“Don’t go and die on me. You may be my only shot out of here.” The gravelly voice grated through Rebecca’s fogged brain.
A moan filled the space. The pounding started and she realized it was she who was making that godawful noise. Her only wish was to be left in peace. Still, the gloom called out to her.
“Come on, now. Based on your fancy frock, someone will be looking for you and we must be prepared.”
The voice was a relentless nag. Not a woman or child in need. An animal perhaps. No. No, animals didn’t speak. The pulse at her temple throbbed. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her arm stung like the devil.
“That is quite a scar on your arm,” he said. “What is your name?”
“My name?” She didn’t sound like herself. A frog. She sounded like a big, croaky frog.
“That’s it. Open your eyes now.”
Rebecca tried fighting the sound of him, but he kept talking. “Enough. Please,” she begged. The stench of the river reached her, and the hammering from inside her head increased.
“Apologies, my lady. You must wake. What is your name?”
“Rebecca. Lady Rebecca. Thatch. Er.” Her words came out in broken, breathless puffs. She pried her eyes open and squinted against light streaming in through long, narrow windows that edged a high ceiling.
“Ah.” It sounded as if he tried to laugh. A rusty, discordant rasp. “I’ve heard you were a force to be reckoned with, and the rumors appear to be true.”
Slowly, Rebecca rose to sitting. She ran a palm over the back of her skull, wincing at a protruding bump. “Who might you be? You have the sound of the peerage.”
“The Earl of Huntley at your service. I would rise, but as you can see, I’m trussed up like a calf for slaughter.”
Rebecca’s eyes snapped to him. The move sent another stab of pain shooting through her head. “Gabby’s husband?” Oddly, they’d never met. The wedding had been held in London at St. George’s a few months ago and Papa had been unable to travel at the time.
For the first time she took in his appearance. His clothes were wrinkled and torn and he was indeed bound. His ankles were secured with rope, his hands hidden from view. His face was swollen and bruised from a multitude of beatings. “Huntley,” she breathed. “How did you come to be here?” Anger swept through her. “Gabriella has been beside herself with worry, my lord.”
Her gaze swept the sparse room and landed on her reticule. She picked it up, hugged it to her chest, and settled her eyes back on him. There were no other weapons in the room. Just piles of straw here and there. “You deserted your wife the morning after your wedding.”
“Gabriella has every right to her anger.” His head fell back against the wall. “I did my wife a horrible disservice.”
“Yes. You did,” she told him ruthlessly, turning her arm over to see how bad the damage was. “She blames herself.” Rebecca lifted her skirt and jerked at a seam of her stays. It took a moment to garner enough strength to rip. The strip was huge, but it would have to do. She wrapped it around her arm.
“So, you’ve seen her?” The tenderness in his voice brought her head up with another sharp pang.
The sting blurred her vision with a tear. She inhaled through her nose and went back to attempting to wrap her arm. “Yes.” By the third twist, it was clear that her makeshift bandage was useless. “Do you have a knife?”
“I’m afraid not. Otherwise, I would not be in this situation,” he said as if speaking to a toddler.
Pieces of the situation began to prick at Rebecca. Slowly, she looked at him, considering him fully for the first time. “How did you happen here, in Finch Cromwell’s clutches?”
“I received word of a transaction that threatened the crown. ’Twas the only thing that could have dragged me from my wedding bed, I assure you.”
Heat infused Rebecca’s face and she turned casually away. His words penetrated and she spun to face him, suffering another sharp pain behind her eyes. “You… work for the crown?”
“At the risk of arrest, I will answer your questions. But I would beg your indulgence that you keep this conversation between the two of us.”
“So, Gabriella is not aware of your… occupation?”
“No, she is not. I felt it would distress her. Also, my beloved wife is possessed somewhat of an impulsive nature and I worried she might say the wrong thing in front of the wrong person.”
Huntley had the right of that, Rebecca allowed, as one image after another of their childhood escapades flitted through her mind: their midnight swim, the sneaking of the spirits from the locked cabinet, and, lastly, and most disastrously, the stable boy incident. She look down at the scar on her wrist, exposed by her torn glove. She rubbed at the tingling sensation, carefully avoiding the long slice that would doubtless leave her another reminder of her own antics. A sound reminder that Gabriella was not the only impetuous one. She and her friend were equally matched, she silently admitted. “You haven’t answered my question, my lord. How did you end up in Finch Cromwell’s clutches?”
“I was summoned to Vauxhall and arrived just after Cromwell’s attack on Baron Welton. As it turned out, Welton was only attempting to undercut Cromwell of his winnings from a race at Ascot, not pass information as I was originally led to believe.”
She dragged her gaze from the blood on her arm back to him. “So… not really an act against the Crown.”
“I was on my way. I happened to intercept Cromwell advancing on a young boy whom, I believe, witnessed his attack on Welton. The boy escaped.”
“Owen,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“The boy. His name is Owen. Cromwell chasing him. I took he and his twin home.” She gave him a wry smile. “Gabby sent me a note asking me to visit her in Dorchester. And, as it turned out, the boys are her cousin’s children.” She studied him from lowered lashes. “Gabby left Dorchester and the duke and I set out after her. I was… er, ah, concerned.”
Huntley let out a pursed stream of air through a tightened jaw. “She left me?”
Rebecca’s hackles raised. “She was quite beside herself, my lord. She had no idea what to think.”
“And she confided all to you, I suppose.”
“We are dear friends,” she said stiffly.
“Perhaps we should resume this conversation at a more opportune time, I shall be more than happy to let you castigate me at that time.”
