All He Desires

by Anthea Lawson

  If only she were not so cold.

  The rocking of the cab gentled, slowed as the vehicle turned off the highway. Caroline peered out the window. The driver had lit the exterior lamps. Faint illumination revealed grassy hummocks on either side of a small road, briefly lit the undersides of trees. Were they moving slowly enough she could leap out? She bit her lip.

  “Stay where you are.” His voice was hard. “And don’t touch that door handle you keep eyeing, unless you want to lose your fingers.”

  A gate flashed by—too quickly for her to make out details. Dread coiled around her, like a snake with its prey. She had to be ready.

  The cab slowed further, then came to an abrupt stop. The vehicle tilted as the driver swung down, then righted itself. A knock on the door.

  “You ready in there?”

  Mr. Simms drew a piece of rope from his pocket. “Aye,” he called. “Rouse the lads, and I’ll bring her along.” He turned his attention to her. “Now, missy, hold your hands out. No use fighting—you must know that.”

  Caroline nodded, trying to look meek and terrified, which was not at all difficult. She brought her hands up. They trembled as he bound them tightly together.

  He undid the lock and turned the handle of the cab door. She was barely breathing. Soon. Soon.

  The door swung open into the night. Mr. Simms grasped her arm tightly and descended, pulling her out of the cab after him. Now. She let herself fall, collapsed on the ground with a moan, tearing free of his grasp. She lay there unmoving. Nothing to alarm him. Nothing to make him grab her again. No movement. No running. Not yet.

  “What is it? Get up.” He bent over her.

  “My leg…It’s all pins and needles. I can’t stand. I can’t. Just give me a moment.”

  He made an exasperated, angry sound in the back of his throat and straightened. “Hurry it up.”

  Slowly, slowly Caroline sat, then half crouched. Gathered her legs under her—and bolted for freedom.

  With a yell, Mr. Simms lunged after her, fingers closing on her sleeve.

  Fear gave her strength. She ripped free of his grasp and ran. Away from the house, away from the light. She raced down the drive, breath heaving through her lungs and out her open mouth.

  “Come back here!” Mr. Simms sounded as though he was right behind her, his feet loud on the gravel.

  She didn’t dare risk a glance over her shoulder to see. Run.

  There was something ahead of her: a rider, closing fast. She veered, trying to find cover—a place to hide. Air rasped her throat as she forced her legs to move faster.

  She ducked beneath the trees, brushes dragging at her skirts, branches whipping her face. She lifted her hands, bound together as if in prayer, and plunged on. Behind her, two sets of footsteps. Dear God. She could not outrun them both. Her breath caught on a sob.

  “Stop, damn you!” Mr. Simms called out. Close. Too close.

  She tripped, stumbled, tried desperately to regain her footing. Trod hard on the hem of her own dress and went down. Inexorably down, the underbrush clawing at her arms and face.

  Rough hands hauled her up. There was the glint of that long, thin blade, though the night was dark. Terror beat through her, chasing out everything else, even breath. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

  “Damn you.” Mr. Simms was breathing roughly. “I should just do you in here and drag the body back.”

  She sensed him raise the knife. Dear God. Not now, not like this.

  “Caroline!”

  Dear heavens. Her eyes flew open as someone crashed into Mr. Simms and bore him to the ground.

  Alex.

  Her heart tightened as the two men thrashed, making guttural animal noises. She took a frightened step away from those legs and fists in furious motion.

  There. The knife, fallen point first into the ground. She scrambled for it, but with her hands bound it was useless. She hovered, helpless, as the vicious fight continued.

  “Ha!” Triumph in his voice, Mr. Simms pinned Alex to the ground, hands closing about his throat.

  “No!” She threw herself on Mr. Simms but could not catch hold, and he shrugged her off.

  In that moment of distraction, Alex brought his hands up and peeled the man’s fingers from his throat, then swiped Mr. Simms’s face with his elbow. The man let out a howl of pain, and suddenly Alex was beside her, pulling her to her feet.

  He grabbed the knife, used it to slice through the ropes binding her, then flung it into the underbrush. The blade made a curious singing noise as it flew away, end over end.

  “Come.” He folded his hand around hers, fingers strong and warm, and she began to cry, soundlessly, the tears scalding her cheeks. “We have to hurry.” He pulled her gently after him.

  She could see lanterns through the scrim of trees, hear the confused shouts of Mr. Simms’s men. Alex angled them away, keeping to the shadows. Ahead, a lighter patch—the drive. As they broke free of the woods she stumbled to a halt behind him and scrubbed a hand across her face. What was he doing? Why had they stopped?

  A quiet nicker, the dark bulk of a horse. Alex swung himself into the saddle and pulled her up behind. Skirts bunched around her legs, she found her seat and wrapped her arms tightly about him.

  “There they are!” a rough voice called.

  “Hold on.” Alex set his heels to their mount.

  They pelted down the drive while behind them shouting erupted. A shot crackled through the night, but they were too far, already vanishing into the dark. The cries faded behind them as they galloped away. Caroline held tight, breathing in his scent. The night wind dried the tears on her face.

