The Reluctant Countess

by Wendy Vella

  “Sophie! You must think only about escaping now,” Amelia urged her friend, seeing the glazed, shocked look in her eyes.

  “Yes,” Sophie whispered, dragging her eyes from Jack’s body.

  There was no guard outside the door, so Amelia led Sophie to the stairs. It was still dark, and because of the trees that surrounded the house, there was no moonlight to lead the way. They walked down quietly, taking their time on each step to ensure it did not creak.

  For Sophie, the journey seemed to take forever, and her heart beat so fiercely in her chest that it was almost painful. Wiping her hands on her skirts, she tried to get the blood off her skin. It was sticky and warm and it made her feel sick. It was Jack Spode’s blood; the man who now lay upstairs, dead. But you wanted him dead, Sophie. Oh God, don’t think, don’t think, she chanted inside her head.

  “Ouch!” Sophie hissed when Amelia pinched her arm.

  “You must concentrate! We must keep moving.”

  Once they had reached the bottom step, Amelia headed for the front door, which proved quite difficult to open. The wood was heavy and creaked on its rusty hinges with every inch it moved. With the help of Sophie’s good arm, between them they managed to open it wide enough to slip through. Carefully, they walked out the door and in what they hoped was the right direction to reach the stables. The ground was uneven and even going slowly, they both tripped several times. The night sky was black, almost as if a cloak had been cast from the heavens to blanket the earth in darkness, thus making their path more treacherous, but providing them with shelter to reach the stables undetected.

  “If it rains, I am going to scream,” Amelia growled as she cast a quelling glance skyward.

  Sophie’s attempt at laughter was more a snuffle as fatigue and pain were beginning to replace the rush of energy she had experienced while escaping. Her arm throbbed and her jaw seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size.

  “What?” Amelia whispered into her ear as she heard another snuffle from her friend.

  “I was just imagining what society would say if they were to see us now.”

  Amelia giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth as it threatened to erupt into hysteria. “I fear our new hair styles will never catch on.”

  They smelt the stables before they saw them. Slipping quietly inside, Sophie hoped no one was awake and on guard. The sound of snores coming from one of the stalls indicated that there was someone sleeping nearby, but at present he proved to be no problem. Finding a bridle on a peg outside a stall, they took the first horse they could find and led it slowly outside.

  Trees formed a shadowed canopy over the long driveway, rustling as the wind ruffled their branches. The noise seemed very loud to Sophie and she instinctively moved closer to the warm solid weight of the horse, which showed just how scared she was, because Sophie did not like horses.

  Once they were clear of the driveway, Amelia found a tree stump and lead the horse toward it. She was grateful the animal seemed docile; perhaps it was tired from the journey earlier that day. Climbing onto the stump, Ameila helped Sophie to mount, careful not to hurt her arm, and then she seated herself on the front of the horse. Gathering up the reins they were soon riding off into the night.

  * * *

  Patrick tried to fight the panic clawing at his insides. He could not help Sophie unless he remained in control, but with each minute that ticked by, he felt his fears rise. He and Stephen had searched for hours. Every turn they took was a dead end and every person they questioned had seen nothing. He alternated between burning rage and desperation. Did she live? Was she unhurt? Had she called out his name in pain and fear? It was torture. Because of his stupid pride, he had not spoken of his love for Sophie and now, when she needed it most, she did not know that she held his heart in the palm of her hand. He prayed for something, anything, to bring her back to him.

  Before him, Stephen suddenly drew his horse to an abrupt halt. His hand was raised, indicating that Patrick stop immediately.

  “What?” Patrick called softly.

  “A horse is coming,” Stephen whispered, waving ahead of him into the darkness.

  Patrick walked his horse off the path and into the trees to one side, and Stephen did the same. Both sat very still and listened.

  “Is that singing?”

  “Sounds like it,” Patrick turned his head to listen. The words were not clear, but he heard snatches of a bawdy song.

  “Amelia!” Stephen suddenly yelled, urging his horse forward.

