Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Chapter Six

  With her heart’s beat increasing to a gut churning speed, Miranda forced herself to read on:

  I must inform you that Lord Danvers was overcome by fever in Natchitoches. He was incapacitated by this illness. The necessity to provide him superior medical care forced my hand. I was forced to remove him to Philadelphia. He is recovering well now and should be returning to England soon…

  Relief washed through her, making her weak all over. She sagged back on the settee.

  Drowsiness washed over her and she fell into a deep slumber.

  “My lady.”

  Miranda startled awake. “What?” she said, on a gasp for she had been dreaming deeply.

  She looked about. The shadows were long. It must be afternoon. “Davey?”

  Mrs. Williams smiled. “He attended to his studies this morning and now he’s playing happily in the garden.”

  “Very good.” Miranda stifled a yawn. She couldn’t believe that she had slept nearly all day.

  “My lady, you have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?”

  “Baron Drake.”

  Miranda sat up and attempted to smooth her hair.

  Once Miranda had changed her clothes and received Drake in the withdrawing chamber, he looked uncomfortable. “Unfortunate news will break soon. Too soon. It will be a shock. And not even the news but the resulting rancor from peers that Danvers might have expected to remain sympathetic to him.”

  “What? What do you know?!” she asked, giving explosive vent to her growing anxiety.

  “Lord Danvers killed the Duke of Winterton.” Baron Drake spoke the words matter-of-fact, as though he had not just thrown her whole world off its axis.

  With her stomach seeming to be collapsing on itself, she backed away from him as she threw a hand to her mouth. Then she jerked it down. “How? What? When?” The words tore from her lips.

  She was shaking all over with the shock, the need to know everything. Impatience pounded through her blood with every surge of her wildly escalating heart beat.

  Drake came closer and touched her arm. “Here, my lady, you need to sit.”

  She flinched away. “Tell me what happened!”

  He regarded her with those coldly intelligent, dark blue eyes. “The Duke of Winterton is dead.”

  “What?” She took several steps back, recoiling what his terse sentence implied.

  A cool sort of sympathy softened his expression. “Lord Danvers shot Winterton from behind. The bullet struck the duke in the head, as he lay unconscious from too much drink, on his stomach in bed in a Natchitoches brothel.”

  The floor seemed to shift beneath Miranda’s feet. “No, no, no… it can’t be!”

  “Please, my lady, have a seat. Rest yourself a moment.”

  “I can’t possibly rest.”

  “My lady.” His voice became softer. A steely, deadly kind of softness. “You must brace yourself for there is more.”

  “More?”

  No, not more. She couldn’t possibly bear more.

  He motioned to the nearest chair. “Please, sit.”

  Miranda all but collapsed into the chair. She looked up at Drake.

  His eyes were colder now, his expression grim.

  “Oh God, please tell me, is he… is he…”

  “He was alive last I heard but how he managed to recover, I do not know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A bullet wound, infected like his—”

  “Bullet wound!”

  “The brothel owner was alarmed that Winterton had consumed so much alcohol. And she had sent his valet for a doctor. They had just come to assist the duke moments after the fatal shot had been served. Winterton’s servant shot Danvers as he fled the brothel.” Drake paused and compressed his lips.

  Miranda could only gape at him, horror filling her soul.

  “Only one in a thousand would be likely to survive a wound like that.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God…” She put her hands over her face, unable to stop repeating the phrase.

  If Adrian were dead, she would have nothing to live for. She couldn’t go on.

  She couldn’t.

  “You must brace yourself for the storm to come. The news flies with tide and soon all of Winterton’s powerful friends and political allies will hear of this.”

  “But Adrian is… I mean I just received the letter. He is coming—”

  “Hush yourself, my lady. You know nothing.” His cold, intelligent eyes bore into hers. “Nothing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Listen to me and if you value your lord’s life, obey me. Go and pack three trunks. Include all the absolute necessities that you and Danvers’ young son will need.”

