Blake emerged on horseback, a wooden plank in hand, and Demeter sagged against the wall. He headed straight for them, his jaw set, his eyes so dark it made her gasp, and swung the wood straight for the man’s head. He sagged without making a noise, bending in the oddest manner until he crumpled upon the ground. Blake wasted no time in dismounting and striding over to her.
He threw down the plank, grasped her face, yanked the cloth from her mouth, and pressed his lips hard against hers. She sank into the welcome warmth of him.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she sobbed when he broke the kiss to work on the knots about her wrist.
“Did they hurt you?” he demanded.
“A little,” she said.
“I’ll kill him,” he muttered and Demeter glanced around him to spy Mr. Foster standing sheepishly behind Blake.
“I could not let them hurt you,” Mr. Foster said, pistol hanging limply from his hand.
“A bit late for that,” she murmured.
“Please believe me, Lady Demeter, I would only ever—”
“Shut up, Foster,” Blake snapped, “and keep watch.”
“There’s more of them,” Demeter told him. “We must be quick.”
“I already knocked out two of them.”
She shook her head. “There are more. At least three more.”
He cursed. “These damned knots.”
She lifted her wrists. All her pulling had bunched the knots so tightly he could not make progress with them.
“You have a knife?” she asked.
He smirked. “I do indeed.” Shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a knife she recognized well.
“My knife! You kept it?”
“A little trophy from our first proper meeting.” He grinned and carved through the rope and she gave a sigh of relief when the tension dropped from her shoulders. She tugged her still bound wrists and offered them out but Blake paused and twisted.
“Um, Blake...” Mr. Foster’s voice trembled and Demeter peered around him to see two of the men hastening over.
Blake set his jaw and shoved her behind him, shielding her with his body. She curled her hands onto his arm, spying the fury on the leader’s face. He stood a head taller than Blake, his shirt stretched across shoulders and arms that should surely belong to a bear. Tears stung her eyes. They were so close to freedom.
“Be careful,” she begged.
***
Be careful. He snorted. He didn’t need caution. He had enough fury in him to blast through these two men in an instant. The bruises upon Demeter’s cheek and the welts around her wrists would fire his anger for months to come, he reckoned. He eyed the man squaring up to him. Wider, taller, stronger.
He didn’t care. This was the leader and he welcomed the chance to take out his fury on him.
But before he could rush him, a third man dashed across the dockyard toward the building. He brandished an axe, swinging it wildly toward him.
“Foster, load your damned pistol,” he ordered.
Despite Foster’s bravado at coming to rescue Demeter the man had done nothing but ride behind him. “Foster,” he bellowed again, but the man at the leader’s side, a slender, tall fellow with no hair and a scar down one cheek, swiped the gun from his cousin’s hold with ease, sending it skipping across the ground.
Blake shoved Demeter back and ducked a swing of the axe, vaguely aware of the leader grinning at the spectacle. The man swerved back around with the weapon and Blake stepped closer, bringing himself almost toe to toe with him, meeting the hit of the handle instead of the blade with a forearm. A suppressed shout tore through him as pain reverberated down his arm. He was close enough, though, able to grip the handle, tear it from his hold, and shove the wood into the man’s face.
His enemy screamed, jerked back, and clutched his nose. When he released his hand, blood trickled down across his mouth and he bared his teeth to Blake, his grin now a morbid red.
A scream from behind Blake shattered his focus and he looked over his shoulder to see the leader dragging Demeter along by the cut rope, her wrists still bound by the tight knots. She dug her feet in and battled him like a wild animal but she was no match for his brute strength. Before he could leap forward, a bright white shot of pain burst through his skull as a fist met his nose. He heard a crunch and his vision vanished behind a wall of water. He swung the axe aimlessly.
“Foster, get Demeter,” he bellowed, though he could only make out vague outlines of his cousin and the other man.
A blow to his gut winded him and he threw aside the axe, heard it clatter upon the stone, then swiped the tears from his eyes and lifted his fists. He tasted the iron tang of blood and eyed his cousin. His fists remained raised and his opponent grinned, mocking him by leaping from foot to foot, feinting a jab every now and then. Foster inched back while Blake’s attacker latched his hands around his neck, pressing hard.
The man intended to kill. He saw it in his eyes. Revenge for the punch perhaps or maybe the man simply liked killing.
Behind him, the leader hauled Demeter toward the edge of the docks, perhaps intending to use her as a getaway or to stow her away somewhere else to get his ransom. Whatever it was, Blake could not let it happen.
“Hit him, Foster, for Christ’s sakes,” he gargled, pulling the man’s fingers while his lungs ached and his face heated.
There was a splash and Blake’s heart, somehow still beating, jerked in response. He would have screamed her name if he had any air left in him. Where Demeter once stood remained only the man. No rope, nothing. He knew it as sure he knew he loved her. She’d gone into the river—fully dressed and bound.
She was going to drown if his cousin didn’t act.
Foster swung a wild glance at Blake, his opponent, and the spot where Demeter had been—then turned and fled.
