Summers' Embrace

by Lora Thomas

  “But if Lord Hawke has access to those resources, Branson could as well.”

  “I highly doubt it. You see, Hawke has had a complicated life. He was not always in the good graces of society. Nor was he accustomed to the finer things in life. The title he has came to him by happenstance and bad luck. You see, his father, David, was the third son and not in good graces with his family. Hawke’s mother, Pricilla, was the stablemaster’s daughter. David’s father cast him out when he married Pricilla, and they moved to the east end. As it happened, one of David’s brothers died from cholera. The next in a duel. Hawke’s grandfather apparently felt guilty for casting out David and went in search of his heir only to discover he had died a few days before of syphilis. Joshua’s mother had died the year prior. So, his grandfather took him in when he was fourteen. However, Joshua kept his friendships from the east end, whereas your brother does not have those connections. The men needed for that kind of information will not freely give such knowledge to strangers unless the price is right. From your description of your brother, I cannot see him spending that much to locate you."

  "For twenty thousand pounds, he would.”

  Thomas’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Did you say your inheritance was twenty thousand pounds?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Now you see why he so desperately wants to control my husband.”

  Thomas pressed his lips together and readjusted. “Then we must be discreet in our travels. Greedy men will take desperate measures to acquire what they want. Even if Wilcox discovers where you are going today, we will have several hours head start.”

  “How long will it take to reach our destination?”

  “About four days.”

  “Four days?” Catrina repeated. Urgency was in her voice. “Branson will find us.”

  “I agree. But we must make several stops along the way to change horses, as well as for us to eat and sleep. Not to mention poor John. He is a tough bastard, but even he needs to rest. That is unless you would prefer to ride to Scotland on horseback.”

  Catrina shook her head. “No. I fear I am not a skilled horsewoman. Branson would not allow me such liberties.”

  “Once we are wed, we must rectify that matter.”

  “You would allow me to do so?”

  “Absolutely. Every noblewoman needs to know how to ride and ride properly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Thomas nodded. “We will travel for several hours before we stop. I will speak to McTavish. I am fairly certain he will have connections along the route to Scotland. I will see if they can delay your brother.”

  “McTavish is your coachman’s name?”

  “Yes. He has been with me since I was a boy. Occasionally, he travels home to Scotland to visit his family. He knows the fastest routes and which ones to avoid.”

  Forlornly, she looked at Thomas. “Let us just hope that Branson does not.”

  The pounding on the door caused Mr. Paxsley to scowl. He did not need any more disturbances today. Especially after that fiasco yesterday with Branson Wilcox. That bloody sod had the audacity to accuse Douglas of hiding Catrina. If Hawke had not been present, Douglas was certain he would have given Wilcox the thrashing he so rightly deserved.

  His hands went to his temples as the pounding continued. “Would someone answer that bloody door?!”

  Before the words had left Douglas, the knocking stopped.

  “Where is Mr. Paxsley?” a man demanded at the door.

  “He has asked to not be disturbed.”

  “I do not give a damn! I demand to see him now!”

  Douglas’s scowl deepened. He pushed away from his desk and entered the hallway. “What the hell are you going here, Wilcox? I already told you yesterday that I do not know where your sister is.”

  There was a predatory gleam in Branson’s blue eyes as he bore down on Douglas. “You knew! You knew and did nothing about it!”

  Douglas was never one to back down from a fight. “Explain yourself, sir, before I toss you out in the street.”

  “Catrina. She left before dawn with Huntsley. Now I demand you tell me what you know! Where has he taken her?”

  Douglas’s fists were coiled tightly by his sides. Over the years, he had learned to handle hotheaded lords who demanded funds, but this man held no comparison.

  “Get out.” Douglas turned.

  “Coward! If you will not tell me—”

  Before Branson could utter one more word, Douglas had taken hold of Branson by the lapel of his coat and pulled him in close.

