by Alexa Aston
The group froze at his tone. The woman who’d stepped forward said, “He was gentry. The likes of us know better than to interfere.”
His gaze swept over the shabbily dressed crowd and they quickly melted away.
Only Maude and James remained, and James spoke softly. “It happened so fast, my lord. One minute they’re here and the next the old devil’d dragged her off. It was none of our business.” The fish seller crossed himself for good measure.
Garrett mounted Ebony. He had no time to waste. Without a backward glance, he made for Lord Fenton’s. When he’d last met with de Picassaret in London, it had been there. He only prayed Fenton had again played host to the Frenchman.
He rode like a madman through the narrow streets, shouting warnings to those who crossed his path. Madeleine’s abuser had found her. It was de Picassaret all along. Now the truth stood before him. Henri’s own wife had run from him—and that wife had been Madeleine.
She had tried to put him off when she spoke of the sanctity of marriage vows. She’d been speaking of her own vows with Henri. Garrett’s love for her—both physically and emotionally—must have torn her apart.
Yet she loved him. He was certain of it. They had a spiritual connection that ran greater than the physical. He had promised himself he would find the man who’d tortured this woman, who’d marred not only her body but her soul. He would kill the French bastard before he let de Picassaret touch Madeleine again.
But would he be too late?
He reached Fenton’s in a quarter of an hour. No groom was in sight to take his winded horse. He looped Ebony’s reins to a post and dashed to the door. He rapped the knocker in a steady stream. When no one answered, he beat on the door with his fists.
“Open up!”
He’d about given up hope when the door opened a slit. A young boy of eight or nine poked his head out.
“No one’s here, my lord. Lord and Lady Fenton are gone to the country. Can’t help you.”
He started to close the door but Garrett forced his boot in. “I’m here to see Monsieur de Picassaret. My name is Montayne.”
The boy looked at him now in recognition and smiled. “You’re the owner of the dark beauty.”
Garrett had seen the admiring glances the lad had given his horse the last time he was here. “Yes, my horse is named Ebony.”
The child relaxed a bit and opened the door to him, motioning him to come in. “The Frenchman is gone, my lord. I heard him tell Mum that they was going home to France.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She went to Bessie’s to help her have a babe. She helps with birthings all the time,” he said with pride.
Garrett knew it would be hard to track the woman down. He must get what he could from the boy. “Was the comte leaving for France today?”
The boy screwed his eyes closed for a minute. “I dunno. Maybe. I think his servant said something about Tuesday.”
“Tomorrow,” Garrett said aloud. He tossed the lad a coin and started down the steps. If Henri had already left Fenton’s, he’d most likely be down on the waterfront, especially if his ship left on the morning tide. Garrett prayed he would find them there.
He mounted Ebony. The youngster called out to him. “Tell his wife I hope she gets all better.”
He whirled. “What did you say?” he demanded, reining in so suddenly that Ebony reared under him. “Speak, boy!”
The child took a step back, his eyes round. “She’s in a bad way. She fell down the stairs. She couldn’t even walk. The comte’s servant had to carry her.”
Wheeling his horse in a tight circle, Garrett spurred him through the gate. Between Fenton’s and the waterfront he saw nothing but a blur of colors, felt nothing but the pounding pulse of his anger.
He would kill de Picassaret.
At the office of the harbormaster, Raleigh greeted him. “Already back, my lord? I’ve not seen the lady in question.”
Garrett shook his head as he caught his breath. “Which ship leaves for France tomorrow?”
“The Avril. It sails at sunrise.”
“Check the manifest for Henri de Picassaret.”
Raleigh burst out laughing. “No need to do that. Seems the man bought half of England while he was here. Wouldn’t surprise me if’n the ship sank under the weight he carries back.”
“Do you know where he stays?”
Raleigh cocked his head to one side as he thought. “I’d venture The Wild Duck.”
“Tend my horse.”
Garrett hurried through the seedy side streets near the port. He reached the inn quickly and inquired which rooms belonged to Henri de Picassaret.
