Page 48

F ueled with rage, Patrick galloped beside Stephen down the dark road.

“There,” he said as he saw the sign. Slowing, he moved closer and saw the word Barton .

Turning into the drive, they walked up it. Taking the right-hand fork before they reached the stone house, they found the stables.

Silently, both men dismounted and tethered their horses. Moving into the stables, Patrick heard voices.

“The women have gone, and Turner and Neville said they weren’t hanging around now that he’s badly injured. The nob says he’ll pay us to find the girls, but I say we get out of here, too, because Spode won’t make it is my guess.”

“We ain’t been paid yet.”

Patrick walked into the room with his pistol. “Get on your knees.”

They made quick work of tying the men up and gagging them. After checking the stables for more men, they moved to the house through the trees.

The front door stood open, and a carriage was outside.

“My bet is Dutton is getting ready to flee,” Stephen whispered in Patrick’s ear.

He nodded. That was exactly what that rodent would do. They couldn’t take the risk of Dutton leaving if they looked for a rear entrance to the house, so Patrick moved to the shadows beside it. Pistol still raised, he walked to the steps and then silently up.

Looking in the door, he saw it was empty and stepped inside.

“We can’t just leave him, my lord!”

Those words came from upstairs. Patrick started climbing with Stephen on his heels.

“I care nothing for him, only getting away from here before that bitch alerts the authorities. Besides, he will not last the night.”

Dutton.

“We don’t know when the women left, my lord. We could have hours.”

“I will not take any chances. We’ll go to France. I’ll be safe there,” Dutton said, panic clear in his voice. “Then plan once more what is to be done.”

Moving slowly through the rooms, Patrick opened the first and saw a man lying on the bed. Reaching him, he found Jack Spode.

“Help me.” The words were weak as he looked up at him, and Patrick saw the pool of blood on the bed.

Stephen moved closer and studied the man. “He’s dying.”

As if he’d willed it, Jack Spode drew in a shaky breath, and then his eyes closed. Seconds later, he stopped breathing.

“It’s done. Come, we need to get to Dutton,” Stephen said. “Now, before he gets in his carriage.”

They heard footsteps on the stairs then and ran out. Dutton was leaving. Patrick ran down, taking them two at a time. Reaching the bottom, he ran to the door to see Dutton reach his carriage.

“Going somewhere, you sniveling weasel?”

If he hadn’t been so angry, Patrick would have laughed at the high-pitched squeal that came out of the man’s mouth as he turned to look at them. Seeing who stood there, Dutton dove into his carriage.

“Idiot,” Stephen muttered as Patrick ran.

Reaching the carriage, he stood in the doorway and looked at the cowering nobleman.

“I am going to rip your head from your shoulders for what you did to my wife!” Patrick bellowed, finally finding an outlet for his rage. Grabbing the man’s arm, he hauled him out.

“It wasn’t—” Patrick didn’t let him finish that sentence. His fist connected with his jaw, sending him to the ground.

“I-it w-was Spode!” Myles shrieked as Patrick lifted him to his feet once more, this time to shake him and hurl him through the air so he landed in the fountain, which was filled with rancid, dirty water.

“You lying bastard!” Patrick roared.

“No more, Colt,” Stephen said as he reached into the fountain to grab Dutton.

He then pried Patrick’s fingers from around the man’s neck.

“If you kill him, you will need to flee the country. He’s not worth it.

Besides, I want to ruin him in the eyes of society and know he’s spending the rest of his life behind bars. ”

Patrick walked away, drawing in deep breaths to remove the red haze from his eyes. Had Stephen not stepped in, he would have killed Dutton with his bare hands and enjoyed doing it. Sophie had done that to him—made him feel emotions he had previously kept deep inside.

“Find a room and lock him in it tied to something. We’ll get the magistrate to come for him,” Patrick added as Stephen pulled Dutton out of the water. “Much as I want to finish him, you’re right. He will suffer more if we strip him of everything he loves most.”

Stephen pulled Dutton’s hands behind his back.

“I know your wife was a servant, Coulter!” the man cried.

“And I know you consorted with a criminal, Dutton,” Patrick said, moving to stand before him. “A dangerous man who has killed, robbed, and maimed. Many have been trying to catch him, Dutton.”

“I should have been the Earl of Monmouth,” the man whispered through swollen lips. “It should all have been mine.”

“And now you will live out your days in hell knowing Timothy will have everything you do not,” Stephen added.

“I know it was you who spread that rumor about her past, Dutton, and I will ensure the next rumor has your name attached to it,” Patrick said.

“Well,” Stephen said, dragging Dutton toward the house, “I think it would be in your best interest to keep your mouth shut now. Don’t you?”

They heard the clop of hooves and turned to find the carriage rolling away.

“Let him go. He’s nothing to us,” Stephen said when Patrick reached for his gun. “If he had to work for Dutton, I’d say he deserves a nice carriage and horses.”

They secured the man in a room and tied him to a bed. Ignoring his pleading attempts, they then shut and locked the door. Within minutes, Patrick and Stephen were on their way back to the inn.

When they arrived, the innkeeper was awake and met them at the door after they’d stabled their horses.

Patrick wrote a note to be delivered to the nearest magistrate and then went up to the room.

Sophie opened her eyes as he entered and got out of bed.

He pulled her into his body, crushing her in a hug.

“You’re safe,” she whispered.

“I am. Will you come with me to the next room?”

She nodded, and they left Amelia snuffling softly.

“But where is Stephen?” Sophie asked.

“Sleeping in the stables. That man can sleep anywhere.”

He closed the door behind them to the next room and then led her to the bed.

“What happened?” Sophie asked him when he’d stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

“We left Dutton and the other men secured in the place you were taken to. He was attempting to flee.”

Patrick washed quickly, exhaustion dogging his every move now that Sophie was safe. He felt like he’d been awake for days.

“And Jack Spode?” she asked.

“He is also locked in a room, awaiting the magistrate.”

He saw the relief in her eyes that he hadn’t died at her hand, and was glad he hadn’t told her the man was dead. It was a truth he would never share.

Pulling off his boots, he climbed into bed in his breeches.

“Come here, Sophie. I need to hold you now for a few hours, and only then will I believe you are actually safe.”

She lay down and put her head on his chest.

“I need you to know that I would not have stopped until I found you, my love. That you are my life now.” Patrick kissed the top of her head. “Do you understand that there will never be another for me?”

“As there will never be another for me,” she whispered.