by Eva Devon
It seemed that no matter what he did, his marriage was not going to end well. He needn’t gamble and whore. Oh no. He was capable without those vices. And with each day that passed, he found it more and more difficult to speak beyond pleasantries lest he break a dam and let all the pain and horror that he had kept locked away pour out onto her beautiful, summer soul.
He could not do that to her. No. He had to keep himself contained. It was essential. For if she truly saw him, she could not. . . she could not care about him. . . let alone love him.
For it had become utterly clear to him as he’d watched her turn his house into a home, that he longed for her love. Like the shore longed for the tide, he longed for Harriet. But somehow, he was driving her further and further back with no ability to stop her.
Surely a wiser man would know what to do. His friends and Harley had eyed him askance when he’d begun spending so many hours at Number 79, poring over parliamentary papers.
Drake had mentioned that it seemed as if he were afraid of going home.
He’d laughed. It had rung hollow. He’d never thought he was a coward. But with each passing day, he’d begun to understand that he was afraid of his new life. Afraid of ruining it. Surely, if he let her in, she would disdain him. For what would she see but a hollow duke?
At last, he mounted the steps, and stood before his entrance. Tonight, he would try. Yes, he would try to speak with her and let her know how just her presence warmed his life, even if he did not know how to show it yet. If he did, what if. . . what if she wished to open the door to the inner workings of his heart?
Drawing in a breath, he faced his own doors, feeling like a stranger.
The double doors swung open and he readied himself to make pleasantries with Stevenson.
The butler stood, his white hair completely wild, his eyes frantic.
Instinctive fear hit him like a wave, the sort of fear a man gets from years of battle and knowing something tragic had occurred. “Good God, man, what’s amiss.”
Stevenson’s gaze darted behind him. “Is Her Grace not with you?”
“Harriet?” he asked, forgetting niceties in his lack of comprehension.
Stevenson nodded frantically.
“She is not,” he said, suddenly floating as if in a dream. No, a nightmare. “Why would she be?”
Stevenson swallowed, his cravat, usually in perfect place, entirely askew. “She left several hours ago.”
Rob’s entire body tensed. “She did not mention a dinner or party?”
“Your Grace, she left just before midnight. Seeking you.”
“Seeking. . .” He understood abruptly that his wife had gone, looking for her errant husband and a wave of self-hatred crashed upon him. “Stevenson, what has happened?”
“She was most upset and most demanding, Your Grace. She wished to send word to Parliament.”
His mouth dried. He had not been at Parliament. Something his butler knew all too well. “What did you say?”
Stevenson’s brow creased. “She was most insistent.”
“Stevenson?” Rob prompted, needing answers.
“I told her the truth, Your Grace. I told her where you were and she left. But she has not returned.”
And just as he was about to lose his wits with his old retainer, a moan came from the street. He whipped around and looked through the still open doors.
There in the shadows, a man stumbled and fell.
“My God,” he ground out. “Henry.”
Rob ran to the young footman who was half-dressed, his shirt ripped, his cravat undone.
Henry’s face bore a large purple bruise at his temple. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Forgive me.”
“You’re not at fault, Henry,” he said quickly, even as his pulse throttled through him. If he thought he’d known fear before, he was vastly mistaken. There was only one person at fault here. Him. “Where is Her Grace?”
“I—I don’t know,” the young man panted past a split lip. “I was overtaken when she went into that place. I never saw her again. I woke up in the gutter.”
“My God,” Rob whispered.
He clasped Henry and hauled him over his shoulder. Quickly, he took him inside, shouting, “Fetch a doctor. Now.”
As Rob’s thoughts rioted, he took the young man into his study and placed him down carefully on the leather settee. Splashing brandy into a glass, he handed it to the footman. “What did you see?”
Henry grabbed the glass with shaking hands and drank. Wincing. “A big man. Rough. His voice. . . was low.”
Rob’s guts clenched. This was bad. Terribly bad.
“What was he wearing?” Rob asked softly, not wishing to frighten the young man further.
“He wore all leather. Brown.” Henry closed his eyes, as if envisioning his attacker. “And a mask. He said. . . he’d warned you.”
Rob turned slowly as understanding settled in his bones. How had the man found him? For it had to be the highwayman from the park. Rob had been so flippant. So damned arrogant. And now, his dangerous lark, his adventure, and his seemingly finished way of saving his dukedom for a few months had come back to destroy him.
He’d known that Harriet marrying him would end in tragedy. Known it in his very core, but he’d never thought like this. Not like this.
And it had nothing to do with gambling, or children, or a broken lineage. Oh no, it had to do with a highwayman and revenge. And his own arrogance to think he would be untouched, that those he loved, would be untouched by his choices.
My God, Harry had tried to warn him that night, when she’d confronted him for taking such risks. She’d asked how he could do it and he’d brushed her off.
Why had the man not come for him? Rob grimaced. He knew. Bloody hell, he knew. For to hurt him the most, coming for Rob wasn’t the answer. Coming for his wife? That was the answer. And now, Rob had no idea where she was. Or if she was even still alive.
