A Dangerous Man

by Janmarie Anello

  He found Harris in the entry hall, instructing a newly hired footman in his duties. "Have you seen the duchess?"

  "Not since luncheon, Your Grace" Harris gave a slight lift of his brows, a silent query for further instructions.

  A petite maid wearing a cap and dusting the foyer scurried over to him. She gave a quick cursty. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I saw Her Grace"

  "Where did you see her?" His voice, laced with panic, came out louder and harsher than he'd intended.

  "I was dusting in the gallery. I saw Her Grace and the dowager duchess leave the house by the garden door. They were moving fast, sir, like they were in a hurry."

  Leah and Rachel? In the gardens? In the rain?

  "Harris, fetch my coat"

  "And mine, also," Pierce said.

  "When did you see them?" Richard asked the maid.

  "It must be nigh onto an hour ago, sir."

  "Thank you. That will be all."

  The maid bobbed another curtsy, then returned to her dusting. Harris brought their greatcoats, and within minutes the two men were in the gardens following the trail of footprints over the mud. The tracks led across the lawn and up the hill.

  "I do not like this," Pierce said, pulling the brim of his hat to block the rain from his eyes. "Why would they take a stroll through the park, and in the rain, to boot? I honestly cannot see Rachel exposing her cheeks to the wind."

  Richard shook his head while he scanned the tracks ahead of him. "There is nothing much in this direction except for-"

  The cliffs. He took off at a run, shouting over his shoulder, "Get help."

  A heartbeat later, he heard the faint, but unmistakable sound of a pistol retort carrying on the wind.

  The bullet slammed into the ground mere inches from Leah's feet and made her legs feel like twin puddles of melted snow.

  "This is an amazing weapon," Rachel purred, stroking the pistol. "It has six revolving barrels. That means six shots, Leah, and there are still five left. So I suggest you start moving before I shoot you where you stand"

  "What difference does it make?" Leah said, her low voice lost in the wind. "You will kill me either way."

  She had yet to start breathing again. Her heart was beating so swiftly, she thought surely she would collapse at any moment.

  For the sake of her babe, she could not give up.

  "Yes," Rachel agreed cheerfully. "But I would prefer not to shoot you. I have other plans for your death. And, of course, there is always the slim chance that you might escape" She jabbed the gun at Leah's belly. "Now do as I say."

  Leah stumbled along the well-worn path. Mercifully, the rain had stopped, but the damage was done. Her clothing was soaked through to her skin. The wind was so frigid, even her bones felt frozen. But a new, greater fear was tormenting Leah.

  The dull ache that had plagued her back for the past two weeks had grown stronger, more intense, and now spread to encompass her lower abdomen. A few moments ago, a gush of liquid had poured down her thighs, followed by a sticky substance Leah greatly feared might be blood.

  Every few minutes, a vicious cramp seized the muscles in her belly and unbearable fire shot through her back, as if an invisible hand had fingers squeezed around her spine.

  They walked on another hour, until the path became too steep and treacherous for Leah to maneuver. The bitter wind whipped the waves into a swirling frenzy and knocked Leah to her knees.

  She crawled to a sheltered crevice dipping between two higher peaks, where the wind was less brutal. Using the solid surface for balance, she dragged herself to her feet.

  A quick glance told her the tide was high. The waves crashing into the rocks below sprayed her face with brackish water. The nauseating stench of rotting fish clung to the rocks beneath her hands, the uneven surface littered with seashells and lichen. Dizziness made her consciousness swirl as wildly as the wind. Her stomach heaved. Do not look down. Do not panic!

  "Richard must be searching for us by now," she shouted at Rachel. "You realize that, do you not? Even if you manage to kill me, Richard will discover the truth"

  "You think he loves you," Rachel said in a bored, even voice, as if she were offering Leah tea. "But he does not. You are nothing but his whore, his slut. He has used you the way a dog ruts with a bitch in heat. The way a stallion mounts a mare. Did you honestly think I would let you have him? Did you think I would close my eyes and look away while you spread your thighs for the man I love . . ."

