Her heart pounded wildly as she tried to find her voice. "Stay back, Drake! Stay back!"
He took hold of the trunk and pierced her with a commanding gaze. "Victoria, for the love of—"
But the branch snapped in two before he could finish.
Her scream fell into the wind as she plummeted into the swollen stream below. Cold water blasted her body and sucked her under. Within seconds, a swirling darkness began to overtake her. Crushing her. Stealing her strength. She felt her hands and feet disappearing into the flowing stream of death. And then suddenly, a black rage pulled her deeper and deeper into a numbing abyss until she felt nothing at all.
Fear gripped Drake as he watched slim white hands disappear beneath the stream. Instantly, he kicked off his boots and launched himself into the churning waters.
"Victoria!" His voice was a muffled cry above the roar of violent current. He dove beneath the battering stream, his lungs ready to burst. He came up for breath, his heart constricting with dread. Water bit angrily against his face. Sharp pieces of debris slammed against his body. Dear God, please let me find her.
Hope stirred within him when he caught sight of a bit of blue floating above the surface.
He swam forward, reached out, and skin met skin. Victoria’s face bobbed in the water. He circled his arm around her waist and tugged, cupping her chin, trying to keep her mouth and nose above water. Terror seized him when he saw the blue tint of her lips.
"Hold on, sweetheart. You are not going to die on me. Do you hear me, woman? I will not allow it!"
Two flat blue eyes flickered open for a second or two, then closed. Drake's grip on her tightened. But her skirt was snagged on a wedged log. Water filled his mouth as he jerked his head to the side, trying to breathe. He was not going to let her go!
"Open your eyes! Try, Victoria! Come on, sweetheart!" Her lids fluttered open again. "Good girl!"
Pale blue eyes stared into nothingness, then rolled back into her head. Drake's heart shattered. He would not lose her! He would not!
Panic wracked his brain. There was no more time. He said a quick prayer, let her go, and dove below the surface. Feeling for her skirt, he freed the material from the log and hung on for dear life as they were thrust into an endless sea of terror.
His clasp on her was strong while water wrapped around them like a hangman's noose as he struggled for shore. Then, as if in answer to his prayers, a familiar voice shouted above the raging stream.
"Grab hold of the rope, my lord! Grab on!"
Drake glanced toward shore. His trusty butler stood there, aided by a line of footmen who held on to a rope that had been thrown into the stream. In no time, Drake and Victoria were pulled to safety.
Drake staggered and spit up water as he placed Victoria's limp body gently on the ground. He was barely able to catch his breath as he fell forward, his hands resting on his knees.
"Stanby, where the devil did you come from?"
"My lord." The butler smiled uneasily. "Her Grace sent word to me yesterday. Thought I could be of some assistance to you. Evidently"—a serious crease formed above Stanby's eyes as he glanced toward Victoria's still form,— "your grandmother was correct. She is not breathing, my lord."
Chest heaving, Drake glanced down at Victoria and frowned. "Nooooo," he shouted in grief, gripping her wet body to his chest.
Stanby gently disengaged Victoria's body from his master. "My lord, let me take her." The butler laid her on the ground, turning her onto her stomach. "She may live if we push on her back. The water needs to come out."
But Drake could only stare in horror. Her lips were blue, her body unmoving. He pressed his hand against her cheek. She was as cold as ice.
Then Stanby did the unspeakable. He cuffed his employer on the shoulder. "Get hold of yourself, man! We can still save her!"
Understanding finally dawned on Drake. He knelt over Victoria's lifeless form and raised her arms above her head as Stanby suggested. The large servant then moved her jaw to the side while Drake pushed vigorously on her back.
"Blast it, Stanby. She's not moving!"
"Keep pushing, my lord. I have seen this worked on many sailors that would have been near drowning."
Drake's hands pressed firmly in a rhythmic motion on her back, his heart twisting in agony with every thump applied to her precious body. "Breathe. Confound it, Victoria. Breathe."
"My lord! The water's coming out."
Drake kept pushing as the liquid came up, spewing past her blue lips.
