Colin leaned back, the hard bark of the tree easier to bear then the empty blackness he felt in his soul. The son of Jack Cady was alive.
Sarah found her way inside, wandering blindly until she found an empty chamber. She sank into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. What had she done? She had offered herself to him, he had taken. Yet nothing was as she had wanted. His kiss was a wondrous thing, and when he touched her, with such passion, and such desire, she was swept along with little thought to consequence, little thought to the innuendo and whispers and the laughter that would accompany such a liaison. The earl of Haverwood and the notorious Sarah Banks. A gambler’s daughter. A cheat. A doxy.
She had heard such accusations before, but there had been little truth in them. And now? She would be his demimonde, his paramour, his whore. A fitting end for her, exactly what society had foretold.
Tonight, when faced with such disgrace, the earl had nearly killed a man. She, used to such scandal, would have sniffed and walked away, but for a man of honor, a man wanting to do right, he could not ignore such insult. Colin belonged in the first circles of society, and rather than helping him assume his proper place, she had lowered him to the rank of a rounder.
She could not do this to him. To them. She could not. This was not right.
Yet her skin still ached for his touch one last time, her lips longed for his kiss, and her heart—her heart absolutely refused to consider they were not fated to be together.
She had never been honorable, or good, or kind. Her thoughts had always been of herself. But for him, for once, she would do the right thing.
Weary and defeated, she wanted to rail and raise a fist in the air, but instead she would remain calm, dry her eyes, and find the earl. Tell him he could have his wish. She would stop her foolish quest. And abandon the finest man she had ever known.
Colin heard the laughter and music that came from inside the house and knew that Sarah was safe. He wasn’t ready to face her yet, didn’t know if he ever would be.
The man at his feet lay motionless and Colin knelt, checking for injuries.
“What have you done now?”
Colin looked up into the disapproving eyes of Scovell. “A minor altercation, nothing more. What are you doing here, sir?”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No.” The dismay in her eyes had stripped away his anger. “Did you come looking for me, sir?” The damanable thing about men used to spying on others was that their private affairs were never considered private. And there wasn’t even a war going on.
“Napoleon’s bound for France.”
Correction. There was now.
Etiénne stepped forward, and nodded to Scovell briefly, who did not acknowledge the Frenchman at all. Colin rubbed his eyes tiredly, wanting nothing more than a bottle of port, a book on western dragons, a roaring fire, and one last kiss from Sarah. Perhaps two.
Wonderful dreams, but that was all they were.
He took a deep breath, ready to be the damned DragonSlayer once more. “They’ll be calling up the troops?”
Scovell glared at Etiénne. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in France. I’ll not be sharing English plans with a bloody French spy.”
“I asked him to remain in England. I needed help with a personal matter.” Colin folded his arms tightly across his chest, determined not to tug at his cravat.
“And because of your personal crisis, we have no intelligence from Paris?”
Etiénne broke in, smiling cheerfully. “I thought you didn’t trust what I had to say, being as I’m abloody French spy. ”
Scovell stepped forward, his dress sword clanking against his thigh. “Sometimes a desperate man must make do with what he can. Wellington is depending on me for information. The troops are scattered all over the country.”
The absence of leadership was less than inspiring. “Where is General Grant, sir?”
“Teaching school.” Scovell kicked at the soft ground. “I’ve called him back up as well.”
“Il est grand temps,”Etiénne replied in a mocking tone.
“What did you say?” Scovell sneered.
“I was merely commending your quick thinking,mon ami. ”
Colin intervened before the two men came to blows. “Sir, I’m assuming you came here looking for me. What did you need?”
“Send him away,” Scovell gestured toward Etiénne.
Colin nodded to Etiénne. “Go home for tonight. I’ll watch over Sarah.”
Etiénne shot Colin one last skeptical glance and then left with a careless wave.
Scovell paced on the lawn, the large fobs on his waistcoat jingling, his dress sword clanking against his thigh, announcing his presence wherever he walked. “Wellington wants Grant to put together the intelligence plan and he asked that all the exploring officers be contacted. We’re waiting to see what prize Napoleon will be going after first.”
“The throne in Paris. The man wants his crown returned.” It all seemed rather obvious to Colin.
“You haven’t changed your mind?”
“About what, sir?”
“Returning to battle. There are other positions that are less expendable.” The man stood still for a moment, ceasing the annoying jingling and clanking.
“No, I’ll be there.” He was a DragonSlayer. Where else did he belong?
“Call up your men and tie up your affairs, Haverwood. I don’t know how much time you’ll have.”
“Yes.”
Scovell stalked off into the night, the noise of his decorations following in his wake. The drunken lout on the ground moaned loudly and Colin thought about pummeling him once more, just to shut him up. Instead, he untied his cravat and stuffed the damned thing in his pocket, hoping Wellington would return soon. God help them all if Scovell was in charge. Although sometimes God did bless fools. He looked up at the winking stars, and took a deep breath. He hoped so, for he needed all the help he could get. Time was running out. He had to get married very soon. He had no choice.
