Page 11 of How to Bewitch a Duke
Stratton hesitated, then nodded. “I will gather my team at once. We will leave no stone unturned.”
Lucian paced the room, his mind racing. He needed Isla. Needed to make sure she was safe, to make sure she knew how much he loved her, how much he regretted pushing her away all those years ago. And now, more than ever, he had to find her before his uncle’s plans could come to fruition.
He did not wait for Stratton to finish his preparations. Lucian turned on his heel and strode to the door. “I will go myself. I’ll start at the places he might be hiding nearby. I know how his mind works, and I doubt he has gone far. He will want to witness my suffering.” His uncle alluded that he would have taken Isla where Lucian would never find her, but he did not believe that. Besides, even if that had been his intentions, he could not have gained much ground in such little time. He would find them, and he would ensure his uncle paid for this treachery once and for all. He had been trying to be kind in letting him live but that had been a mistake.
“Your Grace, I must insist,” Stratton said, moving quickly to intercept him. “You are in no condition to search alone. We will go together. It will be far more effective.”
Lucian met his gaze, his resolve clear. “I will not sit here and wait while Isla is in danger. I won’t lose her again.”
Stratton stepped aside with a reluctant nod. “As you wish, Your Grace. Please allow e some time to assemble a team. I promise we will not waste time.”
Lucian didn’t need another word. He turned sharply; his mind was set. He could not, would not lose Isla. She was his heart, and he would tear the earth apart to find her. As he mounted his horse and rode into the night, the rain began to fall in sheets, as though the heavens themselves wept for what was to come. But Lucian cared for nothing but the woman he loved and the fight to protect her. He would stop at nothing. He would not let his uncle get away with this.
Eight
The storm raged overhead, the heavy clouds blotting out the last vestiges of the fading daylight. The wind howled through the trees, its sharp gusts tugging at their cloaks as Lucian and Stratton rode through the treacherous terrain, their horses’ hooves slipping against the wet earth beneath them. The path had become little more than a muddy trail, but Lucian was beyond caring. His heart was a steady drum of urgency, and all he could think of was Isla—his Isla—held captive, a mere pawn in his uncle’s cruel game.
Stratton rode beside him, his grim face set in determined lines. “We are close, Your Grace,” he said, his voice barely audible above the wind. “I see the signal—there, just beyond the ridge. My men are waiting there.”
Lucian nodded, his breath coming quicker as the scent of wet earth filled his lungs. Every instinct told him they were near. Isla was nearby, and she was in danger. His pulse quickened as they approached a clearing, where the outline of a dilapidated shack emerged from the shadows. The sight of it made his stomach tighten. His uncle would had hidden here, in this forsaken place—it was near enough to Thornridge that he would have known of its existence. It was the only gamekeepers lodging that they had long since stopped using. Isla would be inside there too and likely frightened. Lucian’s hands clenched the reins of his horse, his resolve hardening with each passing second.
Stratton dismounted first, his movements swift as he surveyed the area. “Stay close, Your Grace,” he warned, his tone low. “We must be cautious.”
Lucian gave a single nod. He would not allow his uncle to escape this time. He would do whatever it took to save Isla, to make sure she was safe from the monster who had tried to ruin everything. They crept closer to the shack, the storm’s fury masking their movements. As they approached the door, Lucian could hear muffled voices from inside—his uncle’s harsh tones mixed with Isla’s frightened but determined responses. His chest tightened at the sound of her voice, but he forced himself to remain calm. In one fluid motion, Stratton kicked open the door, and they both rushed inside.
The sight that greeted Lucian was one of chaos. Isla stood near the far corner of the shack, her wrists bound but her posture strong. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and for the briefest of moments, relief flooded her expression before it was replaced with fear. Lucian’s gaze immediately fell on his uncle, Michael Oliver, who stood by the small window with a pistol raised, pointing directly at Isla.
“Stay where you are!” Michael growled, his voice thick with fury and desperation. “No one moves, or she dies.”
