by Sarita Leone
“Fine. You didn’t check that wing or the attics.”
“Or the lower levels. The pantries and such,” the cook added.
“Or the construction area,” the butler put in.
The cook began, “And—”
He couldn’t stand one moment more of their prattle.
“Enough!” Silence fell instantly. “Timmons, organize the staff. Search the manor from top to bottom. Mrs. Deerfield, get the kitchen maids to search the pantries and any other housekeeping areas that might prove likely spots for someone to be—ah, for a person to be found. Understand?”
The servants turned and left as quickly as if he’d brandished a hot iron and chased them out.
“Uncle, do you think the man from the Folly took our Miss Halifax?” Amanda’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Maybe he came in and took her while she slept.”
He rushed to reassure her, even as he contemplated the exact idea.
“Of course not. Montgomery Manor is a safe place. No one could just come in and take one of us. Believe me, something else is going on here.”
Melody sighed, the sound so drawn out and deep it sounded pulled from her toes.
“What is it?” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Do you know something about Miss Halifax that you aren’t telling?”
She shook her head. “No.” Her gaze met his. “It is just that I was beginning to like this one. You know, we have so many governesses and most are just dreadful.”
He raised an eyebrow, and she sighed again.
“Yes, I know. We are just dreadful to most of our governesses. But Miss Halifax was different. She has not been dreadful back to us, no matter how awful we are to her. And I was really beginning to get used to her.”
“Don’t fret,” he said with what he hoped was an air of assurance. “We shall locate her and all will be well.”
“I don’t think so.” Diana had been very silent, but now she looked solemn. “We were so rude. She has probably run off. I don’t blame her if she did—not one bit.”
He didn’t either. But somehow he didn’t think she was the running type—although he hadn’t believed Candace to be a runner, either. And Letitia had fled in the night as well…
Good Lord, perhaps all women were prone to running off.
Boots thundered in the hallway outside the dining room. He looked up in time to see George enter the room and stop just inside the open door. The man looked done in, red-eyed and dusty, but the smile on his face was triumphant and overshadowed his apparent weariness.
He did not wait for an invitation to speak.
“We got him! Your Lordship, we got the scoundrel who’s been in the Folly!”
Chapter 11
Daylight stole across the sky in striped glory. Pinks, reds, and oranges mixed with a blue backdrop. It was a fantastic start to any day—but Edward did not notice the spectacular show.
His horse was slick, but he showed no mercy. Riding through the early hours, following directions he knew were, in the beginning, only half true, was hellish. Two hours into the forest, when it seemed they had crisscrossed the main path yet again, he halted the rescue party. He dismounted, dragged the bastard who had invaded his home off the horse they had tied him onto and proceeded to give him a rather ungentlemanly punch. Or two.
Probably closer to a half-dozen, if the swelling in his knuckles told the tale. It didn’t matter that his hand throbbed. All that counted was that they finally pried the truth from the man they had captured. Perhaps now that they were on the right track toward discovering Miss Halifax’s whereabouts, they would also be in time to save her from harm. Because it was clear that anyone who would kidnap a woman in the middle of the night meant to do her harm.
If one blonde hair was missing from that gorgeous woman’s head, there would be no stopping him from far exceeding the punch count he had already administered.
It was strange that the man with them—he had refused to divulge his name, so Edward referred to him in various degrees of distain—insisted upon referring to Miss Halifax as “her ladyship” when in fact she was a working class woman trying to make her way in the world. She should never have been called a lady, not as a reference point—not even by a brute like this one.
It made no sense, but it did not have to be logical. All that mattered was finding her before something wicked occurred. She must be frightened, cold, and possibly even weeping by now. He certainly hoped her fragile constitution was strong enough to sustain her until he reached her side.
“Get moving, men,” he called over his shoulder. Six groundskeepers, the criminal, and two footmen made up the party. They all quickened their pace. Hopefully they would find her now that they could better see where they were going.
Edward had already lost one woman to a tragic flight. He had no intention of losing another—especially since meeting this one, his mind was constantly preoccupied with thoughts of her…and her with him. Mostly, in his arms.
He did not care that it was not considered peer-worthy to fall for the household help. Miss Halifax was no ordinary governess. Anyone could see that. Besides, she had agreed to co-parent his nieces with him, and that was nearly tantamount to accepting his offer of marriage.
All right, he knew they weren’t even close to being one and the same, but it was all irrelevant anyhow. When he found Miss Halifax—and he was going to find her—he planned to tell her his feelings. If he were fortunate, those feelings would be reciprocated. And if he wasn’t…well, he would deal with that if he had to.
He prayed he wouldn’t have to. Hard—he prayed hard she might feel for him the way he felt for her.
But before he could profess his attraction, he had to save his precious, delicate Miss Jane Halifax. She was probably nearly consumed by fear by now. Perhaps she was even a quivering bundle of sobbing, limp nerves.
Good God, he needed to hurry.
****
“Get your hand off my horse! I am perfectly capable of riding without any assistance from you.”
