Emeline met Rebecca’s gaze. The girl hadn’t said a word since they’d been forced into the carriage, but in her eyes, Emeline saw the same despair that threatened to overset her own sensibilities. It made no sense at all for Mr. Thornton to have kidnapped them, and the very senselessness squeezed her chest, making her breath come short.
Outside, the rain started, as sudden as a curtain falling at the end of a play. She needed to think, and the time they had might be short.
She very much feared that Mr. Thornton meant to kill them.
THE SKY OPENED up and rain poured down in a drenching torrent. Sam flinched as the first wave hit him like a slap in the face, but he kept running. The rain actually made things a little easier. Those who could immediately sought shelter, fleeing from the streets as fast as they were able. Unfortunately, that still left quite a few vehicles. The brewer’s cart, for instance, probably still blocked Vale’s carriage. Sam leapt a row of broken cobblestones, turned by the rain into a miniature urban brook, and focused his mind on running. He couldn’t do anything about what lay in back of him or what lay ahead. For now, running was his entire being.
The carriage had been somewhere on Fleet Street when it had stopped, but Sam had cut off the busy thoroughfare. He ran parallel to the Thames now, the river out of sight somewhere to his right.
He felt the stretch in the muscles of his legs as he fought for even more speed. He hadn’t run like this—full out, in desperation and hope—since Spinner’s Falls. Then, no matter how he’d strained, he’d still arrived too late. Reynaud had died.
He swerved to avoid a young girl carrying a baby and crashed into a bulky man in a leather apron. The man swore and tried to strike him, but Sam was already past him. His feet hurt, sharp shards of pain working their way up his shins. He wondered if he’d reopened the wounds on his soles.
And then the smell hit him.
Whether it was from the leather-aproned man or someone he passed now, or maybe it was just a product of his fevered imagination, he didn’t know, but he smelled sweat. Male sweat. Oh, God, not now. He kept his eyes open and his legs pumping, though he wanted to cover his face and slump to the ground. The dead of Spinner’s Falls seemed to follow him. Invisible bodies that reeked of sweat and blood. Ghostly hands that caught at his sleeves and implored him to wait. He’d felt these wraiths in the forest after Spinner’s Falls. They’d followed him all the way to Fort Edward. Sometimes he’d even seen them, a boy’s eyes hollowed by fear, the old soldier with his scalp cut away. He’d never known if he’d been dreaming—running while only half awake—or if the dead of Spinner’s Falls had leaked into his living body. Perhaps he carried them everywhere and only knew it when he was in distress. Perhaps he’d always carry them, the way some men carried shrapnel beneath their skin, a silent ache, an invisible reminder of what he’d survived.
He ran through a wash of water, the splashes hitting him in the thighs. Not that it mattered; his clothes had long since soaked through. He was running closer to the wharves now, and he could smell the decay of the river. Tall warehouses rose up on either side of the lane he ran down. His breath came in gasps, and there was a scorching pain in his side. He’d lost track of time, couldn’t tell how long or how far he’d been running. What if they were already at the ship? What if Thornton had already killed them?
His mind suddenly flashed a horrific image: Emeline sprawled, naked and bloody, her face white and still. No! He squeezed his eyes shut against the sight and stumbled, slamming to his hands and knees on the cobblestones.
“Watch it!” a gruff male voice shouted.
Sam opened his eyes to see horse hooves inches from his face. He scrambled clumsily away, still on his knees, as the cart driver cursed his ancestry. His knees ached, especially his right one, which must’ve taken the brunt of the fall, but Sam stood.
Ignoring the driver, ignoring the breath rasping in his lungs, ignoring his pain, he started running again.
Emeline.
THE CARRIAGE MADE a wide turn, and Emeline could see the docks outside the window. The rain was still sheeting down, veiling tall ships out in the middle of the Thames. Smaller vessels crowded between the ships, ferrying goods and sometimes people between ship and shore. Normally, the docks would be full of laborers, prostitutes, and the gangs of thieves that made their livings off filching from the ships’ cargos. But because of the rain, the wharf was sparsely populated.
