by Darcy Burke
“We intend to pay,” one slurred. “We have enough coins.”
Coins jingled. Then more earnest banging began. After a minute, one of them called out to her again.
“Either you can let us in or we’ll come in on our own. But if we have to come in on our own, we might not see to pay you as well.”
Less than a second later, the unmistakable sound of glass shattering rent the air. Glass fell to the wooden floor next to her foot in a cascade of clinks. Lucy dashed to the back of the house. She had to get away and her best chance was to climb out the bedroom window.
Just then, there was a loud crashing sound and the cottage shook. Lucy closed the bedroom door and slid the lock. It wouldn’t keep them out entirely, but it might slow them down just enough to afford her a few extra seconds to get away from here and find Seth.
She froze. Find Seth. She had an idea of where he was: the Old Elm tree. But she wasn’t positive. Had these men already found him? Had they hurt him? She’d never forgive herself if anything had happened to her son. Trying to push thoughts of him in pain out of her mind, she unlatched the window and tried to lift it up. It wouldn’t budge. She tightened her grip and used all the muscles she possessed. It didn’t move and the wooden door behind her splintered and came crashing open.
“There ye are,” said the man she didn’t recognize. Even cloaked in shadows he looked fierce. He reached for her and grabbed onto the top of her pale blue dress, then yanked her toward him. “Yer a feisty one.” He clucked his tongue. “I like that.”
All fight left her body instantly. It was enough that he had her where he wanted her and he would have no resistance in getting his way. The last thing she wanted to give him was any further satisfaction about it. If he enjoyed it when those who he attacked fought and screamed and tried to break loose, she wouldn’t.
“Hmm, docile as a church mousie, are ye now?” he mused, spraying her with his spittle on every word.
She didn’t answer, which seemed to upset him.
“I think I know wot would put that spark back in yer eye.” Then, a second later, he grabbed onto her hair and dragged her to the parlor.
Her heart nearly burst out of her chest. Seth. Mr. Bronson was holding onto him in such a way that Seth stood motionless with his arm pinned behind his back.
“Don’t move, boy,” Mr. Bronson sneered, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. “We’re gwine shew you wot women like yer ma are good fer.”
Mr. Bronson must have tightened his grip or Seth must have realized that Lucy was about to be hurt because tears started to stream down his cheeks. “No!”
Lucy shook her head. “Let him go. I’ll do whatever it is you want, just let him go.”
“I don’t think so,” the stranger said, tightening his grip on Lucy. “I think ye behave much better while he’s here.” He reached forward to grab her breast and she smacked his hand away, making him laugh. “Yes, I do believe I like this better now. The boy will get to see what you really are and I’ll get to have a far more amusing time demonstrating it.”
“Leave her alone,” Seth shouted, kicking backwards at Mr. Bronson’s legs.
The men just laughed at his efforts.
Lucy ached for him all over again. Was what they were doing to her in front of him not bad enough, must they mock him, too? She fisted her hand and swung at the man standing nearest her, hoping to catch him off guard, but he was farther away than she thought and instead of hitting him where she’d intended, she hit just off to the side of his groin.
He instantly sobered and tightened his hold on her hair. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled as he flung her against the stone wall where she hit her head then crumpled to the floor.
Seth shouted something and might have struggled, but Lucy wasn’t sure since she couldn’t see him through the sudden burst of stars and shapes that filled her vision when her head hit the wall.
A second later two firm hands were on her breasts trying to pull her to a standing position. She tried to fight, but felt powerless against him and her screams and cries mingled with the men’s laughter.
Hysteria filled her at the painful chaos that surrounded her. She wanted to be free of this man and make sure her son was safe.
But she couldn’t get free and the more she struggled, the more powerless she became against his strong grip. She was only vaguely aware that he’d ripped the bodice of her gown as she tried to catch a glimpse of Seth as he still fought to get free of his captor’s hold.