“Not here. Went out with his servant.”
Garrett slapped a gold coin on the table. “Which rooms?”
The innkeeper appraised him for a moment, scratching his scraggly beard. “I could let you wait in his rooms.” He quickly pocketed the money, flashing a gap-toothed smile. Handing Garrett a key, he pointed toward a rickety staircase. “Up those. Last room on the left.”
With trepidation, he mounted the creaking stairs and continued to the far end of the unlit corridor. He slipped the key into the lock and slowly pushed open the door.
The light from a dirty window revealed a lumpy bed and a stack of trunks. There was no sign of Madeleine. He couldn’t imagine Henri staying in such a place for very long.
Garrett moved toward the trunks stacked in disarray near the corner. Behind them, under a dirty blanket on the floor, he spied movement. Reaching over the trunks, he gently lifted the blanket.
He stared at the pile of rags for a moment before recognizing an arm, then a tumble of hair. His stomach lurched. He quickly hauled away the trunks around her and knelt.
Madeleine lay on the floor, a small pool of sticky blood under her cheek. How he recognized her, he wasn’t sure. Filth matted her long, golden hair. A mass of bruises covered her face. Blood trickled from her nose. One eye had completely swollen shut. Around her throat deep purple contusions were evenly spaced, as if someone had tried to choke the very life from her.
He removed the strips of cloth that bound her wrists to her ankles and lifted her onto his lap, rocking her, stroking her hair, whispering comforting nonsense.
He fought the rage that pulsed with every beat of his heart. Hot tears fell from his eyes as fast as a brook ran.
He shuddered at how savagely she’d been beaten. He would kill the demon known as Henri de Picassaret on first sight. For now, though, he must find help for his beloved. He refused to let her die.
She struggled to open an eye. “You must leave,” she said haltingly. Her voice was raspy, much deeper than normal. “He will kill you if he finds you here.”
“Who, Madeleine?” He had to hear it from her.
“Henri. De Picassaret.” She hiccupped. “My . . . husband.”
What it must have cost her to tell him that.
Madeleine had fled from the fiend she’d married. She bore the scars and the limp from their time together. She’d faced horrors no one should undergo. She’d hid her identity from everyone, even from the man who loved her.
But then they’d found each other. How it must have eaten at her soul when he’d raged on about Lynnette abandoning her marriage when she’d done the same thing, albeit for far different reasons. She must have been terrified he’d learn of this and turn on her.
Garrett cradled her to him. Oh, God in Heaven, he loved this woman.
She tried to speak again. “Please,” she begged in a whisper. “Leave. He mustn’t find you here.” Her eyes were dull, lifeless, and he saw she had resigned herself to whatever fate de Picassaret had chosen.
He shook his head. “I will not leave you, Madeleine. Ever.”
He managed to lift her and carried her to the bed. He hated to place her on the rotting mattress but thought it better than the floor. He gently moved his hands over her, searching for broken bones or other injuries. She grimaced as he grazed her ribs.
&
nbsp; She began babbling. “He wouldn’t let me curl into a ball. I always know to do that. I know to protect myself. What to do. I . . .”
Her voice faded out and she mumbled words in rapid French that he couldn’t understand. Garrett wondered just what she had suffered at her husband’s hands. He removed his cloak and draped it over her. He wished to kiss her but her lip was split and bruised. He was almost afraid to touch her anywhere.
“I will send for a physician, my love.” He brushed the hair from her face, wincing at the new crop of bruises that had been hidden.
“No!” she cried, weak as a kitten’s mewl. “I’d rather die than live without you.” Hot tears streamed from her swollen eyes. “You foolish man! Why can’t you understand? I am married until death parts me from this devil. God has already let Henri punish me for going to your bed.”
“You think God wanted Henri to do this to you?” Garrett balled his hands into fists. “You are sadly mistaken, Madeleine. I don’t know what nonsense he’s tried to fill your head with but—”
“Just go,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you here.” She turned her face away, the tears sliding onto the stained pillow.