  As Rachel ranted into the wind, Leah scanned the path ahead.

  She could see the engine house from an abandoned tin mine hovering on the edge of the cliff. She could attempt to run, but her great bulk and the slippery stones would make a fast flight impossible. Or she could charge Rachel, wrestle her for the gun, but then they would both most likely tumble over the edge into the waves below. Neither option had much hope of success, but she could not stand there and wait to die.

  Seizing the weapon seemed her best chance. She took a step toward Rachel as Rachel spewed her vile words. The wind whipped her hair across her cheeks, stung her eyes, but she kept moving.

  Rachel supported the pistol with both hands. "I know you won't believe this, but I truly did not want to kill you. I simply wanted you to go away."

  "I can do that" Leah held up her hands. "If you put the gun down, I will leave and you will never see me again."

  "No! It is too late for that"

  "Please, Rachel. Think of my babe. You are a mother. You know how precious a child's life is. How can you hurt my baby?"

  Rachel's wild laughter carried on the breeze. "And that is the point that drove us here, is it not? Richard would never let you leave. Not now. Not with his seed growing in your belly. So you see? I have no choice. You must die."

  Rachel's hands were starting to shake. The gun was too heavy and her fingers too cold. She had to end this now, then return to the house before anyone found them missing.

  The treacherous path, littered with lichen and ice, slowed her steps as she stalked toward Leah. Crouched amid the rocks, Leah's gold hair streamed out behind her, carried by the wind. Her wide green eyes glared back at Rachel with a hint of defiance amidst the fear. Just looking at her made Rachel itch to put a ball through her heart, but she could not.

  It had to appear an accident, or all hope was lost.

  Everyone would bemoan her death, Rachel most of all.

  What was she doing out on the cliffs, they would say, and with her belly so far gone with child? Foolish, stupid woman. To walk the paths in the midst of a storm.

  With no evidence to point toward murder, no one would ever suspect. And Richard, in his grief, poor man, would turn to Rachel for comfort. She laughed aloud at her flawless plan.

  But first, she had to push the foolish woman over the edge.

  "Put the gun down, Rachel."

  She spun around, her heart hammering, her blood rushing through her ears. She squinted against the wind, but she saw nothing beyond the rocks. Then Richard appeared as if conjured up by the swirling mist, wrapped in a great coat from shoulder to shin, his hair tossed about by the wind, his features as harsh and jagged as the wild cliffs behind him. He appeared a great brooding beast of the night, a devil-dark man with magical hands that stirred a feral hunger within her heart.

  "You must put the gun down," he said.

  She kept the gun trained on Leah. Impotent fury shook her legs. She was trapped, discovered, but she would not suffer alone.

  The deafening wind had masked the crunching pebbles and seashells beneath his boots as Richard crept forward, his knees trembling, his back soaked with sweat mixed with rain.

  He surveyed the scene with quick efficiency, his mind closed to the panic threatening to overtake him. Leah hovered dangerously close to the edge of the cliffs while Rachel moved toward her, gun teetering wildly in her hand, her shrill keening echoing off the rocks.

  In the dim light, Richard could make out the weapon, a revolver known as a pepperbox because
its cylindrical cluster of barrels resembled the top of a pepper pot. The guns were heavy and awkward and extremely unreliable. More often than not, when one cartridge fired, the others would explode. He had bought it to add to his firearms collection. Never could he have imagined he would see it armed and aimed at his wife.

  Rachel's frenzied gaze darted from Richard to Leah as if she couldn't decide whom to attack first.

  Then she fixed Richard with a wild stare. "This is all your fault. You should never have married her."

  "I know," Richard said, a savage rage unleashing the bloodlust, curling his hands, tensing his legs as he prepared to pounce. But he kept his voice calm, steady, as he crept forward. "You are right. I see that now. But you must put down the gun"

  "I love you," she said. "I have always loved you, but everyone tried to separate us. My parents. Eric. Now her."

