Innocence Lost

by Tiffany Green

  Megan's body shook with need. “I always knew you were a smart boy."

  "Ahem."

  Megan pulled away, her face probably as red as the poor groom before them.

  "Your horses, Your Grace."

  "We'll just finish this later,” Nicholas stated softly as he helped her mount the horse.

  She certainly hoped so.

  They started back to Kenbrook. “Hobbs thinks there might be poachers about."

  Megan turned to Nicholas, surprised he discussed the particulars of his meeting. Surprised and pleased. “Why does he think that?"

  Nicholas maneuvered his horse around a puddle in the road. “He found a deer carcass and remnants of a recent fire."

  "What are you going to do?” She imagined someone had to be desperate to poach on a duke's land. What if the person had a family?

  He shrugged. “I'll talk to your father. Perhaps he has had the same trouble. I would also like to find out who the poacher is. There might be a good reason for his actions."

  His words nearly mirrored her thoughts. She smiled. Her husband quite surprised her. She fiddled with the leather strap in her hands, knowing she had been putting off a conversation she had to have with him. Nicholas deserved someone much more worthy. She turned to him, about to speak, when he spoke first.

  "Could you be happy living part of the year in London and the other part at Claremont?” he asked.

  "I would be happy living in a hole in a tree, as long as I was with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought better of it. But they were the truth.

  He stopped their horses and pulled her onto his lap. “I love you,” he whispered.

  She swallowed. Could there be hope for them? God, she didn't want to ruin his life, but living without him would be the worst kind of hell. “Nicholas, I—” She stopped when two riders emerged from the surrounding trees, pointing pistols at them. She gasped. Fear speared her right through the middle.

  Nicholas tightened his hold on her. “Turn and depart at once or face the consequences,” he ordered.

  The one with the eye patch spoke. “As I sees it, chum, ye ain't in no position t'be giving the orders.” He waved his weapon for emphasis.

  "What do you want?” her husband demanded in a low snarl.

  The vile man leered, exposing four black, rotted teeth. “We come fer yer wife."

  Megan pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound. She heard Nicholas's swift intake of breath as the bandit nudged his horse forward. Oh, God, she couldn't think!

  The man stopped his horse just a few feet before them. “Git down real slow an’ come ‘ere,” he ordered.

  "No,” Nicholas bellowed. Aramis sidestepped nervously.

  The burly brute shrugged his meaty shoulders. He raised his weapon. “I'll jes’ shoot ye a'tween the eyes. Either way, I gets the lady."

  Megan froze with fear. But when the big oaf raised his gun to her husband, she cried, “No, wait,” forcing him to jerk the weapon back onto her.

  Nicholas's arm tightened like an iron band. She spoke softly to him without taking her eyes from the barbarian. “Let me go, Nicholas. We have no choice."

  "Come ‘ere, ye wee tart, or I'll blow yer man's ‘ead arf,” the ruffian said.

  "Nicholas,” she whispered, “how can you help me if you're dead?” Knowing her words and harsh tone had stung him, she felt his hold slacken. She slid quickly to the ground.

  "No, Meg.” He grabbed for her, but she had already moved out of his reach.

  She walked to the left so that the insufferable oaf before her was forced into the other ruffian's line of fire. Then, with a silent prayer, she approached the repulsive barbarian. She swallowed the knot in her throat and looked up.

  He appraised her with one lecherous, beady eye. Then he smiled wide. “Come ‘ere,” he said, reaching for her.

  "Don't do it, Megan."

  The quiver in her husband's voice broke her heart. She bit down on her lower lip and took the final step. Nicholas would die trying to keep her safe. She had no other alternative. The man's meaty arm hauled her onto his lap, forcing a startled shriek from her lips. Regaining her wits, she grabbed the man's armed hand while she called out a command to her horse.

  "Aramis, home. NOW!"

  "Megan, no!” Nicholas shouted. But the horse had already wheeled around and lunged forward. He swore and pulled on the reins, but the beast would not obey.

