The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington

by Anna Bradley

  Enough time that she could no longer feel her hands or her feet.

  She heard the scrape of the key in the lock, and a moment later, the icehouse door opened. It was much too dark for her to make out Lord Dunn’s features—all she saw was the shadowy silhouette of a towering figure looming at the top of the stone steps.

  He looked larger than she remembered, larger than he’d ever looked in any ballroom.

  “How do you do, Lady Emma? Not too cold, I hope?”

  Emma said nothing.

  He sauntered down the steps, and offered her a mocking bow. “I regret you were obliged to miss tea, my lady. It did occur to me to take you from the ballroom last night, but it isn’t much of a ball without a belle, is it?”

  A belle. That was what Lord Dunn saw when he looked at her. For all his cleverness, he’d never seen anything beyond her face. Blue eyes, a charming smile. It was enough, for so many gentlemen.

  But not for Samuel. He’d seen past it. He was the only man who’d ever bothered.

  The thought made a sob rise in her throat. She choked it back, but Lord Dunn heard it, and let out a heavy sigh “We’re not going to have histrionics, I hope. It’s nothing personal, Lady Emma. It’s just that I fear Caroline Francis has told you some unflattering stories about me, and I can’t have the gossip getting out, can I?”

  “I’ve never spoken a word to Caroline Francis in my life.”

  “No? Helena Reeves, then. Imagine my surprise when Caroline told me you and Helena were such intimate friends. Curious, that a fine lady like yourself would be friends with a whore.” Lord Dunn advanced on her, backed her up against the wall behind her, and grabbed her upper arms. It took every bit of courage Emma possessed, but she managed not to jerk out of his grasp.

  “Ah, now there’s a good girl. No sense in struggling. Now then, let’s get to it, shall we? You have something that belongs to me, Lady Emma, and I want it back.”

  His breath on the side of her face made Emma flinch, but she managed a smile, hoping to put him off his guard. “It’s a fine pendant, my lord. Who is the little boy in the portrait?”

  Lord Dunn smirked. “Ever charming, aren’t you, Lady Emma? He’s my eldest nephew, James. I had the pendant made as a Christmas gift for my sister, but unfortunately I was prevented from visiting Cornwall this year.”

  His nephew. It was as Emma had thought, then. Caroline had realized she was in danger, and had stolen the pendant, hoping it would serve as proof of a connection between herself and Lord Dunn.

  And so it had. If Caroline had never been in his company, as Lord Dunn would likely claim, there was no possible way she could have that pendant. “That’s a pity, my lord. I daresay that didn’t please you.”

  He gave a curt laugh. “No, it didn’t, but I’m afraid that was always the way with Caroline. Nothing about her pleased me, aside from her death.”

  Emma shuddered at his callousness. He spoke as if strangling a lady and leaving her body in a London alleyway was a trifling matter, of no more significance than a bit of mud on his boots. “Did Amy Townshend displease you, as well?”

  That gave him pause. “Amy? Well, it seems you know a great deal more than I realized. You are the clever one, Lady Emma. Amy pleased me very well, indeed, right up until she didn’t. It was bad of me to lose my temper with her. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but so it goes.”

  “Yes, murder does have a way of defying expectations,” Emma said, unable to hide her disgust.

  “Ah, I see I’ve offended you. I beg your pardon, Lady Emma. You’re right, of course. Amy put me in rather a bind. It was lucky Lovell happened to be sent down at just that time, but then I’ve always been a lucky fellow.”

  “Not quite as lucky as you might have been, if only Lord Lovell had been sent down a few days earlier.”

  Lord Dunn shrugged. “It’s a matter of a few days, and no one at Lymington House knows precisely when Amy went missing.”

  It was, unfortunately, the truth. Lady Lymington had said the same thing herself. Lord Lovell’s alibi wasn’t quite as sturdy as Emma might have wished, given the inexact timing of her disappearance. It seemed Lord Dunn had thought of everything.

  Nearly everything.

  “What of Kitty Yardley, my lord?”

