Only You: Duke of Rutland Series III

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  She fretted about going out on a day like today but more than the weather rose a panicking dread in her bones, something didn’t seem quite right. Before Nicholas departed for London, he had given her express warning not to leave Belvoir grounds, yet he had sent a missive insisting she go to the Banfield’s for tea. “In hindsight, I wish we sent our regrets,” she said.

  Rachel had been silent, not her normal chatty self, her face taking on a grey hue. She was heavier with child and beginning to show. “This outing, I can assure you will be my last before the wedding. All this bumping and rocking is making me ill. I’d like to curl up in my bed and sip chamomile tea.”

  The coach began to slow down, and as it came to a complete halt, Rachel leaned forward. “Good, we are here at last.”

  The words barely out of her mouth, Alexandra heard a loud thump above. Then bang, bang, bang. Gunshots! Dear God! Another bang hit and pierced the side of the coach. She yanked Rachel to the floor and covered her with her body. Men screamed. A guard cried out from the top of the carriage, then a thud and thumping sounded and she saw him roll down the back and hit the ground. Another man fell and splashed in a puddle outside the door. Then just as suddenly as it began, the shooting stopped. Then complete silence.

  Alexandra frowned and leaned to look out the curtained window. The exit handle rattled. She jerked back and the door flew open and banged violently against the side of the coach. Cool, wet air rushed in.

  “Get out!” a low guttural voice commanded from outside and before Alexandra could reach for the pistol strapped to the side of the coach, the other door flew open. A large man holding two pistols, pointed the weapons directly at them, deadly intent in his rheumy eyes.

  “Do as they say,” Rachel said.

  Were these highwaymen to rob them or the machinations of the Rutland enemy? Either way, two pregnant women were vulnerable.

  “If ye ladies would remove yerselves from the carriage,” said a giant of a man with a gun pointed at her heart. Alexandra stepped into the muddy roadway, keeping to the side of the dead guard face down in a puddle. He had a hole in his back and blood pooled around him.

  Nausea rolled in her throat. Keep your wits about you.

  Her hands shook as she turned to help Rachel down. To the rear of the carriage, three more Rutland guards lay across each other dead. The driver and one remaining guard were standing on the other side bordering a thick forest, their weapons in a pile next to a tree laying over the road, cut to block the coach’s progress.

  Alexandra counted ten men, a rough-cut mob of filthy beasts, and not highwaymen. Highwaymen worked in smaller numbers. She shuddered. This was a planned event.

  The giant beside her plucked at a button-sized wart on the side of his face. Wart would be an appropriate name. “His lordship said no witnesses.” Wart raised his gun to shoot the driver and guard.

  Alexandra shouldered her full weight into Wart. “Run,” she screamed.

  Caught off guard, Wart tripped over the dead guard, tumbling in the muck. The gun went off, the shot fired into the treetops. Branches and leaves settled over them. The guard and coachman leaped into the forest.

  “Get them!” Wart ordered.

  Several men rushed into the woods.

  Alexandra exhaled. The growing twilight, turned everything indistinct in the fading light and would make it difficult to track the guard and driver through the dense forest. Perhaps they could get back to Belvoir and get help.

  Wart slapped the mud off him and pushed her toward the felled tree. “You bitch. Get going before I shoot you. You too.” He motioned to Rachel.

  Alexandra stumbled, her white slippers slipping in the mud and she shivered as the rain increased.

  “Lean on me,” Rachel said. “That was foolish but very brave thing to do.”

  “Keep ye’re bloody mouths shut.” Wart rasped.

  Harnesses jangled, hooves pounded. A coach appeared on the other side of the felled tree. Wart opened the door and his body blocked the seal on the door from her view. He motioned with his gun for them to get in. Alexandra hesitated. Visions of her last abduction swam before her. This time she would not be so lucky.

  “I will not leave with you.”

  Wart shrugged. “Get in or get a bullet through your head.”

  Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Why the extra coach? Why not shoot us and be done with it? I believe you are ordered not to hurt us.”

  Wart swung up his gun in her face. “I get miserable when I’m wet and cold and you never know when this pistol might go off.”

