My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (39 page)

“Come, Amelia. It’s useless to fight me,” he said in a low, mocking voice. With her free leg, she kicked backward blindly and met with the hard metal of the pistol. A second later, she heard the
clank
of the pistol as it hit the ground somewhere behind them. She moved to scramble away, but he caught her leg again, yanked her back, and flipped her onto her back with a
thud
before shoving his hands between her thighs. “Let’s not play any more games.”

Amelia’s heart ceased to beat, but her mind sprinted forward to gruesome pictures of his hands on her. She released a scream so intense her own ears rang with it.

Pain outlined every bone in Colin’s body from his hell-bent ride from London to Amelia’s home over the past two days, but when her scream rent the air, he forgot every throbbing muscle and catapulted off his horse to race up the stairs to her. He barreled through the door, hit something hard on his way with the toe of his boot, and came to a shuddering halt as his gaze locked on Amelia. For one moment, confusion reigned.

She lay twisting and screaming on the floor, her hair in disarray around her, her arms flailing in front of her, and her gown bunched up around her thighs. Reality punched him in the gut, the hardest blow he’d ever felt in his life. All the air left his lungs on an exhalation of rage and disbelief only to immediately return with a burning need to kill.

He let out a roar and kicked away the round table between him and the bastard on top of Amelia. A vase flew into the air and shattered, black-and-gold chunks scattering in front of him. He heard nothing but the thundering of blood in his ears and his own voice, wild and cursing.

He gripped the man, who was already turning toward him, and swung him around.
Huntington
! A vivid recollection of the man looking at Amelia too long and lingering filled Colin’s mind. “You filthy bastard,” he yelled, not bothering with questions. Amelia’s torn bodice and contorted face gave him all the answers he needed.

“Aversley,” Huntington cried as Colin’s fist met with the man’s nose. The crunch of bones shattering sent dizzying satisfaction spiraling through Colin.

“Did. You. Mean. To. Defile. Her?” he demanded, the raging river of his blood moving through his veins to make every muscle coil, jump, and prepare to kill.

“She wanted me,” Huntington responded as if it were an obvious fact.

Whatever tether had kept Colin from already slaughtering the man snapped, the sound of it breaking as real as a leather whip slicing through air. A haze descended over him as he drew back his fist and delivered one vicious blow after another until the man in his grasp twitched, no more than a bloody, blithering mess. His right hand burned fiercely with the hits, but he welcomed the burn and reared back to punch Huntington again, not yet satisfied. Amelia’s fearful cry slowed him, and then her words registered in his mind and stopped him altogether.

“You came!” She sounded as if she could hardly believe it.

Shame pummeled him that he had caused her to ever doubt his love. He glanced at Huntington, wanting to finish the man, but Amelia shook her head.

“Enough,” she rasped as she wobbled toward him.

Colin immediately dropped Huntington, who fell like a rag doll to the ground, and then he stood and pulled Amelia to him. She wilted into him, her body shaking, her small hands grasping at his arms, and the muffled sound of her tears breaking him into a thousand jagged pieces. Her smell, so sweet of lavender, lingered on her, but stronger than that was the overpowering scent of Huntington’s sweat and lust as it assaulted Colin.

He cried out in rage, and Amelia’s voice joined his―a strangled cry of shame he knew far to well. “No,” he cried sharply while running a hand down her matted hair then cupping her tear-streaked face in his hands. “Don’t you dare think you have any fault in this. Whatever this man has done to you, you are not to blame.”

“I am!” she mumbled, shaking her head and then burying it in his chest. “I’m foolish. So foolish. I thought I could handle Lord Huntington on my own, so I allowed him to come in. He― That is, I― When he shoved himself between my legs, I―Dear Heavenly God ―I would rather be dead.”

Colin’s stomach, already a hard throbbing knot of anger and fear for her, twisted mercilessly. He pressed his lips close to her ear and felt her jerk at his nearness. Cold fury gripped him once again. “Did he ―I mean to say… did he have you?”

“What?” The one word was a choked whisper. She pulled back, her lips trembling and her cheeks a painful red. “Are you asking if he rav―”

“Yes,” he interrupted, fearing if she said the word, he would turn around and rip Huntington’s heart out with his bare hands.

She shook her head, her eyes glassy even as her gaze wandered to the moaning man on the floor. “You arrived before he had the chance.”

His chest expanded with relief, and his hands shook as he pulled her face close to his and pressed his cheek to hers. He did not want to cause her fear by trying to kiss her just yet, but by God, he burned to wipe Huntington’s stench off her.

“You said you allowed him to come in here? What did you mean?”

Her frightened gaze darted to Huntington once more. “He has been―” She stopped, swallowed hard so that he heard the force of it, and took a shaky breath. “He has been forcing my mother to sleep with him so that the bank would not call in Philip’s notes, and he threatened to spread the rumor that my mother was a whore and ruin Philip if I would not start sleeping with him, too.”

Colin curled his hands into fists. He was going to kill the bastard. He swallowed, though it felt next to impossible to do so. “Surely your mother would not let you do such a thing?”

Amelia shook her head, her brown creasing. “Of course not. She wanted to try to convince him to let her continue to…” Her voice drifted off. She grazed a hand through her disheveled hair. “I could not allow that. She was afraid for me because he threatened to tell people I slept with him, as well, even if I had not. He may still. The rumors will be terrible if he does.”

