She wondered at the possessive way he spoke of Sam. He was the son of the old Duke of Trent by his mistress, while Sam was the son of the Duchess of Trent and Steven Lowell. The two weren’t related by blood.
Though there was a seven-year age difference between Sam and Theo, they had been raised together in the same house, by the dowager duchess. Having met the woman who’d raised these men, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by the brothers’ loyalty to each other.
She pondered how to answer the youngest Hawkins brother’s question. “He killed my husband” would give away too much, certainly, and raise about a million additional questions.
So she kept it as close to the truth as she could without revealing too much. “He”—she hesitated; a few weeks ago, she would have said, kidnapped me, but now she realized he’d done something altogether different—“saved me.”
Sam had told her she’d brought him back to life, but the truth was, he’d brought her back to life.
Tears stung her eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap, struggling to keep them at bay.
“You care about him, don’t you?” Theo asked in a low voice.
She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t speak, either, because if she did, she’d start to cry.
She didn’t cry often … but this … this was different. She felt different. Her feelings were almost too strong to contain. She blinked hard, twisted her hands together, and stared down at them as she nodded.
“Ah, my lady.” Suddenly Theo was beside her. He slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders.
How odd that he should comfort her. He had his own worries, for his sister and his brother. And yet here he was, comforting her. The outsider.
An errant tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away, frustrated by her weakness. “I am sorry,” she said. “Pay no attention to me, if you please.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “It is obvious that my brother cares for you. Which means I must pay attention to you. My brother doesn’t care easily.”
She did cry then. She turned to Theo, and he, the young man with his own overwhelming fears, held her as she wept.
She didn’t want to lose Sam.
She couldn’t lose him.
* * *
Sam reached the stoop of the cottage and turned sharply, intending to flatten his back against the side so he could assess the activity inside. As he rounded, a dark figure flashed in his periphery.
Sam spun around, but it was too late. The man grabbed him around the waist, twisting, trying to tackle Sam to the ground.
Sam resisted, at first stumbling, then planting his feet and regaining his balance. He lifted his gun. But before he could aim, another man pummeled him from behind, slamming Sam against the side wall. His fingers opened involuntarily, and the gun landed on the dirt with a thunk.
Sam rounded on his first adversary, landing a hard punch to the man’s jaw. The man grunted and swung at Sam, but he ducked away from the blow.
Someone—a third man, he thought—grabbed his arm from behind him, wrenching him back. A body rammed into him, and he fell back, landing so hard on the ground his breath left his body with a whoosh and his lungs seemed to constrict, leaving him gasping for air.
At least four men held him down. A gun pressed hard against his temple. Sam looked past the black barrel and into the narrow face of Edmund Gherkin, Lord Dunthorpe’s solicitor, his skin glowing a ghastly gray in the moonlight.
“Well,” Gherkin said in a quiet, deadly calm voice. “Look at what we have here.”
* * *
Lord Mark appeared just after midnight, exhausted and disheveled. Theo introduced him to Élise and filled him in on all that had happened.
And then they sent Élise to bed, where she tried to sleep but ended up tossing and turning the night away. Just after dawn, she heard sounds in the sitting room.
Sam!
She rushed out of the bedchamber in her chemise. But it was not Sam who was in the sitting room talking with Mark and Theo. There were two other men there. One was a blond man Élise had never seen before. The other was a handsome green-eyed, sandy-haired man who held authority about him like a cloak. A man she’d met before on two brief occasions.
The Duke of Trent.
His eyes widened when he saw her. He blinked several times, then frowned. “Lady … Lady Dunthorpe? What are you …?”
He’d recognized her.
The man behind him tilted his head in curiosity as his blue eyes scanned her up and down. He turned to Mark and Theo with raised brows.
She blinked, then flushed, remembering her unkempt, undressed state. She managed a fumbling curtsy, realizing that the brothers had been telling the duke the story of what had happened last night, but they hadn’t reached the point where Lady Dunthorpe was sleeping in one of the bedrooms.
“Your Grace. Good morning. I am … so sorry. I was expecting someone else.”
“She was expecting Sam,” Theo supplied.
The blond man stepped toward her, brows raised in question.
Mark coughed. “This is our brother, Lord Lukas Hawkins.”
“Lord Lukas,” she murmured with a bow.
“Where did Sam go?” the duke asked Mark and Theo.
“We don’t know,” Theo said.
“But I do,” Élise said softly.
As the four brothers turned to her, she straightened her spine, determination rushing through her. Now was the time to be strong.
“I will take you to Sam and to Lady Esme.”
Theo started to speak. “My lady, you should remain—”
She raised her hand to stop him midsentence. “No,” she said quietly. “I will show you where he is. But I must go with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cool, moist air sent shivers of trepidation down Élise’s spine. A watery morning sun dueled with a thick layer of clouds, struggling to shed its warmth and light over the landscape. It was the first overcast day since she’d been ill, Élise realized.
They rode in a carriage most of the way to the cottage, but when they reached a tree she recognized as being about a half mile away, she rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, giving Lord Lukas, who was driving, the signal to stop.
