Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (37 page)

I saw you there.

She'd seen him, had watched him with gratitude in her child's eyes. That was true. And perhaps the rest of her words had been true as well. Perhaps in the end she had hated him, been disgusted by him and everything he represented.

But he could have changed her mind. With time, he could have shown her.

The sure knowledge that any time with her was lost forever rocked Hart to his knees. Cool damp soaked through the thin fabric of his trousers and reminded him of the dirt beneath the grass. The dark earth that would keep her from him forever.

She'd been so strong. Fighting him, fighting herself. She'd carved her way through her world with reckless bravery and doubtful morals, and she'd delighted a duke's numbed heart.

Now he was left with this living, beating, feeling heart and no Emma to bring it joy.

Another spark shook free of the wreckage and danced its slow, winding way higher. Hart watched it fly up, pretty and free, as the world closed in around him. The air, sharp with smoke, pressed in, a weight on his chest.

Hart tried to draw a breath and couldn't. Tried again, but the air fought him, struggling against his throat until he threw his head back and gasped in a great breath that wheezed into his lungs. His throat had opened, but he'd freed up the tears too.

He had no idea how to cry, was frightened by it. So he knelt there, gasping, and stared up at the smoky sky and waited for it to be done.

"Your Grace?"

He dropped his head.

"Your Grace, the woman, Mrs.
Smythe
, is stirring."

Bess. Of course. Bess needed care and attention. Hart stumbled to his knees, grateful that his driver did not reach out to assist him. He heard her coughing before he'd walked halfway across the yard. "Have you given her water?"

 
"Yes, sir."

Knowing what must be done, Hart stopped in his tracks and looked back at the site of Emma's home. He let his eyes roam over it, memorizing the scene before he continued toward the carriage. "We must go then. She'll need care and rest. A comfortable room."

"I'll see to the room, Your Grace."

Hart stepped into the coach and took the seat opposite the nest of blankets that made up Bess's bed. "Bess, can you hear me?"

He wrapped his hand around hers and felt her squeeze weakly back. "Bess, do you know what's happened?"

"Fire," she rasped, and the word tore another fit of coughing from her throat. Tears leaked from the corners of her clenched eyes.

"Yes, a fire. You're not burned though, just stunned by the smoke. I'm taking you to an inn where you can rest."

Her hand clenched his fingers harder. She tried to clear her throat, but only coughed again before subsiding into silence.

"I am sorry . . ." He should do this now. Get it over with quickly. "I'm sorry, Bess. Your mistress, she . . ."

Her eyes opened, bright with fear.

"She did not escape the fire."

No,
her lips said, though she made no sound.

Hart was overwhelmed by the urge to agree, to join her denial with his own. But he owed her the truth, not stupid hope. "We searched everywhere, Bess." He swallowed back the emotion that tried to crack through his words. "She's gone. I'm so sorry."

Her fingernails dug into his skin as she squeezed, but the pain provided distraction from the sheer panic in her eyes. She shook her head and tried to rise.

"Calm down. Don't injure yourself." He leaned forward to press her shoulders down, but she grabbed his wrist with her free hand and held him tight.

"Listen"
she rasped. "Please. Listen."

"Yes, of course." The coach jerked forward as it moved out of the soft ground and back to the lane.

"She's not . . ." The wheels drowned out her tortured words, forcing Hart to lean close to her lips. "She's not there. A man . . ."

"What?"

She began to cough again as a strange, brittle pressure formed in Hart's chest. He forced himself not to grab her. "What are you saying?"

"Not there," Bess choked out, her face reddening with the effort. She let go of his wrist and pressed her hand to her throat as if to push the words out. "A man took her. Someone took her."

His heart stopped and held itself still, not daring to believe. "You saw this?"

"Yes. I saw him . . . pull her away." "Who?"

"I
couldn't tell, but she . . . she said 'Matthew.'"

His heart burst back to furious life as he raised his fist to the roof. He wanted to race back to Emma's home, but he could not give chase in the carriage. He'd let the whole damn day pass. They must have gone miles.

"Stop!" Hart slammed open the door and hung himself out the opening again. "Lark! We need to get back to
Whitby
as quickly as possible. She's not dead. Someone took her, a man named Matthew Bromley. Get me back to
Whitby
before sundown and let's find out if he's been seen."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I'll need you to get me the swiftest horse you can. I have to find her."

"Of course.
Hie
!" He yelled to the horses before Hart had even snapped the door shut. He was jerked back to his seat and the force slammed cold fury into his veins.

She was alive.
Alive.
And he would find her and make that bastard sorry he'd ever even spoken her name.

"Help her," Bess whispered, shocking Hart. He'd forgotten she was there.

"I will."

The woman choked on a sob. "She wronged you. I know that. But she's not a bad person. You must help her."

Pushing aside his need to do violence, Hart reached out to take her hand again. "I promise to find her and to keep her safe. I promise."

"Bless you."

Hart offered a false smile. Bless him. Or damn him to hell, for he was about to commit murder.