  Rachel nodded, boarded the coach and held out her hand. Alexandra refused. Wart raised his gun and slammed her on the side of her head.

  Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open, awareness seeping into her skull. Her body felt leaden, sluggish. Her stomach roiled. She touched her head and groaned. An egg-sized bump grew on the side of her head. The world tilted. Oh, God. Was she going to be ill?

  Boosting herself up on one elbow, she realized she was lying in a bed. A beam of light shattered the dark as it pierced through a window, making her eyes hurt. Another wave of nausea rose in her throat. Flopping back down, she draped one arm over her eyes to block out the painful light.

  When the nausea calmed, she looked at the unfamiliar silk wall garishly embossed with plumes of ferns and interwoven with long panes of mirror.

  Seeing her reflection in the mirror, she gasped. Someone had undressed her. She wore only her chemise. Even her shoes and stockings had been removed.

  Wherever she was, it was obvious she was a prisoner. She swung her feet around and to the floor, touching the soft carpet, then tiptoed across the room to the closed door. She turned the doorknob.

  Locked.

  Her heart sank. She leaned against the door and knocked. “Is anyone there?” Her throat felt scratchy and parched, she coughed. No response. She swung around, scanned for another escape route, right to left…and up above…where she saw her reflection. The ceiling was covered with mirrors.

  Seeing a mark on her forehead in the reflection, she reached to touch it. Ouch! It hurt. She withdrew her wet and sticky fingers. Blood. She turned and pounded her fist on the door. “I cannot open the door. Does anyone have the key?”

  “Alexandra? Is that you? Are you all right?”

  A woman’s voice. Was that Rachel? Still groggy, Alexandra shook her head, then moved to the other side of the room. What the hell was going on? She had been in the Rutland coach going to the Duke of Banfield’s for tea. Shots. They’d heard shots. Men fell dead. A struggle.

  She spoke through the wall. “Rachel?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Where are we?”

  “The Duke of Westbrook’s home.”

  She shook her head again. Clarity was not her friend. “Why?”

  “Think, Alexandra.”

  A chill clawed up her spine with slow realization…all that had been done to the Rutland family had been the Duke of Westbrook’s doing.

  “Dear God in heaven. We are his pawns. He will use us to lure Nicholas, Anthony and Duke Richard here.”

  Alexandra examined the window. No way could she fit through the small aperture. She peered below. Three stories. A wave of vertigo hit her and she waited for it to pass. “Odd, but this room has only one tiny round window, about a seven-inch diameter and too small for me to fit through. There is no escape.”

  “My window is small and far too risky to climb down in my condition. I’ve tried picking the lock to no avail.

  Alexandra clutched her stomach, her baby growing safe inside. Someone inserted a key into the lock and turned it. She straightened. A quick twist of the doorknob and the door banged opened, revealing the gentleman she had known in her bones was the architect for all the calamities that had befallen the Rutland’s.

  “Ah, good, you are awake,” Lord Westbrook said genially. “Your color has improved. For a few disconcerting hours, I thought you would not wake.”

  “Why have you brought me h
ere?” She crossed her arms over her breasts. The chemise was too thin to protect her modesty.

  “Lucretia, I had to.”

  Alexandra inhaled. What to do. Play to his delusion.

  He scrutinized her. “How do you feel?”

  Her hand slid up to her throat. “Better,” she lied. “But why did you feel you had to kidnap me, milord?”

  “I had to get you away from the Rutland’s. They are evil.”

  Her head snapped up. That voice, so familiar to her now and as frightful as a serpent’s hiss. She closed her eyes. Westbrook was the man she had heard behind her that day on the docks, commanding Captain Diogo to take Nicholas aboard the Santanas and depart at once.

  She opened her eyes, meandered to the far side of the room. Would her shaking legs give out from beneath her? She looked through the thick, wavy pane of glass distorting the world. “Then it is good you saved me.”

  “I’ve wanted you in my arms for so long, Lucretia.”

  “Why bother abducting me?”

  The Duke of Westbrook laughed. “You are so beautiful and naïve.”

