Challenging A Rake (A Rake's Redemption Book 4)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  No, she would never be Warwick’s countess. Such miracles do not happen in the real world.

  Wiping at a tear, she looked up. As the cab once again turned a corner.

  Her brow narrowed in confusion. This wasn’t the way to her home. Had the driver misunderstood her?

  “Sir,” she said as she leaned out of the window and called up at him. “This isn’t correct. You were to take me to Bolton street.”

  The Cabbie ignored her as he called out to his horse.

  Amanda’s heart jumped as a new fear started to build. Was the man taking a different route? Or was this something else. Something nefarious.

  What would Warwick do?

  “Sir,” she yelled louder.

  The Cabbie continued to ignore her as he pulled his horse to the side.

  Oh, good, she thought. The man was preparing to turn back. He must have finally realized his mistake. Setting back, she waited for him to turn his horse. But instead, he pulled to a full halt.

  “What are you doing?” she mumbled to herself. However, before she could say anything, the cab door was yanked open by a big burly man dressed in rough clothes and a gray cap. His large dirty hand held the door while he stared at her as if he’d found a lost pound note laying in the street.

  “There you are Miss,” he said with a snaggled tooth grin. “If you will come this way. His Lordship is waiting.”

  Her heart hitched. No, Warwick would not have done this. Not without a warning.

  “No,” she told the man, her chin rising to let him know she was very serious and would not be disturbed. “I wish to go home. There seems to be some kind of mistake.”

  The man’s smile dropped to be replaced with an evil glint to his eyes. Amanda’s insides clenched up into a tight ball. This man would not be dismissed easily. No, this man loved to mistreat women, she could see it in his eyes.

  “You can come easy, Miss. Or I can carry you, and there will be no telling where my hands might go,” he said with a look that let her know just how much he hoped she resisted.

  Taking a deep breath, she held it for a long moment. If she screamed, would anyone come? Really, in the middle of the night, in London? No, probably not. No, it would only give this man permission to paw and handle her as he pulled her into the building.

  Could she escape? Could she get the door behind her open and escape into the street?

  As if reading her mind, the man’s hand shot out to grab her wrist. A shiver passed up her arm as she looked down at the dirty hand holding her.

  “I will come,” she snapped as she pulled her hand from his grasp. She would do almost anything to not be touched by this animal.

  The man smiled again, his eyes running over her body. “A shame.”

  Amanda ignored the hand he offered to help her down. Gripping the door, she used it to steady herself. Once, on the street, she looked back over her shoulder up at the driver.

  The man ignored her. Obviously unwilling to admit his complicity in her abduction.

  “This way Miss,” Her tormenter said.

  She turned to look up at the building and her heart slammed to an instant halt. Lord Hicks home. She well remembered it from her last time there. Her feet stopped moving of their own accord.

  Why? She wondered. No gentleman would treat a woman of standing this way. Not unless he wished to ruin his place in the ton.

  Lady Weston would eviscerate his family’s name across the entire country once she found out. His family would be shamed. No, this was not some simple mistake.

  The burly man pushed her lower back, moving her to the door. She looked up at him and shuddered. This was not right. So not right.

  Once they were inside, the heavy door closed behind her with a heavy thud.

  Her heart continued to race as an anxiety built inside of her. How had Lord Hicks discovered her connection to Warwick? What had given her away? That could be the only reason that he had her abducted.

  Or was Warwick already here?

  A sudden hope flashed into her as a parlor door opened. Only to be smashed into pieces once she recognized Lord Hicks walking towards her. Those feral eyes of his slowly traveling over her as he smiled at her. A smile of a predator who had captured its prey.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lord Warwick was pulled from his slumber by several sharp thumps on his bedroom door. As he woke, his hand instinctively grasped the knife under his pillow. He turned and glanced at the edge of the window. Morning’s gray light peeked in around the edge of the curtain.

