Chapter 25
Sofia opened her eyes to a pair of dirty boots inches from her nose, then gasped when an intense burning sliced through her shoulder as she jerked away. Reaching for her wound, she discovered that the bleeding had slowed but not stopped.
“You’re going to pay for what you did with that stick, little bird. Simms here says I can’t have any fun with you until the bleeding stops, but maybe something to whet my appetite…” He squatted down, and she noticed the knife in his hands only a moment before he used it, slicing cleanly down several inches of her bodice. She scrambled to hold the scraps together, but he clutched at a handful of her hair, forcing her to raise her face and meet his eyes.
“Not so tough now with your tits hanging out.” He licked his lips and Sofia swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
“Looks like I nicked your pretty skin.” He pressed his thumb into the thin slice he’d made across one breast. He was too close for any blow to be effective, so she squirmed and batted him away. Simms dropped a length of dirty cloth into his lap.
“Now play nice like, or I’ll have to tie you back up again.” He peeled away a portion of her bodice and sleeve and Sofia hissed at the pain, funnelling all her energy into remaining conscious and keeping her breasts covered. He wrapped her wounded shoulder tightly, then leered. “You’ll be better in no time.”
The moment Tom stood and turned his back, Sofia sucked in a breath, then squeezed the area surrounding her wound to ensure the bleeding continued. She had no idea how she was going to get herself out of this, but keeping that bastard’s hands off her would be a good start. If blood loss was enough to keep him at bay, she could work with that. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and the men took no notice of her activity as they sat down at a table and dealt from a deck of cards. The room was dank and oppressively cramped despite containing only a straw-stuffed mattress on the floor where she sat, four chairs, and a table.
Sofia wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it must have been late afternoon at least. Oliver or Christopher would have noticed her missing. Her stomach pitched at the thought of Christopher. He would know by now. Everyone would. Oliver wouldn’t keep quiet when her life was in danger. The boulder that had begun its haphazard descent months ago was finally careening toward the bottom, crushing everything in its path. Eventually, it would stop, so far down the canyon that even sunlight could not reach it.
Sofia tried to focus on what the men around her were saying to learn what she could, but the chaos in her head was loud and every time she squeezed her shoulder a new wave of dizziness set upon her.
They were going to send a ransom note. She’d heard that much. And one of her captors, a balding man with an angular face, wanted to return to his wife before she grew suspicious, so they were still near the village. Sofia must have lost consciousness then because when she awoke, the stub of a tallow candle had been lit and the sun was low in the sky. The front door had opened and closed several times and only four men remained. She glanced down to assess her bandaging and was relieved to see bright red blood still oozing through. Her stomach growled then, and Tom turned at the sound.
“I guess we needs to get her some food.” He thrust a tin cup with water into her hand, then licked his lips as she gulped from it. His eyes flicked towards her shoulder. “She’s still bleeding. Why hasn’t that stopped? She’s no good to us dead, and I’m gettin’ tired of waiting for my bit o’ fun.” He dropped the crusty end of a bread loaf into her lap.
“How should I know,” Simms replied. “I’m not a sawbones. It’s only her shoulder…”
Sofia wanted to cover her ears, but instead she focused on getting the food into her mouth and keeping it in her stomach. She needed to stay conscious. Someone would come… and then everything would be terrible in an entirely different way.
Another wave of dizziness rushed over her. For a moment, she wanted to give up and allow the horror of this place and these people to unfold as they would. To just happen to her. But she had endured the past with only pride and stubbornness to fuel her, without a single soul on her side. I’m not alone anymore. Even if Gabriel and Christopher loathed her, they would fight for her. She wouldn’t quit while she waited for them to find her. She wouldn’t give them another reason to despair. She had done enough damage already.
“Slow down,Keene! I know you’re frustrated but if we ride hell for leather we’ll miss something,” Gabriel said, reining in his horse.
Christopher didn’t want to slow down. He wanted his body to move at the same tumultuous speed as his tormented heart. He wanted to move so fast that conversation was impossible because nothing that emerged from his mouth in his current mood would be productive.
No one had seen Sofia in town—or at least no one would admit to seeing her—and they had combed the woods surrounding the town and found not a trace. The sun was setting rapidly, and Gabriel had convinced them to search the road once more before Oliver returned to the estate by himself to check in with the other search parties.
She was out here somewhere. Alone. Smothering her fear beneath brittle layers of Tuscan pride. She wouldn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her tremble, he knew, but she had to be terrified. He was terrified. Too terrified to even be properly mad at her anymore, and that made him angrier still. He wished he could recapture even a fraction of his initial rage. Rage would be easier to bear. But the burning sensation of betrayal he’d felt earlier had cooled, congealing into a knot of fear that sat like a boulder in the pit of his stomach.