  Patrick reached them first. He called Sophie’s name as he drew alongside.

  “Hurry, Patrick, she is about to fall!” Amelia cried.

  He caught her and pulled her gently into his arms. “Sophie!” he said urgently, the desperation and fear of the last few hours clear in his voice.

  “I knew you would find us,” Sophie whispered.

  “Christ, Sophie, don’t ever do this to me again,” Patrick groaned, pressing his cheek to hers. “I love you, God how I love you.”

  Sophie couldn’t speak; she was sobbing into his shirt. She had wrapped her good arm around his neck and was holding him in a fierce grip, determined that he never leave her side again.

  “The inn we passed a little while ago,” Patrick finally said as the first torrent of emotion eased. “We need to get them to the inn—there they can get food and warmth.”

  There was no welcoming light as they arrived at the little inn. A sign swung over the door with The Robin written on it. Patrick dismounted with Sophie in his arms as Stephen hammered his fist on the front door. It took a few minutes, but finally someone was on the other side.

  “Who goes there?”

  “The Earl of Coulter and Viscount Sumner.”

  The door was instantly thrown open and a candle raised.

  “My lords,” the innkeeper said, standing aside. “What has happened?”

  “There has been an accident and my wife and her friend Miss Pette were injured,” Patrick said, walking over the threshold. “We must have hot water, two rooms, and food immediately!”

  Pringle Hobbs had been an innkeeper long enough to recognize quality when he saw it. This night could bring him a tidy sum, and as business was a bit quiet at the moment, he would make sure his guests received the very best service The Robin could offer.

  “At once, my lords. If you will come this way, I will have a room ready in a trice.”

  Showing them into a parlor, which still had the fire embers glowing, he excused himself to wake his family. Soon, his son Seb had the horses in the stable and his daughter Jemima had replaced the sheets and set fires in two rooms. Mrs. Hobbs was hard at work in the kitchen.

  Amelia stood in the circle of Stephen’s arms, her head nestled on his chest while they awaited their rooms. Her eyes were closed and she simply tried to absorb his strength. She needed to feel him close and know they were no longer in danger.

  Patrick, who was seated close to the fire, could hear the quiet murmur of Stephen’s words as he comforted Amelia, but his focus was on the woman in his arms. A dark angry bruise was forming on her swollen jaw, and blood soaked the front of her already torn and dirty dress. Patrick felt the sting of tears in his own eyes as he looked down at his beautiful wife. She was alive and she was safe, and this time, he vowed silently, he would make sure she stayed that way.

  “I killed him, Patrick. I stabbed him and left him lying there in his own blood.”

  “Had you not done it, then I certainly would have, Sophie,” Patrick said, His gut clenched at the distress in her voice. “Jack Spode was scum, love, and if he were still alive, he would kill, maim, or destroy many more lives.”

  “I … I know what you say to be true, P-Patrick, but I have never killed another person or even an animal,” Sophie whispered. Closing her eyes, she burrowed into her husband’s large, warm, safe chest.

  Patrick ran his hand over her tangled curls, soothing her. “Don’t think anymore, sweetheart. Only know you are safe from harm here
in my arms, where you will always stay.”

  “Mellie was so br-brave, Patrick. She would not l-leave me.”

  “And I will thank her for that, Sophie. Now sleep, love.”

  He watched her fight the exhaustion, her eyelashes fluttering several times before she sighed deeply, and just when he thought she had indeed given in, her eyes flew open.

  “It was Myles, Patrick. It was he who helped Jack!”

  “I’ll take care of Myles, sweetheart,” Patrick said, pulling her close.

  Stephen held Amelia as she leaned into him, tried to give her his strength. Looking over her head, he caught Sophie’s last words and looked at Patrick. Their expressions were identical, both seething with rage. Myles would never again be a free man and if both had their way, he would not live to see another new day.

  The innkeeper arrived and showed them to their rooms. Though small, they appeared clean and tidy.

  Lowering Sophie to her feet, Patrick, with Amelia’s help, began to undress her.

