Changing the Earl's Mind (The Lords of Whitehall Book 3)

by Kristen McLean

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good. Get in there and lock the door behind you,” he commanded. “Then find the other door and hide.”

  “What about you?”

  “I shall be fine. Go!”

  She touched his cheek before she darted down the stairs. In that moment, when her skin had touched his, he had almost taken her into his arms once more. He would have if there hadn’t been a lad filling them, struggling to get free.

  “Calm down,” he said to the lad.

  “Let me go, and I shall never come back. I swear. Just let me go!”

  “Hush now,” Drake ordered, pulling the lad onto his feet.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you, m’lord, I swear. I was just to lure you out of that room.”

  “Mission accomplished. What’s your name?”

  “Billy, m’lord.” Big eyes blinked up at Drake. “I shall do anything to make it right, m’lord. Please don’t send me to the gallows or a workhouse. I shall do anything.”

  “Rather quick to turn on your partner in crime, are you not?”

  “He promised a heavy pot,” Billy insisted hurriedly. “That’s the only reason I went along with it. That and he didn’t tell me we was hurting anyone until after he brought me here. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Drake narrowed his eyes. “If you truly want to redeem yourself, I suggest you tell me what Winters’s plan is.”

  “He didn’t tell me everything. Just what I was expected to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Lure you and the lady out, then meet at the servant’s stairs.”

  Drake glanced down the hall toward the servant’s stairs.

  “Come with me.” Drake pulled Billy down the hall and opened a door. “Hide here until I come for you.”

  “In the closet?”

  “It’s the safest place for you until Winters is dealt with.”

  Billy nodded hesitantly.

  Drake knelt, taking him by the shoulders. “I promise to come back for you as soon as it is safe.”

  “It’s horribly dark in here,” Billy said, attempting to disguise the shakiness in his voice by lowering it.

  “There are no phantoms, I promise. They would not tarry in a closet when there are so many more interesting rooms to haunt. The library, for instance—chock full of them.”

  Billy’s brows knit skeptically. “Do you know much about ghosts, m’lord?”

  “I know about these ghosts. They are my ancestors, after all.”

  “I suppose. You won’t forget about me in here, will you?”

  “Not at all,” Drake promised. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his watch fob. “Here, keep this safe for me. It was my father’s. I shall want it back unscathed.”

  Billy took the watch, clutching it tightly in his fingers. “I shall take good care of it, I promise.”

  “You had better.” Drake smiled, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s shoulder for courage. “Now, be a good lad and stay quiet.”

  The boy agreed, and Drake carefully shut the door. It was time he found Pembridge.

  Looked like Gordon’s men weren’t in time, after all. Winters was more eager to have it done and over than Drake had anticipated. Even so, he and Pembridge should find no difficulty in handling the situation.

  Drake strode toward the stairs, ignoring the shuffling behind him. The boy was just nervous; he would quiet down soon. Until then, he should be safe in that closet. Anyone not familiar with the sound of howling winds in the castle would easily dismiss his fidgeting with the storm.

  Although, that shuffling sounded a little nearer than the closet.

  Drake’s hand had just touched the banister when it hit him.

  First there was surprise as something grabbed him, then pressure, then sharp pain radiating from his side. A rough growl of pain tore through his throat as he threw his elbow back, striking whoever had lodged the knife in his flesh.

  He turned, taking a blow to his stomach. The air was knocked out of him, but he forced himself to straighten. He had to fight. The wound might hurt like Hades, but it didn’t incapacitate him.

  “Winters,” he growled.

  “M’lord,” Winters sneered, keeping a short distance away, the bloodied knife clearly visible in his fist. “Finally, we meet. What an exciting day for an introduction, eh? It’s your wedding day and the day you die.”

  “You are sorely mistaken if you think you will win this. There are too many of us.”

  “There are three of you. Soon to be two,” Winters said smugly. “I think I can manage.”