Jane smacked the man’s dirty glove when he reached between their mounts to grab her reins. It was not the first time he had tried to direct her mount, and as such wasn’t the first time he had been slapped for his trouble. Her own hand smarted, even through her riding gloves.
“You looked like you were thinking of making a run for it, missy. I let you get back on your horse, but I don’t plan to let you get away from me. Unless you just want to hand over what I want—then I will turn you free, Duchess.”
She cast him a withering look.
“I don’t have what you want. I don’t even know what you are talking about. You should just let me go because I cannot help you.” It had been her story from the first interrogation, in the dark held tightly in his strong arms. She had been afraid but had more wits than hair, and wasn’t going to admit anything to the vile creature intent on robbing her.
Because that’s what it amounted to—highway robbery. What he demanded did not belong to him. It was hers, whether she wanted it or not. And it had already been at the root of at least one death. It looked as if she might be the second victim to the curse—but only if she gave him what he wanted. As long as she insisted she didn’t have it—which of course he knew was a falsehood—she was worth keeping alive.
She hoped.
And prayed.
Because really, who could ever tell what a lawless scoundrel might do if frustrated beyond reason?
“You will help me, I promise you that. We both know you have it, so why not just give it up? Then—and only then—I’ll let you go.”
She snorted. Only then? Well, it would be a cold day, indeed, then before she was free from the stink of him.
Her horse pricked its ears but kept moving. The animal must be tired. She was exhausted. But the man beside her didn’t look as if he cared whether they rode until the end of time. That was fine with her, too. She didn’t care anymore. She was tired of caring. Tired of running. Tired of avoiding the truth.
>
She knew she shouldn’t antagonize him, but that was one more thing on her not-caring list.
“I guess you’re stuck with me.” She mustered more bravado than she felt. “I do not have whatever it is you want. Therefore, I cannot hand it over. And if you won’t let me go until I do…well, I suppose we shall have to grow accustomed to the looks of each other.”
A frustrated growl. Then, he moved as quickly as a striking snake and grabbed her forearm.
Her horse stopped. He pulled up close, so close his knee hit her skirt.
“You will give me what I want!”
With every word, he shook her arm. His voice rose, and as she stared into his reddened eyes, she had no illusions about the man. He was dangerous. And there was no reason to believe he would not hurt her if she didn’t comply with his demands.
Stubborn mixed with foolish. Jane stuck her chin out and shrugged.
“I do not have—”
“Yes you do!” he thundered, jerking her so severely she nearly lost her seat.
Jane’s horse reared, and the man lost his grip on her as she fought to remain astride the huge animal. She did, thanks to a lifetime of riding, but there was no way to keep the stressed animal from bolting. It ran, hard and fast, and once again Jane was forced to hold on for her life.
Rushing along on the back of a galloping runaway horse was getting tiring, indeed.
****
“Damn you, where is he taking her? Your cohort, the other scoundrel—what is the meeting place you bastards have agreed upon?”
They were, once again, on the ground. Edward had had more than enough shilly-shallying. He had jumped from his horse and pulled the man from his mount by one leg, letting him hit the ground hard with his wrists tied near his waist. Edward grabbed the miscreant’s collar and jerked him upright.
His servants looked on in silence. One of the footmen, Jarvis, dismounted. He tossed his horse’s reins to the other footman and moved to stand behind the duke.
Edward appreciated the support but quite frankly didn’t think it necessary. He was furious enough to combust, his blood boiled so hard. A footman could only stand by to put out the flames when they erupted—or eventually dispose of the body, which would be soon lifeless if the man didn’t talk.
He shook the dazed looking man.
“Where in the hell has he taken her? Talk, damn you!”
A good hard shake sent the man’s head bouncing off the horse behind him. The horse stepped away, moving sideways. Edward shook him again, watching his head snap back and forth now that there wasn’t anything solid to stop the movement.
“I can’t—”
“Talk!” Another shake.
“But I can’t—”
“Now!” He smacked the man in the cheek, sending his head whipping to the right.
“He will kill me if—”
Edward loosened his grip on the man. He let go, stepped back, and contemplated for a long, silent moment. Then, he strode to his horse, reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a bundle. He went to the footman, pushing the bundle into the startled man’s arms.
“Load my gun.”
“Your Lordship—” The footman gasped as the words slipped from his mouth.
“Now.”
“Right away, Your Lordship.” The servant fumbled with the wrappings. He pulled out the pistol and opened the small sack that held the loading material. Edward waited to see the man knew what he was doing—he did—before he turned his attention back onto the captive.
The man looked as if he had been dragged behind a carriage over bumpy roads for a dozen miles. He was bloodied from the punches. His jaw was swollen, and one eye was nearly closed, ringed with a purple bruise that was painful to see.
Edward took a deep breath. If he killed the man, he would have to go to the magistrate. Search parties would form. A full-on hunt for the kidnapper and their Miss Halifax would ensue. They might find her alive. Or they might not. There was no way to be sure. All he knew was that aimless riding was not bringing him closer to saving the woman. And if he had to kill someone to save her…well, so be it.
