The Perfect Duke (24 page)

But not this time. Panting, her arms fell to her sides and she turned her head. Her thrashing had stirred up some kind of dust.

Or was it dust? Had they put her on top of someone else? She arched her back, trying not to come into contact with what lay beneath. Tears streamed down her face.

There would be no rescue this time. No men to let her out of the box. What would Papa do now?

And Garret. She should have listened to him. Her heart had trusted where her head hadn’t. If only she’d stayed at Belcraven.

He loved her. In spite of everything, she
knew
that to be true. The pounding of her heart increased until she swore she could hear it in the enclosed space. She felt lightheaded, caught in that place between reality and oblivion.

She wanted oblivion. The seductive peace it would bring. The cold felt as if it had seeped into her very soul.

As she slipped into that nothingness, she cried out for Garret. His strength. His decisiveness. He’d know what to do. He’d never let her . . .

If you create life’s path with bread crumbs, there’s always the chance you’ll lose your way. Trust yourself to make the right decisions.

Hansel/ Hansel and Gretel

Garret strode into Belcraven and glared at the intricately carved birds at the base of the stairs. Their lifelike eyes appeared to be mocking him. He needed something, someone, anyone, to vent some of his frustration.

The last few hours had been futile. All he’d managed to do was worry Reverend McClure. The poor man had been shaken badly on learning the truth. He’d left Cara’s mother to explain the details.

“Is the whole house asleep?” Garret spied Timmons coming down the stairs in his nightshirt. He almost didn’t recognize his butler in his nightcap instead of one of his wig monstrosities.

“It’s near midnight, Your Grace. We weren’t expecting you.” He came to stand in front of Garret, his arms locked at his sides. “About Miss McClure.”

“I know, she’s gone.” Garret removed his gloves and ran a hand over his face. “Is there anyone she might confide in?” He handed Timmons the gloves and his coat. “I know she was upset and may not want to see me right now. But if you know where she is, I have to see her.” He sounded desperate. He’d been so certain Cara would go back to the McClure cottage. What if she’d done something reckless? She tended to be so trusting of people. Expecting the good—even in him. He closed his eyes. And see how he’d repaid her trust.

Timmons cleared his throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Her leaving. It wasn’t right. I don’t think she wanted to go.”

Garret opened his eyes. “What do you mean ‘she didn’t want to go?’” Cara left because she’d found out he was lying. Didn’t she? His shoulders tightened, adding to the ache in his neck.

“Well, Your Grace, the visitor never got out of the carriage and it took off before Miss McClure was barely in. Hadn’t even closed the door.” His lips pursed as though he were eating a lemon. “Then Lady Pemberton showed up, asking about her daughter.”

“This carriage, what did it look like?”

“It bore the Pemberton Crest, same as the one that came later. Still wouldn’t be so worried if it weren’t for Rachel.”

“Rachel? My niece?”

“She insists Miss McClure is in trouble. Said she heard bad men in the stable. We tried to tell her she couldn’t know that, but the child won’t be consoled. Mrs. Shaw’s sitting with her now.”

Garret’s chest tightened until he thought he might never breathe again. His niece was right. Cara
was
in trouble. He felt it. But the only Pemberton who wished Cara ill was her grandmother. Why would she want to kidnap Cara for a second time? “Timmons, have Mrs. Shaw bring Rachel to me in the library, and have the stable hands saddle one of my horses.”

Timmons scurried back up the stairs, but Garret stopped him on the landing.

“Make sure it’s my fastest horse.”

Garret barely had time to light the oil lamp before Mallory burst into the room.

“Did you find her?” Mallory sounded like she’d taken the stairs two at a time.

“No. She wasn’t at her father’s.”

His sister’s brows drew together as she removed her hat. “What about her friend?”

“Tess? The messenger I sent returned while I was in London. She’s not there either.”

“But where else would Miss McClure go?”

“There’s one place. Her benefactor.”

“But she doesn’t know the woman. How would she contact her?”

“I don’t believe she did.”

“Garret, you aren’t making any sense.” She stood in front of him and leveled him with one of her no-nonsense looks. “I wish you’d tell me what’s happening. As it was, you left me in that awful family’s ballroom. Do you have any notion of the scandal you’ve caused?”

“I have a good idea.” The Kendal name would be in shreds, but the thought no longer caused him pain.

Mallory removed her cloak and laid it, along with her hat on the wing-backed chair. “To be honest, I’m not really upset with the scandal or your decision not to marry Regina.” She grinned at him. “I happen to think Cara’s perfect for you.” Her smile faltered. “But I
am
worried about what the Earl of Pemberton will do when he hears of your little escapade.”

Mrs. Shaw bustled into the room with Rachel and Timmons in tow. Mallory appeared confused, especially when the cook took Rachel by the shoulders and placed her in front of Garret. “Now, tell His Grace what you heard.”

