For Elise

by Sarah M. Eden

  Calm down, she silently told herself.

  Elise picked up the quill and knife—no doubt the quill would be dull and unusable—and the inkwell. She would move the tools to the bedside table, where she’d left her candle, and lie down until she felt calm again.

  Everything was fine. She was simply tired and worn down. Everything was fine.

  A floorboard squeaked.

  Her heart pounded. Had she imagined it?

  No. There was another. Closer. Then another. Someone was moving toward her!

  Elise dropped the inkwell; it fell to the ground and shattered. She could feel the ink splatter against her bare feet.

  Run for the door! Run for the door!

  A hand slapped over her mouth, muting the cry that rose immediately. She felt something press against her back and instinctively knew it was the barrel of a pistol. Years of maintaining her equilibrium despite the circumstances served her well in that moment. She kept her wits despite her rising panic.

  “Quietly,” a low voice growled, pushing her forward with the pistol. “Back stairs.”

  The back stairs? Servants’ stairs. Elise moved as slowly as she dared with the pistol poking into her back. There was a very good chance that if she took her time, someone would run into them. Someone might ask questions, alert others. Or, she amended, this madman might simply kill whoever came across their path. He’d certainly murdered in cold blood before.

  But he will be farther away from Anne.

  She clutched the quill so hard she felt it split against the unyielding penknife. He rushed her down the dim stairs, not allowing her to keep her slower pace. His hand pressed painfully hard against her face, his arm pinning her against him, the gun barrel digging into her back. There was plenty of noise from the taproom, where, apparently, the staff was being kept busy. Elise saw not a soul as the man dragged her from the inn.

  Think, Elise. You must think this through.

  Farther from the inn, he pushed her beyond the back gate and into a small cluster of trees. He closed his fingers more tightly around her face, apparently convinced she would attempt to call out. Something about the fact that he thought her braver than she felt gave her courage.

  “The games have been diverting,” he whispered, his breath nauseatingly wet and warm against her face. “But I’ve grown weary of them. Time for one last message delivered in person.”

  The gun slid up her back until it was directly behind her heart. He meant to kill her, here, alone, where no one would hear and no one would find her for hours, perhaps days.

  Elise refused to die that way. She let the quill drop from her hand but clutched the penknife in her fist. The man took a handful of her hair, pulling just hard enough to be painful. Elise kept her calm. She would have but one chance.

  She swung her arm back with all the force she could muster and felt the knife sink in. A shout of pain and the lessening of her assailant’s grip marked her only chance at surviving. She didn’t hesitate. She pulled from his slackened hold and ran back through the trees. She’d dealt a minor blow, in all likelihood, and had almost no chance of escape, but she would try. Heaven help her, she would try.

  Back to the inn, she told herself. Back to the inn.

  She heard his footsteps, uneven, behind her. He groaned, and she hoped the pain would slow him down. She desperately hoped it would be enough. She needed to find another way back to the inn, since he stood between her and the way they’d come.

  A shot rang out. Pain seared through her shoulder, just as it had four years earlier. Was it remembered pain or new? She stumbled but kept herself on her feet. How many more shots did he have? He’d carried four weapons before.

  Elise looked ahead. Was there another gate? An entrance to the inn yard other than the one they’d taken? She saw nothing but an impenetrable hedge. Which way should she turn? Right or left? The pain grew worse with each breath, each moment.

  She had to get through to the inn. Had to find someone to help her. Mr. Langley or the innkeeper. Even their coachman.

  Someone grabbed her arm.

  Before she could yell, another hand clasped over her mouth, this time gently but insistently as she was pulled to the ground. The pain of that jerking movement was excruciating. Whoever it was rolled her behind a smaller hedge, into the shadows. She felt something being draped over her.

  Elise looked up and nearly sobbed at the blurry sight that met her eyes.

  Miles.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  She was trembling. Miles lifted his hand from Elise’s mouth but kept the tips of his fingers pressed to her lips. Elise nodded. She understood. Silence was essential.

