The flash of a sword told Tom what Everslade was about. He was across the road as soon as he saw that tiny nod to the carriage driver, who before that moment had only been lingering, rather than showing any evidence of being with any of the people on the street. Dodging oncoming horses and ignoring the alarmed yells that surrounded him on all sides, he had nearly come within reach of the carriage before the driver whipped up the horses and it careened off.
He did not mutter curses; he yelled them, but continued to move, tromping over the piles of horse dung and cobbles until he reached Lady Winterton and her astonished group of manservants.
As the coach nearly took the corner at the end of the street on two wheels, a flash of movement made him whip his head around. Tom showed his teeth in a vicious grin. At least some good had come of his lunge. He had slowed the coach down enough to mark it.
He had no time to lose. Racing to the side of the road, he issued orders rapidly. He pointed at a footman carrying a heap of parcels. “Drop them, run back to your master’s house, and tell him what has happened.” He would not announce the events in the middle of the street. Who knew who was listening? God knew rumors enough would be racing around the city without him adding to them.
He needed a horse. He had to get to her before nightfall, otherwise she was done for. What was the idiotic man doing?
Lady Winterton took her place in the carriage and Tom leaped in after her. “Believe me, ma’am, I mean you no harm. I will see you safely back in your husband’s arms and I will tell him what I saw. We have to catch the ruffian before he does any permanent damage to Lady Helena.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “I have learned you are no friend of his, but I have also learned to think for myself, and I go by deeds, not mere words. I do not forget the good turn you did us. I do not pretend to know why you did so.”
He nodded his thanks. “For the same reason I do this now.” Because, despite his efforts to forget her, to think of Helena as a sister, he was still as in love with her as ever. He had vowed never to repeat his sin, but that did not stop him recalling his happiness before the terrible discovery. Although not a particularly religious man, he found himself praying under his breath. He had faced adversity and danger before but never like this. Would his spirited Helena have the sense to play along with Everslade, and if he did, would she agree to marry him? Stranger things had happened. Had she already accepted him?
When they arrived at the house in Brook Street, a mere ten minutes later, he escorted Lady Winterton inside personally, ignoring the disapproval of the superior person who opened the door to them.
He was not surprised to find a shirt-sleeved Lord Winterton standing in the hallway. He glanced at Tom but said nothing yet.
His wife flew into his arms, letting loose the tears that she had held back until now. He drew her away into the parlor at the front of the house, overlooking the street. Tom remained behind in the hall to issue orders. “If his lordship has not said so, he will require two horses, saddled and ready. In five minutes.”
The butler exchanged a doubtful look with the footman. “He only said one,” the footman said.
Tom shook his head, thought, and then followed the Wintertons into the parlor, pushing past another man who tried ineffectively to bar the door. “We have little time to argue,” he said, as his lordship opened his mouth to speak. “I will go in instant pursuit. You stay here and arrange your formidable troops to follow. Your wife needs you and you may need to consider other strategies. But we must reach her before nightfall, or she could be irreparably ruined.”
“Why would I trust you?”
“Why would I wish Lady Helena harm?” Tom demanded. “For God’s sake, man, I’m not asking for your trust, only that you believe I am capable of performing this task. I swear, I will turn her over to whichever of your relatives you send, and I know them all. But I am here, and I am ready to leave.”
Winterton helped his wife on to a sofa. The redoubtable lady was already recovering, mopping her face and blowing her nose. “You should both go,” she said. “It’s obvious Everslade did not want me.”
“Did she accept his proposal?”
Winterton narrowed his eyes. “What do you think? I advised her to think about it, because I’m an utter fool, but she was firm in her refusal. She did not want him.”
“Well he has her now.”
Winterton studied him, his startlingly vivid blue eyes unfocused, and then nodded. “Very well. I’ve ordered horses and a groom to accompany me, one I would trust with my life. He will go with you.”
“So I have to watch my back?”
“Only if you do anything that might displease me. Take it or leave it. Otherwise, I will go. But if you go in pursuit, I can organize matters here. I have sent a runner to my cousins’ houses and ordered a carriage made ready. When you find her, keep her somewhere safe and send word, if you can. I will send the carriage to you.”
He jerked his head to a green riding coat laid over a nearby chair. “Take that. You are hardly dressed for riding.”