The uncertain look she gave him made him unable to take a full breath. She was worried for him. Or what he might think. Was it his past she feared? His hatred of the rumors surrounding his mother and father and what he had done as a result? Or was it that she didn’t trust him because he had not told her of the will?

“Amelia,” he whispered, intending to reassure her, but the sounds of an approaching carriage cut off his words.

Amelia flew out of his arms and to the window. “My mother is coming! Whatever will I tell her? This may just be too much for her to handle. She’s in such a delicate state.”

Colin strode to the window. “Cut her off at the curve before she can see the house and distract her. I’ll get Huntington out of here and deal with him, and then I’ll be back.”

“Where will you go? What if you’re seen?”

Colin thought for a moment. “I won’t be seen. I have someone I can trust at the Pigeon Inn. He will help me.” Or at least he hoped he would.

Uncertainty etched the fine bones of her face.

He had a million things he wished to say, most importantly that he loved her and wanted her to be his wife, if she could forgive him and trust him, but he needed to say it perfectly, and being rushed and in the same room with the man who had almost taken her innocence was far from perfect.

She looked as if she might argue, which did not surprise him, but she finally nodded and flew out the door without a word.

Colin stood for a moment, the rush of anger and fear slowly subsiding. His body no longer pulsed with the urgent need to save Amelia, and all the aches of his unhealed injuries started to pulse. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he moved toward Huntington, grabbed the piece of garbage up under his arms and hauled him toward the door, not going out until he saw Amelia leading her mother away from the house and in the opposite direction toward the garden.

Once Colin had his horse connected to Huntington’s carriage, he lugged the semi-conscious bastard into the conveyance and settled himself with clenched teeth and a sweat-soaked brow onto the driver’s seat before taking off at lighting speed toward the Pigeon Inn.

The reasonable part of his mind knew he could not kill the man, as much as he deserved it, but he could make him understand that if Colin thought, even for a moment, that Huntington ever simply considered disparaging Amelia or her mother, then the reasonable side of Colin would disappear.

Love
. It was already making him as foolish as his father had been.

Despite everything, he grinned as he drove.

Several anxious hours later, Amelia’s mother asked her, “Are you sure you won’t have any supper?”

Amelia shook her head. She had absolutely no appetite. In fact, she was sure if she put anything in her mouth, it would come right back up. She forced a smile to ease her mother’s obvious worry. The circles under her mother’s eyes were darker than usual, her hair appeared lank, and her gaze, though on Amelia now, flitted around the room every few seconds.

“All right. I’m going to bed.”

Thank Goodness. Amelia felt as if she was going mad waiting for Colin to return, and she’d rather not have to pretend nothing had happened any longer. It was exhausting, yet she did not want to say a word to her mother about her meeting with Lord Huntington until she spoke to Colin. “I hope you sleep well.”

“I won’t. Every time I close my eyes, I picture Lord Huntington. Every noise I hear, I think perhaps it is him, coming here to hurt me, or worse hurt you. Part of me is glad he has not returned yet, but another part of me wishes he would return already so the awful waiting will be over.”

Amelia knew exactly how her mother felt, except her worry was for Colin’s return. What if he simply didn’t come back? No. Impossible. He had said he would, and he had come all the way from London to talk to her in the first place. Yet, what if he returned and had decided he did not want to chance being with someone whose reputation may soon be in tatters? He had not said he still loved her. There had been time for a declaration, but he’d not given her one. Her throat constricted at the thought. No, she was being senseless. Love had done this to her.

She swallowed and stood to kiss her mother on the cheek. “It’s going to be all right, Mother.” She tried to instill certainty in her voice. “I truly believe somehow things will work out.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Good night, dear.”

Her mother departed after a quick hug, and Amelia was left alone in the shadowy study with her worries. She paced the room for close to an hour, considering every option she had. She could sit here, waiting for Colin to return to her, or she could try to find him, tell him she loved him, and that she understood why he had not told her of the will.

Rushing out of the study, she grabbed her hooded cloak and hurried out the door and toward the stable as quietly as she could. Once she had her horse readied, she walked him to the end of the drive so there would be no chance she would wake Mother. Then she set off toward the Pigeon Inn, her worry accompanying her every bit of the way.

By the time she reached the inn, her stomach was a quivering jumble of knots. She pulled her hood far over her face to hide herself from view, but once she entered the smelly, dank inn, she realized she need not worry. No one was there except a large man sitting behind the counter drying glasses. As she approached the bar, he stopped what he was doing and glanced up at her. His eyes, keen and the color of a winter sky before a storm, stilled her for a moment.

When he smiled, she relaxed at the obvious friendliness of his gaze. He stood, a tall, towering, broad-shouldered man, and set the glass down with unexpected gentleness for someone of his size. “How might I help ye, miss?”

He spoke in a thick Scottish brogue.

“I’m looking for a man. A duke to be precise.”

“Ye’d not be the first woman to come strollin’ in here lookin’ for a duke.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Perhaps this had been a dreadful mistake. Going out in the dark alone―what had she been thinking? If she was found out― She snapped the useless thought off. If she was found out, so be it. She refused to lose Colin without a fight.