by Mia Gabriel
Mercifully, the ride was as brief as Blackledge had promised, and the driver stopped along one of the narrow, shadowy roads in Hyde Park. The road was deserted except for a nondescript hackney—much like the one of the men who had tried to kidnap me—parked on the opposite curb with its lanterns shaded.
The car hadn’t even stopped before Savage’s hand was on the door’s latch.
“Don’t,” Blackledge ordered. “Any sudden moves and the boy will suffer. I told you, Savage, by my rules.”
Savage froze, but his gaze remained riveted to the dark hackney. “Then where the hell is he, Blackledge? You promised you’d show him.”
Blackledge leaned close to the motorcar’s window, drew his handkerchief, and waved it. The driver raised his whip in acknowledgement, and Lawton’s pale face suddenly appeared at the window, his eyes round with fear.
“I must go to him,” Savage said, again beginning to open the door, and I grabbed his arm to pull him back.
“Wait,” I begged. “Don’t rush.”
“She’s right, Savage,” said Blackledge. “Though if you wish to see the boy suffer while I am left here with Mrs. Hart, then go ahead.”
“Then let me go to him,” I said. “I’ll bring the boy into the street, where His Lordship may see him.”
“Very well,” Blackledge said. “I trust you shall be as obliging when we are at last alone together, Mrs. Hart. But no sudden moves from you, either.”
Savage swore with frustration. “I cannot let you put yourself at risk, Evelyn.”
“I will be fine,” I said, impulsively kissing him on the cheek before I slid across the seat. I didn’t wait for the driver to open the door for me but did it myself. Gathering my ridiculous train over my arm, I hurried around the car and crossed the street to the cab. Blackledge must have made another motion to the driver and whoever was holding the boy within, because as soon as I approached, the door opened. Lawton himself climbed out: alone, disheveled, and a little unsteady, but still unharmed.
He ran towards me. “I knew you’d rescue me,” he said, his words in a rush of excitement. “Is Father here, too? Did you have to pay a ransom? The men hit poor Mr. Turner on the head and they wanted to do the same to me, but I kicked and fought, so they showed me respect, and I—”
“Hush, Lawton, and listen.” I took his hand, pulling him close. “We’re not out of the woods yet. You and I must walk slowly back towards that motorcar, where your father is waiting for you. No running, and no shouting. Do you understand?”
He nodded quickly. “I’ll keep you safe, ma’am,” he said. “That’s what Father would want.”
“Well, yes,” I said. “Now let’s walk together.”
I straightened, and turned back towards the motorcar, and began to walk slowly with Lawton beside me. My heart was racing and my mouth dry. I’d no idea what would happen next, and I made a small, silent prayer that everything would work out as it should.
It didn’t.
The motorcar’s door flew open, and Savage came charging from it towards us, his expression fiercely determined. Automatically I smiled, and then noticed that Blackledge’s bulky figure had filled the doorway behind Savage. By the carriage light I caught the metallic glint of the pistol in Blackledge’s hand, now aimed squarely at Savage’s back.
“Savage, no, behind you!” I shouted with terror, and pulled Lawton close to me, instinctively pressing his face against the bulky satin of my train so he wouldn’t see what might—what could—happen next. I didn’t want to see it, either, but I couldn’t look away.
At my warning, Savage instantly wheeled back towards the car and lunged at Blackledge. Savage knocked the gun from his hand, sending it sliding across the pavement. Flailing, Blackledge struggled to recover, but Savage’s fists had already found their mark. With all the rage that he’d had to suppress he pounded so methodically at the other man that he’d no chance of fighting back. I was surprised that neither the driver nor the men in the hackney came to Blackledge’s assistance, but then, he wasn’t a man who’d inspire loyalty and likely none of them wished to confront Savage now. I’d seen him like this before, and I knew where it could lead.
“Stop, Savage, please!” I cried. As much as I hated and feared Blackledge, I didn’t want to see Savage kill him. “Stop now!”
Savage’s head jerked up as he heard me, and that was enough for Blackledge. Those few seconds were enough for Blackledge to feebly bark an order to the driver. The motorcar accelerated, forcing Savage to stagger back from the path of the swinging door. Behind me, I heard the hackney drive away, too, the horse’s hooves clattering on the pavement.
And then we were alone.
“What has happened?” demanded Lawton as he fought free of my train. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” his father said, breathing hard. He bent to retrieve Blackledge’s pistol from the street, uncocked it, and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping. Then he looked towards me and held his arms open.
I ran to him and the safety of those arms, the warmth and security of that embrace. I was crying, though I couldn’t say how or when I’d begun, yet I didn’t want to part with him.
“You’re safe,” he said close to my ear. “He’ll never have you, Evelyn. You’re mine, and you’re safe.”
I could’ve stayed there forever, pressed against the strength of his body, but I belatedly remembered Lawton and began to push away. But Savage had already stepped free and bent to take his son in his arms. He closed his eyes, holding Lawton with fierce devotion, and I smiled, the tears starting up in my eyes again. How could I ever be jealous of that?
“Shouldn’t we go to Scotland Yard, or at least the police?” I asked when at last they’d separated, though Savage’s hand remained on his son’s shoulder. “Surely there’s a case against Blackledge now.”
But Savage shook his head. “I’m not going to give the papers a fresh scandal with my name attached,” he said firmly. “None of us need that.”
I sighed uncertainly. “But you’ve said yourself he’s obsessed with me. What if he tries again?”
“He won’t if you’re no longer in London,” Savage said. “Go abroad, away from his reach.”
I sighed sadly. How could he have guessed my plans to go to Italy?
But I was the one who’d guessed wrong. He held his hand out to me, his smile warm and seductive, his black hair tossing lightly across his brow.
“Come with me to Paris, Eve,” he said. “You cannot refuse, can you?”
I smiled as joy swept over me, and I slipped my hand into his.
“I can only obey, Master,” I said softly. “I can only obey.”
About the Author
Mia Gabriel is the pseudonym of an award-winning, bestselling author of more than forty historical romances. She lives with her family in Pennsylvania. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY MIA GABRIEL
Lord Savage
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Also By
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imaginatio
n or are used fictitiously.
SAVAGE NIGHTS
Copyright © 2016 by Mia Gabriel.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 978-1-4668-8850-0
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2016
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