But before he did anything about his marriage, he needed to find Sarah.
Sarah headed in the direction of the gardens, commanding her feet to move forward.
“Miss Banks?” A man approached, clad in the gold livery uniforms of the household, his arms full of deep-red roses.
“Yes?”
“They’re for you. From Lord Haverwood.”
“Roses?”
He thrust the flowers in her arms, the heavy perfume filling the air. She smelled of the roses, dangerously close to tears. Colin was going to make her decision so very difficult. There would be no more carriage rides, no more balls, no more wonderful moments in his arms.
“You’re to meet his lordship at his carriage. He’s anxious to depart, said you’d understand his reason.” The man nodded toward the blossoms. “A man gives a woman this many roses and he must be wanting to make amends.”
Sarah closed her eyes, wishing the evening were done with. “I’m quite sure of it.”
“Would you like for me to collect your coat, miss?”
“Yes, please.” She would tell him her decision, and then she would find the comtesse and go home. It was the right thing to do, but it hurt so terribly.
The man brought her cloak and she followed him to the grand portico that graced the entrance of the house. She practiced her speech, gathering her courage. She would be strong. She would recite her empty words, walk away bravely, and go home where she could fall apart in peace.
She clasped the flowers in her arms tighter, the lighted lanterns casting flickers of light on the stone columns of the portico. The long line of carriages did not include the blue and gold Haverwood crest. She walked up and down, searching once more, thinking perhaps she had missed him.
Finally, she stopped her search. He wasn’t here. The cold wind whistled, catching the leaves of the elm trees, and she decided to go inside.
A heavy hand clasped her shoulder and she jumped in surpr
ise. “Colin?” She spun around, hoping and dreading it was him.
The large man was broadly muscled, solidly built, with a rough face that had met many a fist. “Miss Banks?”
She stayed silent, not willing to confirm her identity to the stranger.
He studied her red hair and laughed, the color seeming to be confirmation enough. “The earl wants you to come with me, miss.”
She shook her head, moving closer to the sanctity of the house. She should never have come outside, a fact she would have realized sooner if her wits weren’t so scattered.
The man took her arm in a firm grip. “Now miss, don’t be taking on airs. You’ll make the earl right unhappy, you will.”
She tried to shake off his meaty paw. “Let go of me.”
His smile turned dark and feral and real fear bloomed inside her. “After all the time I took picking the flowers for you, I’d be right hurt if you fought me.” Slowly, he licked his lips, his hands gripping her tighter. “But you can go ahead and try.”
Sarah tried to scream, but he was quicker. The rough hand struck her face and she blinked, watching as the world began to gray and spin. She felt herself being lifted, shoved against a hard carriage door.
The foyer of the house was empty. Where the hell was she? A footman approached and Colin cornered him before the man could escape, panic starting to eat at his gut. “Have you seen Miss Banks?”
The man stared at Colin with confused eyes. “I gave her your message. She’s outside, waiting at your carriage.”
Dear God, he’d left no message for her. Colin ran outside, praying he got there in time. He ran down the line of carriages like a madman, ripping open each door as he passed.
And then he saw the trail of roses. Red, like drops of blood.
He looked up and the bastard was struggling to put her in the last carriage on the row. Her head was rolling loosely, her hair waving in the wind like a tossed flame.
No.
He ran faster and faster, his eyes seeing only the long strands of her hair.
She was alive, of course she was alive. She couldn’t be dead.
But he wasn’t fast enough. He was five strides short of reaching the carriage, when the door slammed and the carriage pulled away.
He climbed on the nearest carriage and lifted the reins, hoping the beasts were fast. With a cry that would have frightened the vilest of men, he gave them their head.
Turn after turn they went, hooves thundering, and still he urged the horses faster, until their sides gleamed with foaming sweat.
But he did not let up. He couldn’t.
She was alive.
Sarah opened her eyes wide, trying to fight against the darkness.
“ . . . supposed to kill you right out.”
She began to hum, anything to stay awake, sniffing deeply, smelling the flowers, smelling the man’s sweat.
“ . . . one look at you, and just couldn’t . . . Not yet. Not until I . . .” His hand fumbled at her dress, her breasts, squeezing sharply until she hurt. “ . . . fine teats, just like a set of rosebuds . . .”
She shuddered as the silken petals brushed lightly over her chest and he laughed. “Oy, miss, now you smell like roses too.”
Starting to come awake, she struggled, kicking uselessly with her slippers.
“What you taste like? Roses?” His soured hair covered her face and she felt his tongue licking her breasts. Her stomach heaved. “Something sugary, though.”
She struck at the side of his head.
With one hand, he wrenched her arms over her head, pulling sharply. “What did you go and do that for, miss?” He bit down on her nipple and she screamed. He slapped her once more, her head whacking the wooden seat.
This time when the darkness came, she didn’t fight it.
• • •
Colin whipped at the reins, yelling and cursing at the horses. He needed more in order to catch the rickety carriage ahead.
She was alive.