  He hunched his shoulders, preparing to leap from the saddle, when an explosion roared from behind. He pitched hard against the horse's neck. Searing pain erupted in his left shoulder, making him cry out, and a warm wetness rolled down his back and chest.

  He blinked, trying to focus. He still clung to Aramis as the horse thundered toward Kenbrook. Blackness filled his vision. Tremors wracked his chilled body. He fought to stay conscious.

  Aramis finally halted near the stables in a cloud of dust. The world spun.

  Gritting his teeth, he tried lifting from the horse's neck. Pain pierced his left side. Nausea filled his stomach and large, black blotches danced before his vision. He heard voices and sagged with relief. His father-in-law urged him to dismount. “No,” he slurred. “We have...to save...Megan.” He started to fall from the horse as a swell of dizziness crashed over him, but he caught himself.

  "What? Where is she?” Julian demanded.

  "Main road...near bridge...two men with pistols...” His eyes rolled back and the world went silent.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 19

  Megan woke to insistent pounding in the back of her head. She blinked and tried to rise.

  Moving, even slightly, intensified the ache within her skull. Stars danced before her blurred vision. She tried again to lift up from where she lay and realized her wrists and ankles were bound. Everything that had happened on the road to Kenbrook came rushing back into her mind. She recalled Aramis wheeling around to take Nicholas to safety as a sharp pain exploded at the back of her head. After that, everything was black.

  She prayed with all her might that Nicholas had escaped.

  The reality of her situation assailed her. Those vile men had abducted her. Oh, God, what were they going to do to her? Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and tried and stay calm. Her vision started to clear and she surveyed her dim surroundings. If the room had windows, they were either boarded or shuttered. A single candle on a nearby table was her only source of light. She lay on a straw mattress in a shabby little room that reeked of mold and stale air.

  Megan licked her parched lips and closed her eyes. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. The horrible ache in her skull lessened with each second that she succumbed to the peaceful slumber hovering just under the surface. Then the dark void totally engulfed her.

  Megan was jarred awake by someone shaking her shoulder. She gasped at the abrupt change from blissful oblivion to painful consciousness. Strong hands sat her up on the edge of the bed. The room spun.

  A cup containing some foul-smelling liquid was thrust under her nose. “Drink it."

  A woman's voice. She lifted her head in surprise. The newcomer remained obscured within the room's deep shadows. But the hands holding the cup were not female. That meant there were at least two of them in the room. What did they want? She shivered as she recalled the brute with the eye patch.

  Megan felt cool wetness against her dry lips. Fighting fear, she took a generous swallow and almost gagged. The putrid beverage tasted worse than it smelled.

  "What was that?” she croaked when the cup was taken away.

  The woman chuckled. “Water. Not fresh like you're used to, Your Grace."

  Lifting her chin, Megan asked, “Who are you, and what do you want from me?"

  The woman ignored the questions. “How is Nicholas?"

  Megan closed her eyes as her husband's smiling face flashed into her mind. Relief nearly overwhelmed her. He must have gotten away. “How do you know my husband?"

  "I kne
w him a long time ago,” the woman answered in a low, sorrowful voice.

  "Then why have you accosted me?"

  "You will understand all in due time,” the woman said, turning toward the door.

  Megan struggled against her bindings. “Wait! Where are you going?"

  "Worry not, Your Grace, you shall see me again soon."

  When the woman left the room, a shuffle sounded behind Megan. Her heart leaped into her throat and she twisted around.

  She saw only a vague silhouette within the shadows. But the tall, muscular form allowed her a small measure of relief. He wasn't one of the scoundrels who had taken her from Kenbrook.

  "Do not be alarmed. I will not hurt you unless you force me to,” he said, so softly she had to strain to hear him.

  She swallowed hard. “What is it you want?"

  "You,” he whispered.

  She could not stop shaking. Fear held her in steel claws. She struggled against her bonds, and knew that she could not keep him from taking her.

  The door crashed open. Megan swiveled around. The movement dispatched a blinding bolt of pain through her head and wetness sprang into her eyes. She winced, but remained focused on the woman entering the room.