  “Why?” she asked, dread crawling through her stomach.

  “Because you must run and disappear for now.”

  She gaped at him. “Run?”

  “I will handle everything.”

  “I barely know you.”

  “Danvers asked me to watch over you. He trusts me.”

  Stephen Drake’s voice rang with complete confidence. He inspired confidence.

  She did not know this man.

  She had felt afraid the first time she had looked into his cold, calculating eyes. “I can go and stay with my mother in Sussex.”

  “My lady, you are more intelligent than that. That would be the first place anyone would look.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “I do not know you.”

  “Your husband trusts me. He made me vow to protect you.”

  She remembered her wedding day. When this man had come to her house and tried so hard to make sure that her husband knew the sacrifices he would make in marrying her.

  She had thought them such good, close friends.

  Now icy tentacles wound through her innards.

  Sacrifice.

  Her heart started pounding hard as the realization swept over her. Drake hadn’t been speaking of their wedding at all.

  He’d meant this sacrifice, the killing of her father.

  Yes, her father was a heartless, cold man. But what had driven Adrian to this extreme action?

  “You.” She leapt from her chair and charged towards Drake. “You instigated this.”

  Anger flared through her blood like wildfire now.

  Drake remained calm. “No my lady, he came to me, over a year ago and asked what could be done to bring Winterton to his knees. When I investigated your father, I found him to be an exceptionally evil individual. I decided then and there to help Danvers with the final solution to his problem. Though I could clearly see that he was not at that time ready for the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “Yes, the truth that nothing but death can stop a mighty, well- positioned duke.” Then he frowned. “You’ve received correspondence from Danvers? Recently?”

  The sudden change in subject jarred her. But not as much as that grim expression which fell over his face.

  “Give the letters to me immediately. They must be burnt. All of it.”

  Miranda’s blood ran colder than ever. “No, you’ll not take my letters from him.”

  “If you won’t give them over to destroyed, you may well be the death of him.”

  Miranda shook her head. “No.” The word was a useless denial of everything he had just told her. She didn’t trust this man. Why should she hold his word as any more meaningful than that of Mr. Jan Sexton who had told her that Adrian had suffered a fever only?

  No matter how badly Winterton had treated her and Mama, Adrian was a civilized man.

  He was incapable of such an act of cold-blooded, premeditated murder. He could never have been so ungentlemanly as to have shot Winterton in the back of his head, whilst he was unconscious from too much drink.

  That alone proved that Drake was lying.

  “I won’t know the truth of this matter until I speak with Adrian
, face-to-face.”

  “You refuse to comply?” Drake asked.

  “I will wait for Adrian. He’s coming soon.” She had no idea how soon her husband would arrive. But how could she possibly just leave with this stranger?

  A stranger who Adrian seemed to trust…

  Drake grabbed her forearm.

  She jerked her arm to free herself.

  He held her firm.

  The memory of being drugged and accosted and forced to kiss those boys that night at Applewaite came back to her. More of Winterton’s treachery.

  What if Drake were really in league with Winterton?

  What if everything he was telling her was lies?

  Like a thousand spiders crawling along her skin, panic crawled and stung her.

  She fought Drake with everything she had, kicking, clawing, biting— all the whilst screaming for Mrs. Williams.

  He grasped her waist and whirled her about to hold her against his body. He clamped a hand over her mouth. “I made a promise to your husband. I promised to keep you safe.”

  He removed his hand from her mouth.

  More panic slammed into her. Waves and waves. She continued to struggle like a wild trapped animal but somehow he managed to hold her whilst she sensed him fishing in his pocket.

  At the sight of a silken cord, she cried out and began to scream for Mrs. Williams again, hearing the note of hysteria in her voice.

  Before she knew it, he had her wrists firmly tied.

  Her body grew weaker and he managed to pick her up and carry her to the settee. There he held and tied her ankles.

