To Seduce a Scoundrel (42 page)

“She’s on her way to you. You didn’t meet her on the road?” Fear curdled Ambrose’s stomach. Where the devil had she gone?

“No.” Herrick began to look alarmed. “You’ve lost my daughter?”

Never mind Herrick had somehow allowed his daughter to travel to Cornwall unchaperoned. Ambrose, was, as always, the villain. Except that he wasn’t in this case, and he was growing more certain that someone was. His mind raced and settled on Jagger. Where was that filthy bastard? He had a room at an inn down the street. Ambrose turned, intent on finding the criminal.

Just then a Red Lion-garbed footman ran toward him. “My lord, my lord! We found her ladyship’s maid and retainers. They’d been bound and stuck in a tack room at the mews.” The mews where the Red Lion’s customers stored their vehicles. Ambrose vaulted onto Orpheus’s back and tore off down the street.

A few minutes later, he jumped down and stalked into the mews. A footman wearing the Red Lion’s livery was laid out on a pile of straw while Philippa’s maid—sobbing—held a piece of fabric against his side.

“Who’s that?” Ambrose asked.

Philippa’s footmen, wearing only their undergarments, stood nearby massaging their wrists. “He’s from the Red Lion. Tried to stop them from taking her ladyship and was stabbed for his troubles.”

“They’ve sent for a physician,” the other footman put in.

Ambrose pinned them both with a furious stare. “Who took her?”

The first one answered. “There were two of them, my lord. A stocky fellow and a taller bloke. They took our livery and the coach.”

Dark, uncontrollable rage simmered in Ambrose’s heart. “Where did they take her?”

“Not sure, my lord. Their plan didn’t seem very well thought out. They argued a bit. The stockier one—Swan was his name—he only wanted to be alone with her ladyship to—” The footman swallowed, and he glanced at the crying maid. “You know.”

Ambrose did know. And he’d kill the son-of-a-bitch as soon as he found him. First, however, he had to find him, and Swan’s advantage was at least a few hours. Where could he have gone that wasn’t in the direction Philippa’s father had come? The other roads out of Truro led west and northeast. The northeast was less traveled and the population along it was fewer than to the west. If Ambrose were trying to abduct someone and get away with it, he’d go northeast. But was Swan that smart?

“Where’s the master of the mews?” Ambrose asked.

A man with graying hair and sharp, bright eyes ambled toward him. “Aye, my lord?”

“The liveried men who took out Lady Philippa Latham’s coach this morning, did they ask anything?”

“Aye, my lord. Wanted to know what lay west and northeast.”

“You told him?” At the man’s nod, Ambrose continued, “And did he tell you which way he went?”

“Nay, my lord. But if I had to guess, I’d say northeast. He looked over at his cohort when I told him there’d be less that way.”

Ambrose was already halfway back to Orpheus when he called, “Thank you,” over his shoulder.

Ten minutes later he was racing away from Truro via the northeast road.

Chapter Twenty-six

PHILIPPA had hoisted herself onto the seat shortly after the coach had left the Red Lion, but that had been hours ago. Midmorning had passed before they finally stopped. The door opened, and bright light spilled into the interior, momentarily blinding her.

Swan stuck his head inside. “Come on then.” He reached in and grabbed her upper arm then pulled her viciously from the coach.

She tripped down the stairs, but he caught her before she fell to the dirty track. She looked around, blinking. “Where are we?”

“Far away.”

There were no buildings in sight. No people. No animals. Not even the distant bleat of a sheep. What had happened to the other criminal? “Are we alone?”

Swan jerked his head toward a hedgerow. “Brewer’s gone to take a piss. I imagine ye’ll need to relieve yerself. Best take care of that before we get to our business.” He leered at her, his gaze fixating on her breasts. He brought his hand up and squeezed her flesh through her gown.

Her stomach heaved. Rescue seemed hopeless. She’d have to find a way to run or overpower her captors. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat, and she swallowed sharply then coughed.

“Brewer!” Swan yelled. “What’s keeping ye?”

Silence answered him. Swan frowned. “Idiot.”

He took the length of rope that dangled from her hands and looped it securely around the wheel of the coach. “Don’t go spooking the horses, else ye’ll get dragged.” He cackled then smacked his lips against hers before going to the hedgerow.

Philippa spat into the dirt several times. She frantically tried to get her hands free, but her wrists were already raw and bleeding from her efforts in the coach. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. To end up here, like this, after last night. Why had she left Ambrose? She loved him, and surely he felt something for her. She should have demanded he marry her. Marriage to him and whatever that brought was preferable to a life without him.

The hedgerows rustled, and Swan came running from them at full speed. Ambrose followed on his heels. Philippa surged forward. The horses stepped nervously, and Philippa steadied herself.

Swan grabbed one of the horse’s bridles. “Come any closer, and I’ll have them drag ‘er,” he warned.

Ambrose’s gaze swung to Philippa and her position tied to the wheel. Fury and anguish lined his face. “Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”

“How about ye leave now, and I’ll take the lady and go?”

Ambrose bared his teeth menacingly. “When I can no longer draw breath. And maybe not even then.”

A shadow of fear passed over Swan’s features. He tugged the bridle, and the horses stepped again.

Ambrose reached out, but didn’t move. He glanced at her, and she saw stark fear in his eyes.

