The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "News? Of one of my brothers?" George asked, hardly daring to hope.

  "No, but news that will be almost as welcome a relief. Oxnard is dead."

  "Dead?" George echoed, his brows knitting.

  "Aye. They found his body in the river Thames, what was left of it. The fish of course had got an awful lot of him, but now his wife and the baby she purportedly gave birth to can come out of hiding. And perhaps wherever she is, her sister and maybe even Simon will be."

  "Let’s hope so," Miranda said happily, heaving a sigh of relief that Oxnard could never harm her or George again.

  George nodded, feeling more relieved than he could say. "And let’s hope Oxnard rots in hell, after the hell he put us all through."

  "It may be unchristian to say it," Sebastian said with a sigh, "but amen to that."

  Faking his own death had been a stroke of genius, Oxnard decided as travelled in the mail coach down to Bath, plotting and scheming his next steps the whole way.

  With the authorities looking for him for debts and his other crimes, he would never be able to avoid prison if he didn’t do something drastic.

  As he had thought, as soon as they thought him dead, his wife had claimed the estate for her son, and her whereabouts had been revealed at last. Now all he had to do was secure the child, who was legally his heir, and see what provision he could make.

  He didn’t really care what became of the child, for his performance was so rare and erratic that he was fairly certain it was none of his get. They had had enough parties, he remembered hazily, for it to be anyone's.

  But a man needed a son to carry on the family name, and since things were decidedly not improving in the waterworks department thanks to a few too many doses of the clap, he was sure, her brat would do at a pinch. As for Lucinda, he had had his sport with the mad little whore, but she could make herself useful tending the little bastard and at nights she could probably earn some good money trawling the docks at Bristol or some other large seaside town.

  He would keep her until such time as her friends could come up with some money to make sure she was safe and didn’t get restored to Bedlam. He was sure her snooty sister would die rather than let that happen again. Well, he would keep the two women and baby alive for as long as they were useful to him, and then, who knew.

  After all, women couldn’t be trusted. He had learned that the hard way with that bitch Georgina Jerome, who had betrayed him. She had promised to help him snatch Miranda again, and instead had led George right to his carriage, he was sure of it.

  Miranda had surprised him. Never had any woman struggled or fought more. Damn if she hadn't tricked him and jumped right out the window. A feisty wench, well worth futtering if he ever again got the chance.

  But first things first. Oxnard smiled tightly. He had prepared himself better this time. He had a collection of manacles and drugs that would ensure their co-operation. The child’s too. He couldn’t abide squalling infants.

  The Howells had had little enough money, but the fact that their cousin was an earl was a guarantee that they would want to keep things quiet. A run-away mad wife? No, the law would be on his side. He had enjoyed his vices; so long as other people paid for them his life would be perfect. He clinked the chains in his valise. He just couldn’t wait to get to Brimley.

  When Oxnard arrived, however, he called at Barkston House only to be told they had gone on to Millcote Forest, the entire family, for a picnic. He instructed the rented carriage to head there, and he passed through the forest twice in order to survey the lay of the land.

  There were a lot of people milling about, he noted as he peered out of the window. Who would have imagined his mousy little wife would be amongst so many fine ladies and gentlemen?

  On the other hand, it would probably be a lot easier to seize the child first, and then make his demands later, when they had all been sufficiently terrified for the safety of the infant.

  He told the driver to wait for him at the foot of a long path which circled around a large, comfortable-looking house. Then he readied his supplies on the seat and floor, and was as prepared as he could be for any eventuality.

  He crept up the lane and waited, observing the group from a distance, toying with the ropes of a swing which had been erected in a small arbor.

  The beauty of the forest was lost upon him; he could only think what a prime location it would be to accost some buxom country wenches for a bit of sport.

  But at the moment there was only one wench he wanted to grab. He’d get his wife and the baby, her sister would rush in to save her, and he would have them both.

  Was his wife’s sister still a virgin? The thought excited him no end. Even more thrilling was the thought of having them both together, forcing them to cater to his every whim.

  Or even that bitch Miranda. With all her wealth, it would be perfect. Yes, a harem of three, chained and tied...

  And now all his desires seemed to coalesce into reality as he watched his wife head down the path toward the swing, dandling a blond baby in her arms that could only be her son.

  Her sister wasn’t too far behind, pointing at the handsome house. He wasn’t sure who lived in it, but he guessed the residents were probably at the picnic as well. Perfect. All he had to do was get the two sluts down the path and into the carriage. Easily done. Then he would drug them and have the baby in his power at last.

  He waited patiently like a spider in his web until Lucinda stepped into the arbor and gasped.

  "God, what are you doing here!"

  "Not God, but Master will do. I’m here for my son."