  Mrs. Williams burst into the chamber, her round face flushed. “My lady!” she said between panting breaths. “What—”

  “Mrs. Williams,” Drake said in a patient tone. “Do you remember me?”

  The matron’s eyes were wide and she nodded, in a slow, somehow servile way. “Yes, of course, you are Baron Drake.”

  “Do you remember what Lord Danvers told you?”

  She nodded, her eyes still glazed with that servile, obedient look. “Yes, he said that you were to be trusted and that if Lady Danvers or his sons were in danger, I am bound to trust you and obey you.”

  “He said what?” Miranda said between desperate gasps for breath.

  But Mrs. Williams’ attention was all for Drake.

  “What else did he say?”

  “That I was to obey you before anyone else if you judged the situation truly dangerous.” Mrs. Williams spoke in an odd monotone that unnerved Miranda.

  “The situation is truly dangerous. “You must listen to me. For the sake of your mistress’ safety, I am forced to take her with me tonight.”

  The matron nodded.

  “I need your help now, Mrs. Williams. You must go and pack three trunks with all the necessities that you, Lady Danvers and David Sutherland will need for this coming trip.”

  Mrs. Williams nodded and turned to hurry off.

  “Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams!” Miranda cried after the woman, watching in horror as her own servant ignored her and kept on walking.

  ****

  They had traveled at such speed to Cornwall that Davey became carriage sick.

  Miranda had begged Drake to slow their pace, to allow an overnight rest. But he refused and, instead, he had dosed the boy with something to make him sleep and that did seem to let him keep sparing amounts of bread and cheese and well-watered wine down in between sleeps.

  They had not stopped any longer than necessary to change horses and use the privy. Not that Miranda had had any privacy. Drake had allowed her to be untied during the long stretches of carriage riding but once at the stops, he had bound her wrists, hiding this discreetly beneath her pelisse. Mrs. Williams had assisted her from there.

  Mrs. Williams held to that strange, instant, unwavering obedience to Drake the entire trip.

  Now the vehicle had stopped for the last time, apparently, for Drake had not bound her before the footmen had opened the door and set the steps in place.

  Footmen?

  She supposed that what to call them. But they were big, hulking men with broken noses, facial scars that made Davey’s eyes go wide. He clung to Miranda’s side as she moved away from the carriage on legs that still shook from the hours of motion.

  She took his hand and held it firm.

  “Where is the closest inn?” she demanded.

  “Not for miles and miles.”

  She glanced at the house. It appeared in bad need of paint and a hammer and nails as well. Dilapidated shutters and dirty windows greeted her. A profusion of overgrown shrubbery flanked the house.

  “I know it doesn’t look very promising, Lady Danvers, but I assure you that it is quite comfortable inside.”

  Drake had not actually hurt any of them. But she was livid at the way he had treated her.

  Davey stumbled along beside her. His face was pale and dark circles lay beneath his eyes. She knew he needed a long sleep overnight in a real bed. Escape would have to wait.

  Lady Drake waited them in the house. She was dressed in a simple muslin day dress with her hair in a plait tied in a ribbon over her shoulder. “Lady Danvers, how are you?” she said, as politely as though Miranda had come for tea.

  “I am fine but no thanks to your husband.”

  Rebecca put her hand to her collarbone. “Oh dear.”

  “He’s insane!” Miranda threw Drake a glare as she clutched Davey closer to herself. “First, he assaulted me and bound me and kidnapped me and my son.”

  Rebecca winced. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes, he did. And then he forced us to travel at such speed, my son has been ill.”

  Lady Drake whirled on her husband. “Oh you blackguard!” Lady Drake laid a closed fist to his chest. “What were you thinking?”

  “She threatened to run away.” Drake caught his wife’s pelting fists and held them. “I promised Danvers that I would do whatever it took to keep her safe.”

  “Was the execution of Winterton worth all of this?” Rebecca said.

