Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (38 page)

So he'd given up his search and simply urged the horse slowly forward, waiting for the sun to rise and burn off this muffling blindness.

Matthew Bromley had to have taken her north. It had seemed so simple the night before when he'd set out from
Whitby
. Between Hart and his driver they'd made quick work out of canvassing the small town. They'd found the run-down room Matthew had rented three nights before, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. So Hart had taken his horse and headed back toward Emma's home and the road beyond, determined to catch them. But now . . . after so many cold, dark hours in the saddle, it seemed they could be anywhere. The man could have taken her away in a sloop. Or they could have traveled inland over the fields. But he'd met Matthew Bromley, and he couldn't imagine the man sleeping anywhere but in a bed. He looked as if he might float away in a high wind.

A cow lowed somewhere ahead and Hart thought he heard a woman's voice murmur in response. His hunched shoulders straightened and he strained to see something. A new light was setting the fog aglow. Sunrise, he hoped, and good weather for hunting.

A dog barked, a light sparked to life, seeming to float above the ground. Then a figure formed like a ghost.

"Madam?"

The stout woman gasped and stepped back, fading a little. "Ye scared the wits out of me!"

"My apologies. Can you tell me if I'm nearing
Rumswick
Bay?"

"Why,
ye're
in it!" She glanced around as he did. "Or at the edge anyway. But there
ain't
much here. An inn at the other side of town, but he'll cheat ye if
ye're
not careful."

"My thanks." He started to urge the horse on, toward the sound of water slapping at boats and the faint shout of a fisherman, but pulled back on the reins after a few steps. "Have there been other travelers about this morning?"

"None, but it's early yet."

"Of course."

"But there was quite a pair last even'."

He wheeled the gelding around. "Who?"

"A man and his wayward wife, he said. She'd run away and didn't care for being fetched back it seemed. Made quite a fuss about being slung over his old mare."

"A young woman? Dark-haired?"

"I couldn't see much under her cloak, but the man was young and fair. Aside from the scratches she'd laid on his cheek."

His heart began to thunder furiously. "When did they

pass?"

"Afore dinner.
Twasn't
dark yet."

Hart put his heels to the horse and raced blindly into the village. The fog swirled before him, clearing the way just enough to help him avoid a lumbering cow.

A few minutes later he was shaking awake the snoring innkeeper. The man reeked of ale and sweat, but he came alert as soon as he spied a gleam of gold.

"Oh, sure, they were here. He come pounding on the door but changed his mind quick after she started in screaming."

Hart's skin prickled with gooseflesh. "Screaming."

"Screaming to wake the dead. Claimed he was a kidnapper and a murderer. He couldn't shut her up, so he just led the horse on out of town."

"And you? You let him go?"

"If a man needs to discipline his wife, it's none of my concern."

"She was screaming for
help.
He's not her husband, you imbecile. He is a kidnapper and likely a murderer as well. You may have sent a woman to her death."

The bastard actually snorted. "And if he was a murderer, what should I have done? Risked my own life?"

"Yes," Hart snarled. "Yes, you should have risked your worthless life." He was mounting his horse when the man came rushing out, shirttails flapping.

"You promised a coin!"

Hart was tempted to spit in the coward's face, but he reminded himself that he was a duke. Then he tossed the coin into the deep mud at the north side of the yard. "There's your coin. I suggest you use it to take a trip. If she's come to harm, I'll be back to teach you how it feels to cry for help and get no response."

The horse jumped beneath his heels, springing forward toward the road as the innkeeper yelled out some defense behind him.

They were close. Hart could feel it in his bones. They'd left this village near sunset, looking for a place to stop for the night. The next town was only a few miles ahead. They were either there or somewhere on the road in between. Surely they were just rising, surely they couldn't be far.

His muscles were coiled in painful bunches beneath his skin. He was crushed beneath terror and hope and violence and sorrow.

If he could just know she was well. . . She
must
be well. Matthew hadn't taken her to kill her.

Hart's brain started spitting out ideas of what she might have suffered short of death, but he shut it down with a curse. "She is all right," he whispered. "Scared, but well." He tried to swallow the fear and found that it wouldn't budge. It stayed stuck there, deep in his throat, for the next half hour.

He was nearly upon them before he realized it. It was less than a campsite; just a pile of blankets and a long-cold fire not a few feet from a crumbling edge of rock. He didn't see her, didn't see anyone, and was standing in his stirrups, searching the horizon when movement drew his eye.

A flash of billowing white at a cliff's edge, a dark band of black holding it still. His mind registered only shapes and colors for a moment, then focused with a snap on Emma and Matthew.

They stood at the edge of the rock, Matthew holding up one hand to warn Hart away, the other arm was wrapped around her neck. Emma's skin was alarmingly pale, pale except for the bruises marring her left cheek. Matthew's jaw was pressed against her darkened temple.

Hart eased his pistol from its hiding place and wondered if the roaring in his ears was the sea.

"Why are you here?" the man shouted, dragging Emma back a step. Hart's gaze fell to her feet, unshod and tied at the ankles. Then he noticed her captor's boots. They were only inches from the edge. A rock, disturbed by his shifting, clattered away and dropped from sight.

Hart slid from the saddle and strode toward them. "Let her go."

