Warmth flushed his face. “So she knows?”
“Yes.” Her lips and eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps she went back to her father.” As he spoke, he could imagine Cara’s anguish at discovering he had betrayed her. His gut clenched. She’d left Belcraven. Run away when she’d discovered what he’d done.
“Her father’s dead.” Pain filled the woman’s eyes. “I’d made arrangements to pick her up this morning. I’ll not lose her again. I demand to know what you’ve done with her.”
Lord Stanton burst through the crowd, his face contorted into a mask of outrage. “Here, here, Madam, I won’t have you speaking in that manner to my future son-in-law. Footmen, remove her from my house.”
Garret laid a hand on Stanton’s arm. “No. I’ll be leaving with her.” For the first time in fourteen years he knew what he had to do.
“But, but, the ball, Regina—”
“Will never be my wife.” Relief washed over him with that simple sentence. Garret turned toward the guests, most of whom wore stunned expressions. “You came expecting an engagement, but I’m unworthy of Lady Regina. She deserves someone who loves her and I . . . I’m in love with my governess.” An audible gasp rippled through the room as what he’d said was repeated to those outside the immediate circle.
“Garret, stop.” Mallory gave him the reproving expression she’d inherited from their mother. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” He turned back to the crowd. “My governess’ real name is Caroline Pemberton, the Earl of Pemberton’s sister. I knew this, but for my own selfish reasons I kept it from her.” Outrage appeared on several faces and a few of the matrons nearby fanned themselves vigorously and shook their heads. He gave them a curt bow. “I regret that decision more than you can know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must try to find her.”
He hurried from the room, leaving behind an excited buzzing of voices.
The sound of scandal.
All at once a thundering wail echoed off the walls. Regina must have learned she wouldn’t be redecorating Belcraven. He shook his head. They would have made a poor match. She’d marry someone more suitable. Maybe even find love.
Hope glimmered in his soul for the first time in years. Cara had given him love and so much more.
With any luck she’d returned to her Papa. He’d check there first.
When he found her, he’d do anything to convince her to forgive him. It would be the ultimate in ironies to lose the one person who could appreciate what the scene in the ballroom had cost him.
Cold. She was so very cold. Cara hugged her body and burrowed her fingertips into the pleated material on her bodice.
She opened her eyes, yet everything remained black. Where was she?
Her head pounded and there was a funny taste in her mouth. She’d been in a carriage with her benefact—grandmother—and Mr. Russell. What was it her grandmother had said? Something about a . . . tomb. That was the word.
With a trembling hand, she reached into the blackness. Her palm came to rest against what felt like rough, damp stone maybe a foot above her. Horror congealed into a tight lump in the back of her throat as she realized what her grandmother meant. A whimper escaped from her.
“No.”
She raised her other hand and used them both to pat every inch of her prison, as far as she could reach, praying for a seam, a handle, anything she could use to escape. But the damp stone revealed nothing and left her fingertips raw and stiff.
Wiggling down about a half a foot, she managed to touch the base of her enclosure. With all her might, she kicked the stone, hoping there might be a weakness in the construction. Of course, there was the chance the cover of her tomb could crush her if the sides collapsed, but better that than a slow death.
Exhausted, she stopped to get her breath. How would she die? Suffocation, cold, thirst? The thought made her mouth go dry. The walls were closing in around her.
She hated the dark. Monsters always appeared out of the dark in her stories. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was sleeping.
It didn’t work. Her breathing came in large gasps. She had to get out. Dear God, she couldn’t die here. With her fists, she began to pound on the stone above, yelling, screaming.
Pictures flashed through her head. She was six, and the men wouldn’t let her out. They were talking. Laughing at her pitiful efforts to escape. It had gone on forever, but finally they’d let her out into the light. She’d found Papa.
But not this time. Panting, her arms fell to her sides and she turned her head. Her thrashing had stirred up some kind of dust.
Or was it dust? Had they put her on top of someone else? She arched her back, trying not to come into contact with what lay beneath. Tears streamed down her face.
There would be no rescue this time. No men to let her out of the box. What would Papa do now?
And Garret. She should have listened to him. Her heart had trusted where her head hadn’t. If only she’d stayed at Belcraven.
He loved her. In spite of everything, she knew that to be true. The pounding of her heart increased until she swore she could hear it in the enclosed space. She felt lightheaded, caught in that place between reality and oblivion.
She wanted oblivion. The seductive peace it would bring. The cold felt as if it had seeped into her very soul.
As she slipped into that nothingness, she cried out for Garret. His strength. His decisiveness. He’d know what to do. He’d never let her . . .
If you create life’s path with bread crumbs, there’s always the chance you’ll lose your way. Trust yourself to make the right decisions.
Hansel/ Hansel and Gretel
Chapter 20
Garret strode into Belcraven and glared at the intricately carved birds at the base of the stairs. Their lifelike eyes appeared to be mocking him. He needed something, someone, anyone, to vent some of his frustration.
The last few hours had been futile. All he’d managed to do was worry Reverend McClure. The poor man had been shaken badly on learning the truth. He’d left Cara’s mother to explain the details.
