What the Marquess Sees (31 page)

For Dansbury, the cool air served to refresh his mind.

And made him doubt his choices for the first time in his life.

He looked to his right. Lady Beatryce rode next to him. Keeping pace. Of course. She was a sight to behold, so strong riding bent forward astride her borrowed stallion. Confident even. Completely unafraid.

The problem lay with him. For the first time ever, he questioned the wisdom in putting someone he…possibly…lo…well, someone inexperienced…someone he mildly cared about…in the line of fire. What if something happened to her?

He pulled up on his reins suddenly and rubbed his chest where an ache appeared out of nowhere.

Bea and Ambrose followed suit.

“Something amiss?” called out Ambrose.

“Er…No.”

Both Bea and Ambrose looked at him strangely. Yes, he was behaving oddly. He knew it and couldn’t help it.

He looked at Bea, and was lost there for a few minutes.

He looked back to Ambrose who rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and threw him an “I told you so” smirk.

Damn him.

Damn them both.

“Bea…” He hesitated, knowing this wouldn’t go over well with her. “Er…Bea? Perhaps, it’d be best…” She started to scowl. Yea, not well at all. “…if you went back to the house. To…”

He never finished. She nudged her horse with her knees and took off.

Damn.

Ambrose laughed.

“Oh, stuff it.” He’d never been so at a loss for words. So concerned for another. Despite his past.

Ambrose just threw his head back and laughed some more.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, it’s very funny. You should see the bewildered look on your face. I wish I could sketch it. I’ve never seen the like. On you, at least. I’ve seen it on others though, usually when a man realizes he might be in l…”

“Don’t say it.”

“We’d better move. She’s fast; we might never catch up.”

That did it. Dansbury kneed his horse and they took off at top speed. He sensed his very future lay before him. He chased it down.

*

Her thirst for vengeance sprang forth out of nowhere. But when it arrived, it seized ahold of her and refused to let go. Bea embraced it wholeheartedly.

That man, Edward, had raped her. Raped her. She had only been a child…a veritable babe lost to a hard dose of reality far too soon. She didn’t even realize she still harbored such durable resentment.

So she was relieved when Cliff had slowed to a stop. It gave her the opportunity to get ahead of him. To get to the madman first.

She wanted revenge against the man who took her.

She wanted to protect Cliff from making a mistake that might haunt him forever. The man was his brother, for crying out loud.

Let him be angry at her. Not his kin.

So while D was lost in hesitation, she took off at break neck speed. She didn’t give either man a clue as to her purpose.

And they wouldn’t catch her. She rode Bloomfield Park’s fastest horse. She’d made sure of that ahead of time. In addition, she was lighter than either man.

They didn’t stand a chance. And they had no understanding of her intentions, so they didn’t try to run her down as they would if they knew her plans.

She arrived a few hundred yards from the cottage and dismounted right away. She did not look back, but she knew from the quiet that she was far ahead of Cliff and Stonebridge. She had enough time. Just. Provided she hurried.

She walked up the dirt path to the hut and walked inside without preamble. Without a single moment of hesitation.

“Welcome, Lady Beatryce. So nice to see you again.”

Edward sat in a chair behind the room’s lone table; his hands folded on the surface in front of him. Various items lay about him, all set out with exacting precision. Candles were set out everywhere, all lit. It brightened the room considerably for it was near dark outside. It was as if he’d known they were coming.

She suppressed a shiver that threatened to make her question her resolve. She placed her hands on her hips and looked him in the eye. “I cannot return the sentiment.”

Ugh. This man. The man who had haunted her dreams for years simply nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“Then what brings you to my humble accommodations?” He waved his hand about the room. “I cannot imagine you are here to renew our previous acquaintance, are you not?”

She tapped her finger to her chin as if thinking about that. “Huh. Well, you do have some sense, I’ll give you that.” She let the sarcasm ooze from her lips. The man disgusted her. She didn’t even try to hide her feelings on the matter.

Edward’s smile said ‘I’m humoring you.’ Oh, she couldn’t wait to see it fall from his face.

“I see. Well, please, my lady. Enlighten me so that I might understand; I’m only a simple man, you know.” He was toying with her. That was fine. She was toying with him, too. She had a few minutes to spare.

She turned and walked the perimeter of the room. Making him wait. She ran her hands along the lone windowsill. No dust. She noted the bed, perfectly made. She allowed her hand to catch the top edge of the quilt and pulled it slightly out of place. She thought she could hear Edward grinding his teeth, and had to force herself to suppress a giggle. She perused the small alcove making up a rustic kitchen. Clean as a freshly minted silver penny.

Finally, she turned to face him once more.

And pointed her pocket pistol directly at his heart.

“It’s quite simple really. I’m here to kill you.”

His answer was a smile. Perhaps a hint of admiration, but she could still see the madness hovering around the edges of his visage. He thought he was confident.

She was more so.

He clapped. Slow and steady. Yet she didn’t allow him to threaten her resolve.

“You surprise me, Lady Beatryce. I hadn’t realized you were so…tenacious? Willing? Strong? You’ve grown up, little girl.”

“You’d be surprised by how much.”

“But can you live with yourself if you take my life?”

“Without question.”

Her quick response must have shaken his confidence. A hint of fear began to drift about him.

“I see.”

She smiled. “Any final words you’d like to impart? Words of wisdom? Tales of who’s behind all this?”

He laughed. “Ah, you think I’ll tell you about Himself? The man is nothing. He is next on my list to die.”

“Well, that is a shame. Since you aren’t leaving this place alive.”

A moment of shock crossed his features. He tried to hide it, tried to act like he wasn’t even the tiniest bit concerned. She could see his mind working…looking for a way to distract her or stall her.