One glance at the gleaming boots standing by the side of the chair told Tom that he and Winterton were approximately the same size. He lost no time thrusting his arms through the sleeves of the coat and stamping into the remarkably practical boots. He found a cocked hat under the coat and crammed it on his head. Once he’d emptied the pockets of his sadly stained and probably ruined town coat, he transferred them to the riding coat, where he found a welcome addition. He drew the pair of pistols from the deep pockets and gave them a cursory examination. They were exactly as he liked—primed and ready for action. He wore his dress sword, which he retained.
“If you need a stronger weapon, I have it,” Winterton said.
“No need,” Tom replied. “I order fancy hilts but serviceable blades.” Shoving his hand into his breeches’ pocket, he drew out a short sheathed blade.
“There is a hidden blade in the side of the right boot,” Winterton said tersely. He strode to the window, where a small writing table stood, and plucked a quill from the inkstand. “Here are the horses,” he said, glancing out of the window.
“I’ll send word if I can. If not, I’ll escort her ladyship back here. She’s as safe with me as she would be with you.”
The realization struck him with the force of a punch. By all that was holy, he was speaking with his own brother. Half brother, it was true, but they shared a father. Except that Winterton was as yet unaware of the fact. Tom could put it off no longer. He would have to tell Winterton, at least. But not now. Explanations would have their time.
He turned back at the door, his hand on the gilded knob. “If I cannot return tonight, I will send word. That is, if he has traveled farther. I advise you to give out that she is safely back home. We’ll find a way to contrive the truth. But I will do everything in my power to reach her in time. I have a man with the carriage. He discarded your livery and leaped on to the back of the vehicle as it was moving. Since he is a man of great resource, I trust him to do everything possible to stay with it. If he sends a message here, you will know him. His name is Lamaire.”
Ignoring Winterton’s shout, Tom left the room and went outside to mount the very fine mare Winterton had kindly put at his disposal.
* * * *
Helena was becoming heartily bored with Everslade’s company. Once she righted herself, she tucked her hands under her cloak and refused to talk to him. He chose to believe she was sulking and called her charming, before he launched into a monologue of his plans, and since she was disinclined to agree with him, a discourse on his own cleverness.
Helena concentrated on keeping her tongue between her teeth and marking where they were going. As she had presumed, he had everything she would need to eat, drink, and even relieve herself, although she would be damned before she did that in his company. Instead, she preferred to hold her water until she was near to bursting with it. But even then she would not relent.
He kindly gave her his handkerchief to clean her poor face. She had cut the inside of her cheek with her teeth from his vicious blow, but had taken no other harm, except for a split lip from his bruising kisses, which he fondly described as “passionate.”
How she could have ever imagined him handsome she did not understand. Her only solace was that he did not touch her again and he did not force himself on her. She took stock of her poor weapons, which consisted of her shoe buckles, hairpins, and a small fruit knife that she carried in a sheath in her pocket.
Wit and reason were probably her best defenses. She would let him talk himself to a standstill, and then she would try to persuade him not to take such a rash course.
“My love, you will adore my house in Italy. Indeed, I have rarely visited it myself, but it is as if time stood still there. It is quaint, in the countryside, although close to Rome, and a perfect place to honeymoon.”
Helena repressed her shudder and risked another glance out of the window. They were undoubtedly to take the Great North Road, which she considered very foolish for a man trying to escape London. It was the first place Julius would look.
Then the import of what he had just said struck her hard. “Rome?”
“We are doubling back and going to the coast. I have a vessel waiting for me. And you, as it turns out.” He patted his pocket. “We have a fortune here, my dear. We will have a merry time of it.” He bestowed a roguish smile on her. “With any luck, I’ll have given you a bellyful of my heir by the time we see your family again.” He frowned. “Do you not wish to speak at all? Do I have to take all the burden of conversation?”
“What about Northumberland?”
He paused. “I will write to my mother and inform her of our change in plans.”
“Do you not wish to show me your home?” At least it would not involve leaving the country if she agreed to go to Northumberland.
“Indeed I do, but Italy is as dear to me as England.”
Wait—from the research Julius had done, Everslade had never left the country. He had not even been on the Grand Tour, because his mother had insisted on him not leaving her alone. She remembered that distinctly, because she had considered the fact another mark against him. A clinging mother she could do without.
“Tell me about your home.”
“Have you ever been to Northumberland?”
Yes. “No. If I am to live there, I’d like to know more.” Her mouth stung every time she spoke, but she fought not to show it.
