Chapter Thirty-Four
“Anastasia! Anastasia!” he shouted her name as he ran up the stairs, just in case the innkeeper had lied to him and she was, in fact, in another room.
He took the stairs with ease, anger and desperation fueling him until he reached the top of the rickety building and the attic room he had been directed toward.
It had a thick wooden door, which was closed, and he pulled at it, but it did not budge. “Anastasia?”
“Laurence?” Her voice was muffled, but it was unmistakably hers. “Laurence, is that you?”
“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, hearing terror in her voice and hating himself for it. He should have found her sooner, should have known she was missing. “I can’t get in, I’ll have to—”
“He has the key,” she said, her voice louder now, as though she had moved closer to the door. “I don’t know where he is, but he has it. I can’t open it, I’ve tried—and I think it’s too thick to break down.”
“I’ll get it. Don’t worry, you’re safe now—I promise.”
*
She heard his footsteps retreating on the other side of the door and had to hold herself together to avoid breaking down into tears. He wasn’t abandoning her, surely just going to find the key, but she hated him leaving all the same. She just wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible.
He had come, though. Brett had tried to say he wouldn’t, that he didn’t care—but he must do, for he had found her, and he was going to rescue her. Did it really matter if there were other women in his bed, if he cared about her? Could she learn to live with it?
If she got out of this room untouched by Baron Brett, save for that disgusting kiss and the slap across the face, she thought she could learn to live with anything.
It didn’t take him long to return, and when she heard the key in the lock, her heart jumped for joy—only for the joy to be dampened somewhat by the sight of Baron Brett leering at her on the other side of the door.
He was soon shoved aside, however, by Laurence, who barreled into the room and pulled her toward him, holding her tight before pulling her away a little in order to look at her.
“If he’s hurt a hair on your head, I swear—” He turned to Baron Brett, a menacing look in his eyes, and Anastasia found herself worrying about what was going to come next.
Not that she cared if Brett got hurt—it was more than he deserved.
But she didn’t want anything to happen to Laurence in the fray.
Laurence reached forward and plucked the key from Baron Brett’s hand, and Anastasia’s pulse slowed a little, knowing she would not be locked in by that man again.
“She’s here of her own accord, Walsham. We’ve been meeting regularly since you foiled our plan to marry. At the pawnshop on Cheshire Street. You know the one.”
Anastasia gasped. The man seemed willing to lie endlessly. “Liar! He abducted me, Laurence, I swear—”
Laurence took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. “I know he is a liar, my love. I’m only sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He turned back to her, and she almost melted at the tender way he looked at her. “Did he touch you? Did he do…anything?”
“He kissed me,” she told him, for she did not want there to be any lies between them. Not now. “But nothing else. Nothing…worse.”
“Thank God,” Laurence muttered under his breath, and then turned to face Brett. “You are not guilty of all the crimes I thought you might be—although I have no doubt you would have acted on your impulses if you had not been stopped.”
“You can’t try a man for his thoughts,” Baron Brett said, surprisingly confident for a man who had been caught abducting a viscountess.
“Now, just give me my money, and we can pretend none of this ever happened. No one needs to know that your wife was alone in a bedchamber with me, so there will be no question about the legitimacy of any children she may bear in the year to come.”
Anastasia’s eyes widened. He could not know she was already with child, could he?
She had barely realized it herself, so surely there was no way a man who did not know her well could.
But if knowledge of this sorry affair leaked to the ton, would they indeed question whether the child she was carrying—Laurence’s child—was in fact an illegitimate by-blow?
But Laurence simply let out a harsh laugh.
“You really are delusional, aren’t you? You have committed a serious crime. There will be no money—I will not stop until you have been imprisoned for your terrible deeds.”
But the oily smile did not disappear from Brett’s face.
“You see, I was right. You may be a viscount, but you do not keep your word. Which is why I made sure I had an insurance policy.” He pulled a pistol from his coat pocket, and Anastasia screamed.
Had he had that all along? She had planned to fight him, and yet he could have put a bullet through her at any moment, had he chosen to. Ended her life…ended her child’s life.
It was too much to bear.
“She’s worth ten thousand pounds, isn’t she?” Brett said, pointing the gun straight at Anastasia. “Or now that she is ruined, her reputation sullied by being with me, do you find you no longer care so much?”
His finger rested lightly on the trigger, and Laurence moved swiftly in front of her, blocking her view of the man, shielding her from the gun.
That didn’t make her feel much better. She did not want to die, but she could not lose him. She loved him—she knew that now. She could not lose him like this.
“Don’t be foolish, Brett. You shoot me and you’ll be hanged as a murderer. You may be vile, but you’re not a fool.”