Stanby frowned. "You will have to blow your breath into her mouth. Now. Pinch her nose, so the air does not go out when you blow."
Drake looked up, horrified. "What?"
"Trust me, my lord." Stanby's voice was firm.
Drake glanced back at Victoria.
"My lord! It cannot wait!" Stanby bent down to take Victoria's mouth in his.
Drake pushed him aside. "Move aside!"
Drake pressed his mouth to Victoria's lips as he blew his breath into her, and prayed Stanby knew what he was about.
"The lady is breathing, my lord!"
Victoria groaned and opened her eyes. Tears dammed in Drake's eyes as he pulled her head close to his chest. "You little fool. I almost lost you."
Her eyes closed again and Drake held her tight. A lonely tear fell from his face and dropped to her cheek. "You sweet, little, adorable fool."
"Drake, my boy, take this. It will help settle your nerves." The duke pushed a glass of claret under Drake's nose.
Drake shook his head. It had been only two hours since the dreaded incident. He sank into the sofa in his grandmother's drawing room. "It should have been me up there. Not her."
Phoebe put a hand on his shoulder. "I cannot think of anybody who has ever talked my Victoria out of what she wanted to do. And from what I hear, you would have been too heavy to brace your weight upon the branch, my dear."
Drake brushed a hand through his hair that still glistened from his quick bath. He had never felt so helpless in all his life. "It appears her weight was not appropriate either."
He rose from his seat and strode toward the hearth.
"Please, my lord, take this." Sarah's voice whispered behind him as she handed him the drink the duke had offered only seconds before. "Victoria would not want you to take the blame. You did the best you could, and now we all have to help her through this."
Drake took the drink and tipped it in one long swallow.
The dowager duchess sat in a corner wing chair, dabbing her eyes. Fox, James, and his younger brother Anthony were whispering in another comer. But Drake's eyes locked on the very tall, familiar figure of the Earl of Wendover seated next to the duke.
When Drake caught sight of the man's long, powerful hands twirling a glass of brandy, something snapped inside him. The marks on Victoria's neck suddenly materialized before him. Could this man have had something to do with it?
Drake slammed his glass onto the mantel. He had no proof, but there was something about the man that he had never liked. Clenching his jaw, Drake stalked across the room.
"Wendover, it seems to me—"
"Oh, doctor!" Lady Phoebe's shout turned everyone's attention toward the open doors where the doctor had entered.
The older man glanced about the room. "I gave her some laudanum, but her lungs still have a bit of fluid in them."
"Will she take the fever?" Phoebe asked in fear.
The doctor took his cloak from the butler. "A fever is the least of our worries. I believe her lungs are what we have to fear. Never a good sign when one stops breathing. I'm sorry to leave you so soon, but I have another call to make in the village."
He glanced at Drake. "You did the best you could, my lord. She would not be alive if you had not acted so swiftly. I doubt those marks on her neck will last more than a few days."
Drake grimaced. Marks on her neck! His gaze shifted to Wendover who seemed to be leaving along with the doctor.
"What should we do?" Phoeb
e asked.
"When she wakes, you must walk her about the room."
Drake moved toward the door, barely hearing what the doctor was saying because when he brushed against Wendover's cloak, the memory of another black cloak suddenly flashed in his mind. The inn? Nightham? Victoria? His mind whirled with unanswered questions. Had the man been at the inn the same time Victoria had been there? Had Wendover been involved in the murder? Or had Nightham plotted with this man? Had Wendover been blackmailing Victoria?
Drake's eyes narrowed. Or was he just going soft in the brain, trying to blame someone else for his foolishness in letting Victoria climb the tree?
"The fluid must not be allowed to build up," the doctor continued as he walked down the hall.
"Can I see her?" Drake finally asked, trying to control his overwhelming urge to flatten Wendover against the wall. Even if the man was innocent, there was still something about him ...
The doctor shook his head. "She needs her sleep. But when she wakes, keep her drinking hot liquids. Soup or broth is fine. Remember, not too much excitement."
"She will be fine, will she not, Doctor?" Wendover's words floated past Drake's ears as the two men finally took their leave.