  “I did not wish to detain her so violently but she would not comply and I couldn’t be sure how much time we would have before someone might be coming to retaliate against her.”

  “Please leave us, my lord,” Rebecca said. “You will only make things worse at this time.”

  Lady Drake took Miranda’s hands and began massaging her wrists where the bounds had rubbed faint, sore marks. “Not too bad.” Her forehead creased in a frown and then she looked up at Miranda. “I’ll have you a bath prepared in no time at all. And then a nice hot tea and a filling meal. You’ll have a sleep and things will sort themselves out.” She sighed. “Stephen means well, he truly does. But he has no idea how the average person reasons. To him, the ends always justify the means.”

  Drake had not gone away but hovered by his lady’s shoulder. “Is she all right?”

  “I think she will be.” Lady Drake pursed her lips. “Eventually.”

  “England is safer for Danvers’ actions. Winterton was a madman.”

  Lady Drake threw a glance over her shoulder at her husband. “He did you such a service—”

  “He did England a service.”

  “Well, can’t England do more to save him from the wrath of Winterton’s allies?”

  “They are working on that.”

  “He was just a debauched noble who occasionally dabbled in politics.”

  “He was a murderer and meddler. A man who plotted and planned to drive people to suicide or murder for the sheer excitement of it.”

  “Murderer?” Miranda softly exclaimed.

  “My darling, I don’t think this is the best place for us to have this discussion. No matter what he is or what he has done, she is his daughter.”

  “Well, suffice to say he was evil incarnate. Fascinatingly so. But the world is better for his loss and I was happy to have a hand in his demise.”

  “Can you walk, Lady Danvers?” Lady Drake asked.

  “Yes, I c
an walk just fine.” Miranda said, but as she ascended the stairs, following close behind Davey, her legs went limp, refused to obey the dictates of her mind.

  Drake rushed to her side and swept her up into his arms a second before warm darkness swallowed her up.

  Chapter Seven

  In the weeks that followed, Miranda came to know Rebecca as a truly kind person. It was so relieving to find someone in a situation similar to hers. Rebecca Drake had been the Earl of Ruel’s long-term mistress previous to his marriage to Anne and now Rebecca had married a nobleman. Yet, she still wasn’t accepted by most in Mayfair society.

  The two women spent their afternoons working to clear the flower and herb gardens behind the house. Rebecca had cheerfully suggested that they ought to tackle the daunting chore and it gave Miranda a much-needed physical outlet.

  “I have to admit,” Miranda told her new friend, hugging herself as they watched Drake leave the general yard of the dilapidated house, carrying his rifle into the woods. Presumably to hunt, but then Miranda took nothing for granted about the enigmatic man who had ruthlessly abducted her and Davey from their home.“ I am still not certain that I shouldn’t be frightened of your husband.”

  Rebecca had smiled sympathetically. “You’re not the first to say that to me.”

  “I don’t imagine that I am.”

  “He would never harm you. He means well. You must believe that,” Rebecca said, urgently. “But Stephen is… different from other men.”

  “I shouldn’t say more. He is your husband.”

  “I have made my peace with his eccentricities,” Rebecca replied then she frowned. “Are you unhappy here, Miranda?”

  Miranda couldn’t say that she was unhappy. Rebecca made sure that the staff saw to her every need and comfort. Davey had recovered his fatigue and was thriving. His cheeks had grown rosy during long hours spent out-of-doors exploring the grounds and playing. Miranda and Rebecca spent a good portion of the mornings playing shuttlecock and other games with him and Rebecca and Drake’s toddling daughter, Becca. Becca was a beautiful child with masses of coal black curls and pale blue eyes and her bubbling laughter cheered everyone. It was impossible to remain sad or focused too deeply on worries when in her company. Miranda longed so acutely for a daughter of her own that she lavished much time and attention on the child. Rebecca laughed and said that Miranda would spoil the child shamelessly.