“The man does have motive,” Arthur continued. “He hates Kendall. Never forgave him for snatching up the property around here, including half of Keyes’s land. Keyes has also complained about Kendall’s plans to manufacture ale. We do agree on that issue. Engaging in trade is beneath the dignity of an earl, but Kendall never showed any deference for his title.”
“Why?” Alex breathed. “Garrett is your stepson, Kit’s half brother.”
“He’s not a Brown. And I refuse to let him risk Will’s inheritance.” His lips curled and with those cryptic words, he stood, ending the conversation. “It is you who are the real victim. I thought Kendall was too busy digging his own grave to find time to marry. My mistake. However, knowing my stepson, I can’t take the chance that you aren’t breeding.”
Alex gasped, recoiling from his blunt crudity.
Ignoring her response, he spoke in a flat, instructional tone. “The door is heavy oak, two inches thick, and will be securely locked. This wing is on the second floor, over a twenty-foot drop to the ground. It is isolated and closed off from the other floors, so your screams will only earn you a sore throat. Keyes’s staff has been slashed to three who inhabit the opposite end of the house. My man is well paid to not heed your cries. I’ll bring your meals, but you have bread and water until I do so.” He waved a hand toward her bedside table. “I suggest you eat, as you may be here a few days.”
“Why?” she blurted. “I mean, why the wait?”
He paused with his hands on the door handle. “I have my reasons, and I don’t give a damn if Kendall suffers over your disappearance while he waits.” He stalked out, and the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed in the silence of the chamber.
Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, only to drop back onto the mattress and clutch her head. She lay down. Escape would have to wait until she could stand without the room pitching beneath her.
Tears leaked beneath the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them, refusing to cry. She would escape. Arthur’s need to finalize his plans gave her the time she needed to recover and thwart them. Once the pounding receded in her head, she vowed to do so.
Arthur had found her an easy target once; he would not do so again.
GARRETT SUFFERED TWO tortuous days and endless nights in a living purgatory. Having resided there during Balaclava and after his return home, he should have been accustomed to its tribulations. However, unable to seek oblivion in liquid solace, nothing prepared him for the slow, inexorable creep of time or the sense of helplessness he felt.
Each day was like awakening to an impenetrable blanket of darkness. Rather than having his hollow emptiness filled with the horror of his war nightmares, this time a bleak, unrelenting despair gripped him.
Then there was the fear. Fear that as each hour passed, each minute, each second, not only did he not know where Alex was but what torments she suffered. He could do little to help her but scour the vicinity, questioning the villagers and searching neighboring estates looking for any signs of recent flight, only to be forced to return home when exhaustion broke him.
It wasn’t until the morning of the third day that Garrett received word of Arthur’s first mistake, and a sliver of light seeped into the darkness engulfing him.
Garrett stood beside Havers before the hearth in the front parlor, his arm braced against the mantel as he surveyed the men before him. Gus, Holt, and a handful of his men from the hops field were clustered in one half of the room. Brandon and Stewart stood on the other half, flanking the three Peelers dressed in their familiar blue tailcoats and top hats, their wooden truncheons jutting out of the long pockets in their coats.
The two East Enders whom Garrett had sent to London, Booker and Haverill, had returned and had recounted their success in collecting the evidence needed to implicate Arthur. Once caught, Arthur would not be escaping the imprisoning bars of the law.
However, justice was taking too damn long for Garrett, so he was changing tactics. “We need to broaden our search, speak to the neighbors again, question the servants.”
“Keyes is away,” Stewart spoke up. “The vicar told me he had departed last week to visit his wife’s family.”
“There are still servants to question,” Brandon said. “Gardeners, we can—”
“Not at Keyes’s. He dismissed the lot before he left,” Stewart interjected, disgust lacing his tone. “Gave them no notice or references. The vicar knew you were looking for staff and had talked to me about hiring some of them. I was going to speak to you about it, but in the wake of recent events, I forgot.”
