Alex rode down yet another street in Kensington, peering through wrought-iron gates and over hedges. He’d been quartering the neighborhood for the better part of an hour and had seen neither a curricle bearing Viscount Keefe’s arms or the cab with yellow wheels that had so alarmed Pen. The compulsion that had sent him racing out had settled to a dull throb.
One more street, and then he would turn back to Twickenham House, where no doubt Caroline was even now sharing a cup of tea and scolding Pen for her fears. The quiet clop of his horse’s hooves underscored the peace of the area. Once again he had dashed to the rescue, and once again he was neither needed nor wanted.
What was it that pulled him on, that thin, unbreakable string that tied him to her despite everything? He had thought it was the fact of having a child together, but that had been an excuse for doing the thing his own heart desired. It was her, Caroline, he had come back for. If she’d been carrying his child, it only meant there was a hope she might need him, even here in grey London.
A child. It had felt like redemption—as if forgiveness might be possible, his debt somehow paid with love and not suffering.
A false and foolish hope.
Yet he feared Caroline would always be in his thoughts, no matter how distant he was from her. She was a star in the night sky, one his eyes would always seek out, one that burned more brightly than any other.
One more impossible wound on his heart that he must learn to live with.
The quiet of the neighborhood was suddenly marred by a clatter of hooves and wheels. A cab, barreling down the street toward him. Alex yanked his mount sharply back as the vehicle raced through the intersection—far too quickly for the normal pace of Kensington. His stomach clenched as he registered the wheels blurring past. Yellow spokes.
The urgency he had felt earlier flared back to life. He turned his mount and spurred after. If Simms was behind this, if Caroline was harmed in any way, there would be the devil to pay. He only hoped the man was in the cab, and that it was, indeed, the right one. It was moving too quickly for him to catch up and yank the door open. He would have to settle for keeping it in sight until an opportunity presented itself. Surely the vehicle would reach its destination soon enough.
They entered the crowded thoroughfares bordering Hyde Park. He was just able to keep the vehicle in view, though the press of traffic kept him from getting closer. Then they broke through into the less traveled roads of Paddington, and the driver increased the pace again. They were heading north, away from the heart of the city.
Alex followed. Until he gained some answers, he would follow.
~*~
Caroline lost her balance and tumbled forward as the cab jerked into motion. The door swung shut behind her, and a large hand circled her arm, dragging her onto the worn leather seat.
“Well, well. How fortuitous,” a familiar voice said.
She glanced up, then froze in recognition, sudden panic fluttering in her chest. Mr. Simms. Good lord! She lunged for the door, but he was quicker, catching the handle and holding it closed. With a snick, he turned the lock.
She gripped the useless handle. “Let me go!”
“I think not. You’ve cost me plenty, and nearly got my throat slit over it. No, you’re a prize bird and I’ll not let you fly the cage this time.” The smile he gave her was unpleasant, revealing large, yellow teeth. “Very obliging of you to drop into my lap, Miss Huntington.”
He rapped on the roof, calling for the driver to make haste, and the vehicle sped forward. She felt like a trapped bird indeed, beating her wings desperately against the bars.
“Stop the cab at once! Kidnapping is a capital offense, sir.”
The cab rounded a corner, slowed. She darted a glance out the window. The street was full of pedestrians—surely someone would hear her if she screamed. She drew in a deep breath.
“Tsk, tsk. None of that now.” Mr. Simms’s hand clamped over her mouth.
There was a sharp explosion of pain at the base of her skull, a sudden white flash from within, and then everything was darkness.
It was dim in the cab when Caroline opened her eyes, her cheek pressed against the gritty floorboards. They were still moving, and at some speed if the rocking of the vehicle was any indication. Her head throbbed, a dismal echo of her misery those early days on Crete. But she was in England now—and at the mercy of Mr. Simms. She cautiously looked up. Yes, he was still sitting opposite, arms folded, watching her.
“No more tricks now, missy,” he said. “Just sit quiet until we get to where we’re going.”
“And where is that?” She pulled herself onto the seat and looked out the window. Empty countryside. No help there. Her hands were cold and she folded them in her lap. In truth, she was cold to the bone. At some point during the dreadful day she had lost her wrap. She remembered now; Viscount Keefe had fallen on it. A mirthless laugh welled up. And she had thought her situation could not get any worse.
“Where?” Simms said. “Just a quiet, out-of-the-way place we can take care of business.”
The way he said the word business made her stomach flip. This man was a hundred times more dangerous to her than the viscount. She knew it by the prickles of fear running along her skin, the marrow-deep cold that would not be dislodged. Still, she had to ask.
