Charles frowned and attempted to sidestep, but William was there to block his path. He could hear the murmurs coming from everyone present, but he didn’t care; he was out for blood now, and he was damn well going to get it. As it was, his muscles strained and flexed, itching to be put to good use by pummeling the man who stood before him—the man who’d killed Lucy’s parents and terrorized her for six long years. He held up the mask instead. “We found this in your room, Charles.”
Seeing what is was, Charles took a step backward, a look of horror upon his face. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, shaking his head from side to side as if searching for someone to come to his rescue. Nobody would, not when William told them what he’d done. He hadn’t thought it possible to become more enraged, but to his surprise, he did when Charles said, “That’s not mine.”
William could have sworn he saw red, and before he could stop himself, he’d tossed the mask aside, leaned back, and directed a punch at Charles’s face. It landed squarely in the jaw with perfect precision and such force that Charles was knocked backward and onto the floor. William was on him in a second, hitting him wherever an opening allowed, ignoring the gasps of horror that came from the ladies while the men yelled for him to stop. He wouldn’t stop—couldn’t stop—and kept on hitting while Charles writhed from side to side beneath him in a desperate but impossible attempt to get away, his blood already flowing from a gash in his lip, his one eye swollen shut.
It wasn’t until he felt himself yanked backward and upward by strong hands that William’s nerves began to settle. He stumbled a bit, coughed, and looked around at all the shocked faces that were staring back at him while he searched for the one that he needed to see the most…Lucy. “Where is she?” His breath was coming in fast bursts. “Where’s Lucy?”
A murmur rose as everyone looked about, but nobody answered. She must have left—too horrified and stricken by what she’d witnessed, no doubt. He couldn’t blame her, and his eyes shifted toward Charles who was being hauled off the floor by Ryan and Trenton. His temper began to rise once more, and he took a step forward, intent on finishing the man off, but his father stepped between them and took him firmly by his shoulders. “Stop this right now,” he hissed. “You’re all riled up, and it’s clouding your judgment, William. You’re a good agent, but you’ve tossed your reserve and your ability to think because this is personal.”
William had no desire for a lecture at present and tried to shove him aside, but Bryce held fast. “If you kill him, there’ll be hell to pay for you too—better let the constable deal with him when he arrives.”
The constable…?
William nodded his head numbly, acknowledging the truth behind his father’s words. If he killed Charles, he’d probably face a trial himself or perhaps even prison. He doubted he’d hang for killing a murderer, but what if he did? He couldn’t do that to his family. No, the authorities would have to handle the matter instead, and he and Lucy would move on with their lives together. He needed to see her, be with her, talk to her…Where the devil was she?
“I believe Stanton went to tell one of the footmen to fetch him,” Galensbury said, stepping forward to join in the conversation.
“Who?” His father was right. He couldn’t think straight anymore.
“The constable—he said something to that effect before stepping out into the hallway.”
William looked at Charles. His childhood friend was staring back at him in disbelief, as if he failed to comprehend what was going on. Perhaps he didn’t. William blinked as the room began to swim before his eyes. He reached out and grabbed onto Galensbury’s arm, steadying himself while Stanton’s charming smile invaded his mind. A cold sweat descended in a sheen upon his flesh, and a shiver raced down his back. “You’re innocent,” he muttered as his mind cleared, sharpened, and drew on the analytical skills he’d garnered for so long.
Charles nodded, accepting the brandy that was thrust into his hand by Trenton. “And I wouldn’t mind an explanation…or an apology.”
Both would have to wait. With the fear of a man about to lose everything, William raced out the door and ran down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him, the heels of his boots clicking loudly against the floor. He should have trusted his instinct instead of what he’d seen. He should have…Dear God…Lucy. Skidding to a halt in the foyer, he thrust open the front door and hurried down the steps toward the driveway, only to see a horse galloping away with a cloud of dust churning about its legs as it went.
“Saddle my horse!” he yelled to nobody in particular. Precious time had been lost already due to his own stupidity. He had to get moving if he hoped to rescue his wife from the clutches of that devil. He started toward the stable at a run, only to find Ryan keeping pace at his side. “Stanton has Lucy,” he explained, not knowing how much everyone else had managed to piece together. “Tell Papa that I’m going after him.”
“Not bloody likely,” Ryan muttered, his face creased in a grim frown. “I’m going with you.”
“The devil you are,” William almost shouted, reaching the stable door and issuing instructions to the two grooms. “You have a wife and a small child. You’re staying right here and out of harm’s way.”
“I’m a physician, remember? You might need me.”
William was about to object when Trenton appeared in the doorway. He was holding up three saddlebags. “I brought some hastily packed provisions as well as some money. We’ll need it.”
