by A. W. Exley
Her gaze flew to Nate, and for once he didn’t match her stare. He turned to stand at the window, his back to her as he gave her time to read and absorb the contract in her hand. Through their bond pulsed worry, tinged with fear.
She started to read with a heavy heart. The document was a sales contract―of her. She flicked her gaze to Nate’s ramrod back before continuing to analyse the fine print. He had cleared her father’s gambling debts and advanced him a large sum of money. The money applied, firstly, to pay off outstanding debts against the Soho house. The remainder gave Lord Devon a small amount of capital to supplement his annuity from her mother’s estate. The house was transferred to Cara’s name. With the sale price fixed and paid in return Nate got Cara.
She picked up the second document; a marriage certificate signed by her father, Nate, and a solicitor. Only the space for signature of the bride remained blank.
“I’m going to be sick.” She dropped the paper back to the desk as though the fibres had poisoned her. “It was you. When father wrote that he was marrying me off by proxy, he meant to you.” The world shifted on its axis and the room spun in lazy circles. Cara pressed a hand to her forehead, grateful her stomach was empty of breakfast.
He turned from the window. “Yes. Hence why I cannot ask you to marry me, the contracts have already been drawn, signed, and executed.”
Executed. Fitting choice of word. Betrayal burned through Cara. He had kept this from her. When she first met him three months ago, he already knew her, and held the upper hand. He had claimed her as his wife three years earlier. “I’m such a fool. I’ve been bought and paid for like some trinket you saw at the market and wanted.”
Smouldering eyes regarded her. “It wasn’t like that. I protected you, and left you free. Your father was desperate for someone to take you off his hands in return for ready cash.”
She shook her head, backing away from him. “Weeks ago in the conservatory, I told you about my father’s letter, but you never said a word. When were you going to tell me?” She sank onto the chaise in front of the fire, her head spinning faster than a child’s yoyo.
Sold. As if my father didn’t do enough, now I discover he sold me.
He moved to kneel in front of her, his hands on her knees. “I wanted you to be ready. As much as I have always wanted you, I need you to feel the same. I thought we reached that point. You love me as deeply as I love you. Last night you promised you would always be mine.”
His words ripped through her flesh, too similar to the words cried by the insane Weaver Clayton, who thought her Nefertiti to his Akhenaten. Weaver killed her father and four young women before turning his fatal attraction to Cara. Her heart broke under the dual attack from the pain of Nate’s deceit and the press along the bond of his escalating fear he would lose her.
The walls of his study pushed in on her, squeezing the air from her body. She pressed the heels of both palms to her temple, wanting to shut out the knowledge, to stop the words from seeping any further into her brain. Married. I’m married to him.
“The documents are all drawn and witnessed, but I have never pushed my suit. I would never force you, you know that.”
“I love you,” she cried as pieces of her heart scattered over the expensive rug. “But you stole my choice from me.”
“No.” He shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He tried to take her hands in his, but she jerked away. She was slipping from his grasp and there was nothing he could do to stop her from going. “The decision has always been yours, Cara. Without your signature these remain just pieces of worthless paper.”
I love you as much as I love my freedom, she screamed on the inside. We had no need for a piece of paper. We are bound together, two hearts with one life.
Returning to the desk, she grabbed up the damning papers and folded them over and over on themselves until she had a small square like a handkerchief. She snatched the two rings and pushed them into the centre of the envelope she had created. Then, Cara stuffed the entire small parcel down the front of her corset.
She cast around, seeking an escape route. “I need to think. I can’t do this―”
Shouts, running feet, and a thunderous pounding came from beyond the study. Nate rose in a fluid movement and strode to the door. Flinging it open revealed a battle in full swing in the entranceway. His men had materialised and roared at the front door as wooden splinters rained down under the assault of a number of axes from the other side.