  “There will be… more coming,” he grunted. He was getting lightheaded. The knife must have gone deeper than he had thought.

  His hand covered the wound just below his ribs to slow the bleeding. He didn’t have much time. His shirt and waistcoat were already saturated.

  Winters lunged with the knife. Drake caught his wrist, but his hands were slick with blood, and Winters pulled free to lunge again. Drake dove out of the way, landing on his wounded side with a grunt. Then he was rolling to avoid being pounced upon. Winters was crazed, wild-eyed, and it was all Drake could do to keep the knife out of him.

  “You should never have interfered,” Winters panted, a murderous light in his eyes. He stood, hunched over the knife. “So many more must die now because of your meddling. Your mother, just as meddlesome as you, and that old hag, Lady Umberton, for instance.”

  Drake pulled himself up using the banister, the floor pitching and weaving under his feet. “You are going to hang, Winters. The deaths will end with you.”

  Winters shook his head. “I shall never hang.” Then he lunged.

  This time, Drake was ready for him. He stepped aside, pulled back his fist, and landed it across Winters’s jaw. The crack of bone against bone echoed in the hall, followed by the sound of a blade sailing through the air.

  Drake growled in pain as the knife sliced his arm, but he struck again harder, knocking Winters off balance. The villain tumbled down the stairs, grunting as he hit the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom.

  Drake crumpled to the ground, leaning his back against the banister. Blood soaked one side of his trousers clear down to his knee, and now his sleeve was oozing crimson, as well.

  When he heard stirring at the bottom of the stairs, he cursed his shite luck. Winters had survived the bloody fall.

  “I’m going to find your new wife, Saint Brides,” Winters called.

  Drake took little satisfaction in the pained edge to his voice.

  “I’m going to squeeze that little neck of hers. Then I’m going to set her on fire.” He laughed again, dark with anticipation, and Drake’s stomach dropped.

  “Touch her and I shall kill you with my bare hands, Winters!” Drake swore, knowing good and well he was two steps away from joining his father and brother in the ground.

  How could he possibly save her?

  “Sarah!” he called out, feeling hot liquid gush from his side from the exertion. He leaned his head back, his blurry vision darkening as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling of the hall. “Please, God, give me a miracle. I beg you. Let her see it.”

  Sarah pushed against the pew with all her strength, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. She fell to her knees, running her fingers along the legs to the feet, to find them bolted to the ground. She swore. Very unladylike, but no one was around to hear her, so who the devil cared? She could swear until she was blue in the face.

  Drake’s face came to her in vivid detail. He was out there with Winters, and she ought to be helping him. She took two steps toward the door, then shook her head. No, he had asked her to stay hidden.

  She glanced around. The room was surrounded on two sides by giant windows with pointed arches. It had been beautiful a few hours ago when it had been bathed in light. In the darkness, though, with lightning flashing outside and rain beating against the glass, it was terrifying.

  What did Drake mean, find the other door and hide
? There was nowhere to go, no other door. Surely he had known that. What did he want her to do?

  The two walls not composed of windows were the one she had entered from and the one behind the altar. Since she knew where the former led, she moved toward the altar.

  She stopped next to the podium to admire the wall hanging. It was a giant mass of white fur, possibly a polar bear. Perhaps Drake’s father or grandfather had ventured to the Arctic and felled the magnificent creature. She couldn’t see Drake going through the trouble just to kill something that ought to be allowed to live its life in peace. He was too just, too good-hearted to enjoy killing. A bear hide would hardly appeal… Hide!

  Sarah’s eyes widened with realization the same moment a loud pounding sounded at the door.

  “I know you’re in there, you little cunt!”

  Sarah rushed toward the white mass, sweeping it away from the wall to reveal a narrow door.

  “I already told Saint Brides how I plan to kill you. It was only fair the last image in his mind before he died was of all his good intentions going up in smoke,” Winters gloated through the door.