“I don’t understand what ‘business’ we might have. If it’s money you need, I’m sure my uncle—”
He cut her off with a sharp laugh. “Aye, it’s your uncle’s money the boss is after in the end, but it will do you no good now. Nothing will, I’m afraid.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a long blade.
Caroline caught her breath. No. Please, no.
He nodded to her, tilting the knife so it caught the red glint of the setting sun. “Pretty, don’t you think? Thin, but wicked sharp. Just the thing for…” He paused, looking her up and down, then grinned and began to pare his fingernails. “Now sit still and quit your yapping.”
She closed her eyes and slumped back against the seat. He was playing with her, a cat with a bird. The thought came, sudden and clear: she was going to die. Tonight, when the cab stopped. Dear lord. She did not know if prayers would help, but she bowed her head and sent a silent plea winging heavenward.
There was so much left undone.
She wished her brother James had come to the ball, but he had sent word that Lily was in difficult labor, and he would not leave her side. Caroline would never see him again. And her uncle—could it be possible she would never again feel his gentle, fatherly touch on her shoulder? Then there were the children of Twickenham House, and Maggie, and Pen.
And Alex.
Ah, Alex. Death had seemed just as certain when they had been trapped in the Cave of Zeus, but somehow, with him beside her, she had not felt so utterly lost. If only things could have been different. Regret for that, more than anything, seared through her.
She looked at Mr. Simms, still working with his blade. “Why?”
He glanced at her, then lifted one shoulder. “No reason not to tell. It goes down to the money. Your cousin, Lord Rowland, is, hmm, a wee bit indebted to some powerful people.”
“But my uncle—”
His look hardened. “All right then—a great deal indebted. To the tune of mortgaging his entire inheritance in exchange for a bit of the ready. Expensive fellow, your cousin. Very bad judgment when it comes to investments and the like. After his loss of the Somergate estate last year, well”—he wiped the knife on the sleeve of his coat—“the boss thought it best to take matters into his own hands. Or my hands, as it were.”
“But why…” Caroline trailed off.
Reggie’s entire inheritance. But if she were adopted, she would be entitled to a handsome portion of the earl’s estate herself, leaving her cousin in serious debt. If she were adopted. They could stop it, though, if they… Comprehension shivered through her.
“You want to kill me to prevent the adoption.”
“You’re a smart one, Miss Huntington. Though I fooled you readily enough on Crete.” He chuckled. “An accident while traveling abroad is not uncommon. Would have been easier than all this rigmarole.”
She clenched her hands together. Reggie’s entire inheritance. “That is…a great deal of money.” Oh, how could he have been so stupid!
“It’s a shame you’re the one paying for it. I’d rather have that black-hearted scoundrel you call cousin sitting across from me, but he’s the goose with the golden egg.” He shrugged. “Nice of you to nip off with that viscount fellow, though. Makes our work that much easier. He’ll be blamed for it when they find you. A man of his vices and low morals, taking a girl like you out to his country house, then getting rough with her. Too bad he killed you after you refused him.”
Caroline felt sick. Her mind shied away from those last words. Viscount Keefe. Had everyone known he was a scoundrel but her? And how ironic, that he actually had spirited her away to compromise her. She knew Mr. Simms would be much harder to escape. But she had to try. As soon as the cab stopped.
They traveled on into the darkness. Her captor made no move to light the lamps. Caroline wrapped her arms around herself and tried to think. Where was Viscount Keefe’s country manor? In Essex, or was it Suffolk? Not terribly far from London—not nearly far enough. Would there be reinforcements there? It didn’t seem likely. Mr. Simms had no way of knowing he would be able to snatch her today. Unless this plot had been a long time in the making. Which perhaps it had.
If only she were not so cold.
The rocking of the cab gentled, slowed as the vehicle turned off the highway. Caroline peered out the window. The driver had lit the exterior lamps. Faint illumination revealed grassy hummocks on either side of a small road, and briefly lit the undersides of trees. Were they moving slowly enough she could leap out? She bit her lip.
“Stay where you are.” Mr. Simms’s voice was hard. “And don’t touch that door handle you keep eyeing, unless you want to lose your fingers.”
A gate flashed by—too quickly for her to make out details. Dread coiled around her, like a snake with its prey. She had to be ready.
The cab slowed further, then came to an abrupt stop. The vehicle tilted as the driver swung down. A knock on the door.
“You ready in there?”
Mr. Simms drew a piece of rope from his pocket. “Aye,” he called. “Rouse the lads, and I’ll bring her along.” He turned his attention to her. “Now, missy, hold your hands out. No use fighting—you must know that.”
Caroline nodded, trying to look meek and terrified, which was not at all difficult. She brought her hands up. They trembled as he bound them tightly together.