  "No, you can’t have him! I’d rather die than let you lay your filthy hands upon him." She was already trying to flee, but her foot twisted on a tree root, making her cry out in pain and lose precious time.

  "You don’t have a choice, bitch. He’s mine! So are you. We’re leaving."

  Oxnard grabbed the baby’s arm and tried to wrest him from her embrace.

  Lucinda screamed and hung on, but he backhanded her across the face and sent her sprawling. Rather than risk falling on the child she relinquished her hold.

  Gabrielle came running up now, alerted by her sister’s shrieks.

  "What on earth?" she gasped.

  "I’m taking back what’s mine. And you, Madam, should never have meddled in my affairs!"

  "They’re mine too! She’s my sister. He’s my nephew. You’re not taking him!" she insisted as she looked for a tree branch to attack him with. One good blow to his head....

  Oxnard saw her intent and began to run, knowing full well the women would follow. And once in the carriage, he would make them smell the strange liquid that made people unconscious, and they would be his.

  He tore out of the arbor and down to the left, approaching the house, and beyond it the main road. A quick trip to Bristol, and the large city would swallow them up…

  The two women began to pursue Oxnard, screaming for help.

  "No, you can't have him. Christopher. Christopher! Mama is coming!"

  Gabrielle looked over her shoulder and shouted "Simon!" so loudly, that he could not fail to hear.

  Miranda, emerging from her sister’s house with a picnic basket in one hand and a basket of pistols and ammunition in the crook of her other arm, heard the screaming and stepped out onto the path to look around to see where all the commotion was coming from.

  "Mother of God!" she exclaimed, coming face to face with Oxnard as he charged toward the house. Had he come for her again? Well, she was not going to be taken.

  Before she could jump back inside and slam the door in his face, he was already upon her.

  Oxnard’s excitement over seeing Miranda once again caused him to dare all. His wife, a pistol, a hunting accident, his son, and a new heiress to wed were all his for the taking.

  He grabbed the object of his lust, mashing her breasts against her chest and squeezing the breath from her. He wrested one of the pistols out of Miranda’s basket, and shot Lucinda point
blank without a moment’s hesitation as she hobbled after her son like a wounded but fiercely proud warrior woman.

  Miranda saw the red-haired woman howl with grief and run to the injured blonde prone on the path. Then the woman she bellowed a name like her most fervent prayer. Simon.

  Simon was here? No, surely not. It was a common enough name, after all, Miranda thought as she tried not to panic, or to hope.

  She tried to break free, but Oxnard was already dragging Miranda to the waiting carriage. She tried to grab at the second pistol still in the basket hooked in the crook of her arm so she could point it at him and demand that he let her go. But with a jolt she realised the bundle he was carrying was a baby, who now began flailing around so wildly she was petrified she might do it harm.

  Miranda could only shout for George as she was towed inexorably toward certain doom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Lawrence and George, at the front of the house setting up the archery equipment, were chatting about how much George was looking forward to finally meeting Simon Drake. Then they heard the women screaming, and looked at each other.

  Before they could discern the direction, the pistol shot rang out. "What the hell?" Lawrence gasped. "The back of the house, quick!"

  "Miranda!" George was already running around the house and up toward the main bridle path. As he ran, he wished he had a pistol instead of only a bow and quiver full of arrows.

  He spotted Oxnard with a screaming child and his beloved Miranda, and let a bellow out of him which shook the trees. He dropped everything and began to charge like a bull. "Oxnard, you bastard! Let her go!!"

  Oxnard was close enough to the carriage, but unless he could skirt past George Davenant, he knew he was a dead man. Miranda was struggling furiously, only slowing him down. Much as he hated to do it, he let her go, and ran on with the babe.

  "Miranda!" George gasped, running up to kiss and comfort her.

  She clung on to his upper arms for a moment to steady them both. "I’m fine, but he’s stolen that woman’s baby. The blonde lady he just shot has to be his wife Lucinda."

  "My God, the one who was with--"

  "Yes, but never mind that now. Please George, we need to help her. We have to save that baby."

  "I will, I swear." George gave Miranda a blistering kiss, grabbed the other pistol out of her basket, though she begged him not to kill the Earl, and charged off after Oxnard.

  Oxnard was quaking in his boots. He hadn’t counted on Miranda’s insanely furious lover joining in the pursuit. He ran on blindly, trying to find a place to conceal himself. The tree branches were all too high, the road now a good distance away.

  Lawrence had skirted around the house in the other direction in order to cut him off, and he had had to swerve and head back into the forest. Terrified, he could hear George’s breath practically rasping down his neck as he ran. And George was not the only one after him now.

  George looked over to see another tall dark-haired man taking up the pursuit. Ahead of him, two more men appeared at the top of the bridle path as he thundered on.

