by Bree Wolf
Her father! Of course! Who else could it have been?
After all, whoever had kidnapped her had used her sister as bait for his trap. Certainly, there were only a limited number of people who could have done so. Even more so when considering only those who would consider her presence in London a threat. Yes, it had to have been her father. Somehow he had learnt of her arrival, and he had felt threatened, worrying that she would unhinge his life and rob him of his heir. But how had he found out? Had her sister betrayed her? Had she done so to protect her family? To protect her mother’s marriage and her brother’s legitimacy?
That thought stung deeply, and yet, Violette could not bring herself to believe so. Although it was a reasonable assumption, the look on Juliet’s face had not suggested that she had lured Violet into said trap willingly…or even knowingly. Who knew what lies her father had told her?
Swallowing rather awkwardly, Violette moved her jaw to lessen the uncomfortable pressure of the gag in her mouth. Perhaps she could loosen it a little and pull it out of her mouth. At least, until they arrived wherever they were going.
Lifting her hands, Violette gently tugged on the cloth, once more grateful to have her hands tied in the front. After a few moments of pulling here and there, she managed to free her mouth, relishing the ability to breathe unencumbered.
Had anyone noticed her absence yet?
The thought entered Violette’s head so abruptly that she felt tears come to her eyes as her heart yearned for the safety of her family’s presence. Surely, Oliver would notice. And so would Henri. But would they be able to figure out who had taken her and more importantly where they were going? Would they come after her?
By following her to England, Henri had already proven that nothing could keep him from her side, and there was no doubt in Violette’s heart that he was on the road, following in her wake at this very moment. But what of Oliver?
Clearly, Violette remembered their moment in the drawing room. The moment when he had hinted at a deeper connection between them. When he had all but declared his feelings. And yet, he had not because she had stopped him. Had he meant what he had almost said? Did he truly care about her the way her father–her true father–cared about her mother?
Would he come?
***
Urging their mounts to greater speed, Oliver and Henri flew across the land, their gazes fixed on the distant horizon, picturing the woman they loved in the hands of a madman.
Whenever his thoughts returned to what Violet might be suffering in that moment, Oliver’s stomach turned upside down, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. At the same time, a red, hot ball of anger burned in his chest, and his fingers clenched painfully around the reins in his hands.
Judging from the look on Henri’s face, he felt the same.
“Please let her be alive,” Oliver whispered, sending a fervent prayer to the Fates. After all, they had led him to find her. Surely, they would not rip her from his life now.
Would her father truly try and take her life? Oliver wondered, cringing at the mere thought of such a loss. Did he not have a heart? Did he not care for his own flesh and blood?
However, there might be hope, Oliver realised, because in truth it was not Violet who threatened the viscount’s new life. No, having the daughter of his previous marriage discovered alive would not declare his current marriage void. In fact, only the knowledge of her mother’s survival could. If she were to be found alive, then the viscount’s heir would become illegitimate and, thus, could not inherit the title.
Had Silcox kidnapped his daughter to learn of her mother’s whereabouts? What were his plans? Did he truly intend to travel to France and kill his first wife to ensure his son’s legitimacy? But then again, it was highly unlikely that he knew that Violet’s mother was in France. Likely, he had reasoned that if his daughter was here, then his first wife might also have come back to these shores. Perhaps he thought she was nearby. Within his reach.
What would he do to Violet to find out? Would she resist him? Or would she tell him the truth believing her mother safe in France? Oliver could only hope she would not provoke the man to harm her. After all, she was a stubborn woman and fiercely loyal when it came to the people she loved. No doubt she would give her own life to protect her family.
He could not allow that to happen.
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, they reached an inn and stopped to exchange horses to continue at the same speed. Restless, Henri paced around the yard while Oliver spoke to the stable boy. “Did you see a carriage stop here with such an emblem on the side?” he asked, showing the boy a quick drawing of the viscount’s coat-of-arms. “Was there a blond woman?”
For a moment, the boy frowned. “I canna say if ‘twas that exactly,” he said, pointing a dirty finger at the drawing, “but I saw two mighty fine carriages stop here. Needed fresh horses.” Then he shook his head. “But I didna see a lady. Only a mean lookin’ man.”
“Two carriages?”
The boy nodded eagerly, clearly pleased to possess important information. “Yes, my lord. One was closed off. All curtains drawn. The door never opened. And there were men lookin’ like they was standin’ guard.” Blinking, the boy looked up at Oliver, excitement in his eyes. “She a prisoner, the lady?”
Oliver swallowed, handing the boy a coin. “Thank you.” Then he headed over to Henri, grabbing the man’s arm to stop him in his tracks. “She was here.”
At his words, the Frenchman stilled, his eyes widening, urgency shining in their depth.
Quickly, Oliver related what the stable boy had told him. “This means my father spoke the truth. They’re headed to Silcox Manor.”
A wry grin came to Henri’s face. “Fortune smiles on us.”
Oliver frowned.