“Your Lordship?” The footman held the gleaming pistol out. To his credit, his hand was so steady the large gun did not shake at all.
Edward took the weapon. He glanced down, making sure the loading had been done properly. He held the gun in one hand, nestling his trigger finger into place. Then, he held the gun out and leveled it at the captive.
“Tell me where your partner is taking Miss Halifax.”
The man’s eyes rounded. A wet spot appeared at the apex of his thighs.
“He will-he will…” A whimper, then a wail of anguish. One tear slid down the man’s bloody cheek from his bad eye.
Edward waited, holding the gun steady.
“Where?” His voice was a near-whisper.
He watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed convulsively. “He will kill me if I tell.”
Edward cocked the trigger. “I will kill you if you don’t.”
****
Jane knew it was indelicate, but she did not care. Her behind hurt from riding for so long, and she was weary. The horse beneath her had tried valiantly to outrun the wicked man beside her not once but twice. It deserved a rest.
She turned in her saddle. “I need to stop.”
“We will stop when I say so.” The last mad dash had included, for him, a fall. He was much more disagreeable now that he sported a knot on his forehead.
“I need to stop.”
Jane drew hard on the reins, bringing her horse to a slow walk.
“Now,” she insisted.
He heaved an exasperated sigh. Ran a hand over his face. Touched the lump above his left eye gingerly.
Squinting, he nodded. He’d caught her meaning.
“Can you hold it for, say, another mile?”
His lowbrow question turned her stomach, but she didn’t pale under his examination. They stared at each other, finally at a point where they understood their respective commitments.
“One more mile? Then will we be at our destination?”
If she could get off the horse, perhaps she might dash off…
“A meeting place. But you will have time to refresh yourself, Duchess.”
He insisted on the moniker.
“I am fine until then. And I am not a duchess. You obviously have mistaken me for someone else.”
He chuckled, an ominous sound free from merriment.
“What else would I call a woman whose husband was the Duke? I might not be high in the instep, but I am no idiot. I know a duchess when I see one.”
Had she actually gone through with the marriage, she would have been the Duchess of Tropeshire. But since her intended had met a grisly end long before they made Gretna Green, she was by no means a duchess. Just the runaway daughter of an earl who believed marrying his daughter to a wealthy duke was the way out of his own financial difficulties.
Well, the proof was in the pudding that the best-laid plans often went widely awry.
They rode on in silence. Jane wondered if she would have to surrender the gem. It was the only thing in the world of any value that she owned. The duke had given it to her as a betrothal gift. He hadn’t told her that several less-than-respectable men held notes on gambling debts he had incurred. He also hadn’t told her that the gem would satisfy those debts.
When they were waylaid on the way to be married—in haste, because her father immediately wanted the funds he imagined a daughter of a wealthy duke would put at his disposal—Jane tried to give the gemstone back to her betrothed. She didn’t love him—nor he her—and returning the stone would free her of the commitment her father had made on her behalf.
But Gerald refused the gemstone. He refused to be cowed by the bandits. He refused to satisfy the gambling debts.
He refused so long and hard that the dispute turned ugly. And when he lay bleeding in her arms, he refused to apologize for putting her in such a deadly pos
ition. The assailants had run off when a carriage happened upon the scene, but not before telling Jane that they would find her.
Fleeing from her family, from her short-lived engagement and her past seemed the only solution. Still, as she contemplated what other options she might have had, she came up blank. There weren’t any then. There still weren’t any better choices than the one she had made.
She had tried to hide. To find a life for herself. To move forward.
And she failed. Miserably.
“Up there.” Her captor pointed to a ramshackle cottage tucked into a grove of oaks beside the overgrown path. “There is nowhere to run, Duchess, so I’m not going to chain you up. That is, not unless you force my hand.”
He leered at her in a way that sent shivers up her spine. Chaining her might be one of the nicest things he did to her, and she knew that just by the awful glint in his beady eyes.
“I won’t.” For the first time since she had been abducted, Jane was frightened.
Chapter 12
“There is a visitor, Your Lordship.”
Edward looked up from the legal papers on his desk. His head swam with the ramifications of what he had actually signed yesterday. It hadn’t yet sunk in that he was the legal guardian for his nieces. Letitia’s signature, ostentatiously swirled and dotted with thick blobs of black ink, stared up at him, but he still could not fathom that any mother would willingly relinquish custody of beautiful children in favor of a man. It was madness.
But it was all too real.
“Pardon?”
The butler stood in the open doorway, waiting with an expectant look on his face. It seemed a tiny smile twitched the corners of his lips upward, something that was completely out of character for the serious character, so Edward dismissed it as a product of his overworked mind.
“A visitor, Your Lordship. In the front hallway. Shall I bring her in?”
There it was again. The almost-smile.
“Please. Show the visitor inside.” He shuffled the papers into a pile, then pushed them off the top of his desk into the open top drawer. Some things were better left for another time.