Rachel plucked at the ribbons on her nightgown. “He won’t believe me either.”

Garret knelt down and waited until she raised her head, then gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Give me a chance.”

The girl’s face crumpled. She bit her lip, sniffed, then squared her shoulders. “I know what the men said. I was in the stable.” Her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “You said I could visit the horses.”

“Yes, I did. Go on.”

“There were some strangers getting feed toward the front of the barn. You don’t like other people to know I spend time in the stable, so I hid. One of the men complained about going to visit the graveyard. He said he couldn’t understand why, after all these years, Lady Pemberton had decided to pay respects to her dead relatives.”

Garret kept his tone even. “Did they mention Miss McClure?” If Lady Pemberton had forced Cara to accompany her, then she had a plan.

“They said it was a good thing she didn’t know what was coming, then they laughed.”

They’d had a huge head start. But why would they take Cara to the Pemberton family tomb? True, no one would think to search for her there, and if they confined her in the family crypt . . . Garret went cold. Cara hated the dark.

The Pemberton family was buried on the nearby estate. With luck he could be there in an hour. If her grandmother harmed her in any way, he’d see her more than ruined.

“I didn’t like the men, Uncle. I think they’ve done something bad with Miss McClure.” Her childish resolve faltered and she broke into tears. “I couldn’t get her to stay.”

He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll bring her back. I promise.” Morgan’s voice sounded in his head.
It was to keep her granddaughter from you.
Ice ran up Garret’s spine. Would she truly go so far as to kill her own flesh and blood to keep Cara from him?

Garret straightened. “Mallory, I’m riding to the Pemberton estate.”

His sister ran after him and grasped his arm as he headed for the door. “Now? You can’t. It’s past midnight and who knows what kind of a reception you’ll receive.”

He shook off her hand and glanced back at her worried face.

“I don’t have time to explain. If Bradford or Morgan show up, tell them I’ve gone to the Pemberton Tomb.”

Rescuing damsels isn’t so hard; it’s deciding what to do after that’s the challenge.

Prince Charming/ Cinderella

A scraping sound filtered into Cara’s consciousness. She opened her eyes, only to close them as debris sifted down upon her face. Her body felt stiff and cold. Where was she? The last thing she remembered—

The tomb.

Terror welled within her, interrupted by rhythmic scraping which caused more dirt to fall from the stone above. She turned her head to the side.
Thank God.
Someone must be trying to open her prison.

“Help. Let me out.” Her arms strained as she shoved at the stone above her. Perhaps her rescuer wasn’t strong enough. She redoubled her efforts and inch by inch the lid moved until light flickered on the back of her eyelids and a dank, moist breeze caressed her cheek. It felt fresh, compared to the mold-laden air she’d been breathing.

She gasped, then coughed until she ran out of air. Tears moistened the corners of her eyes as she opened them a slit.

A hulking form hovered above her. But her rescuer’s face was cast in darkness, while a halo of light circled his head.

Cara grasped the edges of her prison, and tried to draw herself up. The lid lay at an angle, leaving an opening for the upper part of her body. It was a tight fit, and instead of helping her, the man stepped closer, blocking her escape.

“In a hurry, are you?” Mr. Russell’s voice held a triumphant edge that caused Cara’s stomach to knot.

She pressed back into her prison, preferring the remnants of someone long dead to the loathsome creature above her. She couldn’t see his expression, but his low chuckle sent fear scurrying through her body, like rats startled by a light.

“Not glad to see me?” He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I thought by now you’d be grateful.”

Cara jerked her head to the side, her voice strained. “Where’s my grandmother?”

“The old crone left you here.” He tugged on a curl at the side of her face until she looked up at him. “I waited until nightfall. I thought by now you’d agree to . . . anything.” His whisper seemed to meld with the shadows. “It is very dark in here. What was it like, trapped in such a cramped space?” He trailed his finger down her neck. “Unable to get away, even were a spider to stroll across your body.”

He must have felt her shudder, for he paused. Though she couldn’t see his expression, she had the feeling he was smiling. He disgusted her and she yearned to tell him how she felt, but common sense prevailed. Berating him wouldn’t help her to escape.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” He took something off the lid of her prison, and before she realized what he was about he’d slid a noose over her head. She clutched at the rope, but he drew the knot tight, trapping her fingers between her neck and the rope.

Russell tugged upward, forcing her to a sitting position, then wrapped his free arm around her torso and yanked her from the coffin. He set her on the ground in front of him, and slid the knot to the back of her neck.

The fibers bit into her skin as he twisted the rope. She wanted to kick him, but her legs wouldn’t obey after so many hours of inactivity.
Breathe
. She needed more air.

If only her fingers weren’t numb. She was going to pass out. But the next instant he lessened the pressure on the noose. With her fingers free, her arms fell to her sides and she stood panting, trying to drag much needed air into her lungs.

