by Donna Hatch
She loved him! Why hadn’t she seen it?
She recalled his compassion, his fury when he faced down Duchess, his tenderness when he held her last night. It could all vanish. The first opportunity she got, she’d tell him she loved him. She’d make sure he had no doubts. And she’d do it as soon as he returned. If he returned.
As she stood staring out of the window, a tiny hand slipped into hers. Janey’s solemn eyes looked up at her.
Again, the child spoke. “Scared?”
“Yes, Janey. I’m very scared.”
“Story?”
Elizabeth laughed weakly and wiped her eyes. “Yes. I think a story is exactly what I need. Go choose a story and we’ll read.”
While the child was gone, Elizabeth spared a thought to marvel that it was Janey’s concern over Richard that had finally coaxed her to speak.
Three maids, the footman called Foster, and a stable boy appeared before her.
Foster spoke first, “We found the coachman and a footman beaten and tied up in the mews. Their livery has been stolen, so we can only assume their attackers took their place to capture Lord Averston.”
A maid spoke. “Ma’am…er, m’lady, we want t’ ’elp find ’is lordship. But Mrs. Brown says if we leave, we canna come back.”
Elizabeth made a dismissive wave. “If you think you can help find my husband, by all means go, and of course you may resume your posts when you return, I’ll see to it. I’ll pay you each extra for trying, and I’m offering a reward for his safe return. If you hear anything—anything at all—return and report to me.”
They nodded, made awkward bows and curtsies, and left as Janey returned with a book held reverently in front of her. Tristan hovered in the room, his eyes alert and darting. He kept a firm grip on his gun.
With Janey on her lap, and the book open in front of her, Elizabeth tried to focus on the stories, but read mindlessly. Her thoughts centered on Richard and his immediate danger. A sob burst out of her and she placed a hand over her mouth.
Tristan touched her shoulder in a gesture that fortified her courage, then he resumed his position by a window. Unbearably grim, he gripped his gun as if it held the key to the answers they sought.
Mrs. Brown swept into the room. “My lady, I know it isn’t my place to say, but surely you do not intend to place your trust in those people.”
“Those people?”
She waved her hand. “The ones you hired form the reform house. They may be lying about Lord Averston. Or they may be the ones holding him captive.”
Elizabeth drew herself up. “Mrs. Brown, if you ever question my judgment or my decision again you will be dismissed. Is that clear?”
Mrs. Brown sniffed. “Perfectly, Countess.” She made a curtsy and left.
Janey wriggled and got out of her lap. Elizabeth stood and resumed her pacing, her stomach twisted into a ball of nerves.
Tristan returned to her side and took her hand. Though his grip felt steady and sure, his eyes mirrored his concern.
His sympathy was her undoing. Sobbing, she sank into him. “He’s in danger. What can I do? What if they hurt him, or…” She couldn’t speak. Her legs gave out.
He swung her into his arms and carried her to the settee. “Here now, they’re not going to hurt him. They want something or they would have killed him outright.” He gave her a handkerchief. “It may be all over once the trial ends.”
Cooper and the others arrived, dressed so shabbily and with so much dirt and grime smeared on their faces that she hardly recognized them.
“Milady?”
Elizabeth pulled herself together. “What news do you have?”
Before Cooper could reply, a harried-looking footman came to the door. “Captain Kensington to see you, mum.”
The captain pushed his way in looking first at Elizabeth and then focusing on Tristan. “I got your message.”
Tristan nodded. “One of the servants saw some men assault Richard and him take away.”
Captain Kensington paled but a new alertness brightened his eyes, and he straightened, visibly alert, every inch a soldier.
Elizabeth nodded at Cooper standing nearby. “You learned something?”
“We found th’ coach. Lord Averston was transferred to a ’ackney and taken t’ a swell’s house—er, I mean a lord’s house—righ’ ’ere in Mayfair.”
She stood. “Take me to him.”
