Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (44 page)

Although Carter had warned her to take precautions, she had admittedly not thought it possible for danger to strike a second time in so few hours, and so Arabella had made her way around the orangery toward the dowager house, where she meant to unpack more of the trunks she had sent over previously
as a means to distract her heart from the disarray of her friend’s abduction. She had convinced herself if she went about her normal duties, everything would return to how it should be. Her thoughts remained deeply seated upon the situation between Carter and Mrs. Warren, and she prayed for the search party’s success. The couple, obviously, affected each other, but Bella easily recognized the gulf between them. “Very much as it was between Lawrence and me.”

Lucinda Warren had been systematically abused by her late husband, the woman’s self-confidence chipped away by a man who thought only of his own comforts. Lawrence had explained what Law had termed to be Carter’s growing interest in the woman and how truly unsuited they were for each other. “I fear my brother’s heart will know disappointment,” Law had declared as he sat Bella upon his lap. “He is young; yet, I have held the hope of Carter finally knowing love. He has always harbored the idea the baron does not recognize his worth. It would do Carter well to know the love of a woman fiercely loyal to him, and him alone.”

“In the same manner, I am with you?” Bella had teased as she pulled her body closer to his.

Law’s hands had skimmed her hips, lifting her center to his erection. “Exactly,” he had rasped. “Such a woman can change a man’s stars.”

Remembrance of what had followed brought a flush to Bella’s cheeks. She paused to stare blindly at the back lawns and to imagine her husband striding toward her. He was always so confident–so assured of his role in his family and in Society. Bella held no doubt he could have claimed any woman he wished. The fact Lawrence Lowery had chosen her never ceased to amaze Bella, and she thanked God daily for bringing them together. “Come home safely,” she said on a sigh.

It was the last thing she recalled before the terracotta squares leading to the orangery had come up to meet her fall. She had slammed hard against the tiles, and even the cool surface of the bricks had offered no comfort. A groan. A hand across her mouth. A cloth about her eyes. It had all happened so quickly, Bella had had little time to react. Someone swept her from the floor and had thrown her roughly over his shoulder.

Unable to see her attacker, Bella had fought for escape, but whoever had grabbed her had had an accomplice, who had quickly bound her hands and legs,
turning her into a living sack. She resented how the second man had fondled her ankles as he tied them together; however, she ignored the intrusion and listened to the whispered exchange between the men.

“Hurry, before someone comes looking for her.”

“She is a wild one, more passionate than her cousin.”

Which cousin
? Bella wondered. She had cousins in England’s southwest shires, those generations residing within the Earl of Vaughn’s reach, as well as those in Staffordshire, an extension of Lord Graham’s family. All were less impetuous than she.

The men were running. She assumed they raced from the gardens, away from any hope of her rescue. With a gag in her mouth, she could not scream for assistance, and as Bella bounced hard against her abductor’s shoulder, she knew instant fear. She prayed the man’s rough handling would not harm the child she carried. Above all else, she must protect Lawrence’s issue. Thus resolve, Bella ceased her struggle. Instead, she went limp in the man’s grasp, easing the harsh blows to her body from his jostling her roughly. Later, she would concentrate on escaping. For now, the child’s welfare took prominence.

“Sir Carter!” Mr. Beauchamp beckoned Carter forward. Carter, along with Kerrington at his side, joined the family steward. When he and Worthing reined in their horses, the man said, “We are entering some sort of enclave, Sir, and it appears the wagon we seek has taken a turn into this horseshoe enclosure. I do not like it, Sir.”

“Neither do I,” Carter declared. “Whomever we pursue has made no effort to conceal his trail.”

“What do you wish us to do, Lowery?” Kerrington asked.

His “captain’s” words still clung to Carter’s shoulders: It was time he proved himself worthy of Pennington’s respect. “I would wish to be of Thornhill’s nature and storm into the battle,” he said with a knowing nod to Kerrington. “Yet, a bit of caution is necessary. Lord Worthing, if you, Godown, and Lexford would lead the others in a circular approach, I will follow the trail to its end.”

Kerrington did not question Carter’s decision. “As you wish. Give us a quarter hour to take up protective positions before you set out again.” Kerrington
motioned Beauchamp to follow him, and within a minute, the other riders had dispersed.

Carter would have preferred to dismount and to rest his horse, but he thought better of it. He held no idea whether he faced one culprit or several. Whether the person he followed was the infantryman, who had attacked him previously. Whether Mrs. Warren’s abductor held him in his sights. Carter would not know until he rode into the shelter’s narrow opening. Until he exposed himself to the lady’s attacker.

Instinctively, Carter checked the pocket watch he carried in his pocket. It was the one his father had presented him on Carter’s eighteenth birthday. A very ornate timepiece, the baron had explained had once belonged to Nigel Lowery, Carter’s irascible grandfather. According to the baron, Carter’s appearance had been a profound relief to Niall Lowery, who had bemoaned the need for a spare after three successive female births. Carter had carried it every day since; in his reasoning, it was a symbol of his connection to the Lowery family, perhaps even a symbol of Niall Lowery’s love for his second son. “Ten more minutes,” he said to remind himself of the task at hand.