“We?” William looked from one to the other.
Stepping forward, Trenton shoved one of the saddlebags toward him, and he instinctively grabbed it. “You’ll have a hard time stopping us, Summersby, so you may as well accept that we’re tagging along. Your father’s agreed to keep Moorland running in your absence. Alex and Mary will take care of your guests.”
The horses were brought out, and William swung himself up into the saddle, kicking his stallion into a rapid gallop. He’d no intention to wait for anyone, so if Ryan and Trenton meant what they’d said, they’d best hurry, because right now his life had only one purpose, and that was to save Lucy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lucy wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She wanted to lash out and flail Lord Stanton until her fingers started to bleed, but she couldn’t do that either. Her hands were tied behind her back, her mouth gagged so tightly that it almost choked her, and to add to this discomfort, she’d been tossed over the horse’s back so that she lay across it, the front part of the saddle digging painfully against her abdomen—the increasing soreness punctuated with every move the horse made. There was no longer any question as to whether she’d turn black and blue from this but rather how long it would take for her to recover.
The horse veered sideways, and Lucy felt Stanton’s hand on her back, holding her firmly in place so that she wouldn’t fall off, but the movement forced the hard edge of the saddle into her ribs, and she winced. Whatever tears she might have cried were whipped from her eyes by the wind as it gushed past her face. He hadn’t killed her—not yet, anyway—and she began to wonder why. Maybe he had simply elected to do it somewhere with no one around to watch or interfere.
She thought of William and wondered if he had noticed her absence by now. Surely he must have—if he’d stopped pummeling Reinhardt that was. She hadn’t seen more than the first punch, but judging from William’s fearsome expression, Reinhardt would be lucky to walk away with his head still attached to his neck. It was then that Stanton had suggested they fetch the constable. Taking her gently by the arm, he had guided her to the door and quietly asked if she would mind issuing the order to have a horse brought around.
Of course she hadn’t minded—the last thing she wanted was for things to escalate to the point where William would have to face charges as well. But as soon as they’d walked out of the house and the door had closed behind them, Lucy had spotted a horse already saddled and waiting. She’d pondered the matter for only a second before a thick, wadded piece of fabric had been lowered over her mouth, and while she’d fought like a hellion to the best of her abilities, she’d been no match for a man of Stanton’s strength.
At least the rain that had pelted down earlier in the day had now ceased, though the sky remained dark and the air quite chilly. There were deep puddles on the ground, and each time they galloped through one, the water sprayed upward, staining Lucy’s face with its muddied wetness. Closing her eyes against the ground as it rushed by below, she tried to ignore the pain in her torso, the gag that pulled on her jaw threatening to make her cast up her accounts, and the cord that dug against her wrists. It was an impossible feat of course, but at least the thought of William brought some measure of hope. He would come after her; she was certain of it.
It was dark by the time the horse’s movements slowed to a steadier pace, clopping along while Lucy’s head lulled back and forth. And then they finally came to a complete halt, the horse’s breath coming in hard bursts while Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. She felt Stanton move his legs as he shifted position, and then his hands were on her, pulling her up and down onto the sturdy ground below. Her legs buckled, but he kept her upright with a firm grip on her upper arm. “You’re mine now,” he muttered, low in her ear, “and if you try anything stupid, I’ll serve you the same fate as I did your beloved parents. Do you understand?”
The sob that left Lucy’s mouth in response to his threat was muffled by the gag, but she could feel her whole body tremble while her skin prickled with gooseflesh and tears strained against her eyes. Weak from the journey, she submitted and nodded her response. The gag was swiftly removed, and she found herself led forward on hard cobbles, only now realizing that they’d arrived in a town. Her eyes began darting about, searching each building for some sign of where they might be. It was almost impossible to tell without the light of day, but as they kept on walking and rounded a few more corners, a pungent smell of salt water and seaweed filled the air, assaulting her senses.
Her mind whirled as Stanton guided her through the crowd of people and toward a mid-sized vessel. How would William find her? If he’d been close behind in pursuit, he should have reached them by now, which could only mean that he’d lost their trail. She had to find a means by which to signal him if he happened to pass this way, but how? She tried to think, only to find herself distracted by a large, broad-shouldered man with a wiry beard, a bulbous, wide nose, and two beady eyes. His shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing a pair of thick, muscular arms, while his legs reminded her of tree trunks. “Is this the cargo you mentioned?” he asked as he stared her up and down, his lips smacking together as he openly studied her chest.
“Will that be a problem?” Stanton asked, pulling her possessively against himself and hardening his grip.