Whirlwind Wedding (34 page)

He heard her crossing the room and he turned around freezing when he found her standing no more than a foot away from him. She appeared equally startled by this sudden nearness, and equally riveted in place. He had only to reach out to touch her . . . to take one step forward to hold her in his arms. His brain ordered him to move away, but his feet remained rooted to the spot as if someone had nailed his shoes to the floor.

He could see every pale gold freckle on her nose, every soot-colored eyelash surrounding her beautiful eyes . . . eyes he didn't want to look into because they'd fooled him too many times. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he immediately recalled the sensation of her soft lips crushed beneath his, parting to accept the thrust of his tongue. Desire slammed into him and he clenched his hands, forcing them not to reach out. Damn it, he had to get out of this room.

"You sleep in the bed," he said, sidestepping around her. "I'm going downstairs for a drink. I'll find somewhere else to sleep."

She flinched, then stared at him. "It is not necessary to flaunt your . . .

sleeping arrangements in my face."

He paused with his hand gripped on the doorknob. "I beg your pardon?"

"Naturally I don't expect you to remain celibate for the remainder of our marital union, but I'd appreciate your discretion."

An emotion he could not decipher glittered in her eyes. He made her an exaggerated formal bow. "I see. Your generous willingness to share me overwhelms me, and should the occasion arise, I shall endeavor to be discreet. However, for tonight it is my intention to sleep in that chair"— he inclined his head toward the wing chair in the corner—"but first I want a brandy."
Or two. Three was not outside the realm of possibility.

He left the room, closing the door behind him, then drew a ragged breath into his lungs.

Bloody hell, he suspected an entire bottle would probably be necessary.

The packet docked in Calais late in the afternoon and Austin and Elizabeth were the first to disembark. He set out to arrange transportation to Marck and immediately realized what an asset Elizabeth was. She conversed in flawless French with the stable owner and ten minutes later they were presented with a handsome curricle pulled by two matched bays. God only knows what would have been brought had
he
been the one to order the transportation.

At once grateful and irked Austin climbed onto the leather seat. Before he could reach down to assist Elizabeth, the stable owner helped her climb onto the seat. Austin noted the admiring warmth in the man's eyes and sizzled a glare at him. Bloody hell, he needed to master the French phrase "stop staring at my wife, you bastard." Clearly unfazed the man merely grinned then sauntered away.

Grabbing the reins, Austin set the curricle in motion and turned his thoughts to the mission that lay ahead. They would arrive in Marck in approximately an hour. If all went well, he'd locate Gaspard and finally get answers to the questions plaguing him—about the blackmail notes and perhaps even William's whereabouts.

They hit a rut in the road and his shoulder bumped Elizabeth's. Stealing a sideways glance at her, he noted that she appeared pale and her hands were clenched. There was no way in hell he was going to bring her along on his meeting with Gaspard. The man was dangerous. He'd have to find an inn at which to leave her. He suspected she wouldn!t like it, but— She grabbed his arm. "Austin."

Turning, he saw genuine fear in her eyes. "What is it?"

"We must hurry."

Alarm edged down his spine at the urgency in her tone. "Why?"

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she shook her head. "I'm not sure. It's not clear. But he's close by. And I know we must hurry." Her face turned chalky pale. "Please. It's a matter of life and death."

Austin nicked the reins, setting the horses off at a gallop.

Elizabeth held on tightly to her seat as the curricle raced down the path.

Fleeting images flashed in her mind, none of them clear, but all of them dark and menacing.

"When we reach the village, I'm leaving you at an inn," Austin said his face tense from concentrating on driving the speeding curricle.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, he reined the horses to a halt. They stopped before a fork in the road. Trees lined both paths. They looked identical.

"Damn it." Austin raked a hand through his hair. "Which way?"

Elizabeth stared alternately at both paths, but felt nothing. "Help me down."