“Ah.” He pressed his fingertips together. “It is a lovely county. The best, of course. The lakes are beautiful, and the mountains provide the frame for them. My house is nestled between two of the highest, sheltered from the winds. A perfect love nest, one might say.”
She remembered the lakes and mountains, but the last time she’d visited the Lake District, it had been in Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancashire. Most definitely not in Northumberland, which was the other side of the country.
“I have never been that far north,” she said, further perjuring herself. “I know shamefully little about that part of the country.” Just in case he recalled that he was talking about the wrong county, she could feign ignorance, too. Was he testing her? No, she decided, he was not, because he appeared in perfect harmony, leaning back, smiling as if he’d won.
His volatility alarmed Helena. She had only ever met one other person with moods that could flash from high to low in an instant, combined with a shocking lack of awareness of doing so, and that was Caroline, Julius’s first wife. Caroline had also shown a similar lack of understanding of other people, even of her husband.
She could not get on that boat with him. If she did, she was lost. She must do everything in her power to get away. By this time, Helena had worked out an approach. Sullen but accepting with a side dish of fear would work best. He would find the fear flattering, in all likelihood. If she had a better weapon she wouldn’t hesitate in trying to kill him, but even the holsters that usually contained carriage pistols were empty. “I must relieve myself.”
“I have provided the means.” He nodded to the small blue-and-white bourdaloue that sat on the floor of the carriage.
“I cannot.” She wouldn’t say why. Let him work it out for himself.
He groaned. “We are due to change carriages after we cross the Heath. I will allow you to stop then, but be warned. I will send a servant with you, and he will watch you.”
That was almost worse, but she’d take the indignity of relieving herself in someone’s presence for the chance to leave a note or a message. Oh, yes! She had her visiting cards with her. If she could drop a few, she could leave a trail of clues. Her propensity for privacy would have some benefits.
Swallowing her bile and her desire to tear his eyes out with her bare hands, Helena tried the meek feminine response. He would want that, and if she added a strong streak of shyness, she might delay the inevitable until someone came for her.
They reached Hampstead Heath. That was a blow. She had hoped her brother would have caught up with her before that time. Since three carriages were already waiting at the inn, they set forth in a train. The Heath was notorious for bold highwaymen, and footpads abounded there. Carriages would frequently wait at the Spaniards Inn until a few had gathered.
They negotiated the Heath, while Everslade tried to initiate conversation and Helena answered with softly spoken responses. “You will enjoy my house,” he said, “and I mean to treat you carefully. I do not wish to wed you merely for your fortune, but your sweet self.”
“Are you, then, short of funds, sir?” She’d pay him all she owned to get out of this mess. Before she killed him.
“Not at all. But any man of means must be delighted that his wife brings sufficient funds with her. You will no doubt wish me to dispose of your fortune for you. Indeed, many have come to me for advice.”
How could she have not noticed how utterly pompous the man was? With every sentence he spoke, her hackles rose a bit more. For two pins she’d be backing into a corner and growling at the back of her throat, like the poor unfortunate cur that her father’s gamekeeper caught on the estate last year. The beast now lived amiably with the other dogs in the kennel, so maybe it had just been hungry.
She was not hungry. Not for the man sitting opposite her, at any rate.
She almost wished for a highwayman, but they crossed the heath without incident. Nobody hid behind the trees or braved the rain that was pattering down on the coach roof. Outside all was bleak, the green of summer gone, the trees bedraggled, dripping soggy dead leaves.
The sight of a building ahead should have comforted Helena, but it did precisely the opposite. The light was dimming, preparing for full nightfall.
As if reading her mind, Everslade glanced out the window. “We have time to change horses and make a little headway before dark. At least, enough to confound our pursuers. I fear your brother is bound to send people in pursuit. A dead bore, but we need to at least make a show of confounding him.”
“My father may not be pleased.”
“Your excellent mother assures me that she will see that he causes no trouble.”
He was altogether too complacent. In her experience, when her father wished to do something, he did it. The fact that he rarely troubled to do so fooled a lot of people, but not his family. Witness his determination to abide by the pact he’d made with his sisters to call the children outlandish names. He had stood firm on that resolve. However, now was not the time to voice her disagreement. Instead, she shifted in her seat and faced the window, gloomily watching the rush of the road under the wheels. At the end of the heath, the carriages which had traveled in a bunch steadily spaced themselves out once more.