  “Why didn’t you ask, I would have come.”

  Alexandra edged away from the window when he stepped toward her. “I do not understand, Lord Westbrook,” she said, deliberately pitching her voice so she sounded submissive. “Why have you brought us here?”

  Lord Westbrook tilted his head to the side. He carefully deliberated her question. His face changed, embodied a sinister look, as if he was sizing up his quarry.

  “I have such wonderful plans for you, Lucretia.”

  “I do n-not understand.” she stammered.

  Without warning, he lunged for her and seized her roughly by the upper arms. Surprised by his attack, she screamed, but the muscles in her throat were taut with fear and she barely uttered a sound.

  “I’m aware that you are confused by all of this, my dear lady.’ His fingers dug into her bare arms and she winced in pain. “I sent the invitations to Belvoir requesting your presence at the Duke of Banfield. I also know Duke Richard and Lord Nicholas are in London for two days. How easy it was to orchestrate their visit to London. No one knows you are here.”

  Alexandra was repulsed by his touch. She struggled. Her head throbbed from the laudanum and she still felt weak. “What about the driver and the other guard. Surely they will reach Belvoir?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They escaped. The man with the wart on his face did not tell you?” Divide and conquer.

  “He told me he killed everyone. He will pay for deceiving me.”

  “Why are you doing this? What did the Rutland’s do to you?”

  The anger clouding his expression faded as he chuckled. “Lucretia, how could you be so trusting? You must remember the duel between me and Duke Richard…or was it Nicholas? Look at my eye. He thrust a sword into my eye, blinded and disfigured me for life. Don’t you remember? Of course not. The Rutland’s have convinced you to forget.”

  Keep him talking. “Why, Rachel?”

  “She is breeding another Rutland. She has to die,” he said, talking of Rachel’s murder as if he were discussing the riddance of a rabbit.

  Alexandra shivered. She must save Rachel. “What would Cornelius do to her if he knew she was expecting Nicholas’s child? “So how did you arrange the night of Nicholas’s and Abigail’s kidnapping?”

  “The Rutland’s are such trusting dolts. Patience was winning the war. Endearing myself to them, gaining their trust as a favorite uncle. Took me years. I paid large bribes to get Percy Devol and Cuthbert Noot out of Newgate as a quid pro quo arrangement. How expedient their grudges equaled mine. Everyone was busy with Abigail’s masked ball. My men doused the laboratory with grape-seed oil. Messages were sent out. Richard and Anthony were to die in the explosion.”

  His plan was what Nicholas and she had discussed for a long time. Now the pieces were starting to fit.

  “What happened? Why didn’t the Rutland’s die?” She already knew the answer. Delay him as much as possible.

  The Duke of Westbrook drew back his fist and punched the pillow. Alexandra flinched.

  “A delay by that bitch, Abigail. Lord Richard and Anthony grew impatient and departed before I ordered the fire bombs thrown into the laboratory. We were successful in drugging and kidnapping Nicholas and Abigail. Percy and Cuthbert managed their seizures. We took them to the docks and I paid another huge sum to have two ships depart with them…to have them suffer and die.”

  “Who killed Percy?”

  “I had one of my men stationed in Boston to do the trick.”

  “What about Cuthbert, who killed him?”

  As long as she kept up the questioning, she was safe. He liked bragging about his crimes.

  “I had Rachel abducted to lure Anthony to an abandon sea captain’s house. They were tied up and the house set fire but they made a device to escape. Cuthbert failed, so I shot him. I couldn’t have him shooting off his big mouth and directing the authorities to me.

  “I did it all for you, Lucretia,” he said with adoration. “So, we could be together.”

  Alexandra licked her lips. Her life depended on her acting ability. “My Lord, I cannot imagine the torment you have been through all this time—”

  “But you are not Lucretia. She’s dead. Who are you?”

  His black eye focused on her as he waved between what was real and what was the past. Would he kill her? Think.

  “My dear Cornelius, remember that first time we met when you were attending Cambridge? Remember that lovely afternoon we laughed and had tea?”

  “To think of all the lonely years without you, my darling, Lucretia.”