He strode to the window and leaned out. He searched for a moment and then yelled, “Boy! Boy!”
A youth of about ten ran to the base of the building and looked up. “Yes, my lord?”
Garrett tossed him a coin. “Fetch a doctor here at once. There’ll be another piece for you when you return.”
The boy took off running.
Garrett came and sat on the bed next to Madeleine. “I’ll take you far from Henri de Picassaret. I give you my promise. You need never see him again.”
*
“My lord! Come to the window.” The boy had returned, hollering for Garrett.
He went to the window and saw the boy was alone.
“No one would come, my lord. They’re scared or they didn’t believe me that a real lord had need of them. The waterfront is a bad place.” He tipped his hat to Garrett. “But I thank you for the coin all the same.”
Garrett cursed softly to himself. He went back to Madeleine and took her hand. “Sweetheart, we must leave now. I’ll do my best not to jar you.”
He wrapped the cloak around her, the same cloak that had warmed her what seemed like a lifetime ago. He slipped his arms underneath her and eased her from the bed. He had some idea of how she suffered. Ryker had beaten him many times before Garrett had finally stood up to him. He still remembered the deep aches, not only in his body, but in his bruised spirit. He would commit himself to nursing Madeleine back to good health, both in body and soul.
He picked his way carefully through the unpaved street, headed toward the waterfront. Madeleine had passed out in his arms. Garrett spied Raleigh and moved in his direction.
The harbormaster hurried to him. “What’s this?” He gaped at Madeleine.
“I need a cart. Fast. I must get her from this place. See to it.”
The man ran off on bowed legs. Within five minutes, he’d returned, leading Ebony. His horse had been hitched to a small cart. Garrett climbed awkwardly with Madeleine in his arms into the cart’s bed. He’d thought to place her down but the cart had no blanket. Not even a bed of straw. Instead, he kept her in his arms.
“Drive me, Raleigh. I can’t leave her.”
Raleigh gazed at Madeleine with sympathy. “Where to, Lord Montayne?”
Garrett quickly instructed him as Raleigh climbed up into the driver’s seat and flicked Ebony’s reins lightly.
He closed his eyes. Just let her live, God. Let her live. The prayer became a chant in his mind, its rhythm soothing him.
“Fornicator!” A devil-like shriek pierced the air.
Garrett’s eyes flew open as the cart came to a jarring halt. Henri de Picassaret stood blocking Ebony’s path, his eyes wild.
“You snake! You debaucher of God’s laws!” He pointed at Madeleine. “She—my wife—will pay every day of her life for falling to temptation. You English swine, with your courtly manner and seducing smiles. To think I almost gave you my land.”
Madeleine stirred and moaned softly.
Garrett rotated her face away from Henri, who frothed at the mouth as if he were rabid. He restrained himself from jumping out of the cart. His first duty was to protect Madeleine. He would deal with her husband in time.
“Drive through him if you have to, Raleigh, but get us from this place,” Garrett ordered.
Raleigh tried to turn Ebony but de Picassaret grabbed at the reins. The horse snorted and whipped his head about but the Frenchman held him firmly. He shook his finger at Garrett.
“You filthy English lecher. I will punish you in God’s name as I have punished her.”
He could stand it no longer. The thought of this madman’s repeated beatings of Madeleine raged through his head. He would tear the man’s limbs from his body.
As gently as he could, he placed Madeleine down.
She clutched his arm. “No,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he returned firmly.
He leaped from the cart, his body shaking with pent-up fury. “You’re nothing but a spineless bastard, de Picassaret. You beat those too helpless to defend themselves, you worthless scum.”
In a blurred motion, he rushed toward the comte, his fist smashing directly into the Frenchman’s nose. The crack could be heard over the shouts of the crowd that quickly gathered around them, cheering on the bloodshed.
His enemy slumped for a moment and then let out a ferocious cry, slamming his fists into Garrett’s ears. Garrett reeled from the strength of the fierce blow. The Frenchman cackled with glee over the pain he’d inflicted, his eyes lighting up with sick pleasure. His hands clamped around Garrett’s throat, choking him. The strong pressure amazed Garrett. It was the strength of a man gone mad. He wondered how Madeleine had survived as long as she had.
