chauffeur had truly wanted.
“Indeed, from the look of her she seemed to be quite a lovely woman, and one I can only guess has quite the station among the nobles, yes?” Colby asked, pushing forward as the carriage trotted along a dark and lonely road. A lantern, hung at the side of the vehicle, burned a soft orange light to guide the path along the cobblestones. It was not much to go by, but it helped abate some of the oppressive darkness; even on the night of a full moon, the hi
lls and trees obscured much of its silvery glow, and one could scarcely see beyond the length of one’s own feet.
“She is indeed a lovely woman, and the woman due to inherit the title and lands and wealth of the viscount of Roxborough, her father, we he passes, if that gives an answer to your question,” the duke responded weakly. He looked out the window and a gossamer figure in the distance; his eye twitched as he narrowed his gaze, and he could see the figure vanish. He closed his eyes, and her face appeared; this time, not a face stricken in tears and pain, but a face gripped with passion; with want, the same face he had seen her give to him when she saw his body for the first time. A face he had never expected to see; a face full and bright, just for him.
Had he been hallucinating?
“And I’m certain that none of that matters much to you at all, does it, m’lord?” Colby asked with a wry smile, looking back over his shoulder through the window connecting the carriage to the chill of the outdoors. “I know you’ve never been a man for title or wealth or station. Not power-hungry, nor a silly social climber wearing a suit of paper.”
“You know me well, Colby, perhaps more so than I had thought,” the duke responded.
“It’s the only reason I can manage in thinking on why you’ve reached an age as old as you have without taking a wife, as would be expected of you,” Colby continued.
“Is it? Most simply assume I have unconventional tastes, instead,” the duke laughed. “That’s what they tell me the circles of gossip whisper, anyway.”
“I certainly know that you’ve known affection, or at least as close as could ever be said to be that sort of romantic affection, in the way you’ve cared for women you’ve been with in the past, but…” Colby opined. “I think you simply had not truly seen in them what you long for.”
“Perhaps,” the duke said dismissively.
“But you saw it in that girl, didn’t you, m’lord?” Colby dared, as the carriage came to a tall forest, the road cutting away from clustered trees.
“That’s quite a statement for you to make,” the duke retorted. He couldn’t stop seeing her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her - once more he saw the image of a woman on a black steed, dress white as snow, laughing and calling out across the hills, before the lantern light flickered and she was gone.
“I think it’s an accurate one, though, don’t you?” Colby asked. “She said she loved you, after all. And I know that’s far from the only sign of truth to be seen, m’lord, but the manner in which she said it shook me down to my core. And I’m sure it did the same to you.”
“She’s a lovely woman, but…” the duke stammered.
“But?” Colby questioned. “I think there are few buts to be had when it comes to matters of love, m’lord.”
“You knew my father, Colby,” the duke announced with a sigh. “You knew the… manner, in which he acted. I’m certain you’re not privy to every detail, but the stories are there, and I’m certain you heard a few in your youth from the serving-girls and the butlers, and the like.”
“I knew him to be a flawed man, yes,” Colby admitted. “I do not yet see how those flaws have changed you, m’lord, or influenced your relationship with this girl who seems just right for you.”
“Don’t you see, Colby? What would happen if I took that girl’s hand? Do you think I could make her happy, with the things my father did? Do you think she’d leave my manor with anything save tears staining her eyes, the same way my mother did?” the duke responded.
“M’lord, you are not destined to be your father,” Colby stated simply. “No one is destined to be anything, except what they wish to be.”
“That’s unfortunately not how life works for us,” the duke lamented.
“And why not? You’ve rejected every other cage so many have tried to place on you - expectations of who to marry, and when, and it seems that that young lady has done the same,” Colby reasoned. “Why do you think yourself bound by the legacy of your father?”
The words resounded, and the duke did not have an answer. He had never thought on things from quite that perspective. The duke looked upon the moors again, and he saw her face. Everywhere, he saw her face. He saw her face and heard her voice crying out in love for him and he knew that Colby was right. No man is doomed to make those same mistakes.
“But how could I truly trust myself not to become the man my father did?” he asked Colby.
“I trust that you will not, as I’ve known you for a great many years, and have never seen such a beastly part of you, m’lord. And, clearly,” Colby mused as he tugged on the carriage’s reins, “that pretty young woman felt the same way. She trusted you - with her heart,” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you trust yourself?”
“I…” the duke tried to gather the words, but he did not truly have an answer. He struggled to find one, but nowhere could he devise an excuse for so salient a point. He looked out on the moors and damned himself silently as he saw her again, riding along the bend of the road just behind them. He heard the clop of Midnight’s hooves… and he focused, looking closely onto the far ridge. Stricken with shock, he exhaled, as he realized that this was not an illusion, nor some deceptive and damning ministration of his mind.
