Lord Ruthven's Bride (5 page)

Annabelle’s heart thundered against her ribs. She made eye contact with Lena, who sat across from her and Lord Harley.
I am so sorry
, Annabelle telepathed with her eyes.

Lena’s eyes softened, but the underlying determination remained.

What had possessed the earl to kidnap them at gunpoint? The box they found had to be the key. But to what? Her head pounded. Surely he didn’t think they intended to steal the jewelry? Even if that were the case, it wouldn’t be worth killing them. Tears pressed painfully against her eyes. How had simple curiosity gotten so out of hand?

“My lord—”

“Silence.” His grip on the pistol pointed at Lena visibly tightened. 

“There is no need to point that pistol, sir,” Annabelle said. “We won’t speak to anyone of this misunderstanding.”

His brow furrowed. “You think I am a fool. “ He glanced at Lena. “You do. Both of you do. But I will not shoot you.”

The words should have given a small measure of comfort, but his mocking smile sent a shiver down her spine. The true horror of their situation sent a wave of nausea through her and she forced back a whimper. Annabelle hazarded a glance at his face. His eyes met hers, lifeless, without compassion. But the smile remained. No, he wasn’t going to shoot them. What he had in mind for them was far worse than a bullet through the head.

Lena glanced at the pistol and Lord Harley shifted the barrel toward Annabelle.

“My driver is loyal to me. He will obey if I tell him to say that highwaymen attacked us on the road.” He looked at Annabelle. “Highwaymen attacked your carriage only last night. No doubt your mother told the marquess of the attack. They would easily believe we were set upon again.”

Annabelle stared. “How did you know we were attacked last night?” But she knew. “It was you who set the highwaymen upon us. Why?”

“Do not act innocent. You admitted to helping Ruthven spy on me.”

An odd prickle crawled up her arms. She exchanged a glance with Lena and read in her eyes the same horror that churned her stomach. Annabelle swallowed in an effort to moisten her throat so that her voice would sound normal. “I admitted to agreeing to look in the box. That is hardly spying, my lord. I know nothing more.” 

“What is so important about the contents of that box?” Lena demanded. “It is only jewelry.”

Annabelle shot her a warning look, but too late.

A cunning light appeared in his eyes and her fears were confirmed when he said, “You will learn soon enough.”

* * *

At the edge of town, Benning halted the carriage and left James two blocks from a stable before continuing on after Harley. James rented a horse and, armed with the spare pistol Benning always kept in his boot, he quickly left the city behind. James intended to reach Harley’s estate ahead of him and lie in wait at the dowager cottage.

Fifteen minutes later, he veered off the road into a field that ended a mile from the estate. By the time he reached the road again, the horse panted heavily. James slowed the animal to a trot until they reached the rolling hills where the road narrowed then urged his horse up into the trees. At the summit of a small hill, he halted the horse and turned him. The road below was visible through a break in the trees. Minutes later Harley’s coach came into view between the hills to the west.

Harley’s carriage neared a saddle of two small hills. Evening shadows crawled across the green hills. Benning, half a mile behind, would ensure Harley stayed on the road while James reached the cottage. At the bottom of the hill, he spurred his horse into a gallop.

Ten minutes later, James spotted the estate half a mile up ahead. The dowager cottage abutted the orchard a quarter mile to the east. He reached the orchard and rode within the trees until they ended where the cottage sat in the clearing. He dismounted and left the horse tethered to a tree.

James scanned the drive leading to the cottage and he started at seeing a horse’s rump that was visible on the opposite side of the house. Was someone living in the house? The animal could belong to a servant who decided the half-mile walk from the mansion was too much trouble. James hurried through the trees until the small rear garden came into view, but saw no one. No light shone through the kitchen window as he would have expected this time in the afternoon.

The sun’s rays fingered through thick clouds. Darkness would fall in an hour, but if Harley intended to bring the women here he would arrive long before then. James squinted in an effort to discern any movement through the window, then blew out a frustrated breath at the wasted effort. He pulled his pistol from his front waistband and shoved it into the back of his waistband where it would be hidden by his coat. He stepped from the trees and walked toward the front of cottage. He reached the front door and knocked. No answer. He went around to where the horse stood and found a mare saddled with an English saddle.