He undid the lock and turned the handle of the cab door. She was barely breathing. Soon. Soon.
The door swung open into the night. Mr. Simms grasped her arm tightly and descended, pulling her out of the cab after him. Now. She let herself fall, collapsing on the ground with a moan, which tore her free of his grasp. She lay there unmoving.
Nothing to alarm him. Nothing to make him grab her again. No movement. No running. Not yet.
“What is it? Get up.” He bent over her.
“My leg… It’s all pins and needles. I can’t stand. I can’t. Just give me a moment.”
He made an exasperated, angry sound in the back of his throat and straightened. “Hurry it up.”
Slowly, slowly Caroline sat, then half crouched. Gathered her legs under her—and bolted for freedom.
With a yell, Mr. Simms lunged after her, fingers closing on her sleeve.
Fear gave her strength. She ripped out of his hold and ran. Away from the house, away from the light. She raced down the drive, breath heaving through her lungs and out her open mouth.
“Come back here!” Mr. Simms sounded as though he was right behind her, his feet loud on the gravel.
She didn’t dare risk a glance over her shoulder to see. Run.
There was something ahead of her; a rider, closing fast. She veered, trying to find cover—a place to hide. Air rasped her throat as she forced her legs to move faster.
She ducked beneath the trees, brushes dragging at her skirts, branches whipping her face. She lifted her hands, bound together as if in prayer, and plunged on. Behind her, two sets of footsteps. Dear God. She could not outrun them both. Her breath caught on a sob.
“Stop, damn you!” Mr. Simms called out. Close. Too close.
She tripped, stumbled, tried desperately to regain her footing. Trod hard on the hem of her own dress and went down. Inexorably down, the underbrush clawing at her arms and face.
Rough hands hauled her up. There was the glint of that long, thin blade, though the night was dark. Terror beat through her, chasing out everything else, even breath. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed.
“Damn you.” Mr. Simms was breathing roughly. “I should just do you in here and drag the body back.”
She sensed him raise the knife. Please, no. Not now, not like this.
“Caroline!”
Her eyes flew open as someone crashed into Mr. Simms and bore him to the ground.
Alex.
Her heart tightened as the two men thrashed, making guttural animal noises. She took a frightened step away from those legs and fists in furious motion.
There; the knife, fallen point first into the ground. She scrambled for it, but with her hands bound she could not use it. She hovered, helpless, as the vicious fight continued.
“Ha!” Triumph in his voice, Mr. Simms pinned Alex to the ground, hands closing about his throat.
“No!” She threw herself on Mr. Simms, but he shrugged her off.
In that moment of distraction, Alex brought his hands up and peeled the man’s fingers from his throat, then swiped Mr. Simms’s face with his elbow. The man let out a howl of pain, and suddenly Alex was beside her, pulling her to her feet.
He grabbed the knife, sliced the ropes binding her, then flung the blade into the underbrush. The knife made a curious singing noise as it flew away, end over end.
“Come.” He folded his hand around hers, fingers strong and warm, and she began to cry soundlessly, the tears scalding her cheeks. “We have to hurry.” He pulled her gently after him.
She could see lanterns through the scrim of trees, hear the confused shouts of Mr. Simms’s men. Alex angled them away, keeping to the shadows. Ahead, a lighter patch—the drive. As they broke free of the woods she stumbled to a halt behind him and scrubbed a hand across her face. What was he doing? Why had they stopped?
A quiet nicker, the dark bulk of a horse. Alex swung himself into the saddle and pulled her up behind. Skirts bunched around her legs, she found her seat and wrapped her arms tightly about him.
“There they are!” a rough voice called.
“Hold on.” Alex set his heels to their mount.
They pelted down the drive while behind them shouts erupted. A shot cracked through the night, but they were already vanishing into the dark. The cries faded behind them and Caroline held tight, breathing in his scent. The night wind dried the tears on her face.
Alex. Impossibly here, bearing her away from danger. Questions sizzled on her tongue, but she could barely draw breath. It was all she could do to stay seated as they raced on.
They reached the main road, pinpricks of stars above them, but instead of turning down it, he guided the horse into the fields. The hedgerows were shadowed hulks, sheltering them from view. There was no moon. The blackness that had given her such despair was now a blessing, keeping them invisible.
Finally, he reined in and turned in the saddle, scanning the countryside behind them. “We’re safe—for now. Are you unhurt? Can you keep going?”
“Yes.”
He brushed a kiss across her temple, then urged their mount into motion again.
