For the Love of a Soldier (44 page)

“No, it’s not her uncle.” Garrett’s eyes met Gus’s and he vaulted onto Champion. “As to her being in danger, I plan to find her before it comes to that.” He spoke to himself as much as Gus as he urged Champion out of the barn and into a gallop.

A litany of recriminations spiraled through Garrett. He shouldn’t have been distracted by Alex. Why didn’t he listen to her explanation about Arthur’s visit so that his last words to her would not have been spoken in anger? He should have hired a Goddamn butler and more house staff who would have witnessed Alex’s departure and, more important, with whom she had left. He should have asked her to Goddamn marry him.

Such thinking did him little good, so he concentrated on what helped—vowing to locate Alex and kill Arthur.

He searched the adjacent fields, tenants’ dwellings, and the hunting lodge, despite knowing that absent a mount, Alex could never have covered so much ground. But he couldn’t face returning to the house. Not alone. Not yet.

He alerted Holt to Alex’s absence, instructing him to advise the men to keep watch for any strangers or carriages in the near vicinity. He directed a group to search the area, scouring the grounds for foot tracks or recent carriage ruts. Some of these veterans were expert trackers from the war. Others could pry information from a statue, and two were sharpshooters, trained to spot the enemy before he knew they were upon him. He’d use them all. They were loyal to him and battle trained. He was back at war.

New enemy. Same rules, different engagement.

It wasn’t until he had covered every trail or shelter that he finally conceded Alex had not ventured out on her own.

Reluctantly, he returned home. Brandon walked down the front steps to meet him. His grim expression answered Garrett’s unasked question, and he swore. He needed another strategy, a new plan of attack.

“Look, if Arthur has her, he won’t harm her.” Brandon spoke quickly, keeping his voice level. “He wants you, not Alex. If your reasoning for Arthur’s motive is right, he’s protecting his grandchild’s inheritance that
you’re
threatening, not Alex. She’s simply the bait. He’ll get in touch with us because you’re the ransom he wants in exchange for Alex.”

Brandon might be right, but he couldn’t wait. “I’m going after him.”

Brandon lunged forward and snatched his reins. “Wait! You don’t know where the hell he is, nor can you be certain if Arthur is behind this. Don’t be daft—”

“But I do! I know Arthur!” He snapped back, yanking against Brandon’s grip. “And he doesn’t know we are onto him, so he can return home and hide there. He’s arrogant enough to do so. I’ll ride to his country estate; he wouldn’t dare try to hide her in London and take the risk of being recognized or seen. I’ll kill him if he’s touched her, Brandon. I swear, I will.” He leaned down to Brandon. “And this time, I won’t be stopped. Don’t even try.”

“For God’s sake, this is Kit’s father we’re talking about!” Brandon lowered his voice and cast a glance behind him before he continued, holding up his hand. “I can’t save Arthur if he’s taken Alex or harmed her. But until you are certain he has done so, you have to back off, Garrett! You have to. This is Kit’s
father you plan to murder. Her blood. I’m not asking you to have a care for Arthur, but I am asking you to have a care for Kit.”

The repetition of Kit’s name managed to breach Garrett’s rage. He paused, his grip on the reins slacking. Christ. What a coiled, incestuous mess.

Arthur was his half sister’s father—bloody, murderous bastard or not.

Therein lay the difference between Arthur and himself. Arthur never thought of Kit; Garrett could not forget her.

“We need you here coordinating a plan of action,” Brandon pressed. “You understand how to launch this kind of offensive, and the men are loyal only to you.”

“Fine.” He blew out a breath. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll play defense to his offense. If Alex is anywhere in the vicinity, I’ll find her or some bloody scrap of evidence leading to her whereabouts. I’m sending Stewart into town to collect some policemen, men to each of Arthur’s properties, and a scout to ferret the bastard out.
They will
have orders to shoot Arthur if Alex’s life is in danger.” Garrett dismounted and slapped Champion’s rump, prodding him toward the stables. “Arthur’s arrogant and has no idea we know about him, so that might make him careless.”

Brandon fell into step beside him. “Let me break the news to Kit. I can do that much for you.”

Garrett clasped Brandon’s shoulder. “She’s strong. She’ll weather it.”

“Yes, but she shouldn’t have to.” Anger laced Brandon’s words. Silence fell as they reached the front door. Stopping, Brandon faced Garrett. “Alex is strong, too. Don’t forget that.”

“She is. She’ll be all right.”

“And we’ll be ready.”

Garrett nodded. “Damn right.”

A
LEX WOKE UP
with a pounding headache. The pain was reminiscent of the time she’d cracked her head on the door of Garrett’s carriage. She searched the room, taking in the sheets draped over every item of furniture and the curtains pulled across the windows of a large, spacious bedroom. Shimmering
candlelight illuminated the area and she sought its source, her eyes widening at the sight of Arthur.

He sat on a sheet-covered chair in the corner, a candle sconce in one hand, the revolver in his other, casually propped against his thigh.

She jerked to a sitting position and grimaced at the bolt of pain that blazed across her head. Groaning, she pressed her hand to her temple, feeling the egglike swelling.

“You might have a bit of a bump. My apologies, but I didn’t trust you to behave.”

She shifted back on the bed, retreating from him. “Where…where are we?”

