As he rounded the side of the castle, heading toward the front, he nearly stumbled over her quiver. Several arrows had spilled out the top.
But it was the bit of blue — slashed across the lawn like a scar — that slowed his steps. Annabella’s fan. She’d taken care with it ever since he’d angrily handed it back to her in Coventry. He couldn’t imagine her being so enraged as to throw it down… especially not when he knew what it meant to her.
“Let me go!” came her shrill bellow.
The carriage. The visitor who had left without being seen earlier that week. His vanishing wife. Her angry screams.
Jon’s mind whirled as his heart first rose to his throat for several beats and then sank into his stomach. “Someone’s got her.”
Still clutching Annabella’s bow, he snatched up her quiver and a couple of the arrows then took off in the direction of her cries at a flat-out run. Whoever dared lay a hand on his wife would live to regret it.
As he passed a row of gorse bushes, he spotted the curricle in the distance. Why hadn’t he paid more attention? A legitimate visitor wouldn’t have left his carriage so far from the door.
Annabella screamed and thrashed in the stranger’s arms. As he attempted to bundle her into the carriage seat, she stomped his foot. Her abductor howled and she managed to break free. But he only grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her backward.
Her cry of agony cut Jon to the bone. Rage lent him a surge of energy, and he redoubled his effort to reach her.
He would be too late. Her abductor was already climbing into the carriage. It lurched forward before he even sat, as the horses took off.
Fool! At that headlong run, the carriage would surely tip over when it got to the turn by the bridge. Jon’s gaze strayed to the edge of the woods, to the path he and Annabella had used in the rainstorm. He hit the trail hard, uncaring of the branches clawing at his face, snagging his coat. Somehow, he managed to hold onto the bow and quiver while he shrugged out of his coat on the run.
How many precious seconds had he lost? He possessed no sense of time as he plowed through the underbrush, relying on instinct to make it through the twists and turns, everything no more than a blur of green and gray. Only divine intervention kept the thorny bushes from poking out his eyes.
As he raced through the woods, one thought filled his mind. Annabella. He had to get to her.
He exploded from the forest onto the peaceful lane at the top of a small hill. Each breath was like drawing in fire as he stood panting like a dog that had run a mile. His mouth tasted of metal and his teeth tingled. His trembling muscles burned. The side of his face stung. He pushed the discomforts from his mind as he concentrated on listening over his gasps for breath.
A small animal rustled at his feet. Overhead a magpie cried out. But what he didn’t hear beat at his nerves. No plop of horses’ hooves in the dirt, no whispered grind of carriage wheels.
He was too late. Jon’s knees buckled.
“Stop! Let me go, you—”
Annabella!
And finally the sound of movement coming toward him. No time for relief! Drawing several deep breaths, Jon set an arrow in the bow and leapt from the brush into the center of the road just as the carriage crested the rise. The horses veered to the right and the carriage skidded sideways until it slammed against a boulder.
In the carriage seat, Annabella took advantage of the jolt and scrambled for the side, but her abductor clamped a hand over her arm and twisted until she cried out and sat, half pulled over his lap.
“Unhand my wife!” Jon raised the arrow.
Annabella renewed her fight, swiping at her captor’s face with clawed fingers.
The occupants of the curricle became a blur of motion. If Jon shot, he risked striking Annabella. If he dropped the bow and joined the skirmish, he lost the advantage of a weapon.
“Enough!” he roared, holding steady aim.
The stranger delivered a backhand to Annabella’s face then rose awkwardly to his feet, pulling her in front of him like a shield.
Coward.
At the flash of steel glinting against her throat, Jon hardened himself against his visceral reaction.
“We seem to be at an impasse,” crowed the stranger boldly. “Though I daresay I have a bit of advantage. Seeing as I hold someone you treasure.”
Jon met the bleak dark eyes with a jolt. “Dawes! What do you want with my wife?”
Dawes wheezed out a laugh. “Your wife… I wonder if you know just how… impressive a move that was. Lady Annabella has been dodging suitors for years.”
