“Nothing fancy, but as you won’t get a wedding feast, this will have to do.” Minerva picked at Simon’s jacket. “Be careful. Desperate men act irrationally.”
Simon put his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll be careful. Thank you for everything. You and Rafe.”
Rafe stepped from the shadows, fingering the scar that ran down the side of his face. “I don’t like this. I should come.”
“No. You should take care of my sister. Our marriage is legal and binding. Once Goforth faces reality, he will be more amenable to negotiation. I can make things deuced uncomfortable for him in London, especially if the rumors of his gambling debts are true.”
Jessica shot him a look. Gambling debts? No wonder Goforth had been willing to sell her off. It wasn’t merely her reputation at risk but his own. Debtor’s prison would ruin him.
The carriage waited outside. Jessica cast a look at the sky before entering. Clouds were massing on the horizon, blotting out the setting sun. Progress was slow until they got out of London where the roads were more sparsely trafficked.
Simon set the hamper on his lap and went foraging. “We should eat. It’s bound to be another long night.”
Jessica choked down a piece of bread with jam but waved away the succulent chicken he offered, her stomach protesting violently.
“What’s the matter?” he asked and then let out a dry chuckle. “Beyond the obvious, of course.”
“I keep imagining what he could be doing to Blake.”
“Goforth has had Blake in his custody less than a day, sweetheart.”
“How long does it take to beat someone or humiliate them? How long does it take to break one’s spirit?”
Simon took her hand and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. “Forever wouldn’t be long enough to break your spirit, my love.”
“I’d like to believe that is true, but if he had managed to sell me to Sir Benedict or a man like him, I might now be damaged beyond repair.”
Simon wrapped her close and said nothing for what might have been minutes or hours. Finally, he said, “We need to make a plan.”
Chapter 26
The remainder of the trip passed with Jessica alternately napping and arguing with Simon. His plan had them separating on arrival at the manor. Even worse, he was going to confront Goforth alone while she was to locate Blake. She preferred to keep Simon in sight at all times.
His harrumph was one of exasperation. “Do you truly believe Goforth can best me in a fight? I’m not some ton dandy, you know.”
“Goforth won’t fight like a gentleman. He won’t go easy on you just because you are a duke.”
Simon cast her a narrowed glance. “You should be more worried about his well-being than mine, wife.”
“I’m more concerned about my husband’s life, especially considering we haven’t consummated the marriage yet,” she said tartly.
His expression softened. “I promise to remedy the deficiency as soon as possible.”
Rain pattered on the roof of the carriage. Not a fortuitous omen. A call from the coachman set her stomach diving. She flicked the curtains open. They were on the final approach, passing under the trees lining the carriage drive. It was late, but light bloomed behind several windows. Goforth could be torturing Blake even now.
The lovely lines of the house were in contrast to the evil deeds it had witnessed over the generations. Was it cursed?
The carriage pulled to a stop at the main doors. Simon smoothed his hair back and straightened his jacket. Blond hair stubbled his cheeks. The hours of travel had left him looking unusually rumpled.
“You know what to do. What must be done.” Simon waited for her nod before pressing a quick, hard kiss on her mouth and hopping down.
She lost sight of him when the carriage rounded the corner. The coachman did not climb down to help her disembark. She needed to stay as invisible as possible. Goforth needed to think Simon had come alone to defend her honor.
She ducked out of the carriage and scurried through the kitchen garden to rap at the door. Mrs. Hamish opened the door, spotted her standing in the rain, and goggled. Jessica held a finger up to her lips.
Mrs. Hamish swallowed audibly before nodding. She almost closed the door, turned, and clapped her hands. “Head to bed, girls. I’ll finish the bread.”
Jessica shivered and shifted on her feet, impatience and fear colliding to her chest. Finally, the door opened, and Jessica stepped in out of the rain and into a floury hug from the cook. Jessica closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth.
“You can’t be here, lamb. It’s not safe for you. Turn around and run for the woods. Seek help at Wintermarsh.” The unexpected plea had Jessica rearing back.
“I can’t leave without Blake.”
“Blake was bait to lure you home. Your stepfather. He’s…” Mrs. Hamish struggled for words. “He’s not in his right mind.”
“Where is Blake now? Has he been hurt?”
“Your brother is well enough.” Mrs. Hamish’s lips clamped together, and her gaze slid away. Her hands twisted in her apron. “I think.”
Not exactly reassuring. Trying and failing to keep her voice calm, Jessica asked again, “Where is he?”
“Locked in the turret room,” Mrs. Hamish said with a heavy dose of dread.
Jessica rocked back a step. It was the room where their mother had taken her own life. The room Jessica had been unable to enter since. “I must go to him.”
Mrs. Hamish grabbed Jessica’s arm in a grip made strong from kneading. “Goforth brought two men with him. Bruisers. One is guarding Blake, and the other is patrolling the house.”
Fear stomped on Jessica’s lungs. Simon had walked into a trap. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself and corral her panicked thoughts. Did she go to Simon or to Blake? Simon’s reassurances he could handle himself weighed against the surety Blake could not.