“Keyes’s estate. He is away for a few days. This wing of the house has been closed off.” Arthur waved a hand over their surroundings and wrinkled his nose. “Keyes is in debt. He thinks to save a few farthings by closing off rooms, reducing his staff and his stables, and of course, selling off parcels of his property. I believe Kendall—”

“Where’s Beau?” She cut him off. She searched the room for Beau’s small figure. Seeing the darkness behind the curtains, she gauged it to be evening, and the passage of time ratcheted up her fears for the child’s safety.

Arthur’s brow rose. “At this time of night, he should be safe at home with his mother.” At her obvious surprise, he simply smiled. “It wasn’t the boy I wanted, but rather his usefulness to you. Using his name served my purposes well enough.”

He had played her expertly. She cursed him to hell and back before another thought struck her. “Is Keyes working with you?”

“No. The man hasn’t the stomach for murder. While he is not a partner in my plans, he, like Beau, is useful to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s rather simple. He will hang for murdering you and Kendall at the hunting lodge. I heard about Kendall accusing him of trying to kill you both when Keyes’s shot went wild during his hunt. I have no doubt the authorities will revisit Keyes once they find your bodies. Do you recall the incident?”

Alex nodded and slumped back into the pillows, her stomach roiling at Arthur’s smirk and calm, conversational tone. The man could be discussing his gardening plans rather than cold-blooded
murder. He was mad. Poised, collected, but stark-raving mad. Due to its throbbing pain, she refrained from giving her head a shake to clear it. Arthur’s sanity or madness was irrelevant; the important point was his proximity to her. She needed to get far away from him. To escape.

“The man does have motive,” Arthur continued. “He hates Kendall. Never forgave him for snatching up the property around here, including half of Keyes’s land. Keyes has also complained about Kendall’s plans to manufacture ale. We do agree on that issue. Engaging in trade is beneath the dignity of an earl, but Kendall never showed any deference for his title.”

“Why?” Alex breathed. “Garrett is your stepson, Kit’s half brother.”

“He’s not a Brown. And I refuse to let him risk Will’s inheritance.” His lips curled and with those cryptic words, he stood, ending the conversation. “It is you who are the real victim. I thought Kendall was too busy digging his own grave to find time to marry. My mistake. However, knowing my stepson, I can’t take the chance that you aren’t breeding.”

Alex gasped, recoiling from his blunt crudity.

Ignoring her response, he spoke in a flat, instructional tone. “The door is heavy oak, two inches thick, and will be securely locked. This wing is on the second floor, over a twenty-foot drop to the ground. It is isolated and closed off from the other floors, so your screams will only earn you a sore throat. Keyes’s staff has been slashed to three who inhabit the opposite end of the house. My man is well paid to not heed your cries. I’ll bring your meals, but you have bread and water until I do so.” He waved a hand toward her bedside table. “I suggest you eat, as you may be here a few days.”

“Why?” she blurted. “I mean, why the wait?”

He paused with his hands on the door handle. “I have my reasons, and I don’t give a damn if Kendall suffers over your disappearance while he waits.” He stalked out, and the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed in the silence of the chamber.

Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, only to drop back onto the mattress and clutch her head. She lay down. Escape would have to wait until she could stand without the room pitching beneath her.

Tears leaked beneath the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them, refusing to cry. She would escape. Arthur’s need to finalize his plans gave her the time she needed to recover and thwart them. Once the pounding receded in her head, she vowed to do so.

Arthur had found her an easy target once; he would not do so again.

G
ARRETT SUFFERED TWO
tortuous days and endless nights in a living purgatory. Having resided there during Balaclava and after his return home, he should have been accustomed to its tribulations. However, unable to seek oblivion in liquid solace, nothing prepared him for the slow, inexorable creep of time or the sense of helplessness he felt.

Each day was like awakening to an impenetrable blanket of darkness. Rather than having his hollow emptiness filled with the horror of his war nightmares, this time a bleak, unrelenting despair gripped him.

Then there was the fear. Fear that as each hour passed, each minute, each second, not only did he not know where Alex was but what torments she suffered. He could do little to help her but scour the vicinity, questioning the villagers and searching neighboring estates looking for any signs of recent flight, only to be forced to return home when exhaustion broke him.

It wasn’t until the morning of the third day that Garrett received word of Arthur’s first mistake, and a sliver of light seeped into the darkness engulfing him.

Garrett stood beside Havers before the hearth in the front parlor, his arm braced against the mantel as he surveyed the men before him. Gus, Holt, and a handful of his men from the hops field were clustered in one half of the room. Brandon and Stewart stood on the other half, flanking the three Peelers dressed in their familiar blue tailcoats and top hats, their wooden truncheons jutting out of the long pockets in their coats.

The two East Enders whom Garrett had sent to London, Booker and Haverill, had returned and had recounted their success in collecting the evidence needed to implicate Arthur. Once caught, Arthur would not be escaping the imprisoning bars of the law.

However, justice was taking too damn long for Garrett, so he was changing tactics. “We need to broaden our search, speak to the neighbors again, question the servants.”

“Keyes is away,” Stewart spoke up. “The vicar told me he had departed last week to visit his wife’s family.”

“There are still servants to question,” Brandon said. “Gardeners, we can—”

“Not at Keyes’s. He dismissed the lot before he left,” Stewart interjected, disgust lacing his tone. “Gave them no notice or references. The vicar knew you were looking for staff and had talked to me about hiring some of them. I was going to speak to you about it, but in the wake of recent events, I forgot.”

“Ah, that be strange.” Holt cleared his voice and scratched his head. “The men said a carriage was seen on the day of Lady Alexandra’s disappearance, but it was tracked to Keyes’s estate. Assumed it was his.” He shrugged.