A Thin Line (56 page)

He noticed a glint of gold on her left ring finger and immediately recognized the signet ring.
 
Auburn hair, the ring, and that familiar spattering of freckles – it could not be, yet the evidence said otherwise.
 
He fell heavily onto the ladder-back chair that sat next to the bed.
 
His heart thundered until he thought it would leave the confines of his chest at any moment.
 
He grasped the hand of her uninjured right arm, not noticing the blood that covered it.
 
He chaffed it gently between his own.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
 

***

She heard the commanding voice and moaned as the pain filtered into her unconsciousness.
 
She heard the command again.
 
I’m trying
, she thought.
 
She fought her way out of the darkness to hear the voice she thought lost to her forever.
 
The pounding in her head intensified so much it almost caused her to give up and retreat back into the darkness.
 
She tried to move her hands to her head, hoping to ease the pain only to find one immobile and the other produced such pain when moved, that she cried out.
 
Oh please, just let me die
, she thought as the throbbing intensified.
 
No, she would not give in to death, not when so many others had been taken from her.

The voice called to her again.
 
Perhaps God had sent him to take her to Heaven.
 
She had always thought it would be her mum to do that, but as long as she had him again, she did not care.
 
Her eyes fluttered open, but the light from the fire and small candle on the bedside table were too much for her to bear.
 
She quickly closed them again, certain she would be sick at any moment.

“No, open your eyes now,” the voice demanded again.
 
Sometimes he could be so intolerably high-handed
, she thought.
 
Nevertheless, she obeyed this one final time and opened her eyes.
 
She knew either he would not truly be there or she had expired and entered the afterlife.
 
She had dreamed of him so many times and woken up certain he would be with her, but there had been no one.
 
Therefore
, she decided,
I must be dead, only I hurt too badly
.
 

Derek watched intently as her emerald eyes shown brightly from behind fluttering lids.
 
They looked feverish, set in a very familiar and dear face.
 
He brought her manacled hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over the knuckles covered in dry blood.

“Contessa,” he whispered softly.

“I must be in Heaven,” she said hoarsely, “but it feels like Hell.”
 
After uttering those words, the ragamuffin prisoner smiled at her jailer and then let the darkness carry her away once more to blessed oblivion.

Derek stared dumbfounded at the limp hand that he held in his.
 
He reached across her and gently caressed the signet ring gracing her delicate finger.
 
She looked malnourished.
 
What had happened to her in these last ten months?
 
How could Gabe believe her a traitor?
 
What possible causes did he have to even consider it?
 

He stood painfully and leaned over her letting his lips lightly caress hers.
 
Derek stood watching her and raked his hands through his golden brown hair giving it a decidedly rakish appearance.
 
He paced the room like a caged animal forgetting about his throbbing leg.
 
The Earl of Blackburn alternated between thanking God that He had seen fit to bring her back to him, and cursing the circumstances all in the same breath.
 
He limped to the door and jerked it open.
 
The guard jumped to attention.

“Have you heard from the physician yet?”

“Yes, my lord.
 
He sent the lad back with word ten minutes ago.
 
He will be at least another half hour.”

“Damn,” he paused and rested his head against the hand tightly gripping the door.
 
“Send the lad for Hawkescliffe.
 
Tell him it is an emergency,” Derek barked the order.
 
“Give me the keys to the manacles,” he held out his hand and his tone brooked no argument.
 
The guard handed over the keys reluctantly and Derek slammed the door in his face, having to take his frustration out on someone.

He limped back over to the bed and released the prisoner from her restraints.
 
The chains dropped to the floor with a loud metallic clank.
 
He sat and stared at her, his thoughts chasing each other.
 
How could it be?
 
He had been told everyone perished, except the handful that had been severely wounded.
 
Nearly an entire village had been wiped out.
 
He heard a disturbance outside the door before it flew open.
 

“All right Blackburn, what’s so damned important that it could not wait until morning?” Hawkescliffe demanded as he strode into the room.
 
Derek had been unaware of the passage of time while he watched her and contemplated the various scenarios.
 
The doctor had not yet arrived, so surely not much time had passed.
 
Derek shushed Hawkescliffe when the woman winced.
 
“Did you just ‘shush’ me?” he asked incredulously.

“As my friend, shut the hell up,” Derek whispered.
 
“Follow me,” he led Gabe to the fireplace.

“Well, what is it?
 
What is so important that I had to leave my conference with the Prime Minister?”

“This woman is not a traitor,” Derek spoke with conviction.

“What makes you so certain?
 
Tell me you have not let an attractive woman turn your head.
 
You are a better man than that.
 
This woman had incriminating evidence on her person.
 
Of course she is a traitor.”

“I swear to you she’s not.”

“Have you questioned her?
 
Did she give you reason to believe that she isn’t?”

“No, I have not had the opportunity to question her.”

“Then give me one good reason why she is not, and,” he cut him off before he spoke, “I assure you it had better be one bloody good reason.”

“Because she’s my wife, dammit!”

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To Love and Protect

The Reluctant Lords, Book 3

“John Coachman, please take me to Hyde Park.
 
I would like to go for a stroll before retiring for the evening.”