  “What?” He yelled at the door as the steady thump returned. He’d spent half the night issuing orders, receiving reports, and sending instructions to his men throughout the country. This had better be important.

  “My Lord,” Peters said as he opened the door and stepped in. As always he was impeccably dressed, even at this hour of the morning.

  Scoffing to himself, Warwick let go of his knife and pushed himself up on one elbow.

  “I’m awake, what is it?”

  “My Lord,” Peters began. “A man to see you. A Mr. Anderson.”

  “Anderson? Who is that and why is he disturbing me at this ungodly hour?” Lord Warwick asked his butler with a deep frown.

  “He mentioned that it was about Miss Waters …”

  “What?” Warwick exclaimed as he threw back the blankets and jumped from his bed. Thank god his valet had not yet gathered his clothes. They lay were he had discarded them less than an hour earlier.

  “… you instructed that anything dealing with Miss Waters was to be brought immediately to your attention,” Peters reminded him.

  “Yes, yes,” Warwick said as slipped on his pants and tucked in his shirt then hurriedly reached for his shoes. No, he though, there was no telling what he would face. Boots would be better. Once on, he slipped his knife into the right boot. It was going to be that kind of situation, every part of his being told him so.

  A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind. Was Amanda well? Had she sent Anderson to him with a note? A note asking him to meet her. Had she changed her mind about them no longer being together? Or was it as he feared, Amanda in distress?

  Where was his jacket? He wondered as he frantically scanned the room.

  “I have him waiting in your study, My Lord,” Peters said. “I thought you might not wish to advertise his presence.”

  “Yes,” Warwick said. His jacket? To hell with it, he decided. He didn’t need a jacket.

  As he raced down the stairs, his stomach clenched into a tight ball. This was not going to be good. Every fiber of his soul knew it. Prepare yourself, he thought. Amanda was in danger. There was no doubt in his mind.

  His world shifted. His priorities, what was important, everything was different. Nothing must ever be allowed to harm Amanda. That was his true mission in this life, he realized.

  “Mr. Anderson,” Lord Warwick said as he stepped into his study, Peters behind him.

  The man was a giant, closer to seven feet than six. Yet he stood there with a frightened expression on his face as he twisted his cloth cap in his hand.

  “M’Lord,” the big man said. “My Molly sent me. She said I was to talk to you and no one else.”

  Lord Warwick’s insides twisted even tighter. It must be very serious if the unflappable Molly was concerned.

  Mr. Anderson took a deep breath, “M’Lord. It is Miss Waters …”

  “Yes, yes what is it.” Lord Warwick demanded as he held his breath.

  “… she has not returned. I waited for her. But she never came home.”

  Lord Warwick froze as his heart turned to ice. It was as he feared. “Couldn’t she have spent the night with Lady and Lord Bradford?” A faint hope gathered at the bottom of his stomach.

  The large man slowly shook his head as he continued to turn his cap around and around in his hands.

  “Not without sending word, M’Lord. Miss Waters knew I was to wait for her. We begged her to let me escort her, M’Lord.”


  Warwick’s teeth clenched, the man was right. But he needed to be sure. Turning, he addressed Peters. “Send a man to Lord Bradford’s to see if Miss Water has left and when.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Peters said as he spun on his heel to do as he was instructed. The worried expression in his butler’s eyes confirmed Lord Warwick’s worse fears. He was not the only one who understood that this was serious. Very serious.

  “M’Lord, there is something else,” Anderson said, pulling Lord Warwick back to reality. “A man was watching the house.”

  Warwick nodded, “Yes, one of mine.”

  “No, M’Lord. Not your man. Miss Waters told me about him. I had already placed him. No, this was another man. A tall chap, but tonight, he disappeared. He has been there for days, but tonight, just as I expected Miss Waters’ return, the man is gone.”

  Lord Warwick stared at the big man as he tried to work out the puzzle, Hicks, it had to be Hicks. Only that bastard would do something like this. Somehow he had discovered Amanda’s involvement. A cold chill ran through him at the thought of what this might mean for Amanda.