“No,” a chorus of voices practically shouted. Tristan, Captain Kensington, and the footmen all glared at her with set jaws and firm stances.
She squared her shoulders. “My husband is in danger.”
“Tha’ will be no place fer a lady,” Cooper said.
A murderous glint entered Tristan’s eye as he checked a second gun that seemed to appear in his hand. “We’ll bring him home safely.”
Captain Kensington touched her arm. “Stay here, Lady Averston. Richard would never forgive us if we let you go anywhere dangerous.”
“You cannot expect me to simply sit idly by while—”
Tristan made a sharp gesture. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do. They may still be after you, too.”
Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. Janey’s hand slipped into hers again, wiggling its way underneath her planted palm and tugging it down toward her. “Stay.” She pled. “Don’ git ’urt by th’ bad men.”
Two maids folded their arms, looking for all the world as if they’d been promoted from maids to guards. “She’s right m’ldy,” the parlor maid said. “You don’ know ’ow bad those men are. You let th’ men folk ’andle it.”
Tristan put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a sideways hug. “I will not let them hurt my brother. You can count on that.” He glanced at Cooper and the other reformed servants standing with him. “Take us to him.”
Cooper nodded. “We must ’urry.”
Tristan squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here. We’ll bring him back.”
She nodded as tears in her eyes blurred her vision. The men, servant and upper class alike, checked their weapons and left together, their voices echoing in the main hall.
Elizabeth pressed her hands over her cheeks, utterly helpless and angry, but mostly afraid.
Afraid Richard would be hurt.
Afraid she’d never see him again.
Afraid of the looming emptiness of a life without him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lying on his side upon a hard bed, Richard tried to breathe without becoming ill. Every motion sent shockwaves of pain rippling over him and his head felt like he’d been kicked by a horse. When he felt strong enough to try again, he tested his bindings with stiffening limbs.
Blindfolded, gagged, and bound, he had no clues as to his whereabouts. He detected noises of the streets: children at play, vendors calling, the rattle of carriages, and horse hooves clattering. From outside his room came footsteps, doors closing, and muffled voices. He wasn’t even certain of the time of day, nor how long he’d been unconscious.
Each time he turned his head, he stirred the scent of old linen. Moving his bound hands also tugged on the ropes around his legs; he’d been trussed like an animal. His captors had not visited him, nor given any clue as to their intent. Surely if they planned to kill him, he’d already be dead. No doubt his abduction directly related to the trial. The lords would be voting today, so if he weren’t present to cast a guilty vote, Lord Einsburgh might not receive a conviction, especially if other lords failed to appear because they’d been taken captive or otherwise coerced.
He wondered if Elizabeth were safe, or if she’d also been captured. The thought of her in the hands of dangerous men made him cold with fear. She’d stepped with grace into the role of countess and proven herself a caring woman. Yet he’d never tried to reciprocate, not really. He might never see her again, never have the chance to tell her he loved her.
And Tristan. He’d wronged his brother. Horribly. He’d thrown Tristan out of the house without even stating an accusation or giv
ing his brother the opportunity to defend himself. He’d rejected his own brother. At least he’d tried to make amends with Tristan. If nothing else, he’d done all he could to set things right with his brother.
Uncertainty swirled in his heart around his sister. Had he done all he could for Selene? At the time, he’d thought encouraging her to paint in Italy would be the best solution for her. Perhaps it had only been an easy solution. Did she know he loved her? Or had she felt cast off by her family?
Most of all, his heart ached for Elizabeth, sweet Elizabeth…lost opportunities rose up and mocked him in all their cruel accuracy.
The metallic clink of a key in a lock reached his ears, but the key failed to turn the tumbler on the first attempt. Whispers mingled with scraping noises. Richard strained for clues of friend or foe. The door opened on creaking hinges. He tensed. What resistance he could offer, he did not know, but he would fight.
“Richard!” came a frantic whisper.
A rescue? Richard tried to reply, but the gag muffled his voice.