“Ah, that be strange.” Holt cleared his voice and scratched his head. “The men said a carriage was seen on the day of Lady Alexandra’s disappearance, but it was tracked to Keyes’s estate. Assumed it was his.” He shrugged.
Garrett straightened. “Keyes has sold most of his stables off, his land, and reduced his staff. He’d have taken his own carriage, and it’s doubtful he’d finance the keeping of another.” He and Brandon exchanged a look.
“Then whose carriage was it?” Brandon voiced the unasked question.
“Arthur has been there once before,” Garrett said, thinking out loud. “Keyes not being in residence would suit Arthur’s plans if he’s traveling with a reluctant companion, and no servants means no spies if he is holding a captive. Arthur only had to drive to the neighboring estate, so this explains why nobody saw any carriages on the road. Clever bastard had probably already sought refuge at Keyes’s long before we began our search.”
“Keyes’s place provides a good location to scout this area, find a window of opportunity when Alex was left alone,” Brandon added.
“I believe we’ve located the devil’s lair, and here’s how we’re going to trap the bastard. Listen carefully.”
Garrett laid out his strategy in precise, military terms. Finished, he dismissed the group and turned to Brandon. “Let’s end this. I want it over.” As they left the room, he added. “Don’t get too close. He’s mad, Bran.”
“Therefore, unpredictable. You need to remember that as well.”
Their eyes met and Garrett gave a curt nod.
Once Alex returned to his side, he would do what he had failed to do earlier. He would get down on bended knee and ask the woman he loved to spend the rest of her life with him.
Chapter Thirty-one
GARRETT’S suspicions were confirmed the moment Keyes’s door swung open to reveal Arthur’s man. This same door had failed to open to any of his men on previous visits in their search for Alex. Arthur was waiting for him.
He left the drawing room where he had been instructed to wait and retraced his steps to the front door, waving Ned inside. Ned was dressed in a suit similar to the one Garrett wore.
In the drawing room, Garrett directed Ned to stand before the back window. Ned clasped his hands behind him, tilted his head back, and appeared to be intently studying something outside. Garrett positioned himself behind the door.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Arthur was there, within arm’s reach. It took all of Garrett’s will not to pounce on the bastard and demand Alex’s whereabouts.
Arthur stormed into the room, his strides long, his purpose sure. “So, Kendall,” he addressed Ned’s back. “I knew if I waited long enough, you would come to me.” He slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a gun. “However, I should have taken matters into my own hands months ago. Ended this all much sooner.”
Slowly, Ned turned to face Arthur.
Arthur recoiled, the gun in his hand wavering. “You’re not Kendall! Where the hell is Kendall? I was told he was here.”
Ned’s eyes lifted to a spot beyond Arthur.
Arthur whirled, but Garrett was ready, had been ready since Alex’s disappearance. He sliced his hand into Arthur’s arm, sending the gun flying.
It fell to the ground and skittered to land at Ned’s feet, who bent to retrieve it.
“Kendall! I should have known!”
Arthur stumbled back, rubbing his arm. “Christ! You have an uncanny ability to escape death.” He glared at Garrett with unmitigated hatred. “For someone bent on his own destruction, I find it ironic that you still live. And a pity.”
Garrett stared at Arthur’s blazing eyes, their catlike slant and deep gold a disturbing mirror image of Kit’s. This family resemblance stopped him from bashing the man’s head into the stone hearth and being done with the matter. He showed mercy for Kit, not Arthur.
Garrett didn’t deign to reply. “Watch him. If he moves, shoot him.” He delivered the cold directive to Ned and crossed to the door, but stopped and spoke over his shoulder. “I find her alive, you live, hurt or worse, you die.”
Without a backward glance, he strode to the front door, swung it open, and motioned his men inside. Brandon entered first, Havers, Booker, and Haverill following. He instructed the policemen to keep watch for anyone exiting the estate without Garrett’s consent. Holt and Stewart had remained at the manor to provide protection for Kit and the boys.