Their coach halted at an inn. They did not stop at the usual place at the end of the heath, but another close by. This was her chance.
Before she could gather her resolve and humbly request that she be excused, he put a hand on the door, halting the footman who waited, head down, outside. The man probably expected to see terrible debauchery unfolding inside and averted his eyes.
“My dear,” Everslade said, “please hand over your pocket.”
She blinked in an attempt to mask her dismay. Her pocket held her little knife, her card case, even the tablet she used for making notes. Without it she would have little chance to leave a meaningful message. But he would not let her down without it.
What else was she carrying?
Helena had to lift her skirts to loosen the tape that fastened the pocket around her waist. She fumbled, trying to get the pocket undone and rescue something from inside, but before she could do so, he shoved his hand under her petticoats and grabbed it from her hand. Their faces were close enough for her to feel his breath and smell the onions he must have had with his breakfast.
He remained close and pressed his lips against hers, lover-like. “Here we are a married couple, traveling out of London. The coach has no crest, so nobody will be any the wiser. At the next stage, we will be leaving the coach behind and hiring a chaise. I am afraid we will be forced to do that a number of times before we eventually arrive at the coast, but better to make sure of our journey than to rush at it, eh, my love?”
She wished he would not call her that. When he kissed her again, she closed her eyes.
“That’s better.” After dropping the pocket on the floor, he spread his hand over her thigh and groaned. His fingers inched closer to her private parts. “I will not wait. I have to make you mine. I am sorry, my love, but a man has needs, and spending a week with you in this space will be the undoing of me unless I have you.”
Helena summoned up all the curse words she could think of and said them to herself, in her mind. It did not help.
He withdrew his hand with a gentle smile. “I cannot wait for your return." The footman outside will escort you. Opening the door without attempting to straighten her gown, he addressed the footman. “Do not let her out of your sight for one moment. She is precious to me.”
The footman touched his hat, which seemed a little large for him. “Yes, my lord.”
The hint of an accent sounded familiar, but before Helena could demand that he show his face, he turned and led the way to the inn, pausing to usher her in front of him. “Private room for the lady!” he called to the landlord and tossed him a coin. “Only for her to freshen up!”
The landlord nodded to a boy standing at the side of the hall, who opened a door for her. She went inside to see one window and little else. Just a door, a window, an unpadded bench and a long table.
This was the best chance she would have. Her heart beating like a drum, Helena curled her fingers into claws and spun around, ready to go for the footman’s eyes. She could not allow that pig of a lord anywhere near her. She’d kill him first, and then she’d be hanged for murder, because the law would be bound to take his side. A footman? If she could scramble out of that window, she’d take her chances. This inn was busy.
But the man stepped back and lifted his head. That gave her enough pause to take his features in. “Don’t I know you?”
“Parlez-vous francais, madame?”
“Oui.”
He spoke French without an accent, and fluidly. He continued in rapid French. “My name is Lamaire, and I am in the employ of Lord Alconbury.”
“Then what were you doing in our livery? And how are you now in Everslade’s livery?” Had the man sent him to spy on her? Then it was as well she had not clawed his eyes out, because he was probably ready for her.
“He sent me to Lord Winterton’s house to ensure your safety. Lord Alconbury is a careful man. When Lord Everslade took you, I jumped on to the back of the coach.” He twitched the ill-fitting rust-colored coat. “This I acquired when the carriage stopped to join the group at the Heath. Its owner is lying in the road there, or if he has recovered, he may have raised the alarm. I’m afraid I left Lord Winterton’s coat with him.”
Was it true? Helena frowned. “Why are we speaking French?”
“Spies,” he said succinctly. “Doors and windows have ears. Did you think I would be the only footman Everslade would send? He would love you to try to escape. Then he may tie you down.”
Helena swallowed.
“Come, my lady. Either you believe me or you do not.” He thrust the bourdaloue at her. “I will turn my back, but for God’s sake do not use the window. If I am correct, he will have stationed another man outside. We will find another way.”
“He took my pocket. I was planning to leave a card here.”
“I will take care of leaving messages for our pursuers. Count on it. They are arriving.”
Was this a trap? “How can I believe you?”
“You either do or you do not. Think, madame.”
She did. “Lamaire? Did my brother not have a valet of that name?”
He nodded. “I was an emissary from my master. Well, madame?”
