The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel

by Victoria Vale

“How do you know I won't simply use this pistol to kill you all?” Downing asked, still reluctant to accept the gun.

  He kept staring at Stratford, who continued trying to work his way across the ground away from them. He hadn’t gotten far.

  “There is only one bullet in it,” Robert told him, before raising his own gun. “Mine has six shots. If you point that thing at anyone other than Stratford, I’ll fill you with holes before you can squeeze off your one shot.”

  Downing’s gaze flitted back to Robert, then Stratford, then the gun. The earl wept without shame now, his muffled pleas going ignored by everyone present. Cassandra held her breath and waited for someone to make the first move, and either throw the entire thing into chaos or put it all to an end.

  “You have ten seconds to decide before I shoot you both,” Robert snapped, his words edged with impatience. “Ten … nine … eight … seven …”

  “Sorry, old chap,” Downing muttered before snatching the gun from the valet’s hand.

  He raised it and fired in a matter of seconds, the bullet striking true and landing between Stratford’s eyes. The earl went still and silent, his last breath coming out on a panicked wail.

  Downing dropped the gun and grinned, seeming pleased with himself for working his way out of his little conundrum. But, he did not notice Robert turning to look at her, the grim expression on his face as he whispered the only thing Cass needed to hear.

  “Now, Cass.”

  Barreling from behind him with her dagger raised, she lunged at Downing with a sharp cry. Her blade plunged into his belly, sinking deep as his blood spilled forth to drench her hand. His knees buckled as she drew it free and stabbed him again, this time in the heart. He brought both hands up over hers, eyes wide with shock and betrayal as she stared beyond her at Robert.

  Coming to stand at her side, Robert gave him a sardonic smile. “I said that I would spare your life. I never said anything about her.”

  “For Lady Downing,” she hissed, giving the knife a twist, then letting it go.

  Downing fell back onto the ground, gasping and gurgling as his own blood welled up in his mouth. It dripped down his chin as he convulsed, his hands falling away from the knife as he struggled to draw his last breaths.

  Taking hold of her sheet again, she pulled it around her body and turned away from Downing’s corpse. The man had paid for what he’d done to his wife, and Stratford could never harm anyone else ever again. The two men who knew the identity of the Masked Menace were no more.

  “What will we do with the bodies?” Peter asked from behind her.

  “Leave them," Robert replied. "We take the driver and pay him for his silence once he awakens. He helped them make off with an abducted woman ... the threat of being exposed ought to be enough to keep him quiet."

  When she turned to give him a puzzled frown, he returned her gaze with a determined expression.

  “It is over, Cass,” he said, extending one hand to her. “The Menace dies right here, tonight. He attacked Stratford, who fought back and stabbed him. Before he died, he managed to fire off a shot, killing Stratford. That is how the world will remember it … it is what everyone will believe. Now, you will leave here with me and never look back. The Menace is no more, and you are free to begin anew.”

  Cassandra gazed down at his hand, strong and clean, and offered without hesitation. Her own hand was drenched in not only her own blood, but Downing’s as well.

  How could he have done this for her when they both knew she deserved none of it?

  But, as Robert held her gaze, she recognized the surety in the depths. He did not waver, he did not cringe away, or look at her as if she were somehow beneath him for the things she’d done. There was only love, and the acceptance he’d always shown her without wavering.

  “I just killed a man.”

  He nodded, but seemed unaffected by her declaration. “He would have killed you first, so it stands to reason he deserved it.”

  How could he be so unruffled by it all? How could he not look upon her and see a woman who had put him in danger and did not think twice about murdering someone in cold blood?

  “I love you,” he said, as if in answer to the questions she hadn’t asked aloud. “And that will never change. Now, come.”

  Hesitating only a moment, she reached out to take his hand. Instead of pulling away from his gentle tug, she surrendered and let him bring her against his body and wrap her in his arms.

  There was nothing left to fight for or against. She could insist she didn’t need saving, or she could admit that her pain and vulnerability required his affection. Her beautiful lover. Her saving grace.

  Closing her eyes and burying her face in his shirtfront, she inhaled the fading remnants of Spanish Leather and sweat. She knew she must reek to the high heavens, but he buried his face in her hair and held on tight as if she’d been bathed in rosewater and drenched in lavender oil.

  The relief of being safe again washed over her, and she sagged in his arms, giving herself up to oblivion as the world around her began to fade.

  2 DAYS LATER …

  Robert sat at Cassandra’s bedside, elbows braced on his knees as he watched her sleep. Upon leaving Downing and Stratford’s dead bodies on the side of the road, he’d taken her unconscious form into his arms and carried her back to his carriage. After the hell he was certain she’d endured, exhaustion had taken its toll. He’d held her in his lap as they rode back to Town, Peter seated across from him and Felix sharing the perch with his driver.

  Relief had stolen the last of the tension from his limbs, making it difficult to stay awake. All his worrying and planning had ended, and now he was only glad it was over, to have her back with him where she belonged. They’d slept all the way back to The Pulteney Hotel, where Peter had left them to go in search of a doctor. The sun had not yet risen, and only a small amount of staff were on duty so late, so Robert hadn’t had any trouble whisking her up to her suite undetected.