  "I will tell you one last time, Wilcox. I have no bloody idea where your sister has gone. Now, get the hell out of my home. Do not return, for if you do, I might release this temper that I am holding back. And if I do, it will not be pretty.”

  “Mr. Paxsley?”

  Douglas leaned slightly to the left and noticed Hawke behind Branson. The older gentleman returned his attention to Branson. He released Branson’s lapel. “Get out.”

  “Now see here!” Branson said.

  “You heard him, Wilcox. Get out,” Hawke said.

  Branson pivoted to face Hawke. “You know where they have gone. Tell me.”

  Joshua quirked a brow. “I do not have the patience that Mr. Paxsley possesses. Now leave, or else I will toss your ass out myself.”

  Branson would not be bullied. After his idiotic sister jumped from their carriage yesterday, he ran after her but could not find her. After searching the area, he returned to the Paxsleys’ to see if she had fled there. Unfortunately, she had not. After a brief heated discussion with Douglas, Branson opted for another approach. He hired a few men to search for Catrina. Early this morning, one reported to him that she was seen leaving London in Lord Huntsley’s coach.

  “You cannot intimidate—”

  Hawke grabbed Branson by his arm and began dragging him towards the door.

  “Get your hands off me!” Branson demanded, pulling back against Joshua’s grasp.

  Joshua did not stop until he was at the door. Branson swung at Joshua. Joshua leaned to the left, missing the blow, and landed one of his own to Branson’s nose. Branson staggered. Joshua moved behind Branson and shoved him out the door. Branson tumbled down the few steps and landed face-first on the cobblestone drive.

  Branson scurried to his feet and whirled to face Joshua.

  “I suggest you leave. Before I lose my temper,” Joshua warned.

  Branson raised his fist and shook it. “I will find my sister. And when I do, you and that arrogant Thomas Summers will rue the day.”

  Joshua took one step out the door. Branson turned and raced to his horse. After mounting the animal, he gave one last hate-filled glance at Hawke and left.

  “Thank you,” Douglas said.

  Hawke turned and nodded. “My pleasure. I am just thankful I got here when I did. I have no doubt that Wilcox would have lied to the authorities about what transpired here.”

  “Would he be so devious?” Douglas asked, motioning for Joshua to follow him.

  “I do not know him personally, only by rumor and from his dealings with Huntsley. But I have no indication that he would be honorable.”

  “Is it true? Did Catrina leave London with Lord Huntsley?”

  Joshua nodded. “Yes. My sources tell me they spotted a woman fitting Catrina’s description late yesterday afternoon near the east end. She received assistance from a watchman. Then today they spotted her again in Huntsley’s coach. They left well before dawn.”

  “Headed to where?”

  Joshua shook his head. “I am not certain. North. I went by the Summers House to see what I could discover. Huntsley’s butler refused to divulge their heading.”

  “You are Lord Huntley’s friend. Why would his man not tell you?”

  “Henry is a stubborn and faithful servant. He said we would know by tomorrow afternoon. I even ventured to the dowager countess’s home. She claimed that she did not know. It is not like him to not inform Lady Whitmore of his whereabouts.
So it makes me believe this was a sudden departure.”

  Douglas approached his desk and leaned against it. “North? Does he have lands north of London?”

  Hawke shook his head. “No. He has a few in Cornwall and Devon. The majority of his family lands are in Bristol and Oxford.”

  “Those lands are east. So why head north?” Douglas crossed his arms over his chest.

  Hawke approached the window. Why indeed? His eyes widened. “Scotland.”

  “What?”

  “Scotland is north.”

  “Why would they go to Scotland?”

  “Gretna Green.”

  Douglas righted. “But that makes no sense. They quarreled publicly at the Hamiltons’ ball. He was just engaged to wed Lady Iris.”

  Joshua ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Both need to marry. She to keep her inheritance from her brother’s grasp. And he to keep his fortune from his mother.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I will explain later. Right now, we must keep Branson from learning of this information.”