“Stop! Look over there.” Christopher gestured to the side of the road. The weeds were flat there, as if a skirmish had taken place. He leapt down from his saddle and followed the path down a deer trail through the thicket. Blood—bloody hell, a lot of blood—stained the ground. He dropped to his knees, running his hands across bloodstained moss. Most of it had dried or been absorbed into the plants, but it was still damp in places. Recent. It’s not Sofia’s blood, it’s someone else’s. That demand flipped and turned and cycled through his mind, over and over. Please be someone else’s blood.
Christopher searched the surrounding area, only distantly aware of Gabriel’s approach. Still some distance behind them, in the clearing by the road, Oliver swore in Italian. They whirled in unison to see him bolt back toward where they’d left the horses.
“Him! He’s one of them!” Oliver shouted. Christopher and Gabriel caught up to Oliver just in time to watch him hoist a bald, spindly man up by his collar, pinning him to a tree. “Where is she?” he snarled.
Eyes wide, the man held up his hands. “I don’t know what yer talking about. Where’s who?”
Oliver’s hand slid up, his fingers closing around the man’s throat and his entire body vibrating with wrath. “My sister, you little fool. Tell me where she is before I snap your neck and leave you here for the insects to eat.”
Christopher’s palms itched with the desire to insert himself into the interrogation, but a glance at the man’s wilting courage checked his movement.
The man wheezed, then sputtered. “All right, let go! I can’t breathe! I’ll tell you.”
Oliver opened his hand and the man flopped to the ground, rubbing at the bright red welts where Oliver’s fingertips had dug into his throat.
Gabriel reached up and idly stroked his horse’s neck. “I would start talking if I were you. It’s rather unlikely that Mr Lioni is the worst thing that will happen to you today, and the longer I’m forced to stand here waiting on you, the more unfortunate your evening will become.”
The man glanced between Oliver’s red-faced rage and Gabriel’s calculating stare. He crumbled. “They have her in an abandoned hunting lodge. A few hundred feet from where the creek dams up.”
“Do you know the place?” Christopher looked to Gabriel, who nodded.
“Yes, I know it.” Gabriel turned his attention back to the man, who was attempting to slink to his feet, and stalked towards him. Slow, deliberate steps. “In the very best possible outcome, you should expect a visit from the Justice of the Peace. If our venture to rescue Sofia Lioni is unsuccessful, or if we find her where you say she is, but she has been harmed, it will be me—or one of these two gentlemen—who show up at your door requesting a moment of your time.” Christopher hadn’t thought it possible, but the man looked even more terrified in the face of the cool calculated threat. “Go,” Gabriel commanded.
“My, he does do that well,” Oliver murmured.
“He is the duke,” Christopher responded curtly.
The trio proceeded silently through the woods, first on horseback and then on foot. Too long. It was taking too long. Anything could have happened to her. Christopher’s throat was dry from panting and his muscles burned from tension and exertion.
The moment the corner of the weather-beaten structure peaked into view, Christopher surged forward, but both Oliver and Gabriel grasped him by the shirt, holding him fast.
“Someone is coming out. Get down,” Oliver whispered.
The door flung open and a middle-aged man half carried, half dragged Sofia outside. His long, stringy hair hung forward, obscuring his face.
“Oh yes, I’s got good strong arms to hold you, little bird. I’m big all over, and I knows how to use it. You may fight at first, but you’re going to love it. They always do. You can do yer business in a minute, but first I’m going to give you a little taste.”
Christopher couldn’t listen to another word.
Somethinghot and hungry flared in Tom’s expression and Sofia’s legs began to tremble. She searched frantically for something with which to defend herself, her gaze halting at the sight of movement at the tree line.
Christopher erupted from the thicket, his boots pounding into the ground. Sofia wriggled away, using the man’s surprise at Christopher’s approach to her advantage.
Christopher dived onto Tom and the pair rolled with the momentum until Christopher was pinned to the ground. Taking a solid blow to his jaw, Christopher’s head jerked with a snap to the side. With a grunt of effort, he shoved his free arm up between them, pressing one knuckle into the bastard’s eye socket until he cried out. Christopher followed with a fist to Tom’s nose. Blood poured from his nostrils and Christopher used that distraction to push him to the ground. Tom’s hands flailed in a futile attempt to protect his face from Christopher’s continued assault. Only when what little resistance his opponent offered was completely gone did Christopher stop.
