Page 13 of The Taming of the Countess

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

F rom the moment he’d left Penford, James felt uneasy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d taken the note Dunwood had sent and studied the letter. Although he supposed it was only idle threats, there was something that unnerved him.

They had travelled south in the morning, but with every mile, his sense of unrest deepened. Though logically he knew Evie was safe, he wanted to turn around and return to her. One moment, he thought he could distance himself and lead his own life. Then the next, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He remembered the smell of her skin, the hint of soap and rose. Even now, he remembered her pressed close to him, her soft curves against the hard planes of his body. Her innocent touch had only kindled a fierce need.

Last night, he had told her about his nightmares of India, revealing the truth he’d hidden for so long. He hadn’t known what she would say or believe about him. He’d lived with his own self-hatred for so long, it seemed that she should feel the same way, too. And why not? He deserved the shame he’d earned.

He’d allowed himself to become complacent, to wait for someone else to rescue them. And only the little girl’s torment had spurred him to act. It sickened him that he’d been so passive, he’d allowed this to happen. A part of him believed that Evie would view him with the same disappointment.

Instead, she’d held him, offering her own compassion. He’d slept through the night beside her without waking, for the first time in as long as he could remember. Rather than being horrified at his story, she had been steadfast. And somehow, it had lightened the guilt that he’d carried.

He studied the threat from Dunwood again, still wondering what it was that seemed strange about the note. It wasn’t the words themselves—they were only empty threats and promises.

Part of him wondered if he was overreacting by taking this long journey to London. But the more he thought of it, the more he recognised that he couldn’t stand aside and pretend as if Evie wasn’t in danger. He couldn’t ignore the parallels of his captivity in India. He hadn’t acted then until it was nearly too late, and Matthew had suffered for it. James had no intention of making the same mistake with his wife.

He needed Dunwood to understand that any threats towards Evie would be answered swiftly and with severe consequences. And if that meant travelling for days, so be it.

But when he studied the letter, he suddenly noticed the postmark. The letter hadn’t been posted from London.

Though he didn’t recognise the marking, it occurred to him that there had been enough time for Dunwood to travel north. Perhaps the note wasn’t a demand for money, but a means of luring him away from Penford. Although it was improbable, James couldn’t dispel the possibility that the man might travel to the estate. And if he did, Evie was alone and unguarded.

James rapped on the door of his coach and alerted his coachman to stop. He opened the door and went to speak with the driver. Holding out the letter, he asked, ‘Do you know where this was postmarked from?’

The driver studied the stamp. ‘It looks like Barnsley, my lord.’

A chill caught him, for Barnsley was just over a day’s ride from Penford. An inner sense warned him that Evie could be in danger. He’d mistakenly believed that the worst of the danger was in London—but this letter seemed to prove otherwise.

What if Dunwood had already travelled north to gain the element of surprise?

‘We need to go back,’ he told the coachman. He couldn’t risk Evie being attacked a second time. Not if he could do something to stop it.

Dunwood’s pride had been wounded, and he’d been injured by the gunfire. Although an initial bribe had convinced him to drop the charges against Evie, if he was still sending threats, then he clearly wanted to punish her. And James refused to let that happen.

A sudden clarity flooded through him. Evie was his wife, the woman he’d vowed to honour and cherish. She had filled his life with a brightness and a feisty spirit of joy that he loved. Being apart from her left a physical ache and a need to see her again.

He was in love with her.

The sudden realisation made him even more eager to reach her side. He didn’t know how they would sort through their future, but he wanted those years with her. The moments of dancing on Christmas Eve or throwing snow at one another.

Or sinking deeply into her body and experiencing a glimpse of heaven.

He stared at the written note from Dunwood and made a silent promise of his own. If the viscount dared to threaten her again, he would see to it that the man lost everything.

* * *

Terror sliced through Evie at the sight of Lord Dunwood. ‘What are you doing here?’

The viscount’s smile deepened as he limped a step forward. He leaned on a cane for balance. ‘I’ve told you that already in my note. I came to ensure that you pay the consequences for your actions. I lost two toes because of your gunfire. Do you honestly believe that one bribe would atone for that?’ As he came forward again, she took a few steps backwards. ‘No, indeed. I intend to make you suffer the way I did.’

‘You travelled all this way…for vengeance?’ She could hardly believe it. The man had truly fallen into madness.

