Page 43 of My Secret Duke

O livia stumbled again, and this time, her slipper sank into watery mud. She had not dressed for this, being stolen away by a stranger. The hem of her skirt was already sodden and clinging to her legs as she walked. Even through the sack over her head, she could smell the marsh, a wet, salty smell mixed with rotting vegetation. She was in that dangerous place Ivo spoke of with such fondness. And she could hear the lapping of water. The tide was turning.

Did that make the marsh more dangerous? She thought so. She stumbled again, and this time, her slipper sank deeper. She felt the suck of the mud around her ankle.

Her cries and efforts to free herself brought the man. He reached down and, with a grunt, pulled her foot free, but her slipper remained behind. She stumbled to her knees and stayed there, trying to catch her breath. There were hot tears on her cold cheeks.

“Let me go,” she begged. “Please, let me go.”

“Be calm,” he said. His voice was close beside her, and she felt the press of his hand on top of her head. “You are safe.”

That kindness gave her back her courage. “Why are you doing this?” She tried to steady her voice. “Why do you hate Ivo?”

“He knows why. I told him I was his brother, but he laughed and rejected me. My mother was dead, and I had no one else, but he turned his back. All these years, I’ve sworn to make him pay for his cruelty.”

Olivia hesitated. “I’m sorry. But couldn’t you have made a life somewhere else? My brother was an orphan, but he didn’t seek revenge on whoever had put him in St. Ninian’s.”

She heard him take a deep breath. “You don’t understand,” he said earnestly. “Yes, I did make a life in France for a time. I even married and had a child. But my memories wouldn’t let me be happy. I had no choice but to come back and seek my revenge.”

Olivia knew how grief and hatred could fester over time. Her own mother had been guilty of it. But even she had recovered and made a better life for herself. It seemed to Olivia that this man did not want to forget the wrongs he believed had been done to him. He preferred to wallow in them.

“Northam loves you,” he went on, and chuckled. “I saw you both today. Your bonnet blew away, and he fetched it. The look on his face, ooh la la. He wants you in his bed. I am glad he will never have you. I am glad he will never have any happiness.”

Olivia wondered if she should tell him that it was too late, that she and Ivo were already lovers. Then to her astonishment, she felt the Frenchman untying the rope. When it fell away, he removed the sack from her head. She rubbed her face, taking deep breaths of the salt marsh as she looked about her. He had set the lantern on the ground so that the area around them was visible, but everything else was dark. Water was running near a narrow path, bubbling and gurgling, spreading outward with the tide.

She didn’t want to look at her captor, but she couldn’t help it. He was standing over her, and the light made hollows of his eyes and his cheeks, while wisps of hair had come free and were sticking to his damp face. One eye bored into hers, the other strange and blind.

“I am not a cruel man,” he told her. “I will not take your life with my own hands. The marsh can do it. The tide will cover it soon, and you will sink down into it. Northam will search for your body as long as he lives. Hoping, hoping, and never finding.” His smile chilled Olivia to the bone.

At least she was free now. She could try to get to higher ground and then find her way back to Whitmont once it was light. She could…

He wrenched her hands behind her back, making her cry out. Twisting, she saw that there was a thick post behind her, hammered into the ground, perhaps a marker to show travelers the way. He was already tying her hands to it, the rope biting into her flesh. Satisfied, he gave the bindings a tug, and stepped back to survey her.

Apart from the light of the lantern, there was nothing but darkness in every direction. Water soaked into her skirt where she knelt, swirling around her, and with a gasp, she scrambled to her feet, pressing back against the pole as if it would save her from the rising tide.

“You’re going to leave me here?” she said. “Please. You can’t.”

He pulled a pitying face. “Alas, I can.”

“Then please, leave me the light!”

“Alas, I cannot do that either.”

As she watched in horror, he extinguished the lantern. Now she couldn’t see anything, not even him. As she stood, shivering and afraid, his whisper reached her from the darkness. “Adieu, my lady.”

His steps faded. She heard the sound of waves moving through the deeper channels that crisscrossed the marsh. Louder and louder as the water encroached.

Olivia sank down, her legs no longer holding her up, aware of the appalling situation she was in. He had said he was not a cruel man, but that wasn’t true. He was the worst of men to leave her here to drown. To die.

She twisted from side to side, trying to see something, anything. The water was rising quickly now, and even if she was free, it would be too late to find safety. Where was Whitmont? If she could just see the lights of the house, at least she would know how far she was into the marsh. And then she did see a light.

It winked and faded and then brightened again.

A sob rose up in her throat. “Ivo…” She knew there was no use feeling sorry for herself. If she was ever to see him again, then she had to try to escape and find her way back to him.

But her bindings were tight, and the more she struggled, the more they cut into her skin. The top of the post was high, two feet at least above her head. Could she reach up and bring her bound hands over it to free herself? Struggling up, she stood as tall as possible, and lifted her hands up. It was painful. Her shoulders hurt as if her arms were being pulled out of their sockets.

She tried again and again, but it was no use. Why had he not tied her hands in front of her? But she knew why.

Olivia looked again for the light, and that was when she realized it was raining. A short sharp shower passed by, drenching her, but once the rain was gone, the light was back. She kept her eyes fixed on it as if it was her salvation. Her mind began to go into all sorts of strange places.

Her sisters, and Gabriel. Her grandmother. Ivo—most of all, Ivo.

He would find her, and they would live a long and happy life together. Tears ran down her cheeks, feeling strangely warm against her cold skin. The water was gushing now. It was not just in the channels, but had spilt over onto the marsh itself. She could do nothing but stand there, a sacrifice, as it crept higher and higher. Soon, it was over her knees, and then to her waist.

When she heard the voices, she did not at first believe it. Could it be that the man had changed his mind and decided he could not do it after all? But… it sounded like Ivo! And Charles.

She called out. The water was slapping at her chin now, cold and deadly. Surely fate could not be so cruel as to drown her when help was so close?

Suddenly, they were shouting, and water was splashing up into her mouth and eyes, and Ivo’s beloved face appeared in front of her. His hair was slicked against his head, and water was clinging to his eyelashes, but he was grinning.

“Olivia,” he said, “my love. My sweetheart. I have you. Thank God, I have you.” He looked around, and shouted, “Charles, the knife! Rendall has tied her up.”

Then he had ducked down beneath the water, and she felt the ropes being sawn apart, her hands too cold by now to feel pain. She was free, and he lifted her—the water was up to his shoulders—and began to wade toward Charles, who appeared to be on higher ground. Wet and shaking, she tried to speak, but her teeth were chattering too badly.

“You’re safe now,” Charles told her. Then, urgently, “Ivo, please tell me there’s a way out of here?”

“Follow me.”

Ivo didn’t put her down, he carried her as they walked across the marsh, back to safety. Eyes fixed on Whitmont’s guiding light.