One massive piece of oak split down the middle under the heavy attack, and the two pieces fell to one side, dangling from the hinges like broken limbs. Red clad British soldiers charged the breach to meet the enraged counter attack of Nate’s formidable bodyguards.
“What the heck is going on?” Cara peered from behind Nate as chaos erupted, distracting her from plans of fleeing.
He held up one hand and shook his head at her. “Stay here.” He leapt out and joined his men in the fray. “Don’t kill them,” Nate ordered. “It might be taken the wrong way.”
The men grabbed the rifles from the advancing soldiers and used them as leverage to push them back through the broken door.
“Like hell I’m staying here!” Cara stepped around the fighters, looking for a way to be useful. She might plan to leave Nate, but she wouldn’t leave him in the lurch. Glass shattered in the front parlour as more soldiers climbed through the windows and raced to the entranceway, attacking Nate and his men from two different sides.
At least a dozen soldiers now battled on the marble floor, met by just five men and Nate. Beyond the ruined front door, more soldiers stood in the driveway, rifles aimed at the road, ready to push back any assistance coming from the main entrance. The giant shadow of an airship loomed over the house and drive, showing how they had approached. She wondered at the fate of the rooftop lookouts who should have raised the alert, and made a mental note to check once they swept out the uninvited guests.
By the main stairwell, Cara spotted Miguel fighting a soldier, barring the attacker’s way to the rooms above. The slender youth had a harder time of things, although he fought with speed and skill, using the roadhouse kicks Cara taught him. She made her way to them, picking her route through the melee. Skirting Jackson about to toss a soldier out the front door like a madman throwing a ball at skittles, she came to stand behind Miguel’s opponent. She tapped him on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around. Surprise registered on his face at seeing a woman. His expression changed to completely blank as Miguel bashed him in the back of his neck with a fallen rifle. The soldier crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Miguel gave her a wave of thanks and rounded on the next soldier. Cara’s attention was caught by a flash of colour outside. Dodging around a bodyguard fencing with a fire poker, she watched as a soldier in full dress regalia ascended the steps. Gold braid more appropriate for a curtain tie back dripped from the red Melton shoulders of his jacket. More gold braid adorned the front in vertical frogging. Several enormous crimson dyed ostrich feathers, blowing in the morning breeze, adorned his black hat.
The commander pushed his way into the overflowing room and glanced around at the fighting. He drew his pistol and fired several shots into the overhead chandelier, raining iron brackets with crystal leaves onto those below. The fighting paused, heads turned in his direction, and he used the moment’s silence to announce himself.
“I am Captain Hankin of Her Majesty’s Royal Aeronautical Service.” His eyes found Nate and he glared at his opponent. “Nathaniel Trent, Viscount Lyons, you are under arrest for high treason. I am commanded to take you to the Tower to await her majesty’s pleasure. We have the house surrounded. You cannot win.” A sneer tugged one side of his manicured and waxed moustache.
More soldiers poured into the house. The airy double height room began to feel cramped with so many bodies taking up space. Two soldiers grabbed Nate by the arms. Jackson roared in protest and launched himself at his boss, but Nate shook his head, his expr
ession telling the man to stand down.
Cara’s eyes widened, her own problem shelved for the moment. “Treason?” She rounded on the captain. “What charges? What evidence do you have against him?”
The captain’s gaze raked her body. Under his scrutiny, Cara was aware of her bed tousled hair and bare feet. She felt like a street urchin who had reached up to pick his pocket and been caught in the act.
“This is no concern of yours.” The disdain was clear in his voice.
I really don’t like you.
Images from the last few weeks bounced around in Cara’s mind; locked doors, hidden rooms, and the military airships sweeping over the house and hangars. Nate hedged whenever Cara asked about the patrols. Victoria moved her chess pieces, gathering young men from London and the surrounding countryside, her patrols circling Lyons property as though Nate guarded some piece she coveted.
His face remained blank of emotion, everything hidden away from view as he watched events play out. Through their bond, Cara felt no hint surprise, only resignation.