Drake glared at the black cloak, deciding to bide his time. Of course, his reasoning was only pure conjecture, but something in his gut told him he was right about William's villain. Wendover was trouble.
As the days progressed, Drake was pleased to see that Victoria was recovering faster than anticipated. He made a few visits to see her, taking her for walks about the room while her abigail sat beside the bed. How could he ever have thought she was like Honoria?
He decided to hold his tongue about both Nightham and Wendover until she completely recovered. He was glad when his solicitor finally appeared at Percy Hall to fill in some parts of the puzzle.
Wilkins, a short, stout man dressed in a dark green jacket with pearl-coated buttons, made himself comfortable in the drawing room, sitting on the dowager's favorite chair, the fine art of needlepoint beneath him. A thick stack of papers rested on the rosewood tea table to the man's left.
Drake stood by the fireplace, stuffing his pocket watch back into place and shifting his gaze back to Wilkins. "You have some information that may interest me, then?"
"My lord, I daresay, I have plenty to interest you."
Apprehension gripped Drake as he dwelled on the possibilities of Victoria's attachment to Nightham. Had she loved him? Did she still love him? "I do want to hear what you have to say, but I also want you to look into the Earl of Wendover's background. What has he been doing the last ten years of his life? Where do his debts leave him? And where has he been spending his money?"
"Very well, my lord. I will see to it as soon as I return to Town." Wilkins cleared his throat. "However, there is much more information than I thought. It is all so fantastic when one gets down to it. Pray, where shall I start?"
Restless, Drake began to pace the length of the drawing room. "Start with Nightham."
Wilkins grabbed a few papers off his stack and glanced up at Drake over the rim of his spectacles.
Drake's gaze clasped the man in a death hold. "Yes?"
Wilkins visibly swallowed. "I have discovered that Lord Nightham had a penchant for gambling. Months before his death he racked up quite a debt."
"Not unusual. Nightham liked to hit the tables at the clubs now and then. He had his vices."
"Indeed, my lord. It seems he acquired a great deal of debt and owed many people."
"Well, he was no different than a host of gentlemen. The man had plenty of money and never paid on time. Everybody in London knew he was good for it."
Drake stared at the papers in Wilkins's hands and a certain uneasiness swept through him. "How many people did he owe?"
The solicitor pushed the papers toward him. "See for yourself, my lord."
Drake grabbed the papers with one hand and sank into a wing chair. "Lord Finely, seven thousand pounds, Lord Granger, five thousand pounds? Mr. Torrence, eight thousand pounds. Lord Stevens, two thousand!" He peered up at Wilkins, then back to the paper. "Greenbriar, Avelry, Fredders, and the list goes on."
Drake ran a hand through his hair. Nightham had been in debt? What other secrets had the man been hiding?
"It seems, your friend was obsessed with the tables," Wilkins said. "The more he lost, the more he gambled. The more he gambled, the more he lost. A rather vicious circle, I would say."
"Nightham gambled at the clubs, but I never stopped to think that it had gone this far. Yet why would he take Lady Victoria to the country to be married? There is no sense in it. She had no money. And I will never believe it was a love match."
Wilkins gave him a dubious look and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "At that time, my lord, she was penniless."
"You are telling me that Nightham was in debt from gambling? And there is no room for a mistake here?"
Wilkins nodded.
Drake rose. "Then why would Nightham deliberately leave London for a shabby inn to marry a woman with no money? I daresay, she is beautiful..."
A hint of doubt began to form in Drake's mind, and he stared at Wilkins. "What else?"
Wilkins frowned and lifted some more papers from his pile. "Here is the true story behind the earl's reason for marrying Lady Victoria."
Drake's lips tightened.
"She is the daughter of a earl."
"I knew that."
Wilson rustled the papers in his hands and adjusted his spectacles. "Well, from all accounts, it seems that Lady Victoria was placed on the doorstep of her aunt's home when her parents died some nine years ago. Victoria's distant cousin, the new earl, sent her to live with Lady Phoebe. There was nothing in the late earl's will to provide for his daughter."
