Page 6 of The Viscount and the Minx (The Unlikely Betrothal: Prequel)

Chapter 6

Marina

M arina felt the tension in Evan’s arm as she held on to him, his muscles coiled beneath her fingers. He hadn’t been himself since they left the house, staring out the carriage window the entire ride as if expecting an ambush. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had seen something in the woods, too.

They retrieved her packages and sent them with a footman to load into the carriage. Evan barely spoke, his attention fixed on their surroundings, scanning every face, every shadow.

She looked up at him as they walked to see Evan scanning their surroundings, intently focused on each person they passed.

“The baker is just up ahead,” she said, watching him.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, gaze trailing a passing man.

“A sweet roll will be just the thing, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” His eyes didn’t even flick to her.

He hadn’t heard a word. She was sure of it. And she would prove it.

“An elephant would make a lovely pet, don’t you think?” she mused. “We’ll fashion a pen for it. I think I’ll get one for Arthur.” She smirked up at the sharp line of his jaw.

Evan patted her hand absently. “Absolutely. Anything you want, darling.”

Marina stopped dead in the street.

He turned to her at last, chest rising and falling, eyes squinting as he searched her face. “What? What’s wrong?”

She might have been touched by his immediate concern if it weren’t so obvious something was going on. And she intended to find out what.

“I don’t know. Is something wrong?”

Evan sighed, adjusting his hat against a gust of wind. “I don’t understand. Is this some kind of riddle?”

Marina folded her arms, tapping her foot. She might kill him. “You just agreed to get our son an elephant.”

“Children like toys. I’m sure we can have one carved,” he said smoothly, far too confident for a man who had no idea what they were talking about.

Her irritation burned hotter. He would tell her what was going on if it was the last thing he did. “Something is wrong.”

“With wooden toys?”

His attention wavered again, and his hand drifted to where his pistol was hidden as another man walked past. Marina glanced at the stranger—just a villager, minding his own business.

“That.” She pointed. “That right there. You look like you’re about to shoot someone for daring to exist.”

“I do not.” He waved her off.

“Evan.” Her voice was steel. She yanked her hand from his arm, fists clenched at her sides. “Tell me what’s going on.” Each word was deliberate, heavy, meant to make him listen.

“Love—”

“No.” She lifted a hand to silence him. “Something is wrong, and it’s starting to scare me.” She swallowed hard. Evan was her rock, her steady place. If he was on edge, then she had every reason to be, too.

“I told you already—there have been robberies.”

He shifted on his feet. Lying.

“Don’t lie to me. Please, Evan.” Guilt curled in her gut. She had secrets, too—things she hadn’t told him. But that didn’t mean he got to keep them from her. At least that was what she’d continue to tell herself.

Evan glanced around, then cupped her cheek with one strong hand. She should pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, the warmth of him steadying her even as unease twisted inside her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“All right, love.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, she saw the truth waiting there. And she knew—she wasn’t going to like a word of it.

“Let’s get your sweet roll,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Marina conceded, letting him lead her to the bakery, though she hardly believed she could eat the warm pastry he placed in her hands. Whatever he was about to say had already stolen her appetite.

After he paid, they departed the shop and settled on a bench beneath a large oak, watching the village go about its day. Evan tugged at his cravat, then ran a hand through his thick black hair.

“Love,” he started, draping his arm over the back of the bench. “I only wish to protect you. Surely you know that.”

“Protect me from what?” This was more than some phantom hand that might or might not have been there.

He hesitated. Then, “I received a note.”

Marina’s stomach twisted. “A note?”

If the man could just get to the point before her stomach became as unsettled as her thoughts.

“That’s what Browning came to see me about that day.”

She stiffened. She knew he had been off, but her victory could wait. “What did it say?”

Evan exhaled through his nose. “A threat. That we would pay for what we’ve done.”

Her blood turned to ice. “What could we have possibly done?”

Evan’s jaw tensed. “Can you think of no one who might have reason to hate us?”

Her breath caught. Of course she could.

She’d spent the last month convincing herself otherwise. That they had nothing more to fear. That the man awaiting the hangman’s noose couldn’t reach them.

But what if she had been wrong?

“How can we be certain?” she whispered.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, love. Until we know more, keeping you safe is all that matters. I can’t lose you, Marina.”

Evan’s arm slipped from the back of the bench, pulling her close.

Her sweet roll tumbled from her hand, landing in the dirt. “I’ve been such a fool.” She should have told him. What had she been thinking? By ignoring her instincts, she might have put them both in danger. And Arthur.

His brow furrowed. “What in the devil are you talking about?”

She swallowed hard. “I… I saw someone. Or thought I did.” Marina wrung her hands in her skirts. “That day when we were—”

“Shooting,” he finished, his voice sharp. “That’s why you were acting so strangely. You saw someone. And you didn’t think to tell me? Why on earth would you keep that from me?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t actually see anyone, just… felt like someone was there. Then later, near the terrace, I thought I saw a hand—”

“Goddamn it,” Evan growled, surging to his feet. “I would have sent every man in our employ to search the woods. How could you not tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be afraid again, Evan. I didn’t want the nightmares to return if I spoke my fears aloud. Truly, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. And…” Her voice faltered.

“And?” His tone softened, but irritation still edged his words.

“And I didn’t want to worry you. Every time I wake in the night, I see how it upsets you. I thought if I kept quiet, if I ignored it, the fear would fade.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’ve felt awful keeping this from you. My stomach has been in knots for days, making me dreadfully sick.”

Evan ran both hands down his face, then drew in a deep breath. He reached for her, pulling her into his embrace.

There wasn’t a single place in the world that felt as safe, or as right, as being in his arms.