Annabella jerked in his grasp, but Dawes tightened his grip around her waist and resettled the edge of the blade more firmly against her throat. With a wince, she stopped moving.
“By all accounts I’ve heard, you’ve had a devil of a time controlling your wife, Seabrook.” Dawes said in a silky tone. He squeezed Annabella’s middle, eliciting a squeak. “Perhaps she needs a firmer hand.”
Jon kept the arrow pointed at Grey’s estate steward. “What do you want, Dawes? I find it hard to believe you came all this way to kidnap Lady Seabrook.”
Dawes turned his head slightly, sniffed Annabella’s neck as though she were a delicate spring flower. “No? You don’t think she’s worth my effort?” A cold smile settled across his face. Then he laughed. “I’ve come for some property that was stolen from me. A particularly large sum of banknotes. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, would you?”
“Did you happen to look around Blackmoor Hall, Dawes? Does it appear to you as if I need any pathetic funds you’ve managed to accrue?” Jon’s eyes flicked to Annabella. If he’d had any lingering doubt as to her involvement, the bewildered horror in her eyes would have wiped it away.
“You?” she asked.
Dawes chuckled. “It took me some years to gather that amount. You should have stayed out of the cottage, away from things that don’t belong to you.” He bent his knees, forcing Annabella into a stoop. “Pick up the reins, Lady Annabella. Your new husband is going to step aside and let us pass. And when he brings my property to the Goose and Boar, he can have you back.”
Annabella leveled her gaze upon Jon, panic flaring in her green eyes. “The banknotes belong to my stepbrother. I think Dawes has been stealing for some time, and even if you give him the money, he’ll still—”
Her face paled as Dawes pressed the knife deeper. A tiny droplet of blood bubbled at the tip. Jon cursed under his breath. He had no clear shot.
But he wasn’t letting the man leave with Annabella. He had but one chance to get it right.
“Here now, you know you have no shot.” Dawes lifted one dark brow. “Or perhaps you wish to rid yourself of your willful wife…” A harsh chuckle erupted from the estate manager’s throat. “Go ahead, then. I always did enjoy the moment when the buck takes its last breath and the life leaves its eyes.”
Jon kept his gaze locked in battle with Dawes. “Annie, do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Icy calm washed over him and Jon pulled back on the bow.
****
Serenity soothed her shredded nerves. Jon had come. Whatever he meant to do, Annabella’s faith in him held strong. She felt his confidence as though it were tangible, reaching out to her over the distance dividing them. Even when he drew the bow with the arrow aimed squarely at her. He’d told her he was an excellent archer. He’d won a golden arrow when he’d been but twelve. If he thought he could make the shot, she knew he could. His lips moved and it took her a moment to realize he was praying. Oh, heaven’s fire. She froze, not daring to even breathe.
And then she noticed the little things.
How the dappled sun and shade playing over Jon changed as the breeze toyed with the branches overhead. How the white linen shirt billowed about him as he moved — where had he left his coat? Frosty determination glittered in his eyes as he aimed.
Annabella wanted to close her own eyes, certai
n if she saw the arrow coming at her she would flinch. Instead, she kept her focus on her husband. If she died, he would be the last person she saw.
“Well, Seabrook? Don’t have the stomach for it?” goaded Dawes. His fetid breath fanned her neck and assaulted her nostrils.
Jon barely moved, but suddenly the arrow sailed through the air, its deadly point racing toward Annabella. Her heart fluttered as it seemed to slow in its approach.
Thwack. The force of the strike vibrated through her, and she blinked but stood her ground. Had she been hit?
Dawes’ scream split the peaceful woods and the knife was suddenly gone from her throat. Warm liquid splashed the side of her face but she was free. Quickly she scrambled across the carriage box to the far side. When she glanced behind her, Dawes was clawing at the arrow lodged in his shoulder. Deep crimson blood already saturated his tweed coat around the arrow’s shaft.