  “This is the knife from my carriage,” Patrick said, taking the blade Amelia handed him from the sling.

  “She used it to kill Jack Spode.” Amelia shuddered.

  “I never want to see that again,” Sophie said, closing her eyes.

  Patrick handed it to Stephen, who left the room to check on their horses.

  Lowering Sophie onto the bed, Patrick watched as her eyes lowered and he knew in minutes she would be asleep. Pulling the covers up to her chin, he placed the cool cloth Amelia handed him on her jaw to ease the swelling.

  “Her arm?” he questioned, looking at Amelia.

  “I believe it will be all right until the morning. I washed it twice and once I poured spirits over it.” Before she could stop it, a sob fell from Amelia’s lips as she moved to the other side of the bed to look down at her friend. “She cried like a baby.”

  Patrick remembered when he had cleaned her arm and felt himself go cold.

  “Thank you, Amelia,” Patrick said, his face solemn as he looked at his wife’s friend.

  “For what?”

  “For looking after her when I was unable to.”

  Waving a hand, Amelia shook her head. “You have the wrong of it there, my lord. She was so strong with that man. Not once did she show him fear—she taunted and ridiculed Jack Spode until he flew into a rage.” Closing her eyes, Amelia hoped she would one day be able to block out the vision of that man rushing at Sophie.

  “What did he do?” Patrick questioned.

  “He tied me to his bed and then turned to reach for Sophie. She pulled the knife from her sling, and he ran straight onto the blade.”

  “Dear God!” Patrick shuddered, imagining what could have happened had Sophie not killed him when she did.

  “We are sisters, Sophie and I, my lord,” Amelia said, looking at her friend. “And sisters always watch out for each other.”

  “My wife is lucky to have found such a loyal sister as you, Amelia.”

  “Amelia, Patrick and I must go and find Myles,” Stephen said, entering the room seconds later. Moving forward, he placed a kiss on her head, then another because he needed to touch her again. “Come and lock the door, then climb into bed with Sophie until we return.”

  “B-but, I think you should wait. At least until you have more men,” she said, reaching for his shirtfront and grabbing two fistfuls of the white cotton.

  “This must be done now, sweetheart.” Stephen gently placed his hands over hers. “Myles cannot be allowed to escape; surely you can see that?” he added, looking down into her anxious face.

  “I am scared for you,” Amelia whispered, still gripping his shirt. “I would be most displeased if anything should happen to you.”

  “Dear lord!” Stephen looked shocked, although his eyes were filled with warmth. “Is this your way, Miss Pette, of telling me that you care?”

  Amelia snorted, then sighed. “I may change my mind in the morning.”

  “We must leave,” Patrick said, with a last look at Sophie.

  “Yes, come and lock the door, Amelia.” Stephen pulled her hands free and led her across the room so she could do so.

  “Be careful,” she said to both men as she closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock. As she slipped into bed beside Sophie, Amelia thought that the next few hours would be the longest of her life.

  * * *

  Dawn was just starting to cast its gray fingers over the land as Patrick and Stephen walked silently toward the house. Amelia’s directions had been accurate. Patrick quickly bound and gagged the man in the stables, who was still sleeping where Amelia had said he would be, then together he and Stephen walked toward the house.

  Pushing open the door, Stephen indicated he would search the bottom floor while Patrick headed for the stairs.

  Spode still lay where he had fallen, his eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Patrick looked around the room and saw the bed and the rope he had used to tie up Amelia, and knew his intent had been to rape Sophie and most probably Amelia. He wanted to bring the man back to life so he could kill him all over again.

  “No life downstairs, Colt,” Stephen said softly, as he joined Patrick in the room.

  “I wish he was still breathing,” Stephen said, looking at the lifeless body of Jack Spode, to which Patrick nodded, then turned on his heel and left the room.

  “I want Myles,” he growled as they moved to the next room.

  They found two more men sleeping, who put up a small resistance but were soon bound and gagged. When every room in the house had been searched and still there was no sign of Myles, Patrick indicated to Stephen that he was going to head downstairs and it was then that he saw him. The coward was tiptoeing toward the front door.