  Once there, he’d unwrapped her from the dirty, bloodied bed sheet, enraged by what he found. Aside from her battered face, she sported bruises along her ribs and thighs, and one of them had used the dagger on her as well. Most of the cuts were shallow, but one along her forearm and another on the inside of her thigh concerned him. They would need cleaning and stitches. He’d run for one of the night footmen and requested a hot bath for her in the neighboring sitting room.

  He’d bathed her while she slept on, her head rested against the lip of the tub as he gently scrubbed her clean of her ordeal. At least, as much of it as he could touch. Without knowing the extent of what they’d done to her, he knew there could be scars embedded so deep he might never reach them.

  Peter had returned with the physician not long after her bath, who had banished him and Robert back into the drawing room while he examined her. The deepest of her cuts had required stitching, though her exhaustion had allowed her to remain unconscious while the man worked. They’d been assured she would recover as long as they kept watch for signs of infection. With nothing left to do, the surgeon departed, leaving them to tend to her. By then, dawn had come, and Robert began to have a difficult time remaining on his feet. His days spent watching and waiting outside Downing’s residence had begun to take their toll.

  “I will return tomorrow for a report,” Peter had said. “Millie will want to know how she is faring.”

  “Thank you for all you did to help me. Be sure to convey my gratitude to Millicent as well.”

  “I love my lady, and my lady loves her friend,” Peter had replied, as if that were explanation enough. “She would have been devastated had anything happened to Cassandra.”

  Once the man departed, Robert had sent for fresh water for himself. Bathing away the past few days, he then climbed into bed beside Cassandra and pulled her nude body into his arms, careful not to agitate her wounds.

  They’d slept the day away, awakening when the sun had begun to set. He’d sent for a meal, and ensured Cassandra ate
her fill. She confided that her captors had only allowed her bread and water, all but starving her for two days.

  He hadn’t wanted to ask for more details, even as the wondering and guessing drove him mad. But, once he’d put the remnants of their meal aside and returned to the bed with her, she’d opened up and told him everything. He’d been relieved to know they hadn’t molested her, seeming to want to save defilement for when they had her locked away in Devon.

  As he lay there listening to her account of what had happened, he was more grateful than ever that he’d followed through with his search for her. Had he allowed himself to grow angry and spiteful over her tying him up and leaving him here, she might have suffered a fate worse than death.

  She’d spent another day sleeping, waking sporadically to eat and drink before falling back into a deep sleep. Robert had hardly left her side, wanting to be near when she awakened again. He wanted her strong enough to return home, where they could leave this all behind them. Already, word must be spreading that the Masked Menace had been Sir Downing all along, as well as the Earl of Stratford’s tragic death. Only those who had been present that night knew the truth, ensuring it never came to light.

  He did not care what Cassandra had done … he only wanted it to be over. If she could let go of her vengeful vendetta, then perhaps they stood a chance.

  He sat up straight when she stirred with a groan, then opened her eyes. She turned to find him sitting there, pain etching her features. Her lip had begun to heal, and the swelling in her jaw had gone down, but the bruising would need more time.

  “Good morning,” he murmured, offering her a smile.

  She tried to smile back, but the effort seem to hurt. “Good morning. I must look a fright.”

  Reaching out to gently run a thumb over her discolored jaw, he shook his head. “No. You’re still my beautiful Cass.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch with a sigh. “There is nothing beautiful about me. I am angry and mean and spiteful. I almost destroyed your life, and I did not deserve for you to rescue me. I do not deserve for you to love me.”

  He frowned, pulling his chair closer to the bed. Stroking her hair, he planted a kiss upon her brow.

  “None of that is true. You can be mean and spiteful, but so can most people. You most certainly have not destroyed my life. In fact, you have enriched it beyond measure. I’ve felt more alive, more myself, since that night at the public house. I was in pain, and you turned that pain into something else … something wonderful and all-consuming.”

  A tear leaked from the corner of one eye. “I’ve held you at arm’s length when all you ever wanted was to love me.”

  He chuckled, swiping the tear away. “As you can see, it didn’t work. It only made me love you all the more.”

  Shaking her head as if she didn’t understand, she gave him a puzzled look. He moved from the chair to sit beside her on the bed, taking one of her hands in his.

  “You see, you were right about me and Daphne,” he continued. “I thought I loved her, and in a way I believe I did. But it wasn’t this sort of love. It was … the idea of her, this woman I saw as perfect, unattainable. She was always running headlong into danger and I needed to be the one to save her, prove my love and win her heart. In the end, it was far too easy for me to let her go. Yes, it hurt. But you … when I thought of losing you I realized I would die. I would cease to exist because there is no me without you. That is real, lasting love, and it is worth fighting for.”

  Another tear fell, then another, then she was sitting up and reaching for him, pulling him into her arms. He felt as if his heart would burst from the joy it gave him to be accepted without reservation, to be pulled toward her instead of pushed away.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his hair. “I didn’t want to … I tried to fight it … but damn you, Robert Stanley, you broke me. You tore me open and put me back together, and now there is no me without you.”