Drake stiffened. The very thought of Victoria being left penniless by her thoughtless father infuriated him. But knowing that she had been yanked from her home after the tragic death of her parents and sent to live with her aunt, without a penny, enraged him. He wanted to box Wendover's ears so bad, his hands ached. And if that father of hers were still alive ...
"My lord, there's more."
A maid walked in with a silver tray carrying the tea setting. Drake looked at Wilkins and asked the man if he wanted some refreshment. Wilkins shook his head no just as the maid served a cup to Drake. After the servant left, Drake took his seat.
"There is a decanter of wine on the table, if you wish, Wilkins, but go on. What else?"
"It seems Victoria's Uncle Henry was eventually appointed her guardian. But Lady Victoria had also been left a trust that even she was not aware of."
Drake's teacup stilled on his bottom lip. "A trust?"
"It is from the will of a great aunt who died fifteen years ago. The lady left quite a good sum. No one but Lady Phoebe and her solicitor knew about the money. When Lady Victoria turns twenty-two, she will gain knowledge and access to this trust."
Things were beginning to click into place, causing an icy chill to flow through Drake's veins. "And Nightham?"
"I believe he found out about the trust. He tried to swindle that girl out of her inheritance by marrying her and taking his husbandly rights," Wilkins scowled, "in more ways than one, I can assure you."
Drake slammed his feet to the ground and rose. "I cannot believe Nightham would do such a thing."
"I believe I will have some of that wine you mentioned."
Wilkins stood up, his expression grim as he splashed the red liquid into a glass. The man was the father of three girls himself. Drake could only guess that this act of Nightham's threw the usually sedate Wilkins into a fit of rage.
"Not only that." Wilkins turned. "I have reason to believe his mother knew all about it. The trust. The debts. The special license. Everything."
Drake blinked in surprise. "That sweet woman?"
"She may be sweet, but she is also poor."
The thought of Victoria being swindled by those two people sent his mind reeli
ng with fury. "How much is her fortune?"
"From what I gather, about eighty thousand pounds, my lord."
"WHAT?"
"Eighty thousand pounds."
"Hell's teeth! People would kill for even a pittance of that. She knows nothing about this?"
"No, my lord. But she will. Soon."
"Soon?"
"Yes, in three days ... on her twenty-second birthday."
Chapter Fourteen
Shaking, Victoria pulled the covers up to her chin as she watched the furry white mouse scamper across her bedchamber.
"William, dispose of that creature immediately!"
William looked up from his seat by the window. "He is watching us, Vicki."
"You have no need to have Captain Whitie look out for me."
The boy's cheeks puffed out in irritation as he picked up his mouse. "I don't mean Whitie! I mean the villain! He is coming here. I can feel it. I am a pirate and us pirates know how to protect our princesses."
Victoria’s fingers tensed, for she knew all too well whom William was talking about.
She wanted nothing more than to protect this innocent boy from Wendover. And she had finally gathered the courage to tell Drake about it. When she was up and about, she would approach him on the matter.
"William, I assure you, I am not in need of protection. Now, run along and let me rest."
"Awwww, Vicki." William dropped his shoulders. "Did you know that Drake is speaking to a fat man in the drawing room?"
Victoria swallowed her laugh. "William, that is no way to speak of your elders."
"I don't care." He shrugged and turned to leave. "No one listens to me anyway. Fat! Fat! Fat!"
Victoria frowned as William marched from the room. Wendover's threats echoed in her mind. She had to do something about the situation soon. Drake. She had to tell Drake.
"I say!" Wilkins jumped up with a start and dropped his teacup on the carpet.
Drake spun around. His dark brows rose in surprise when he caught sight of his plump solicitor crouched on top of the sofa. The portly man's arms were flung out to his sides like a baby bird learning to fly. As Drake lowered his gaze to the floor, it was all he could do not to laugh at the pink tail wiggling about the carpet. It seemed Captain Whitie had decided to take cover inside the fallen teacup, which was now upside down and dragging along the floor like a tortoise's shell.
To Marry A Marquess (A Regency Romance) Page 14