  This one didn't stay within the shadows. She sauntered into the light and smiled a triumphant sneer. Her green eyes glistened with vengeance. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Angela taunted as she perched her fists on her hips. Megan sat there gaping at the spiteful face of Nicholas's ex-mistress, uncomprehending.

  "What's the matter? Someone finally slice off that sharp tongue of yours?” Angela scoffed and took a step forward. She raised her hand.

  "Angie,” the man's voice rang out in warning.

  Angela looked up. She sighed and took a step back, her scornful eyes exuding a promise that she'd not be thwarted again.

  Megan knew she had heard the man's voice before, but she couldn't identify when or where. The back of her head started to pound again and she drooped. The room tilted. She vaguely heard the man swear before she felt his arms close gently around her. Megan forced her eyes back open.

  A strangled gasp caught in her throat as she focused on him. “Mr. Williams?” she whispered, searching his face for an explanation.

  He motioned for Angela to leave.

  Angela slammed the door on the way out. When the rafters stopped shaking, he said, “I must apologize for Angela. She has a temper the devil wouldn't even own."

  Megan had never been more confused. “How do you know her?"

  "She is my sister,” he replied.

  "Your sister?” Good Lord.

  "Come, I would like you to eat. Then we will explain.” He assisted her to the edge of the bed. “I am going to untie your legs, but you must promise not to run. I assure you that you will not like the consequences if you try. Do we agree?"

  With no alternative, she nodded.

  "Good.” He removed a six-inch blade from his shirt and sliced through the rope around her ankles. “I'll be right outside the door to allow you a moment of privacy before we dine,” he replied, indicating the bed with a dip of his head.

  Thank God. Her bladder felt close to bursting. Even though her wrists were bound before her, she removed the chamber pot from under the bed and managed quickly. As he led her from the room, she couldn't stop the questions from leaping into her mind. Mr. Williams was Julian's first mate, so what part did he play in this? What would they do to her? Was she being held for ransom?

  They entered a tiny dining room, not even one-quarter the size of Kenbrook's larder. The paint on the walls had peeled off in chunks and a large greenish-black stain lingered in one corner of the ceiling. The small house looked to be falling apart. The two windows had been covered with threadbare curtains, the many holes patched, giving her no indication of her location.

  Mr. Williams seated her in the chair to his left, then an expressionless, elderly man with a bad stoop served the meager repast. She ate the bland quail and thin brown sauce without speaking. Her hands remained bound. Mr. Williams hadn't allowed her that liberty and she damn sure wasn't about to beg for it. As her shock waned, her anger ignited. And by the time the meal was over, she had invented some of the most gruesome and vile forms of punishment imaginable to inflict upon her captors.

  When Mr. Williams escorted her into a dismal drawing room and seated her on the tattered sofa, she had grown livid. How dared they do this to her! He took the cushion beside her. She scooted as far away as she could and turned to the windows. From the amount of sunlight pouring in, it looked to be about midday. She squinted into the brightness, but all she could see were trees. How much time had passed, she wondered? She shook her head, certain she hadn't been gone any longer than a day.

  The sound of ripping fabric drew her attention. Near the flagstone fireplace, Angela stood watching her with an intense, cold glare, shredding a handkerchief. No doubt she sought revenge for being thrown out. Megan almost smiled.

  A veiled woman dressed in black shuffled into the room. Megan felt her mouth drop open when Angela assisted the newcomer onto the chair across from her. She hadn't thought Angela capable of that sort of kindness.

  After she managed to rein in her shock, Megan inspected the new woman. She wore a dark bonnet with an attached black veil that obscured her features, but Megan guessed by the woman's smooth, exposed hands that she was fairly young. “I'm sure you're curious as to why you are here, Your Grace,” the woman in black announced.

  That was the same female voice that had asked about Nicholas. Megan nodded to the inky shroud.

  The woman inclined her head and Mr. Williams began to speak. “An eye shall go for an eye, so the Bible says,” he quoted.