  Lord Dunn gave her a blank look. “Kitty? Was that her name? I didn’t have anything against her, but someone had to vanish after Lovell returned to Lymington House, and the girl happened along at just the right time. Pity, really. Such a quiet, meek little mouse. She hardly made a sound when I strangled her.”

  Bile crawled up Emma’s throat, burning her. “Clever as you are, Lord Dunn, I can’t imagine you intended for Caroline to end up at the Pink Pearl.”

  “No. She was meant to go the way of Amy and Kitty, but then Lovell ran off to London just when I was about finish the business. Disgraceful of him, dashing off like that when he’s meant to be in mourning for his father, but you see, it all worked out in the end.”

  Emma stared up at him, appalled at his disdain when he said Lord Lovell’s name. The man dared to judge Lord Lovell’s behavior, after the despicable acts he’d committed? “Did it really work out in the end, my lord? I don’t deny you did an admirable job covering your tracks, but there’s one thing you didn’t anticipate.”

  “Oh?” Lord Dunn chuckled, as if Emma were an amusing child. “What would that be, Lady Emma?”

  “Lord Lovell fought a duel in London soon after he left Lymington House in January. He was badly injured by a pistol ball to the leg, and obliged to keep to his bed for weeks. He couldn’t have seduced Caroline, or brought her to the Pink Pearl.”

  Lord Dunn froze, but then he threw his head back in a laugh. “You expect me to believe Lovell fought a duel in London without anyone hearing a word about it? No, Lady Emma. I’m afraid that’s impossible, London gossips being what they are.”

  “Lord Lymington went to great lengths to keep it quiet. He knows all about your crimes, as well, and he’ll see you swing for them.”

  A trace of fear crossed Lord Dunn’s face at that, but then his features hardened. “Lymington may do as he likes, but my neck won’t find a noose without any proof, and there isn’t a shred of that. Even if what you say about the duel is true, it doesn’t exonerate Lovell for the two other girls. Caroline’s friend Helena, the little dark-haired whore, will be made to testify that Caroline told her Lord Lovell did away with the two servants.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Of course, she’ll also testify that Caroline told her Lord Lovell seduced and ruined her. But perhaps the courts can be made to believe Caroline told the truth about Amy and Kitty, but lied about herself. Then there’s the matter of the magistrate searching your hunting box, Lord Dunn, for you can be sure Lord Lymington will insist upon it. I wonder what he’ll find?”

  “Not a blessed thing. Certainly not any bodies. They’ll turn up again eventually once the last of the ice melts—a pond can’t hide everything—but Lord Lovell could just as easily have disposed of them there as I could. But enough of this. Lymington’s on the hunt for you, and I’d prefer to be gone well before he discovers your body. Now, you may hand over the pendant, or I can take it once you’re dead. It’s your choice, my lady, but it will go much easier for you if you cooperate.”

  “It’s in my pocket.” Emma curled her fingers around the handle of the ice axe she was hiding behind a fold of her cloak.

  Lord Dunn seized her cloak in his fist. He’d just closed his fingers around the pendant when Emma raised her arm, and holding the axe close to the base of the blade, slammed it down on Lord Dunn’s arm with all her strength.

  He shrieked in pain as the blade glanced off his wrist. He leapt back, away from her, cradling his injured wrist in his other hand, and slowly raised his eyes to Emma’s face, a snarl on his lips. “You bloody little bitch!”

  His face was a mask of rage,
his eyes narrowed to vicious slits.

  This. This was the face the others had seen right before his hands closed around their necks, and squeezed until their breath stopped in their lungs. This was the real Lord Dunn, the monster who lurked under that handsome face.

  Emma tried to dart around him, but he shoved her back, trapping her against the wall. She raised the axe again, but just as she was about to bring it down a second time, her gaze began to swim in and out of focus.

  She blinked, disoriented, and all at once, she wasn’t in the icehouse with Lord Dunn anymore. She was in a luxurious bedchamber at the Pink Pearl with a different man, the same man who haunted her nightmares, his face twisted with inhuman rage as he pressed the cold steel of his blade against her neck.

