The Romantic (15 page)

“For a dull-witted woman who was bent and broken, I still bested
you.”
She spit the words right into his face.

He flushed. “I think that I am glad you have so stupidly resisted. The sooner you learn your place again, the better.”

His hold on her arm became a vise. Arrows shot through her veins from the pressure he exerted. Black spots swam in her sight.

“You will kneel in submission now, my dear. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

Tears streamed down her face, but she made no sound. The pain had claimed her whole arm and shoulder. It seemed to be invading her chest, blocking her breath.

Glasbury did not repeat his command. He just kept gripping her arm, increasing the pain, waiting for her to succumb to his demand that she humble herself.

It would be a mistake to submit. She understood what he really wanted. Not mere obedience. He wanted the control that fear breeds. His pleasure in others’ debasement was complex and dark.

Her body wanted relief so badly that it begged her to give in. Her soul, however, knew that yielding even once would start her down a path toward helplessness again.

Julian almost did not see the marks on the road. He had driven several hundred yards down the lane to the cottage before the meaning of the long lines penetrated his awareness.

Suddenly they loomed. All thought left his mind. An alertness to danger pounded in him.

He stopped the horse and gazed down at the ruts that periodically showed on muddy patches of the lane.

They were fresh since he had passed this way several hours ago. When he had ridden his horse to Billericay, he had looked yet again for signs that might indicate the man Pen had seen here had arrived by carriage or horse. The lack of such evidence was the only reason he had left her alone.

He knew at once that had been a mistake. Someone had come this way since he had departed.

Cursing himself, he jumped from the gig and tied the horse to a low bush. Beyond the bend in the lane ahead, he could see the roof of the cottage.

Praying he was not too late, hoping Glasbury had not discovered this property, he left the lane and circled to the right. He aimed for the cottage through the scrubby growth and spindly trees that eked out survival in the salty air.

A movement caught his eye as he passed behind the bend in the lane. A man was sitting right inside the road’s curve, leaning against a thin tree trunk. His back was to Julian, and he appeared intent on watching the lane.

Julian glanced toward the cottage. He could make out the dark top of a carriage now. Whoever had come was not gone yet. If they had left a guard on the road, Pen was definitely in danger.

Fear and anger owned him for a moment. Fear for Penelope and anger at himself. Then his head cleared, leaving nothing but icy determination. He scanned the ground at his feet, and lifted a good-sized rock.

He walked toward the sitting man.

The horse with the gig whinnied down the lane. His quarry stiffened. The man’s hat angled up, as if he sniffed the air like a dog. He rose to his knees, and a pistol appeared in his right hand.

He did not hear Julian until it was too late. He twisted in surprise, and raised the pistol right before the rock landed on his head. He had no time to cry out before he fell facedown in the weeds.

Julian took the pistol. He found another gun tucked in the waist of the man’s trousers.

Carrying one in each hand, he returned to the brush and strode toward the cottage.

He noticed indications that another had recently walked through this brush. Several crusted boot prints showed, made when the rain had wet the ground. Weeds had been trampled and branches broken.

Self-recrimination raged in his head. Pen had been right about that man yesterday. There had been no evidence because the intruder had done what he was doing—left the horse or carriage at the end of the lane and approached on foot through the grounds.

No sounds came from the cottage. No screams or yells. The carriage appeared deserted, but he could see Pen’s trunks tied to its back.

He crossed the yard to the carriage and looked in. The coachman lounged on the seat, tipping back a little bottle. He was a portly, flush-faced man with sparse pale hair sticking out below his high hat.

He noticed Julian in mid-gulp. At first he merely frowned with curiosity. Then he saw the pistol barrel resting on the window frame, pointed right at his stomach.

His eyes widened in shock. Liquid splashed down his chin as he choked.

“What is your name?” Julian asked.

“Harry … Harry Dardly.” It came out a croak. He stared at the pistol.

“Aside from your passenger, are you alone?”

“There was another man, but he stayed back down the lane.”

“Who hired this carriage?”

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t give a name. He is a man of quality, though. A gentleman. The pay was good.”

It sounded as if Glasbury had come himself. Perhaps he had hired this coach anonymously, and not used his own servants and equipage, so there would be no witnesses.

The silence in the cottage ceased to be reassuring.

Julian opened the carriage door. “Come with me.”

“Now, sir, there is no need for that. I’ll just stay here and mind the horses. You have my word—”

“Out.”

Heaving his bulk unsteadily, Harry climbed out. He put some distance between himself and the pistol, and went white when he saw the other one in Julian’s left hand.

Julian gestured toward the cottage. Looking like a man headed for the gallows, Harry led the way.

“Harry, your passenger is the Earl of Glasbury.”

“Glasbury! Oh, hell. See here, now, if there’s to be trouble with an earl, I don’t think I want—”

“There is a woman in there as well. If Glasbury has harmed her in any way, I need you as a witness.”

“Witness!” Harry dug in his heels. “I won’t do it. Nothing
but trouble for me to speak against one of them. My wife will kill me if I risk such a thing.”

Julian tapped Harry’s shoulder with the gun. “I require that you come with me. Courage, man.”

Looking more miserable with each step, Harry entered the kitchen.

Not a sound greeted them. When Julian saw that the kitchen and back rooms were vacant, he aimed Harry for the library.

The coachman’s bulk entered first and halted right inside the doorway. “Oh, my word,” he muttered.

“What are you doing here? I told you to wait unless I called you.” The snarling voice was Glasbury’s.

Julian pushed Harry forward a few steps and moved into the room.