James cursed. A woman was somewhere on the grounds. That had to mean the earl wasn’t bringing the women here. Where in God’s name had he taken the women?

* * *

When the bustle outside the carriage faded Annabelle knew they’d left the city. Lord Harley had pulled the second pistol from his waistband and pointed it at Lena while still jamming the first gun into Annabelle’s side.

She bit her lip in an effort to stem the tide of tears. The blood drained from Lena’s face. Annabelle gave a tiny shake of her head and tensed when they rumbled over a bump. The wheel dropped into a pothole and she was sure one—or both—of the weapons would discharge. Quiet reigned in the small space, though the wild beating of Annabelle’s heart thundered in her head along with the roar of blood through her ears.

The carriage picked up speed and her fingers twitched with the urge to pull the curtain back and look out the window. Evening shadows began to dim the interior of the vehicle. How many hours did they have before the real nightmare began? The wheels squeaked with the jostling of the carriage as they bounced over another, smaller hole.

The driver shouted something to the horses and a thought struck Annabelle. Lord Harley said the driver would go along with any lie he told to account for her and Lena’s deaths. But that had to be a lie. When they’d approached the carriage Lord Harley had told his driver not to dismount. The earl hadn’t wanted the man to see the gun he had trained on them.

That meant he would dismiss the driver before beginning...whatever it was he had in mind for them. Lord Harley was counting on her and Lena’s terror in order to maintain control. When they stopped and he had to deal with the driver, that is when he would be most vulnerable. That is when she would force him to use both his shots on her.

Annabelle glimpsed Lena worrying her lower lip with her teeth. The fury she had expressed earlier seemed now to be replaced by red-rimmed eyes. Annabelle’s heart wrenched. Nothing frightened Lena.

Oh, why had she stuck her nose in Lord Harley’s business? Her curiosity had been just that, curiosity. What had Lord Harley buried in Baron Morgan’s arboretum? Jewelry, nothing more. It was strange, but not so strange that he needed to kill them.

Her thoughts jumbled with the ridiculousness of the situation. Was this how Josephine felt when Baron Wylst extorted money on the threat that he would tell the world that the Marquess of Montagu wasn’t her true father? Annabelle had often wondered how her sister had endured that terrible month before their father discovered the truth and admitted that he knew all along Jo wasn’t his daughter. In the end, Lord Wylst had threatened Jo, and her fiancé had been forced to kill him.

Josephine must have felt the same desperation she felt now. But all hadn’t been lost. Nicholas had saved her. Annabelle repressed a sob. There was no one to save her.

The bleating of a sheep in the distance was the only sound save the soft clop of his horse’s hooves. James would have preferred to hear the squeak of carriage wheels on the road or even Lady Annabelle’s voice raised in anger. That, at least, would mean she was alive. The report of a pistol would travel far in this quiet countryside. The fact that all had remained quiet at least meant the ladies hadn’t been shot.

James peered through the trees at the road. There was no help for it. He’d followed the road inside the trees as far as possible. He had to venture into the open. It would be dark within forty minutes. If he didn’t discover where Harley had left the road before then, his chances of finding the women were slim. If Harley hadn’t continued on the main road past his estate that meant he’d deviated after James last saw him in the saddle he passed through three miles back. Three miles. An endless stretch when only forty minutes separated him from darkness.

James kicked his horse’s ribs and the animal broke from the trees into a gallop. They flew the half mile to the road, finally leaving Harley’s property.  James stopped and surveyed the ground. He was no skilled tracker, but he discerned no fresh carriage tracks in the moist ground. Two other estates lay between Harley’s home and the spot James last saw him. Where on those two properties could the earl have taken the women?