  In that dizzying moment, Emma was no longer holding an axe. She was holding a knife, the gleaming blade sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone, and he was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger than she was, and she didn’t have a choice, had never had a choice…

  And there was blood, so much blood, blood everywhere.

  It happened in an instant, the vision there and then gone again, and she was back in the icehouse, facing an enraged Lord Dunn. Her fingers tightened around the axe handle, but her hesitation had cost her. In the time it took her to draw a breath, Lord Dunn snatched the axe from her hand and hurled it away.

  Then he lunged for her, slamming her against the wall. Her head hit with a thud, the blow knocking the breath out of her. His face, pale and twisted with hate, swam in front of her eyes, advancing and receding again, in and out, and Emma wondered vaguely if she was screaming, or if she’d die like poor Kitty Yardley had, without making a sound.

  But there was no time to think about it, no time to do anything at all as Lord Dunn’s hands closed around her neck and squeezed, his grip punishing, his thumbs digging into her throat. Emma clawed at his hands, but her vision started to darken at the edges, going black, and then…

  There was a crash, like a door being ripped off its hinges. Emma thought she’d imagined it, but then someone shouted, and footsteps were pounding across the stone floor, and suddenly, the hands around Emma’s neck were gone.

  Then, in the next instant Lord Dunn was gone, ripped away from her, his body sailing through the air until he hit the opposite wall with a deafening crash, then sank to the floor.

  Emma fell to her knees, coughing and gasping and dragging in one desperate breath after another as a battle raged before her eyes, a blur of fists and bared teeth, then Lord Dunn on his hands and knees, crawling up the stone steps.

  He didn’t get far. Samuel was on him in a flash. Dunn managed to stagger to his feet, but Samuel lunged for him, wrapping his massive arms around Dunn’s midsection. Dunn fought him, kicking and clawing and snarling, the blood from his wrist splattering Samuel’s shirt.

  Just when it looked as if Dunn would escape and flee into the night, there was another shout—Daniel? A third figure leapt into the fray, crashing into the struggling men, and all three of them hurtled back down the stairs, plunging to the bottom in a spray of blood and tangled limbs.

  The man who’d landed on top peeled himself off the other two, then reached down and hauled the second one up by the back of his neck. The two of them leaned over the third man, breathing hard, their hands on their knees.

  Daniel prodded at Lord Dunn with his foot, then shook his head. “He’s out. See to the lass, Lymington.”

  Emma didn’t remember crumpling to the ground, but she must have, because she was sprawled there when Samuel’s face, his beautiful face, appeared above her.

  “Emma,” he whispered, his voice raw with fear, but still so tender it made Emma want to cry.

  Maybe she did cry, because a pained sound tore from Samuel as he gathered her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s over. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Emma.”

  Emma let out a sob, and buried her face against his warm, solid chest. She thought he was stroking her hair and murmuring to her, but she let her eyes flutter closed.

  Because he did have her. He’d had her from the start.

  And that was all that mattered.

  * * * *

  “There was no need to knock me down the stairwell, Brixton,” Samuel grumbled, glaring at Daniel as he rubbed his sore shoulder.

  “I don’t know as that’s so, Lymington. Looked to me like Dunn had the best of ye.”

  “The devil he did. He was crawling on his knees up the stairs, for God’s sake.”

  “Eh, well, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing.” Brixton’s lips stretched in a grin that managed to be both menacing and infuriating at once. “Beg pardon, my lord, but it’s best to be safe. That’s why ye tackled me in the woods, innit? To be safe?”

  “So that’s why you did it? To get me back? Damn it, Brixton, you nearly dislocated my shoulder!”

  Brixton shrugged. “Ye broke my hand.”

  Samuel subsided with a huff, and rested his head against the wall behind him.

  They were both silent for a time, then Brixton began making a strange sound—something halfway between a grunt and a wheeze. It took a minute before Samuel realized the disturbing noise was meant to be a laugh. “What’s so amusing, Brixton?”

  “For a little while there, I thought ye were going to rip Dunn’s throat out,” Brixton said with unmistakable relish. “I would have liked to see that.”

  “And I would have liked to rip the villain’s throat out.”

