by April Moran
Did Ivy tell Sara of his misdeeds? That others might learn of his brutal treatment caused a moment of concern before calmer reasoning prevailed. No, she would not share those private matters, those intimate details and heartbreaking moments. She would keep their secrets. God help him, Sara came for something far worse, something very frightening. It must be if she was desperate enough to beg his assistance.
“Yes?” Sebastian drawled, a portrait of casual indifference. “Pray continue?”
“I don’t know what else to do, where to go. She’s been taken.” A widening puddle of raindrops formed at Sara’s feet. An expensive rug hung in a state of imminent ruination. Her shoulder’s slumped in despair. “Lord Ravenswood, she’s been abducted.”
Sebastian felt as though someone kicked him in the stomach. Exhibiting an aura of calm he did not feel, he knocked ashes from the cigar into a heavy cut crystal dish, his gaze meeting Gabriel’s above Sara’s head. The man immediately departed to begin gathering necessary items.
“Are you sure Lady Kinley is not with Edwardson? I hear she discovered a new appreciation for boxing and he recently obliged her. Or, perhaps she’s taking part of the gambling at Madam Cheverly’s with Lord Grantville.” The acid in Sebastian’s tone was harsh enough to etch stone and directed inward. My God, Ivy…is it true? Have you already turned away from me? Perhaps you flew from me of your own choice. To escape my cruelty. “There appears to be a great number of gentlemen providing the countess with an escort lately. Perhaps “abducted” is too a strong word.”
“That’s not Ivy!” Sara cried out. “That pale, hollow, glittering creature is not Ivy!” Rushing around the corner of the desk, she grabbed Sebastian’s arm, frantically seeking an answer in the slate-hued gaze regarding her so calmly. “That girl staring through me with those brittle eyes is not the sister of my heart. That vacant girl walking about as though dead inside is not my dearest friend. Can’t you understand? She’s not been the same since that night of the Pack’s last dinner. Whatever you did to her, whatever you said, whatever happened between the two of you, you destroyed her. I don’t know if she will ever come back, if she will ever be the same. Or if she can come back, but do not dare pretend to be indifferent, Ravenswood. I know you care. Dear God in heaven, you must care.”
Rachel’s laugh sounded shrill and oddly cold in the cozy warmth of the finely appointed study. “What interest could he have in that trollop? What a twisted plot you devised together, now that the earl tossed her to the side. She’s always been one to seek attention.”
Sara released Sebastian’s arm, turning to the older woman. “You don’t know anything about Ivy. You have only your hate of her, but you are wrong. Wrong! You think Timothy was so blameless, so innocent? You have no idea what he did to her…no idea at all.”
“I know she drove him to his death!” Rachel sneered. “She teased and tormented him until he took his own life!” Latching onto Sara’s arm with a cruel hand, fingers biting into the soft flesh, she tried yanking the younger woman toward the door.
Sebastian stood to intervene.
“Let go, madam!” Sara pushed with enough force to send the woman stumbling. Rachel landed on her backside, her head knocking against the mahogany wall with a hard thud. Too stunned to react immediately, she moved with slow, careful movements, rising from the floor on unsteady feet to stare at Sara with newfound respect.
“I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say and you both shall listen to every word,” the girl vowed through gritted teeth, tiny fists clenched as if ready to strike anyone who attempted to leave the study. “Do you hear me? Every word.”
“Sebastian! Call for the bobbies!” Rachel probed at the lump rising on the back of her head. “Where’s in God’s name is Gabriel? Surely your damned man can handle removing this chit-”
“He kidnapped her,” Sara interrupted quietly, her eyes glittering blue ice as the awful truth was exposed.
Lady Garrett and Sebastian both stared at her.
She continued with relentless intensity. “Timothy Garrett abducted her. Attempted to carry her to Gretna Green. When she fought him, he struck her. Only Ivy would not give up. She attempted to jump from the coach and when she managed to get the door opened, Timothy slammed it shut. Somehow, Ivy’s hand was sliced open on a bit of metal. It must have terrified him. With all the blood, he probably thought she was dying.”