He pulled to the side of the road, and they all disembarked. No sooner had they huddled together at the side of the carriage than Luke’s head shot up. His eyes narrowed toward the tree line, and his jaw tensed. “There’s something out there. I’ll be right back.”
Before any of them could move, he’d sprinted into the trees. He emerged a few moments later leading Sam’s horse. Sam had had the same idea as Élise, leaving the horse out here and walking the rest of the way to the cottage.
She looked from man to man. Their leader was clearly Trent. He was confident and sure, but he was a politician, not a warrior. Not like Sam.
A flutter of trepidation shot through her, but she thrust it away. These four men might not be warriors, but they were Esme and Sam’s brothers. And she’d learned enough about them in the last eighteen hours to know, without a doubt, that they’d give anything to save their siblings. They were loyal and caring men, and she understood exactly why Sam was proud to call them his brothers.
They huddled together on the side of the quiet, abandoned road while Élise described the layout of the cottage and the surrounding lands.
When she’d finished, the duke assigned everyone their duties. Theo and Mark were to deal with any guards or men outside the cottage, covering Luke and Trent as they gained access through the front door.
The two younger brothers would remain outside while Luke and Trent located Sam and Esme inside and freed them.
“What about me?” Élise asked softly.
“You will guard the carriage.” Trent’s tone brooked no argument.
Élise pressed her lips together, knowing better than to naysay him. These men possessed certain masculine notions about leading a lady into danger. If she argued, they’d only tie her to the
carriage.
So she forced herself to grind out, “Very well,” and she actually succeeded in making the words sound rather bland and believable.
She stood by the horses and watched the men, the four of them in a tall, strong line across the road, as they walked toward the cottage.
She’d be devastated if any of them were hurt, she realized. She cared for all of them, because Sam cared for all of them, and because they were good, loyal men.
She bent her head and said a quick prayer.
Then she hurried after them.
* * *
Sam attempted to stretch his aching limbs, but his range of motion didn’t allow for much, since he’d been trussed to a beam in the cottage’s attic.
Esme had been used as bait; now he was being used as bait. And it infuriated him to no end.
He yanked hard on the rope that tied his hands behind him, looping several times around the horizontal beam. He’d been attempting this all night. His wrists had started to ooze with blood from his efforts. It was no use. The knots were too strong.
He glanced over at Esme, who lay curled on the floor, her arms tied in front of her and then to the second beam on the other side of the room. She’d finally fallen asleep a few hours ago, after she and Sam had spent most of the night talking.
They’d kept his sister locked up here in this dismal attic, frightened nearly out of her wits, for four days. Anger surged in him again, but he bit it back.
Noises sounded outside, and Sam raised his head, listening. Men were talking, but he couldn’t hear the words, and he couldn’t define who was speaking.
The voices grew louder, and suddenly there was a shout.
“Drop your weapon!”
Sam straightened as much as his bonds would allow. Theo and Mark must be outside.
Esme jerked awake with a low cry. She blinked hard to clear away the sleep. Panic suffused her brown eyes as she turned to him and struggled awkwardly to her knees. “What was that?”
He spoke quietly. “Theo’s out there, and so is Mark. Probably Trent, too.” Maybe even Luke, though he couldn’t be sure.
“They’ve come for us?” Esme asked. “Like you said?”
Sam nodded.
Esme shuddered. “I just want to see Mama. Then I want to go home.”
He’d told her the story about their mother in its entirety last night. She’d taken it well, considering she’d believed that she was the legitimate daughter of the Duke of Trent for most of her life. Last summer, she’d been warned that that might not be the case, and Sam knew questions about who she really was had been eating at her.
When he’d told her that they were in fact full siblings, she’d gazed at him with rounded eyes, then told him in a soft voice, “I don’t know what to say. To discover I am not who I thought I was …” She shook her head. “At least I am given this, Sam. I am proud to be your sister.”
She’d always believed she’d had full siblings, so he knew the fact that they were full-blooded brother and sister hadn’t affected her as deeply as it had affected him. He had a mother, a father, a full sister, two half brothers, and in Mark and Theo, two “adopted” brothers. It was as full of a family as he ever could have wished for.
“We’ll be home soon,” he told her soothingly. “But you’re going to need to be strong, Esme.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
He spoke carefully. “They’re going to attempt to use us to get what they want. Don’t listen to them. Block whatever they might say from your mind. Listen only to me and our brothers. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t say anything more because just then the door burst open. A very disheveled Edmund Gherkin strode into the room. The man was thin and short, with pointed features and slick black hair that stuck up at odd angles as if he’d just been yanked from his bed.
He gestured to Esme and spoke to the three men who had entered on his heels. “Untie her and bring her downstairs with us.”
“Keep her out of this,” Sam growled. “Bring me downstairs instead.”
Gherkin gave him a sour look. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ve already used her as bait, haven’t you? It’s my turn now.”
Gherkin’s thin lips quirked upward. “You’re forgetting something, Hawkins. When given a choice between pretty ladies and snarling giants, the fish is more likely to bite at the pretty lady, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sam knew what Gherkin and Dunthorpe wanted. They wanted Élise.