Suddenly, a shadow crossed the front door and without warning another large, imposing form came into the room. Lord Norcourt. Without a second’s delay, Lord Norcourt gripped the back of Mr. Bronson, and swung him around with such vigor that he released his hold on Seth, which sent the poor boy to the floor. Before Mr. Bronson could have a chance to put together what was going on, Lord Norcourt’s large fist collided with his face.
The stranger who’d been accosting Lucy snarled and abruptly let her go. Spitting, he stalked over to their new guest and threw a punch that connected with Lord Norcourt’s stomach.
A loud “Oooof” was all Lord Norcourt said before lifting his foot and kicking Lucy’s attacker between his legs.
“Mama.” Seth’s weak voice grabbed her attention and her heart all over again as he inched his way toward her.
She reached for him and pulled him to her, wrapping him in her arms. “It’s all right,” she soothed in his ear, watching as Lord Norcourt lifted her attacker back to a standing position by his hair then proceeded to punch his face and midsection until he fell to a boneless heap on the floor.
In her arms, Seth’s body shook with sobs and she tried her best to console him, but doubted she could when she was just as upset. She couldn’t show it though. She needed to be strong. He needed her.
In the shadows she saw Mr. Bronson stagger to his feet, but with one swift punch to the face that sent him flying backwards into the jagged edge of the window ledge, he was sent back to the ground and silence engulfed the room broken only by Lucy’s heavy breathing and Seth’s silent tears that seemed louder than gunfire to her.
“You all right?” Lord Norcourt’s soft voice startled her more than her attacker’s aggression had.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He bent down near her and her heart picked up pace. Now that the danger was over, she was able to think straight and the first thing she needed to make sense of was why he was here.
“Why did you come back?”
“To apologize.”
She closed her tired eyes. She couldn’t begin to know what he was apologizing for. “I don’t think I can refuse to accept your apology now,” she teased.
“Yes, you can,” he said quietly.
If she wasn’t in such a state, she’d argue with him and demand to know what he was even talking about, but for as brave of a woman as she’d like to be, she could hardly muster up an ounce of courage right now, let alone any defiance.
He reached for Seth. “Let me help you.”
“Leave her alone,” Seth spat, clinging to Lucy.
“Seth—”
“It’s all right, boy,” Giles interjected in a gentle tone. “I’m not going to hurt you or your mama. Can you stand up so your mama can get up?”
It took some coaxing, but a moment later, Lord Norcourt had Seth on his feet. It was nearly dark in the house now, with only the low glow of the nearly set sun as their source of light. Even still, she could see her son’s tear-stained cheeks and it was all she could do to hold back her own tears.
Lord Norcourt’s strong hands slipped awkwardly under her arms as he helped her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, he removed his hands. “I didn’t mean to look,” he blurted.
Lucy sensed the nervousness in his tone and placed a hand on his forearm. “I know.” With her other hand, she did her best to pull her torn bodice together to cover herself as much as she could. “Thank you for saving us,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” h
e returned. “Will you both come with me to London?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t?” The disbelief in his voice almost made her laugh. Almost.
“Can’t,” she confirmed, casting a glance over to her unusually quiet son. With how desperate he’d been as of late for her to find another husband, she was rather surprised he wasn’t arguing with her. Then again, he was probably now terrified of men after what he’d witnessed tonight.
“I didn’t mean it,” Lord Norcourt blustered.
Her eyes snapped back to him. “Pardon?”
“Last time. When I said I could get you a post. It wasn’t as my mistress.”
A new sense of understanding came over her, sobering her. “I know that. I didn’t think you had meant that.”
“But when Simon said—”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I know that wasn’t what you’d meant.”
“How?”
Her entire body stilled. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just did.”
He encircled her wrist with his warm fingers. “Then come to London with me.”
She shouldn’t. Going with him would only lead to trouble. The least of which was what others might think if they spotted them together. No, the fear of that wasn’t nearly as large as the fear of the feelings he evoked in her. “I shouldn’t.”
“But you will?” he asked in a tone that broke down the last of her waning resolve.