A chill slid over her with the fear that he intended to kill her. And James wasn’t here to protect her. Her heart faltered at the realisation that she was utterly at this man’s mercy. No one would save her, except herself.

Evie spun around, intending to run back to the house, but another man caught her. She had never seen him before, and she guessed he was Lord Dunwood’s servant.

She let out a scream, but the servant clamped his hand over her mouth, cutting off the sound.

Lord Dunwood appeared utterly unconcerned. ‘Bind her hands, John, and bring her back to the cutter.’

Evie fought against them, trying to break free. She bit her captor’s hand, and John cursed before he struck her across her ear with his other fist. She saw stars and sagged a moment, dizziness washing over her. A moment later, he tied her wrists together with rope, shoving a dirty handkerchief into her mouth as a gag.

How could this be happening? Where were the servants? Where was Fred?

Her question was answered a moment later when John and the viscount forced her out of the stable. Her footman lay in the snow, blood pooling around his head while a shovel rested against the stable wall.

Dear God, what had they done to Fred? And what did they plan to do with her now?

The men hauled her towards the cutter, and Evie struggled against them. She tried to scream again, but the sound was muffled by the handkerchief. With a last, desperate look at the house, she hoped someone would notice what was happening. And yet, no one came out of the house. Why? She couldn’t understand it.

John shoved her into the cutter, and Lord Dunwood gripped her hard around the waist while his servant hitched the horses back up. She fought, twisting against him, but his strength overpowered her.

‘Don’t expect anyone to search for you,’ the viscount said coolly. ‘The servants are rather occupied at the moment. The dowager has had one of her spells, you see.’

Evie stilled, terrified that he had somehow harmed Lady Penford. It was then that she realised the matron had tried to warn her. She’d asked Evie to stay indoors to avoid the ‘wolves.’

No doubt Iris had meant Lord Dunwood and his servant, who were most definitely predatory.

Still, Evie found it hard to believe that none of the servants had seen her. Surely, one of them would find the footman soon enough and try to follow them. But, as the cutter pulled past the stable, Evie realised that John had already dragged Fred’s prone figure into the shelter and kicked snow on top of the blood.

Her head ached, and the world seemed to spin as the cutter departed. But they followed the same tracks towards the village, which made her wonder where they were taking her.

Her mind was racing, fighting to come up with the right plan. She had no weapons, except her wits—and she already knew she lacked the physical strength to defend herself from the men. Lord Dunwood tried to pull her on to his lap, and she elbowed him hard.

He only tightened his grip on her and leaned in against her ear. ‘You can fight me all you want, Evangeline. I’ll only enjoy it more.’

Evie stopped her struggling then, realising the viscount’s intent. The last thing she needed was an injury that would prevent her from running away. She held back her sobs, knowing she would have to wait for the right opportunity to break free. But instead of driving towards the village, the cutter pulled away in a different direction.

She wanted to cry out for help, but the gag in her mouth prevented her from making any noise at all. They continued travelling, nearly a mile away, until she saw what appeared to be an abandoned church. The years had not been kind to the structure, and the stones were crumbling from the foundation. Even the roof was falling apart.

Was he truly taking her here to…assault her? It was far enough away from the village that no one would hear her, which was likely why they’d chosen the spot.

Evie swallowed back her fear, forcing herself to concentrate on her escape. Her father had taught her how to shoot, but neither man had a pistol, it seemed. Or even a knife.

She would have to make her escape soon, and her best hope was to run into the forest. Lord Dunwood couldn’t keep up because of his limp, and the cutter couldn’t go through the trees. Which left her to defend herself against one man.

She had to find a way to get them to lower their guard. And that meant playacting to make them believe she was weak.

It didn’t take long to conjure up tears. She lowered her shoulders and began sobbing. Her tears seemed to satisfy the viscount, and he relaxed his hold on her.

‘You see, now, what mistakes you’ve made,’ Dunwood said quietly. ‘And while I intend to punish you for your misdeeds, I am a forgiving man.’ He let the reins go slack. ‘But do not, for a moment, believe that you will ever be permitted to misbehave again. I do not tolerate defiance in a wife.’

Was he still under the delusion that she was unmarried? Her confusion must have shown in her face, and he shrugged. ‘It isn’t difficult to make you a widow. There are any number of brigands in London who will gladly kill the earl.’

‘I will never marry you!’ she muttered against her gag.

‘What was that?’ he asked. ‘Now that we’re away from the village, I would like to hear your apology.’