Oliver and Gabriel had emerged from the tree line a second behind Christopher, passing by Sofia to ambush the remaining men. Behind her in the cabin, similar shrieks of surprise preceded the crash of splintered wood and sounds of decisive victory.
He came for me. He’s here. Sofia let out a sob, and tears chased one another down her cheeks. Christopher pushed up to his feet and staggered one step towards her. Then he stopped and stood in place, chest heaving, eyes bright with anguish.Stood staring at her as if half a world separated them rather than mere steps. And that same open, beautiful face that had so fearlessly revealed his heart to her now exposed every ounce of his grief. She had lost him. Of course she had. How could he love me, when all I’ve done is lie?
No wound those men could have inflicted hurt half as much as knowing Christopher was just ten steps away. Ten steps he would not take. The moment Oliver appeared by her side, Christopher turned and walked away, back in the direction from which he had come, with Sofia’s sobs echoing through the woods behind him.
Only Oliver’s sturdy arms prevented her collision with the ground. He held her as she wept tears that stung with bitter loss and regret.
“Easy now, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” But she wasn’t safe. She hadn’t been safe since the moment Christopher pushed that ridiculous pear tree into the hallway outside her door. She had known it and loved him anyway. And now they would both suffer for her selfishness. She wanted to tell Oliver to take her home, but she didn’t even know where that was anymore.
Her cheek fell to Oliver’s shoulder. Beside him, Gabriel stood like a sentinel, his expression solemn but not unkind. He slipped off his topcoat and draped it across her body, tucking the edges beneath her chin. “Oliver, take your sister home please, and have Bennet fetch the doctor. I’ll remain behind and handle this.” He nodded his encouragement when Oliver seemed as disinclined to return to the manor as she was. “Go, Oliver. Back to Northam Hall. She needs help.”
The ride back was excruciating.
“I’m so sorry, Sofi. So sorry for all of it.”
Sofia had survived her mother’s carelessness with her feelings and her father’s indifference for her love. She had remained doggedly determined through aching hunger, the slow stripping of her belongings, and the loss of her childhood home. Life had lashed out at her, and still she had not flinched. Now, she couldn’t even muster the energy to respond. Didn’t know what there was left to say. She had reached the end of her fraying rope, and it felt almost like relief to open her hand and allow herself to fall.
She curled into her brother’s chest and wept a lifetime’s worth of tears, willing time to move slower despite the unbearable pain in her shoulder. Prolonging her pain was preferable to facing the mayhem and disappointment awaiting her at Northam Hall. But there was no avoiding her dreary future. Dark grey clouds stretched out before her as far as she could see.
Upon their arrival, it seemed as if the entire staff at Northam Hall was milling between the stables and the front door. Everyone except Christopher, whose absence struck her more keenly than the concern of forty other people could make up for. People who had become her friends and family and would very soon regret knowing her at all. How long before everyone here became aware of her deceit? Before they too would turn their backs at ten paces?
“Give her some space for pity”s sake.” Even Mrs. Simmons, who was rarely seen outside the kitchen, was there to greet her and shoo the others away. “The doctor’s already on his way, dearie. I have a nice soup that’s nearly done. I’ll send up a bowl as soon as he sees to you.” Mrs Simmons’s gaze lingered on the torn fabric and bloodstained bandage for a moment, then she brushed a curl away from Sofia’s face. It was more tenderness than Sofia’s heart could take when she deserved none at all.
“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” she said through chattering teeth. Mrs Simmons’s affectionate but insistent mutters for a proper meal followed her until the imposing mahogany door slid closed behind them.
Oliver carried her up the stairs, set her onto the bed, and lowered himself to sit beside her. “Can I remove the bandage and have a look?” Sofia nodded, anticipating the pain as a welcome distraction to her equally damaged heart.
“Nice and easy now. Tell me if it hurts.” She nodded and looked away while he unwound the bandage. Oliver released a tormented sound when faced with the damage that was hidden beneath. “Good Lord, Sofia, there’s no exit wound. The bullet is still in there. You could have been killed. I promised you I would go. I told you I would handle this!”
“I’m filthy and exhausted and there is a bullet in my shoulder. Could you pick another time to lecture me? And you told me you would try. That’s not the same as handling. I’ve seen enough of trying to know the difference.”
“I won’t lecture.” He sighed, then returned to his delicate work. “You scared the life out of me, little flea. I’ve never been so terrified.” A hollow silence crept over the room. There was both too much and nothing at all to say. He stood when it was done, tucking a blanket over her. “Who can I call to help you get out of these clothes? Should I ring for a servant?”