“Dear God,” he said reverently aloud, “in your eternal goodness, protect those who ride with me and share your benevolence with Mrs. Warren. I failed her in Belgium, but with your permission, on this day, I mean to fulfill that long ago promise to the lady.” Returning the watch to an inside pocket, Carter’s eyes scanned the open trail. The idea he could be riding to his death did not frighten him. This was the life he had chosen, and Carter held no regrets. His legacy would be one of life–the lives he had saved and the lives he had changed. “It is enough,” he declared. “Even if Pennington’s prediction never proves true, I will continue on. I will do what is right for each English citizen: I will do my duty.”

He caught the horse’s reins more firmly in his grasp and used his knees to nudge the animal forward. Retrieving his gun from the holster strapped to his chest, Carter set the trigger for a quicker response. He felt very exposed, and he sat lower in the saddle to make himself a smaller target. With each tap of the horse’s hoofs against the smooth pebbles and twigs, Carter’s heart pounded out a fearful staccato. He licked his dry lips and set the horse’s pace to a gallop. “Time to free Mrs. Warren,” he said as he rode hard into the opening.

After hearing nothing for what felt like hours, when the shot rang out, Lucinda had jumped–her body responding to the sound of the recoil. She had heard enough rifles to recognize the sound. Instinctively, she jerked her knees upward, only to have them bang against the side of the box and sending a radiating pain shooting through her already numb limbs.

Suddenly, the box in which she rested shifted, and she fought to stay in place as the wagon beneath her tilted, pitching the box downward to slam into what she assumed was the hinged back drop. The sound of wood ripping told her the back would not hold her weight mixed with that of her enclosure. The question was what would happen if the wagon shifted again?

A second shot brought another reaction and another tilt of the box followed by a scream and her bracing her hands against the sides of her enclosure. The box was angled some five and forty degrees, and Lucinda stiffly pushed against the box’s rear to hold herself in place.

When a third round of gunfire ensued, Lucinda breathed through the desire to recoil. Instead, she concentrated on conjuring up an image of Carter Lowery’s beloved countenance. “Do not forget me,” she whispered as she closed her eyes to hold his image before her.

Carter bolted from the horse and dove for protection as the dirt sprayed upward about the stallion’s legs. The animal bucked and then rose up on two legs. It pawed the air, and Carter rolled away before the stallion could strike him.

Within seconds came answering fire, and Carter knew one of his friends had taken up the fight. Scrambling to his feet, Carter ran toward where he had seen the flash of light–where his enemy lay in wait. It had never been his way to rush heedlessly into the skirmish, but this time was different: Lucinda Warren had suffered because of him, and Carter meant to set her world aright. He owed her as much. “Never again,” he growled as he ducked behind a stand of trees. A third round of gunfire told him the others had engaged the resistance, but Carter ignored the melee. He possessed no doubt his family and friends would prevail in the altercation. He remained focused on only one task: the saving of Lucinda Warren.

He cautiously approached a small “survivor’s hut,” as those from the area called the structures. The shelters were nothing more than four walls and a dry roof. Occasionally, one might find such a hut with a wooden floor, but most had been designed purely to provide shelter from the elements.

The dust-encrusted windows blocked his view, and so Carter possessed no other option than to enter the unknown. With a sigh of resignation, he kicked the door, but it did not give. Expecting to encounter an armed opponent, Carter jumped to the side to avoid a counter attack, but silence prevailed. Again, he kicked the door; this time, the splinter of wood rewarded his efforts. With his shoulder to the panels, he shoved with all his might, and the door gave a little, but it remained frustratingly impenetrable.

As he stepped away to kick it a third time, Law appeared by his side. “On three,” Law declared, and Carter nodded. Even in this madness, it was comforting to be standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “One. Two. Three,” he pronounced. This time the door sprung wide, slamming into the wall, and Carter led the way into the darkness.

Gun at-the-ready, the empty room brought instant disappointment. “Where is she?” he growled as he turned in a gallingly silent circle.

“I have no idea,” Law responded in bewilderment.

“Lowery!” He heard the desperate call of James Kerrington.

Following the sound, Carter rushed from the hut, in search of his friend. A second shout drew him further into the enclave. Bursting through an untamed stand of bilberry bumblebee and bog asphodel, he came to a stumbling halt beside his father. Perched on the edge of a steep drop off sat a wagon, its rear draped over the cliffside, precariously teetering forth and back.

“Stay alert,” he cautioned as he slowly approached the wagon. He wished to rush to the cliff’s edge and make certain Lucinda’s was not lying crushed on the rocks below, but Carter had learned his lessons well. His eyes scanned the ground searching for traps, and he was rewarded when he discovered a perfectly concealed fuse line, running beneath one of the wagon’s wheels in the direction of several large boulders. “Lexford!” he pointed toward the ground and to the rocks, and viscount moved guardedly along a circular route to examine the situation.