Chapter Twenty-One
“Drake!” Violet cried as the man collapsed at her feet for the third time since she met him.
But where the first two times had been concerning, this one was supremely frightening.
She rushed over, falling onto her knees beside him, slowly lifting his head to inspect the wound.
Blood gushed from where Percival, her blackguard former fiancé, had stuck him with a cane of all things.
Her fingers trembled against Drake’s temple, slick with this blood, and a newfound loathing for canes bloomed in her breast. Of all the absurd, posturing weapons a man might choose, leave it to Percival to turn a gentleman’s walking stick into something vile.
“Drake, wake up,” Violet choked. “You are not dying in my garden,” she said fiercely, as though the command alone might make it so.
“How touching, my dear. Truly.”
She glared at Percival. “What is the meaning of this, you wretched man?”
“Meaning of this?” His brow furrowed even while his lips hooked upward. “My dear, you ran away before our wedding. Did you imagine I’d simply let it stand?”
Yes! “The fact that I left means I broke our engagement! I even wrote you a formal letter to make the dissolution abundantly clear. In the eyes of the ton, we are done. I’m probably ruined too for causing such a scandal anyway.”
“The eyes of the ton?” Percival laughed. “Dear, in the eyes of the ton, we are still very much betrothed.” He patted his breast pocket. “I even have a special license for the occasion. You will be my wife.”
Dread filled her. “Do you believe I shall stand for this?”
Percival’s smile widened, and he took a step closer, his gaze never leaving her face. “You aren’t standing now, are you, Evangeline?”
He was enjoying her distress. The horrible blackguard.
By all the blazes. She had to escape this disaster. She glanced down at Drake, tracing a finger over his scar. But she couldn’t leave him. There was no possible way she could abandon him. Him departing this earth simply wasn’t an option.
“How did you find me?” Violet asked, keeping her voice steadier than she felt. “My brother, I take it?”
“Of course. Reginald has never been subtle, but he is persistent. It took us longer than expected to locate you, regrettably. You were . . . inventive. However, once we started investigating your acquaintances, we tracked their whereabouts. Your friends were not nearly so discreet as you believed.”
Well, she’d never meant to live in hiding forever. “Good for you.”
He shrugged. “It still took us some time to connect your name,” he continued, as though discussing the weather.
“Violet. Very clever. Your third given name. The surname you chose, ingenious, really.” He smiled thinly.
“Took me a while, that. Your brother is rather dense in such matters, or we would have found you far sooner.”
Her fingers curled into her palms. “You are gravely mistaken if you believe this will end as you intend. The man you struck is not one to be trifled with.”
“You mean your lover? I must say, even I was shocked at that display of affection. No matter, that doesn’t change the outcome.”
That shocked her. “You’d wed an unchaste woman?”
“Yes, well, you will need to be punished for that, will you not?”
Punished.
Bile rose for the use of that word on his lips. It was hard to fathom, or rather, remarkable to note, how the same word could take on a different meaning depending on the person who said it.
This is your life, Violet.
Here, with Drake, no matter the relationship. The underbelly of Brighton. Her flower shop. She refused to allow anyone to strip it from her. And to think she’d nearly fled, once again, rather than stay and make a stand. Well, she’d stay and make a stand!
First, she had to escape.
“You have no idea who this man is,” Violet hissed. “Do you?”
“Oh, we know all about the seven Fury brothers,” Percival said with a wave of his hand, “but we have a more powerful interest in our support.” He cast a disdainful glance over Drake. “Six now.”
Well, a powerful interest would account for this oaf’s confidence. But who would back these cruel fools?
Someone crueler.
Violet clenched her jaw, eyes spitting fire. “And there are eight brothers, you fool.”
His eyes flashed with menace. “You get one pass, Evangeline. Call me a fool again and you will regret it even more.”
He whistled, and four men piled into the plot.
“Drag him away,” Percival demanded. “You know what to do.”
“No!” Violet cried, arms circling around Drake’s neck. They would have to pry her corpse from him before she’d allow them to take him! “What do you plan to do with him?”
“That’s not your concern anymore, Evangeline.”
The men stepped forward, circling them.
