Page 72 of A Widow for the Earl
“Her driver came to us early this morning,” Duncan replied, sweeping a stressed hand through his hair. “He said that Beatrice asked to be let out by the chapel and told him to continue on to the house. He did, though he stayed in the driveway to ensure she returned safely.
“It was before dawn, perhaps four o’clock in the morning. He thought nothing of it, for she visited the chapel often, at all hoursof the day and night.” He took a breath. “Ten minutes or so, after he had left her, he heard her scream. He was already turning the carriage around, heading for her, when he saw her run out onto the driveway. She was being pursued.”
Vincent realized he had stopped breathing.
“A man caught her,” Duncan continued. “He dragged her to his horse and rode off with her. The driver gave chase, following her—by all accounts—for many, many miles. I suspect he would have followed to the ends of the earth, but the kidnapper crossed a river, and the driver could not pursue any further. The carriage would not have made it, according to him, and I believe him.”
Vincent heard everything that Duncan said as if the man possessed a thousand voices, all screaming directly into his skull. He thought of how scared she must be, long before he considered who might have done this. He thought of what the kidnapper meant to do with her, and his blood began to boil, simmering with the heat of pure panic.
I cannot lose her. I cannot.
He cursed himself inwardly for ever leaving her side. All this time, he had been so focused on his duty to his family that he had not realized he had been given another duty: to make sure no harm ever befell the woman he loved. He had been too stubborn to confess; instead, abandoning her becausehewas afraid of loving her, afraid for what it might mean for his own life.
Now, he could not have cared less if her cursedidkill him. At least he would have had the chance to love her, and maybe be loved by her in return.
“But the driver did manage to see who took her,” Duncan concluded, wearing the same deadly expression that Vincent had no doubt was upon his face too.
Vincent clenched his free hand into a fist. “Who?”
“I will tell you once we are on our way,” Duncan replied. “There is no time to waste; she is already hours ahead of us, but I came here first because I hoped you would help. You have connections and, whether you like it or not, she is your responsibility.”
Julianna raised her hand, frowning. “We are not talking about BeatriceJohnson,are we?”
“Yes,” Vincent replied to Duncan, his heart thundering, “she is my responsibility. I should never have left her there alone.”
AndwhenI find you, my love, I will never leave you alone again.
“If I do not find her, Valery will never forgive me,” Duncan said, as if Vincent needed any further motivation.
Vincent nodded, setting down his brandy glass. “Never mind your wife.Iwill never forgive myself.”
He took off running, not bothering to cut through the house but making his way around the outside of the manor. He did not stop until he reached the stables, saddling his horse faster than he had ever saddled a horse before.
I am coming to you, Beatrice. Just… stay alive until then, I beg of you.
It did not take long until he was riding out to the driveway, where Duncan was waiting for him, sat astride his dark stallion. They did not even speak, just giving a nod to one another, as they urged their horses into a gallop, kicking up a cloud of dust as they hurtled off in search of Beatrice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Beatrice’s eyes fluttered awake to the cheery babble of fast-moving water and the gentle hum of someone singing. Her nose caught the mouthwatering scent of something cooking, but no sooner had she sniffed than her stomach lurched, nauseated.
A moment later, as the rest of her awakened, she was hit with every ache and pain at once. Her head throbbed violently, her vision blurring as she attempted to take a look at her surroundings. She saw rafters and the scaffold of a four-poster bed without a canopy, felt the softness of pillows underneath her tender skull. But there was no real comfort from the feather-stuffed mattress she lay on, her ribs pulsing as if her heartbeat was leaking through the gaps.
What happened to me?
Wincing, and squeezing her eyes shut against the cresting wave of pain that assaulted her eye sockets, she heaved herself up into a sitting position.
Immediate regret followed, as a rush of nausea rose up her throat. With it, a torrent of memories, reminding her of what had happened.
I tried to fight him, but he stole me away.
Was this his lair? She might have expected a dungeon or a crypt or an attic somewhere, where no one would be able to find her, but there was bright morning light coming through a window somewhere. And there was, of course, the comfortable bed she now sat upon.
“Trixie!” a familiar voice gasped. “Thank goodness, you are awake.”
She squinted at the figure who appeared at her side, instantly relieved.
“Freddie…” she croaked, mustering a weak smile.