Garrett watched Brandon’s gaze stray to the drawing room. “Alex first.” Garrett answered his unasked question. “He’s not going anywhere.”
They would locate Alex and afterward, he would deal with Arthur. End one chapter of his life and begin another.
ALEX HEARD POUNDING footsteps. The noise broke the silence that was driving her to madness faster than her captivity, her three-day-old dress, and her ill-fated escape attempts. The latter had been such good ideas. Pity they all had failed.
First, she had planned to tie the sheets together into a makeshift ladder to climb to the ground. However, the old window frames were swollen shut and she had been unable to pry them open. Arthur had noticed the sheets missing from the furniture, located the knotted mass in the closet, and confiscated the lot.
Plan two had involved using a painting of those ubiquitous red-coated riders chasing the fox. Once again feeling a kinship with the endangered fox, Alex had slammed the frame into the window to shatter the glass. She had Kit to thank for plan two, recalling her tree-climbing escape that had delivered her to Brandon. Eyeing the tree branch jutting just out of her reach from the window, Alex’s plan had failed when her gaze had dropped the two stories to the distant ground far, far below. Her knees had trembled and her breath hitched. She hadn’t been able to do it.
Arthur had noted the broken window and simply smirked. His man arrived soon after to clean up the shards of broken glass.
If Arthur thought she would give up, he thought wrong.
She now stood poised for plan three as she listened to the rumble of voices increase in volume as they neared her room. She had drawn a chair up beside the door and stood on top of it. She had requisitioned the picture frame and clutched it in a white-fisted grip above her head. Her heart thundered in her chest as a masculine voice commented on the locked door.
“It’s locked. No worries, guv’nor. I can pick it right quick.”
She sucked in her breath. The man on Hammond’s patio had spoken with the same coarse dialect. Arthur’s hired assassin. Hired to murder Garrett. She tightened her grip on the frame and gritted her teeth. She was ready.
For Garrett’s sake, plan three would not fail.
“Sees, I tell ye, I’s knows me locks.” The door swung open and the man speaking stepped inside. “’Tis a handy—”
Alex didn’t hesitate. She swung with all her might and brought the frame crashing down on the man’s head, silencing him. She didn’t wait to see him drop to his knees as she jumped down and turned to flee—straight into another man’s rock-solid chest.
Her heart stopped beating. Simply sputtered and died.
The scream that ripped from her reminded her that she still lived, and with every fiber in her body, she fought the arms closing around her, thwarting her escape.
“Alex!”
A steel vice gripped her and gently shook her. “You’re safe. Alex, my love, it’s all right. I have you now. You’re safe.”
She was crushed so close to the man’s body that she felt the beating of his heart against her cheek, breathed in his familiar scent. His voice, soft, gentle, and reassuring, reached out to curl around her. Her three-day nightmare ended. “Garrett!” She gasped, sagging against him.
“I’m here, my love. You’re safe. It’s over.”
The tears she had fought streamed from her eyes as she clung to Garrett, burying her face in his chest.
Eventually, she drew away and lifted her face to bask in the warmth of his gaze. Her heart pounded, another reminder that she was alive and safe and madly in love with this wonderful man. “You rescued me. Again. I knew you would.”
He smiled, his eyes drinking her in as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “It’s good to know that had I not found you, you would have escaped on your own. That’s my brave, resourceful Alex, and why I adore you.”
Her eyes flooded again and she slipped back into his arms. “I would have gotten free sooner but the window was stuck and he took my sheets, and I’m afraid of heights and you weren’t there to catch me and I must look a mess. I…”
“Shh,” Garrett’s words and the tender press of his lips against her temple soothed her as her voice hitched. “I have you now.”
Her eyes drifted to the two men leaving the room, the smaller of them clutching his head and being supported by his larger companion. She drew away, feeling contrite. “I thought they were Arthur’s men.”