An explosive fury burst in his head when he saw what was occurring in the library.

The bastard had Pen’s arm in a grip so tight that his knuckles had turned white. With his arm extended, Glasbury was trying to force her down to the floor. Pen’s body bowed unnaturally, as if she resisted the collapse that would ease her suffering.

And she most certainly was suffering. Her face had drained of all color and her eyes were glazed. She appeared ready to swoon. A grave determination showed in her expression, however. No sounds came from her. No cries or pleas.

She saw Julian first. The earl was too interested in watching his victim to notice that Harry had not entered alone.

Julian aimed his pistol right at Glasbury’s heart and
cocked it. He barely found the control not to pull the trigger.

“Release her.” His voice sounded unnaturally calm to his own ears. His brain had yelled the command. His soul begged Glasbury to refuse.

Glasbury’s gaze snapped over. For a moment he appeared very frightened. Then a sneer formed. “You would not dare.”

“I will not only dare, I will succeed.
Release her.”

Glasbury hesitated. Julian’s finger caressed the trigger.

With an expression of annoyance and reluctance, Glasbury released his grip. Pen staggered away.

Glasbury glared at the coachman. “This is my wife, and this man is interfering. Remove him.”

“Remove him?
Me?”

“I paid you well. Now earn it.”

“He has
two guns,
in case your lordship hasn’t noticed.”

“He will not use them.”

“Damned if I am going to find out about that.” Harry crossed his arms over his ample chest to make it clear to everyone he intended no moves.

Julian was watching Penelope. A bit of color had returned, and she appeared more steady. “Countess, there is a carriage outside, with your trunks tied down. Go and wait for me there.”

Glasbury’s eyes blazed. “If you take her from me, you are interfering with my rights.”

“You forsook your rights when you abused them,” Pen said quietly.

As she walked past Julian, he handed her one of the pistols. “Take this, in case he brought another man whom I missed.”

She paused and gazed down at the weapon in her hand. She glanced back at her husband. An unholy expression entered her eyes that revealed the temptation she felt.

“Wait outside, madame,” Julian said firmly.

She collected herself. She pushed past Harry with her left arm hanging limply at her side.

Harry assumed a dolorous expression. “Am I correct, sir, that you intend to make a bad day worse for me by stealing my carriage and the horses?”

“If you are agreeable to my plan, you will have both by evening and also payment for their use.”

“Well, now, that paints a different picture.”

“This is intolerable,” Glasbury said. “I hired that carriage for the day and—”

“I will leave the carriage at the end of the lane. The horses must come with me a bit farther. Say, halfway to Billericay. For the use of your property, I will leave five guineas in the carriage.”

“This is robbery,” Glasbury drew himself to his strictest posture. “If you take that carriage, I will see that you are hunted down as a thief and—”

“Now, my lord, seems to me it is my place to decide when I’ve been robbed. Never seen a thief who left me five guineas.”

“We will be stranded here, you idiot!”

“Only for a day. Harry should be able to walk to the horses and be back before night.” Julian backed out of the room. “Now, gentlemen, do not let me see either of you leave this cottage as I go down the lane. The lady will be keeping watch, and I suspect she is well disposed to use the pistol I gave her. If not, I will not hesitate to use mine.”

“Stop him, you worthless fool,” Glasbury yelled.

“You stop him. Or are earls only brave when it comes to women?” Harry sneered with disgust. “A fine thing to see. You best be glad my wife wasn’t here, I can tell you that—”

Julian left Glasbury to Harry’s censure. Pen had managed to get herself up on the driver’s box by the time he reached the carriage.

“Are we stealing it?” The notion did not appear to concern her too much.

He climbed up and took the ribbons. “We are borrowing it, with the owner’s agreement.”

After he turned the carriage and aimed down the lane, he glanced over at her. Her left arm rested inert on her lap. Her expression had become a stoical mask. Her lids hid most of her eyes.

“I am sorry, Pen. I blame myself.”

“There is only one man to blame, and it is not you. I thank you for coming when you did. I do not know what might have happened if you had not arrived.”

Nothing good. If the earl only wanted to collect his wife, he could have ridden in style with footmen in attendance.

He had not been able to resist the chance to have Pen alone and isolated, however. Glasbury had intended to hurt her in some way from the start.

What that could have meant, how far it could have gone, rolled through Julian’s head. The image of her fighting the pain hung over his thoughts like a veil. Fire and ice fought a battle in his body. The urge to turn the carriage and go back and kill the scoundrel kept spiking.

She touched his arm. “I will survive, Julian. But drive
quickly once we reach the road. I would like to put distance between myself and what just happened.”

There was no question that they would move quickly now. He not only needed to put distance between Pen and what had happened. He needed to get her far away from the Earl of Glasbury

chapter
11

T
hey moved to the gig when they reached it. Julian unhitched the carriage horses and tied them to the gig, and they left the larger carriage on the lane.

Pen tested her arm. It was no longer numb. The place that Glasbury had gripped throbbed badly, however, and a deep ache possessed the whole limb. She suspected that a huge bruise was hidden by her sleeve.

Julian appeared to have calmed somewhat. She had never seen him as angry as when he entered the library. He had been so dangerous and dark that she had expected him to shoot Glasbury. In her pain and despair, she had actually hoped he would.

When he had placed that gun in her hand, she had been tempted to do so herself.

“Do you still want to see Cleo?” Julian asked.

“Yes.”

Oh, yes. Most definitely.

She had bested Glasbury before, and she would again. The world might not believe her, but it would listen to
Cleo’s tale. Faced with that possibility, the earl would retreat and never touch her again.