Narrowing one eye, she glared at the sniveling, weasel-faced man. Then with practiced aim, she kicked out, catching him squarely on the shin just below his knee. “If you come near me again, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t,” she spat. “And stay away from my mother!” With both hands, she shoved him back into the seat and then clambered over the edge of the carriage and tumbled into Jon’s arms.
“Careful,” he murmured, taking her by both shoulders and turning her so he could look into her face. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. And then plunged into his embrace and buried her face against his chest.
“Hah! Hah!” shouted Dawes to the horses, and the carriage pitched forward.
Jon pushed Annabella backward, away from the wheel. Bushes scratched at her legs and she lost her footing, but he held on tightly and didn’t let her fall. With his arm wrapped around her shoulder, he sent a hard stare after the racing curricle. He looked so fierce, for a moment she wondered if he would shoot another arrow into it.
As Dawes and his devil-bound carriage disappeared around the bend in the road, Jon finally turned back to Annabella. “You’re certain he didn’t hurt you?”
“Y-yes, I’m certain,” she said with an irritating quaver in her voice.
Jon touched her throat with a trembling hand. When he pulled it back, his fingers were smeared with blood. A mixture of agony and rage burned in his eyes.
“Is that mine?” she choked out. Was she going to die? The forest around them seemed to spin.
“Go easy now.” Jon held her steady as he studied her neck. “It’s mostly his, I think.”
“I-I was g-going to go to the range and he was skulking at the servants’ entrance. I wanted to shoot my anger away. I was so mad at you.” She pummeled his chest and tried to twist from his grasp. “I’m still mad at you!”
When he didn’t release her, she scowled up at him. His face had gone a little green under his normally tan complexion. His intense stare warmed her chilled blood.
Emotions slammed into her and she gulped in a breath. Tears burned her eyes. Annabella threw herself against Jon, and he closed his arms around her in a tight hug. His heart thumped heavily beneath her cheek, and she realized its frantic rhythm matched her own.
She slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you wouldn’t find me.”
“I will always find you.” He pulled in a long, ragged breath, tightened the embrace, and then slowly released her. “Annie, we have—”
“Annabella,” she whispered, squaring her shoulders. A sudden chill swept over her, along with the perverse wish that he’d held onto her. “J-Jon… I took the banknotes.”
“I know.”
Her heart seemed to skid to a stop and then it began a heavy gallows drumbeat. “You know?”
“I had your rooms cleaned for spiders. The staff found where you’d hidden it.”
“I never intended to keep it!” Well, for the most part she hadn’t.
His mouth settled into a grim line as he placed one hand beneath her elbow and guided her from the road. “We’ll talk later. After you’ve been seen to.” He stooped to gather her bow and quiver. Then he reached into the quiver, brought out her fan, and gently placed it into her hand. “When I found this, I knew you were in trouble. I knew you’d never leave it.” Using the bow, he gestured to the narrow track through the woods. “I left my coat somewhere in there.”
The path had seemed more defined when they’d taken it in the rain shower. But Jon seemed to know where he was going and she was content to follow him.
He grimaced when they found his coat hung up on a huge old gorse bush. The right sleeve had been nearly shredded. The left bore a rent from shoulder to elbow. He settled the coat gently over her shoulders without a word.
Annabella snuggled into the warmth and inhaled the lingering traces of Jon’s familiar, comforting scent.
They soon reached the edge of the woods and he cast a sidelong glance toward her. “Anni— Annabella.” He spoke with quiet purpose. “I was always going to tell you about my inheritance. It wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
She wanted to answer him, wanted him to know that nothing was different, that the discoveries they’d made the night before still mattered. But in her heart she knew everything had changed.
At the jangle of harness and the whoosh of carriage wheels in the soft dirt of the drive, Jon pushed past her, putting himself between Annabella and whomever was arriving at Blackmoor.
Trembling began again as she peered around his shoulder. Her heart pounded hard against her chest. That was the Duke of Wyndham’s crest on the side of the shiny black town coach. Apparently she would be able to apologize to her stepbrother in person after all.