His words jolted Rebecca to the peril of their situation. “Yes, of course, but there is still one question weighing on me. Why has Cromwell, er, allowed you to… live?”
Huntley contemplated her for a long moment.
She couldn’t discern the color of his eyes due to how swollen they were, not to mention the low light.
“I believe he plans to use our connections to the duke to some advantage,” he said.
“I don’t understand—”
The door flew back, and Cromwell stood in the arch. “The nob’s got the right of it,” he said. He sauntered inside. “Ye see, I followed ye out o’ London. I seen the duke come to yer rescue. It came to me then. I couldn’t off this bloke until dark, so I set out to find the boy. That broken wheel was a stroke of luck but just I was set to nab ye, I was thwarted. I came back ’ere, took out my aggressions, and kept an eye on yer ’ouse in Berkely Square.”
“But what has that to do with… with…”
“Killin’ this nob? Why, if’n ye an’ this bloke were found together. It looks like ye was runnin’ off. Together like.” He rubbed his hands together. “I ’ave it all planned.”
Rebecca came to her feet, her shoulders back, her chin lifted, clutching her reticule. Her fingers wrapping the book within. It was her only weapon, having lost her dagger. “Oh,” she said softly. “And what is it you have planned, Mr. Cromwell?”
Her dagger appeared in the blackguard’s hand, and he took a menacing step toward her.
She let her purse slide down, intertwining her fingers within the strings.
Malevolence emanated from his wiry frame; he would kill her where she stood this time. She was a threat to his masculinity. So, not so rare for the male species.
She reared back and swung. The book inside her reticule caught him upside the temple and felled him flat. Her dagger clattered to the broken boards beneath her feet. She dashed over and snatched it up. A book certainly couldn’t have killed him. She hurried to Huntley and sliced the rope binding his ankles. “Lean forward, my lord, so I can reach your hands. We must make our escape before the scoundrel comes to.”
“That was quite a wallop you delivered.”
“That’s neither here nor there.” She went to assist him to his feet. He was weak. Too weak to manage on his own. And heavy. But she considered herself sturdy, despite the constant throb at the back of her head.
A shadow appeared in the open doorway, and Rebecca’s heart kicked up. She didn’t have to see Sebastian to know he’d found her. He stepped into the light, his gaze going from her to Cromwell’s stilled body on the floor and back. A slight twitch curved his lips. “Looks as if things are under control here, my dear. Somehow I am not surprised.”
“Sebastian.” Rebecca threw herself in his arms. “Your humor leaves much to be desired, sir,” she spoke into his waistcoat. Her heart pounded with relief. She would have sunk to the ground if his arms hadn’t wrapped around her and held her up. “I knew you would find us.”
The most difficult task Sebastian had ever undertaken was setting Rebecca aside. He walked over to Crowell and nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Did you kill him?” He gentled his tone, but it still reverberated off the walls.
“I don’t see how,” Rebecca huffed out, her frustration fully returned. “The blackguard confiscated my dagger. Thankfully, I had a book in my reticule, and I was able to take him by surprise.”
“Dagger?” The biggest shock was Sebastian not swooning there and then. Suppressing a shudder at the thought her aim had not gone perfectly, he ran a critical eye over her ruined frock and her torn stays. He grabbed her arms. “Did he hurt you?”
She gasped and he immediately released his hold, looking down at his now bloodied glove. His insides took a dive for hell. “My… arm,” she rasped.
He gently took her hand and turned up her badly wrapped forearm. He pulled the strip away. It took a moment for his gaze to stitch together what he was seeing from her torn glove to the ripped material he held to the fresh cut on her arm. “God, Rebecca.” His teeth clenched so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure. He wrapped the strip with care and snugly around her arm, watching her face closely for pain.
“She’s a brave young woman.” Huntley’s words were but a gravel of rocks. “I’ve never seen the like.”
Sebastian pulled her against his chest and breathed in the soft lavender that even the river couldn’t overpower. “Thank God you’re all right. I don’t know what I would have done if… if the unthinkable had happened,” he grated out. “Let me bind up the bastard. Then I’ll carry you to the carriage.” He turned to Harlowe. “Help Huntley, would you? I’ll handle Cromwell after I carry—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rebecca gathered her purse and her knife with her good arm as if she was preparing to depart from the latest musicale. “Admittedly, I’ve never had cause to rescue a man before, but alas there are firsts for all things, I daresay.”
“I, for one, am grateful you made an exception in this case,” Huntley said.
“Your Grace,” Harlowe said.
Huntley heaved himself up under his own stream. “Pardon?”
“This is the duke’s new wife,” Harlowe happily informed him.
“Rebecca, allow me to introduce Lord Harlowe,” Sebastian said.
“The pleasure is mine, my lord.” Sebastian waited, studying Rebecca covertly. Nothing was a given where the lady was concerned. Something then hit his leg with enough force to throw him off balance.
Rebecca let out a yelp and pounced, her dagger moving swiftly the air.
Instinctively, Sebastian went with the fall, ducking. He eyes went to Cromwell.
The bastard’s ear-splitting cry nearly took down the brick walls of the old structure.
Sebastian’s breath caught at the sight of Rebecca’s pearl-handled blade pinning Cromwell’s hand to the board beneath. The reprobate passed out. The man was not having a good day and it was not about to get any better, he thought with grim satisfaction. There weren’t many duchesses who could wield a knife as handily as his future bride. He let out a feral growl, his heart on the verge of stopping all blood flow to his head. “Let’s get out of here.”