  George squinted into the sun and recognised the sandy hair.

  To his relief, the other man running shouted to them for help before he could open his mouth. The man bellowed, "Jonathan! Stop him! He’s abducting my nephew!"

  Jonathan, lowering himself in his saddle, immediately went in pursuit straight down the bridle path.

  Oxnard switched direction again and began to crash through the trees. He could feeling his breath burning in his lungs as he ran like a fox, knowing any moment that George was going to snap his neck like a pullet’s if he didn’t find a safe haven soon.

  George itched to shoot the fleeing Oxnard, but would never forgive himself if something happened to the poor innocent child.

  No, he wouldn’t shoot him, but he would take great delight in squeezing the life from him. That was assuming the other large, irate man haring through the trees didn’t beat him to it first.

  But no, he would do it. He had killed before. He would gladly kill again to protect Miranda. There was no sense in the other man damaging his soul, when George was sure he was already damned.

  He offered up thanks to the gods for the heaven on earth he had found with Miranda as he ran. There would be a price to pay, he knew. There always was. But her love was all that mattered. And he would do anything to keep it, keep her. Oxnard was a rapist. He had tried to kill his own wife. God only knew what he would do to the baby if he got away.

  George had no doubt that Oxnard was now desperate enough for the situation to have transformed into one of life and death: to be kill or be killed. George slipped on some leaf marl at this thought, and prayed again that Oxnard would finally get what he deserved.

  George looked up ahead and could see the other three men in pursuit, and this spurred him on. They were all determined to save the child. They were stronger together than on their own, and two of them had mounts. They would catch him. They just had to. He needed this to be over at last, so Miranda need never fear again.

  "Put the baby down now, Oxnard!" George shouted as he wove in and out of the trees. "Put him down and just keep on running. I’ll give you one chance to let him go, and then I’m going to kill you with my bare hands."

  "This is nothing to you, Davenant. What I do with my own son is my concern! Stay out of this, or I’ll be sure that whore you consort with never knows a day’s peace. Or a night’s once I snatch her out of your grasp again."

  George growled low in his throat, a primal sound that sent shivers up and down the spines of everyone who heard it.

  The thudding of approaching hooves suddenly echoed throughout the forest. The huge dark man on the fine black horse snatched the infant right out of Oxnard’s arms, grabbing him by the collar of his little shirt and settling him into the saddle safely. "I’ve got him, he’s all right!" he called.

  But neither George nor Simon slowed in their pursuit.

  Oxnard shoved away from the huge horse before it trammeled him with its great hooves, and ran on. He looked left and right and saw them bearing down upon him now.

  Sheer terror spurred him on. Up ahead he saw the walls of an old ruined monastery and ran on as if his life depended on it. Which it did, for he was sure he could not count on an ounce of mercy from either furious man, especially not George Davenant.

  He veered left across the path of the second man, wondering who the hell all these blokes were and why they were willing to help his wife. The little whore....

  He broke cover at last, and frantically tried to find a place to hide. But suddenly the ground underneath him was no longer solid, and he felt himself hurtling downwards like a stone into the black abyss.

  His limbs flailed in the air, and with one last terrified scream Oxnard tumbled into the dark cavern head first. He landed with a sickening thud one hundred feet below.

  The trees at the edge of the clearing all shimmered, their leaves doing a dance of joy in the glorious sunshine. The wind whispered through them, and then all was still.

  George and the other man had by now both reached the edge of the clearing, and stared into the gaping maw six feet away. Both shook their head incredulously. Had Oxnard not seen the gorge?

  They hung onto each other’s shoulders and upper arms as the ground shook. They tumbled backwards as the edges of the cavern began to slide downwards, burying Oxnard under tons of rubble. If by some miracle he was still alive even after the terrible fall, he had now been buried alive and interred in the bowels of the earth forever.

  The two men gripped boulders, tree roots, any sort of hand hold, even each other, as they climbed back up to the level of the road, and looked downwards in awe at the landslide which had buried Oxnard, and nearly taken them right along with it.

  They sat hacking and coughing for a time in silence, staring at the one great gorge now filled in. At last they caught their breaths, and Simon and George helped each other to their feet. They began to brush themselves down,
muttering their somewhat bashful thanks for helping bring the foul Oxnard to justice at last.

  "He certainly won’t be missed. Bloody canard." George spat into the hole to clear his mouth and release the last of his pent-up fury.

  "Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you," he panted.

  "Don’t mention it. It was a pleasure to see this over at last. You all right?"

  "I’m fine, thanks. That certainly was close, though," Simon said, hacking up even more plumes of the soil and debris he had inhaled.

  George tried to cuff the dirt out his eyes with one mired sleeve.