  Sarah stopped her movements, paralyzed as fear crushed her chest.

  No, he’s lying. He must be!

  She shook off the pain and dread, forcing herself to focus on escape.

  “Hear that, you American witch?” Winters went on. “I killed the idiot who thought to save you. Now I’m going to burn you alive!”

  Behind her, the wood cracked as Winters rammed himself against the main door to the chapel.

  She grabbed the knob and turned. Stuck.

  “Dammit!” she whispered, wiggling the knob until it started to budge and finally turned.

  She rushed inside just as Winters burst into the chapel. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it, needing its support. Her heart hammered in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. Drake couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be!

  “By gad, Sarah,” came a leisurely amused voice. “Has no one taught you to knock?” Nick drawled, sprawled comfortably on a settee, an open book in his hand. “How long have you been hiding in that closet?”

  The library. She was in the library.

  She shook her head, unable to utter a single syllable. Too heartbroken to try.

  “Poor Steel Breeches hasn’t a chance, has he? And on his wedding night, no less. Poor chap is bound to die a vir—“ He paused, finally closing the book to take a good look at her. “Good God, what’s happened to you?”

  “He—” Her voice failed as tears stung the back of her eyes.

  Nick frowned. “Here now, m’girl. What’s the matter?”

  She took a steadying breath and forced out the words. “Winters is here.”

  Nick’s face sobered, a cold light glinting in his blue eyes. “Where?”

  She gestured to the narrow door behind her. “The chapel.”

  “The chapel? Not a closet at all, then, is it?” he asked with raised brows as he stalked toward the door she had just emerged from. “Lucky for you, these old castles have so many secret passageways.”

  He grabbed the doorknob.

  “No!” Sarah held out her hands to stop him. “The man is insane. He… He said he…” Her throat thickened and tears blurred her vision. “He said Drake is dead.”

  Nick blinked at her, his eyes turning the iciest blue she had ever seen. Then he shook his head.

  “No, I shan’t believe it.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said shakily, “but we have to find him. To make sure. He may be hurt.”

  Nick stared hard at the secret door, then nodded and began pushing the settee in front of it. “I shall lock Winters in the chapel,” he said, striding toward the hall once the desk was in place. “You go find that groom of yours.”

  Sarah nodded, then rushed from the room. Last she saw Drake, he had been at the top of the stairs. She would have to start her search there.

  “God, please let him be alive,” she begged as she ran toward the stairs. “Please let him be alive! Please!”

  Drake was dead. Or, at least he thought he was. Lights and sounds had faded into the background. There was nothing, he was nothing, but the nothingness only lasted a moment. Then he could hear the distant sound of rain blanketing the moorland and light flashed behind his eyelids.

  Then he felt the pain, sharp and deep, and the wetness. Blood.

  “Almost done, m’lord,” a little voice was saying.

  He felt tugging around his middle. Then ripping fabric and more tugging, this time around his arm.

  “This one isn’t so bad, m’lord. Just a scratch.”

  Drake laughed. That was how he would die. A scratch. It was even more ridiculous than Richard’s death. At least Richard had died doing what he had loved—traveling the world for pleasure. Meanwhile, Drake would die from a bloody scratch in the castle he had been born in. On his wedding day, no less.

  Sarah. God, Sarah!

  He forced open his eyes and tried to stand.

  “No! Wait, m’lord!” Billy said, trying to tug him back down. “You will start bleeding again!”

  Drake swatted the boy’s hands away. “Sarah!”

  “Drake!”

  Her voice calling his name was the best sound he had ever heard.

  He swung around to see Sarah fairly running up the stairs, her skirts hiked to her knees.

  The pain ebbed at such a marvelous sight. The entire world faded away. Then she was there, grabbing him, lifting herself onto her tiptoes as she squeezed him tightly to her.

  He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. What a wonderful countess she would make. Will make. No, what was he thinking. Already makes. She was his wife, his countess.