What have you been up to? she mouthed to him.
He shook his head. Not now, he mouthed back, and gave her a sardonic raise of one eyebrow.
“Well, I didn’t expect a blurted confession,” she whispered under her breath.
“Search the house,” the captain commanded. Soldiers fanned out through the mansion, running up the stairs and disappearing into the lower levels.
Nate’s bodyguards dangled their impromptu weapons, waiting to raise them again at the word from their lord. Confusion held them in place at Nate’s strange compliance with the soldiers.
“Whatever you think you are looking for, you will not find it here.” Nate pointed out.
Furniture crashed, the contents of drawers rattled, and carpets tore. She balled her fists and tried to remain in one spot. Through the parlour doors floated goose feathers from slain cushions and then a clang sounded from the study as they tipped over the elderly grandfather clock.
Two soldiers approached the enormous timepiece hanging in the entrance hall.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She would not stand by and watch senseless vandalism. Whatever they sought, the soldiers were idiots if they thought Nate would hide anything of importance at the house. She placed herself in front of the priceless clock and raised her hands. “Just back off!”
The men paused and one reached out a hand to push her out of the way. She acted on instinct against the threat and flung out a leg, giving the man a round house kick to the torso that sent him staggering back. The soldiers exchanged uncertain looks before turning to their captain.
The captain strode forward, threw out his hand, and struck Cara across the face. She rocked back on her heels, but held her ground, ignoring the droplet of blood forming on her split lip.
Nate snarled and strained against the men holding him. “Leave her alone! Touch her again and you’re dead, Hankin.”
“I don’t want to touch your doxie ever again. Tell her to get out of the way,” he barked over his shoulder at Nate.
Nate ground his teeth and his gaze rested on her face. “Cara, move. It’s only a clock.”
“No, it’s a work of art by Faberge and this Neanderthal is not going to lay a finger on it.” She met the captain’s gaze and stiffened her back. “Take your little band of miscreants, and go satisfy your urge to destroy at the quarry if you are so desperate for something to smash.”
His lips pulled back in a snarl and his hand raised to strike her again when Jackson stepped in front of Cara.
“I really wouldn’t be doing that if I was you. Lyons has already told you, whatever you’re after, it’s not here. We’re quite fond of this chit, and things have only stayed civil because the boss seems to want it that way. You touch her again and things will turn very, very nasty.”
Even Cara shivered at the menace in Jackson’s tone. Nate’s men were outnumbered, but they were never outmatched. They confined their fighting to disarming the soldiers and dropping them back out the doors and windows. They could easily change that tactic and challenge the captain’s assertion they would not win.
Hankin narrowed his eyes and appeared to have sparked his sole brain cell into action as he reached a similar conclusion. “To the airship,” he barked. “We have what we came for. Take him away.” He turned his back and picked his way through the remnants of the front door and slain chandelier.
Two men dragged Nate between them and out into the driveway. Cara and the men rushed to the steps, unsure of what to do next. She couldn’t understand why he just let them haul him away when they could fight and win. The captain looked him over as he waited for the platform to descend from the hovering airship.
“Not so mighty now are you, Lyons?” he taunted. He stepped closer to Nate and punched him hard in the stomach. No sound broke Nate’s lips at the impact, but on the steps, Cara uttered a cry as the blow reverberated through her body. She clutched her stomach and rested a hand against the wall to keep from doubling over.
“Cara,” Nate’s voice was low, and held a questioning note as though the mighty lord was unsure if she would respond. “If you ever give a thought to what will befall this heart, contact Hamish McToon. He will counsel you.”
She watched as Nate was dragged away and bundled into the passenger pod suspended from the airship. Even as the platform ascended and disappeared into the belly of the beast, she remained rooted to the spot. Now she understood why he had let them take him. Her body ached from the blow the captain delivered, and the depth of the hole they were in dawned on her.
