He stepped off the path and started across the grass toward the stables. The dew soaked his boots. If not ruined, the fine leather would at least make a few shillings. He had no doubt he could sell his jacket and vest to a seamstress. Aye, he’d have enough to escape, anyway. He prayed he’d find his sister easily. And Eleanor… hell, maybe someday he’d be able to help her escape as well, if it wasn’t too late. He pulled open the stable door and breathed deeply the comforting scent of hay. As a lad he’d spent more time in the stalls with the horses than in a proper house.
“Mr. McKinnon,” Lowe said, pausing with a rake in hand. Dust particles had been stirred into the air and created a hazy fog in the fading sunlight that poured through open windows. “What brings you here?”
When the old man’s eyes darted nervously from side to side as if looking for assistance, or a weapon, James knew. Hell and damnation, Ophelia had warned Lowe not to let him leave.
James reached over a stable door and patted the nose of a brown mare. The horse shook her head and neighed, sensing the unease. “Thought I might go for a ride.”
“Sorry, sir, the horses are resting today.”
“Really?” James stepped away from the mare, in no mood to play games. Hell, his entire life had been one big bloody lie after another. This man would not stand in his way… no one would. “Why don’t you tell the truth?”
He gripped the rake tightly in front of him, his jowls quivering. “I don’t want any trouble.” The man lifted his pitchfork, pointing it at James. “You’re not allowed to ride. You’re not allowed to leave the estate.”
“And who will stop me, Lowe?” James asked kindly. He didn’t want to hurt the man, but he would. Hell, he’d die before he’d remain here. “You?”
“I vill,” Wavers growled behind him.
He should have known the beast would follow. Lady Lavender was having him watched. Slowly, James turned. “I don’t wish to hurt you either, but I will.”
The man released a wry laugh. It was the first and only time James had ever heard him laugh. “You think to get past me?”
“I’m not so bad at sparring,” James said mildly. Wavers was strong, but his large size would make him slow. If he kept his wits about him, James had no doubt he could win this match.
“Aye, but I know your strengths, and veaknesses.” The big, burly man was rolling up his sleeves. “Vhat vill you do anyvay?” He quirked a thick, black brow. “Attempt to have a normal life outside these gilded valls?”
James shrugged, glancing around the stables to search for a weapon. “It’s amazing what people can do when determined.”
Of course he didn’t believe it, and hell, he might not even tell his sister the truth. Perhaps he could fade into the world, become one with the pulsing life around him. Another lost soul on the streets of London.
Wavers snorted. “Vill you tell your lady you love her?”
James frowned. What was the man getting at? Before he had time to think over the matter, Wavers threw his fist forward. The man might have strength on his side, but he wasn’t exactly quick on his feet. James easily ducked out of the way, stepping to the left.
“Not quite sure what you’re talking about,” James said casually.
Wavers regained his balance and narrowed his dark eyes. “Aren’t you?”
A shiver of unease raced over James. Dear God, was Wavers implying that they knew about Eleanor? James stiffened, his mind spinning. That’s when Wavers struck. The man’s huge fist hit him hard in the side of the face. James’s head jerked back with a snap. His legs buckled, sending him stumbling as pain radiated from his head down his neck and spine. He fell into Lowe.
“The horses!” The man skipped out of the way, more worried about his stables than James.
“If your lady is still alive,” Wavers jeered. “Her husband vasn’t too pleased vhen he found out she’d been visiting Lady Lavender’s.”
Oh God, Eleanor. What had they done? The monster would kill her. “You’re lying. Ophelia would never break her code of silence.” James managed to stand his ground and glare at Wavers, though inside he trembled.
“Perhaps she is more interested in revenge than her code.”
The words brought him up short. “Revenge?”
The bull charged at James, giving him no time to contemplate the man’s odd comment. James had only a moment to react. He snatched the pitchfork from Lowe, spun out of the way, and brought the flat of the fork toward Wavers. It hit his face, bouncing off the man’s bulbous nose. The giant cried out, clasping his face as blood poured from his nostrils. He fell to his knees, the entire stable shaking.
James pointed the sharp tines of the fork at Wavers’s chest. “Why does Ophelia want revenge?”
He merely glared up at James, blood pouring from between his thick fingers. James would beat the truth from him, if he had the time. James shoved the points into the man’s neck.
Wavers swallowed hard and actually paled. He’d never seen the bull afraid, but there was no doubt his eyes showed his fear.
“Trust me,” James growled. He turned his head, spitting a wad of blood to the dirt. “I’m angry and mad enough to do it.”
The man lifted his gaze. “Your father vas scum.”
“What?” James demanded, shocked. It was one thing to seek vengeance, but what the hell did his father have to do with any of this? “I want the details!”
“I don’t know.”
James pressed the points into the skin. “Where?”
“I svear, I know nothing, only that Ophelia blames him for something that happened to her.”
The sudden sound of shouts outside jerked James from his anger. Shite, Lowe had snuck off while they’d been fighting. James backed up a step, using one hand to open the stall and pull out the mare.
“Stand down, bastard,” he warned as Wavers began to get to his feet, brilliant red blood covering his lower face and chest, providing ghastly a sight.