He looked at her for the space of two heartbeats, then jumped to the ground to assist her. The instant her feet touched the ground, she ran to the fork. Drawing a deep breath, she knelt, closed her eyes, then placed her hands on the ground.

Images slashed through her mind and she forced herself to relax, to try to get a clear picture. It took several minutes, but when the vision appeared, it was crystal clear.

And devastating.

She saw herself. Bleeding. Losing consciousness. Dying.

Dear God, what was she going to do? If she told him what she'd seen, he would never allow her to go with him. He would insist upon bringing her to the village—and the time spent doing that would mean they'd be too late.

She knew someone was going to die.

But she also knew that if she went with him, she probably would not come back alive.

Opening her eyes, she stood and turned to face him. "We need to take the left fork."

Austin closed the distance between them in a single stride and grabbed her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I—"

He gave her a hard shake. "Don't lie to me. Your face is deathly white.

You're frightened. What did you see?"

"We must take the left fork. We'll find him there."

"I'm not bringing you—"

"If we don't leave
now,
we'll be too late." She pulled herself from his grasp and ran toward the curricle. "Please. Hurry."

He caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder. "Too late for what?"

She fought the urge to panic. "Someone is going to die. I don't know who.

I only know we're wasting time. Time we don't have." Realizing she needed somehow to reassure him of her safety, she said "I'll remain in the curricle, or I'll hide in the woods. I'll do whatever you think best, but we must go now."

He didn't hesitate any longer. He quickly assisted her, then jumped into the driver's position. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he set the curricle in motion down the left path.

A quarter hour passed before Elizabeth saw it. Grabbing Austin's arm, she pointed. "Look."

He brought the curricle to a halt. In the distance, a thin plume of gray smoke floated above the trees. "Looks like it's from a chimney."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Yes. A stone chimney. It's a cottage." She opened her eyes and looked directly into his. "It's Gaspard's, Austin. He's there."

His face hardened. Without a word, he jumped from the vehicle. When she made a move to follow, he pinned her in place with an icy stare. "Don't move."

Snatching the reins, he led the horses and curricle off the road and into the woods, positioning them so that they were fairly well out of sight, yet facing the road.

He came alongside the vehicle and looked up at her. "You're to remain hidden here. If I haven't returned in an hour, I want you to drive to the village and check into an inn. I'll find you."

Fear gripped her. "Are you mad? I won't leave—"

"You said you would do whatever I asked."

"This man is dangerous."

Steel glinted in his eyes. "So am I."

"He's armed."

"So am I."

Fear turned her skin clammy. Her alarm must have shown on her face, because he reached up his hand to her. Without hesitation she clasped it between both of her own. And prayed.

He squeezed her hand. "I'll be fine, Elizabeth."

She couldn't speak around the dread clutching her throat, so she merely nodded. Withdrawing his hand from between hers, he left, running between the trees toward the plume of smoke.

She pressed her palms together to retain the warmth his skin had left on hers and watched him disappear from view.

I'll be fine, Elizabeth.

"Yes, you will," she whispered. "I intend to see to it."

The instant he was out of sight, she climbed down from the curricle. She had no weapon, but perhaps . . .

Reaching up, she pulled her medical bag from the seat. Opening it, she withdrew a pouch and slipped it into her pocket. If she could get close enough to Gaspard to throw the peppery herb mixture into his eyes, he would be temporarily blinded. It wasn't much, but she couldn't let that stop her. If she didn't act, and act
now,
someone would die.

Drawing a resolute breath, she clutched her medical bag and followed the path Austin had taken into the forest. Her gown hampered her progress over the uneven ground. A thorny vine tangled in her hair, and stars swam before her eyes when she yanked free. Twice she stumbled the second time skinning her palms when she landed hard on the rocky path.

Tears pooled in her eyes at the heat stinging her hands, but without pausing, she pushed herself to her feet and pressed on.

