The man shifted from one foot to the other. “But, see, they’ll blame me.”
“What?”
“For him.” The footman jerked his chin in Reynaud’s direction. “You’ll be gone and I’ll have a dead aristocrat on me hands, and the first one they’ll be looking at will be me.”
Reynaud grinned. The man had a point.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hasselthorpe burst out just as the door opened to the dungeon.
Lady Hasselthorpe entered with Beatrice behind her.
Christ! Reynaud lunged against his chains, but the thick iron links held. Hasselthorpe swung toward the door, his gun pointed at Beatrice.
“Get out!” Reynaud ordered. Beatrice was looking at him, her sweet face set in mulish determination. He pulled at the chains with all his strength and felt a slight give.
Hasselthorpe turned toward him as the chains clanked. The lantern’s light glinted off the barrel of the pistol in his hand. Hasselthorpe raised it as Reynaud bared his teeth in defiance.
“No!” Beatrice screamed.
Lady Hasselthorpe rushed toward her husband. “Richard! Have you lost your mind?”
“Beatrice!” Reynaud lunged again, and the iron ring holding his right wrist burst from the wall.
Hasselthorpe swung toward him with the gun, but Lady Hasselthorpe was there, and Beatrice, damn her, Beatrice threw herself against the man.
The gun exploded with a deafening thunderclap, echoing off the stone walls and ceiling. For a moment, everyone froze.
dn’t matter. If he wasn’t in Sussex at Hasselthorpe’s door by dawn, that madman would kill Beatrice, and he wouldn’t have a reason to live anyway. It was ironic, really. All this time he’d thought only of what he’d lost and never of what he’d gained. He’d wanted his title, his lands, his money, when all along they meant nothing without her by his side. Those calm gray eyes watching him curiously, showing no fear and no illusion as to who he was. That sweet, amused smile in an otherwise tart expression when she ticked him off for being an ass. The erotic surprise on her face when he entered her, her mouth opening in wonder.
God! Oh, God! He was going to lose her. Reynaud felt the burn of tears on his cheeks. The dawn was coming soon. He urged the gelding on, hearing the rasp of the horse’s breath, the jingle of the tack, and his own desperate heartbeat in his ears, knowing it was too little, too late. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
He’d kill the bastard, the murderer of his wife. He’d take his revenge in blood and pain, and then he’d end all this himself.
If she was dead, he’d have nothing to live for.
Chapter Nineteen
All night Princess Serenity journeyed. As the sun’s first rays blessed the earth, she came to the place where a year ago she had met Longsword. It was a barren spot, devoid of trees or even grass. The princess looked about her but could see no other living thing. Just as she began to wonder if she’d come in vain, a crack appeared in the dry ground. Wider and wider it grew until the Goblin King rose from the depths of the earth.
His orange eyes glowed bright at the sight of her, and he smiled with yellow fangs as he said, “And who might you be?”
“I am Princess Serenity,” she replied. “And I have come to take my husband’s place in the kingdom of the goblins. . . .”
—from Longsword
It was dark, so dark, and she’d lost track of the time. She could’ve been standing here for minutes or hours, her arms wrenched painfully behind her, her eyes straining uselessly in the blackness. Every now and again she’d nod off despite the pain and fear, but as her body sagged forward, her shoulders would be yanked by the chain on her wrists, and she would startle awake. At first she’d thought the dungeon was silent as well, but as she stood there, she began to hear things. Small rustlings. The scrape of a tiny claw against stone. The slow drip of water somewhere. In the dark, all alone, the sounds should have frightened her more. Instead they were almost comforting. She wasn’t sure she could’ve remained sane if her hearing had been taken away as well as her eyesight.
Finally she heard footsteps, distant but drawing nearer. She straightened, trying to look serene, trying to be brave. Reynaud had been brave in captivity and so could she. She was a countess. She wouldn’t meet death weeping.
The door to the dungeon was thrown open, and she flinched away from the lantern light.
“Beatrice.”
Oh, dear God, it couldn’t be. She squinted and saw her husband’s broad shoulders blocking the light from the lantern. He was hatless, his boots muddy and scuffed, and he carried a full saddlebag over one shoulder. She jerked forward, her throat working, trying to say something. To warn him. Lord Hasselthorpe had ranted for nearly an hour when first they entered the carriage about the revenge he would inflict on Reynaud.
“Don’t touch her,” Lord Hasselthorpe said, and Reynaud stepped aside. Behind him was Lord Hasselthorpe, a gun pointed firmly at Reynaud. “Here she is. You can see that no harm has come to her. Now give me the money.”
Reynaud didn’t look at the other man. His eyes were on hers, blazing, black, and dangerous. “Take off her gag.”