Page 69 of The Duchess and the Beast
“What?” He dropped onto his haunches and grabbed Lucy by the arms, shaking her. “What is it?”
“One of the gardeners saw her last. She was strolling through the gardens alone, he claimed. He saw her making her way around the narrow path in the gardens leading to the western side of the castle, but lost sight of her before she returned.”
“The western side of the castle…?” He pictured the path that skirted that portion of the grounds. It ran between the keep and the walls that surrounded the estate, a perfectly safe place to venture even if one was alone. That was until he remembered something else.
Sebastian released Lucy’s arms and staggered back, collapsing onto the staircase as the foyer seemed to tilt and whirl around him. The ceiling appeared to drop, and the stairs seemed to fall away beneath him. In that moment, the world itself seemed to crumble into oblivion, engulfing him in a darkness as profound as the sea.
“There is a gate down that side of the grounds…” he said, almost to himself, as if in a dream. Or worse, a nightmare. “One that leads away from the lands.”
“I know, Your Grace! And… and…” The maid stammered uncontrollably, no need to finish her thought because Sebastian knew what she was going to say.
“It was open…” he whispered, the words escaping him like a sigh of despair.
“It was open!” she cried. “We searched beyond the gate, but Virtue is nowhere to be found! She has disappeared!”
It was impossible to imagine. Incomprehensible to fathom. Beyond anything that Sebastian might have considered. Yes, he worried for Virtue’s safety. And yes, he hadn’t wanted to leave her because he thought the sickness might take her again and he wouldn’t be there to help. But this?! Nothing could have prepared him for it and thus he had no idea what to say, do, or think.
His wife, his love, his very soul had been taken from him and he hadn’t been there to stop it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sebastian rode like the furies. Like the hounds of war unleashed from their cages. Like a tempest sweeping through a valley, relentless and fearsome, a force that left chaos in its wake, devastating to whoever found themselves unlucky enough to cross its path. Blood pumped in his ears, through his veins, into his hands which gripped the reins so tight that his palms were bleeding. Even his ankles felt bruised from kicking the side of his stallion, spurring it to gallop faster. In that moment, nothing in the world could halt his charge, nor would any dare to try.
It took him all of three minutes for the full scope of the calamity to dawn on him.
Once he came back into himself. Once he was able to calm a weeping Lucy and puzzle out the rest of the story. Once he confirmed that his wife, Virtue, had indeed been abducted—everything else snapped into place with chilling clarity.
He did not bother with informing Albion as to where he was headed. He did not feel the need to stop and reason out a plan of action. There would be no plan required. No plotting. No negotiation. No wondering if there might be a calmer, more measured approach. Today, Sebastian was going to draw blood and he would not rest until his wife was safe and her abductor lay dead at his feet.
Before he thundered away from his estate to saddle the swiftest horse in his stable, there was one important stop that Sebastian was sure to make. A crucial detour to his old drawing room. There, in a chest tucked under some loose stone that had remained locked for a decade, lay his old military uniform, mementos of past battles he had been unwilling to part with, and most crucially, his saber and pistol.
The Royal Butcherhad returned.
His destination was ordinarily a forty-minute ride from Greystone. Which he covered in less than fifteen. The target was a little more than a farmhouse, albeit larger and grander in design. Two stories tall, made from stone and mortar as opposed to timber, large enough to house an entire family and their servants. It sat on vast tracts of land, green pastures, and meadows that Sebastian reached long before he spied the house. Sheep were flocked in droves as far as the eye could see, and many glanced up curiously as he rode the lanes through the meadows, his stare hardened and set for the end of the way.
This was a house he had never visited before, yet he knew its owner all too well. He wished he did not. He wished that he hadnever needed to hear that name before. But that simply was not the case. Could never be the case.
And what he wished for most, was that he had acted sooner. That gnawing regret of inaction plagued him. He remembered the day the man had appeared uninvited at Greystone, his attention towards Virtue far too keen. Sebastian had restrained himself then, determined not to succumb to the darker impulses that beckoned him. He had made a vow to avoid the path of the monster he feared becoming—for his wife's sake more than anything. He had tried to bury those violent instincts, to ignore them, hoping they would fade. But now, faced with this all too real crisis, the beast within clamored for release, ravenous for vengeance.
Amidst his fury, Sebastian clung to a sliver of hope that Virtue was unharmed, though he dared not let his hopes soar too high. The sequence of events—unanswered love letters, a botched poisoning borne of spite, and now this desperate act of abduction—was a clear escalation by a man scorned, one who had seized the opportunity when he knew Sebastian would be away...
That was the sharp sting of guilt that pierced Sebastian’s heart most painfully. That he was not present. He had promised Virtue never to leave her side again. Sworn to protect her, yet in his absence, he had only failed her once more. And now… now he feared it might be too late.
It might have been wise to approach the house with caution. To stealthily make his way without alerting its owner of hispresence—especially given that Virtue’s safety was at stake, and startling her captor could provoke reckless action. However, wisdom was far from Sebastian’s mind, consumed as it was by raw, unfiltered rage. He charged toward the house, dismounting his stallion with such force that the earth gave way beneath his feet.
“Prescott!” he bellowed as his boots thrashed against the dirt, his voice thundering across the quiet of the meadow. “Prescott!”
The saber drew from its sheath with a swift, smooth motion, a feeling that beheld a grim familiarity. With the hilt tucked firmly in his right palm, Sebastian strode to the small door of the farmhouse. It was just as he reached the door that it drew open, which had Sebastian thrusting his boot against it, sending it slamming back against the man on the other side.
His leg crunched into the wood before he heaved it back. Then, he surged forward, stepping into the house and leveling his saber at the figure now lying sprawled on the floor before him.
“Where is she?!” Sebastian roared, the point of his blade at Prescott’s throat.
Lord Prescott met Sebastian’s furious gaze with fear and surprise. “Your Grace! Wh—what are you—”
“Where is she?!” Sebastian’s voice boomed again, his blade drawing back just enough to allow him to drive the heel of his boot into Prescott’s face. The sickening crunch of a nosebreaking and Prescott's ensuing cries of pain filled the room. “Where. Is. She.”
“Where is who?!” Lord Prescott pawed at his bleeding face.