James dropped the pitchfork and swung himself up on the mount. Without pause he kicked his heels into the sides of the horse and burst forward. Wavers, the idiot, stood his ground. James lifted his foot and kicked the man in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Fortunately, Lowe had left the door open.
As he burst out into the sunlight, he didn’t miss the group of men headed toward him, pistols drawn. His gaze shifted to the back steps where Lady Lavender stood, watching calmly. He knew better than to think he had won. Vindictive bitch. His anger spurred him on.
With a cry, he shifted the horse right and raced across the field of lavender, the hooved feet of his mount crushing the flowers and releasing their fragrant scent into the air. His father’s secrets would have to wait. He had saved himself, and whether she wanted him to or not, James was going to save Eleanor.
She couldn’t move. Her body ached with a burning pain that she hadn’t felt since that first beating, three days after their marriage, when her husband had wanted to make sure she understood who was in charge. How shocked and scared she’d been. She’d worried she would die.
Now she only hoped she would. The pain was too much. Every muscle pulled with the smallest movement. The base of her skull thumped, the room spinning when she opened her eyes. She didn’t dare move, merely lay upon her stomach on her bed, her fingers curled tightly around the covers.
She’d spent hours picturing her husband, dredging up his face and clinging to the hatred she felt for the man because her anger was the only thing that kept her going. But as the minutes passed by, her ire fled and despair took over. Five hours. She’d watched the clock tick the minutes by. For five hours she’d heard from no one. Not even Fanny had come to tend her wounds or bring soup. Perhaps she’d been let go, escorted from the house. Alone. She was utterly alone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to give in to temptation and cry.
“You bitch! How dare you humiliate me!”
As much as she tried to forget, the memories came flooding back. The carriage ride home
from St. Anne’s had been eerily, horribly silent. But the moment they’d stepped into the foyer of their grand house, he’d hit her so hard she’d blacked out. The servants had fled, hiding in the kitchen, none willing to intercede.
No food. No water. No help.
She slid her hand under her pillow, finding the handkerchief she’d loaned to James at Lady Rutherford’s ball. She clutched the linen like it was a lifeline. Would her husband leave her here to die? To starve to death? Perhaps he could get away with it. Who would stop him? Her parents had ceased visiting when she’d refused to take their calling cards, sickened by their part in her marriage. With a groan, she pushed her hands into the bed. Slowly, she managed to sit up, crying out when her back protested with a rush of pain. She felt as if he had broken her spine.
She knew from past experiences that if she didn’t move now, her body would stiffen and the pain would only get worse. Still clutching the handkerchief, she settled her feet upon the floor; they were the only part of her body that didn’t hurt. She could only pray her husband had left. If he was gone, she might, just might be able to escape. Steeling her resolve, she stood, her legs trembling.
She thought of escape, she thought of James, she thought of her urge to keep living. With each shuffled step she knew she was closer to freedom. At the door, she managed to slide her feet into her slippers where they’d fallen when the footmen had carried her upstairs, dropping her upon the bed. It was difficult indeed to believe in the humanity of men when she lived in a house full of soulless demons.
At the door she wrapped her hands around the knob and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. Locked. “No,” she whispered through broken lips. She thumped her fists against the wooden panel. “No!”
She swallowed hard, refusing to cry. She would not have red-rimmed eyes when the bastard returned. If he returned. Her stomach grumbled, tightening. She rested her forehead on the door and took in a deep, trembling breath.
“James,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes. James, who had shown her pleasure she knew she’d never experience again. James, the man who was indebted to a woman who had betrayed him, and he would never know because she had no doubt that when her husband returned he would kill her.
A sudden crash resounded throughout the house, startling her. Eleanor stumbled away from the door. Shouts rose from downstairs, male voices arguing. All sickeningly familiar, but one… one that gave her hope in a way she’d never felt before. No, she was wrong, James couldn’t be here. It was a dream, or she’d finally gone insane. The sudden thunder of footsteps sent her heart racing. She glanced toward the hearth, wondering if she could reach the fireplace poker, any weapon before whoever it was would arrive.
“Eleanor?” James’s voice carried through the door.
For a long moment she merely stood there, too stunned to respond. She was dreaming, surely she was dreaming, James could not be here. Yet a little glimmer of hope ripped a sob from her throat when the doorknob rattled.
“Eleanor, damn it, answer me!”
“James?” she said softly, but loud enough for him to hear, for the rattling paused and she swore she heard him say, “Thank God.”
“Stand back,” he demanded.
She shuffled back the few steps her trembling legs would allow. But she wasn’t prepared, couldn’t have been prepared, when the door burst open, startling a surprised gasp from her lips. James stood just over the threshold. His hair was tousled, his face bruised, and she was rather sure he had blood upon his jacket, but he had never looked more beautiful.
His frantic gaze found her immediately. He scanned her body, pausing at her bruised and battered face. He sucked in a sharp breath that told her she looked even worse than she’d imagined. It must have been a dream. He couldn’t be here, he couldn’t. He met her gaze, a resolute determination darkening the green orbs. “You’re coming with me.”