But there was one hope. The highwayman wished to torment him. So, he’d keep her alive. At least for a little while and that was the only thing standing between him, Harriet, and never-ending hell.
He lifted his gaze and spotted his mother standing in the shadowy doorway, her face white as porcelain. “Robert?”
He sucked in a breath. “Harriet’s been taken.”
His mother blanched, horror struck. “What shall we do?”
“Do?” He leveled his mother with a hard stare. “We get her back.”
Chapter 26
Harriet awoke, her head throbbing. She winced at the dryness of her mouth. Blinking, she slowly opened her eyes then immediately closed them as pain stabbed her head.
The sound of rain falling upon glass drew her attention and she spotted a large window across the dingy, small room. She was on the floor.
Her fingers scraped against rough floor boards. A rat skittered across her feet and she let out a stifled scream.
“Don’t like the company, Duchess?”
She yanked herself up into a sitting position despite the pain. She almost swooned as her head swam but she willed herself upright, seeking the source of the voice.
The man sat on a stool, his dark boots stained with mud. Black stubble darkened his hard face. He peered at her with intelligent, yellow eyes.
He rested his forearm on his thigh, cool, calm, intense. “Your man made a mistake.”
As she gazed at the striking man who had abducted her, she tried to understand, “I beg your pardon?”
“Mocking me.”
Slowly, as she looked him up and down, taking in his dark leather breeches and the cut of him, she understood. When he said her man, he did not refer to a servant, but her husband. A chill shimmied through her. “In the park? That was you, was it not?”
He gave her a small, arrogant bow. “You haven’t forgotten then.”
She smoothed her hands over her skirts. “One doesn’t forget such a thing, does one?”
He stared at her, assessing. There was no mania to him, no b
arbary. Only sheer calculation. “The lady sounds most calm considering her circumstances.”
She studied him in turn. He wasn’t a bludgeon of a man. Quite the contrary. He seemed educated as well. “This lady doesn’t suffer hysterics.”
“Good.” He smiled. “I won’t have to gag you.”
She swallowed, the very idea harrowing. “No. No, you won’t.”
“Glad to hear it, Your Grace.” He drawled the title of deference as if it were an insult.
“I take it you don’t plan to kill me?” she asked, trying not to shake. He seemed to admire her spirit. She had a terrible feeling he’d feed off weakness.
He leaned back, completely at ease, as if he contemplated murder every day. “Not yet.”
She cleared her throat, allowing the threat to sink in, allowing his comfortability with it to take root. “I see.”
He gave her a slow, cold smile. “I’m glad. Now, give us your hands, darling.”
She inched backwards. “Why?”
“I must make arrangements and I’m going to tie you up so you can’t cause trouble.”
Her throat tightened at the very idea. “It is unnecessary, I assure you.”
“Do not take me for a fool,” he said quietly.
“I don’t,” she replied honestly.
“Good. Then we understand each other. Now, I must begin to make my actions take effect where most wanted.”
The highwayman stood then and crossed the room, slipping a rope from his pocket. He slipped the rough hemp about her wrists and wound it tight. Studying her, he frowned. At long last, he reached down, grabbed the hem of her gown and yanked.
She shuddered as he tore a piece of fabric free then lifted it towards her face.
“You said you weren’t going to gag me.”
“I find needs must since I’m going out. I can’t have you screaming the moment I leave, now can I?” Without further ado, he wound it about her mouth and head. She did not resist. She was no fool herself. There was no way she could overpower or resist him. Her best chance was to be left alone. If she could just be alone, then she could think.
He nodded. “Right then. I’ll be back soon. There’s no one here, mind you. The building is abandoned. So, don’t think you can raise help.”
Wide eyed, she nodded.
As soon as he’d slipped into the hall, she heard a lock turn. His footsteps thundered down the steps. A door creaked open and shut below.
She scrambled to her feet and raced to the window. She caught sight of him striding down the narrow alley, below the small roof beneath her window.
Turning about the small room, she looked for anything which might help her escape. Anything at all.
She pattered to the door and, with her bound hands, attempted to turn the latch but it would not budge. She grimaced at the pain lacerating her wrists. He’d tied them quite tight.
Fighting back tears, she turned from the door. This was most distressing. What the devil was she going to do?
Await rescue? She couldn’t do that. How would Rob know where she was? But nor could she wait for the man’s return. God knew what he planned to do. If he wished to torment Rob, he wouldn’t simply ask for money. Oh no, there wouldn’t be much pleasure in that.
Her eyes caught sight of the stool and she stilled, then glanced to the window.
Before she could let herself think twice, she dashed to it. Picking up the three-legged stool, she charged the window and swung. The frame and glass broke with a clatter. Her heart thundered, fearful that there was, indeed, someone who might hear her and stop her escape despite the fact he’d claimed she was alone.
She did not wait to find out but, rather, raked her ties against a shard of glass. Crying out as she gashed her own skin, her wrists flew apart. As soon as they were free, she tore the gag from her mouth and dropped it to the floor.
Panting, she bent and swept up her skirts. Carefully, she used the fabric, covering her hand, to clear the glass on the lower sill and then she looked downward.