  “How?”

  Hawke shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps between the two of us, we can figure out something.”

  Branson scurried to his horse and climbed into the saddle. Lord Hawke was still in the doorway with an arrogant stance. Branson lowered his eyes to slits and kicked his horse to a run. Damn that baron! How dare he physically toss Branson out the door! No one dared to treat him like he was a child! That bloody baron knew something. He knew where Catrina and Huntsley had traveled to. The question was, how could he find out?

  He pulled back hard on the reins of his horse, skidding the beast to a halt, as a notion came to him—Huntsley’s staff. Household servants always knew where their masters have traveled.

  Spotting a woman strolling with her daughter, he called, “You there. Where does Lord Huntsley reside?”

  The woman gave him a quizzical look. “Who?”

  “Lord Huntsley, Thomas Summers. Where does he live?” Branson snapped again.

  The woman defiantly raised her chin. “If you want information, then I suggest you ask for it like a gentleman. I will not be ordered about like a servant.”

  Branson nudged his horse closer to the woman, but she did not move. His heels tapped the flanks of the animal. The horse snorted and reared. A malicious gleam came to Branson’s eyes. The woman pulled her daughter behind her as she pressed her body to a fence. The child with the woman whimpered and clung to her mother.

  “Where?” Branson asked, leaning over.

  “Knightsbridge. Near Hyde Park.”

  “Which house?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Which house?” Branson demanded. When the woman did not answer, he moved his horse closer, pressing it against the woman. “Which house?”

  “I do not know!” the woman wailed. “I have never been there.”

  “Here now!” a male voice called. Branson turned his attention away from the terrified woman to the man approaching, holding his walking stick up.

  Branson pulled back on the reins, commanding his steed to move back, and then placed his heels to the sides of the beast. The horse took off at a run. The woman’s cries went unnoticed by him. The man demanding Branson's return was ignored. Branson now had a mission. To find Huntsley’s home and force the servants to reveal where that bastard had taken Catrina.

  He had to find them. A fortune was at stake, and he would be damned if he allowed that sod Huntsley to get his hands on the money that should rightfully be his. It was his birthright! If he’d only had the foresight to have killed Catrina when he had the chance. It would have been simple. They were children and taking a boat ride. It was a warm, windy day causing the water to be very choppy, but she insisted she go. She did not know how to swim. He should have just tossed her into the water and claimed it was an accident. But instead, he had to tolerate her whimpering when he rocked the boat. He had to listen to her complain about her fear of drowning. He had to listen to her demand that he take her back to shore because the wind was up, causing the water to be rough. The little bitch.

  And when they returned to shore, it was to his father, Patrick. Their father took his belt to Branson for taking Catrina out on the pond with such rough water. Then Patrick wrapped his arms around that mewling quim Catrina and coddled her like she had actually fallen into the water. And upon returning to their home, their mother, Viola, scolded Branson and made a fuss over Catrina. She always got her way. Always! But not if Branson had his way. It was time for Catrina to get what she truly deserved.

  Branson made his way through the streets of London until he finally located Huntsley’s home. He glowered at the house. It was typical for someone of Huntsley’s arrogance. Gaudy and overly large, standing three stories high and made of dark red brick and a copper roof. The multitude of windows with marble sills were overly excessive, in Branson’s opinion. Between the first and second floors were oval marble insets, each with a figurehead of someone—Branson assumed they were Roman politicians. There was a veranda with an archway on the right. The main entrance was impressive, though. Marble pillars were inlaid into a granite facing. The lawn was well manicured with a multitude of flowering shrubs and bushes. To the left was a cobblestone drive with several lampposts placed sporadically down the path. Branson snarled. It looked more like a country home instead of what one would live in while in London. All that was missing was a grand lake with swans. And who knew? As absurd as Huntsley was, there might be a lake behind his home.

  After tying his horse to the post out front, Branson climbed the steps and knocked on the door. An older, distinguished-looking servant opened the door.