Her lower lip trembled. He had come for her. He was here to save her. The urge to go with him overwhelmed her, but she couldn’t because… because she loved him too much. “He’ll kill you.”
“He’ll have to find us first.”
Us. He was taking her away. Suddenly she was too tired to fight. Perhaps they’d live a life of poverty, but anything would be better than this. “James.”
“And if he’s already found you?” Her husband stood in the doorway.
Eleanor froze, looking at James helplessly. There was a coldness in his gaze that frightened her. He was a man on the brink of disaster. A man who would do whatever it took. “James,” she whispered, resisting the urge to reach out to him. “Don’t.”
Slowly, he turned, giving his back to her and facing Lord Beckett. His shoulders were taunt, his hands fisted. She did not know this James. This man had been pushed too far and she feared for his safety.
“Get out of the way,” James snapped.
Her husband ignored him, focusing instead on her. “My dear, I always knew you were a slut, but really, bringing your whore into the house?”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” she hissed. “A man who keeps his mistress as a neighbor.”
Anger flashed in his eyes, showing his true nature. “She is more of a lady than you will ever be.”
“Yes, perhaps she is a lady, but you are no man. A man doesn’t hurt those around him. A man doesn’t abuse innocents.”
“Shut your mouth, you bitch. You belong to me.” He started forward, the cold anger in his gaze promising retribution. He was out to kill. James apparently thought the same thing. He surged in front of Eleanor, placing himself between her and her husband.
“James, no!”
“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” James growled.
Oh God, he was completely and utterly serious. James would kill her husband, or try. Either way he’d end up in prison. She reached out, resting her hand on his tense back. “James, don’t.”
Her husband’s lips lifted into a smirk. She knew that look well. He thought he had the upper hand. What did he know that they didn’t? “A whore?”
A chill ran down her body, and she clutched her handkerchief more tightly.
“That’s right, my dear. I have spies as well. You think I didn’t know about your visits to the infamous Lady Lavender’s? I was hoping you’d actually learn a thing or two…”
James threw his fist forward, hitting her husband in the jaw. His head snapped back with a crack. He hadn’t seen it coming and stumbled into her dressing table, upsetting the many glass bottles, which tumbled from the surface.
“My lord Beckett!” Graham came rushing into the room from the hall where he’d been lurking. “Shall I call the constable?”
“No.” Her husband pushed away from the dressing table, blood trailing down the corner of his mouth. It was the first time she’d seen him bleed. Dear God, he was human after all. He tugged at the corners of his jacket, straightening his clothing with deliberately slow movements. “I’ll take care of him.”
Eleanor glanced at James, worried. His body was all muscle and hard planes, but did he know how to spar? Her husband did it for sport and she’d been his unwilling partner for far too long. If anything happened to James because of her, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
“James, please…”
He reached his arm out, pushing her behind him. The movement tore at her body, renewing fresh waves of pain, but she didn’t dare complain.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ve been a pampered pet far too long. It’s time for them to see the real me.”
Her husband lunged for him. James stepped aside easily, bringing his fist up and connecting with his jaw. Her husband’s head jerked back and he stumbled, hitting the wall so hard it shook the room. She knew deep down this wouldn’t end well for any of them. Her knees buckled, her strength giving way. Eleanor clasped the post of her bed. James needed her… he needed her, and she was too broken, too weak to help.
With a growl her husband surged forward. James was ready. His fist hi
t the man’s face, sending him stumbling back once more. Her husband wouldn’t stop, and neither would James… until one of them died. Her husband was a brute, but he was no match for James, a man who had lived on the streets half his life.
“How do you like to be hit, you bastard?” James latched onto Lord Beckett’s jacket, jerking him close. “How does it feel?”
“James, stop! Please.” Eleanor stifled a sob. “You’ll kill him!”
He was seething, his nostrils flared, his hands covered in her husband’s blood. She’d never seen him so violent. This was a man she’d never known, a man who frightened her. “I don’t care.”
“I do! If you kill him you’ll end up in prison, or worse.” The words had no effect. He lifted his hand, his fist raised. “I can’t lose you,” she added. “Not when you’ve given me so much.”
He paused, his breathing harsh.
“James, please, you’re scaring me,” she whispered.
Her words seemed to have the effect she’d intended. He released his hold and shoved her husband toward the dressing table. Ellie was finally able to breathe with some normalcy.
James turned toward her, his gaze hard and unrelenting. “I’m leaving. You’re coming with me.”
She nodded her ready agreement, reaching for him. “Yes.”
“You go,” her husband seethed, “I’ll have him arrested.”
“If I don’t go,” she snapped back, “he’ll kill you.”
“No one is leaving,” Graham stated, followed by the soft click of a pistol.
Ellie didn’t have time to react. James spun around, reaching into his pocket at the same time. A blast rang through the air, a small puff of smoke. Graham gasped, dropping to the floor and cradling his bloodied leg.
James didn’t say a word as he slipped the pistol into his jacket pocket and turned toward Eleanor. There was a fierce determination upon his face that worried her, as if he’d do anything to see them free. Anything. He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her gently, cradling her against his chest. His touch so gentle that in that moment she realized he was still there… the James she knew and trusted.