A string of curses burst through Blake’s mind though he didn’t have enough air left in them to utter them. The damned coward! How long had Demeter been under now? Seconds? Minutes? His vision grew spotty and he dug his fingers into the man’s wrists, feeling the slightest give in his attacker’s strength. He’d die rather than let anything happen to her but for today, he had to survive.
He lurched forward abruptly, ripped one hand from his neck, and slammed an elbow into the man’s injured nose. He yowled, let his hand drop from Blake’s neck, and bent in two. Blake slammed his other elbow down onto the man’s back then a knee to his face, gulping down breaths as rapidly as he could. The man dropped to the floor and curled into a ball, moaning.
His cousin’s attacker merely grinned at the sight, fists raised and still jumping around as though he were at a boxing ring rather than a dilapidated dock. Blake didn’t have time for this.
Head low, he shot forward, slamming the man to the ground. Keeping him pinned with his body weight, Blake drove a fist into his face again and again until the cocky smile faded and the man went limp.
Well, he had wondered whether he still had it in him to fight. Now he knew.
He clambered off him, snatched up the axe, and raced to the spot where he’d last seen Demeter. He heard splashing and the leader hesitated, glancing at the water and Blake.
Blake made his decision for him. He’d take the time to tear him apart if he could but there was no time. Using the blunt side of the blade, he slammed it into the side of the man’s head. His eyes widened briefly before he toppled sideways, his huge body landing on the ground in a kick of dirt and old straw.
Discarding the axe, Blake leaped into the water, the coldness stealing his breath. He reached out, grabbed a fistful of fabric and hauled it toward him. Fingernails scratched his face and he grabbed Demeter’s wrist then looped an arm around her squirming body.
“It’s me,” he told her breathlessly, latching a hand about the rung of a ladder to support the weight of them both.
She coughed and spluttered, her hair a wild mess about her face. He shoved her hair back.
“It’s me,” he repe
ated.
She ceased fighting and sagged against him. “Blake,” she managed to murmur.
“Yes. Blake.”
With great effort, he eased her up onto the dockside, hauled himself out of the water then dropped down on the flagstones beside her. She coughed, spitting up more water, and he rolled onto his side to push a damp strand from her face. “Are you well?”
“Just about.”
“Good.”
She offered a fatigued smile. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He tugged off his wet jacket when he spied a tremor rippling through her—not that it would do much good—but he could hardly have her traipsing through the streets of London in a see-through gown. They needed to find the nearest bailiff and have these men arrested before they roused. He frowned, pressed fingers into the jacket pocket, and grimaced.
“What is it?”
“The doll. It’s gone.”
She jolted upright and tried to push to her feet. “Oh no!”
He snatched her arm before she could go anywhere. “What are you doing?”
“Going back in. We must find it!”
He shook his head, grinning. This woman. What was he going to do with her? “I do not need it,” he assured her.
She dropped back down to the ground with a weary sigh. “I-I am so sorry, Blake.”
“I’m not.” He leaned over her, the tempting warmth of her breath luring him in. “I don’t need it because I have you, sweeting. What more could a man want?”
Epilogue
Aunt Sarah thrust a glass of what Demeter suspected was brandy into her hand. Cassie tucked a blanket up around her shoulders. Meanwhile, her sister’s husbands argued over what they should do about Mr. Foster and who should tear him apart limb by limb first. Chastity leaped into the fray and informed them all it would be her doing the tearing. Even Eleanor would not cease fussing over her, gnawing on the end of the thumb and muttering about whether Demeter would sicken from her dip in the Thames.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she assured Eleanor, shrugging off the blanket. She’d already dried, changed, and even taken a precautionary tonic in the several hours since being flung in the water.
The only person who remained quiet was Blake, who wore an oddly determined expression while he leaned against the writing desk, his borrowed shirt open at the collar and his hair a disheveled mess. Bruises were appearing under his eyes and his arm was bound in a fabric sling.
He was a mess. A beautiful, wonderful mess.
She met his gaze and a warm, delicious sensation jolted through her. If she survived her ordeal, she wanted to marry him, to love him forever.
And she had.
So now she just had to figure out how to bring the matter up.
Once her family left her alone, that was.
“Foster will not return,” Blake told Chastity. “I know it.”
She peered at him, her chin forming a determined point. “How do you know?” She touched Valentine’s arm. “We should hire men across the country. Have them look for him and bring him back. He brought this upon Demeter and he needs to pay.”
Blake shook his head. “The men who took Demeter have already confessed to forging the will for him in the hopes of escaping the noose.”
“The noose is too good for them,” Chastity muttered. “They nearly killed my sister!”
Valentine rubbed a soothing hand up and down Chastity’s back. “We shall do whatever you want, Chastity, but do try to remain calm. For the baby’s sake.” He met Demeter’s gaze and gave a wry smile. “And for mine,” he added quietly.
Demeter suppressed a giggle. Valentine had his hands full with her determined older sister but she knew he loved having a handful for a wife.