It would be some doing, descending, but what choice did she have?
Drawing in her breath, she climbed up and swung over the sill, then let her toes reach for the roof below.
The little canopy swayed the moment she rested her feet upon it and before she could even truly stand, she felt it sway. Instinctively, she jumped away as it collapsed. Rolling, her body hit the muddy earth with a hard thud and the air rushed out of her lungs.
As she lay in the rain for a moment, she wondered what the devil to do next. She was free. But she had no real idea where she was and she knew she was anything but safe.
Rob stormed into Richard Heath’s club with only one thought. He had to find his wife. The place was wild with drink and cards. Games of chance were played at every table and the rooms were full of laughter and shrieks of excitement.
In that moment, he hated them all. Hated them all for their frivolity when he was in such a state of terror.
Richard Heath spotted him and it took only one look for the former thief to realize that this was no ordinary visit.
Heath came across the room quickly. “Come with me.”
Robert nodded, silent, containing his energy for what lay ahead. He wasn’t about to go off half-cocked, not when he knew that such a lack of steadiness could result in the worst for them all.
Heath opened the door to his inner sanctum. The moment they were alone, Rob said, “I need to know who it was. The highwayman I angered.”
Heath stilled. “Why?”
Rob could hardly form the words but then he said, “He’s taken my wife.”
Heath, for the first time Rob could ever recall, paled. “Sodding hell.”
“Who is he?” Rob demanded.
Heath drew in a sharp breath, planting his hands on his desk.
“I know you know his name,” Rob said tightly. “You have to know where he is or where he’d keep her.”
Heath did not look away, but the darkness in his eyes was so deep it turned them night black. “I know the answer to all those questions. . .”
Rob waited a moment then growled, “You cannot protect him.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”
Rob slipped the dagger from his coat and before Heath could move, he had the tip planted against his former mentor’s throat. “I hoped you would simply tell me.”
“Given the power I have,” Heath said calmly looking into Rob’s eyes, “with the information I have, that is not the wisest decision.”
Rob did not care if there was truth in those words. He would not play about with Harriet’s life. “He has my wife and you are prevaricating.”
Heath’s mouth pressed into a line but then he hissed, “He’s my brother.”
Rob stilled and lowered the blade.
“You know I could have killed you still,” Heath said, his voice a rumble.
“You could have tried,” Rob said with utter sincerity. “Without her, I have nothing and nothing to lose.”
“You love her then?”
Rob said nothing.
“Right then.” Heath grabbed his long coat from behind his desk. “We’re heading to a part of London you’ve never been.”
Feeling the first ray of hope he’d felt all night, Rob nodded. “Lead on.”
They strode quickly down a sprawling set of stairs and stopped before a gold-embossed panel. Heath pressed a gilded circle in the wall and it swung open, exposing a small, dark hall.
To his shock, a man stood in the corridor. He stopped abruptly at the sight of him.
It took a moment for Robert’s eyes to adjust but then he felt rage pump through him. Without a word, he raced into the corridor, grabbed the man by his shoulders and slammed him into the brick wall.
The highwayman growled as his head cracked against the hard surface.
“What have you done with her?” Rob demanded.
“I-I don’t know,” the highwayman bit out.
“What do you mean, Jamie?�
�� Richard Heath demanded as if seeing his brother attacked was as normal as asking for a glass of claret.
Jamie Heath blinked and didn’t resist. “She’s gone,” he replied with a shocking degree of calmness.
Rob’s heart nearly stopped. “Gone?”
“The filly bolted,” Jamie replied coolly, though anger flowed through his entire body. “I went out, didn’t I, just for a few minutes. I came back and she’d smashed my bloody window and jumped. You wouldn’t believe the state of it.”
“You won’t believe the state of your face if we don’t find her,” Rob growled, wishing he could beat the man to a pulp. He wouldn’t. Not now. It would serve nothing.
“Look, I took her to scare the hell out of you,” Jamie Heath stated. “I didn’t hurt her. I wasn’t going to. I’ve no desire to go down for murder.”
“And she’s out on the streets?” Richard Heath demanded, his voice hard.
Jamie nodded.
Rob relaxed his grip, the world swimming. They filed out of the tight hall and headed back towards the front of the stairs. She was out on the London streets. Alone.
At that moment, a series of voices infiltrated the opulent space and four dukes charged in.
Rob gaped at his friends. “What are you doing here?”
Harley eyed him up and down. “The proper question is what the hell are you doing here without us?”
He shook his head. He’d not wanted them involved with Heath. “How—”
“Mary came to me,” Harley rushed, his voice deep and pained. “And she said she knew where you went. To whom, that is. To the only man who could help you.”
“Which is utter tosh,” Drake drawled.
“How can you help me?” Rob demanded. “How can you know anything about this part of town?”
“Oh, not me, old boy,” Drake replied. “Not me.”
And then Royland stepped out of the shadows. “A woman, of your wife’s description, was spotted by the river. If we’re lucky, one of my little mice has stopped her and led her to safety.”