Drawing him aside, Henri glanced around the darkening yard. “My uncle awaits our arrival, mine and Violette’s, in the cave down the beach from Silcox Manor. It’s a good place to hide a large ship. I was to take Violette there, and then we would head back home to France.”
Oliver swallowed as a massive force slammed into his chest. His heart ached with the thought of losing Violet, of her leaving these shores and returning home. Would he ever see her again? What were the chances? After all, it had been sheer luck that they had met the first time? Surely, fortune would not smile on him again.
This was his one chance, and if he allowed her to leave, it would be worse than never even having met her. After all, this way he would always know what he had lost.
“Here come our horses,” Henri exclaimed, eagerness in his words as well as in his step as he all but charged forward, yanking the reins from the boy’s hands.
Ignoring the sense of doom that had settled on him at Henri’s words, Oliver mounted the steed quickly, and a moment later, they were off, racing across a darkening world and toward the moment of truth that would determine the course of his life.
If only he could be certain how she felt about him.
If only he had spoken to her when he had still had the chance.
Chapter Thirty-Two – Silcox Manor
The carriage drew to a sudden halt, and the movement flung Violette’s head back against the seat. In an instant, her head seemed to explode as pain shot through the back of her skull, and she jerked awake within a split second.
Darkness engulfed her, but she saw bright spots dancing before her eyes as she tried to make out her surroundings. Gritting her teeth, she forced the nausea back down and settled more comfortably into the seat.
Then voices reached her ears.
Stilling instantly, Violette listened.
Boots crunched on the gravel as someone walked by the side of the carriage. Then a commanding voice cut through the stillness of the night. “Take her up to one of the guest rooms,” the man said, and the sound of his voice brought goose bumps to Violette’s skin. “Don’t untie her and lock the door. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.”
Her father! Violette’s mind shriek
ed as his voice yanked her back through time and she was a helpless, little girl again, clinging to her mother’s skirts as her father chided her for one thing or another. Mainly, for not being the son he had wanted.
Violette’s mouth went dry, and she tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper.
Then the sound of approaching footsteps penetrated her distracted thoughts, and she froze once more, realising that the gag still hung loosely around her neck. Quickly, she reached up and forced it back over her chin and into her mouth, determined to exploit every advantage she had.
Let them think she was a helpless woman. That would only be in her favour.
Shrinking back, Violette watched as the door was yanked open and a burly man, his clothes dishevelled, appeared in its frame. For a second, his dark eyes swept over her, and his lips curled into a pleased sneer. “I hope ye enjoyed our little journey, my lady,” he laughed, thinking his words utterly amusing.
In answer, Violette forced a look of terror into her eyes when all she wanted was to kick her boot into his face. Still, such an action would not serve her, and so she allowed him to drag her from the carriage, whimpering and pleading through the gag in her mouth as though she was frightened witless.
Glancing around, Violette could not see her father anywhere, and for a second, she wondered why he would not meet her face to face. Was he such a coward he could not face her?
Then her gaze fell on the familiar house of her childhood, and Violette could not help the wonderful memories that resurfaced. Memories that were irreversibly tied to her mother, the light of her life, who had done everything in her power to see her daughter happy. Still, there had always been a looming shadow in their lives, one not even her mother’s loving presence could banish.
Violette swallowed, unable to imagine spending her life like this ever again. Thank you, Mother, Violette thought, for taking me away from this place. From him.
The night hung dark around them, and the moon cast eerie shadows across the earth. A few windows in the manor were lit, appearing like the eyes of a monster, hiding in the dark. The wind howled, carrying the taste of salt on its wings, and Violette could smell the proximity of the sea.
It reminded her of the night her father–her true father–had come to take them away.
Only this time, he was not here. She was alone.
Violette clenched her fists as a sense of discouragement washed over her, and she did her best to fight it off by clinging to her father’s words: Nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it!
Always had he believed in her. Always had he told her to do what she thought right. To use her head and find a way.
She would do so now.
She would find a way.
Because nothing was ever truly hopeless.
As her coward father, Lord Silcox, had already disappeared inside–probably to retire after a hard day’s work of abducting his daughter–Violette was left with two burly ruffians to escort her into the house.
Stepping inside the entrance hall, she glanced around, remembering the life she had had here. As they walked, bits and pieces returned. An image of the large corridor that led to her mother’s bedchamber as well as Violette’s nursery. The smell of the kitchen when cook relented and baked the lemon cakes Violette had adored. And above it all, the sound of the waves when sitting on the terrace with her mother, reading Gulliver’s Travels.
Up the stairs, they went before the man walking to her right, grabbed her upper arm and shoved her down another long corridor, which led to the guest quarters.
Violette had never spent much time in this part of the house as she had never been a guest here. And neither was she now. Still, she did not imagine that a house like Silcox Manor had a holding cell. In fact, she ought to be thankful that her father did not lock her in the cellar. After all, it would be much harder to escape from underground.
Casting a glance over her shoulder at the door to her nursery, Violette drew in a sharp breath when she saw the head of a young child peeking out of the room. His brown hair was tousled with sleep, and his chocolate-coloured eyes were wide with curiosity as he stared back at her.