“If Foster returns,” Blake said calmly, “we shall have him brought up on charges of fraud. I already plan to have the will contested.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Who knows if we shall find the real will but I knew most of my aunt’s requests. I can ensure her fortune is distributed close to her wishes.”
“And now he has fled, he has no resources, no friends,” Demeter added. “For such a man, that will be punishment enough.”
Cassie made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “He should have been the one to end up in the Thames.” She eyed Blake. “He stole your inheritance. Surely you feel more strongly on the matter of justice?”
A smile curved his lips. “Funnily enough, I do not.” His gaze connected with Demeter’s. “I have other things to worry about now.”
Demeter couldn’t be certain what he meant but hope flared in her chest.
Aunt Sarah gave Cassie a gentle push toward the door. “Perhaps we should leave these two alone to...recover. They have had quite the ordeal.”
Chastity made a sound of protest when their aunt grabbed her arm but Eleanor and Cassie followed quietly and Luke and Valentine seemed happy to leave, despite their argument about who was going to hunt down Mr. Foster starting again. Aunt Sarah turned around, winked, and shut the double doors firmly behind her.
Demeter exhaled slowly and set the untouched drink on the nearby lamp table then shrugged the blanket off. “Do you mean it? That you do not feel the need to hunt Michael down?”
“Honestly, I am ready for this to be over. If I can ensure Aunt Iris’s money is distributed well, I do not see the need. What can the man do now he has no wealth or connections? Not much, I would wager.”
She smiled. “I would not take that wager.”
“That would make a change.” He unfolded his arms and curled his hands around the edge of the desk, then hesitated and folded his arms again. “I’m fairly certain he cared for you, in a strange way.”
“I think so too, though not in a good way.”
“No.” His jaw tightened. “Or else he would have aided you in your time of need. He is most certainly a coward.”
“A greedy coward.”
He nodded. “I do not know the circumstances under why my aunt cut him off but I can only imagine he had been spending excessively. I saw evidence of it only the other day. Aunt Iris was a fair woman who would never abandon her child unless she thought it for the best.”
“He must have been out of control,” Demeter agreed.
She too could not imagine Iris ever cutting off her illegitimate child so the circumstances behind the decision must have been grave. But only Mr. Foster could answer that for certain, and from what he had told Blake on their way to rescue her, he was bitter indeed over the circumstances.
“Enough talk of my cousin, anyway. I am weary of him.” He pressed up from his position against the desk and moved in front of her. “Now, for once in your life you are going to listen to me.” He thrust a firm finger her way and Demeter lifted a brow and eyed the end of his digit.
“Blake?”
“I know this engagement was borne out of false circumstances...”
“Yes, but—”
“And you do not think that a rake and wallflower can be together.”
“Well—”
“But if you think about it, you said yes. Your instincts told you to, and one should never ignore one’s instincts.”
“Blake...”
“Really, it would make sense for us to wed. We work brilliantly together, we can tell each other anything, and do not forget how excellent we are in the marriage bed.”
“Blake,” she hissed, swinging a glance at the closed door, and praying none of her family were listening.
“Well, technically it was not the marriage bed but I fully intend to rectify that.”
She rose, shoving the blanket fully from her, and pressed a finger to his lip, preventing him from whatever it was he wanted to say next. “Blake, I have loved you for a long time.” His eyes widened. She dropped her finger. “Years in fact. Almost a decade.”
“Oh.”
“But I was wrong.”
“Oh.” He scowled.
“I was i
n love with a man I did not know and in fact, I w-was guilty of cowardice. I ensured you never, ever saw me for fear of making a fool of myself.”
“You could never make a fool of yourself to me.”
She offered a tilted smile. “I already did really, by wasting so many years and not allowing myself to truly get to know the man I believed I loved.”
“I think perhaps I needed those years. I too was a coward. I feared marriage and children would turn me into my father. But with you, sweeting, I do not see how that would be possible.”
Taking his hands in hers, she let her smile expand. “I was wrong to love you because I did not know you. But now I do.”
“And?”
“And I love you. Properly. In the most real of ways.”
His shoulders dropped and a grin cracked across his face. “Thank goodness.”
“And I think we should turn our engagement into a real one.”
“If you said otherwise, I would have to protest most heartily,” he informed her, releasing her hands, and cupping her face in his palms.
Her head swam, her limbs warmed. She longed to both swoon and jump for joy. She’d been in love with a figment of her imagination but this man, his touch, his flaws…it was all real, and the love bursting from her chest was enough to give her the confidence that no matter what they faced, this rake and this wallflower would have no troubles conquering it together.
“I haven’t kissed you enough,” he bemoaned. “You’re my fiancée, and I have most certainly not kissed you enough.”
“I agree.” She slid her hands up around his neck. “So you had better start now.”
With a smile, he did as she bid and kissed her most thoroughly, leaving her in no doubt there would more than enough passionate kisses in their future.
THE END
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Don't miss Eleanor's story in SEDUCTION OF A DUKE'S DAUGHTER coming Spring 2022.
Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3) Page 20