“Oh crap.” She chewed her bottom lip. Her inclination had been to leave him to rot in the Tower while she sorted through her feelings about his underhanded tactics and deception. But if Victoria executed him, he wouldn’t be the only one to die. It was one thing to imagine them stretching his neck or shooting him, quite another to experience death alongside him, to share his pain for however long it would take for both of their hearts to be exhausted.
ara sat slumped on the top step, her arms wrapped around her knees. The airship disappeared from view, and beyond in the street, life continued as normal. At some stage Miguel pushed a coffee into her hands and she sipped at the drink without ever really tasting the rich flavour. Her mind spun in a multitude of directions.
This mess is so deep, ten night soil men couldn’t dig me out.
Eventually, the dregs of her coffee chilled and her bare feet turned numb from prolonged exposure to the ice cold stone steps. Wallowing in self-pity won’t solve anything. She rose and ventured back into the house to survey the extent of the damage.
Jackson awaited her inside. “What shall we do, doll?” he asked. Picking up a splinter of front door, he used the sliver of wood to pick something from between his teeth.
Miguel leaned on the broom handle; he had swept away the remnants of the shot chandelier, so she wouldn’t tread on broken glass with her bare feet. The gathered men watched with anxious faces, looking to her for a direction and a course of action.
Jackson’s question stopped Cara dwelling and brought her mind to the more immediate problem. She surveyed the broken house, relieved they stopped the soldiers before they destroyed the old paintings. Some things were priceless and could never be replaced, unlike the front door or glass in the windows.
“We roll up our sleeves and tidy up this mess. Send someone to the hangar for more men. And find someone to fix that.” She pointed to the massive front doors laying in shattered pieces over the doorjamb. “Something temporary for now, but I want metal, ultimately, like in the Pit. And we need new glass in the parlour windows.”
“And Lyons?” He flicked his impromptu toothpick back onto the pile of rubble.
Cara gave the henchman a wry look. “He’s not going anywhere is he? Let him cool his heels while we clean this up first. I need to figure out what to do next. But send someone with warm clothes and boots for him; he wasn’t wearing much when they took him away.”
; Jackson nodded his head and started barking orders at the other men. Miguel approached Cara and laid a hand on her arm. She turned weary eyes to him.
“He will be all right. He always lands on his feet.” He gave her a warm smile.
“It’s not his feet that worry me, Miguel, but his neck.” She gave him a sad smile and squeezed his fingers. “I do have a task for you though. There’s a small package to be delivered to Sara Collins’ hands. I can at least clear away that loose thread.”
She climbed the stairs, dreading what she would find on the first floor. She walked the corridor to the ornate carved doors protecting the bedroom she shared with Nate.
The exotic sandalwood doors he stole from an Indian temple, stood open. Cara surveyed the scene within and wanted to collapse against the wall and cry. Too much had happened today. She found out her father sold her like cattle at market, and before she could vent her rage, Nate was hauled off for treason. What really worried her was she had no idea of his guilt or innocence.
The bedroom was devastation. They had pulled the mattress from the oversized bed and slashed it open, dragging stuffing and feathers around the room. Dressers were tipped over; drawers were askew and spilled their contents over the floor. Cara’s underwear was strewn about as though they rummaged through her drawers as a sheer act of wanton destruction and no more. Items from Nate’s travels around the globe had been smashed on the floor. An African tribal mask was trampled into kindling wood, a prayer carpet torn into strips. A delicate ivory statue from Japan shattered on the fire hearth. The violence all so pointless.
This wasn’t a search. It was an act of terror designed to tell Nate he can be reached. That he’s not untouchable. The thought preyed on her mind. The act unlike something the queen would order, but rather someone motivated by revenge.
She reached out to pick up chemises, corsets, and stockings, her thoughts in as much turmoil as the room. She could put the room back to order, but the scars would remain. Nate had powerful enemies, and she had no idea why or what he had done. So much of his life was hidden from her and she realised how little she truly knew about him.