  They needed to be perfectly still. He moved his hand from her mouth and wrapped his arms around her beneath his greatcoat, which he had draped over her. The white of her night rail reflected too much of the moonlight—it was how he had found her. The coat would hide her better.

  Footsteps sounded nearby. Miles heard labored breathing. He leaned back, pulling them both farther into the shadows. He moved strands of Elise’s dark hair over her face, doing everything he could think of to make her harder to see.

  “He has a gun,” she whispered almost silently.

  Miles nodded. He’d heard the gunshot. With one hand, he pulled a dueling pistol from the pocket of his jacket. Miles had brought three men with him from Tafford. They should be nearby. Would they be fast enough if Miles and Elise were spotted?

  The now-stumbling footsteps drew closer. Elise didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to breathe. Did he risk making noise by shifting her behind him to further shield her? If they stayed still, they might be safer.

  He held his pistol at the ready but didn’t move from the shadows. They were facing a murderer, one who had thoroughly deceived a great many people and hid his inhumanity from the world.

  A strange half moan, half gurgle was followed by a thud. What in heaven’s name was that?

  He glanced down at Elise. Had she heard it as well? She didn’t look up at him but kept as still as before. She’d always shown herself brave. Never more so than in that moment.

  Several pairs of footsteps then filled the eerie silence. His men?

  “Lord Grenton!” Miles recognized Johnny from the stables. “He’s down. It’s safe now.”

  Relief surged through Miles. He leaned his head against the bark of the tree and told himself to breathe. The danger had passed.

  “You’re safe now, Elise,” he said. “You’re finally safe.”

  “I think I need help,” she said.

  “Elise?”

  “He had a gun.” She took a breath, but it stuck as she winced. “I didn’t run fast enough.”

  Miles flung back his greatcoat but saw nothing but mud marring the front of her night rail. He turned her into his embrace, enough to see the back of her.

  Blood. Dark, red, spreading blood.

  He lifted Elise into his arms. She settled her head into the crook of his neck, neither clinging to him nor growing limp.

  “I will have you to the inn in no time,” he said.

  “I just need something for the pain,” she answered. Lucid thoughts. That was a very good sign. “And to know we really are safe.”

  Johnny stood not ten feet from them, along with Hanson and his Bow Street friend, all standing over an inert form. Ten feet. Lud, that had been close.

  “Turn him over,” Miles instructed as he approached. “I have to get her back to the inn, but I need to know we have the right man. I will not deliver her into a trap.”

  Elise leaned more heavily against him, her face buried in his collar. Her breaths grew less steady.

  Johnny pushed the murderer over onto his back.

  “That’s him,” Miles said, not attempting to hide his disgust. “Drag him to the inn and summon the local squire.”

  Miles didn’t wait to see if his instructions were followed. Elise moaned in pain. She needed a doctor. He rushed to the inn, pushing open the door with his foot. The in
nkeeper’s eyes pulled wide at the sight of them.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Langley’s room.” Miles pulled out his marquess’s voice. It worked once again.

  He followed the innkeeper up the stairs. The door was ajar.

  “Oh, merciful heavens, Miles!” Beth cried, rushing to the door while Langley held back. “You’ve found her. You’ve found her.”

  Miles only nodded, crossing to the sofa near their chamber’s fireplace. Over his shoulder, he tossed instructions to the innkeeper. “Send for a doctor—the best you have.”

  “Yes, m’ lord.”

  “Doctor?” Beth’s voice broke. “What’s happened?”

  “I believe she’s been shot.” Miles set Elise tenderly on the sofa. He urged her to turn enough that he could tend to the wound in her back.

  Beth knelt beside him. “It is bleeding quite a bit, but the wound seems too high to have hit her heart or lungs.”

  Thank heavens. To Langley, he said, “We need rags, clean water.”

  Langley nodded and stepped out.

  “She is still breathing,” Beth said.