The carriage shuddered to a stop.
Mr. Thornton dug his pistol into Rebecca’s side. “Time to get out, Miss Hartley.”
Rebecca didn’t move. She turned a heartbreakingly brave face to their kidnapper. “What are you going to do with us?”
Mr. Thornton cocked his head and gave his gruesome grin and wink. “Nothing terrible, I assure you. Why, I have a mind to show you the world. Come and see.”
Oddly, his mundane pleasantry confirmed all of Emeline’s worst fears. She looked out the carriage door at the rain-grayed waters of the Thames. If they got onto a ship with Thornton, they weren’t likely to survive the journey. But at the moment they had no choice. Thornton nodded to the men on either side of her.
“Move on,” the scarlet-coated henchman to Emeline’s right grunted. He wrapped sausagelike fingers about her upper arm, no doubt leaving grease marks. He was slightly the shorter of the two and sported a frayed tricorne. Mr. Thornton must not pay him well, because his boots were nearly all holes and a grimy big toe poked through the leather on one.
Emeline smiled tightly at Rebecca, trying to give her a bit of courage, before gathering her skirts. She stepped out of the carriage and into the rain, the thug’s hand still on her. The second thug followed. He was a tall, stringy man with enormously long arms and thinning gray hair. He hunched his shoulders and stood mute as Mr. Thornton descended with Rebecca.
“Now,” Thornton said, smiling. He smiled at everything. “Let’s hurry. There should be a boat waiting to take us to The Sea Tiger. I’m sure you ladies will want to get out of the rain. If we—”
But he didn’t finish the sentence. Rebecca pulled abruptly from his grasp, ducking to the side and behind the tall, balding henchman. For a fraction of a second, Mr. Thornton didn’t know where to point the gun, and it wavered. Then he grinned that horrible grin and brought the barrel around, pointing it at Emeline’s belly.
She froze. There was a long moment in time as she watched him wink and steady his aim, knowing that she was about to be killed.
And then she wasn’t.
Samuel ran out of nowhere and threw himself against Thornton’s gun arm, deflecting his aim. The gun exploded, sending chips of cobblestone into the air. The tall, balding henchman leaped at Samuel, grabbing him from behind, and all three men went down in a writhing heap of desperate arms and legs. Rebecca screamed and pulled at the balding henchman’s coat. The scarlet-coated thug let go of Emeline’s arm, but before he could move, she brought her heel down on the toe that poked through his boot. The man howled and lashed out. Emeline saw a burst of white stars as his hand connected with the side of her head, and then she found herself on the ground, lying in a cold puddle of water.
“Are you all right?” Rebecca gasped beside her.
“Samuel,” Emeline whispered. He was under all three men now, almost hidden by the legs kicking him, the arms hitting him. They would beat him to death before her very eyes if she didn’t do something.
There were no pieces of wood, no stones to pry up. All she had was herself, so Emeline used that. She scrambled to her feet and ran at the awful little man and his henchmen. She clutched a head of hair and yanked. The man she was holding—one of the henchmen—shouldered her aside. Emeline staggered, almost falling, but got up again. She threw herself, kicking, shrieking, clawing, at the bodies attacking Samuel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rebecca pummeling the back of one of the men, her fists small and puny. The rain mixed with hot salty tears on Emeline’s face, and she was half-blinded, but she wasn’t going to give up. If they
killed Samuel, they would have to kill her, too.
Her slipper connected with Mr. Thornton’s rump, and he twisted to look at her with a comically astonished expression. Samuel took advantage of the other man’s distraction and punched him in the face. Mr. Thornton’s head snapped back, and he rolled to the cobblestones, a hand outstretched to break his fall. He made to get up, and Emeline stomped on his outstretched hand, feeling quite pleased when something snapped beneath her heel.
Thornton screamed.
Behind Emeline, a gunshot exploded.
“Good God, Emmie, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty,” a male voice said.
Emeline looked up and saw Jasper descending a carriage with a footman behind him. The footman had a gun in each hand, the right one smoking.