  She was his.

  He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her fragrance. He never wanted to be far from this, from her.

  “Thank God you are alive, my darling,” he murmured. “Hell, thank every deity in the heavens and below. Winters didn’t get you?”

  “No, he didn’t, but he said he…” She froze. “What is…?” Her voice faded as she pulled away to look at him, her face draining of all color. “No.”

  The simple word held such despair it tore at his heart.

  He forced a reassuring smile through the pain. “Winters stuck me, but I shall be fine.”

  “Not standing like that, you won’t, m’lord. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Sarah startled, turning toward the boy. “It’s you.”

  He nodded. “Ain’t no one else, m’lady. Now, if you don’t mind, why don’t you help me get his lordship to take a lie down somewhere before he starts bleeding again?”

  “I say, old chap, what the devil are you doing up here?” Nick took the stairs two at a time. “Not that I mind you leaving me all the fun. It’s just that Céleste taught me how to share, and now I can’t shake the habit.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, his eyes widening. “Oh, hell, Steel Breeches. What have you done? Those stains will never come out.”

  He joked, but Drake could see the concern hiding in those blue depths. What had he done to deserve such a friend?

  Drake smiled grimly. “The fact my attire is in tatters might prove more difficult for my tailor than the stains,” he returned. “Did you find Winters?”

  Nick nodded. “Locked him in the chapel to let him cool off a bit. When Gordon arrives with his men, we shall let him cart the villain away. We have merited a break.”

  “He might…” Drake grabbed the banister and inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as a shaft of pain lanced through his side. “He might escape. Did you set guards?”

  “Of course,” Nick said, taking Drake by the arm and leading him into one of the bedchambers. “I set three footmen at either door.”

  As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass rang through the hall.

  Drake and Nick cursed violently.

  Sarah went for the stairs.

  “Sarah, wait! Those goddamned windows!” Dr
ake hissed, gripping his side in pain. “Bloody impractical, pointless architecture!” He made to follow her down the stairs.

  “Sorry, Steel Breeches, but you’re sitting this round out.”

  Drake was quite unceremoniously shoved into his bedchamber. Then the door was slammed shut, followed by the sound of clanging metal.

  Drake tried the door. Just as he thought. The traitor had jammed the lever.

  Had he not already nearly bled to death, he might have had the strength to force the door open. As it was, he was in terrible pain and getting dizzier by the second.

  He touched the wound at his side. Bleeding again.

  Dammit.

  He took a few steps toward the nearest chair when the floor fell out from beneath him and swallowed him up.

  Sarah heard Nick rush down the stairs, but she already had a head start, and with her ankle fully healed, she would get to Winters first.

  And she would tear him apart.

  Anger spurred her onward. She pushed past the footmen standing guard at the chapel, who were too shocked at her abrupt arrival to think to stop her, and burst through the door.

  The chapel was bathed in darkness, and the wind was blowing rain in through the giant hole in the glass, whipping the drapes back and forth violently.

  She darted for the broken window, hiking her skirts to her knees as she jumped over the shards and out into the storm.

  The garden was well tended; the paths clear of overgrowth. Sarah had no problems navigating her way through them. The only problem was she wasn’t completely sure which way Winters was heading. She assumed he would not return to the main castle, but who would travel all the way to the village on foot in a storm?

  Unless he had a carriage waiting.

  Lightning brightened the sky, sending a crooked streak of light, connecting earth to the heavens. Then thunder shook the ground, and the rain intensified, coming down in giant droplets to sting Sarah’s face and obscure her vision.

  It was cold, so very cold, and dark, but she wasn’t going to let Winters get away because of a little wet and cold.

  When she neared the end of the garden, she spotted the tower up ahead, and a black shadow disappearing at its base. She could hear Nick calling after her, but she wasn’t going to wait. She was going to be selfish and take great satisfaction in beating the hell out of Winters with her bare hands.