  Alexandra breathed deeply. Her trick worked. “Anthony, Abigail, Nicholas and Duke Richard survived. What is next for them?”

  “Don’t worry your pretty head. My mind delights with endless possibilities.”

  Alexandra winced. The man’s life was dedicated to destroying the Rutland’s. Lady Ursula Sutherland and Willean paled in comparison for their treachery.

  His upper lip curled. “I hate all of them. Why are you marrying Nicholas, Lucretia?”

  He started to wave into the present again. “I waited for you to rescue me, Cornelius. I was powerless.”

  “That is why I abducted you. It was for your own good. But you did have devotion to him.”

  “You know I was powerless.”

  “Such wisdom you’ve gained over your years, my lovely. I confess I am pleased with the way it all has turned out. I had a note sent to Belvoir for when Duke Richard and Nicholas return. They will be frantic. They will not have a very nice end, I think.”

  Outrage strengthened her body and voice. “And your accomplice, Lord Drummond, he helped you in all of this?” She wanted to eliminate all possible enemies.

  Lord Westbrook shoved her so she fell on the bed. “Oh dear, your poor head must be muddled if you believe I would have anything to do with Lord Drummond. He is a fool, but so convenient to pin the blame.”

  He crawled across the mattress until he was on top of her. “How long have I waited to discover what tasty confection is tucked between your thighs.”

  Alexandra did not bother screaming. Her fingers curved into a tight fist and she struck him. The blow glanced off his cheekbone. Westbrook grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow.

  “Nasty bitch!”

  She cried out as he squeezed, grinding her delicate bones together.

  “Why are you doing this?” she wailed. “Why would you want to hurt Lucretia?” It was like another individual had emerged, a more violent one.

  “This is just the beginning of your torments, Lucretia, for your betrayal. For whoring with Richard and bearing his children. How many nights have I lain awake, dreaming of what I’d do to you? How many whores have I practiced seduction to maim and strangle to death?” he said tightening his hold on her wrist until she feared he’d break it.

  “No!” She glanced fro
m the fixed glass eye to the other. The demonic gleam in Westbrook’s good eye brought on a wave of panic.

  “Your treachery plays in my mind. But this is rich,” he said gleefully. “I will destroy the whole Rutland family with one stroke.”

  “Nicholas will stop you.” She ripped off his wig. His bald head possessed the luminescent quality of a cadaver.

  He slapped her across the face and her head rang with pain. She opened her mouth to scream. A filthy sheet was thrust in her mouth. Alexandra gagged. She fought and bucked. With her free hand, she swung and hit Westbrook in the eye. He swore and pressed a knife at her throat and she stilled.

  “Now, my lovely,” he breathed into her ear. “You will do exactly what I tell you.” He laughed, his voice filled with malice.

  He was truly evil. Void of emotion.

  That’s better,” Westbrook said. “You have been nothing but a bitch who needs to learn obedience. I will take you now.” Westbrook ripped at her chemise. A sickening terror crawled up over her belly. His hand clawed up her legs, forcing her thighs to open.

  “Where is your Nicholas now? Where is his power to protect you?” His hands were everywhere. He mauled her breasts in a punishing grip, pinching her nipples. She wanted to scratch his disgusting sneer from his face. When she cried out, he laughed, his hot breath on her neck smelled of rotten cheese.

  Your Nicholas is seeking the delights of Lady Susannah.”

  Cornelius lied. Nicholas loved her and he’d come for her. He promised to protect her.

  Cornelius pressed the knife deeper into her skin, tipping the knife up and licked her blood from the blade. Her stomach lurched. She twisted, inched across the bed toward the oil lamp on the night table. She stretched her hand.

  “Did I tell you what I did to my first whore?”

  She shook her head. He wanted to brag. Arrogance. Arrogance was good because it diminished perception. “Tell me, my dear Cornelius,” she said while fighting him off.

  He loosened his breeches. Alexandra turned her head away, bile rising in her throat.

  He pulled her face to look at him. “See the row of bottles, placed on the shelf molding bordering the top of the room?”