The coach came to a smooth stop and the footmen scrambled from the back, rushing to open the door and set the step. The regal lady who stepped from the coach was most certainly not Markwythe. Her navy blue traveling gown was stylish and trim. Wispy strands of blond hair peeked from beneath her matching hat, and she clutched a beaded black reticule. Smoothing a hand over her unwrinkled clothing, she glanced about, lips pursed in concentration as she openly assessed her surroundings.
“Mother!” shouted Annabella, leaving Jon behind as she pelted across the lawn toward the mother she’d never been so happy to see.
Every inch a duchess, Regina turned in Annabella’s direction, a polite smile already forming. It died a wretched death as their gazes collided and her eyes widened in horror. When Annabella would have run into her mother’s arms, Regina retreated a step and held up a hand, fending her off.
“Good heavens! Annabella! Have you been mucking about in the woods?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The last of the sun’s rays had left the sky hours before, but Gran had insisted a spot of tea in the parlor before the evening meal was just the thing after a foiled kidnapping. That Annabella’s cup had an added nip of brandy likely didn’t hurt either. At least the stinging in her neck seemed dulled. Blast that weasel-faced Dawes.
She drew a slow breath and then took another sip. Could her mother smell the spirits? She was sitting terribly close on the crimson damask settee, but if she noticed, for once she kept her counsel.
“Thank heavens Mr. Dawes didn’t hurt you. I knew he wasn’t happy about being relieved of his duties, the blackheart, but this.” Regina sipped from her milky white teacup. Her face had remained quite pale as she’d listened to Annabella’s story. Thankfully, she seemed to be recovering, or perhaps her color had improved in the golden wash of light from the chandelier.
“I’m fine, Mother, really.” Thanks to Jon. Annabella lifted one hand to the bandage covering the scratch Dawes’ knife had left on her neck.
Regina reached over and touched her on the arm, giving a gentle squeeze. “Really?”
Unable to look her mother in the eye without coming undone, Annabella dropped her hand and gazed at her lap. It was easier to mentally trace the pattern of the black lace overlay on her champagne sarcenet dress than to risk R
egina noticing what might show in her eyes. “Better than I have been in a long time.” And also worse…
Her mother sat up straighter. “I must confess, I was beyond furious when I arrived at Grey’s townhouse in London—”
“You went to London?” Annabella burst out, tearing her eyes from the lace to stare at her mother.
Sitting in what Annabella had come to realize was the dowager’s favorite chair — the sage green velvet one closest to the fireplace — Gran clinked her teacup against the saucer and cleared her throat. “Don’t interrupt your mother, dear.”
Devil’s fire! Not Mother and Gran both lecturing me.
Heat suffused Annabella’s face and she suppressed a groan. “My apologies.”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and she stared at the dowager for several breaths before asking, “How did you do that?”
Gran lowered the teacup a fraction and peered at Regina over the rim. “Beg pardon?”
A glowing smile spread across her mother’s face as she glanced between Annabella and the dowager. “If I ask her to sit up straight with her shoulders back, it generally turns into a week-long argument during which time she slouches half-folded in her seat.”
“Honestly, Mother,” Annabella said with a sigh, allowing her exasperation to show even while she silently acknowledged the truth of the statement.
Regina and Gran exchanged glances and then raked assessing gazes over Annabella. She forced herself to sit still and not squirm under their scrutiny.
“Regina, how do you feel about cats?”
Annabella snorted then hurriedly covered her mouth with her fan, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”
Mother furrowed her brow, confusion etched across her beautiful face. “I beg pardon, your grace. Cats?”
Gran waved her hand in the air. “Please, call me Gladys. Yes, cats. Felines.”
Regina’s brow furrowed more, crinkling her forehead. “I-I suppose they’re all right. I know Annabella detests them.”
The dowager slapped the arm of the chair. “Exactly! As did my late husband. That was why I had them around — kept him off balance. He never knew when I’d take in another one, would do most anything to prevent it.”
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