Chapter 16 #2
“Then help us understand,” Hugo said gently.
Victoria took a shuddering breath. “I had an engagement back in London. To an earl. But I discovered he was unfaithful, he’d gotten his mistress pregnant. I couldn’t marry him after that. I ran away on our wedding day.”
She looked up at Laurence with desperate, pleading eyes. “That’s why we came here. To escape the scandal. But he found us. He came four nights ago with armed men. He demanded I marry him anyway, said he needed to restore his reputation.”
More tears streamed down her face. “Joan offered to marry him instead. To save me. And now she’s, she’s going to London. She’s going to marry him in three days, and it should be me! It’s my fault he’s angry, my fault we’re in this mess!”
Victoria sank to her knees, clutching at Laurence’s coat. “Please, Your Grace. Please save my sister. I’ll marry the earl. I’ll do whatever he wants. Just don’t let Joan sacrifice herself for my mistakes!”
Laurence looked down at the sobbing woman clinging to him, felt rage building in his chest, cold, focused rage directed at a man he’d never met.
Julian Hawthorne, he thought. It has to be him. The earl Hugo told me about. The one with the pregnant mistress.
The Duke turned sharply to Victoria, his expression intense. “Where is your sister now?”
Victoria wiped at her tear-stained face with the handkerchief Hugo had given her. “She is leaving for London this afternoon.”
Laurence’s jaw clenched. He exchanged a quick glance with Hugo.
“Then she might still be at the manor, it’s barely afternoon,” Laurence interrupted, already moving toward the door.
“Victoria, come with us,” Hugo said, offering his arm. “Quickly.”
The three of them rushed to the Duke’s carriage. Laurence barked orders at his carriage man as they climbed inside, and the vehicle lurched into motion with enough force to throw them back against the seats.
“Drive fast!” Laurence called up.
The carriage sped through the village and out onto the main road leading toward London. Inside, Victoria gripped the edge of her seat, her face pale but hopeful.
“What will you say to her?” she asked. “She’s so determined to go through with this. She thinks it’s the only way to protect us.”
“I’ll think of something,” Laurence said grimly.
Within twenty minutes, they were pulling up to Fairfax Manor. The horses had barely stopped before Laurence leaped from the carriage, Hugo and Victoria close behind.
Victoria rushed through the front door, breathless. “Joan! Joan, where are you?”
She collided with Sarah, the maid, who stumbled backward in surprise.
“Miss Victoria! I didn’t expect—”
“Where is my sister?” Victoria demanded. “Is she still here?”
Sarah’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Miss. She left not long ago.”
Laurence stepped forward, his imposing figure making the maid shrink back slightly. “How long ago? Be precise.”
“P-perhaps twenty minutes, Your Grace? Maybe thirty? She was in such a hurry, wouldn’t even take breakfast.”
Laurence was already turning back toward the carriage. Hugo caught Victoria’s arm gently.
“Stay here and wait,” he told her. “We’ll bring her back. I promise.”
Victoria nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face. “Please. Please bring my sister home.”
Hugo squeezed her hand reassuringly, then ran after Laurence.
“The London road!” Laurence shouted to his driver. “Full speed!”
The carriage took off with such violence that Hugo was thrown against the seat as he climbed inside. The horses galloped at a punishing pace, the countryside blurring past the windows.
Laurence sat forward, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees. His jaw was set, his scarred face hard with determination.
I don’t care if I have to chase her all the way to London, he thought fiercely. I don’t care if I have to storm that church and physically carry her away.
“There!” Hugo called out suddenly, pointing ahead. “A carriage!”
Laurence leaned out the window. “Block it! Get ahead and block the road!”
His driver cracked the whip, and their carriage surged forward with a burst of speed. They pulled alongside the other vehicle, then cut sharply in front of it, forcing it to slow and stop.
Laurence and Hugo leaped out before their wheels had fully stopped turning.
The door of the blocked carriage opened, and a portly, middle-aged man emerged, his face purple with rage.