  “I wouldn’t have stopped ye, but ’is neck will find a noose soon en—”

  A pitiful cry came from the other side of the closed bedchamber door, and Samuel’s gaze shot to Brixton’s. He saw his own fear reflected in the man’s face, and his stomach dropped. If Brixton was afraid, then this was bad, indeed. “She, ah…Emma will be all right, won’t she?”

  “’Course, she will be. She may be a little bit of a thing, but that lass is stronger than she looks.”

  But Samuel saw Daniel’s uneasiness, and fear gripped him, tightening his chest.

  He’d carried Emma all the way from the icehouse back to Lymington House, muttering prayers the entire way that his arms around her would warm her, but she’d been so cold, her slender body wracked with deep, uncontrollable shudders.

  Lady Crosby had been weeping on the settee when they burst into the drawing room. Lady Silvester and Lady Lymington had been attempting to comfort her, while Lovell and Lady Flora stood silently nearby, their faces pale, and Flora’s eyes red from crying.

  The moment Lady Crosby saw Emma lying pale and limp in Samuel’s arms, however, she’d dried her tears, and leapt into action with all the self-righteous wrath of an aggrieved grandmother.

  Samuel had never seen anything more frightening in his life.

  She’d ordered Samuel to carry Emma upstairs to her bedchamber at once and put her directly into bed, tucked up as snugly as possible while the fire was built to a roar in the grate. The entire household had converged in Emma’s bedchamber by then, but Lady Crosby had banished the lot of them with the fury of a mother hen protecting her baby chick from a pack of hungry foxes, then ordered a hot bath be brought as soon as possible.

  Samuel hadn’t dared argue with her. Even Brixton had done as he was told.

  Now the two of them were standing in the hallway outside Emma’s bedchamber as a half dozen servants rushed back and forth between the kitchen and guest wing, the footmen bearing large pails of hot water, and the housemaids with stacks of blankets in their arms.

  Once the servants had filed back out, Lady Crosby had closed the bedchamber door with a determined click, without sparing either Samuel or Daniel a glance.

  Since then, an eternity had passed.

  Another might pass in its wake, and another still, and Samuel wouldn’t stir a step from Emma’s door
. When she woke, she’d find him right by her side, where he belonged.

  And if he was obliged to be firm to get past Lady Crosby to Emma, then so be—

  “Lord Lymington?”

  Samuel whirled around to find Lady Crosby standing at the open bedchamber door. “Lady Crosby! Is Emma—”

  “Calm down, my lord. Emma is awake, and asking for you. Now, Daniel.” Lady Crosby cast a stern look at Brixton. “You’re to come downstairs with me at once, so the doctor can see to your injuries.”

  “Ye keep your hands to yerself, Lymington,” Brixton growled, stopping Samuel before he could close Emma’s bedchamber door behind him.

  Lady Crosby gave Samuel a sharp look. “Lord Lymington would never be so ungentlemanly as to importune a distressed lady with his attentions, would you, my lord?”

  “Of course not, my lady,” Samuel said, with a provoking smirk for Brixton.

  But all his humor vanished as soon as he closed the door and turned to the bed where Emma lay. It looked as if every blanket at Lymington House had been piled atop her. She was so bundled up only the top of her head and the tip of her nose were visible.

  Samuel crept forward, wincing as the floorboards squeaked under his weight. He didn’t want to wake her—

  “Samuel?” The blankets shifted, and a hand appeared, beckoning him forward. “Come here.”

  Samuel was overcome with an unfamiliar wave of shyness, but he approached the bed and peered down at Emma. Her face was pale, but her eyes were bright, and a soft smile curved her lips. “Closer, please.”

  Samuel took another hesitant step forward.

  “Come, my lord. I’ve never known you to be bashful before.” Emma wriggled her fingers, urging him closer.

  Samuel shuffled closer, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. She looked so small lying there, so fragile. If he hadn’t burst into the icehouse when he did, if he’d taken even a few seconds longer…

  Emma patted the empty space beside her on the bed. “Come lie down next to me.”

  There was nothing in the world Samuel wanted more than to hold her, but he shook his head. “I’m covered in dirt and blood, Emma—”