Her head dropped forward.
Think
. If only he’d give her a minute to get her strength back. She didn’t dare move. Her balance seemed off, as if she stood on slippery rocks.

“There now, I think we’ll get along.” He reached around her with his free hand, twined his fingers in the neck of her gown, and yanked downward, ripping the tiny row of buttons on the front of her dress.

The action nearly brought her to her knees. The noose tightened and her fingers clawed at the rope.

He chuckled and drew her upward, keeping just enough pressure on the rope to make breathing difficult. “You will let me do as I wish.” His whisper sounded in her ear, and he ended by sucking on her ear lobe.

Her stomach heaved with revulsion and the sound of her ragged breathing pounded in her ears. Her raw fingertips burned as she struggled to find even a little give in the rope. She focused on the pain. Pain would keep her conscious. If she passed out now, there would be no tomorrows. And suddenly all those little
nothing
moments in her life became more precious than the rarest of gems. A resolve unlike any she’d ever experienced filled her.

He wouldn’t succeed.

Her muscles tensed as his hand reached under the remnants of her gown and shoved aside her undergarments to grasp her breast. He pinched her nipple until she flinched. “This will go much easier for you if you cooperate. Of course, your agreement is not really necessary.” He chuckled. “As far as anyone knows, you’re already dead. That’s the real beauty of the situation.” He squeezed her breast and pressed against her back, rubbing his arousal up and down her unwilling flesh.

She forced herself to take a breath, expanding her lungs a little at a time, struggling to remain calm. The meager air seemed to clear the cobwebs from her mind, leaving room for anger and determination. Russell was right. No one knew where she was. And he’d never let her leave here alive.

In spite of her raw throat, she croaked out, “I thought you wanted to marry me.”

He stilled and loosened the rope, easing the unbearable pressure.

“I would have, but you seemed to prefer your duke.” His hand reached down, crushing her skirt as he cupped her. “Has he had you yet?”

The trembling in her voice gave a false impression of outrage. “Do you think I’d let a nobleman touch me? He’d leave after one night. After all, the great ‘Marble Duke’ would never marry someone of my station.” Cara forced her body to relax back into his, but her soul cried out at the truth in her words.

“That’s it. I always knew you had passion in you, even though you spent all that time with those mewling brats.” He dropped the rope, took her upper arms, and dug his thumbs into her tender flesh. Before he could turn her around, she kicked back with all her strength, and connected with his shin.

He howled and reached for his leg. She grabbed the rope and yanked the noose over her head, then lunged forward. Her legs gave out and she lost her balance. Hands out flat, she braced herself for impact, but Russell’s arms encircled her with an iron grip seconds before she hit the floor.

“You bitch. Did you think you’d—”

A reedy, dignified voice pierced through the sound of labored breathing. “Mr. Russell, what do you think you’re doing?”

Cara raised her head. Her grandmother stood on the edge of the lamplight between two coffins, dressed in a white nightgown, her thinning hair loose and flowing. Her black-gloved hands clutched at her chest. “Unhand my granddaughter.”

“Don’t interfere, old woman. Go back to the house.”

“How dare you.” Her grandmother came closer.

“Grandmother, no. He’ll hurt you.” Her grandmother was responsible for everything, but it wasn’t her fault. She was sick.

“Nonsense, Mr. Russell wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Her grandmother took Russell’s arm and tried to pry it away from Cara. “Now, let her go.”

“No.” It was a roar that echoed off the stone walls. He shoved Cara to the floor.

She fell atop some broken pieces of a crumbling coffin. Unexpected pain took her breath away as a sharp fragment knifed into her chest.

A moment later she heard a high-pitched shriek, followed by a sickening thud. She rolled onto her right side in time to see her grandmother slide down the wall.

Blood smeared the surface, only slightly darker than the moisture dampened stones. Her grandmother’s face seemed frozen in surprise. Had Russell killed her? Then Cara heard a moan.

She began to crawl toward the frail woman, but an arm tightened around her waist and yanked. As she was wrenched to her feet, a whimper escaped her lips. Pain shot through her chest, forcing her to take shallow breaths.

“Oh, no, you aren’t getting away from me. The old woman should have done as she was told.” Russell’s voice was filled with disgust. “Now, I’ll have to come up with an excuse for two bodies.” He nuzzled through her hair and licked the side of her neck.

“Where were we?”

Dampness clung to Garret’s very soul. He surveyed the landscape of greys and black, trying to get his bearings. The mist reflected the meager moonlight as it crept along the ground and curled amongst the headstones. The ancient reminders of Pembertons long dead lurched at various angles from the pearly grey blanket like inebriated sentinels.

What if her grandmother had taken her somewhere else? Rachel might have misunderstood. Doubts crowded into his brain, but his gut told him otherwise. Cara
was
here. He could feel it.