She nodded. “Yes.”
ELEVEN
Relief ran through Giles’ being, taking with it all the hard tension that had held him captive for longer than he could remember. He turned to Seth. “Do you think you can help me load the carriage while your mama gets dressed?”
The boy didn’t move.
“They won’t be getting up for a while,” Giles explained softly. If ever. He’d never hurt anyone before, but when he’d happened upon that horrific scene he hadn’t known what else to do.
Seth gave a fleeting glance to the unconscious men lying on the parlor floor, then led Giles down the hall to a moonlit room that resembled a bedroom. Just without the bed. Strange. “Already packed?” Giles asked when his eyes collided with a large, scuffed trunk in the middle of the floor.
“Mama said we were leaving for York in the morning.”
“You’ll go to London tonight.”
“Yes, my lord,” Seth muttered as he flipped the latch on the side of the trunk. He sank to his knees and started emptying the contents without really looking at them.
Giles knelt down beside him. “Seth?”
“I should have done something,” the boy said fiercely before letting out a deep exhale and falling backwards on his bottom.
Giles moved to sit beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest, then rested his elbows on his raised knees. For a moment the two sat that way. Giles wished he had something of any value to say to Seth to make him feel better about everything. But what could he say? Perhaps he should offer to hire the boy a tutor to teach him to fight. He shook his head. No. Lucy might throttle him if he taught her boy to fight. Better not do that.
“Seth, if I’d have been you, I’d have done the same thing.”
“You would have?”
Giles wasn’t sure, but he almost thought the boy sounded surprised. “Yes. When I was a boy at the orphanage and I’d get in trouble, the nuns were instructed to hold me that way. It doesn’t hurt so much, but if you try to move forward even a little, it’ll break your arm.”
“It will?”
Giles nodded and idly rubbed his arm. A sharp, humorous laugh escaped his lips. “It only took one time for my brain to remember that.”
“A nun broke your arm?”
Giles bristled, then made himself relax. Seth didn’t seem the sort to mock him intentionally. Likely he was just curious. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“Was she as big as Berta?”
“Who’s Berta?”
“She works in the butchery. She’s gargantuan. Her arms are wider than trees and I swear she’d kill a man if she sat on him.”
“Unfortunately, no. Sister Mary was about an inch or two shorter than your mother and as thin as a reed.” He was thankful the room was dark enough that Seth couldn’t see him blush at his confession. “That position—it uses a boy’s strength against himself and can break just about anyone’s arm—no matter how big they are, or the person holding them that way.”
“Oh.” Silence filled the air between them again. “So you don’t think my mama thinks I’m weak because I couldn’t help?”
“No,” Giles said automatically. Then for a reason, he couldn’t explain, he added, “And neither do I.”
The tears that Lucy had fought so hard to keep at bay slipped from the sides of her eyes and coursed down her face at Lord Norcourt’s final whispered words to her son as they sat on the floor in what had been Seth’s bedroom. She’d known for a long time now that Seth wished for a father, but she hadn’t truly realized how much.
She peeked around the doorjamb just in time to see Lord Norcourt push to his feet and gesture for Seth to join him.
“Is this what you were looking for?” Lord Norcourt asked, picking up what appeared to be her lavender dress.
“Yes, my lord,” Seth said.
“Here.” Lord Norcourt extended the dress toward Seth. “You take this to her and I’ll carry out the trunk.”
Seth pushed Giles’ hand back then bent to toss their belongings back into the trunk. “No, I’ll carry the trunk.”
Lucy shook her head at Seth’s sudden deep tone and tiptoed down the hall so she’d be out of sight when Seth came through the door.
A moment later, Seth exited the room and walked in the opposite direction of where Lucy was standing.
Lucy peeked back inside the room where Lord Norcourt stood holding her gown in one hand and his other hand gripping his hair.
“Thank you,” she said, walking into the room.
He jumped. “Sorry.” He held her gown out toward her.