“He’s alive,” said a hushed voice.
“Richard? Can you hear me?” Tristan’s quiet words bordered on panic.
Richard let out his breath in relief. In reply to Tristan’s anxious call, Richard moved his head. Hands tugged at his blindfold and gag, while someone sawed at his bindings. The blindfold fell away first, and Richard squinted in the candlelight at his brother who looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Beside him stood Rhys Kensington and Cooper, as grim as a soldier in battle.
While Kensington continued sawing at the ropes binding Richard’s hands and feet, Tristan let out a strangled breath. “Are you all right?”
Richard whispered, “Remind me to have more sympathy next time you tell me your head feels as if it’s been used for target practice.”
Tristan dragged his fingers through his hair. “I earn my headaches having fun, not getting clobbered by ruffians.”
“I think I’ll try it your way next time,” Richard rasped.
“I’ll buy,” Kensington said in a low voice.
Moments later, his bindings snapped and Tristan helped him sit up. The motion sent pain spiraling out from his midsection. Richard gently probed his ribs. They hurt, but not badly. He touched the back of his throbbing head and hissed in his breath. As he realized the danger in which Tristan had placed himself by coming here, he grabbed his brother’s arm.
“What are you doing here? These men are dangerous. You shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m here to save your pathetic hide.” Tristan said. “And I’m looking for a way to prove my superior shooting skills.”
Richard snorted. “How did you find me?”
“Your wife’s disreputable staff proved surprisingly useful.” Tristan glanced at the footman. “Cooper here tracked you down.”
“Wot I won’ do fer a good suit,” the footman said. “But we’re no’ ou’ o’ danger jest yet.”
Alarmed by the ramifications, Richard stared at Tristan, aghast. “If you’re here, who’s protecting Elizabeth?”
“A veritable army, I assure you. She’s safe, I give you my word.” Tristan held out a hand. “Can you stand?”
Richard got to his feet but the room spun. His legs wobbled and he had to sit again until he could see straight.
“Easy, now.” Tristan wrapped an arm around his waist and put one of Richard’s arms over his shoulders.
“How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been missing for four hours.”
With a gun in his hand, Kensington opened the door and flattened himself against the wall. After, peering around the corner, he gestured to them to come.
They moved down the narrow passageway, past other doors. Someone moaned on the other side of one.
“Wait,” Kensington whispered tersely. He gestured to the door.
Cooper picked the lock and they found Elizabeth’s brother, the Marquis of Martindale, also bound, blindfolded, and gagged.
When they freed him, he looked at them through bleary eyes. With cracked and swollen lips, Martindale croaked, “You.”
No wonder the duke had been so frantic to get Richard to change his vote; his son had been held hostage.
Cooper broke in. “M’lord, we must go now.”
“There may be other hostages,” Richard said. “We need to search all the rooms.”
Two more rooms contained prisoners, relatives of peers taking part in the trial. As a group, they crept down the corridor to a narrow staircase. Footsteps coming the other way gave them warning. A burly man came up the stairs, treading as if his feet were leaden, and staring at the floor. With a quick uppercut to the chin, Cooper knocked him out and caught the limp form before it hit the floor. Cautiously stealing down the stairs, Richard strained his ears for any sound. All remained quiet.
They reached the next floor but their luck ran out. Three men built like professional pugilists came from the opposite direction.
“You there. Stop!” The thugs pulled out pistols.
Cooper and Kensington were faster. They opened fire. Both thugs crumpled, but the gunshots set off shouting and the pounding of feet.
Richard yelled, “Tristan, give me a gun!”
Tristan tossed a pistol to Richard, and hefted a second one. Kensington pulled out two more guns and cocked them.
“This way,” Cooper yelled.
They charged down the corridor toward the main staircase, away from the footsteps pounding up the servants’ stairs. A gunshot roared from behind them. The wall near Richard’s head splintered where the bullet struck.