  He had to keep her talking, keep her attention centered on him and away from Leah. "I understand, Rachel. You love me. You have always loved me. Let us go home. It is cold and drafty up here. And Alison needs you. I need you"

  He nearly choked on the words. A quick glance at Leah assured him she was safe, at least for the moment.

  Sheltered between two crags, she looked so small, so fragile, with her drenched cloak clinging to her belly, her hands clutching her throat. Her wide, frightened eyes gleamed silver in the stormy light. Her terror for his safety was etched into the grim lines around her lips.

  Good God, a greater fear than he had ever known threatened to unman him, until he didn't know if it was rain or tears dripping down his cheeks. He would not let her die.

  He would not lose Leah or their babe.

  "I never wanted to marry Eric," Rachel said, her arm shaking from the strain of supporting the gun. "I did it for you. So you could have everything."

  The implication of her words froze the blood in his veins, as surely as if it had turned to ice. "What are you saying?"

  Rachel started to weep, a loud wailing that rivaled the wind, then she laughed through her tears. "I had to do it. You would not come back to me any other way. And now this."

  "I do not understand what you are saying." Richard edged toward her, his eyes holding her gaze. "Eric died of an accident. A fall from his horse"

  She merely laughed. "This would have appeared an accident, too. Out for an afternoon stroll, she lost her way in the mist and tumbled over the edge. But now there is no use. No hope"

  Her gaze darted around the cliffs, the wild eyes of an animal run to ground, hopelessly trapped, desperate to escape.

  A fantastical moment passed in which Richard felt as if he were a soul disembodied, floating between time and space, the individual seconds framed within the blink of his eyes. He saw Rachel raise the gun, point it at Leah. Saw the tendons of her hand tighten as her finger squeezed the trigger. He saw himself lunge, his arms stretching, reaching, but even that seemed to happen too slowly, as if the wind were pushing him back.

  Then, as if realizing her danger, she spun around until the gun aimed at him. Braced for the impact, he gave silent thanks to a God who had so often deserted him.

  Then a flash of movement, a swift silvery light cutting through the darkness, the reflection of moonlight on her hair, and he knew it was Leah, rushing forward, hands lifted.

  "No," he screamed. He wanted to die, to take the bullet, to save her life. Instead, she shoved her hands into Rachel's back, pushing as they both plunged toward the edge of the cliff.

  He saw a flash of light, blinding in his misery, as the gun discharged, then acrid, dark smoke suspended on the wind and the ground dissolving beneath Leah's feet.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Richard dove for the ledge.

  He grabbed Leah by the waist. The momentum of her forward motion nearly tumbled them both over the edge, but he shoved the heels of his boots against the rocks, locked his knees, and leaned backward, pulling toward solid ground. He clung to her, his muscles trembling, arms aching, fingers frozen from the rain. The wind slammed into his back and still he clutched her to him until the bones in his back and legs ached from the exertion.

  The furious breakers, whipped up by the storm, smashed into the cliffs below, shooting water high in the air. The salt stung his cheeks, and the frigid water burned like fire against his skin. Time crawled by, punctuated by the mad throbbing of his pulse. It seemed an eternity that they hovered on the edge. In reality, mere seconds passed before he fell backwards onto the ground, pulling Leah down atop him.

  He rolled her over, knelt above her. She was unconscious, her face as white as a new-fallen snow and just as cold against the lips he pressed to her cheek. He searched her neck for a pulse. It was thin, thready, but it was there.

  The rock beneath her was stained with blood but he refused to contemplate the source. His mind centered on only one purpose. Get her safe. Get her home.

  Someone was shouting, calling his name, but he felt disoriented, his thoughts frantic, swirling like the wind, the neverending litany driving him mad-get her home, get her safe.

  He pulled her into his arms and ran up the path, his muscles burning with every step he took.

  Then Pierce was beside him. "You must be exhausted. Let me carry her for you"

  Richard shook his head. He could not speak past the panic clenching his throat. Nor could he release her.