“What is it?” one of the ruffian’s snapped at her intake of breath.
Transfixed, Violette watched the boy’s eyes widen with fright and then his head disappear before she turned back, meeting her warden’s gaze with a downcast one of her own. As the gag was still in place, she could do no more than shake her head, portraying a woman defeated.
Obviously satisfied, the man urged her farther down the corridor until they came to a door on the right. He opened it while his comrade shoved her inside. Then he spun her around, his dirty hands gripping her upper arms as he brought his face closer to hers, his gaze threatening as it held hers. “Do not scream,” he ordered, then lifted his hands and removed the gag. “Good,” he mumbled when she remained quiet, her gaze darting left and right.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, willing her voice to shake, hoping he believed that she was terrified. In truth, she could barely contain the anger that coursed through her body, fuelling her will to fight.
However, one of the first lessons she had learnt from her father was that one always ought to prey on one’s opponent’s weakness.
“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped, and Violette made herself shrink back. He lifted a warning finger and stepped toward her. “Do not scream, or I will have to come back here.” An evil grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “And I promise you won’t like that.”
Nodding her head vigorously, Violette backed into a corner. “I won’t s-scream,” she stammered. “I p-promise.”
After glaring at her for another moment, he turned, and the two men left the room, closing the door with a thud. Then Violette heard a key turn in the lock before their footsteps grew quieter as they headed back down the corridor.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Violette quickly looked around the room. After testing the windows and finding them locked, she tried the side door leading to the neighbouring room. But it was locked as well.
At least, they were thorough. She had to give them that.
Stepping up to the door, Violette pressed an ear to the wood and listened. Many moments ticked by, but no sounds drifted to her ears. For the most, the house seemed to be asleep, and she suspected that the two men who had locked her in this room were down in the kitchen drinking to their successful abduction.
Good, she thought, that will keep them busy!
Drawing her dagger, Violette cut through the ropes that bound her arms. Then she rubbed her sore wrists, moving them to regain flexibility.
A moment later, she set to work on the door’s lock, sending a silent thanks to Henri who had taught her how to pick a lock at the age of ten.
Oh, Lord Silcox had no idea what he had brought down on himself by abducting her! He would come to rue the day he had turned against her.
After all, a Duret always emerged victorious! And if there was one thing Violette was certain of, it was that she was a Duret through and through!
***
When the clouds moved, revealing a dim outline of Silcox Manor, Oliver and Henri drew up their horses, their eyes sweeping over the sight before them.
The house lay in darkness, only a faint light lit here and there. From where they were, Oliver could not spot anything or anyone moving. However, that did not mean Silcox had not posted guards. As much as he hated to admit it, they needed to proceed with caution. After all, them being captured as well would not sit well with Violet.
He could all but see her roll her eyes at him, and a soft smile tugged on the corners of his mouth.
“What is so amusing?” Henri asked, a frown drawing down his brows as he glanced at Oliver.
“Nothing. I was simply…Nothing.” Tearing his gaze from the house, he turned to Henri. “Do you know if your uncle is already here?”
Henri shrugged. “That I cannot say.”
“Then we should split up,”
Oliver replied, continuing before Henri could object. “We need help. After all, we don’t know how many men Silcox has standing guard watching Violet. On top of it, we don’t even know where he’s holding her.” His arm swept from one end of the house to the other. “It’s a large building with lots of rooms. She could be anywhere.”
Finally, Henri nodded, his gaze travelling to the far horizon. “Dawn is not far off,” he remarked, knowing that they would soon lose the cover of darkness. There was no time to lose!
“You head down to the cave,” Oliver told Henri, seeing the man’s eyes narrow at his commanding tone, “while I stake out the house and see if I can find a way inside or even discover Violet’s whereabouts.”
Henri’s jaw tightened as he stared at the house, knowing that his beloved cousin was held inside. Oliver knew only too well how he felt, and at least to himself he admitted that he would have been hard pressed to turn away and allow Henri to go after her alone. Still, this way it made the most sense. Henri was Captain Duret’s nephew, a man he trusted, and there would be no time for doubts or questions. Henri, he would follow without hesitation.
Oliver marvelled at the depth of trust in that family, wondering what it felt like to have someone trust him without doubt, without hesitation, without question.
He could only hope that one day he would.
Finally, Henri gave a curt nod. “I shall return as fast as I can,” he said, meeting Oliver’s gaze, “with or without my uncle.” Then he kicked his horse’s flanks and flew off, back into the shadows as he rounded the estate in a large circle.
Staying behind, Oliver took a deep breath, willing himself to ignore the overwhelming urge to rush to the front door, burst inside and scream Violet’s name at the top of his lungs.
Although it would not be a wise move, Oliver was thoroughly tempted. After all, love knew no caution or fear or delay. It was not logical, did not adhere to reason or answer to wisdom.
It simply was.
It acted on instinct alone.