She took the dress, her fingers brushing his. Once again, his skin was warm. Perhaps he was always warm, she reasoned as she pulled the gown toward her chest. She remembered when she’d first bought this gown. It was a cast off from Lord Kresson’s eldest daughter. Put on sale in a consignment shop no less than ten years ago in Bath. It had been her favorite; one of the only three gowns she hadn’t sold.
“Do you need help?”
Lord Norcourt’s voice startled her. “N-no. I’ll just need a minute to change then I’ll be out.”
Without another word, he brushed past her, walked to the doorway and stopped.
“Do you plan to just stand there while I change?” she asked his back.
“Yes.”
A shiver ran over her, but then something she didn’t recognize came over her, too. Not wishing to examine it too closely, she quickly shed her ripped gown, praying all the memories attached to it would flee from her the moment it was off.
“Ready now?” he asked just as she finished putting on her gown.
“Almost.”
“Do you need help?”
“No,” she said in a broken whisper.
He turned to face her. “What’s wrong?”
Lucy looked down at the discarded gown. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Leave it.”
“But I need it,” she argued. She’d never had many gowns anyway, but now that she only had so few, she couldn’t afford to easily abandon one just because it was in need of repairs. “I think I can fix it. I’ll just need to sew—”
“No.” He took her cold, clammy hand in his large, warm one. “Leave it.”
The logical side of her wanted to argue with him. She genuinely did need that dratted gown. Unlike him, she couldn’t afford to buy another one just because this one now had a foul memory attached.
As if he could hear the war raging in her head, he said, “It’s not just you who has bad memories of that dress.”
And with that, her will dissolved.
They were nearing the carriage when she realized she was still holding his hand and felt a little bereft when he helped her into the carriage then let go of her to speak to the coachman.
She gazed over to where Seth sat on the opposite side of the carriage. He was looking at the moon through the window. She racked her brain for something to say to him, but couldn’t think of anything that might break the palpable tension that thickened the air between them.
A moment later Lord Norcourt climbed inside the carriage. Lucy watched him in disbelief as he closed the door, lit the sconce, then made himself comfortable beside her as the carriage started to roll down the lane. How was it that being in such close proximity to him, a lord and a peer of the realm, didn’t make her stomach lurch or her skin prickle with discomfort the way just the mention of the titled normally did?
She shook off the thought and looked to her son who seemed to fight his sleep harder with each passing second.
Lucy reached over to the sconce. “Do you mind if I turn this down?”
Lord Norcourt shrugged. “No. I lit it for you.”
“For me?”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I suppose I shall confess this to you now, I didn’t bring any books or embroidery, so I don’t think I’ll need it.”
Lord Norcourt’s eyes went wide. “I—I didn’t mean for…” He trailed off and let out a deep sigh. Lucy opened her mouth to explain that she was only jesting, when he spoke again. “It’s so you wouldn’t be afraid in the dark.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said without thinking. Not that she needed to. She could never explain it, but she knew she was safe with him. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Giles hadn’t experienced so many gut-wrenching emotions in the course of one evening since the time he was caught drawing in a book in the library by Sister Catherine. He’d been content while drawing, then pleased when he was done, followed by frightened and ashamed when caught, then horrified and confused when she insisted he strip off his clothes and be plunged into an ice bath to banish whatever evil spirit had come inside him and made him act so disrespectfully to a holy book. He shuddered at the memory and pushed away the snatches of memories of that night that hadn’t yet unfolded in his mind. That had been an awful night and while not every aspect of the past few hours had been pleasant for him, his unruly emotions had been a close match. But in a good way. The night of his final ice bath at the hands of Sister Catherine had made his heart pound the same as it was now, but now it left him with a warm, excited feeling, not one of hatred and shame. He much preferred the one Lucy had created. She trusted him. A smile pulled at his lips. With the exception of Sebastian’s wife, Isabelle, no lady had ever trusted him before. He almost snorted. To be honest, other than Isabelle, no other lady had ever given him the chance to earn her trust.