The family crypt had to be close by. Damn the prolific generations of Pembertons. The graveyard stretched as far as he could see. Precious minutes passed as he and his horse picked their way through the stones.

For an instant, the cloud-cover broke, allowing silvery light to bath the area. The Pemberton estate stood in forbidden splendor at the top of the nearest hill.

There
. He urged his horse to the right. The family crypt stood at the base of the hill. The stone building’s elaborate spires jutted out like jagged teeth above the treetops.

He rode the short distance, tethered his horse to the nearest branches, then took a satchel containing a torch and flint from the saddle.

They may have left Cara in the dark. The thought quickened his steps.

The door to the tomb gaped open, revealing a staircase that led down into blackness worse than the dungeons at Belcraven. Two life-sized stone angels flanked the entrance. When he lit the tar-soaked rags of the torch, the statues’ chiseled features flickered with a parody of life. Their hollow eyes appeared to mock him as he approached the entrance.

A shriek split the silence. He clutched the wooden handle and plunged down the winding steps. The crumbled stairs slowed his initial decent, causing him to half-slide down the first few. He steadied himself and proceeded with more caution into the maw of the tomb.

The cold and dampness seeped into his clothing. God, he hated the clamminess and the smell of death that wafted up from the pit.

Muffled voices came to him, faintly at first, and then with more clarity. One of them sounded like Cara and he knew a moment of pure joy, until he recognized the other—Russell.

The fawning bastard was here. Fear and anger waged a battle within him. Had Cara’s grandmother left her with the little worm? If Russell had touched her, the man wouldn’t leave the crypt alive.

Scuffling sounds urged him forward. A light shone ahead, just around a curve. He extinguished his torch, then risked peering around the corner.

Russell held Cara around the waist, pinning her arms to her body. His face pressed into her neck, but she twisted her head away. Slavering sounds came from beneath her hair as the bastard did God knew what to her neck.

Cara’s gown gaped open, exposing her breasts and rib cage. Even in the dim light, Garret could see the bruises circling her neck and another dark area under her breast.

Red haze filled Garret’s vision. A cry erupted from his chest as he burst into the light and ran at Russell.

The beast lifted his head from Cara’s neck in time to position her between himself and Garret. Her eyes went wide, but he managed to halt his attack, inches before he collided with them. Cara’s bottom lip quivered, but relief filled her eyes.

Garret’s chest heaved. He had to get Cara away from Russell. “Hiding behind a woman? I should have suspected that would be your style.” His voice held such disdain, that even his grandfather would have been impressed.

“You.” Russell’s grip tightened on Cara until she winced. “
You
caused all this. She’s mine, do you hear? I took her and I intend to have her.”

Garret crossed his arms. “I think that might be difficult with me here.”

“You’ll leave, or I’ll kill her.”

“Then what? Do you really think I’d let you out of here alive?” Fear dried Garret’s mouth, but he kept his voice even. The mixture of hope and horror in Cara’s gaze clawed at him. He prayed the emotionless expression he’d practiced all these years would not betray him now. “I have a solution to your dilemma, however. If you can best me in a fight, I’ll have no choice but to concede she belongs to the better man.”

“Garret, no.” Cara’s voice sounded weak and broken, like someone who tried to speak after a coughing fit.

Russell hissed in Cara’s ear. “Afraid your duke will get hurt?” He glared at Garret. “I’d like to hurt him, but you might run off. We couldn’t have that, could we?”

Garret’s gaze settled on Cara’s neck. “Do you really think she’s in any condition to
run off
?” If Russell realized he would do anything to save her, the bastard would use her to escape rather than fight. “I think that’s simply an excuse. You’re the one who’s afraid.”

“I’ll show you afraid.” He threw Cara from him. Her head connected with a carving of the Pemberton Crest, which had been emblazoned on a stone alter. She dropped to the floor and didn’t move.

Garret fought the urge to rush over and see if she lived. He trained his gaze on his enemy instead. Russell wanted him distracted, but he would be disappointed.

Cara moaned softly. Garret took a deep breath and tried to stay focused. She was alive. He nodded toward Russell and locked his anger into a dark place in his mind.

His teacher’s voice played in his head.
In a desperate situation, never let emotion rule. You will only beat yourself.

Russell smirked as he brushed off his clothing. “Now, I’ll not have to worry about my prize.”

If the bastard thought to goad him, it wouldn’t work. Garret rolled his shoulders, wishing he could remove his coat, but at this moment even that simple act could be fatal. Instead, he squared his stance and let his adversary come to him.

The smirk on Russell’s face faded. He moved just out of range, circling Garret.

He was forced to turn in order to keep Russell in sight. No doubt that was his enemy’s intent.

“I believe I have the advantage. I’ve seen you fight, while—” Russell’s fist connected with Garret’s jaw, sending him back a step.