“My brother won’t be happy with you, should you kill me. They’ll want to question me. Discover what I know.”

“You are right. And for that reason, I’ve considered just detaining you here until they arrive.”

He looked marginally relieved by this. “Of course, they’re on their way, aren’t they?”

“Imminently. In fact, I am running out of time to decide whether or not I should leave you to them or go ahead and take my revenge.”

He jerked his head just before he reached for his gun.

He was fast.

But not quite fast enough.

Bang.

Bang.

Two shots fired, almost simultaneously. Hers hit the mark. She saw the very life leave his eyes. Just as Dansbury bolted through the door.

She turned to look at him. His face was frozen in terror. And it felt like he was moving further away rather than racing towards her. How was that possible?

He yelled her name. She could see it was so as he reached for her. She saw his lips form the words. But his voice sounded muffled and distant.

It was the last thing she remembered before she fell to the floor.

“Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.”

―George Eliot

Bloomfield Park…

Day Two of a Different Sort of Torture…

He was altered, forever changed. He had known nothing before that moment…nothing of true pain; true horror…until Bea had fallen to the floor, her life’s blood blooming across the breadth of her shirt…every expanded inch of the ever-widening circle of red another dagger to his heart.

And since that unforgettable moment, he was living a nightmare. One that felt as if it might never end.

It had to end.

Cliff leaned back in his chair beside the bed and dragged his hand through his hair and down his face as he took in a deep breath; as he’d done a thousand times in as many minutes. His action momentarily dried the tears that seemed destined to fall from his eyes for an eternity, a slow and steady stream of remorse and fear…and love…in liquid form.

Bea’d been shot in the shoulder. She’d live. Of course she would.

She must, dammit!

His head knew that; his heart feared it all a wicked lie…fate laughing over his shoulder, punishing him for every misdeed or spiteful thought aimed in Bea’s direction.

Why, oh why had he even considered putting her at risk like that? How could he not have realized the danger? Hadn’t he been through this sort of thing before?

Sure. Of course. But not like this.

Yes, he’d spent many hours atoning for his sins…for the lives of the people he’d placed in harm’s way. Many hard hours that would never come close to making up for the heartache and pain caused by his actions in service to the Crown.

Yes, it was a risk they all knew in advance. And accepted. However, that knowledge never made it easier to face the aftermath when things went awry. And things eventually did go wrong. When it did, it threatened his very sanity every single time and was the reason he normally had such control over his emotions. The alternative was chaos. Bedlam.

Usually.

But this was different.

He hadn’t loved the others like he loved her.

Yes. The realization made his heart sing. He loved her! Lady Beatryce—who would have ever thought it? Oh, God, did he ever lover her! She kept him grounded, strong. She wasn’t afraid to tell him when he was acting the fool or just plain wrong. She was practical and fearless and reasonably selfless despite all outward appearances to the contrary. She was willing to give up money, servants, prestige—everything—all for the safety of her sisters, who would never know the truth. The very definition of honorable—doing for others without any desire or hope for acknowledgement or returned favor. Many would do better to be half so decent.

She stood up to him. She wasn’t afraid to disagree…Hell, she completed him. In every single way.

Every breath he took was for her. Without her…

He swallowed, though it was difficult to do so given the boulder-sized lump in his throat. No. He couldn’t travel that path.

She would live, dammit!

He pulled at his hair, again, in frustration and misery. Then reached for her hand and leaned forward in his chair beside her bed. Placing his head on the back of her hand where he lay it on the bed near him, he prayed. And he never let go. He hated to break their connection, even for a moment.

Her hand was burning hot.

He looked up, though, when he heard a soft moan…His eyes automatically sought out her face. She was too wan. Too thin.

She started to twist and turn in her sick bed…again; the fever had yet to abate. He jumped into action though panic all but threatened to immobilize him. He forced his limbs to move across the room to the table that held a basin of water and squares of soft linen.

“I need more water,” he yelled as he dipped the downy cloths into what little he had remaining.

He took the bowl with him and climbed on the bed next to her to bathe her, trying desperately to cool her overheated body.

He crooned soft words and sung sweet endearments while he wrestled to keep her alive. He fought with a desperation he’d never known.

“Bea, sweet, you must come back to me. I cannot…” He swallowed hard. “Love…I see you now. I see you; the real you you’ve kept hidden from the world. The real you who would sacrifice her life for her sisters even knowing they’d never realize it. The real you who would leave behind a life of ease to keep them safe even knowing they’d think you’d abandoned them. The real you who would do whatever it took to survive, even distasteful things that would cower a lesser man.”

Desperation threatened to seize control; his voice became threadbare and worn. “Bea…I need you to…well, dammit, who else am I going to tickle at night? Who else am I going to admire in snug breeches? Who else am I going to tease? What other woman could ever be as strong? Could ever compare? You were made for me…just me. You are wonderful…”

He froze. Had she made a sound? He looked up and saw her eyes were open. She was still fevered, her eyes too bright. But she smiled when their eyes met and it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

His heart felt as if it expanded in his chest to double its size.

He leaned in close. “What is it, dove? What are you trying to say?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I won’t die, you blockhead.”

Despite his fears, he smiled—a wide grin pulled from the very depths of his soul. Yes. That was her, his Bea. Confident despite the seriousness of her condition.

His tears renewed their outward flow.

She spoke again. “It’s about time you saw me, you fool.”

He laughed. Yea, she’d live. Like him, she was too stubborn to leave this world too soon.

“I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.”

―Charles Dickens, The Mystery of Edwin Drood

Bloomfield Park…

Beatryce’s Room…

One Week Later…

“Now that I know you will live, I could kill you for what you did.”

Beatryce merely laughed. She was pretty much out of harm’s way; her strength nearly returned. She was strong, his love. A fighter.