  “Going somewhere, Myles?”

  If he hadn’t been so bloody angry, Patrick would have laughed at the high-pitched squeal that came out of the man’s mouth. Then the little rodent ran to the front door and pulled it open. Stephen and Patrick were behind him as he made it outside.

  “I am going to rip your head from your shoulders for what you did to my wife!” Patrick bellowed, finally finding an outlet for his rage.

  Stephen watched Patrick plant his fist in Myles’s jaw, sending him flying through the air to land on his backside with a thud. Patrick then picked him up and repeated the action.

  “I … it w-was Spode!” Myles squealed as Patrick lifted him to his feet once more, this time to shake him and hurl him through the air so he landed in the fountain, which was filled with rancid, dirty water.

  “You lying little weasel!” Patrick roared so loudly Stephen was sure the windowpanes would shatter with the force. Stephen watched the man’s head snap backward as Patrick pummeled his face.

  “No more, Colt,” Stephen said finally, reaching around him to pry Patrick’s fingers from Myles’s neck. “Besides, it is my turn,” Stephen said, delivering a solid punch to the man’s soft stomach and sending him flying backward again. “And that was for Miss Pette, you sniveling little rodent.”

  Patrick drew two deep breaths to try and remove the red haze from his eyes; he was out of control. Had Stephen not stepped in, he would have killed the man with his bare hands, and enjoyed doing it. Sophie had done that to him—made him feel emotions he had previously kept locked inside. He now experienced rage and happiness, he was now cursed with the need to protect and love, all things that he had managed to keep locked deep inside himself until Sophie came into his life.

  “Find a horse and tie him to it. We’ll get the magistrate to come for him,” Patrick added as Stephen pulled Myles once again to his feet. “Much as I want to finish him off, he would suffer more if we strip him of everything he loves most.”

  “Excellent idea,” Stephen said, forcing Myles’s hands behind his back.

  “I know that your wife was a servant, Coulter!” Myles cried.

  “And I know that you harbored a criminal, Myles,” Patrick said, lowering his face to look at the ma
n. “A dangerous man named Jack Spode who has killed, robbed, and maimed. Many have been trying to catch him, Myles, and if I hear one word of Sophie’s past whispered by anyone, then I will know that information has come from you,” Patrick added, watching Myles’s eyes cloud with terror. “I will not hesitate to give your name to the men he really harmed. Those who make their living by any means available, ruthless lawless men who I’m sure would be more than happy to seek revenge for what Spode put them through. If that doesn’t shut you up then I will come for you, and this time I will kill you.”

  “Well,” Stephen said, dragging Myles toward the stables, “I think it would be in your best interest to keep your mouth shut. Don’t you, Myles?”

  Within minutes, Patrick and Stephen were on their way back to the inn.

  * * *

  “I am sure it does not need cleaning again,” Sophie said, watching Patrick walk into the bathing room with a bottle of spirits, cloths, and a bowl of steaming water.

  “We have been home three hours, my sweet Sophie, and in that time your arm has not been bathed, nor was it bathed at the inn,” Patrick said, lowering his burdens to the small table beside the bath.

  “I washed at the inn!” Sophie said sounding indignant.

  “Parts of you were washed,” Patrick said, taking off his clothes and joining her in the water.

  “I must not leave Timmy for overlong, as he was most distressed by my disappearance,” Sophie said desperately, watching her husband’s long lithe form move toward her. She could feel her insides turning to liquid as he drew near, every nerve twitched in expectation, and her heartbeat fluttered in her chest.

  “Timmy is in bed taking an afternoon nap, as is everyone else.”

  “Oh.”

  Kneeling before Sophie, Patrick cupped her face and gently traced the swelling on her jaw, and then took long seconds just looking at her.

  “Had anything happened to you, Sophie,”—Patrick shuddered and took a deep breath as he remembered the terror he had felt at her abduction—“I could not have borne the pain. I love you so very much.”