Violet tightened her hold on Drake instinctively, curling her body over his as though she might shield him by sheer force of will. One of the men reached for Drake’s arm. Another for his boots.
“Don’t touch him!” The words tore out of her. She twisted, placing herself squarely between Drake and their grasping hands. “Don’t you dare!” They would kill him. They’d already tried several times. If they were separated here today, she’d never see him again.
And she couldn’t never see him again.
She wanted to see him. Always. Always and forever. Life without him would be an impossible void. In fact, Violet couldn’t bear to picture a world in which he didn’t exist beneath the same stars.
Percival sighed. “Do not be dramatic, my dear. You are only delaying the inevitable.”
A rough hand caught her shoulder.
Violet reacted without thinking. She shoved back hard, striking out blindly. Drake groaned faintly. That sound cut straight through her and also distracted her enough for a man to pull her off him and cast her aside.
“Call your men off, Percival.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, unaffected. “I cannot do that, Evangeline.”
She scrambled to her feet, but before she could move, Percival seized her by the arm. He wasn’t as tall as Drake, wasn’t as strong, but he was tall enough, strong enough. Her struggles proved futile beyond words.
A curse flew from her lips. Violet had never felt so utterly powerless.
She could only helplessly watch as the men carried Drake off.
Pearls gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Cry, she would not. She could not show fear.
Heartache. Percival fed on them. She’d even go as far as to say that for men like him, they were the very currency of his power.
She turned her fiercest glare on him. “You will regret this. My lord.” Regret he hadn’t taken the out she’d given him at the time. She would make certain he got everything he deserved and more.
His evil eyes met hers. “The only thing I regret, dear, is not marrying you the day I signed the betrothal agreement, which shall be a mistake rectified in a few hours.”
Not if she could help it.
“Come,” he guided her from the garden.
“Where are you taking me?”
She had not thought there could be anything more evil than his eyes, until she saw the grin her question drew from him.
“Oh, to a wedding gift from your brother.”
He might as well have taken his cane to her head. Reginald. Of course. Everything always led back to him. Violet dug her heels into the earth, every instinct rebelling, but Percival’s grip tightened, digging into her flesh.
“Have you learned nothing?” he snapped, yanking her forward. “Resistance doesn’t change your fate.”
Perhaps not. But she had made her own fate once. And she would do it again. And again. And again. She would make this wretched creature eat his words. And she would escape this monster.
*
Drake woke to a blinding throb in his temples.
To borrow those abominable words from Reaper, cock on a duck.
Cock on two ducks. He couldn’t even bloody open his eyes to sweep his surroundings, much less calculate the danger.
He did know Violet wasn’t beside him. He couldn’t feel her.
Her absence was a different throb altogether.
Had she been taken?
Of course, you fool.
His wits must have been struck good and proper for him to entertain such a hopeful question.
He forced his eyes open with difficulty.
The floor beneath him was hard. Unforgiving.
Cold enough to seep through his coat and bite into his bones.
His wrists protested when he tried to move.
So did his damn feet. Tied and trussed up like a pig, then.
Whoever had done this had not taken chances.
His vision swam, light and shadow smearing together before the world grudgingly sharpened.
An empty kitchen cellar?
Stone walls pressed in on all sides, damp with age, the air carrying the faint, unmistakable chill of the coast. The ceiling hung low above him, crossed with rough beams blackened by years of smoke.
A narrow, iron-barred window sat high in the wall—so no damn escape—admitting a thin, reluctant blade of light.
How long had he been out? Hours? Days?
Drake drew a shallow breath.
This was a first.
Memory began to slink back. Violet’s look of horror. The fearful cry of his name.
“Hell and damnation,” he spat. Who the devil was mad enough to knock him out and kidnap him?
The person who did this would not get any damn mercy from him when he got free.
And he would damn well get free. Drake grinned as his imagination took over.
He’d toss this cockchafer into a damn cell to make him rue the day he’d ever struck him down before Violet.
Drake groaned.
How many times had he collapsed before his little spitfire now?
Three bloody times.
Three humiliating bloody times.
First from the loss of blood. Fine. Acceptable, if embarrassing. The second time more so. But this time? Being attacked from the back while he couldn’t defend himself? Bloody unacceptable.