  She searched his stony face. “I'm afraid I don't understand."

  "Many years ago, your brother ruined my sister's life,” he answered, vengeance igniting in his eyes.

  "Angela?” She didn't think Julian even knew Angela.

  "My other sister.” Mr. Williams nodded toward the woman wearing the veil.

  Were all these people mad?

  Angela jumped to her feet. “That lewd brother of yours defiled my sister, and when she told him she was breeding, he threw her to the wolves."

  Megan gasped. What a horrible lie!

  "When I went to see your brother,” the veiled woman began, “he acted in the worst possible way. Then he had a servant escort me home. But it wasn't for polite assistance, I assure you,” she said. “Lord Amersleigh had that servant tell my father I was an opportunistic little trollop trying to force marriage on him. He threatened to have my father stripped of his title and shipped to Australia in chains if I ever came near Kenbrook again.” She paused and Megan felt the woman's eyes boring into her.

  "Father was livid,” she continued, “and barely refrained from beating me to death. But what he did was much, much worse."

  "What did he do?” Megan asked, unable to conceive of anything worse.

  "He found me a husband,” the woman answered. “And I quickly learned what a cruel man Arthur Wakefield was.” She ripped the bonnet and veil from her head.

  The sound that escaped Megan's lips was half gasp, half sob as she gazed upon the disfigured face. The right side of the woman's head looked as if it had been crushed and melted by fire. Her right eyelid remained partially closed and her mouth drooped down at the corner.

  "Dear God,” Megan rasped, her disbelieving gaze roving over the pitiful sight before her. “You're Emily Wakefield?"

  The corner of Emily's mouth lifted. “I discovered the very first night that Arthur Wakefield was a monster. I was so very frightened of him,” she said, “but it was nothing compared to when he learned I was not a virgin. Arthur beat me and called me filthy names. I lost consciousness after the first few blows, but when I woke, there was blood everywhere. And the pain was excruciating."

  Megan flinched.

  "I soon learned that I no longer carried the baby, nor would I ever be allowed to conceive again,” she sai
d. “And it was all Lord Amersleigh's fault."

  Megan released a shuddering breath. “What are you going to do?"

  No one answered. And Megan wondered how they intended to get even.

  Nicholas stirred and opened his eyes. Everything hurt, including his hair. He blinked until his vision cleared and saw that Julian sat on a nearby chair reading something.

  "Megan,” he forced through his cracked lips.

  Julian looked up and walked to the bed. His brows furrowed. “Nicholas, my friend, how are you feeling?"

  "Megan?” he choked out.

  His friend could not mask his worry. “I would bargain my soul to know, Nick,” he answered.

  Nicholas began to rise, but a scorching pain in his shoulder brought him back down.

  "Have you lost all good sense? You were shot yesterday,” Julian chided, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder to keep him from leaving the bed.

  "I have... to find her."

  "I know. We already have fifty-seven investigators searching for her. Allow us to handle this until you are able to sit a horse, all right?"

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Nicholas bade the visitor entrance.

  Thomas Porter was a mammoth of a man who spoke very little, but he exuded competence and experience.

  Nicholas thought him an excellent choice.

  "Is there news? A ransom note?” Nicholas asked.

  The investigator shook his head. “No note, Your Grace. My men lost the trail at the stream, however they are continuing to search the bank."

  Nicholas swallowed hard. “Are there any leads? Any at all?” He looked around the room. Julian's shoulders slumped and he hung his head.

  "None,” Joseph answered. Dark crescents hung under his haunted eyes and his hair was mussed as though the man had continually raked it through.

  "Your Grace, do you know of anyone who would want your wife?” Thomas asked, taking a seat at the small secretary beside the bed to take notes.

  "I have no idea who would wish her harmed."

  Julian stiffened and rose from his chair. “Nick, what about Jeremy's sister?"

  Joseph turned from the window. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyes seared with smoldering rage. “Be damned, this entire time I've been thinking a man was responsible.” A muscle ticked in his cheek.