“You’re reeling in the wrong fish,” he told Gherkin. “The one you really want isn’t here.” Because his brothers certainly wouldn’t have allowed Élise to stroll into this danger.
“Hm … perhaps you are right. Perhaps we have lured the gudgeon when what we really want is the trout.”
“Exactly.”
“And how will sending you downstairs instead of the lady help us in our endeavor to ensnare our juicy trout?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “I know where she is. I can have them bring her to you.”
Gherkin threw back his head and laughed. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Actually, Sam didn’t think the man was stupid at all. He’d handled ambushing Sam with a finesse he hadn’t expected.
“They came for Lady Esme. They came for their sister,” Sam pushed out.
“And not for you?”
Sam shrugged. He glanced at Esme to make sure she was all right. Her hands were clenched in fists, and she was looking down, evading eye contact with any of the men. Good.
“They won’t leave without her,” Sam warned.
“Then, unless they turn over what we want, they’ll find themselves sorely disappointed.” Gherkin turned back to the men guarding the door. Sam recognized the man he’d knocked out last night. He glowered at Sam, his blue eyes shining with hate. This one would be dangerous.
Gherkin gestured to him. “You, Jack, take the girl. The rest of you, bring the man. Be careful,” he added wryly. “He bites.”
Still glaring at Sam, Jack stomped over to Esme. Sam released a relieved breath, glad Gherkin had decided to bring him downstairs. He sure as hell didn’t want to be trussed up here and helpless while his brothers fought for their lives with his sister possibly caught in the crossfire.
He tried not to prove Gherkin correct and moved as docilely as a trained pup as they untied him from the beam and led him and Esme downstairs.
At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, Gherkin disappeared into a room halfway down the short corridor. Dunthorpe was hiding there but too much of a coward to show his face. Sam was sure of it.
He let Gherkin’s men guide him down the second flight of stairs as he considered his enemy. Gherkin and Dunthorpe, plus three additional men. Possibly others.
They pushed Sam into the salon, where another man stood with a gun trained on Trent and Luke. Neither of his brothers held a gun—they had probably been stripped of all weapons before entering the house.
Damn it. Six men—at least six—with weapons versus three without. Not good odds.
But Mark and Theo must still be outside, and as far as Sam knew, they were still in possession of their weapons. Five against six evened the odds a bit more.
Sam and his brothers exchanged slight nods of greeting before Trent and Luke turned to Esme. They both appeared serious and grim as they studied their sister, searching for any sign of injury. But she held her spine straight and her head high.
“Are you all right?” Trent asked her softly.
She nodded.
Several minutes passed before Gherkin joined them. During that time, the men stood crowded in tense silence in the small room. Trent and Luke stood beside the fireplace, with the man standing in front of it pointing the gun at them. Esme was to the right of the door with Jack, and Sam and the two other men were to the left of the door, adjacent to the sofa.
Sam spent those minutes alternating between strategizing and attempting to listen to the mu
ffled conversation upstairs.
“No!” someone cried. Dunthorpe, if the whiny voice was any indication.
“It’s imperative that we …” The rest of the sentence was muddled, but another whine from Dunthorpe cut it off halfway through.
He wondered if Dunthorpe and Gherkin were aware of how obvious it was that they were quarreling. Perhaps they didn’t care.
Eventually, Sam heard the stomp of boots, and then Gherkin appeared in the doorway. He reminded Sam of a rat, small but strong. And wily.
He gazed at Trent and Luke, then turned to Sam. “You know what we want.”
Trent raised a brow. “I have no idea what you want, what you expect, or what game you’re playing, but I know what I want. I want you to release my brother and sister. Immediately.”
Gherkin sneered. He gestured to Sam but kept his slitted eyes on Trent. “What? Your bastard brother didn’t fill you in on the game? It’s a fishing game. I throw out the bait; then I reel in my fish.”
Trent crossed his arms over his chest, looking bored. “Well, you’ve reeled us in. You win, sir. Now let them go.”
Gherkin rolled his eyes heavenward. “Gad, you aristocrats are so dense. I don’t know why I am surprised. I thought you’d be a little quicker than this, Trent.”
“What the hell do you want?” Luke’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his blue eyes were snapping sparks as he took a step toward Gherkin.
Gherkin gave Luke an assessing glance. “The infamous Lord Lukas, is it? What I want, my lord, is Lady Dunthorpe.”
Luke’s face went blank. He looked at Trent. “Lady … Dunthorpe? Who the hell is that?”
Trent shrugged. “Wife of Lord Dunthorpe, the viscount who was murdered last month in London. Though I can’t imagine how we’d have anything to do with her whereabouts.” He turned to Gherkin. “I believe she’s in London. I heard she was there the night Dunthorpe was murdered.”
Their act was so well performed, Sam was almost convinced they didn’t know anything about Élise. But that couldn’t be true. She’d been with Theo. Luke and Trent must know exactly where she was.
“You don’t know her? Really?” Gherkin slid Sam a look. “Why don’t you ask your brother?”
The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 28
