Love's Guardian (34 page)

Refusing to look down, she dragged herself over until her feet could find a purchase in the wooden grid. The trellis went to the roof, but she was fortunate the roses only reached the top of the first floor. Even so, she suspected she’d be sorry she hadn’t worn gloves. Splinters from the rough wooden slats were already digging into her palms. What would the roses do?

She lowered herself a few feet at a time, testing each new step for possible breaks. The first two floors were relatively uneventful. Even the dizzying height didn’t bother her, as long as she didn’t look down. But the roses proved to be everything she’d feared. They tore at her clothing, impeding her progress and causing countless cuts on her hands, arms, and legs.

Time was slipping away. She had to get down now. Paddy couldn’t wait. Still about ten feet from the bottom, she launched herself into the air and landed with a thud in the soft mud. Muck oozed up between her fingers. The welts from the roses started to sting, and her backside felt wet and sore, but at least she was free.

She got to her feet and brushed her hands on her breeches, then crept through the trees toward the back of the garden. Paddy’s note said he would meet her by the rear gate. The new moon provided little light to illuminate her path; even the open areas were no more than varying degrees of shadow.

As she approached the wrought iron gate, a dark object lay in her path. Odd, why would the gardener allow something to block the exit? She bent to move the obstacle.

It was a man, face down and very still.

Wrongness settled into the silence around her. She listened, but didn’t hear anyone nearby. With an unsteady hand she turned him over. A sticky substance covered her fingers, and the metallic odor of blood hung in the dew-laden air. She bit back a wave of nausea. Even as she checked, she knew there wasn’t a pulse. The man’s pale face appeared perfect in death, almost luminous, like marble freshly polished.

Paddy would never have done this. Her heart thudded in slow, deliberate beats against her chest. Where was the killer? Her muscles bunched as she propelled herself forward, intending to jump the body and dart for the gate.

Two arms wrapped around her from behind, effectively pinning her elbows to her sides. She opened her mouth to scream. A foul tasting rag was shoved past her lips, nearly choking her. In spite of her efforts, a small amount of bitter liquid trickled down her throat. She recognized the taste of laudanum.

With her dwindling strength, she tried to kick her captor’s shins. One of her blows connected. A grunt of pain followed, but the arms didn’t loosen.

She squirmed. Her breath felt as if it were being squeezed out of her body. Lethargy swept over her. She couldn’t fight anymore. Lights flashed bright spots behind her eyelids.

“That’s enough. We don’t want her dead. Yet.”

A silken voice penetrated the encroaching darkness. She fought to put her scattered thoughts together. A name rang alarm bells in her brain seconds before she passed out.

Luther.

Bradford’s incredulous look was almost comical. “She couldn’t have left without one of my men reporting it.”

“You don’t know Lady Lochsdale.” Every muscle in his body felt tight. Where could she have gone? He needed to do something. “Have your men search the grounds as unobtrusively as possible. She might still be on the property."

“I’ll check on Addington’s whereabouts as well.” Bradford headed toward the door, then stopped and turned. “A servant handed me this. It’s addressed to you.” He gave it to him and left.

Morgan went to the liquor cabinet and poured them both a drink. He accepted the proffered glass and sat behind his desk, then took a long swallow. Alex didn’t know anyone in London. She was out there somewhere.

Alone.

He toyed with the envelope fashioned from folded paper. It felt heavy, as if it contained more than correspondence. The crest on the wax seal seemed familiar, two rampant lions back to back. He grabbed his bone-handled letter opener and slit the closure. The envelope sprung open and rows of diamonds poured out, making a constant tapping sound as they hit the polished wood desk.

Alex’s bracelet.

“What is it?” Morgan leaned forward to get a better look.

With an unsteady hand, he picked up the diamond-studded mesh band. The lamp’s light bounced off the jewelry, sending points of light skipping across the desk. “It’s Lady Lochsdale’s.” He handed the bracelet to Morgan and smoothed out the letter, then slid the oil lamp closer.

Lord Worthington,

By now Lady Lochsdale and I shall be well on our way to Gretna Green. Lady Lochsdale has agreed to be my wife. Please don’t try to follow us. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to distress her. You’ve done enough. This is the way it was meant to be.

The arrogant bastard hadn’t even signed his name. He passed the note to Morgan. When had he last seen Alex? Perhaps ten-thirty? If so, they only had an hour head start.

Morgan perused the note, his brow furrowed. “She’d not have gone with Addington of her own free will. Would she?”