The next few hours were a blur of fields, lanes, trees. At one point Alex held them silently in a small copse of trees for a quarter hour before proceeding, although she could not make out what had alerted him. They had no energy for conversation. Caroline rested her cheek against his wool coat and slipped into a doze, filled with dream fragments of capture and escape, and recapture.
They rode through the night. Sometimes Alex would dismount and walk, sparing the tired animal’s strength while Caroline slumped in the saddle. At last, when the sky in the east had lightened to the color of wool, they halted in front of an abandoned cottage. The thatch roof had half fallen in and the door was missing, but she had never seen a more welcoming place in her life. With a weary sigh, she slipped off the horse, then clutched at the stirrup when her legs almost buckled under her.
Alex was beside her in a heartbeat. He folded her in his arms as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
“Caroline,” he murmured.
She gripped his coat, the questions finally spilling forth. “How did you find me? How did you know?” It was nothing short of miraculous.
“Pen told me about the cab that nearly ran you down—it had yellow wheels. She saw it follow after you left today, and sent me after it.”
“Dear Pen.” She took a wavering breath. “I should have listened.”
The girl had been right—about so many things.
His arms tightened. “Thank God she saw it. And that you were able to break free.”
“At first I thought you were one of Mr. Simms’s men.” She leaned her forehead against his solid chest. “But when you called my name and I realized it was you…” She would never forget that feeling—joy slicing so cleanly through her terror, like a beam of light, impossibly bright over a black and turbulent sea. A lighthouse calling her home.
“You’re safe,” he said. “I will never let harm come to you again. I swear it.” His voice was so fierce and tender that tears came unbidden.
They held each other quietly and she felt her strength return a little more with each breath, each passing heartbeat.
He brushed his lips over her hair. “We need to rest.” He released her and ducked into the dilapidated building, a moment later emerging with cobwebs on his coat. “Not up to the ton’s standards, but we won’t be noticed here. I’ll have to bring the horse in with us.”
She nodded. She could accept anything as long as he was there, too.
Alex led her inside, then pulled down some of the thatch, making them a rough bed in the corner. It was rustic and prickly, but as soon as she curled into the shelter of his arms, she felt her whole body relax. Safe.
“Rest now. I’ll keep watch.”
She wanted to protest that he should sleep too, but exhaustion closed her eyelids, and silenced first her voice, then her thoughts.
~*~
Caroline knew a moment’s panic when she woke and realized Alex was not beside her. She sat up, heart hammering, then saw him standing at the door with his arms folded, looking out over the fields. He turned his head, and, seeing she was awake, left his post to sit beside her on the scattered thatching.
“All’s quiet,” he said. “We covered enough ground last night they have no idea which direction we might have gone. But they’ll be watching the road back to London.” He took her hand. “What is this about, Caroline? Why has Simms been after you?”
She told him then, told him everything.
He was silent a long moment, his face set. “They wanted you dead to thwart the adoption. Had your uncle only known, he might not have been so quick to give you that gift.”
“He couldn’t have known. Uncle Denby would never have placed me in danger.”
“Not knowingly,” Alex said, “but you are in danger still. Grave danger. A broken nose is not going to stop Simms, much less those who pay for the services of a man like him.”
“You broke his nose?”
“A nasal fracture with accompanying epistaxis.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “And likely some bruising to the testicular area.”
“It sounds… painful.” She gave a short laugh. “Although I’m just as happy not to have a firm grasp of the particulars.” It was enough that he had saved her from the murderer’s grasp. “They will try again, won’t they?”
“Not if I have any say in it.” His voice was suddenly hard, edged with purpose.
“What happens next?” She set her hand on his arm. “Back to London?”
“No. It’s not safe there, even if we could elude Simms and his men. We need a place they won’t know of. Somewhere you’ll be protected while we resolve things.”
“Where?” She caught a haunted expression in his eyes before he looked away.
“I’m taking you to Ravensbridge, in Yorkshire.” His voice lowered, grew husky. “The place I used to call home.”
Ah. Her fingers tightened on his arm. He did not meet her gaze, only gazed over the fields, mouth tight.
“Thank you,” she said when it was clear he was going to remain silent. “I owe you my life, Alex. Many times over.”
He stood and offered his hand to help her rise. “Tonight I promise to find us better accommodations, though the going will be hard. And then… tomorrow afternoon will see us there.”
She shook out her tattered skirts, brushing off the worst of the straw. “If we’re not taken for gypsies and driven out of town.”
“We won’t be.” The words were clipped.
She hated to see the strain on his face. This was costing him dearly, and she did not know why—could not even begin to guess. He had never spoken the details of his history, but there was plainly something so dreadful he’d run all the way to Crete to escape it. She feared what this return might do.
But they could not go back now. Only forward.