He wheeled his horse left, the way he’d come. Rolling hills dominated the left and right sides of the road for the first half mile. The hills gentled to slopes, but he couldn’t see how a carriage could traverse even those. Another three-quarters of a mile and the right side of the road opened up to ankle high grass dotted with trees. More hills appeared in the distance.

The sun sank lower and his heart began to thud. Benning wouldn’t have let the carriage out of his sight. The man was as capable as himself of coming to the ladies’ aid. But the knowledge didn’t halt the mental picture of Lady Annabelle’s body marred with dozens of cuts as she bled to death. She was too young to suffer such a fate. All the women who had died by Harley’s hand had been too young, too beautiful, to die such cruel deaths.

He rode another half mile and brought his horse to a stop when he spied carriage tracks that turned off the road onto a path. Hope surged on a wave of determination that had him yanking the reins so hard the horse let out a shrill neigh in protest. James rode a hundred feet before he realized he was chasing a phantom. Undisturbed grass covered the path. Whatever he’d seen at the road hadn’t continued in this direction.

“By God,” he cursed, and wheeled the horse back the way he’d come.

He reached the road a moment later, stopped, and studied the tracks. Carriage wheels had turned from the road, but they stopped and reversed—or so he guessed. He dug his heels into the animal’s belly and started down the road at a canter. He couldn’t go faster for fear of losing the carriage tracks in the dimming light.

He’d gone nearly a mile and spotted the hills where the carriage had ridden through the saddle. After he’d left the hill overlooking the saddle, had the earl turned around and headed back toward town? James caught sight of tracks, clear and defined, and pulled back on the horse’s reins. Despite the compulsion to race in the direction the tracks turned, he dismounted and knelt on one knee, then felt the ground. The tracks were definitely fresh. He stood and walked alongside the tracks a hundred feet before mounting again and urging the horse into a trot.

He didn’t like this. This property belonged to Baron Thomason—a man who did not welcome trespassers. Worse, no trees or hills gave cover for another quarter mile—which meant someone could see him coming and he wouldn’t know it until a bullet ripped through him.

What if he was following another wrong trail? This grass, he reminded himself with force, had been recently trodden. But where did the path lead? Thomason’s estate lay a mile to the west. Other than that, he had no idea what buildings were located nearby.

Another terrifying thought struck. What if Harley didn’t intend to take the women to a building where he might...savor the kill, but planned to kill them quickly and dispose of their bodies where they wouldn’t be discovered for some time—maybe never?

James’s gaze snagged on a white cloth on the side of the path. He’d almost missed it in the closing darkness. He stopped and jumped from the saddle. Even as he grabbed the cloth, James recognized the monogrammed B. The familiar scent of Benning’s aftershave wafted to his nostrils. Gratitude flowed through James. He would give the man a raise.

He realized with a rush of that the carriage tracks he’d seen earlier had to belong to Benning. He must have continued on when Harley turned off the road. Once out of sight, he turned and headed back toward where the earl had left the road. James surveyed the open country ahead, then turned in a circle, looking for signs of Benning’s carriage. Where would he be? Not riding his carriage across this open field. Even in near darkness, a carriage would be too obvious. Benning would have hidden the vehicle where Harley wouldn’t see it and followed on foot—and he would have taken Michael with him. That meant two men able to aid the rescue of the women. James didn’t know the driver well, but he knew Benning. The man would not retain any employee of bad character.

Renewed strength poured through James. He leapt into the saddle and urged the horse into a cantor. A quarter of a mile from the nearest hill, a shot rang out. James slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. The beast sped forward. They skirted the hill. Another shot rang out. Beyond the hill, a shack came into view beyond a large elm. Behind the shack, trees covered the slope. He didn’t see Harley’s carriage. He saw no one.

A muffled scream came from the direction of the shack.

James hugged the horse’s neck and allowed the animal free rein to gallop at full speed in the dark. They crossed the field without mishap and he reined in at the rear of the building. James yanked his pistol from his waistband, jumped from the horse, and sidled along the wall the corner.