“They’re shooting to kill!” Kensington turned and shot at their pursuer.
The stairs ended and they burst out of the narrow staircase into a foyer. A dozen armed men ran in from two different directions. They were surrounded.
As the guards fired, Richard dove for cover behind a nearby chair. He glanced back at Tristan who launched himself behind a large planter next to a sideboard table. A lamp above his head exploded. Another gunshot sounded. Tristan let out a grunt and crumpled.
“Tristan!” Richard shouted.
Dropping onto his stomach, he crawled toward his brother. Bullets rained all around him. How many men were there? How many guns must they have? The pauses for loading time took almost no time. One bullet whistled past his nose as Richard pulled himself to his brother. Smoke stung his eyes and his heart thudded in his ears. He reached Tristan who lay moaning. Blood seeped through his coat. He grabbed Tristan’s coat, and dragged him behind a chair.
Kensington and Cooper used up their shots and could only take cover while the other men continued to fire. With more shouts and a cacophony of noise, a group of men wearing scarlet waistcoats poured into the room.
“Drop your weapons,” shouted the red-clad one in the lead.
“The Bow Street Runners,” Kensington said with a breath of relief. “Tristan sent for them before we came in to get you.”
Outnumbered, the gunmen surrendered to the Bow Street Runners.
Richard turned his attention to his brother, shaking him gently to rouse him. “Tristan? Open your eyes…” He shook him a little harder.
If Tristan died, Richard would never forgive himself. He’d treated his brother dreadfully, always censuring him, always calling into question his motives—his only brother, that happy, irascible boy who brought mischief and sunshine, who forgave him more than he deserved, who appeared when needed most.
It was Richard’s role to save Tristan, not the other way around. Tristan should never have played the hero. Yet he’d done it admirably. He’d been there for Richard just as he had always been there.
His brother lay unmoving, all the color seeping out of his face.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Elizabeth paced the floor of the front parlor under the watchful gaze of her servants-turned-guards. Worry ate a hole through her stomach. What if something happened to Richard? What a fool she’d been to waste the time they had together. How blind
to think her girlish infatuation for Tristan was love. Now that she knew love, real love, with Richard, there was no comparison. Now she might never have the chance to be the wife to Richard she wanted to be, the kind of wife he deserved. Aching helplessness opened a wide chasm inside her soul. The clock in the hall chimed, mocking her inaction.
Elizabeth twisted her hands. “I have to do something. I can’t just wait here.”
The maids exchanged glances with the footman. “You mustn’t leave th’ ’ouse, m’lady. It’s not safe. Mr. Black’s no one to trifle wi’.”
With a groan of frustration, Elizabeth paced the length of the parlor and then out to the great hall.
The footman by the front door sprang to his feet, a gun in his hand, and peered out the window by the door as if he heard something outside. The maids each grabbed nearby objects to use as weapons and took up defensive positions next to Elizabeth. Through her fear, she had the presence of mind to admire her loyal staff. Who would have thought former criminals would become such staunch defenders?
The footman watched, then let out a sigh of relief. “It’s them, m’lady.” He opened the door as three figures mounted the outside steps.
Richard and Captain Kensington entered, half dragging Tristan who had an arm around each of their shoulders. He leaned heavily on them as if he lacked the strength to stand.
Richard, disheveled and haggard, eyed her the way a child gazes at a desired toy in a shop. Except for a bruise on his cheek and a slight stiffness in his walk, he looked whole and well.
“You’re back.” With a sob, she launched herself at Richard and fell against him.
Elizabeth clung to him, pressing her cheek to his neck and inhaling his scent. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close to his side.
“I have him.” Kensington lifted Tristan’s body away from Richard. “Hug your wife.”
She burrowed in closer against her husband as he wrapped both arms around her. His shoulders began shaking. “I am beginning to suspect you’re glad they didn’t put a bullet in my head.”
“I was so frightened for you.” She drew back as she realized he was laughing. “Richard?”