"Stop!" Matthew's boot slid farther back.

Hart skidded to a stop, heart tripping in alarm. "Let her go! Are you mad? If you get any nearer that cliff, you will both be killed."

Matthew glanced behind him, seeming unconcerned. "Why are you here?"

Hart met her hazel eyes, wild now with fear. "I've come for Emma."

"She's not your concern." His arm tightened around Emma's neck, and her bound hands rose briefly in protest.

"Of course she is. I've asked her to be my wife."

"Hart," she gasped, trying to shake her head.

"No," Matthew shouted. "No, she is mine. Meant for me!"

Hart eased forward, trying to get close enough to snatch her away. "She does not want you, Matthew."

"You know nothing. I love her and she will be my wife. She promised. Promised when she let me put my hands on her, tempted me to all kinds of sin."

Hart's pulse fluttered, but he ignored it. Instead of lashing out, he raised a calming hand. "Think about it, Matthew. What kind of life can you provide? You set fire to her uncle's home, didn't you?"

Shock sparked in the man's eyes.

Hart nodded. "You killed a man and you'll go to jail for that. How will you provide for a wife?"

"No! It was an accident! I won't go back to jail!" "Matthew—"

"Move back!" he shouted, just as his boot slid right over the edge. Emma stiffened at the movement.

Hart lunged, trying to catch her. She was helpless against the man dragging her backward. Her heels scraped over-moss and rocks as she reached out with her bound hands.

"Hart, I'm so sorry," she whispered, the words seeming to float up as she fell.

Hart dropped the pistol and dove forward, grabbing nothing but air. He fell to the ground, felt the jolt of rocks and unforgiving ground, thought of Emma's body falling even farther, too far—

But her fall had been stopped. He was staring at her, looking into her eyes, her shoulders and face still visible above the edge. She wasn't lost.

He vaulted to his feet and rushed forward, kicking rocks out into the salt wind.

"Do you want her to die?" Matthew screamed. He'd dragged them both onto a narrow ledge that trailed down at a steep angle. He wrapped an arm tight around her waist and tugged her a little farther down. "Leave us!"

"I won't. Just let her go. She's cold and she's hurt. Let me take her someplace safe."

"She will be safe enough once we're married. At least her soul will be in God's hands."

"Even in Scotland they will not marry you to an unwilling woman."

"Oh, she will be willing by then."

Struck with fury, Hart jumped down and landed with a great clatter of sliding rock and grit. Emma gasped and fell backward, tugged down by Matthew's violent jerk.

"Pleased
Hart ground out, "you are going to hurt her. Just release her. It's too steep here, you cannot drag her down the cliff face. Let her go. I won't follow you, I give you my word."

Matthew shouted, "I love her!" and pulled her along the narrow ledge. His body began to disappear around a curve as Emma's feet kicked futilely against stone and gravel. "Why can you not just go away? She is mine!"

Stay calm,
Hart reminded himself, keeping his eye on Emma as she was pulled backward.
Stay calm.
If he got too close, he'd make it worse, put Emma in more danger. So instead of lunging, he crept. Instead of screaming with rage, he held his breath.

Emma's gaze locked with his. One fat tear fell, tracing a track through her dusty face.
I'm sorry,
she mouthed, and Hart was shaking his head just as she disappeared around the angled jag of rock that blocked his view.

He tried to move faster and stay quiet, but his foot slipped on loose sand and he crashed to one knee. Pain shot straight to his spine. He dug his nails into his palms and forced himself up to inch forward.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.

"Tell him to go away," Matthew was sobbing. "He has shamed you. Do you think I don't know? Even after all that, I've offered you my name. Why can you not see me?"

"I see you, Matthew." Her voice shook in time with Hart's shattered pulse. "I see you," she repeated.

"I love you so much, Emily."

Hart moved to the very edge of the corner and eased his head around. They were stuck. Wedged into a shallow corner of broken, crumbling slag. Matthew had forced Emma into a wedge, had propped her up against the wall of stone, and stood with one hand pressed to her shoulder and the other holding something close to his thigh.

His back was to Hart, as if he'd forgotten him. And perhaps he had. He was clearly mad, obsessed with this woman he couldn't have.

Not taking his eyes off her, Hart knelt carefully down and plucked a large stone from the ground. He tested it in his hand. He couldn't have used the pistol even if he'd retrieved it. She was so near, just behind Matthew's head. But if he could sneak close enough it would be a simple thing to slam the rock down and pull Emma into his arms.

"Why won't you love me?" Matthew groaned.

Emma was weeping, shaking her head. "I've loved you as a friend, Matthew, cared for you. And your father loves you, depends on you. Please don't do this. What will he do without you?"

He flung his hand up in frustration, and Hart froze at the flash of sunlight on metal. A knife. A long knife, surely sharper than any he'd ever seen before. "You will be mine," he gasped. "It's the only way."

Hart raised the stone, eased one foot closer, but Matthew's head snapped around at the scrape of sound. "Leave us!" He let go of Emma and swept the knife in a grand arc that stirred the air near Hart's face.

He jumped back as a strange sound reached his ears. A rumble that shook the stone beneath his feet, punctuated by tiny pings and cracks.