  He clung to her, reeling from the impact of her words. Never would he have thought to hear them from her. He had been content for her to know how he felt as he endeavored to earn her affection piece by piece, the same way he’d earned her trust. Now, he became overwhelmed by so many emotions at once, he didn’t know how his body would contain it all.

  Tilting her head, she offered her lips. He brushed his mouth against hers, careful not to disturb the healing wound. But, she threaded her fingers through his hair and urged him closer, engaging him in a deep, soul stirring kiss. She leaned back against her pillows, urging him to follow, her tongue sweeping against his lower lip.

  His body roared to life as it always did when she touched him, but he held back with a shake of his head.

  “You are still healing. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I do not care,” she whispered, already loosening the buttons of his shirt. “I need you, Robert. You are the thing which eases my fears and my pain … you have been since that night at the public house. I need you to do that for me again now. Please.”

  Her words broke him, and he couldn’t stop himself from coming down on top of her, allowing her to go on undressing him. He would never stop wanting to please her, giving her the things she couldn’t find with anyone else.

  She pulled his shirt off over his head, then went to work on his breeches while he crouched between her parted thighs, kissing her cheek, her bruised jaw, her neck. He was already hard for her, groaning as she took him in hand and stroked him. Even battered and bruised she was his goddess, his fierce and strong lady who could command him with nothing more than the touch of her hand.

  She paused, her hand still wrapped tight around him, her other hand resting on the back of his neck. “This need I have to dominate and control … it may never go away. I’ve come to realize it is part of my nature.”

  The words came out as if she were apologizing for her eccentricity, which only made him smile. Didn’t she understand that he was her counterpoint in every way—that he would never want to stop submitting to her every demand?

  “Well, that is a relief,” he teased, nuzzling her nose with his. “Because that is exactly what I want from you … now and always. I am yours, Cass … I told you that before, and I meant it.”

  She smiled back at him, raising her hips and urging him closer. “Then we are well matched. But right now I need you to be in control. Love me, Robert … take me. I am yours.”

  He slid into her with one smooth stroke, finding her already wet for him. The clench of her around his cock and her spoken surrender freed him. He wrapped his arms around her and took her with slow, gentle strokes, taking care to avoid creating too much friction against her injured thigh.

  She closed her eyes and gave herself over to him completely for the first time, wrapping her arms and him. The pleasure of the moment surrounded them both, and before long he was panting and moaning against her neck, pressing soft kisses against her skin, plunging as deep into her as humanly possible. And still, it did not feel like enough. He would never stop trying to go deeper and deeper, until they ceased being two people and became one. He took her hands and fit his fingers between hers, capturing her mouth as climax loomed near.

  She broke first, crying out and shuddering beneath him, her fingers clenching tighter until his knuckles ached. The little jolt of pain threw him closer to his end, tremors wracking him as he fought for more time.

  But then, because the need to give him the exquisite pleasure-pain he craved would never be far from her, she turned her head and latched onto his neck with lips and teeth. With a roar and one final thrust of his hips, he released inside of her, shaking and fighting for breath as it spiraled through him with overwhelming force. He seemed to fly free of his body for a moment, a heady dizziness sweeping over him as his vision went hazy. Then, he collapsed on top of her with a heavy sigh, the brand of her bite mark warm and perfect against the side of his neck.

  TWO WEEKS LATER …

  Robert made his way through the trees, inhaling th
e pure, clean scent of the outdoors. Night had fallen hours ago, and he was anxious to see Cassandra. Only one day had passed since the last time they were together, but he felt as if it had been an eternity.

  They’d returned from London a few days after Cassandra’s harrowing incident. As he’d suspected, the deaths of Stratford and Downing had set London ablaze, the papers filled with varying accounts and exaggerations. The case of the Masked Menace continued to baffle them all, but as Robert and Cassandra had agreed, the mysterious highwayman died that day and would never reemerge.

  She had confessed to feeling a certain peace about it.

  “By taking justice into my own hands, I only made matters worse,” she’d said to him during their carriage ride home. “There are simply too many ways I could cause more harm to the people I want to protect. I … I think what’s more important is that women like Lady Downing and the others come to see that they must fight for themselves. It was not easy when I did it, and the consequences may follow me for the rest of my life, but I will never regret it. Maybe what we did can prove to others that they have the power to do the same.”

  He’d been relieved to hear that, considering their newfound happiness. He didn’t want anything to destroy that, and the thought of losing her would never stop being debilitating. To lose her now would crush him, and he only wanted the future to hold hope and life, not despair and death.

  Leaving her at Easton Park and returning home had been difficult, when all he wanted was to spend every spare moment he had with her. But, he’d needed to look in on his father and reassure his mother. He had assumed she’d be worried sick over him leaving for London so abruptly, and he’d been right. She had fussed and fretted over him, demanding to know where he had been.

  After the hellish time he’d had, the last of his patience with her had dissipated. After having yet another cup of tea thrust into his hands, he'd snapped.

  “For the love of God! How many times do I have to tell you I don’t like tea?”