“M’lord?” Colby asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Is that… someone… coming up behind us?” the duke asked, his heart beating hard. It looked like her, and she could scarcely make out a carriage, studded with lights, following behind - the earl’s carriage, flashing as it tumbled along the roadway.
“It seems like a carriage, m’lord, and a woman… on a horse?” Colby reasoned. As he peered closer through the dark the duke noticed some movement on the horse, and heard a scream.
“Spin around! Block the roadway,” the duke exclaimed, pain settling into his stomach. “Some manner of… bandit, or some such, is…” he swallowed hard.
“Indeed, m’lord,” Colby responded, a canny and broad smile brimming as he yipped at the horses, pulling their reins around. The carriage swung hard and the duke nearly fell from his seat, but he hung on tight as the vehicle came into place, wheels in the mud and horses sniffling and whinnying as they marched impatiently, blocking passage along the road.
“It’s that bastard the earl, I’d bet,” the duke exclaimed as he stepped with haste out onto the roadway. His heart beat harder as he heard the screams and saw the procession advancing along the dips in the path, the cobblestones rumbling underfoot as they drew closer. Midnight whinnied loud, clearly trying to throw the earl from its back, and then he saw her - fighting atop the steed, with the earl grasping at her arms and trying to take control of the horse. Her face, so pained and desperate, brimmed suddenly with manic joy as she caught sight of the duke standing tall, blocking the path ahead.
“Lawrence!” he heard her shrill cry echo along the path as the wicked earl tried to silence her. He, too, looked up from his grappling of the slight woman, the devil in his eyes as they approached. The earl’s carriage creaked and swayed under the speed and the weight of the chase, but it came to a slow stop as the driver caught sight of the duke’s barricade. Midnight whinnied and rumbled and stopped all at once when it came close to the duke; the horse lifted its back legs, and the surprise earl found himself thrown completely from the horse’s back, landing on his side in the mud along the roadway with a grunt and a thud.
“Agh! Stupid animal!” the earl exclaimed, teetering as he struggled to his feet.
“Lawrence! You came back for me?!” Anne’s voice erupted like a cheerfully singing dove, and she leapt from Midnight’s back and ran to embrace him. He swept her into his arm and held her tight, never wanting to let go; certainly after seeing what had happened. The earl limped along the road, grunting, his face blazing with rage; blood ran down his nostrils, his face swollen and his eyes utterly infected with hate.
“You!” the earl shouted, staggering up the roadway as his carriage driver looked on pensively. “What are you doing here? She doesn’t want you! She doesn’
t have a choice,” the earl called hoarsely. “I’ve already decided that she’s mine. And when I want something—”
“You look like you’ve had quite a bad evening tonight, Martin,” the duke coolly retorted, holding shivering Anne close to his side. “That nose of yours might need looked at.”
“This witch!” he hissed. “She did it. And don’t you worry, Duke of Amhurst, she’ll pay for it in time,” Martin snarled. “Now, let go of her, let her be on her way here.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do that, Martin,” Lawrence stated simply.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to do it, you idiot?” Martin sneered. “Let go of her! You don’t even like women,” he raged.
“You know what? You’re right, I don’t like women,” Lawrence said, letting Anne go; she pleaded for him to stay, but with a gentle caress he assuaged her fears. “I love women. Or, woman, more particularly. One particular woman. Anne Hatley of Roxborough.”
“Hah! You’re too late,” Martin sneered. “I’m the Earl of Carteret! I get whatever I want, and there’s little you can do to protest, you fop. You, of all people? Lawrence, of Amhurst? The most lily-touched fool in all England? Think you can take any woman you like?” he continued to rage. “You know nothing! I bed women with a simple smile! I control half of the estates in this country, and I’ll control another half when I’m finished with this harlot! Do you think you can do anything to stop me?” he asked Lawrence with a guffaw. “You can’t even help yourself! What, twenty-nine and you can’t find a wife? What a fool! And you think you deserve the viscount’s estate? What will you do with it, cry upon all of its lands? You idiot! You know nothing! You kn—” the earl’s final narcissistic exclamation found itself cut short by the sudden and quite final meeting of Lawrence’s coiled-up fist against the side of his already-bruised face. The single punch came with such ferocity that the earl spun on his feet, letting out a dumbfounded little groan of shocked pain, as he teetered back-forth on his feet. He turned around, woozy, and seemed ready to make a statement of protest at the complete lack of civility from the Duke of Amhurst… but instead all he managed to do was fall flat onto his ass, staring wide-eyed at the stars twinkling above.
Desiring The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 4) Page 13