Lucian’s blood turned cold at the sight of the weapon, but his resolve hardened. “You will not harm her, uncle. Not now, not ever,” Lucian said, his voice steady despite the terror clawing at his insides. He quickly assessed the situation and came to a decision. If it came to a choice between his own life and Isla’s there was no decision. He would choose her every time.
Michael’s lip curled into a cruel smile. “You’ve always been such a disappointment, Lucian. From the moment of your birth I knew that I would one day ensure your death,” he spat, his finger twitching near the trigger. “I will make sure you regret ever thinking you could take what’s mine.”
The words were like a lash to Lucian’s soul, but he could not hesitate. His uncle had already destroyed enough lives. This ended now. “The dukedom is not yours,” he reminded his uncle. He had to keep his uncle’s attention on him. It was the only way to ensure Isla survived. With a sudden movement, Lucian lunged forward, attempting to disarm his uncle. A fierce struggle ensued, each of them wrestling for control of the gun, the tension between them palpable. The pistol was heavy, unwieldy in Michael’s hands, but Lucian was determined. He had no intention of letting Isla—his Isla—be harmed.
For a moment, they both seemed locked in a deadly embrace, neither giving an inch. The rain was pounding on the roof above them, a constant reminder of the storm raging both outside and in their hearts. Suddenly, the weapon discharged with a loud crack that reverberated in Lucian’s ears. A rush of panic flooded through him as Isla screamed, her voice high-pitched and filled with terror. He thought, for a moment, that she had seen him struck, and his heart stopped. But when he glanced toward her, his worst fears were alleviated.
It was Michael who had been hit. The old man staggered back, his hands clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers as he let out a strangled gasp. The pistol fell from his grasp, clattering to the floor, and with one final, agonized look, he stumbled backward toward the window.
“No!” Michael’s voice was a hoarse whisper, full of rage and disbelief. He reached out for the edge of the window frame, but his grip faltered. And then, with a sickening, helpless cry, Michael Oliver fell. His body tumbled from the window and into the darkness.
“Someone go outside and check on him.” He prayed that his uncle was dead, but he doubted the old man had succumbed to his wounds. Either way he had to make sure that man did not make another escape attempt. Isla’s cries echoed through the room, and Lucian’s heart pounded in his chest. He rushed to her side, cutting the ropes that bound her with trembling hands. As her arms freed, she collapsed into his embrace, her body shaking with relief and shock. “Isla,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”
She buried her face in his chest, her breath ragged and uneven. “Lucian… I thought I had lost you. I thought…” Her voice trailed off, too overcome to speak.
Lucian held her tightly, his own relief flooding over him. He had saved her. But the cost had been high. He looked toward the open window where Michael had fallen. The darkness outside seemed to hold an eerie silence, the only sound the rain as it continued to pour in sheets.
Isla pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “What happened? Where is he?” Her gaze flickered to the window where Michael had fallen.
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “He’s gone—he fell through the window,” he said quietly. “He won’t hurt you ever again.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Isla’s eyes locked with his, and Lucian’s heart swelled with something more than relief—it was love. The love he had been denying for so long. It had always been there, deep within him, and now it was undeniable. Lucian cupped her face gently in his hands. “I will never leave you again, Isla. Never.”
Tears spilled from her eyes, and she nodded, her lips trembling as she whispered, “I love you, Lucian.”
And in that moment, with everything that had happened between them—the pain, the betrayal, the heartache—they both knew that they had found their way back to each other. Against all odds, they would have their happiness. Together. He would never let her go again.
The journey from the derelict gamekeeper’s cottage to Thornridge Hall was a quiet one. Lucian had insisted on escorting Isla back to the safety of his estate, where the shadows of her recent ordeal could be replaced with the warmth of his protection and love. The ride had seemed far too long, and though Isla’s body had been exhausted, her mind raced with the events of the past hours. Lucian had held her close, his arm never leaving her side. She could feel the strength in his embrace, but more than that, she could feel the love he held for her—the same love she had spent years trying to suppress, only for it to grow stronger, more undeniable, with each passing moment.