“And well you should have.” His eyes darkened as he gently probed her bruised temple. “Are you all right?” He studied her features, giving each careful scrutiny.
She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. “Yes, he…he didn’t hurt me.” Her eyes opened and she looked rueful. “Oh, Garrett, I’m so sorry. I understand now why we shouldn’t have kept Arthur’s visit from you, but I—”
“Shh.” Garrett’s fingers pressed to her lips, silencing her. “It’s all right.”
Alex’s eyes lifted to his. “He’s mad, Garrett.”
“He is.” He tucked another errant curl behind her ear and let his fingers brush over her cheek. “For that reason, I need to make sure he is taken care of.” He drew away and nodded to someone behind her. “I need you to stay with Brandon while I finish this.”
Alex frowned, turning to see Brandon, who was eyeing the broken picture frame.
“Looks like the cavalry is redundant,” he dryly commented. “You didn’t need us after all.”
“I did. I always will.” Alex stood on her tiptoes and kissed Brandon’s cheek.
When she stepped back, Garrett grabbed her arm and slammed her against him. His mouth swooped down on hers in a kiss that swallowed her gasp, her words, and all thoughts of protest. It scorched her body, warmed her heart, and branded her soul. When he released her, Brandon slid a supportive arm around her or she would have slid to the ground.
She simply smiled, happy to be alive and rescued.
GARRETT RETRACED HIS steps into the drawing room, savoring Alex’s taste on his lips. She looked a bit bedraggled and had lacked color until he had kissed her, but all in all, none the worse for wear. The image of her crashing the frame down on poor Booker had him grinning. She was perfect. Brave, brilliant, and beautiful. He cursed having to leave her to deal with Arthur.
His stepfather stood where he had left him. In vain, Garrett sought to understand the depths of the man’s hatred, believing it to have sprung from a well so deep, the man now drowned in it.
“Who is your friend? Why have him stand in for you?” Arthur nodded toward Ned.
“Strategy. Decoys are often employed when planning an ambush.” Garrett shrugged. “I’m surprised you had the guts to carry out what you hired another to do. Guess you have a spine after all.” Garrett leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest.
Arthur eyed Garrett’s casual pose, which bordered on insolence, and tightened his jaw, speaking through clenched teeth. “Be careful of what allegations you dare
to make against me. You have no proof to back them up, other than your word, which lately hasn’t stood for much.”
“Oh, but I do, thanks to your incompetence. We have Nobbs in custody.” Garrett enjoyed Arthur’s surprise at his mention of the hired assassin’s name. “We have your watch, which you tossed to Nobbs to meet his demand for more money. The watch engraved with your initials and the falcon, the Brown family crest. The symbol for one who does not rest until his objective is achieved. See, I did listen to your pompous lectures on your Brown ancestry.”
Angry red blotches stained Arthur’s cheeks.
“Nobbs, seeking to spare his head the gallows versus deportation, betrayed you like the rat he is.”
“You’re mad. You forget, my illustrious family name means something, perhaps not to you, but to a magistrate. They’ll never take the word of a cretin like Nobbs over a Brown. My ancestors helped Henry the Seventh gain the throne. It wasn’t until that Boleyn whore seduced Henry the Eighth that the Brown fortunes fell. I have plans to replenish those fortunes so the Browns can rise again.”
“No, Arthur. I’m not mad. But you are. I have evidence and witnesses. I have Alex. Battle won.”
“I should have killed you years ago,” Arthur spoke softly.
“Why the hell didn’t you?” Garrett demanded, his composure slipping.
“Because you appeared hell-bent on doing it for me!” Arthur snapped, then pressed his hand to his temple.
Garrett fell silent. Shaking his head, he straightened and moved from the doorway. He gestured to Ned. “Take him away.”
Ned grasped Arthur’s arm but was shrugged off.
“I’m a Brown. Browns stand on their own.” He straightened his jacket and walked forward, his head held high, refusing to look at Garrett as he strode from the room.
For the Love of a Soldier Page 32