“He plans to divert from the usual journey.”
Lamaire nodded. “I thought as much. We will, I assure you, escape as soon as we may do it with relative safety. Can you ride?” He gave a tight smile at her astonished stare. “Very good. Then we will run tonight. You may have to please him. I am sorry, and I would spare you if I could, but he means to harm you if you do not.” He paused. “He has a reputation among his servants, that man. He is not gentle.”
“You heard that already?”
He nodded. “They think I am a new employ. The fact that they are not surprised tells me much. He does not keep servants for long.” He turned his back. “I will give you what privacy I can.”
That was just as well, because she was almost in pain from holding back. Quickly, she did what she needed to and shamefacedly put the vessel down on the floor. Lamaire did not even look at it. “I swear I will try to get you away before he takes you. Now back to English.” He raised his voice and switched languages. “You have finished, ma’am?”
“Indeed.” As she spoke, a man knocked and entered, bearing a bowl of water, a cake of soap, and a fresh towel. After her tears, the blow Everslade had dealt her, and her recent activity, Helena was delighted to have the opportunity to clean herself.
“Give him a vail,” Helena said, putting on her best aristocratic tone. “I have no money on my person.”
“Very well, ma’am.” Lamaire handed the man a coin.
Helena also caught a curl of paper changing hands. No, card. She was not the only person to have calling cards. Had he found time to add a message? Please God, he had, but she could not even say anything, for fear the man standing outside the window and the one she glimpsed outside the door would hear her. When she had finished washing, he sent her a terse nod. “If you would come with me, ma’am.”
Without a word, Helena stuck her hat back on her head and followed Lamaire. The man outside the door fell in behind, and like a little procession they trooped across the cobbled yard to the coach. Twilight had settled in now. It would be full dark in half an hour. Her reputation would be gone. If she did not marry Everslade, her mother would use her status as an excuse to call her back home, this time for good.
Except she was already married. One faint hope remained—that Tom would claim her. At least he had sent someone to watch her. He must still care for her, surely. Her poor shattered heart began to mend, like a destroyed iron statue being drawn together again by a powerful magnet.
She had fought her obsession for five years, and she was tired of it. One way or another they would reconcile their feelings and talk. She had to know why he would come nowhere near her, why he refused to speak to her, yet watched her. Oh, yes, she knew he watched her. She’d caught him and seen the way he turned away abruptly when he realized she’d seen him.
They had fallen so quickly for each other she had assumed what they shared was feverish infatuation, but she could not forget him.
Back to meek and obedient Lady Helena. Nobody would recognize her from that description. Only Lord Everslade, who appeared to believe he’d seen something in her that nobody else had.
Would she have to share a bed with him tonight? Would he try to take her in the carriage?
Helena swallowed and let Everslade help her into a new traveling chaise. In this one they would have to sit side by side.
“It was all they had,” he said by way of explanation. “However, it will travel faster, and since we will be traveling ten miles in the dark, we will be better for speed. So come here, my beautiful bride, and kiss me.”
* * * *
Tom traveled with two assistants, men who would send the messages to Winterton via runners, men who raced through the streets, faster than a vehicle could negotiate the congested center of the city. Farther out, he would have to use riders, but if he did not keep Winterton informed, the man would follow.
Although they had been at least nominal enemies for many years, Tom had never underestimated Winterton. More than any other man, he had harassed Tom’s father and his brothers, infiltrating their networks and preventing them achieving their aims.
At the Spaniards Inn, Tom sent his man to inquire about the carriage. “Aye, sir,” came the response. “We’ve had a busy day. People who come into London for the weekend travel out on Mondays. Must have had twelve coaches.”
The innkeeper had come out to speak to him himself, despite Tom’s relatively plain appearance. But gold coins spoke louder than silver, and he’d been generous.
The landlord rubbed his beard scruff, the bristles rasping against his grubby palm. “I can’t say for sure, sir, but I did see a coach come down this way ‘round about four o’clock with two people in it. The lady looked in a bad way, what I saw of her. The gen’leman had a satisfied look. He ’ad a lot of footmen, but no outriders. At least four big ’uns up, and two drivers.”
Tom pulled out his half hunter and checked the time. He cursed. They were hours behind. If they stopped at a good inn and changed the horses before they tired significantly, they could gain even more ground. Would they hire a coach with lights and risk driving in the dark? The roads around London were probably in better heart than elsewhere, but that was not saying much.