He clawed at Henri’s hands and forced them from his throat. Then he gripped the front of de Picassaret’s rich, black tunic, now wet with blood. He slammed him against a nearby barrel and pounded him in a blind frenzy, delivering blow after blow to his body.
“This is for Madeleine!”
As Garrett heard a rib crack, the comte emitted a high, girlish scream and collapsed. The crowd roared its approval.
He dropped to one knee and mopped the sweat from his brow as he tried to gain control of his anger. He wanted nothing more than to kill Henri de Picassaret. But could he do so without losing Madeleine’s love and trust? Once free, would she want to be with her husband’s murderer?
He gazed at her, undecided. Their lives, their love, lay in the balance with his next action.
She cried out, “Garrett! His dirk. It’s poisoned!”
Garrett reacted instantly. Moving in one swift motion, he rushed toward his attacker. The comte clutched a blade. Garrett latched on to the bastard’s wrist and squeezed with all his might but the madman refused to drop his jeweled dagger. With superhuman strength, he brought it up under Garrett’s chin.
He knew with sudden clarity that they were locked in a death struggle. Only one of them would survive this battle.
And the winner would decide Madeleine’s fate.
Not a sound came from those gathered around the pair as each fought for control of the deadly blade.
“Whoremonger!” de Picassaret cried and spat in Garrett’s face.
Garrett wrenched the man’s wrist and slowly forced the dagger away from him and toward the comte. He pushed the tip of it against the Frenchman’s throat, cutting the tender flesh. Blood creased and trickled down onto his cloak.
The comte’s eyes grew large in his pasty face. A faint sound came from his narrow lips as he went rigid. A spasm crossed his face then froze in a ghastly mask of death.
Garrett eased his hold and Henri de Picassaret fell lifeless to the ground.
The mass that had assembled shrugged and went on their way, their afternoon’s free entertainment coming to an end.
&n
bsp; He returned to the cart and climbed into the back of it. At his order, Raleigh flicked the reins and started away from the ugly scene. Garrett eased Madeleine into his arms again, stroking her cheek tenderly as he cradled her.
“He’s dead?” she asked, lips quivering.
“Yes.” Garrett touched his mouth gently to her forehead. “Henri is dead. And you must fight to live, Madeleine. Don’t give up, dearest. I need you too much. I’ll always need you, my love.”
Madeleine smiled weakly. Her nightmare had ended.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Madeleine awoke to the scraping sounds of a fire being laid in the hearth. A damp chill hung in the early morning air in the master’s chamber.
She eased up from the mass of blankets and recognized the tiny servant struggling with the task. “No, Maude, please don’t bother. You know we return to Stanbury today. There’s no sense in lighting a fire.”
Maude faced her, hands on her hips. “The master wants you to have a fire, dearie, and a fire is what you’ll get. Now stay in that warm bed and drink the soup I brought you.” She motioned to the table next to Madeleine.
Sure enough, a wooden bowl of broth stood awaiting her, steam rising in swirls.
“Maude, you spoil me.”
The servant winked at her and turned back to her job at hand. “No, I believe it’s the master who spoils you. I just do his bidding.” Maude deepened her voice in a gruff imitation of Garrett. “Maude, make up the master chamber. Maude, warm bricks for the bed. Maude, send for the doctor again. Maude, tend to—”
Madeleine interrupted her, laughing shallowly so as not to torture her ribs unnecessarily. “You’ve done it all, Maude. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness to me.”
The fire now lit, Maude came to her. “I thank you for the change in Lord Montayne. There was always a good man buried in that hard shell until you came around.” She beamed at Madeleine. “Now that he has spoiled you, in truth, you’ll be rotten to the core now, I fear.” She patted Madeleine’s hand and smiled fondly at her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let the fire do its task, then we’ll see about getting you ready for your journey.”