  Alex. Impossibly here, bearing her away from danger. Joy ignited through her, as sudden and delirious as a firework over a dark river. Questions sizzled on her tongue, but she could barely draw breath. It was all she could do to stay seated as they raced on.

  They reached the main road, pinpricks of stars above them, but instead of turning down it, he guided the horse into the fields. The hedgerows were shadowed hulks, sheltering them from view. There was no moon. The blackness that had given her such despair was now a blessing, covering them, keeping them invisible.

  Finally he reined in and turned in the saddle, scanning the countryside behind them. “We’re safe—for now. Are you unhurt? Can you keep going?”

  “Yes.”

  He brushed a kiss across her temple, then urged their mount into motion again.

  The next few hours were a blur of fields, lanes, trees. At one point Alex held them silently for a quarter hour before proceeding, although she could not make out what had alerted him. They spared no energy for conversation. Caroline rested her cheek against his wool coat and slipped into a half doze, filled with dream fragments of capture and escape, and recapture.

  They rode through the night. Sometimes he would dismount and walk, sparing the tired animal’s strength while Caroline slumped in the saddle. At last, when the sky in the east had lightened to the color of wool, they halted in front of an abandoned cottage. The thatch roof had half fallen in and the door was missing, but she had never seen a more welcoming place in her life. With a weary sigh, she slipped off the horse, then clutched at the stirrup when her legs almost buckled under her.

  Alex was beside her in a heartbeat. He folded her in his arms as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

  “Caroline,” he murmured.

  She gripped his coat, the questions finally spilling forth. “How did you find me? How did you know?” It was nothing short of miraculous.

  “Pen told me about the cab that nearly ran you down—it had yellow wheels. She saw it follow after you left today, and sent me after it.”

  “Dear Pen.” She took a wavering breath. “I should have listened.” The girl had been right—about so many things.

  His arms tightened. “Thank God she saw it. And that you were able to break free.”

  “At first I thought you were one of Mr. Simms’s men.” She lea
ned her forehead against his solid chest. “But when you called my name and I realized it was you…” She would never forget that feeling—joy slicing so cleanly through her terror, like a beam of light, impossibly bright over a black and turbulent sea. A lighthouse calling her home.

  “You are safe,” he said. “I will never let harm come to you again. I swear it.” His voice was so fierce and tender that tears came unbidden.

  They held each other quietly and she felt her strength return a little more with each breath, each passing heartbeat.

  He brushed his lips over her hair. “We need to rest.” He released her and ducked into the dilapidated building, a moment later emerging with cobwebs on his coat. “Not up to the ton’s standards, but we won’t be noticed here. I’ll have to bring the horse in with us.”

  She nodded. She could accept anything as long as he was there, too.

  Alex led her inside, then pulled down some of the thatch, making them a rough bed in the corner. It was rustic and prickly, but as soon as she curled into the shelter of his arms, she felt her whole body relax. Safe.

  “Rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

  She wanted to protest that he should sleep too, but exhaustion closed her eyelids, and silenced first her voice, then her thoughts.

  Caroline knew a moment’s panic when she woke and realized Alex was not beside her. She sat up, heart hammering, then saw him standing at the door with his arms folded, looking out over the fields. He turned his head, and seeing she was awake left his post to sit beside her on the scattered thatching.

  “All’s quiet,” he said. “We covered enough ground last night they have no idea which direction we might have gone. But they’ll be watching the road back to London.” He took her hand. “What is this about, Caroline? Why has Simms been after you?”

  She told him then, told him everything.

  He was silent a long moment, his face set and hard. “They wanted you dead to thwart the adoption. Had your uncle only known, he might not have been so quick to give you that gift.”

  “He couldn’t have known. Uncle Denby would never have placed me in danger.”

  “Not knowingly,” Alex said, “but you are in danger still. Grave danger. A broken nose is not going to stop Simms, much less those who pay for the services of a man like him.”

  “You broke his nose?”

  “A nasal fracture with accompanying epistaxis.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “And likely some bruising to the testicular area.”

  “It sounds…painful.” She gave a short laugh. “Although I’m just as happy not to have a firm grasp of the particulars.” It was enough that he had saved her from the murderer’s grasp. “They will try again, won’t they?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” His voice was suddenly hard, edged with purpose.

  “What happens next?” She set her hand on his arm. “Do we go back to London?”

  “No. It’s not safe there, even if we could elude Simms and his men. We need a place they won’t know of. Somewhere you’ll be protected while we resolve things.”

  “Where?” She caught a haunted expression in his eyes before he looked away.

  “I’m taking you to Ravensbridge, in Yorkshire.” His voice lowered, grew husky. “The place I used to call home.”

  Ah. Her fingers tightened on his arm. He did not meet her gaze, only gazed over the fields, mouth tight.

  “Thank you,” she said when it was clear he was going to remain silent. “I owe you my life, Alex. Many times over.”

  He stood and offered his hand to help her rise. “Tonight I promise to find us better accommodations, though the going will be hard. And then…tomorrow afternoon will see us there.”