“I’m not alone. The duke is here. I’m…” The state of matrimony was a new, fragile bud she was afraid might wither before taking root. “I’m his wife.”
Mrs. Hamish held one of her chapped, work-worn hands over her mouth. “My dear, that’s a most welcome bit of good news.”
She paced, feeling time slipping through her fingers. She needed to act. “I need the key to the turret.”
“Goforth confiscated the housekeeper’s key to the room. I know of no other.”
An old memory clawed its way to the surface. Her mother had a key and kept it under the baize lining in her writing desk. Could it possibly still be there? Her mother’s rooms had remained mostly untouched since her death. Even Jessica had avoided them, finding no solace among her things.
“I might know of another key. If Goforth asks, you haven’t seen me.” Jessica took a candle and scampered out of the kitchen without waiting for a response.
Her mother’s rooms were on the second floor and connected with Goforth’s through an inner door. She tiptoed past her stepfather’s door to her mother’s. The door didn’t open. She tried it again and put her shoulder against it. It was locked. For all Jessica knew, the door had been locked for years.
Her only option was to enter through Goforth’s rooms. She held her breath, but the door opened on a squeak. She paused, but no one jumped out of the shadows, so she stepped inside, leaving the door cracked.
The room had a musty scent, and she held up the candle, her shaking hands casting changeable light around the room. The covers on the bed were in disarray, and the washstand was dirty with disorderly shaving implements. The curtains were drawn, but she could hear the ping of rain on the windows. The storm had settled over Penhaven in earnest.
She tiptoed to the connecting door as if the room were an extension of his mind and he could sense her invasion. The connecting door opened, and she entered her mother’s rooms for the first time since choosing the gown she would be buried in.
It was immaculate. No dust covers protected the long unused furniture. She ran a finger over the dressing table. Perfectly clean. The
bed was neatly made, but a niggle of unease sent a shudder down her spine. Something was eerily wrong.
Then she noticed the indentation in the pillow and the faint outline on the coverlet. Someone had slept on the bed recently. It could only be Goforth. She swallowed past a lump, unsure what it meant. Did Goforth battle guilt? Did her mother haunt him?
Those were questions she didn’t have time to unpack. She turned her back on the bed and set her candle on her mother’s writing desk. Saying a little prayer, she lifted the edge of the baize. At first, she saw nothing, but then a gleam of dark iron caught her eye in the top corner. She pulled out the familiar key.
A yell had her clutching it to her chest and blowing out the candle. The darkness was both a comfort and a terror. Footsteps echoed loudly down the stairs, growing fainter by the second. Her fear transposed to Simon. What was he facing downstairs?
Without light, she made her way back through the connecting door and out of Goforth’s room, only hitting her shin once. As soon as she sprang Blake and made sure he was safe, she would help Simon however she could.
Thankful she was familiar with the servants’ passages, she slipped into the narrow stairway from the panel door in the hall and crept upward to the top floor. She barely opened the door and saw no one guarding the corridor. She scurried up the stone staircase and rapped on the heavy wooden door, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“What do you want now, you ninny-headed arse? I’m happy to discuss your whore of a mother some more.” The voice on the other side of the door was unmistakably her brother, but a version she had never encountered. He didn’t sound timid or dreamy or scared. He sounded furious and mocking.
“Blake! It’s me.”
“Jess! I’m locked in.” It sounded like he was ramming his shoulder against the door.
“I’ve got a key. Hang on.” She had to use both hands to steady the key. Even though she knew it was the right key, she still tensed until the mechanism turned.
Blake threw the door open and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you. I was considering climbing out the window and edging along the ledge. You’ve kept me from splatting on the lawn.”
His tone was upbeat and bordered on amused. She pushed him back. Even the shadows couldn’t disguise his battered face. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, his bottom lip pooched out, and his nose was most likely broken. Yet, he grinned at her.
“This is not funny. Goforth is dangerous.”
“He’s more than dangerous. He’s gone completely queer in the attic.” Blake grabbed her hand and looked around. “Where’s the whoreson who’s been on guard?”
“I’m not sure, but there was a ruckus downstairs. Simon is confronting Goforth. We need to help him.”
Blake paused and tossed her a glance. “Are you referring to the Duke of Bellingham?”
“Yes. He’s my husband.” Her ring bit into her fingers where her brother clasped her hand tightly.
“You bagged a duke? Way to go, sis.” Blake’s attitude flummoxed her. She had expected to find him beaten and broken. Instead, he was beaten and defiant. Nothing like their mother. More like… her. Had she underestimated his strength?
She allowed him to lead her to the main stairway. Pounding footsteps had them scrambling to the opposite end of the corridor from the servants’ stairway. Her stargazing platform was the only choice. She climbed the ladder and shouldered the trapdoor open. The rain lashed at her. Once up, she pressed herself to the stone side of the manor to allow Blake room to climb up. He shut the trapdoor and squat on top of it.
“This won’t fool anyone for long, considering we left a puddle in the hall.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind and rain. “Does this lead anywhere else?”
Jessica had trapped them as surely as Blake has been locked in a room.