Fear and exasperation overflowed all of her good manners. “Jasper, don’t be an idiot. Come help Samuel at once!”
Jasper, not surprisingly, looked startled. “Right you are, Emmie. You two, get off Mr. Hartley. Slowly, now.”
The thugs glanced at each other glumly and got to their feet, backing away from Samuel. He lay so still, the rain beating on his pale face.
Emeline rushed to him, terribly afraid. “Samuel.” She’d seen him punch Mr. Thornton, but now he didn’t move. “Samuel!” She knelt on the filthy, wet cobblestones and tenderly touched her fingertips to his cheek.
He opened his eyes. “Emeline.”
“Yes.” It was insane, but she couldn’t keep from smiling at him in the rain, with hot tears trickling down her cheeks. “Yes.” God only knew what she was saying, but Samuel seemed to understand.
He turned his head and kissed her palm with bruised lips, and her heart rejoiced.
Then his gaze sharpened and he looked behind her. “Have they got Thornton?”
He started to sit up, and she put her shoulder under his to help him. “Yes, Jasper has it all under control.”
In fact, the footman was tying the two henchmen’s hands to Mr. Thornton’s carriage while Rebecca held the guns. Jasper had hold of Mr. Thornton.
“What shall we do with him now?” Jasper asked. He looked like he was holding a piece of offal.
“Toss him in the river,” the footman growled over his shoulder, and Rebecca smiled at him.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Samuel said softly, and Emeline had never heard his voice so cold.
Mr. Thornton laughed. “What for?”
Jasper shook him like a dog does a rat. “For trying to hurt Miss Hartley and Lady Emeline, you bounder.”
“But I didn’t, did I?” Thornton said. “They’re not hurt at all.”
“You held a gun on them—”
“Pish posh! Do you think any magistrate will care?” Mr. Thornton smiled happily, almost normally. He didn’t seem to have any idea the trouble he was in.
Emeline shivered in Samuel’s embrace. Thornton’s manic confidence that he could win out against Jasper—a viscount—was the final evidence that the man had lost his senses.
“You killed a woman in America,” Samuel said quietly. “They’ll hang you for that.”
Mr. Thornton cocked his head, completely unperturbed. “I don’t know who you mean.”
Jasper expelled an impatient breath. “Cut line. We know you’re MacDonald, know you killed that woman, know you betrayed us to the French and their Indian allies at Spinner’s Falls.”
“And how will you prove all that?”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Samuel said low. “Maybe we’ll just drown you in the Thames and be done. I doubt anyone will miss you.”
“Samuel,” Rebecca whispered.
Samuel looked at her, and although his expression didn’t change, his voice softened slightly. “But I don’t think we’ll have real trouble convicting you in court. There’re a few survivors who must remember both MacDonald and Thornton, and if nothing else, we can ask your father-in-law.”
Emeline sucked in her breath.
Samuel nodded. “Yes, that’s one of the things I found out today. Thornton has an elderly father-in-law whom he hasn’t seen since he married the man’s daughter. The father-in-law lives in Cornwall, you see. The man is in poor health, but he’s been suspicious ever since his daughter supposedly fell down the stairs. He’s been pestering various solicitors to investigate the death, and I met one who finally took on the old man’s case on my search today. I have no doubt that if we provide a carriage, he will come to London and testify that this is not the man who originally married his daughter.”
Mr. Thornton went into a veritable spasm of winking and grinning. “Try it! The old man’s on his last legs. He’ll never survive a trip to London.”
“Let us worry about that,” Jasper said, shaking Thornton again. “You, I think, should be more worried about the gallows.” Jasper turned to Samuel. “Do you mind if I borrow your man to escort these three to Newgate?”
Samuel nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll take the ladies home in your carriage.” He turned with Emeline to walk to Jasper’s carriage, but a shout from Thornton stopped him.
“Hartley!” the nasty little man cried. “You might get me for the woman in America, but you won’t for Spinner’s Falls. I didn’t betray the regiment at Spinner’s Falls. I’m not the traitor.”
Samuel glanced at the man, his face disinterested.
