It didn’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.”
“You’ve already—”
Reynaud turned his head and hit Lord Hasselthorpe with a stare. “Take it off.”
Lord Hasselthorpe frowned, but he stepped forward, keeping his eyes on Reynaud. He fumbled, one-handed, with the cloth tied at the back of her head, and then the binding fell.
Beatrice spat out the wadded cloth in her mouth. “Reynaud, he’ll kill you!”
“Shut up,” Lord Hasselthorpe said.
“Don’t.” Reynaud took a step toward the other man, seemingly oblivious to the raised gun between them. He stared at Lord Hasselthorpe a moment, then looked at Beatrice, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “Has he hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered. “Reynaud, you cannot.”
“Hush.” He shook his head slightly and almost smiled. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
“She’s alive and I want the money,” Lord Hasselthorpe said impatiently.
“What guarantee can you give me that she’ll go free?” Reynaud was staring at her, as if memorizing her features.
Beatrice felt ice begin to form at her center. “Reynaud,” she whispered, pleading now.
“My wife is in residence,” Lord Hasselthorpe said. “She has nothing to do with this. I’ll put Lady Blanchard into her care and send the both of them to London. I’ve already sent a footman to bring Adriana here.”
“You don’t intend to take your wife with you?” Reynaud’s eyes were horribly gentle, and though he spoke to the other man, his gaze never left her face.
“Why should I?” Lord Hasselthorpe replied impatiently.
The corner of Reynaud’s mouth twitched. How could he find any of this amusing? “A certain sentimentality, perhaps?”
“I haven’t time for sentimentality or your wit,” Lord Hasselthorpe snapped. “If you want your wife to live to see the dawn—”
“Very well.” Reynaud threw the saddlebag at Lord Hasselthorpe’s feet just as Lady Hasselthorpe appeared in the doorway to the dungeon.
“Why, my lord, you didn’t tell me we had guests,” Lady Hasselthorpe exclaimed as if being woken before dawn to greet callers in the dungeon was perfectly normal. She seemed not to notice that her husband held a gun on one of her “guests.”
She made to step into the dungeon, but the burly footman by her side prevented her. “Best not, my lady. ’Tis dirty down here.”
Lord Hasselthorpe nodded to the man. Despite the footman’s words, his real reason for stopping her must be so that she wouldn’t get too near Reynaud.
“I’d like you to take Lady Blanchard to London, my dear,” Lord Hasselthorpe said. “She’s ill and Lord Blanchard and I have business to discuss.” He reached behind Beatrice with one hand and unlocked the chains about her wrists.
Beatrice’s heart sank. “Reynaud, I can’t leave you here.”
Lord Hasselthorpe gave Reynaud a hard look. “It matters not to me, but you know the alternative.”
Reynaud’s mouth thinned. “Let me talk to her.”
“As you wish.”
Reynaud bent to her ear, his face against hers. Beatrice’s hands were still tied behind her back. She wished they were free so she might feel his dear face.
“You must leave with Lady Hasselthorpe,” he whispered in her ear.
She felt hot tears overflow her eyes. “No. No, you said you would never put yourself in another man’s power again.”
“I was wrong.” His breath caught on a quiet laugh that blew against her cheek. He smelled of horse and leather and her husband. “So very wrong. I was foolish and vain, and I nearly didn’t realize it in time. I nearly lost you. But I didn’t.”
“Reynaud,” she sobbed.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You asked me if I loved you. I do. I love you more than life itself. Nothing matters in this world but that you live. Can you do that for me? Can you live?”
What could she say? He was sacrificing himself, she knew that. Sacrificing himself for her and he wanted her to just walk out of this room and leave him here….She shook her head, her throat swollen shut with grief.
He took her face between his palms and looked at her, and for the first time since his return, she saw the laughing boy of the portrait in his black eyes. They stared at her, confident and whole, with the hint of a mischievous gleam.
“Yes, you can,” he said in that low, deep voice she loved so much. “For me. Live for me.”
“I love you,” she whispered, and she saw gladness in his eyes.
She turned, stumbling, and walked from that hellhole. Lord Hasselthorpe said something, and Lady Hasselthorpe babbled and chirped, but she heard none of it, because she was leaving Reynaud behind. She turned one last time at the door and looked over her shoulder.
Reynaud was kneeling next to the stone wall where she’d been chained. She saw that there were three iron rings set in the stone wall. She’d been chained to the middle one, but now iron links were threaded through the two outer rings. Reynaud’s strong arms were outstretched wide, and Lord Hasselthorpe was watching as the burly footman fastened chains to his wrists. The cold stone floor must’ve been hard against Reynaud’s knees, and she knew the chains were painful, but he met her eyes and smiled at her.
Smiled as they chained his arms in a cross.
WHEN HE’D ESCAPED from captivity, so many months ago now, he’d vowed that he’d never let himself be caught alive again. He’d sworn to himself that he’d die before being taken by an enemy. And he’d meant that vow, truly.
But now Reynaud broke that vow. He kneeled at the feet of his foe, his arms stretched wide and chained to the wall, helpless, and he was glad. None of it mattered as long as Beatrice was alive. He could face this and worse as long as she lived.
Hasselthorpe bent and opened the saddlebags. Mater’s sapphire necklace spilled into the lantern light. Hasselthorpe grunted and picked up the jewels.
“Very nice.” The dark blue stones sparkled as he examined them. “The Blanchard jewels, if I’m not mistaken.” He grinned at Reynaud.
Reynaud shrugged. “You’re not.”
“Very nice indeed.” Hasselthorpe shoved the necklace back in the leather pouch and began tying the cords as he spoke to the brute of a footman. “See that my horse is ready and my bag brought down. The boat sails in two hours, and I must be away to meet it in time.”
For the first time, the big servant showed signs of independent thought. He hesitated, glancing at Reynaud. “An’ him?”
Hasselthorpe looked at the footman coldly. “That’s none of your business.”
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.