Panting from exertion, she finally caught sight of the cottage in the distance. Fear skittered through her and her skin prickled with apprehension. Pushing her trepidation aside, she moved onward using the trees and the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun to conceal herself, all her thoughts and energies centered on helping Austin.

Where are you, Austin? Dear God, where are you?

And then she heard a woman scream.

*

His heart thudding in heavy beats, he stole closer to the ramshackle cabin until he crouched on the ground directly beneath a window. A deep, muffled voice, obviously male, reached his ears. Rising cautiously, he peered over the window ledge.

He watched in horror as the man he'd been searching for raised his hand and struck a small child across her face. A woman's scream filled the cabin.

The small girl crumpled into a heap on the floor, her hair falling over her face so he could not see how badly she was injured. Gaspard pushed the child aside with his foot as if she were trash and approached the woman.

Austin saw that the woman was bound to a chair. Bruises marred her face, and her dark hair lay matted around her head. She struggled against her bonds, sobbing.

"Bastard!" she screamed. "Keep your hands off her!"

Gaspard turned toward the window and Austin quickly ducked down.

Pressing his back against the cottage, he controlled his breathing, forcing himself to bury his fury and concentrate. He had to get the woman and child out of there. He hadn't wanted to kill Gaspard at least not until after he'd questioned him, but he had to stop him. Slipping his pistol from his pocket, he checked to make sure it was ready to fire.
One shot. I have one
shot to stop this bastard. I cannot miss.

His best chance was to shoot him through the window. He'd remain unseen and be able to line up an accurate shot. That decided, he rose and looked in the window. Gaspard was stuffing a rag in the woman's mouth.

Austin held his pistol in steady hands, waiting for the bastard to move away from the woman.

At that moment, the front door burst open. Gaspard whipped around.

The ground beneath Austin shifted and his heart stopped.

Elizabeth stood in the doorway.

Elizabeth's gaze riveted on the bound woman and the child lying in a heap near the scarred wooden table. The woman was still alive. But the child . . .

Elizabeth's breath stalled. She couldn't see the child's face, but she could make out the faint rise and fall of her shoulders. She was breathing.

Terror and relief collided in her. She wasn't too late. They were still alive.

But for how long?

"Who the hell are you?" Gaspard asked in guttural French. He crossed the room in two angry strides. Slamming the door, he slid the lock into place, then grabbed her upper arms. His fingers bit into her flesh and she couldn't control her gasp as pain shot through her.

Elizabeth looked into his eyes and fear skittered down her back. Pure menace emanated from his gaze. She tried to reach into her pocket for the herbs, but his grip tightened and she feared her bones would break from the intense pressure. Austin was somewhere nearby. She had to stall for time, to keep this madman from killing the woman and child. And herself.

"Answer me," he growled. He shook her so hard her teeth rattled and her medical bag slipped from her grasp. "Who are you?"

She swallowed and forced an outward calm. She simply needed to stall for time. At least Gaspard's attention was focused on her, away from the woman and child.
Hurry, Austin.

"My name is Elizabeth."

His eyes narrowed to slits. "What are you doing here?"

"I. . ." Her words drifted off as a series of images flashed through her mind. She gazed at the bound woman whose terrified eyes pleaded with Elizabeth for help. Turning back to Gaspard she said in an accusing tone, "She's your sister."

An ugly laugh erupted from him. "What do you care?" Releasing one of her arms, he reached behind him. When his hand reappeared he gripped a pistol. He shoved her away from him and she nearly stumbled. "Move closer to the wall," he ordered.

Righting herself, she inched backward her eyes riveted on his weapon.

Heaven help her, she was too far away to use her herbs.

"My sister was about to meet with an untimely demise,
Elizabeth.
Your ill-timed arrival means you'll be joining her."

He pointed the pistol at her heart.

Austin stood outside the window, battling the panic racing through him.

Elizabeth stood directly in front of the window, her back toward him.

Gaspard stood about twelve feet in front of her, a pistol aimed at her.