She didn’t want anyone. Who could she ask? Violet, whose world they had just turned inside out? Polly or Annie, both who adored the Ansons? Christopher, who she knew would not come? She would just wait as she was.
“I’ll manage.”
“You will absolutely not manage.” Violet walked through the door without preamble. “You’d swoon and topple to the floor, then wake a quarter-hour later with a carpet imprint on your cheek. Run along, Oliver. I will see to your sister. Grab yourself a biscuit or six from the kitchens and then return here when Dr Higgins arrives.”
Violet poured water into the basin and dipped a clean cloth inside. “It’s warm. I had them heat water when Christopher returned.” Violet’s gaze flicked up to meet Sofia’s eyes, then dropped back to the basin. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask. We don’t have to discuss anything more complicated than the temperature of the water and which night rail you would like.”
Sofia relaxed into the bed as Violet stroked the warm rag down her cheek and throat, then lifted her mass of curls to dab it along her nape. There was so much compassion, so much care in Violet’s touch as she silently attempted to wash every trace of the horrible day from Sofia’s skin.
“I only have one night rail so it should make for a succinct conversation.”
Violet loosened the fastenings of Sofia’s dress. As it was already mangled beyond repair, removing the rest was easy. Unfortunately, no matter how gentle Violet’s handling, any movement of Sofia’s shoulder or arm resulted in unendurable pain. Sofia tried to remain stoic through the task, but tormented whimpers kept slipping out until neither woman could bear to try again.
Violet dropped the night rail. “This isn’t going to work. I have an idea. Stay here.”
As if Sofia could do anything but. Now that she was safe and back at Northam Hall, both her physical discomfort and her inability to focus had increased exponentially. Violet gently laid the blanket across Sofia’s undamaged side, tucking it snuggly beneath her as if she were a child, before slipping out the door.
Sofia must have fallen asleep, because it felt as if no time had passed between Violet’s exit and her return. She had a man’s loose-fitting shirt folded across her arm.
When she handed it to Sofia, her heart gave an extra thump of recognition at the tantalising aroma of crisp lemons and starch. Sofia brought the shirt to her nose and closed her eyes.
“I had one of my husband’s, but Christopher took it and replaced it with one of his own. He muttered something about the expense of Gabriel’s tailoring, but I doubt very much his insistence had anything to do with the cost of fine linen.”
Sofia wanted to hear his name again, wanted to know where he was now and how he was. She wanted to be sure he wasn’t alone. She looked up at Violet beseechingly, who shook her head in response. “He’ll come around. Christopher isn’t like Gabriel or me. Or you, for that matter. There isn’t a pragmatic bone in his body, and his divided loyalties are tearing him to shreds. He doesn’t hold any of himself back, so there’s so much more of him to hurt. Be patient with him. He just needs time.”
Violet helped Sofia slip the shirt over her shoulder and began fastening the buttons. “He’s angry at me as well. Well, no, not angry,” she corrected herself. “Hurt. Because Gabriel and I kept something important from him. The night Oliver returned me to the estate with the caterpillars, Gabriel noticed the family similarity and began looking into Oliver’s past. It’s my fault he didn’t tell Christopher right away. I thought it would be better to wait and tell him when we knew more. Gabriel didn’t want to wait.” She sighed. “He shouldn’t have listened to me.”
Violet smoothed her palm down Sofia’s arm. “But he’ll forgive me, and he’ll forgive you as well. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. Is there anything…” She swallowed, then lowered her gaze and started again. “Is there anything you wish to talk about. Anything that may be easier to discuss with me, a woman… a friend … rather than your brother?”
Sofia’s lower lip wobbled and she caught it between her teeth to halt its movement. She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Why are you being so nice to me? Oliver and I, we’ve wrecked everything.”
Violet reached for Sofia’s hand. She seemed to consider the question for a moment before responding. “No, Sofia. I married a man, not a duke. And it’s not within your power to wreck that.”
Both women looked to the doorway at the sound of Gabriel clearing his throat. He looked more fatigued than Sofia had ever seen him. She had put that exhaustion there, she and Oliver. He was a man accustomed to bearing unfathomable strain and her betrayal had made those sturdy shoulders stoop. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies. Dr Higgins has arrived.”
Sofia’s muscles tensed in anticipation of what was to come, and Violet tightened her grip. “I’ll stay.”
Shifting in place, Gabriel pinned his wife with a look of concern, then nodded. “Of course.”