  Further ahead, he saw footmen and grooms and, thank the Good Lord, horses. He forced his legs to keep moving, his blood to keep pumping, his heart not to lose hope.

  "Help me get her on the horse," he shouted into the wind. "Send for the doctor. Meet me at the lodge. It is closer."

  "And Rachel?" Pierce said.

  "She went over the edge. No doubt she is dead, but have the men search for her anyway."

  When they reached the horses, Richard shifted Leah into Pierce's outstretched arms just long enough to climb onto his mount. Then he gathered her against his chest and kicked the horse into motion, his mind devoid of all thought, save the haunting refrain, Please don't die, please don't die, please don't die.

  "She has a few minor cuts and scratches on her hands, Your Grace, but our greatest threat to her life is the bleeding."

  Richard clutched her hand to his chest. Her skin had yet to warm, though he had piled woolen blankets atop her. She never moved, never made a sound as the doctor poked and prodded, and all the while her blood streamed from her body.

  "Can you not make it stop?" Richard said. His stomach lurched. The room tipped precariously onto its side.

  The doctor, his forehead covered in sweat, ran his fingers over her wrist, feeling for a pulse. "I shall do everything within my power, but both the mother and child are in danger. Unless she is delivered, and soon, neither of them stands much of a chance. With your permission, I should like to give her a decoction to hasten the birth along."

  "Do anything you must to save my wife." Her face was so pale, her breathing so shallow, he could not even hear it moving in and out of her lungs. His throat swelled, his eyes burned.

  She lay as still as death, even as her body struggled to be free of their child. How could she survive such pain?

  How would he live without her?

  He closed his mind to the thought.

  She would not die. He would not allow it.

  Four hours later, their son came screaming into the world.

  Richard did not even see him. All he saw was the river of red that gushed from her body along with the child.

  "Do something!" he cried. "Jesus Christ, do something . .

  The room swirled around him, as if he were back on the cliff, teetering on the edge, his wife clutched in his arms, only this time, he lost her. The air in the room seemed inordinately cold, though a fire poured heat from the grate.

  He fell to his knees, grabbed her hand, crushed her cold, lifeless fingertips against his lips. Eyes clenched against the vision of her life's blood draining from her body, he stroked her hair from her brow.

  The doctor blen
ded a mixture of shepherd's purse and yarrow and forced it down her throat. "To clot the blood," he said.

  He repeated the process with white willow bark dissolved in wine, then he bathed her privy parts with a decoction of feverfew. "To fight infection," he said.

  So much blood, Richard thought. How could she live?

  But as long as her heart continued to beat and she drew breath, he would not lose hope. He pressed her hand to his lips.

  In a never-ending litany, he uttered every prayer he had ever known, hoping, just this once, God might listen.

  In the morning, the fever set in.

  Leah moaned. "Richard, forgive me.. ."

  Her words, like a whiplash, flayed his body, flayed his soul. "My love, there is nothing to forgive."

  Never had Richard felt so helpless. All he could do was bathe her brow, hold her hand, and listen to the delirious ramblings of her fevered mind. She called for her sister, her aunt, her nephew. She called for Alison and Geoffrey. She pleaded with Rachel to spare her child's life.

  But most of all, she cried for Richard. Over and over, she called his name, begged his forgiveness for killing their child.

  Richard thought he would perish beneath the torture of her sweet voice so wracked with anguish and despair. How could she think he would ever blame her for anything?

  It was himself he cursed and hated and blamed. If not for him and his sordid past, she would never have been in danger.

  He should have protected her, but no, she had protected him.

  It was his life she had saved out on the bluff. He would gladly give up his life so that she could live.

  The doctor came up behind Richard. He hesitated a moment, then laid a hand on his shoulder.

  "I fear there is nothing more I can do, Your Grace" His voice faltered. He cleared his throat. "The bleeding has slowed to a trickle. But she is very weak. Now, it is a matter of hoping and praying and her will to survive."

  Richard rubbed his cheek against her hand. He heard the doctor's words, but they had no meaning. "I should like to be alone with my wife."