“No.” His voice sounded harsh. She’d never agree to marry a man like Addington. A man who was capable of anything. A man who may no longer need her alive.

For the first time in his life, he felt fear. Until this moment, he’d never had anything to lose.

Existing. That’s all he’d been doing before Alex. In spite of his resolution, he was irreparably tied to a slip of a woman with a penchant for danger. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. God help him—he was in love with her!

“Worthington, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes. “No. Dammit. I’m not all right. I’m in love with her.”

“Are you now?” Morgan gave him a superior smile. “It’s glad I am you’re finally admitting it. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever realize the obvious.”

Let Morgan gloat. It was a relief to finally acknowledge he loved her, but this was not the time to examine what a mess he’d made of things. Her life was at stake. “If Addington harms her in any way, I’ll kill him slowly, not quickly as I plan to do.”

Morgan’s smirk faltered. “I’m hoping it’s not too late.”

“If they went by carriage, I’ll catch them.” He stuffed the bracelet in his pocket and hurried from the room, not bothering to see if Morgan followed.

Bradford met him at the entrance to the ballroom, his face grim. “Two of my men are dead. We found them by the back gate.”

Morgan handed Bradford the note. He scanned it briefly, then passed it back to Declan.

“So, he’s made his move,” Adrian said. “It seems he anticipated us.”

Declan crumpled the paper, his hand curling into a tight fist. “I’m going to get her back. Bradford, do you think you can find some way to delay Addington’s petition for a few days? Right now, it’s all that’s keeping her alive.”

“I can try. It should be easier now that he’s no longer here to influence the lords.”

“Do what you can. As for the ball, would your mother see to things here?”

Catrina wove her way through the crowd toward them. Her too bright smile flashed, a sure sign she wanted something.

He ran a hand through the hair at his brow.
Not now.
Whatever she wanted he couldn’t give her, and he didn’t have time to deal with her tantrums.

“Are you leaving?” Catrina moved closer, taking his arm. “You can’t depart when your home is filled with guests. What would people think?”

“Lady Lochsdale is missing,” Bradford said. “Lord Addington has her, and we believe he’s going to force her to marry him.”

Refusing to look at her, he shook off Catrina’s hand and started to leave. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Lord Worthington, wait.” Catrina took his arm again. Her voice carried a note of desperation. “Maybe it’s for the best. You wanted to marry her off. Lord Addington would make a fine husband.”

He turned and glared at her. “I’m not letting Addington have her. She’s mine. Do you understand?”

Catrina released his arm and stepped back as if she’d been struck. “Why? You couldn’t be in love with her.” Bitterness edged her words. “Lord Worthington doesn’t know how to love.”

Declan couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. “Maybe I never had the right teacher.” He turned away. Had he actually considered tying himself to this woman?

“I’ll not let you marry her.” Catrina’s high-pitched voice could be heard above the music. “The letter warned you not to follow. Go ahead. Try. You won’t catch them.” Her last comment came out in a strained whisper. “Then you’ll have to come back to me.”

He froze, then turned slowly to face her. “How did you know I’d received a letter?”

Confusion marred Catrina’s flawless features. “You must have mentioned it. I mean...well...how else would you know Lord Addington was responsible?”

Barely able to contain his fury, he moved very close to the flustered woman, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, “I want you to tell me everything you know. Now. If you don’t, I shall see to it you are ruined in Society.”

Catrina’s face turned whiter than her gown. “You wouldn’t.”

“You should never underestimate what a person will do for love.” He took her upper arm in a firm grip. “Spreading a few rumors won’t be difficult. And coming from me, they’d be believed. You’d be lucky to marry a baronet. Are you willing to take that chance?”

Alex rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth, attempting to moisten it. She wrinkled her nose. Had she slept with her mouth open?

The smell of salt air combined with the soft lapping of water made her think of
The Merry Elizabeth
. Paddy must have found her. Everything would be all right now. She was safe.

She opened her eyes and counted the number of rough-hewn planks that comprised the overhead. There should be forty-seven. She lost count around the center where some of the boards had warped. Odd, the little game used to be simple when she was a child, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. What was wrong with her?

“You’re awake. I thought perhaps Spider gave you too much laudanum.” Luther’s voice didn’t carry any concern.

She sat straight up. Her head began to pound, and pain radiated through her ribs, causing tears to well up in her eyes. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out, but barely felt the self-inflicted injury. The drug must be dulling some of the pain. Her mouth was going to hurt like hell when it wore off. Holding as still as possible, she stared at her cousin who sat at the captain’s table, the remnants of a meal scattered before him.