  Had Hicks call the man back because he knew Amanda would not be returning?

  The man wouldn’t live to see the next sunset, he swore to himself. If he had harmed Amanda in the slightest, Lord Hicks would die a long miserable death.

  Rushing to his desk he removed a pistol. Checking it, he made sure it was both loaded and primed. His was a dangerous life. He kept this weapon always ready.

  Tucking it into his belt, he told Anderson to go home and wait for Miss Waters.

  “M’Lord, I think I should come with you,” the big man said.

  Warwick examined the man, he might be of some assistance, but no. This had to be done alone. Besides, half a dozen of his men were watching Hicks, if he needed assistance, he need only call on them.

  “No, Mr. Anderson,” he told the man. “I need you at Miss Waters’ home in case she returns. If she does, you are to send word here and let no one in until I get there. Is that understood.”

  The big man hesitated for a moment then slowly nodded.

  Lord Warwick patted the man on the arm then turned and hurried from the room. Should he take a horse. No, by the time they had it ready he would be half way to Hicks.

  As he rushed out into the misty morning, his heart pounded in his chest. Nothing must harm Amanda was his only thought.

  The clap of his feet on wet cobblestones echoed through the empty streets. A dozen plans and scenarios flashed through his mind. But none of them were worth a damn. Not until he knew what Hicks intended.

  As he turned onto Hicks’s street he slid to a halt, his chest pumping in air as he leaned over to catch his breath. His strength had not fully returned from the shooting, but it would be enough, he told himself. Enough to strangle Hicks.

  “M’Lord?” a hesitant voice called from the shadows.

  Lord Warwick turned to find on of Sanderson’s men, Hanson, he believed, stepping towards him, a confused frown on his face. He knew he must look as fright. White shirt, pantaloons and boots, Hair unkempt and a face that told the world he was half mad.

  “Tonight, … A woman …” Warwick began as he fought to gulp in air.

  Sanderson’s man continued to frown as he nodded. “Yes, sir, A woman did arrive, several hours ago, she has not yet left.”

  “Beautiful, … Spectacles?”

  The man nodded.

  Warwick’s stomach sank into an abyss. Hicks had her. There was no longer any doubt. Suddenly a wave of despair passed over him. If he had lost her, he had lost his reason for living.

  “Give me your pistol,” he told the man as he held out his hand. Hanson’s brow narrowed for a moment then he reached under his coat and removed his weapon, handing it over butt first.

  “Stay out here,” Warwick said as he tucked the pistol into his left boot. Standing up, he marched down the street and up to the door of his enemy.

  Banging the brass knocker, he stepped back and waited. Please, he begged, please make her safe.

  The door cracked open and he pushed himself in. “Where is he?” he demanded.

  The butler looked at him as if he were a demon rising up from the mist to take his soul.

  “Never mind,” he said as he shoved past the servant. “I will find him.”

  “Hicks!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “Lord Hicks is in his study,” the butler said, indicating a door to the right. “Who may I say is calling on him.”

  Lord Warwick continued to ignore the butler and took four long strides to the door. He stopped for a moment to gather himself then threw it open and stepped inside.

  Amanda, she was alive. His heart began beating again.

  He ignored everything as his eyes hurriedly scanned over her, looking for injuries or harm. Finding none, he finally came to rest on her face and said, “I am sorry my dear.”

  She smiled up at him, and his heart melted. Her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was as strong as ever.

  She was seated on a wooden chair by the French doors leading out to the garden. Her hands bound in front of her. Situated in the most prominent part of the room, he realized. Almost like a prize being displayed.

  “John,” she said. One simple word that held so much meaning.

  Turning, he examined the room. A man, obviously belonging to Lord Hicks, stood to the side waving a pistol back and forth between Amanda and himself. The man’s eyes narrowed as he took a step back to better cover both of them.

  Warwick’s guts turned to stone every time the barrel of the weapon swung towards Amanda.