Lord Dunwood took out the gag, and it took Evie a moment to choose her words. If she lashed out at the viscount, he would only force the handkerchief back into her mouth. And she needed her ability to scream for help.

‘Why—?’ She coughed a moment, trying to force out the words. ‘Why would you still want me, Lord Dunwood? Surely, there were other women who wanted to marry you.’ She kept her tone even, playing into his vanity.

‘But none had a dowry such as yours,’ he pointed out. ‘ You were the one being stubborn and wilful. Your father should have beaten your pride out of you, years ago.’

‘What do you want from me?’ she managed, even as she was staring at the forest straight ahead.

Just a little farther , she told herself. She had to choose her escape plan carefully.

‘I want what I deserve,’ he answered. ‘And if you are an obedient wife, you will be cared for and protected.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I shall enjoy taming you. I enjoy your spirit, and I look forward to breaking it.’

The cutter slowed as they travelled towards the abandoned church. Now was her best opportunity to flee. Evangeline slammed the back of her head into Lord Dunwood’s face, and pain blasted through her skull, even as she freed herself from his grasp.

The viscount let out a growl, but she had already leaped out of the cutter and was running through the snow towards the woods. Her hands were still bound, but it didn’t affect her feet. She raced uphill, struggling with her skirts as she reached the tree-line. Behind her, she heard John cursing as he followed her.

Almost to the top , she told herself as she struggled through the crunching snow. Don’t stop.

But when she reached the apex, the snow had turned to ice. Her footing slipped, and she slid down the hill and screamed as loudly as she could before she was caught by Dunwood’s guard. She hoped that somehow, someone might have heard her.

John struck her across the face, and she tasted blood. This time, her tears were real when she realised that her hopes of escape were falling apart. She stared back towards the empty horizon but could see no one at all.

Help me , she prayed silently. Help me find a way out of this.

The viscount was already limping towards the church, and John carried her, this time holding her so tightly, she could scarcely breathe. She tried again to scream, but no sound came out.

She twisted and fought, trying desperately to break free. And then, a moment later, she heard the unmistakable braying of a donkey. What on earth?

The men began laughing, and in the distance, Evie caught a glimpse of Lady Penford riding Hotay downhill. The matron wore the blue ball gown, her cloak, and a bonnet, riding the donkey as if she were a white knight on horseback. Hotay was trotting swiftly through the snow, his head raised as if he were a proud Arabian stallion.

It was both wonderful and terrifying. She couldn’t believe that Lady Penford had left the estate alone, much less with Hotay. And yet, she was so afraid that the men would hurt the dowager. She didn’t want any harm to come to the older woman.

‘I see that Lady Penford has come to rescue you,’ Lord Dunwood said. ‘How quaint.’

‘Leave her alone,’ Evie pleaded. ‘She’s—’

‘Addled in the head is what she is,’ John finished. ‘Perhaps we’ll put her out of her misery.’

The men dragged her inside the ruins of the church, seemingly unconcerned about the dowager. Evie could only pray that Lady Penford had brought some of the other servants with her. Or better, if they pursued her.

Lord Dunwood removed his jacket and pointed towards a wooden pew. ‘Put her there.’

She began to fight harder, twisting and turning in the man’s grasp, but Dunwood held her fast. ‘Remember what I said, Evangeline. If you continue to fight, I will only punish you more.’ His eyes gleamed with interest, and her blood chilled.

Evie screamed as loudly as she could, in the hopes that a servant might hear her. The viscount struck her jaw, and pain exploded in her cheek. He shoved another handkerchief into her mouth, making it impossible to scream.

Only a moment later, she heard the harsh braying of Hotay from outside. Lady Penford came riding inside, brandishing a candlestick.

In a cool voice, she demanded, ‘Take your hands off my daughter-in-law.’

* * *

James couldn’t find his wife or mother anywhere at Penford. One of his footmen, Fred, was in the hallway downstairs, clutching his bleeding head.

‘Where are they?’ James demanded.

‘My lord, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see where they took her,’ Fred apologised. ‘The countess is gone.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Marlock apologised. ‘Lady Penford was beside herself, screaming about wolves. We were trying to calm her down. When Jenkins told us that the countess had been taken, we tried to search the grounds. Lady Penford went riding off before we could stop her. We were just about to go after her.’