But the day had taken its toll on Violet. Sofia released her hand and immediately felt chilled without her steady support. “No, it’s late. You need your rest, Violet, and I suspect Gabriel needs to see you resting. I’ll be all right. If the doctor needs assistance”—she swallowed, willing herself to accept that the name she would speak was not the person she wanted—“Oliver will stay with me.”
Gabriel’s brows furrowed. “I will see to my wife and then return.”
Behind Gabriel, Oliver stepped into the room, then silently took his place in the chair beside her.
The last to enter, Doctor Higgins stood at the bedside across from Oliver. “All right, Miss Lioni, let’s see what we have here.”
The Ansons took their leave and Sofia tried not to watch the door for Christopher’s familiar form. He would not come. As the examination continued interminably, Sofia closed her eyes, the sight of the vacant doorway nearly as painful as the doctor’s probing.
“The bullet avoided the distal end of your humerus. I can feel it near the surface, but I’m sorry to say its removal will be painful work regardless. With any luck, you’ll lose consciousness quickly. Large as you are, Mr Lioni, we will need help. Sofia, you’ll want to drink every bit of this.” He handed her a glass, and she gave the contents an experimental sniff, wrinkling her nose before she tossed the liquid back. Oliver was already standing to fetch help.
It won’t be Christopher, you know that. It would be idiotic to be disappointed. He would not come. But still, the sight of Jeremy, with his tense smile and worried eyes, made her next breath feel nearly impossible.
Jeremy’s smile dimmed when he took in her unshed tears. “It’s all right, Sofia. I’ll take good care of you.” Despite his thick muscles and broad shoulders, Jeremy looked every bit the unsure twenty-year-old boy he was.
“I’m sure you will do splendidly. Thank you.”
Pride bloomed on Jeremy’s face.
As the doctor retrieved equipment from his bag, Sofia’s head began to swim and her muscles felt liquid and tingly despite her cresting anxiety. Oliver and the doctor re-situated her limbs, which felt oddly detached from the rest of her body, before Dr Higgins poured what smelled like gin over her shoulder. Sofia turned her head to muffle a cry of pain against her pillow. With the first slice of Dr Higgins’s scalpel a few minutes later, Sofia had no hope of withholding the sounds. She cried out and writhed against the indescribable sting.
“I know it’s terrible, but you must remain still or I’ll do more damage in the removal.” Another cut. Then another. Deep sobs wracked her body.
The door burst in on its hinges then and Christopher was there, grim and determined, tearing through the space that separated them. He dropped to his haunches and, with a nod of permission from Dr Higgins, slid one arm beneath her neck and gently turned her face to him with the other. His hand was warm and solid and blessedly present against her cheek. Centimetres from her face, his wide-eyed gaze caught and held hers.
The pain came again and Sofia squeezed her eyes closed, struggling to narrow her focus to the sensation of Christopher”s even breaths against her throat, the steady strength of his hand as it smoothed over her cheek. Tears slid through the cracks of her tightly closed lids, but she remained still.
“That’s so good, love. You’re doing so well.” Christopher’s soft words tore a whimper from her chest. She drew them inside and clung to each one.
“So brave, my Sofia. So strong. Just a little more. I’m here. Forget about everything else.”
Pressure like she had never imagined descended upon her, and she jerked to escape the pain.
“Only me, Sofia. Open your eyes and look at me. Open them, love.”
Sofia could hear the tears in his voice, the distress and the grief. She would remember the hitched tremor of his breathing for the rest of her life and didn’t want to sear the matching picture into her mind. She pulled away from the doctor’s knife again and Christoper let out an agonised sound. “Please, my love. Open.”
When she did, it was every bit as heartbreaking as her imagination had conjured. Christopher was the very picture of suffering. Mouth parted, eyes frantic, cheeks saturated with tears.
“Good, that’s so good, sweetheart. Stay with me. Think of something else. Think of us sprawled out on a picnic blanket surrounded by pear trees in full bloom. The sun warming your skin and my arms around you, contentment coaxing your eyelids to fall heavy.” Another tear plummeted down his cheek, and she wanted to brush it away. “Imagine drifting off into sleep with the breeze playing across your skin because you know you are safe with me. Always safe.”
Gradually, he began to sound further away, and she tried to follow the precious rumble of his voice, to hold on to it in case she would never hear it again.
“I’ve got it. Just about finished,” Dr Higgins said.
Sofia’s muscles fell slack as the piercing pain receded, and with it, Christopher. She scrambled to take hold of his hand as he stood, but her arm would not listen. Don’t leave! But all that emerged was a strangled sob. She could feel the ghost of his handprint on her cheek. Feel his kiss upon her forehead. Hear every step as he walked away. And then everything went blessedly dark.