  Ignoring the man for a moment, he twisted to address Lord Hicks. The British Lord held his head up as he slowly smiled.

  “You were much quicker than I anticipated,” Hicks said with that feral smile of his that turned Warwick’s insides to jelly. That was the look of a cornered animal. An animal that would strike out and kill anyone it could before it was taken down.

  “What are your demands?” Warwick said, there was no use for small talk, not at a time like this.

  Hicks smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It is simple. I fully realize that if I am taken, I will be executed. Miss Waters is my assurance that will not happen. I have a fishing yawl on the Thames waiting for me. More than enough for us to reach France safely.”

  Warwick frowned. “You do realize that if you hurt her, you die instantly.”

  Lord Hicks laughed, “Of course,”

  “Good,” Warwick said as he nodded his head. “I just wanted to make sure you realize that.”

  Lord Warwick took a calming breath as he fought to slow his racing heart. He would need a steady hand.

  He paused for a moment, then, as Hicks’ man brought his pistol away from Amanda and back towards him. Lord Warwick reacted. Pulling his own pistol from his belt, he lifted it, extended his arm, and shot the man square in the forehead.

  The explosion was particularly loud in the small room as it echoed over and over in his ears. The acrid smoke burned his eyes and blocked his view for the briefest of seconds. Reaching down he started to pull his second pistol.

  “No,” Hicks said with a cold voice.

  Warwick pushed aside the smoke to find Hicks holding a straight razor to Amanda’s throat. Freezing, he judged the situation and realized he could not kill Hicks in time. The man’s eyes never left his. Every nerve was ready to act.

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment then slowly, Warwick pulled his eyes away to look at Amanda.

  The look of terror in her eyes tore at his soul. The razor had left a slight red line over her pounding pulse. No, he would not lose her. No.

  Slowly lifting up, he made sure that Hicks saw his empty hand.

  “Was that really necessary,” Hicks said, indicating the dead man laying on the floor, a small round hole in the center of his skull.

  Warwick shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t need him, you and I can solve this. Tell me what you
want.”

  “Good,” Hicks said as he continued to hold the knife to Amanda’s throat. Warwick watched closely, the slightest hesitation or relaxation on Hicks’ part and he would act. But not yet. The man was too aware. To desperate.

  “Now, you will go outside and tell your men to disperse,” Hicks said. “Then, the three of us will leave and we are not to be followed. Do you understand?”

  Warwick took a deep breath and slowly nodded. He would get his chance.

  “And leave the pistol in your boot here,” Hicks demanded. “If I see you with a pistol in your hand, she dies. The knife in your boot as well.”

  Warwick nodded as he slowly removed the weapons and laid them on the floor. Glancing up, he saw Hicks nod his approval. Lord Warwick stepped back. He would get his chance.

  “You win,” he told the traitor. “You get away as long as Miss Waters lives. But as I told you earlier, she dies, you die.”

  Hicks smiled back at him, those weasel eyes of his letting him know that he understood perfectly. He is pleased with himself, Warwick thought. The man believes he has won. Oh, what a fool.

  He gave Amanda one last small smile, then turned to leave. His hand had barely touched the knob when he turned back to address Hicks.

  “How did you know?” he asked. “About Miss Waters.”

  Hicks’ smile grew even wider but the hand holding the blade didn’t waiver.

  “Lady Simpson,” he said with an evil glint to his eyes.

  Warwick frowned

  “When you disappeared. She suggested she talk to Miss Waters. She came away believing that she had been deceived somehow.”

  Warwick nodded.

  “When you failed to materialize and there was no report of your body being found for over two weeks. I sent her back to Miss Waters.”

  “She didn’t come back though,” Warwick said as he glanced at Amanda to confirm that fact.

  Hicks laughed, “No, as she approached Miss Waters home, she passed a man on the street. A man she had sighted on this very street only the day before. He had a nasty scar straight through his eyebrow. She remembered it.”