His heart pounded against her ear, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “My job is to protect you. Hang my feelings, love. If something threatens you, I must know.”

She pulled back, meeting his gaze. “And it’s my job to protect you. I thought I was—by keeping the nightmares at bay, by sparing you from the worry.”

Evan’s arms tightened around her. “Is there anything else? Anything you haven’t told me?”

“No. I swear it. I’d almost convinced myself it was just my mind playing tricks.” And now that it was out in the open, relief swept through her.

“You know everything as well,” he said, his usual composure returning. “Let’s retrieve the last of your packages and return home. The house party is in a week, and I’m no closer to putting a face to this threat.”

It all made sense now—why he’d fought so hard against her coming to the village. She was suddenly grateful he’d been insistent about not bringing Arthur.

“I just need to stop at the dressmaker’s. I ordered a few gowns for the party.” The words felt ridiculous given the weight of their conversation. God, how she wished house party preparations were the only thing on her mind—that some faceless blackguard wasn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting.

She patted the pistol in her reticule, finding comfort in its presence. Another thing she must thank Evan for.

“I shall try on the dresses at home and have her attend me there if alterations are required. But I agree that it’s best we depart. I don’t wish to remain in the village.”

Evan gave her a pointed look. “You might recall I tried to dissuade this entire trip.”

She rolled her eyes. So much for thanking him. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”

He laughed, kissing her brow. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Marina took his arm with an exaggerated huff, but he slipped his untouched sweet roll into her hand in a silent truce. Her heart squeezed. God, she loved him. Far too damn much. She took a bite, and they continued toward the dress shop.

Through the window, she spotted Mrs. Wilson arranging ribbons, alone in the store.

“Go fetch the carriage,” she told Evan. “I’ll be finished by the time you return.”

His expression darkened. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“It’s just Mrs. Wilson. You’ll be gone for only a few minutes—and you have a clear view of the door.”

He glanced around the street, jaw tight. “I don’t like it.”

She sighed. “We’ll be home sooner if you just go. I won’t step a single foot outside until you return.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. She knew he hated this. But when he sighed, she knew she’d won.

“Very well,” he huffed. “But do not leave this shop.” He kissed her quickly, then inclined his head toward the door.

Marina smiled and stepped inside, watching through the glass as Evan strode away. She laughed to herself at how quickly he took off once she was inside. He’d be back before she even had time to say a word to Mrs. Wilson.

“Lady Ockham,” Mrs. Wilson greeted her with a warm smile. “Your gowns are ready. Would you like to come with me to the back and you can try them on?”

“Actually, if you could package them, I’ll try them on at home. We’re in a hurry to return to our son.”

“Of course. Just a moment, and I’ll have them ready for your footman.” Mrs. Wilson bustled to the back, leaving Marina alone.

She idly browsed the ribbons, debating whether to add a few to her purchase—until a sound from the back room caught her ear. A muffled cry.

Marina stiffened. “Mrs. Wilson?”

No answer.

Her pulse kicked up as she called again, stepping toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, a shadow loomed.

“Not so fast,” a man sneered, leveling a pistol at her chest.

He was older—perhaps in his fifties—his gut straining against his waistcoat, his hooked nose casting a sharp silhouette under the brim of his low-slung hat. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, the deep scowl twisting his face dripped with malice.

Marina’s fingers twitched toward her reticule, but the man stepped closer, his gun never wavering. Sliding past her, he locked the door with an audible click.

“There we go. Can’t have that idiot husband of yours spoiling the plan, can we?”

She forced her back to straighten. “What do you want?”

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Did you think you could send my cousin away and live happily ever after? With that meddlesome husband of yours? Raising your little urchin?”

Her breath came in quick beats, but she held his gaze, refusing to let him see her fear. She needed her pistol in her grip.

“What have you done with Mrs. Wilson?”

“She’s alive. For now.” He tilted his head mockingly. “But you? You’re coming with me.”

No. She couldn’t let that happen. Not again.

“I won’t.”

“Fair enough,” he said and lunged, grabbing her arm. “We’ll see if you are content with your choice.”

Marina wrenched back, fighting to free herself, but his grip was like iron. Just then, the rumble of wheels sounded outside—the carriage. Evan. He’d know something was wrong. He’d break in and this would all be over.

Before she could reach for her pistol, the brute shoved her backward into a dark space. The door slammed and the lock clicked into place.

“Let me out!” She pounded against the wood.

Laughter echoed from the other side. Then the footsteps retreated.

A rustling sound came from the darkness behind her. Marina reached out blindly and grasped a pair of trembling hands—bound hands. “Mrs. Wilson?”

She worked quickly, untying the knots. As soon as the woman was freed, soft sobs filled the space.

“He gagged me,” Mrs. Wilson choked out. “Tied me up. What is he going to do to us?”

Marina swallowed, gripping her pistol inside her reticule. “I don’t know,” she admitted. But she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The door would open again. When it did, she’d be ready. She held her pistol out in front of her, ready to take her shot.

A pungent scent suddenly filled her nostrils. Smoke.

Her stomach twisted so hard, she almost fell to her knees.

“My lady,” the man’s voice called in a singsong lilt. “I hope you weren’t expecting to see the light of day again. It’s going to get a bit hot in there.” A cruel chuckle followed. “Farewell.”

“No!” Marina rushed to the door and pounded on it. “You can’t leave us here!”

Hurried footsteps faded.

Panic clawed up her throat. Heat pressed in. Smoke thickened the air. Her lungs fought for breath.

Evan. Arthur. They would be left without her.

Think, Marina. Think.

How long did they have? Seconds? Minutes?

She coughed, forcing down the rising terror. There’s a way out. There has to be.