“Don’t worry, I have many friends on the continent.
I can disappear until people have forgotten all about Viscount Walsham.
” Laurence lifted his arm, perhaps to stop Brett, perhaps to reach out and stop him—and in that moment, Anastasia caught a glimpse of the baron, as he raised the gun and pointed it dead at Laurence’s heart.
“Last chance, Walsham. The money, your life, or hers.”
The bang of the pistol firing forced Anastasia’s eyes shut, and then she screamed and gripped onto Laurence tightly, sure that he was about to crumple before her.
But he did not. He was strong and steadfast, her shield, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the blood-splattered arm of Baron Brett, who had just found his voice and begun to shout a string of profanities as he held tightly to the wound in his arm.
In the shock of it all, Brett had dropped the gun, and so Anastasia dared step around Laurence to try to see what on earth was going on.
Brett had not been the only one with a gun. As Laurence bent down to pick up the pistol, Anastasia’s eyes widened in shock to see the sight of her brother standing with a gun pointed at Brett, the barrel still smoking from where he had discharged it.
“What have you done?” Brett screamed at the shaking figure of Oliver.
“I couldn’t let you shoot my sister,” he said, sounding as surprised by that fact as Anastasia was.
“I wasn’t going to shoot her, you fool. Simply scare them enough that they handed over the money—money that you owe me, I hasten to remind you. And now look what you’ve done—you could have shot my arm off.”
“You’ll live,” Laurence said, sounding rather irritated by the fact. “And there are men downstairs with some questions for you; I’m sure they’ll make sure you get the appropriate medical care. Once you explain why you had a viscountess locked away up here.”
“You didn’t say anything about calling the authorities,” Oliver said, and Anastasia saw Brett eying the small window, checking it for a chance to escape, just as she had done earlier.
“I was not about to let a man get away with abducting my wife, trying to ransom her, and God knows what else. Besides, the authorities being here ensures I exercised restraint,” he added, glaring at Brett. “Not that it is deserved.”
“But I just shot a man…” Oliver said, the gun shaking in his hands.
“And in doing so saved all of our lives. Do not fear, Carrington—your good deed will not go unrewarded. I thought you a coward, but it seems I was not entirely correct.” Laurence took Anastasia’s hand, as though reassuring himself that she was definitely there, and then turned back to Brett.
“Now, will you come downstairs quietly, or do Carrington and I need to physically bring you to the magistrate?”
*
Anastasia kept it all together until she stepped inside their carriage and the door closed, and she was alone with Laurence.
And then her teeth began to chatter, her knees began to knock, and a violent sob tore through her.
“You’re safe,” Laurence said, pulling her toward him and engulfing her in his embrace. “You’re safe. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again. You’re safe, my love—I promise.”
He watched her fall apart in front of him and gathered her close, wanting to save her from the pain, wanting to make everything all right.
She was here, she was safe, and thankfully Brett had not violated her.
They had watched him be taken away by the magistrates, and he had been glad that he had contacted them before arriving at the inn—for he was not sure what he would have done to the man if he had not known that men of the law were downstairs waiting for him.
He hadn’t been lying when he said their presence had caused him to exercise restraint.
Anastasia pressed her face into his neck and sobbed against him, and he held her close and stroked her back and told her that everything would be all right.
Oliver had been a surprise. He had presumed the man had run off as soon as Laurence was out of sight, but it seemed he did love his sister, somewhere deep down. He had not treated her properly, but perhaps he could still make amends. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
“Let’s go home,” he said, tapping his knuckles against the roof of the carriage, signaling to the driver to head home.
She did not speak until the carriage stopped once more. She pulled herself away from him, her eyes red and puffy.
“Thank you for saving me. I thought… I thought it was all going to end very differently.”
“I’ll always be there for you, Anastasia. I…” He so nearly said it. Told her the truth of his heart—that he loved her. That he could not imagine his life without her.
This did not feel like the time. He wanted to get her inside, to calm her down, to help her forget—and then he could tell her. Once this was all a memory.
“I don’t want to stay here,” she said, holding her head high.
Laurence frowned. “I don’t understand. Where do you want to go? Your brother’s house?”
Anastasia shook her head. “I don’t want to stay in London. I’m sorry, I know you want to, but it just isn’t the place for me. I was always happier in the countryside, and I think we could be happier too, away from all this.”
His face felt like it would split from the grin he couldn’t contain. “We’ll leave tomorrow, if that’s what you want. It’s too late tonight.”
Her eyes began to water again. “Really? It’s that easy? You don’t mind?”
Laurence took her hands in his. “I’d do anything for you, Anastasia. And if I’m honest, I’ve only stayed in London this long because I thought it was what you wanted. I’d rather be in the countryside.”