Tom’s heart leaped into his mouth when he saw the time. “Open the gates,” he snapped to the toll-man, who had strolled over, probably to discover what the fuss might be.
“That poor young lady?” he murmured. “Saw ’er, I did. Bleedin’ from ’er marf.”
The accent was somewhat thick, but Tom had no problem understanding him. She’d been hurt. That bastard Everslade was going to die for this.
“Was she awake?” He tossed the man a half guinea.
The ruffian caught it deftly, bit it and pocketed it in one smooth movement. He’d probably had a misspent youth picking pockets in the city.
“Yes, and not ’appy at all.”
“Open those gates,” Tom repeated, and this time the man obliged.
“Shouldn’t we wait for company?”
Tom glared at the footman who had dared suggest such a craven act. “We’re armed, and I’m in the mood to kill somebody.” As soon as they were through the gates, he broke into a canter, and then a gallop. Risky on such uneven ground, but he’d honed his reflexes, and he was on an excellent bay. Briefly he made a mental note to make Winterton an offer for the beast. Then he put his mind back on the task in hand and prayed he was in time.
Although the ground sped under his mount’s hooves, everything went too slowly. Except for time. Dusk had settled in by the time they reached the far gates, and still they were behind.
He sent the two men with him to the local inns and he took the other. At the first one he reluctantly left his horse behind and had a fresh one saddled and two for his companions. Otherwise, he drew a blank there. They had not called at the inn, or the landlord had missed them. He was wondering whether to try a smaller establishment, when Worthing galloped toward him.
He drew his gray to a halt, the horse’s flanks heaving with exertion. “My lord, they were at the Hawk in Hand.”
“You’re sure?”
The man leaned across and handed him a card, a cream board gleaming warmly in the orange-yellow lights emanating from the lanterns in the nearby tavern. The calling card was one of his own, the corner turned down and a rough scrawl on the back with, he guessed, a piece of charcoal from the fire. He tilted the card. Numbers.
The normal way of telling a person that the owner of the card was waiting for an answer, rather than leaving the pasteboard was to turn down the right corner. Lamaire had turned down the left, which meant he had not waited. They had moved on.
Those numbers marked a time! That meant two things. Lamaire was still with her, and he had the means to leave a trail. Grim-faced, he shoved the card in his pocket. “Did you question the landlord?”
“Yes, my lord. He was distressed to discover his part in the abduction.”
“You told him?” Tom wanted to strike the idiot.
Worthing shrank back in his saddle. “He knew, or he’d guessed, but I told him this was your card. He doesn’t know who the young lady was. She went inside while they changed to a chaise and came out again. He sent men in to guard her.”
Otherwise, she’d have run away. A chill ran through his veins when he thought what Everslade would do to her if she tried to run and he caught her. The suspicion that he had only begun to uncover a truly sinister hidden life crept over him. Everslade had been a part of the London scene for years—suave, wealthy, considerate, and popular with the ladies. Not all females, it appeared. What Winterton had said before Tom had left in haste chimed with a few rumors he’d heard, but like many people, Tom had dismissed the stories as malicious gossip. Especially the one about Everslade being banned from the House of Correction in Covent Garden for flogging a woman half to death. He’d actually laughed at that one.
In a flash, he knew what Lamaire was telling him. “They went east. They’re not taking the usual route to the Great North Road. Do either of you know this area?”
“My aunt used to live around here,” Manning said. “I used to come here for weekends when I was little, when my parents were busy. They ran a city inn.”
Thank Christ for London servants. “East. We need to find an inn with room for a chaise, preferably with more chaises to hire. My guess is that he will change the vehicle as often as possible, in an attempt to throw us off the trail.” He spurred his horse, murmuring under his breath, “He’ll have to try harder than that.”
Once they stopped for the night, Everslade would not hesitate to make her his own. In any way he had to. He would delight in the scene if Helena fought back; that would give him the excuse he wanted. He’d brutalize her.
Fury and grief warred within Tom as he rode, but he had to fight his emotions down. He would be no good to her if he acted impulsively. He barely knew himself. He’d faced life-changing peril with hardly a qualm, and he was falling to pieces at the thought of Everslade even daring to touch Lady Helena Vernon. How he wished he had made her Lady Alconbury in truth.
Although that blissful outcome was not possible, he would never leave her again. He would always watch over her, care for her.
If she lived.