She stared at him intently. “Ambrose. The horses are from Holborn.” Hopefully he would know what that meant. That as coaching horses bred by England’s finest stable they wouldn’t run. They might dance a bit, but they wouldn’t run unless truly in danger. She would’ve just blurted it out but determined any advantage she could give him would be welcome.

Realization lit Ambrose’s eyes. He pressed his lips together and then he moved. As quick as during last night’s fight. Faster even. His fist drove straight into Swan’s throat. The villain’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground. As expected, the horses moved. Swan had landed beneath one of them, and his arms flailed as his mouth furiously opened and closed in search of air.

One of the horses stepped on his thigh and reared up in response. The coach rolled forward and Philippa’s shoulder and arm dragged along the dirt track. “Ambrose!”

Ambrose grabbed the bridle and stilled the animal. Thank God for his knowledge of horses. He leapt to her side. “Are you all right? He hit you.” His hand stroked the angry weal on her face where Swan had struck her earlier.

She nodded, her eyes swimming with tears. “But nothing else. Oh, Ambrose.” She buried her face in his neck, relief coursing through her veins so that she sagged against him.

He fumbled with the rope on her wrists and after a moment frowned. “This is impossible to untie.”

“He had a knife earlier.”

Ambrose stood. “He dropped it when I came after him.” He ran to the hedgerow and found the blade then quickly returned to saw her free from the rope. His fingers gently stroked her wrists. “Philippa.” He sounded broken, lost.

She brought her hands up to his face and smiled through her tears. “I’m fine.” She glanced toward the hedgerow. “What about the other one?”

“Unconscious on the other side of the hedgerow.”

She shivered, dropping her hands. “Is Swan dead?”

Ambrose turned his head toward Swan who was no longer moving. “I didn’t think. I reacted. He took you from me and meant to rape you.”

His eyes were wild. She felt secure and safe again, but he hadn’t yet found the ground beneath his feet.

“Ambrose, are you all right?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I—” He wiped his hand over his mouth and looked away from her.

She thought maybe she understood. The fear in his eyes, the dread quivering through his frame. She put her hands at the base of his throat and directed him to look at her. “It’s not like Nigel. It’s not the same at all.”

“But
I’m
the same. It was me. I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill Nigel. It was an accident. You have to stop blaming yourself. Please.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Just breathe with me, Ambrose. Let go of this. Let go of Nigel.”

They stood like that for several minutes. His hands loosely wrapped around her back, her arms twined about his neck. She listened to his heart beat against her cheek. It gradually slowed, and she thanked heaven for that.

Finally, his lips brushed her forehead like that long-ago night when he’d taken her home. The night she’d begun to fall in love with him.

Suddenly she couldn’t live another moment without telling him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I love you.” She pulled back to look up at him. There were no guarantees, but he was worth waiting for. Worth
fighting
for. “And I know you don’t want to marry me, but I won’t have anyone else. I want you, and you’re just going to have to—”

His lips found hers and he kissed her softly, gently. “Shhh,” he breathed against her mouth. “Even before I knew that bastard had taken you, I’d decided to come for you. I can’t bear the thought of living without you. My life has been such a misery. I’d forgotten how to live, how to love. If I ever really knew how.” He looked into her eyes. “You are my life, my love, my reason for breathing. Philippa, if you don’t marry me, I’ll simply spend the rest of your life destroying your reputation until you do.”

She kissed him, laughing against his mouth. “I will.”

He slanted his mouth over hers and slipped his tongue past her lips. She kissed him back, squeezing him tightly.

He pulled back after a moment and rested his forehead against hers. “How can you be so certain about me? What if I hurt you?”

That he was finally opening his soul to her filled her heart with joy. “You won’t. You’ll learn to trust yourself as much as I do.”

He shook his head. “How did you ever find a reason to trust me? Even last night when you begged me not to fight, I did it anyway.”

“That wasn’t very fair of me. I didn’t understand. Fighting seemed a way for you to punish yourself, to banish the pain in your heart with physical pain.”

“You understood perfectly.”

“Why you
started
.” She’d thought an awful lot about this during her nightmare carriage ride. Of all the things she would say to him if she ever had the chance. “But after watching you last night, I saw that fighting helped you heal. It was something for you to hold on to. Something that didn’t judge, something that wouldn’t hurt you beyond the physical.”

He held her tight. “You’re an amazing woman.”

She snuggled against his chest. “Just someone who loves you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “What are you going to do about the man behind the hedgerow?”

“I’ll tie him up. Then we’ll take Orpheus back to town and send someone to clean up.” He flicked a glance at Swan and froze.

Philippa turned. Swan’s leg twitched. Ambrose rushed to the downed man and knelt beside him. Philippa followed.

Ambrose touched Swan’s neck for a moment then looked up at her. “He’s alive.”

Philippa felt a surge of relief. Not because Swan hadn’t died, but because now Ambrose didn’t have to live with knowing he’d killed him. A man could only bear so much.

Ambrose fetched the rope and dragged Swan to a tree at the side of the road. Then he went and hefted Brewer to the same tree. When he had them both in sitting positions, he tied them to the trunk. While he worked, Philippa led the horses and coach a short distance to a shaded spot on the opposite side of the road.

Ambrose came to stand beside her. “Now, we can go.”

She took his hand and they walked toward Orpheus. “Thank you for saving me,” she said. “Again.”

He smiled down at her with love shining in his gaze. “It was you who saved me.”

Epilogue