Sara wiped tears from her eyes. “He had the coach turn back, carried her back to Kinley House. Lady Garrett, believe what you will, but I saw Ivy’s face, the bruises, the scrapes; the wound she suffered attempting to escape. And, I’ve known her pain, her heartache when your damaged son took his life. Simply because he could not possess her when he thought she belonged to him.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I swore a vow. I swore never to say a word. Never, not when she was vilified for refusing to see Timothy and not when she was blamed for his death. She trusted him, cared for him. She was his friend when he least deserved it and he abused that trust so horribly. When he died, Ivy wept so many tears. She felt responsible, although there was nothing she could have done to save him or to heal the madness inside him.”
Sara’s eyes bore holes into Sebastian. Was precious time wasted coming here? Attempting to sway the man who delighted in breaking her friend’s heart? “I told her Timothy was unnaturally obsessed, that he’d changed from last season. The medication he took for his headaches, it turned him into someone possessive, bitter and ugly, in words and actions. It made him a monster that we no longer recognized.
Ivy’s heart is so tender beneath that icy veneer she presents to the world. She believed she could help him, that her friendship was enough. You’ve seen the scar, Ravenswood. Have you not wondered about it? How it came to be there? Brody stitched it, with the late countess’ own sewing kit. Ivy never told anyone the truth; she even hid it from her father.” Sara’s words caught on a heart-wrenching sob as her emotions finally overflowed. “She would never have told a soul.”
A dreadful silence filled the room, with the exception of Lady Morgan’s soft weeping. Sebastian was so overcome with regret and shame, it was difficult to draw a proper breath of air. His chest tightened until he could only rub it, hoping to ease the unrelenting pain. Tossing the cigar into the fireplace, he unlocked one of the drawers of the desk, drawing out the marriage license and Timothy’s well-worn last letter.
What have I done to her? What has my family done to her? Forgive me, Ivy. My love, my very heartbeat, forgive me.
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Sebastian, you can’t believe this farce! My Timothy would never do such a thing…they fabricated this tale to make him the villain. He cannot defend himself against these lies!”
“Ivy could not defend herself when Timothy tried to take what would never belong to him.” Sebastian gathered up the documents and stalked to the door.
“You are not going after her. I forbid it.” Rachel threw herself in his path. “She is a disease and it is good riddance, I say. Good riddance!”
He stared at the woman. How she could blame Ivy for Timothy’s death was inexplicable. “Of course, I’m going after her. How can I not? I highly suggest staying out of my way, madam.”
Brushing past her, he took Sara by the arm and pulled her into the hall with him. Their ancient butler, Jackson, held his overcoat and assisted in tucking the papers into a deep, inner pocket for safekeeping. The foyer was a mass of activity, servants running to and fro. Gabriel trotted down the stairs, carrying a box containing a brace of pistols. He handed it to Sebastian along with two leather pouches full of gold coins. “Raven will be ready momentarily. I would like to accompany you, but what are your wishes on the matter?”
“Ride ahead to Beaumont. Tell the staff to prepare themselves for my arrival and the countess. I’ll send word to you when I’ve secured her.” Sebastian drew up short…he neglected to inquire who dared to kidnapped her. Christ, if Nicholas March was involved in any way, he might actually rip the man apa
rt with his bare hands.
“Who has her?” he snapped at Sara.
He was forced to repeat his demand before Sara, staring at Gabriel Rose with wide-eyed curiosity, answered.
“Viscount Basford. He came for her this afternoon under the pretense of taking her to an afternoon play at the Lyceum. Ivy’s butler sent for me when she did not return, and an inquiry at the viscount’s house revealed his immediate departure for business in Scotland. I’ve no doubt they are headed to Gretna Greene. I was four houses from here at the Waring musicale, which Ivy was to attend as well. It's how Brody knew where to find me. You must understand, I had no one else to ask assistance of, Ravenswood. Alan is at Bentley Park; it would have taken far too long to send word to him.”