“Is the whole house asleep?” Garret spied Timmons coming down the stairs in his nightshirt. He almost didn’t recognize his butler in his nightcap instead of one of his wig monstrosities.
“It’s near midnight, Your Grace. We weren’t expecting you.” He came to stand in front of Garret, his arms locked at his sides. “About Miss McClure.”
“I know, she’s gone.” Garret removed his gloves and ran a hand over his face. “Is there anyone she might confide in?” He handed Timmons the gloves and his coat. “I know she was upset and may not want to see me right now. But if you know where she is, I have to see her.” He sounded desperate. He’d been so certain Cara would go back to the McClure cottage. What if she’d done something reckless? She tended to be so trusting of people. Expecting the good—even in him. He closed his eyes. And see how he’d repaid her trust.
Timmons cleared his throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Her leaving. It wasn’t right. I don’t think she wanted to go.”
Garret opened his eyes. “What do you mean ‘she didn’t want to go?’” Cara left because she’d found out he was lying. Didn’t she? His shoulders tightened, adding to the ache in his neck.
“Well, Your Grace, the visitor never got out of the carriage and it took off before Miss McClure was barely in. Hadn’t even closed the door.” His lips pursed as though he were eating a lemon. “Then Lady Pemberton showed up, asking about her daughter.”
“This carriage, what did it look like?”
“It bore the Pemberton Crest, same as the one that came later. Still wouldn’t be so worried if it weren’t for Rachel.”
“Rachel? My niece?”
“She insists Miss McClure is in trouble. Said she heard bad men in the stable. We tried to tell her she couldn’t know that, but the child won’t be consoled. Mrs. Shaw’s sitting with her now.”
Garret’s chest t
ightened until he thought he might never breathe again. His niece was right. Cara was in trouble. He felt it. But the only Pemberton who wished Cara ill was her grandmother. Why would she want to kidnap Cara for a second time? “Timmons, have Mrs. Shaw bring Rachel to me in the library, and have the stable hands saddle one of my horses.”
Timmons scurried back up the stairs, but Garret stopped him on the landing.
“Make sure it’s my fastest horse.”
Garret barely had time to light the oil lamp before Mallory burst into the room.
“Did you find her?” Mallory sounded like she’d taken the stairs two at a time.
“No. She wasn’t at her father’s.”
His sister’s brows drew together as she removed her hat. “What about her friend?”
“Tess? The messenger I sent returned while I was in London. She’s not there either.”
“But where else would Miss McClure go?”
“There’s one place. Her benefactor.”
“But she doesn’t know the woman. How would she contact her?”
“I don’t believe she did.”
“Garret, you aren’t making any sense.” She stood in front of him and leveled him with one of her no-nonsense looks. “I wish you’d tell me what’s happening. As it was, you left me in that awful family’s ballroom. Do you have any notion of the scandal you’ve caused?”
“I have a good idea.” The Kendal name would be in shreds, but the thought no longer caused him pain.
Mallory removed her cloak and laid it, along with her hat on the wing-backed chair. “To be honest, I’m not really upset with the scandal or your decision not to marry Regina.” She grinned at him. “I happen to think Cara’s perfect for you.” Her smile faltered. “But I am worried about what the Earl of Pemberton will do when he hears of your little escapade.”
Mrs. Shaw bustled into the room with Rachel and Timmons in tow. Mallory appeared confused, especially when the cook took Rachel by the shoulders and placed her in front of Garret. “Now, tell His Grace what you heard.”
Rachel plucked at the ribbons on her nightgown. “He won’t believe me either.”
Garret knelt down and waited until she raised her head, then gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Give me a chance.”
The girl’s face crumpled. She bit her lip, sniffed, then squared her shoulders. “I know what the men said. I was in the stable.” Her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “You said I could visit the horses.”
“Yes, I did. Go on.”
“There were some strangers getting feed toward the front of the barn. You don’t like other people to know I spend time in the stable, so I hid. One of the men complained about going to visit the graveyard. He said he couldn’t understand why, after all these years, Lady Pemberton had decided to pay respects to her dead relatives.”
Garret kept his tone even. “Did they mention Miss McClure?” If Lady Pemberton had forced Cara to accompany her, then she had a plan.
“They said it was a good thing she didn’t know what was coming, then they laughed.”
They’d had a huge head start. But why would they take Cara to the Pemberton family tomb? True, no one would think to search for her there, and if they confined her in the family crypt . . . Garret went cold. Cara hated the dark.
The Pemberton family was buried on the nearby estate. With luck he could be there in an hour. If her grandmother harmed her in any way, he’d see her more than ruined.
“I didn’t like the men, Uncle. I think they’ve done something bad with Miss McClure.” Her childish resolve faltered and she broke into tears. “I couldn’t get her to stay.”
He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll bring her back. I promise.” Morgan’s voice sounded in his head. It was to keep her granddaughter from you. Ice ran up Garret’s spine. Would she truly go so far as to kill her own flesh and blood to keep Cara from him?
Garret straightened. “Mallory, I’m riding to the Pemberton estate.”
His sister ran after him and grasped his arm as he headed for the door. “Now? You can’t. It’s past midnight and who knows what kind of a reception you’ll receive.”