“My lady, is that wise?
 
It is getting rather late, and there is frost in the air.”

“Please,” she pleaded to the old man who had been more friend than employee many times.

“All right, miss,” he agreed reluctantly slipping into a more familiar address.
 
He shut the door and the carriage swayed as he took his spot on top.
 
They drove through the city before arriving at the nearly deserted Hyde Park.
 
The coach came to a stop and the old man opened the door.
 
“Are you sure, miss?”

“Absolutely.
 
Who could miss walking on an afternoon like this?
 
The sky is positively clear and how often does that feat occur in London, especially on a winter’s day?”

“I’ll be following behind you,” he said.

“No, you stay with the horses and carriage.
 
I’ll be fine.
 
I just want to take a stroll.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Everything will be fine.
 
Wait here.”
 
Clarissa took off at a brisk pace toward the flower gardens.
 
The groundskeepers for the park made certain that there were several types of flowers that bloomed every season.
 
The trees had only just lost their leaves due to a rather warm autumn and there were still a few flowers brave enough to peek their colorful petals out for all to see.

She found a bench and sat down to think and be by herself.
 
There was a time she used to be able to do this in her gardens at home, but now she feared her new step-uncle too much.
 
Since papa had been gone, she often took her meal in her rooms, never leaving her door unlocked for any reason.
 
Sometimes she would spend the evening with Aunt Gertie, but she did not dare do it too often for fear of worrying the dear woman.

How she wished for the peace of the country once more.
 
She also wished her father had never met that woman.
 
Woman!
 
Hah!
 
Lorraine was barely a few years older than herself.
 
The thought of that woman pretending to be her mother and so much wiser than her was a joke.
 
So lost in her thoughts, Clarissa failed to hear the footsteps that fell behind her.
 
A gloved hand covered her mouth and an arm pinned both of hers to her side.
 
She struggled to break free, but could barely move at all.

“Hold still and it will go much easier for you,” the coarse voice teased at her ear.
 
“You really are lovely, my dear,” dry lips caressed her ear, “he said you were.”
 
She stiffened and shivered, attempting to pull away from the man.
 
Her mind raced.
 
Who was it?
 
What did they want?
 
Where was John Coachman?
 
Could he even see her from the carriage?
 
Why did she refuse his company?

“Now, we are going to leave here quietly.
 
Do you understand?”
 
She nodded her head slowly.
 
She knew she had to get away now, otherwise who knew what would happen to her?
 
Clarissa held out her reticule as if a peace offering to the beast behind her.
 
“Nice touch, lovey, but I have other plans for you before I deliver you.
 
Yes, indeed.
 
Something sweeter than whatever is in that fine reticule of yours.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened in fear at the meaning behind his words.
 
Innocent she may be, but she heard the change in his voice, felt the change in a certain part of his anatomy behind her.
 
No
, she cried silently.
 
He stood her up and dragged her to the side of the bench.
 
Not knowing what else to do she slammed her foot down on his and kicked his knee.
 
He loosened his hand enough that she was able to scream for John Coachman.

“You little bitch,” he roared.

Clarissa turned and ran up the path towards the carriage.
 
There was too much land between her and safety.
 
She saw John approaching them and the worry on his face.

“Duck!” She heard him yell and she instinctively dove into a hedge before she heard the pop of a gun.
 
She felt the prickly branches scratch her face, chest and arms.
 
There was another crash and oath only a few feet behind her.
 
She scrambled out of the bushes, gaining her footing and began running towards the coach.
 
Her dress caught in some of the underbrush ripping loudly and slowing her escape.
 
The gloved hand felt like a manacle as it closed around her ankle.

He pulled her down, but she fought and clawed, trying to pull herself away from the thug.
 
Her fingers left trenches in the damp London soil.
 
“Help me!” She cried at the top of her lungs.

“Shut up,” he whispered as he tried to pull her towards him.

“Help!
 
Please!”
 
The sound of pounding footsteps came closer and closer.
 
Clarissa felt her energy running out fighting the large man.
 
“Help!”
 
Even her voice sounded weaker, fainter.

“Hell, this ain’t worth it.
 
I don’t care what the bloke said.”
 
All of a sudden her foot was loose, but she was too exhausted to move.
 
Hands were lifting her.
 
“But you are my way out of here.”
 
The man was dragging her towards a far entrance to the park.
 
She heard the men chasing after them.
 
They were close enough to the entrance that the man could get away easily.
 
“Another time, m’lady,” the man turned her head and roughly kissed her mouth bringing blood.
 
“That’s a lil’ somethin’ to remember me’s by,” then he flung her towards a copse of trees.
 
Disoriented and unable to catch her balance, she slammed into a huge old tree headfirst.
 
She felt the bark scrape down her cheek, tearing her flesh.
 
Clarissa saw beautiful stars light the blue sky before all went dark.

***

She came too in the carriage, her head pounding and her body torn and bruised.
 
She was able to knock on the wall of the coach to get John Coachman’s attention.
 
The carriage lurched to a stop and she felt the sway of someone getting down.
 
She squinted against the last light of day as John opened the carriage door.

“Miss, I should have gone with you.
 
I’ll ne’er forgive myself.”