Sara’s gaze drifted to Gabriel. She’d never seen a man with so many bulging muscles and such kind eyes before. And such a fearsome scar as the one slicing his face. “Lord Kinley is unaware of these developments, but should Basford make it to Scotland, there will be no choice. The marriage will stand.” Forcing her attention back to Sebastian, she added softly, “Although I despise you for trying to destroy her, I pray I’m not wrong in believing you care for her…even if only a little. If you do not, Ivy does not deserve your contempt. She’s been in such pain these past few weeks. She’s not been…herself.”
Sebastian’s blood was little more than raging ice in his veins, but a curious sense of relief flooded him. Thank God, Nicholas’s name did not spill from Sara’s lips. Or Clayton or Danbury. Those men pursued women for sport and cruel pleasure. Basford on the other hand… goddamn Basford. The viscount was obsessed with claiming Ivy for his wife, eager to claim her fortune. Those facts made him a man easily dealt with. Hopefully he would not harm her until she was firmly and legally under his control, but what then? His sexual tastes would destroy Ivy.
Sebastian pulled Sara into a quick, unexpected embrace. “Forgive me, for what I put her through, for hurting her. I mean that with all sincerity. Do not worry. I will retrieve her.” Pleased to see her nod, her eyes shiny with fresh tears of relief, he said, “Stay here as my guest and repair yourself. Word will be sent to your family, and fresh clothing obtained for you. Bentley will have my head if I fail to see to your safekeeping. I beg a favor, if you’ll indulge me. I shall leave it to you to inform Ivy’s father of the situation. Indeed, the next time he sees his daughter, she will be the new Countess of Ravenswood.”
Sara gripped his arm, her jaw dropping with astonishment.
“Do not swoon. I only received the special license today and was gathering my courage to beg her hand in marriage.” Sebastian felt immeasurable relief saying the words aloud. Even with the task at hand of rescuing his love, he was lighter, calmer than he felt in months. “I’ve made a bloody mess of things but, I cannot, and will not, live without her. If need be, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to her.”
Cocking her head, Sara considered the dark, moody earl who hurt Ivy so terribly. “I fear you’ll have the Devil’s own time convincing her.”
Sebastian grinned. “The Devil and I are well acquainted, but for this, I ask for divine intervention. Since my standing with the Lord is a bit shaky, Lady Sara, will you say a prayer for the both of us?”
Chapter 20
Basford held a three-hour lead on Sebastian and while the rain finally slowed the roads were a sloppy muck. With Raven’s ground-eating gallop, it was possible to catch the viscount’s coach before it made the Lancashire border.
This was his blame, this danger Ivy was in. Had he not been so eager to believe the worst, he could have defended her, provided a shield against those wishing to exploit her. Even if he was unaware of Timothy’s conduct, actions could have been taken to safeguard her from the hateful and destructive gossip following his cousin’s death. He should have offered protection upon his return to England. Had he utilized his spies to uncover the truth, his part in causing Ivy pain would have been avoided.
The suffering at Timothy’s hands paled in comparison to what Ivy endured at his own. Sebastian now understood when she said a friendship would benefit them both. She not only wanted to keep her wolves at bay; she was using the alliance to absolve guilt in Timothy’s death.
Shame gnawed him. He forced Raven to greater speeds. He must find her before it was too late. He would find her.
Cantering up the lane of the Red Bell Inn, Sebastian recognized the Basford coach. Pulled into a far corner of the courtyard, the horses already changed out, the coachman stood at the head of a new team. Checking the harnesses, the man’s attention was not on approaching travelers on such a dreary night. Now and again, he glanced from his task to the brick and timber building a few steps away.
Even close to midnight, the inn was lively, fiddle music pouring from half-shuttered windows. A stream of raucous laughter and raised voices tumbled into the muddied yard. The coachman probably hoped to grab a tankard of ale and a bit of warmth before continuing on the journey but he would find no such comfort this evening.
Sebastian dismounted at the edge of the cobblestones. It was unlikely Basford was with Ivy inside the inn. He would not risk the chance of an attempted escape, nor her appealing for a stranger’s assistance. Possibly, he allowed her to use the facilities, but more likely, she remained inside the coach, and he with her. Or, he had restrained her while he ventured into the inn. The coachman would need dispatching, but that was of little concern. If the man proved a loyal employee, his elimination would be instant.
A harsh voice barked from inside the coach, followed by a choked sob. That one desolate cry sealed Basford’s fate.