  “And listening,” Elise added in a strained whisper.

  The attempt at humor was welcome. Miles pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’ll have you mended in no time, dearest. And I’m certain the doctor will have something to help with the pain.”

  Her eyes met his. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  “Of course not.” He reached for her hand only to find it red with blood. He took it anyway. She needed him, and he needed her.

  “Is Anne safe?” she asked Beth. “I was so certain he would come back for her, all the while praying he hadn’t gotten to her first.”

  “Anne is still asleep,” Beth said. “Mrs. Ash is keeping vigil.”

  Elise took a breath and flinched. “I had forgotten how much this hurts.”

  She closed her eyes, her expression still pained. Nothing could be done until the doctor arrived. Miles pulled a blanket off the foot of the bed and draped it over her, covering her legs and bare feet. He pulled a chair over and sat directly beside her.

  He held her hand between his, worried by her continued pallor. Ten feet. Another ten feet and they would have been found. Another ten feet and he would have lost her.

  * * *

  After a grueling half hour, the doctor managed to dig the ball out of Elise’s back. Miles never wanted to see her cut open again. Not ever. With the surgery complete, Elise slept fitfully on the bed while Miles paced the room.

  After dozens of circuits, Miles spied Johnny standing in the doorway.

  “Yes, Johnny?”

  “Mr. Hanson told me to tell ya that the man that we was chasin’ is dead, m’ lord. Seems he done bled to death.”

  Bled to death? “The doctor didn’t get to him soon enough, then?” There was but one man of medicine, and Elise had been treated first.

  “He were dead out there in the trees,” Johnny looked ever more uncomfortable. “Before we carried him inside, he was dead. The Bow Street man said not to say nothin’ till he was inside and we could be sure. And then you was busy with the doctor and Mrs. Jones. We weren’t wantin’ to interrupt.”

  “Bled to death?” Langley asked from his chair beneath the far window. “Was he shot, then?”

  Miles only remembered hearing one gunshot, and that was aimed at Elise.

  Johnny shook his head. “He were stabbed, real low like.” Johnny motioned at his lower abdomen. “Doctor says it would’ve been a small knife, like one you’d cut your dinner with or sharpen a pen.”

  “And from that, he bled to death?” Miles tried to imagine such a small weapon doing so much damage.

  “Ain’t never seen that much blood, poured out all over everythin’.” Johnny looked shaken. “The doctor said something about hitting in just the right place.”

  Miles sat on the arm of the sofa. “But who stabbed him?”

  “’Tweren’t no one near him when we found him,” Johnny said. “The only one who’d been that close to him was—”

  “Elise. The blood on her hand,” he muttered. That blood wasn’t her own.

  “The squire says to ask you to tell him what you seen tonight.” Johnny quickly assumed a more humble demeanor. “When it’s convenient for you, of course, m’ lord.”

  “Thank you, Johnny,” Miles said. The hour was beyond late. “Get some sleep. You’ve had a long night.”

  “Thank you, m’ lord.” But he waited a moment. “It likely ain’t my place to say, but if it were Mrs. Jones who took down the blackguard, well, I think that was right brave of her. Right brave.” He bowed before slipping out of the room once more.

  Miles’s eyes met Langley’s.

  His brother-in-law’s usual composure broke a bit. “I can’t imagine what she went through tonight,” Langley said. “He intended to kill her. She had to have known that. To be marched off to her death that way and still find the strength to defend herself . . .”

  “Thank the heavens she had the presence of mind to arm herself with whatever she used to fight him.” Worry thudded through Miles once more.

  “You know her better than I do,” Langley said. “How will she handle this? Knowing she killed a man?”

  Even understanding she’d done so to save her life, Elise would be haunted by it. He knew she would be. Langley wouldn’t understand that. Not even Beth would, not in the way he did.

  “I think I’d better go with you to Gilford,” Miles said.

  “Or perhaps we should take Elise back to Tafford,” Langley suggested.