He shook off her hand and glanced back at her worried face.
“I don’t have time to explain. If Bradford or Morgan show up, tell them I’ve gone to the Pemberton Tomb.”
Rescuing damsels isn’t so hard; it’s deciding what to do after that’s the challenge.
Prince Charming/ Cinderella
Chapter 21
A scraping sound filtered into Cara’s consciousness. She opened her eyes, only to close them as debris sifted down upon her face. Her body felt stiff and cold. Where was she? The last thing she remembered—
The tomb.
Terror welled within her, interrupted by rhythmic scraping which caused more dirt to fall from the stone above. She turned her head to the side. Thank God. Someone must be trying to open her prison.
“Help. Let me out.” Her arms strained as she shoved at the stone above her. Perhaps her rescuer wasn’t strong enough. She redoubled her efforts and inch by inch the lid moved until light flickered on the back of her eyelids and a dank, moist breeze caressed her cheek. It felt fresh, compared to the mold-laden air she’d been breathing.
She gasped, then coughed until she ran out of air. Tears moistened the corners of her eyes as she opened them a slit.
A hulking form hovered above her. But her rescuer’s face was cast in darkness, while a halo of light circled his head.
Cara grasped the edges of her prison, and tried to draw herself up. The lid lay at an angle, leaving an opening for the upper part of her body. It was a tight fit, and instead of helping her, the man stepped closer, blocking her escape.
“In a hurry, are you?” Mr. Russell’s voice held a triumphant edge that caused Cara’s stomach to knot.
She pressed back into her prison, preferring the remnants of someone long dead to the loathsome creature above her. She couldn’t see his expression, but his low chuckle sent fear scurrying through her body, like rats startled by a light.
“Not glad to see me?” He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I thought by now you’d be grateful.”
Cara jerked her head to the side, her voice strained. “Where’s my grandmother?”
“The old crone left you here.” He tugged on a curl at the side of her face until she looked up at him. “I waited until nightfall. I thought by now you’d agree to . . . anything.” His whisper seemed to meld with the shadows. “It is very dark in here. What was it like, trapped in such a cramped space?” He trailed his finger down her neck. “Unable to get away, even were a spider to stroll across your body.”
He must have felt her shudder, for he paused. Though she couldn’t see his expression, she had the feeling he was smiling. He disgusted her and she yearned to tell him how she felt, but common sense prevailed. Berating him wouldn’t help her to escape.
“I’ve waited a long time for this.” He took something off the lid of her prison, and before she realized what he was about he’d slid a noose over her head. She clutched at the rope, but he drew the knot tight, trapping her fingers between her neck and the rope.
Russell tugged upward, forcing her to a sitting position, then wrapped his free arm around her torso and yanked her from the coffin. He set her on the ground in front of him, and slid the knot to the back of her neck.
The fibers bit into her skin as he twisted the rope. She wanted to kick him, but her legs wouldn’t obey after so many hours of inactivity. Breathe. She needed more air.
If only her fingers weren’t numb. She was going to pass out. But the next instant he lessened the pressure on the noose. With her fingers free, her arms fell to her sides and she stood panting, trying to drag much needed air into her lungs.
Her head dropped forward. Think. If only he’d give her a minute to get her strength back. She didn’t dare move. Her balance seemed off, as if she stood on slippery rocks.
“There now, I think w
e’ll get along.” He reached around her with his free hand, twined his fingers in the neck of her gown, and yanked downward, ripping the tiny row of buttons on the front of her dress.
The action nearly brought her to her knees. The noose tightened and her fingers clawed at the rope.
He chuckled and drew her upward, keeping just enough pressure on the rope to make breathing difficult. “You will let me do as I wish.” His whisper sounded in her ear, and he ended by sucking on her ear lobe.
Her stomach heaved with revulsion and the sound of her ragged breathing pounded in her ears. Her raw fingertips burned as she struggled to find even a little give in the rope. She focused on the pain. Pain would keep her conscious. If she passed out now, there would be no tomorrows. And suddenly all those little nothing moments in her life became more precious than the rarest of gems. A resolve unlike any she’d ever experienced filled her.
He wouldn’t succeed.
Her muscles tensed as his hand reached under the remnants of her gown and shoved aside her undergarments to grasp her breast. He pinched her nipple until she flinched. “This will go much easier for you if you cooperate. Of course, your agreement is not really necessary.” He chuckled. “As far as anyone knows, you’re already dead. That’s the real beauty of the situation.” He squeezed her breast and pressed against her back, rubbing his arousal up and down her unwilling flesh.
She forced herself to take a breath, expanding her lungs a little at a time, struggling to remain calm. The meager air seemed to clear the cobwebs from her mind, leaving room for anger and determination. Russell was right. No one knew where she was. And he’d never let her leave here alive.
In spite of her raw throat, she croaked out, “I thought you wanted to marry me.”
He stilled and loosened the rope, easing the unbearable pressure.
“I would have, but you seemed to prefer your duke.” His hand reached down, crushing her skirt as he cupped her. “Has he had you yet?”
The Perfect Duke Page 24