His lack of reaction seemed to inflame Thornton. “You’re a coward, Hartley. You ran at Spinner’s Falls; everyone knows it. You’re a coward.”
Vale flushed scarlet and Emeline heard Rebecca’s horrified gasp.
But amazingly, Samuel smiled.
“No,” he said softly. “I’m not.”
Chapter Twenty
Princess Solace cradled her dying husband in her arms, her salty tears bathing his face. And as she wept over him, the dawn broke, the golden rays of the sun flooding the earth. Iron Heart opened his eyes and, looking into the face of his wife, uttered the first words he’d spoken in seven long years....
—from Iron Heart
“He needs a doctor,” Rebecca said as she helped Emeline push Samuel into the carriage.
Emeline didn’t voice the thought out loud, but she had to concur with Rebecca. Samuel looked white under his naturally swarthy skin, and a cut over his eye was bleeding, painting the side of his face with blood.
“No doctor,” Samuel mumbled, which didn’t exactly help his case.
Emeline met his sister’s eyes over his head and saw she was in agreement. Definitely, a doctor.
The slow pace of the carriage made the drive back through the streets of London nightmarish. By the time they arrived home, Samuel had been silent for half an hour, his eyes closed.
“Has he fainted?” Emeline whispered anxiously to Rebecca.
“I think only fallen asleep,” the girl replied.
It required two sturdy footmen to get Samuel up the steps of the town house and into his own bed. Then Emeline sent for the doctor.
An hour later, Rebecca entered the library to give the doctor’s report.
“He says it’s merely exhaustion,” Rebecca said on finding Emeline sitting by the fire half-asleep.
“Thank goodness.” Emeline let her head slump against the back of her chair.
“You look exhausted yourself,” Rebecca said critically.
Emeline started to shake her head. She didn’t want to leave Samuel. But then she found herself dizzy, so she stilled the movement.
Rebecca must’ve seen. “Go home and rest. Samuel’s asleep, anyway.”
Emeline humphed. “You’re a dear child, but a trifle bossy.”
The younger woman smiled. “I’ve learned from the best.” Rebecca held out a hand to help her up, but then a commotion started in the hall.
Emeline looked to the library door in time to see Jasper blow in.
“Emmie! Are you all right?” he asked. “I went to your house, but you weren’t there.”
Emeline frowned. She was constantly amazed at how little Jasper knew her. “Shhh! I’m fine, but
you’ll wake up Samuel with that bellowing.”
Jasper glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through plaster and wood. “I suppose he’s had a bit of a day, too, what?”
“Jasper—” Emeline began, about to give him a set down, but Rebecca interrupted.
“Do you mind if I leave you? I need to...to”—she knitted her brow, obviously trying to think of an excuse—“make sure O’Hare is all right.”
Emeline stared. “Who is O’Hare?”
“My footman,” Rebecca said, and sailed from the room.
Emeline was still frowning after the girl when Jasper interrupted her thoughts.
“Emmie.”
She turned because his voice sounded grave, and really looked at him. She’d never seen the expression that was now on his face—a kind of weary acceptance.
“We’re not going to be married, are we?”
She shook her head. “No, dear. I don’t think so.”
He slumped into a chair. “Just as well, I suppose. You never would’ve been able to put up with my foibles. Probably isn’t a woman alive who would.”
“That’s not true.”
He gave her a comically old-fashioned look.
“It might not be easy,” she amended, “but I’m sure there’s a very nice lady out there for you somewhere.”
One corner of his mouth curved. “I’m three and thirty, Emmie. If there was a woman who would love me, and more importantly, could stand me, don’t you think I’d’ve found her by now?”
“It might help if you stopped looking for her in brothels and gaming hells and tried a more respectable place.” Her words were tart, but her delivery was somewhat marred by the huge yawn that split her face.
Jasper jumped up. “Let me see you home so that you can get some proper rest and continue raking me over the coals tomorrow.”
Sadly, Emeline wasn’t even up to making a token protest. She let Jasper pull her from the chair and escort her outside the few steps to her own door. There he bussed her on the cheek in the same manner he’d used since she was four and turned away.