Page 33 of To Heal a Broken Earl (The Rakes of Mayhem #7)

Early Evening

“We’ve checked every damn outbuilding on the property. And we scoured almost every inch of the forested area,” Michael said grimly to Armstrong and Wright, who’d met up with him in a clearing in the densely wooded area bordering the western side of the estate.

They’d ordered the other footmen to get to the main road and ride ahead in case Morgrave’s endgame was Scotland.

Where else would he escape to? By now, he likely knew there was a bounty on his head in England.

But he’d apparently lived for many years in Scotland, and it was where he, no doubt, still had property and resources.

They would need to do all they could to stop that from happening.

Once he crossed into Scotland, he could easily force Emma to wed him and then disappear. Michael refused to let that happen.

“I still think they’re in these woods,” Wright said.

“Recall, the fire in the stables hadn’t gotten out of control, so it couldn’t have been that long from when he set the fire to when we discovered it.

And he was on foot, since we didn’t see any horse tracks leading away from the stables when we arrived. ”

“And you already had men stationed at the gated entrance and along the main road,” Armstrong added. “The only likely way they could have gotten onto the property is at the very other end of the wooded area where that back road circles behind the estate.”

“The stonemason and his workers were just getting to this area,” Michael said, raking his hands through his hair. “We’d discussed building a wall there because there was none, and I knew we were vulnerable along that back road. Dammit! This is all my fault. I should have kept a closer eye on her…

“Let’s get going—we still have to check the gamekeeper’s cottage, and it’s almost at the edge of the tree line where that back road is,” he growled as he turned his horse in the direction of the cottage.

A few minutes later, Michael spied several broken branches as the three men approached a copse of trees.

As they got closer, they saw clear proof that Morgrave had taken Emma this way.

Thank goodness they could make out the hoofprints in the soil.

As far as he could tell, it appeared that two horses had traveled through here.

Leaning forward and ducking under jagged, low-hanging tree limbs, he tightened his jaw at seeing a scrap of blue fabric hanging from a branch.

Pulling it off, he recognized it as the same fabric of the gown Emma was wearing at the party. He urged his mount to gallop ahead.

When they got to the gamekeeper’s cottage, Michael leaped from his horse, disregarding the sharp jolt of pain to his leg. Slamming open the door, he rushed inside, with Armstrong and Wright on his heels.

“They were here,” Michael said. “Not very long ago, by the looks of it.”

The mattress in the small bedroom was still warm. Was Emma unconscious? Had Morgrave drugged her? Or, God forbid, beaten or raped her?

Spying a piece of cloth stuck between the mattress and the frame of the cot, he tugged it out and saw that it was a man’s handkerchief monogrammed with his initials in delicate stitching.

He realized Emma had to have made it for him as part of his birthday gift.

She must have had it in the pocket of her gown when that bastard kidnapped her.

He showed Armstrong and Wright the handkerchief. “She left it here as a sign to us.”

“A sign that she is all right. She’s a strong woman, your Emma,” Armstrong said, gripping Michael’s shoulder.

Michael nodded as he tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his trousers.

Armstrong had said, “Your Emma.” When had she become his ?

Had it been after that first heady kiss that night in the study, or after he’d gone to apologize to her with a bunch of flowers, after he’d bitten her head off in the stables? Or had it been long before that?

All he knew was that she had become a part of his life, and he didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.

“Look at this,” Wright said, holding out another scrap of material. This one was of rough cloth, and it still bore the scent of laudanum.

“Morgrave drugged her!” Michael said between clenched teeth.

“If he’s given her laudanum or something similar, it may have slowed them down,” Armstrong said.

“Agreed,” Wright said. “There are only two sets of hoofprints out there, and one of the horses is weighed down and clearly moving more slowly than the other. One set of prints is shallower, the other has a shorter stride, and the rear tracks are deeper, as if there’s more weight.”

Michael didn’t want to think about that, about Emma being drugged, unconscious, or hurt, with that bastard’s filthy hands on her… He couldn’t allow his thoughts to go down that dark road. It would only drive him mad. They would find her. They had to.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, already striding toward the door. “They’re likely headed to the back road, but they can’t be that far ahead.” He climbed back on his horse and took off as fast as he could through the trees, ignoring the slap of the branches stinging his arms and chest.

The trail they followed dipped down into a small creek bed, and he noticed the tracks from the horses turned east, where they had come from, instead of west, which led to the back road.

The tracks then faded out, clearly having been brushed away with several branches, in a hasty attempt to throw any pursuers off track.

But rain two days ago had kept the shaded area moist, and the recent dryness helped cast the hoofprints, providing a perfect path for Michael and his men to follow.

Michael was riding as fast as he could. He was in the lead, with Armstrong and Wright following close behind. A heaviness had settled into his chest, and it wasn’t due to how fast they were riding, but from the fear that had taken hold. As though a cold, gnarled hand gripped his heart.

Please, Emma… Please stay strong… Please don’t lose hope…

Their search had been difficult thus far, given the dense growth of trees and heavy cloud cover, but suddenly there was a shift in the air and the thick clouds drifted away, allowing the moonlight to flood the path ahead.

“I see them!” Michael shouted as the shaft of light hit two figures in the distance.