James levelled a stare at the housekeeper. ‘I want every able-bodied man to help me find them. And they must be armed.’ He hurried into the study and gathered two duelling pistols, loading both with ammunition. Then he took a decorative sword from the wall and handed it to another footman who was waiting. ‘Take this.’

It infuriated him that no one had pursued the women yet. It was only when he found the stablemaster waiting outside with several saddled horses that his anger calmed slightly.

‘My lord.’ The servant offered him a gelding, and several other footmen chose their mounts. ‘The donkey is gone, but we think Lady Penford took it.’

James mounted his horse, grateful that the snow revealed the tracks of both the cutter and the donkey. Though he hated the thought of both his wife and mother in danger, he was glad that Iris had followed. It made it somewhat easier to track them.

A little farther where the trail diverted, he saw his mother’s glove in the snow, a vibrant red marker of the path she’d taken.

Let them be all right , he prayed. Let me be there in time to save them.

The cutter had taken a different path from the village, and they tracked it nearly a mile away. James rode as fast as he could, trailed by his men. His heart was pounding, and he leaned against his horse, unsure of what he would find. Clearly, the viscount was beyond reason if the man would travel this far, just for vengeance—or worse.

But he would defend his wife at all costs. The thought of her being in danger sent a chill through him. His defiant, courageous Evie didn’t deserve this. When he thought of everything she’d endured, it sobered him to realise that he was quite willing to kill the viscount for what he’d done. And he didn’t even care what that meant for his own future.

In the distance, James saw the abandoned church, and he urged his horse to go faster. The glare of sunlight on the snow was blinding, but he kept his head down and focused on what lay ahead.

As soon as he reached the entrance to the church, he swung down from his horse and cocked the pistols, prepared for anything. Three footmen trailed him, just as heavily armed.

James stormed into the church and saw a stocky man he didn’t recognise, holding Evie down. She was still trying to fight back, and blood was flowing from her temple. Behind them, on another church bench, his mother lay unconscious.

A blend of rage and fear pulsed through him when he saw the viscount’s shirt hanging out. James levelled his pistol at the man. ‘Let go of my wife.’

‘Or what? You’ll murder me?’ Dunwood taunted. He lifted Evie up and used her as a shield. ‘Careful with that pistol, Penford. You might shoot your wife instead.’

The moment Evie saw him, she began sobbing. Whether it was fear or relief, he didn’t know, but he reassured her, ‘It’s all right. I’m here.’

Lord Dunwood nodded to the other man. ‘Take care of the earl.’

The other footmen joined James, and one of them lifted his sword at the stocky man. ‘Don’t come any closer, or I’ll gladly skewer you.’

‘You wouldn’t know which end to use,’ Evie’s captor replied with a leer.

And unfortunately, he was right. The moment the footman swung the sword, the larger man dodged the blow and caught the servant by the neck, squeezing tightly. Before he could harm the footman, James seized the weapon and stabbed the man. For a moment, the assailant appeared confused as blood welled up, and he staggered backwards. Then he slumped to the ground.

‘It’s a good thing I do know which end to use,’ James remarked, handing the sword back to his footman, who was clutching his throat and gasping. He kept the pistol trained on the viscount and moved forward. ‘Let her go.’

Lord Dunwood only smiled. ‘You wouldn’t dare shoot me.’

‘You’ve been threatening my wife for months now. I won’t hesitate.’ And he meant what he said. He was furious with the viscount for daring to harm Evie. He only needed one chance to end this, once and for all.

But Dunwood only shifted Evie’s position and kept his arm across her throat. ‘If you want her to live, you’ll lower that pistol.’

James had no intention of doing so—and yet, he was aware that he couldn’t pull the trigger with Evie in place. ‘If you want to live, you’ll let my wife go,’ he countered. ‘This is your last and only warning.’

A slight movement caught James’s attention, but he didn’t dare move or let himself get distracted. He met Evie’s gaze and nodded to her. Though he knew she was tired and suffering, he needed her to fight. ‘Evie Sinclair is no man’s prisoner,’ he insisted. ‘She is a strong countess in her own right.’

After he spoke, he gave a nod, and his wife began to struggle harder. While the viscount clutched her by the throat, Evie stomped both of her feet down on his injured foot. Dunwood lurched, cursing at her, but she ducked low, leaving James with a clear shot.

But just as he pulled the trigger, he saw his mother rise up from behind the viscount, swinging her candlestick at Dunwood’s head.

Blood covered her gown, and Iris crumpled backwards.

Oh, God. He’d missed.