  Miles rubbed at his weary face. “We’ll do whatever Elise wants. But whatever she chooses, I’m going with her.”

  “Of course you are. No one would expect you to do otherwise.” Langley stood from his chair and stretched a bit. “I am going to check on Beth. I hope she’s sleeping. We’ll need her energy come morning. You and I are likely to collapse after being up all night.”

  But Beth stepped inside the room in the next instant, obviously not asleep. She held Anne’s hand, the little girl’s curls knotted up in all directions. “Anne is asking for her mother,” Beth said quietly. “And also for something I can’t identify. She keeps doing this.” Beth slipped her hand from Anne’s, then gestured, tapping the tips of her index fingers together, then tugging at her hair.

  Miles knew that gesture well. Anne was asking for him. He held his arms out to her, and she rushed into his embrace. He settled into the corner of the sofa, clinging to her. Elise’s fears matched his own. Anne was likely the next target. Miles didn’t think he would ever let either of them out of his sight again.

  “The two of you get some sleep,” he told his sister and her husband. “I’ll keep watch over these ladies.”

  He received no argument and was soon alone with his precious little Anne and Elise asleep nearby. Anne patted his cheeks with her tiny hands, then smiled contentedly.

  “I love you, sweet Anne,” Miles said.

  She snuggled up close to him. He swung his legs around, stretching out the length of the sofa, and pulled the blanket off the back and laid it across them both. Anne adjusted her position. She finally seemed to grow comfortable.

  In the low-burning lantern light, Miles looked over at Elise. He repeated in his mind again and again the reassurance the doctor had offered. Elise would be fine. She would be in some pain for a time and would have to be careful to keep the wound clean. But she would be fine.

  I haven’t lost her.

  He should never have so casually accepted her departure from Tafford. The threat hanging over her had been real, and what had he done? Shrugged and agreed that leaving was her best option? He should have made greater provision for her safety. He should have sent extra outriders.

  I should have told her I loved her and begged her to stay.

  He would make the confession as soon as he was able. Perhaps not the first instant she awoke—Elise had been through quite a lot—but as soon as she was recovered enough.

 
Miles stroked Anne’s messy curls. She’d fallen asleep against him. How far they’d come in the past weeks. Anne had watched him with wary interest, perhaps even a touch of fear, when first he’d seen her in the draper’s shop in Stanton. Now she came to him so full of trust and fondness. He adored her. She felt almost like his own little girl. He kissed the top of her head. “My sweet, sweet girl,” he whispered.

  “She drools in her sleep.” The warning came from Elise. Miles hadn’t realized she was awake.

  “Let us hope Anne makes an exception in this case,” Miles replied. He hoped it was only the moonlight that made Elise look so pale. “Is there anything you need? The doctor left laudanum.”

  “I would like some water.”

  Miles maneuvered his way to his feet, with Anne still in his arms. “Will she bother you if I lay her on the bed beside you?”

  “No.”

  He laid Anne down and placed a pillow between her and Elise. He didn’t want her to accidentally bump her mother’s still-fresh wound. He tucked the blankets around the sleeping girl.

  “Now, water.” He crossed to the bureau and filled a glass from the pitcher.

  Miles helped Elise sit up. Her winces of pain pricked at him.

  “Are you certain you don’t want any powders or anything?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine in time. The doctor did get the ball out, didn’t he?”

  “He did, though it was a messy business.” Miles took her hand and kissed it. He held it between his hands, unwilling to let go. “Promise me you won’t ever get shot again.”

  One corner of her mouth tugged upward. “I’ll do my best.” The smile slipped away. “What happened to him?”

  Miles didn’t have to ask who. He held her hand more tightly. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead? But . . . how? What happened?”

  He knew better than to lie to her. She would eventually learn the truth and would have yet another reason to not trust him. “He was stabbed.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I stabbed him. But . . . but with a penknife. How could that . . . How could that have killed him?”