  She shook her tattered skirts down and tried to brush off the worst of the straw. “If we’re not taken for gypsies and driven out of town.”

  “We won’t be.” The words were clipped.

  She hated to see the strain on his face. This was costing him dearly, and she did not know why—could not even begin to guess. He had never spoken the details of his history, but there was plainly something so dreadful he had run all the way to Crete to escape it. She feared what this return might do.

  But they could not go back now. Only forward.

  Chapter 23

  They arrived after dark at a bustling and prosperous-looking inn on the main road to York. Caroline blinked at the light streaming from the windows, too tired to speak, as Alex guided the horse around the side of the establishment. He slid down and handed her the reins.

  “I’ll be right back.” His voice was low. “I need to make sure there’s been no sign of Simms. Wait here.” Like a shadow, he blended into the night and was gone.

  Oh, but she was weary. The thought of sleeping in a bed seemed like heaven. Please, let it be safe. Let them stop here for the night.

  Alex returned. “No trace of him. We’ll stay here.” He took the reins and led their mount around the corner.

  The back door was open, a square of golden light illuminating a servant tossing water out of a basin. He glanced up, startled, when Alex hailed him.

  “What d’ye want?”

  “A room for the night. Supper.” Alex stepped forward and dropped a coin into the man’s hand. “And no questions. Fetch the innkeeper if you will.”

  The man peered into the darkness and caught sight of her. A knowing smirk crossed his face as he pocketed the coin and hurried back inside. It was clear he thought her a doxy needing to be smuggled in by the back door, and she was too tired to be discomfited by the thought. She glanced down—her best afternoon dress torn and stained and no doubt her hair in equal disarray. She must look exactly like what the servant took her for, but for a bowl of stew and a bed she would brave worse than a serving man’s scorn.

  The stout innkeeper stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. “Aye, sir?” He nodded to Alex, who moved forward and lowered his voice.

  Caroline could not catch the whispered conversation but guessed well enough what it concerned.

  “Very well.” The innkeeper stepped back. “We’ve the one room available for the, ahem, mister and missus. Smith, was it? I’ll show you up and send a man round for your horse.”

  The back stairs were narrow, shadows elongating wildly on the walls as they followed their host, his lamp held aloft. Smells from the kitchen filtered up: fresh bread, cooking meat. Her stomach clenched with hunger. How long since her last real meal? Alex had procured some cheese and apples that day, but they had avoided people as much as possible. It must have been…breakfast, nearly two days ago. The fear and arduous travel had kept hunger at bay, but now she fairly stumbled from the force of it.

  The innkeeper opened a door and ushered them into a well-lit corridor. With a quick glance in either direction, he hurried to show them their room.

  Alex held his hand out for the key. “Have some water for washing brought up as well.” He turned to Caroline. “Go in. I need to arrange for horses for both of us on the morrow. And fresh clothing.”

  The wavering mirror mounted over the dresser in their room showed all too clearly her wretched state. If she were not about to collapse with hunger she might have been amused at the sight. Hair festooned with bits of straw, straggling over her shoulders, a streak of dirt across one cheek—and her dress. She spread the torn and stained skirts out and shook her head.

  A quick rap on the door, and a pair of country maids entered. One bore a pitcher of steaming water, which she poured into the waiting basin on the washstand. Steam and the scent of lavender wafted up. The second girl carried a gown draped over one arm, black hat and veil held carefully between her hands. She bobbed a curtsey and set them on the bed.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said. “That will be all.”

  The need to wash off the grime of fear and travel and change into something more respectable eclipsed the growling in her stomach. She pulled off the tatters of her gown.

  How lovely warm water was. Clad only in her chemise, she slu
iced her arms and face, then ran the sponge over her neck and chest. A pity there was not a tub—but even this simple bath had done wonders. She turned to inspect the dress the maids had brought. Black, clearly mourning garb, with severe black lace edging the neckline. It fit poorly, drooping from her shoulders and obviously meant for a larger woman. But at least it was clean and whole, a sight better than her ruined dress.

  She had just finished combing the last bits of straw out of her hair when Alex came in. He paused, gaze resting long on her.

  “Caroline.”

  “I know.” She gave him a weary smile. “The dress is hideous.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. Not with you in it.” He strode forward and set his hands on her shoulders. “The daughter’s Sunday best was too dear to part with, but she was happy enough to be rid of her mourning clothes. And a hat with a veil—under the circumstances it seemed a good idea.”

  She let out a breath. “I must write my uncle. He and Pen will be frantic with worry. I have to tell them what happened—and that I am unharmed.” She bit her lip, imagining the chaos that had surely erupted at Twickenham House.

  “Send word, but tell them only that you are alive, and safe. Nothing of where we are, or where we are going.” His eyes searched hers.

  It pained that she could not tell them more, but Alex was right. The danger was still too great. She nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Now where is our food? I, for one, am about to perish without any assistance from our pursuers.”

  “If you do, then at least I shall have the proper wardrobe to mourn you in.”

  It surprised a laugh from him and he bent forward, brushing his lips over hers.