The road became rough and uneven, cobblestones gave way to dirt, and still they raced onward, the brown buildings and dark trees blurring into huge shadows. Ships. The docks. He wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Ahead of him, the carriage wheeled and veered recklessly. Stupid man. The driver turned and smiled mockingly, and then spurred his horses with a snapping whip.
Colin prayed to God and yelled at the animals, yelling until he had no more voice.
Of course she was alive.
A sharp curve loomed in the road, and he watched the foolish coachman in front of him take the curve without slowing. He held his breath, praying, praying for her safety.
The carriage tipped and tilted and he thought for a moment it would right itself.
He was wrong.
With a heavy crash, the carriage hit the ground, wheels spinning uselessly, dirt and mud exploding in a cloud around it, the coachman flying off in a dead heap. The horses worked against their bounds and pulled free, running off in fright.
Colin fought at the reins, jerking his vehicle to a halt. He jumped to the ground and then ran forward. A large man sprang from the interior and took off into the shadows, but Colin didn’t waste time giving chase.
Of course she was alive.With a grimy hand, he scrubbed at his eyes.
He climbed inside, and found her crumpled in the corner, blood spilling from a gash in her forehead. “Sarah.” Blood. There was so much blood. He cradled her in his arms, using his handkerchief to halt the flow.
A strong pulse was beating at the base of her throat, just as he’d known it did. Her breathing appeared even and regular. But why wouldn’t she come to? “Sarah.” He brushed a gentle finger across her cheek, smoothing her hair away her face.
“Colin?” Her eyes remained stubbornly shut, but she smiled, a beautiful sight.
Thank you, God.“Are you in pain? I’d like to move you, but I’m afraid to. Can you tell me where you hurt?”
“Don’t . . . feel . . . anything.”
Oh, God. That was much worse. “I’m going to lift you Sarah. Tell me if I hurt you.” He climbed out of the carriage and lifted her into his arms. They were in the middle of Blackwall, small buildings littered here and there, the stench of fish filling the air, the sound of the river lapping close by. He spied a light from one of the warehouses nearby. “It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he murmured against her cheek, praying he was right.
She lay silently in his arms, quiet and still as he carried her so carefully. At the warehouse, he struck his boot against the solid wooden door, the noise loud enough to wake even the soundest sleeper. A man poked his head outside, cursing at the intrusion, until he spotted Sarah.
“There’s been an accident. Can you get a doctor?”
The man opened the door wide and led Colin to the small living quarters upstairs. “Can you get some water to clean her wounds? And some rags, or blankets, or something. What is your name?”
“Ellis, my lord.”
“Be quick then, Ellis.”
While the man went off on his errand, Colin unfastened her cloak and pulled it aside, trying to determine how badly she was hurt. Her bodice was torn down the front, and Colin’s blood turned cold when he saw the bruises around her shoulders and breasts.
The bastard would die.
Colin forced himself to continue, storing his rage for later.
There were no broken bones. He used her cloak to cover her and keep her warm, and after far too much time had passed, Ellis appeared. “What took you so long, man?”
“Sorry, sir,” the man apologized meekly.
“No. Here. Let me take those from you.” He took the bucket of water and the rags from the man. “Can you get a doctor? I’ll pay you whatever you need.”
Mr. Ellis stared with concern at Sarah’s pale face. “I’ll not let your missus down, my lord.”
Colin wiped at the blood that had dried on her lip, and leaned forward, touching her face with timid fingers. Her jaw was swollen. The blackguard had hi
t her. For that, he would die—slowly. “Sarah?”
Her fingers lifted and he covered them with his hand. “I’m here, Sarah. Don’t be afraid. The dragons are gone now.”
Colin paced about the room, anxious each time Sarah moaned or tossed in pain. The doctor, a quiet man with gentle hands and confident air, finished his examination, taking longer than Colin would have liked. There was a nasty bruise on her head, her jaw would ache, but thankfully it wasn’t broken. She would be sore for several days, but after that, everything would be fine.
After plying her with laudanum to ease the pain, the doctor took the money that Colin offered and left as the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon.
Mr. Ellis poked his head through the door frame, knocking quietly. “The doctor told me your missus would be fine, my lord. Good as if she were new, sir.”
“Can we stay here for a few hours? I don’t want to move her yet.” She looked so pale and small, the bruises already darkening her face. He felt so bloody helpless.
“Of course, my lord. Take as much time as you need.” Mr. Ellis closed the door quietly, leaving them alone.
Colin lay down on the bed and held her in his arms. She was safe now, but he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Not anymore. They would be married. He could procure a special license and they would be married as soon as possible. He needed a wife and Sarah would be his choice. For her, there were no dragons he would not fight.
He stroked her hair, comforted by the steady beating of her heart. When he closed his eyes, Sarah safe and secured in his arms, the warmth of morning’s first light drifted across the bed.
And the DragonSlayer slept.
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah struggled to open her eyes, her head pounding, the sounds of yelling and swearing harsh to her ears. Wagon wheels thundered somewhere outside and the noise echoed in her head, causing it to the ache even more desperately.
Last night. The other man.
Touched by Fire Page 18