A bloodlust to protect his own swelled inside Sebastian. The urge was so strong, so overwhelming, he swayed with the force of it, lightheaded. He never experienced anything like it. Nothing on earth, in the heavens above, nor hell below, would stop him from reaching Ivy. Nothing.
Hearing the feminine sound, the coachman shook his head in disgust. It was then, by the faint light cast by a rain-shaded moon, he caught sight of the dark figure standing at the edge of the mist filled courtyard. Dressed in stark black, materializing like smoke from swirling, drifting shadows of light and the murky fog, with an ash-grey, steam-breathing stallion clip-clopping delicately at his heels, Sebastian must have appeared as an avenging devil of death.
“Attempt to stop me and you won’t draw another breath.”
The coachman swallowed hard at the softly spoken threat, nodding his wholehearted cooperation. Securing the horses to the hitching post with unseemly haste, he disappeared into the stables just as the coach rocked on its springs with lopsided violence.
“Don’t. Please…oh, please, stop…”
Sebastian froze…his eyes closing in brief agony.
That was his Ivy’s quivering voice. His Ivy. Begging. Her pleas echoed, crystal clear above the racket spewing from the inn. He heard the sharp crack of a heavy hand striking flesh and then…a tormented moan.
Bile, sharp and bitter, choked Sebastian. His vision clouded red, pinpointing the coach until it was the single object within his line of sight. Vaulting up the steps, he jerked the door open with hands trembling from rage.
At first, he saw only Basford’s broad back. Not until a handful of the man’s coat was in his grasp and the viscount physically wrenched to the side was Ivy finally visible.
She was a tiny heap of blue satin pinned against the far interior wall, legs sprawled open. Her skirts were shoved up past her knees, the gown’s shoulder hanging to her elbow in a flounce of torn lace. Broken glass from a rosebud sconce glittered like moondust, sprinkled across her skirts, on the seats and the floor. Dazed, she stared at Sebastian from over Basford’s shoulder.
If not for his concern for her welfare, Sebastian might have murdered the viscount right on that very spot, using the coach seats as a butcher’s board. Snatching the man up by one arm, Sebastian’s roar of fury was one commanded from the depths of Hell itself.
“What the hell-?” A horrible cracking sound in
terrupted Basford’s indignant shout. Gaping in speechless shock at his arm, now dangling at an unnatural angle, the viscount did not struggle when yanked from the coach. He flew through the air, hurled nearly ten feet to land in a heap against a pile of crates. His high-pitched shriek of pain abruptly died away on a groan as he crumpled.
Sebastian intended, at that precise moment, to march over and break the other arm as well. And his legs. And ribs. The bones in his face. Every goddamn bone in the man’s body.
“You goddamn, bloody bastard. How I’m going to enjoy ripping you limb from limb.” Landing soundlessly on the cobblestones, Sebastian advanced on his prey. Single-minded in his purpose, he anticipated the crack of bones beneath his fists, the viscount’s gasps of pain. His pleas for mercy...
Ivy’s low moan swung his full attention back to the coach.
Not one soul ventured forth to investigate Basford's strange scream, a credit to the drunken energy of the inn. Only the burly coachman was curious enough, or perhaps foolish, to do so. Poking his head from the stable entrance, he squinted in alarm at the sight of his employer sprawled in a comatose slump. With a nod of respect to the earl, he stood apprehensively, unsure what action to take in this potentially dangerous situation.
“I require a moment to calm my lady,” Sebastian growled. Without waiting for the servant’s approval, he vaulted back into the coach, slamming the door in his wake.
Ivy huddled against the coach’s wall panel, trembling uncontrollably. She whimpered when he reached for her and the sound shattered Sebastian’s heart.
“Shhhh, my love. Shhhh….” His hand smoothed over her hair with exquisite tenderness. “It’s me, little butterfly. It’s Sebastian. I’m here now. I’m here and you’re safe. Hush now.”
He had reached her in time. She was alive, relatively unharmed, still whole. And while he doubted he held the Good Lord’s ear after all the wickedness in his life, Sebastian sent a prayer heavenward anyway.