His heart jumpstarted at sight of the carriage parked in front of the shack. Darkness had fallen, and he couldn’t make out the interior, but the door stood open. The murmur of a voice—no—voices caught his attention. The voices hadn’t come from inside the shack, but from the trees. Had they been that far away? There, it was again. Definite voices. James looked at the door. Was it possible Harley had left the women inside the shack? If he had, wouldn’t Benning have released them? Pistol cocked and ready, he crept around the shack. He spotted two chairs inside. A small cot stood along the left wall. The room was empty.

A woman’s shout caused him to jerk his gaze in the direction of the trees. He lunged across the small yard and into the darkness of the trees.

* * *

The carriage slowed and Annabelle’s heart sped up. Were they stopping? No. The carriage made a turn. But they moved slower than they had been. The carriage bounced. They had left the main road. The interior of the carriage lay in shadow. It would be dark soon. Annabelle looked at Lena, hoping to convey that she would be safe—and to telepath that Lena was not to do anything foolish. But Lena was staring at Lord Harley as if her stare could set him on fire. Annabelle frowned. Lena flicked her a glance—Annabelle knew she read the command to leave off staring—but Lena returned her stare to the earl. Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to Lena’s fury. They drove a few more minutes, then the coach slowed again. A moment later, the wheels creaked to a stop.

Lord Harley opened the door and stepped out. Annabelle looked past his shoulder. A small, bleak shack backed by an elm stood in the middle of nowhere. An icy shiver snaked down her back. Lord Harley intended to take them inside. There was something strange about this. Once they left town, he could have shot them, then disposed of the driver. That would have solved whatever danger he thought they posed. Why come here? Her heart pounded. What did he have planned?

“Brice,” he called to the driver, “head to Karthmere Castle. Return in two hours.”

Two hours?
Annabelle mentally repeated with the driver’s, “Two hours, sir?”

Panic threated on a tide of tears that closed her throat.

Lord Harley turned and glanced up at the driver, annoyance clear in the thin line of his mouth. It was now or never. Annabelle kicked him in the chest. One of the pistols discharged in unison with his shout.

“Annabelle,” Lena cried.

Annabelle seized her arm and lunged for the opposite door. She yanked the handle, dragging Lena through the doorway. They hit the ground with a thud, Lena falling across her legs.

Lena shoved to her knees and Annabelle jumped to her feet. She grabbed Lena’s arm and pulled her up. Lena listed to the right.

“You bitch,” Lord Harley shouted.

“Help us,” Annabelle shouted to the driver.

“Sir,” the driver called, but another shot blasted and the driver cried out.

Annabelle yanked Lena’s arm over her shoulder and began running toward the trees fifty feet away. Lena stumbled. With superhuman strength, Annabelle propelled forward, half dragging her cousin.

“I can’t,” Lena sobbed. “You go.”

Annabelle kept going. They reached the trees and plunged into murky darkness.

“Annabelle,” Lena said in a hoarse voice.

Lena suddenly went limp. Annabelle tried to keep her upright, but her weight dragged Annabelle to her knees. She felt Lena’s face. Clammy to the touch. Something sticky on her fingers at Lena’s left temple. Blood, she realized and couldn’t halt the tears. Was she dead? Annabelle placed an ear against her cousin’s chest and had to stifle a cry of joy when a steady heartbeat thumped in her ear. Horror replaced the joy on a rush of fear. She would never be able to lift Lena, much less carry her.

Goodbye, Mother, Father.
Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. How could something so insignificant as a tin box have gotten them killed? No one would know how they died. The tramping of feet caused her to jerk her head in the direction of the approaching footfalls.

Annabelle straightened.

He is coming.

She pushed to her feet and swayed.
Think
, she commanded herself. Hadn’t Lord Harley fired two shots? He had no more bullets. Could she defend herself and Lena from him?

Annabelle squatted and groped across the ground. Her fingers closed around a branch. She sent up a prayer of thanks and begged for mercy one last time, if not for herself, for Lena. The footsteps drew closer. She squinted into the darkness, but could discern nothing. Then the rustling of leaves—and a man’s heavy breathing—caused her to look to the left. A bulky shadow darted her way.