  “May I help you?” the servant asked.

  A malicious sneer came to Branson. “Yes.” Before any more words could be spoken, Branson shoved his way inside.

  “Here now!” the butler protested, attempting to stop Branson.

  “Where is he?” Branson growled, pushing the manservant’s back against the wall. “Where has he taken her?”

  “Get your hand off me, sir,” the butler demanded, grabbing Branson’s wrists.

  Branson fisted the man’s coat and shoved him against the wall. “Where is he?!”

  “Release him!” a lady screamed.

  Branson turned to find a plump housekeeper charging at him, an iron skillet in hand. He turned, reaching a hand inside his coat and removed a small pistol, pointing it at the woman.

  The maid stopped and looked at the butler for direction.

  “Now, tell me where Huntsley has taken my sister before I shoot one of you.”

  “Your sister?” the woman said, her hand coming to her throat. Catrina had warned her last evening that her brother would do anything to get his hands upon her fortune.

  “Yes. Catrina. Where has he taken her?”

  “Do not tell him, Mr. Henry,” the maid said.

  Branson cocked the pistol that was pointing at the maid. “Last time.”

  “Scotland,” Mr. Henry said.

  “Mr. Henry!” the maid protested.

  Henry looked at the maid. “Hush, Mrs. Welling. Your life is not worth this.” He then returned his attention to Branson. “They have traveled to Scotland. Gretna Green.”

  Alarm caused Branson to shout, “Gretna Green? They plan to marry?”

  “That is my understanding. They left around eight.” Henry had to give his master time to get distance between him and the madman.

  Branson growled and tossed the butler at the maid. Henry landed on the floor with such force the air left his lungs. Mrs. Welling knelt beside him.

  “Shit.” Branson kept the pistol trained on the servants as he ran his left hand through his hair. He could not allow them to marry. If they did, he would never get his hands upon that money. A madness came over him. “If you are lying to me, I will kill you. Slowly.”

  “Mr. Henry is not a liar,” Mrs. Welling defended.

  Henry coughed and patted M
rs. Welling’s hand. “They left at eight.”

  Branson looked at the clock. They had a four-hour head start. “How were they traveling? Coach or horseback? Did they take the Great North Road?”

  “Coach. My lord has holdings in Manchester that he said he must see to first.”

  Branson could hardly contain his delight. If they were traveling by coach, then he would catch up to them before they reached Scotland. He turned and left.

  Mrs. Welling watched the door close and looked at Mr. Henry. “Why did you tell that man that Lord Huntsley has holdings in Manchester? He owns nothing there.”

  “To give them time. If that madman thinks they are headed to Manchester, then he will head there first. By the time he realizes I lied, it will be too late.”

  “But he will know.”

  Henry shook his head. “He will never find them in time.”

  Mrs. Welling sat on the floor by Henry. “Would it be a bad thing if he stopped them? I mean, I know Miss Wilcox told us her brother was horrid, but this marriage? Lord Huntsley has a wandering eye. In time, he may wound her heart.”

  “Lord Huntsley is a complicated man, Mrs. Welling. When he decides to do something, he does not take that responsibility lightly. And if he did not care for the girl, he would have never placed the Summers sapphire upon her finger.” Henry shook his head. “No. This woman is different. I believe she can be the one to melt the ice around his heart. Now, let us get off this cold, hard floor.” Mr. Henry stood and offered Mrs. Welling a hand.

  She allowed him to help her stand. “I truly hope Lord Huntsley will be good to her and not break her heart.”

  Henry shook his head. “I have been with the Summers household since before our young master took his first breaths. And during my years, I have never seen him so vexed. Ever since he returned from Eden, something has been plaguing his mind. The night of the Hamiltons’ ball, I heard him and Lord Hawke speaking. I think he truly loves Miss Wilcox. The question is, does he realize it?”

  “I truly hope so. I hope Lord Huntsley realizes it before he does something foolish.”