"I will freeze out here," Emma snapped, trying to wrap herself in the oiled skin that was supposed to keep the damp from seeping into her nightdress. It wasn't working. She was wet and cold and enraged. The ropes around her wrists and ankles had set fire to her skin.

Matthew looked little better. His red nose set off the crimson that shot through his eyes. '"
Tis
your fault, so shut your braying mouth."

"You're a murderous bastard." The slap that landed across her cheek was almost a relief. The cold was numbing her from the outside in. She needed reminding of her hatred before it seeped completely away into the damp ground.

"A modest woman minds her tongue," Matthew said through clenched teeth.

"Even in the face of evil?"

"I will not be judged by you. I have a higher judge—"

"Oh, and how did you explain my uncle's death to your Lord?"

The rage dropped away, leaving his face limp with regret. "That was an accident,
I
told you. I never meant for your uncle to die."

"You caused his death with your selfishness."

"I am sorry for that, Emily—"

"Don't call me that.
My name is Emma. And I want to go home."

"Your place is with me."

"You killed my only family! You might have killed Bess. And now you think I will be your wife? You are even madder than I thought."

"In time you will—"

"In time I will murder you in your sleep." She kicked out at him with her bound legs and caught a solid blow to his hip. "Untie me!"

He lunged at her, grabbed her shoulders and forced her to the ground beneath him. "You want me to untie you? If I untie your legs, I will be between them, do you understand? Is that another sin you want on my head?"

"Matthew," she sobbed, afraid for the first time since he'd dragged her out of her home. His hips pushed into her. A rock dug deep into her back. "You're hurting me."

"You have hurt me for years. I love you, Emily. Despite all you've done, all your sins, I still want to honor you with marriage." His eyes closed against pleasure as he thrust himself against her. "It is . . . It is the only way I can redeem myself. By . . . redeeming you." His hands squeezed her tighter, bruising her as she wept quietly beneath him.

"Please, Matthew."

"And if I untie you, I will want to rub the marks the ropes have left. And then I'll. . . I know you have been wicked. So wicked. Men have t-touched you. Ah. . . Please Lord, I must not let her sin again. We must be married . . . Oh. Oh, Emily."

He shuddered above her, and she vowed not to mention the ropes again. She'd already worn her fingers raw trying to work them free. She wouldn't risk worse injury at his hands.

"Emily," he was choking on her name, sobbing as he rocked back to rest on his knees. He straddled her, pinning her down; she couldn't escape the blow when it came. "Why are you so bad? A temptress worse than Eve. But I will save you. I'll save you. When we marry, my soul will be clean and I will lead you to the Lord. A man is the shepherd of his family."

Emma turned her head and stared at the grass swaying inches from her face. The pitiful fire illuminated only those blades, beyond was pure blackness. How long before he truly raped her? It would take days to get to Scotland, more than a week if she was able to slow them down. How long before he attacked her, how long before he beat her half to death for tempting him into fornication?

Bess was alive, but what could she do? There was no one to send for, no one Bess could turn to. Emma had run from everyone she'd known, and Hart. . . well, Hart was well and truly done with her.

If only she'd let him stay as she'd wanted to. If only she'd let him tempt her with the promise in his eyes. But she could not love any more. She couldn't stand the inevitable pain, the heartbreak that crouched in unexpected corners, waiting to pounce.

This was better. This she could understand. Matthew Bromley wanted her, and so he took her. And while she was afraid and her face was swollen with hot pain, at least she knew what was coming. The same kind of hatred and lust she'd witnessed her whole life. Strange that she'd ever thought she could be free of it.

Hating her surrender, she whispered to the night, "I will see you punished."

Matthew's hands took hers gently. He checked the thick rope around her wrists. "No. You will love me, Emily. Now go to sleep." One of his hands stroked a slow line up her hip. His sigh filled the night when he reached the curve of one breast and cupped his hand around it. "I will keep you warm."

Her despair steamed instantly to rage and she knew in that moment she would fight him with every breath. "You'd best keep your hands to yourself. Every touch outside the marriage bed is an insult to your God."

His hand snapped away, and Emma rolled to her side, pushing him off her body. If she could not escape him tonight, she would escape tomorrow or the day after that. If he dared to take her to another town, she would make the same kind of scene she'd made in that village they'd passed through. She would escape him.

Matthew could find salvation for his own damned soul. She had enough trouble keeping hold of her own.

Chapter 23

Hart had started shaking with the cold about an hour ago. He'd given up trying to stop it soon thereafter. If the shivering would keep him slightly warmer, then it was welcome. A thick fog had fallen over the world around midnight, dampening everything and offering an added danger to his night. His mount had proven quick and sure-footed, but even the sturdy gelding became skittish on the misty trail. The road stayed a good ten yards from the jagged cliffs, but occasionally the sound of waves would grow loud as if a crevice had opened only feet from the horse's hooves.

The fog shrouded everything and floated strange sounds to his ears. He'd thought he'd heard a woman's cry once and had chased inland after it, but he'd found nothing. Likely it had been a gull or a crow. Then there had been a mysterious creaking, a flash of faint light. That had come from the east, a passing ship perhaps.