Page 57 of An Unbending Lady for the Desperate Earl
“I have told you already—yes, I love her. And I do not plan to abandon her until I have been given the chance to tell her that.” Christian steeled his resolve, trying to order his thoughts. “Now, let us think. We discovered the last marker at the entrance to this forest road. The path is now what can only be described as a quagmire, but we must work on the assumption that she continued to leave those pieces of fabric alongthispath.” They had searched up and down the main road for any discarded scraps, but they had found none. Now, the only route remaining was this one, though Christian felt a wave of dread at the prospect of heading deeper into the forest.
“I hope you’re right, My Lord, or we’re going to spend an awful long time going in the wrong direction,” Benedict murmured. “Speaking of which, I’m going to leave a note on this here way-marker, so the Runners know where to find us.”
“You do that,” Christian replied tersely. After so many hours, he had expected the proverbial cavalry to make themselves known. And yet, they hadn’t appeared either, any more than the next breadcrumb in Victoria’s trail. Truly, this entire task was beginning to look hopeless.
I will not be beaten. As long as she is still breathing, there is still hope. And these kidnappers have never suggested that they might kill any of these ladies. I cannot allow my frustrations to get the better of me. Cavalry or no cavalry, I will find her, and we will apprehend the men who have done this.
Feeling slightly more determined, Christian clicked his tongue and set his horse to a walk. He didn’t need to hear negativity right now, regardless of his own growing exasperation. No, even if he had to traverse all of England to find Victoria, he would.
* * *
“Father? Tell me I am mistaken. Tell me it is not you.” Victoria felt as if her heart had been torn out of her chest.
Solomon McCarthy shot up faster than a fellow who’d just sat down on hot coals. “Release her,” he instructed. “Release her and bring her to my office.” He disappeared immediately afterward, apparently unwilling to speak with his daughter in front of his gathered minions—of which there were at least ten. Far more than Victoria had anticipated.
He fled up a set of stairs to what appeared to be a hayloft above. Walls had been constructed to make it a solid structure, complete with ramshackle windows. It perched in a high position, from which her father could observe his domain.
Benson and Castell exchanged a bemused look, with the latter moving to free Victoria from her bindings. Meanwhile, Benson took her by the arm, a little more gently this time, and led her across the barn to the set of stairs where her father had just vanished. There, he ushered her upward.
“We didn’t know you were related to the boss,” he said, a touch shamefaced. “I’d never have treated you so rough, if I’d known. Lord, I’d never have insisted we steal you away, had I known. I thought you were… someone else.”
Victoria’s lips curled into a snarl. “You thought I was Lady Laura, and then you thought I was Miss Longacre. So, in essence, you thought I was nothing but a mere object, who could make you exceedingly wealthy.”
Benson gaped at her. “No, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Victoria shot back. Without another word, she stormed up the stairwell to the makeshift office and strode through the open door. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to do that, knowing a ghost awaited her within.
She paused on the threshold, seeing her father’s figure silhouetted in the haphazard window. “How can it be you, Father?” Her voice shook, as tears threatened. She hadn’t shown her bewilderment in front of the wretches beneath, but she couldn’t hide it now. “You… died. I stood with Mama at your graveside. We… we buried you. I watched them put your casket in the ground. Iwatchedthem!”
He sighed quietly. “Sit down, Victoria.”
“No, I don’t want to sit! I want you to tell me why I watched your casket being put in the ground. I want you to tell me how you can be standing here, when you are supposed to be dead!” She brushed the tears away sharply, feeling foolish.
“It was my only choice, Victoria.” He braced against the window-frame. “I never wanted to be separated from you, or from your mother. I didn’t want to live my life without either of you, but… it was the only way.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Father!” Victoria snapped. “How are you here? How is this possible? I fear my head my burst!”
Her father turned; his expression sad. “As you can see, I didn’t die. However, there came a point where I had no choice but to stage my own death. I needed a way out. I needed to be free from my life as an investigator.”
Victoria’s eyes bulged with anger. “Then you ought to have ceased to be one, as any normal person would! What possible reason could you have had for staging your own death, and putting Mama and I through all that grief?”
“Revenge,” he said simply.
“Excuse me?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Revenge, Victoria.”
“Evidently, I am missing something, because that doesn’t sound like a valid reason for staging your own death, and bringing misery to those you left behind,” Victoria replied sourly, her mind entirely confused.
Solomon walked forward and sat down at the desk set up in the center of the room. A lantern shone there, casting its light on his face, giving Victoria a better view of the features she had once worshipped. He looked older. Much older. His skin was sallow and drawn, with dark circles beneath the black eyes that were so like her own. Clearly, this mysterious revenge missive had taken its toll on him. Even his stature had changed. He was no longer the tall, broad hero that he had once been. Now, he seemed small and thin. Fragile, almost. Or, perhaps, Victoria was the one who had grown stronger.
“Do you recall that final case I was working on, prior to my… my death.” He looked at her unflinchingly.
Victoria frowned. “The prostitutes?”
“Yes, that one.”
How could she forget it? It had been a dire case that had sent tremors through the poorer parts of London. Women being snatched from street corners, never to be seen again. Well, until their broken bodies washed up on the banks of the Thames, barely recognizable. It had gone on for months, with the death toll rising. Indeed, it had sent a similar wave of fear through the poorer districts, to the one now flowing through Mayfair and the ton.