“What in blazes do you think you’re-” He stopped mid-curse as he took in Laurence’s imposing figure and obvious nobility. “Your Grace, I… that is…”
“My apologies,” Hugo said smoothly, already steering Laurence away. “A case of mistaken identity. Please, proceed.”
The man scrambled back into his carriage, which quickly rolled past them.
Laurence stood in the middle of the road, scanning the horizon. Where is she? Did we miss her? Did she take a different route?
The sound of approaching hoofbeats made them both turn.
Another carriage appeared, traveling at a more sedate pace. As it drew closer, Laurence’s sharp eyes caught sight of the Sinclair family crest on the door.
Her.
He strode directly into the middle of the road, forcing the carriage to stop. The driver shouted in alarm, pulling hard on the reins.
The carriage door opened, and Joan stepped down, her traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her. Her face was perfectly composed, perfectly cold.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice like ice. “Why are you blocking the road?”
Laurence closed the distance between them in three long strides and pulled her into his arms, relief flooding through him so powerfully his knees nearly buckled.
She’s here. She’s safe. I found her.
Joan shoved him away hard, her eyes flashing with anger. “Conduct yourself properly! We are in public!”
“Joan, please.” Laurence kept his voice low, urgent. “Come back with me. You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace.” Her tone was clipped. “I have important business in London. Now if you’ll excuse me, ”
“The wedding,” Laurence said flatly. “You don’t have to marry him.”
Joan’s expression didn’t flicker. “I believe you are confused. Why are you meddling in my personal affairs?”
“Joan, we need to talk. To discuss this properly, ”
“I don’t have time for discussions.” She turned back toward her carriage. “I need to reach London before nightfall.”
Laurence grabbed her arm, perhaps more roughly than he intended. “Don’t be stubborn. Come with me. You can do better than marrying a man your own sister ran away from!”
Joan wrenched her arm free and, without warning, slapped him across the face.
The sound echoed in the quiet morning air. Hugo took an involuntary step backward.
“Do not interfere in my business,” Joan said, her voice shaking with fury, or something else. “You have no right.”
But Laurence saw it. Just for a moment, her mask slipped. Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away furiously.
She doesn’t want this, he realized with absolute certainty. She’s being forced. Or forcing herself. But she doesn’t want it.
“Joan,” he said softly, all the command gone from his voice. “Please. Come with me.”
“I need to attend to my business,” she said firmly, already turning away. “Good day, Your Grace.”
She climbed back into her carriage and pulled the door shut. Laurence moved to block the vehicle’s path, but Hugo’s hand clamped down on his arm.
“Let her go,” Hugo said quietly.
“Are you mad?” Laurence tried to shake him off. “I can’t let her-”
“Of course she won’t accept your help outright,” Hugo interrupted, his voice calm and reasonable despite the urgency of the situation.
“She’s spent her entire life solving problems on her own.
She’s not going to suddenly collapse into your arms and let you fix everything, no matter how much she might want to. ”
“Then what do you suggest I do? Let her marry that monster?”
“She won’t marry him.” Hugo’s voice was confident. “Weddings take several days to arrange properly. We have time to make a plan.”
Laurence watched Joan’s carriage roll away down the London road, every instinct screaming at him to chase after it, to drag her back by force if necessary.
“Laurence.” Hugo’s hand tightened on his arm. “Trust me. Let her go for now. We’ll get her back.”
After a long, agonizing moment, Laurence forced himself to nod. He turned and walked back to his own carriage, his movements stiff and mechanical.
They climbed inside, and Hugo called up directions to return to his estate in London.
As the carriage began to move, Laurence stared out the window at the road Joan had taken, his hands clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palms.
I cannot lose her like this, he thought desperately.
Hugo was already pulling out paper and a pencil, making notes with strokes.
Hold on, Joan, he thought, watching the road disappear behind them. Just hold on a little longer. I’m coming for you.