A bang sounded on the trapdoor, and it bucked up even with Blake’s weight on top. Jessica hopped up next to him, and the door flopped back down. A ledge led back to the turret room, but Goforth or one of his minions could simply lock the door, and they’d have captured themselves. If they could scoot to the rainwater drain running up the side of the manor, they could possibly shimmy down to the floor below. It would leave them in the old nursery.
She told Blake her harebrained plan.
“Jolly good! I’ve become quite skilled at climbing in and out of my room at Eton. I should be able to manage fine.” He looked over the edge. “We’ll have to make a go for it quickly though.”
“Yes. You go first.” She gave his shoulder a little shove. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m the man. You should go first so I can protect you.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “I’m the oldest. Go before I decide to put you over my knee. You can enter the nursery and help me from there.”
Although he didn’t look pleased, he scampered over the rail and onto the ledge with the agility of a red squirrel. How was she to manage in her skirts? She would because she had to. Without Blake’s added weight, the door lifted a few inches once more. She stood and jumped on it, slamming it back down.
Blake had moved out of sight. It was her turn. She stripped off her riding jacket and hitched her skirts as high as possible for ease of movement. She scrambled over the railing with less grace than her brother and scooted onto the ledge. The rain chilled her to the bone and numbed her fingers. Her skirts were sodden and heavy around her legs.
The cracks in the stone provided handholds as she made her way inch by inch to the drain. She dared not look down, but the top of Blake’s head was in her periphery several feet below her.
The trapdoor banged open like a crack of thunder. Unable to stop herself, she stole a glance. Goforth emerged like a wrathful devil, his teeth bared. Rain streamed over her eyes, blurring him. Her only hope was to put distance between them, but her nerves were fraying and the trembles in her hands and knees weren’t helping her odds of escape.
She risked a glance down. Blake was almost to the ledge below.
“Get back here, you cunt!” Goforth yelled.
Jessica took another step away.
“Did you think to escape me? I’ll crush you the way I crushed your husband.”
Jessica faltered. “What did you do, you monster?”
“What I’ve wanted to do for years. What he deserved for humiliating me.”
It was all she could do to cling to the stone with her heart shattering in a million pieces. Her fault. It was all her fault.
Goforth grabbed the wooden rail and leaned toward her with his hand outstretched. His fingers caught the sleeve of her shirt and held. A primal urge to survive had her screaming and attempting to shake him loose. He tugged her backward, and she tightened her grip, pressing her cheek against the rain-slicked stone.
A crack sounded. The rotten railing snapped. Their gazes held, and Goforth’s eyes widened. He blinked once, twice, and then he was lost to the darkness and rain. Time stretched into years before she heard a dull thud through the storm.
A cry, this one closer, shot terror through her. Blake had lost his foothold and was dangling from the edge of a stone. His bravado was gone, and his fear turned him back into her little brother.
She crouched lower on the ledge. It was wide enough that she should be able to lie prone and reach him. Her wet skirts clung and hampered her movements, but she managed to reach her knees and then pitch forward to her belly. Scooting backward, she anchored her hand in the stone, her fingers pinched and her nails broke as she reached for her brother with her other hand. She gripped his wrist.
“Jess!” Blake’s voice trembled.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let go,” she yelled, with more desperation than promise. If he fell, his weight would pull them both over to join Goforth.
“Jessica!” Her name was yelled again over the storm, but this time in a deeper, beloved voice. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch your brother.”
She looked down and blinked what might have been rai
n or tears out of her eyes, unable to let go of the stone wall or her brother. Simon hung partway out of the nursery window, his arms outstretched. He was very much alive. She let out a sob.
“Let him go, sweetheart. If he pulls you over, I can’t catch you both. Trust me.”
Trust him. Her heart pounded furiously. Without a doubt, she did trust him.
She looked down at her brother and her husband. “I love you.”
The declaration encompassed both of them. Then, ever so slowly, she pried her numb fingers apart. Without her added strength, Blake’s grip slipped. The ledge seemed to sway under her, and she closed her eyes, unable to witness the outcome. No thud answering to Goforth’s reached her.
What felt like seconds later, a warm hand gripped her leg. “Love, it’s time to come in.”
While she couldn’t see him, Simon’s voice was reassuring and solid. “Blake?”
“Surprisingly chipper. I sent him to the kitchens.”
She clung to the ledge with the knowledge her brother was safe. She, on the other hand, remained in a precarious situation. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Can you get on your hands and knees?”
Her knees were like water, and the thought of letting go of the stone set her body to trembling. The combination of cold and fear had wilted her mettle. “I don’t think I can.”
“Do you feel my hand?” He gave her leg a squeeze. “Now scoot backward like an inchworm. A little at a time. You can do that, can’t you?”
She nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see her. She did as he asked, moving toward him an inch at a time. Finally, Simon circled her waist with his hands, anchoring her until her feet hit the wide platform. He lifted her backward into his chest and twisted them away from the edge where the railing had broken off.
“Goforth said he killed you.” She turned, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and buried her face in his chest.
He snorted. “Hardly. He left his hired lackeys to finish me off. Terrible decision as it gave me better odds. Of course they expected me to fight like a toff. Rafe taught me long ago how to fight dirty.”
A Daring Deception Page 27