Two horses—a single rider who rode ahead, and the second animal carried a rider and a slender figure in a slumped position.

His gut tightened as recognition hit. Emma!

The bastard had her tied across the horse’s rump.

One of her arms hung loose, and her head lolled against the horse’s thick black coat.

Withdrawing his pistol from his belt, Michael urged his horse to go faster. He was too far behind to get a clean shot—he didn’t want to risk hitting Emma.

Morgrave must have sensed they were on their tail, because he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened, prompting him to shout something to the rider ahead.

Michael leaned low, his heart thudding in tandem with his stallion’s hooves.

I’m coming, Emma…

The branches seemed to claw at him, yet Michael kept moving forward.

He could hear Armstrong and Wright following close behind, the hooves of their horses thrumming like drumbeats.

They were approaching a thicker stand of trees, and beyond that, he could see the back road that bordered the property.

They had to catch up before the criminals reached the road.

From there, there were several side roads they could take, and then the pursuers would have to split up.

And what if Morgrave had hired his own men to ambush them, thus enabling his escape?

Suddenly, a muffled cry reached Michael’s ears as he thundered through the trees.

He’d thought she was unconscious, but he saw Emma lift her head slightly, her eyes glazed with pain yet alert.

Their gazes met for a fleeting moment, and he saw a glimmer of hope flash in her eyes, sparking a fresh sense of urgency within him as his horse began to gain on the villains.

“Stop, Morgrave!” Michael shouted, his voice cutting through the air. "You won’t get away with this!”

Morgrave spun around again, his eyes wide and wild, his face pale. “You won’t have her,” he yelled. His horse bucked in protest, causing Emma to slip, and Morgrave to slow down. He reached out, grabbing Emma by the hair and yanking her back.

Michael’s heart leaped into his throat as he feared she might tumble off the horse and break her neck.

“I’ll kill you, Morgrave,” Michael growled as he urged his horse faster.

“Simms!” Morgrave yelled at the other rider, who’d slowed down, reaching out to steady Emma to keep her from falling off the horse. “You simpleton! “We’ll ride ahead, and you shoot at them to slow them down!”

“No, Lord Morgrave ,” the man named Simms snapped back.

“I’m done with this madness, I’m done with your machinations, and most of all, I’m done with you!

This is where it ends,” he declared, reaching for the reins of Morgrave’s horse.

“You have forced me to do your bidding by threatening the life of my family at every turn. But I refuse to be your pawn any longer, my lord.” With a fierce glare, the man spat, “Let the lady go. You’ve burned down her house—what more do you want from her? ”

Morgrave’s black eyes gleamed with twisted obsession.

“You stupid man. Look at her! She’s my fire princess—my future.

My salvation. She’s the woman I’ve dreamed of having my entire life.

The only one worthy of me. The princess of fire—the woman I will take with me into eternity.

Fire brought her to me. And I will never let her go.

” Morgrave jerked Emma by the hair closer to him.

She cried in pain as Michael galloped toward them.

“And no one will stop me!” the viscount yelled, his voice dripping with malice.

In a swift movement, he pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired at Simms, who fell to the ground, clutching his gut.

Michael’s heart raced as he charged forward, desperate to reach Emma.

As the clouds shifted once more, a shaft of moonlight illuminated the area, and he watched as Emma pulled a knife from her pocket and plunged it into the soft flesh beneath Morgrave’s arm.

“Argh! You bitch!” he roared, fury blazing in his eyes as he slapped her across the face, knocking her to the ground. “I should kill you for that.”

Michael saw a haze of red as rage took hold of him. Finally, within a few feet of Morgrave, he leaped from his horse onto the viscount, driving his fist into the man’s face and throwing him back.

But Morgrave was stronger than Michael had thought. He quickly ripped the knife from beneath his arm and plunged it into Michael’s leg. They both tumbled off the horse.

While Michael felt the stabbing pain in his leg, his fury drove him forward as he kicked Morgrave in the gut, sending the older man reeling backward.

Pulling the knife out, he tossed it aside and then leaped onto Morgrave and proceeded to smash his fist into the arsonist’s face.

“You bastard. You hit Emma. I should kill you for that.”

“Michael, stop!” Wright shouted from behind.

Michael kept pummeling Morgrave over and over, turning his face into a bloody pulp.

“Enough!” Armstrong said as he and Wright pulled Michael off the now-unconscious man. “He will be brought to justice for all his crimes, but do not ruin your life in the process.”

Michael shook them off and stumbled back. Regaining his footing, he spun around and ran to Emma’s side. She was lying on her back.

“God, please be alive,” he choked out. “Please be alive.”

Gently, he placed a finger on the side of her neck and heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the pulse.

“Thank God!” She was alive—but unconscious, and that still worried him.

Carefully, he checked for broken bones and was relieved there were none, but her head was bleeding. He took the monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and held it to her head to stem the flow of blood.

Glancing up, he saw that Armstrong and Wright had hauled Morgrave onto his horse and tied his hands and feet to the animal. Meanwhile, they’d assisted the other man, named Simms, back onto his horse.

Bending down, Michael placed a gentle kiss on Emma’s lips.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered as he cradled her against his chest.

It was over. It was finally over.

~*~