Chapter 32
Gideon urged his horse forward, his body taut with a restless urgency.
The reins cut against his palm where his grip had tightened beyond reason.
Catherine was gone, spirited away from beneath his very roof while he had lain senseless.
He had awakened with the bitter taste of defeat still clinging to his tongue, his head heavy, his limbs sluggish.
Not the effect of one glass of brandy. I was poisoned, and I believe I know by what and by whom. McKay is the traitor!
But with every mile he pressed on, the fog cleared, and his determination hardened into steel.
The road stretched straight and empty, the hedgerows thick with dew, the first autumn leaves stirring with the morning wind.
He told himself grimly that she might be anywhere by now.
They could have turned north, south, east, taken a dozen smaller lanes through the countryside.
He might be riding away from her with every hoofbeat!
Still, he pressed on. It was all he could do.
“If not London,” he muttered under his breath, “then another road. I’ll ride every cursed one until I find you.”
And then fate, or Catherine, threw him a lifeline.
At the edge of the ditch, half-hidden in the grass, a glimmer of silver caught his eye.
He pulled sharply on the reins, heart lurching.
Dismounting, he crouched and lifted the object with hands that trembled despite himself.
Her brooch. The small clasp she always wore at her collar, delicate filigree in the shape of a knot of roses.
Gideon’s breath caught. She had been here. She had left him a sign! He surged back into the saddle, eyes scouring the roadside. Another half-mile on, something white fluttered against the earth, her glove.
Thank God the wind is low today. It might have been lifted and carried miles.
Another peeked from the mud a mile further on, crushed into the dirt where wagon wheels had pressed it down.
“Clever girl,” he whispered, realizing that the trail had not been left by accident.
She wants me to find her. There is hope.
Pride and desperation warred within him. She had not surrendered meekly; she had fought, leaving him a trail like a breadcrumb path through the forest.
And then, at last, a third sign.
At a crossroads with no indication on the hard earth which way the carriage might have gone, he spotted a small hairclip, its enamel catching the weak sunlight. He held it in his palm, staring at it for a long moment.
She was alive, she was resisting, and she wanted him to follow. His chest tightened with a rush of fierce love.
Whatever she desires. Whatever she asks of me. It will not be too much. I have tasted what it would be like to lose her. I did not care for that particular meal.
The road wound onward, narrowing between trees.
A lane broke off to the left, half-consumed by wild undergrowth.
The kind of place no one would look twice at.
Yet, at the end of the shadowed track, he saw the roof of a house, almost lost among tangled ivy and neglected hedges.
At first glance, it looked abandoned, the garden overrun, shutters weathered.
But as he approached, he stilled. A carriage was drawn up before the door.
He dismounted silently, every nerve burning. Catherine was here. She must be here.
Gideon tethered his horse and strode forward, mounting the worn, uneven steps leading to the front door. He did not knock—he pounded his fist against the door. But it opened almost at once.
McKay stood there.
The sight of the butler, his butler, standing before him so calmly, nearly undid him. Rage clawed up from his chest, nearly blinding him.
But McKay did not flinch.
He looked Gideon full in the eye, as if he had been expecting him all along.
“Good morning… Mr. Tarnley,” McKay said smoothly.
The name landed like a blow.
Gideon’s jaw clenched.
“Where is my wife?” he demanded. His voice was low, guttural.
“She is not your prisoner, nor your wife in truth. She is with the true Duke of Caerleon,” McKay replied evenly. “And she now understands everything.”
“To hell with your riddles!” Gideon stepped forward, but McKay barred the way with surprising boldness.
“I owe you no explanation. My loyalty has always been to His Grace. Aaron Tarnley. I served as his valet, then his butler, long before you usurped his name. I came to you only to learn what I must. And I have betrayed no one.”
“You are keen to prove it,” Gideon hissed. “I have not accused you, and I do not care. I only want to find my wife.”
McKay’s eyelids flickered. As good as a gasp of astonishment from another man.
He was ready to defend himself and is surprised that I did not accuse him of treachery.
Gideon’s fists curled. He longed to break the man in two for his treachery. But he controlled that impulse.
I will prove to Catherine that I am not the General any longer. I am a Duke. A gentleman. And I do not resolve problems with mindless violence.
McKay’s impassive face gave nothing away, but the faint stiffness of his shoulders betrayed unease.
“Let me through,” he grated at last, his voice dangerously quiet.
McKay hesitated a moment. Then moved aside.
Inside, the hall was dim, lined with the dust of disuse. And standing in the doorway opposite, smirking as if the world belonged to him, was the Earl of Stafford.
At the sight of him, Gideon nearly lost that narrowly tethered control.
His muscles tensed for violence, every instinct screaming to hurl the man against the wall and choke the laughter from his throat.
“Ah,” Stafford drawled. “The usurper himself. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Where is she?” Gideon’s voice cracked like a whip.
Stafford arched a brow. “So eager! Do not fret. She is safe, though perhaps not in the sense you mean.”
Gideon stepped forward, but Stafford raised a hand. McKay appeared beside him, holding a sheaf of papers.
“Before you indulge your… baser instincts, Mr. Tarnley, there is business to discuss.” Stafford’s tone oozed mockery. His smile deepened at the use of such an ordinary title, denying Gideon his rank.
As if I care about that meaningless title!
“Your business venture with Sir Obadiah. Your shares, your influence, worth quite a sum. Here is the deed transferring them to me.”
Gideon did not so much as glance at it. His eyes were on Stafford.
He barely blinked as he stalked across the hall to confront him.
His breath hissed between gritted teeth; his hands were clenched into fists behind his back.
The grip with which one hand held the other was all that kept Stafford in the land of the living.
Stafford chuckled lowly. “Ah, but you must look. For if you do not sign, Catherine will be delivered back to her charming Aunt and Uncle. And from there, well… there are places in the north where a girl might vanish without trace. Her inheritance will be quite sufficient to keep her well hidden. She will never be found. Not by you, anyway.”
Gideon’s rage wavered, tempered by calculation. The words were plausible. Her relatives had already tried to trap her—Stafford would happily profit from it.
But then he glanced at McKay’s expression.
It was tight, uneasy. Another man would not have been able to see it, would have seen only military self-control.
But Gideon knew Mr. Harold Fraser McKay, knew the subtleties of his expression.
That was the truth. McKay’s loyalty was twisted, yes, but not corrupt.
The butler was still a soldier, with a soldier’s honor.
He would not allow Stafford’s kind of cruelty.
Gideon forced himself to unclench his hands. He nodded slowly. “Very well. Let us talk in the study.”
Stafford smirked, gesturing grandly. “This way.”
A woman stepped out of a doorway and stopped, clearly surprised at the group. She was a plain, stern woman with sharp eyes that missed nothing. Her gaze fell on Gideon, and her lips tightened.
“So…” she said coldly, “you are the brother? The brute. I am Meredith Chalmers, His Grace’s personal assistant and…”
Gideon ignored the barb and the rest of her words. “Where is Catherine?”
“She is not here,” Meredith said curtly. “And if she were, I would not entrust her to you. You reek of violence, sir.”
Gideon shut his eyelids and bit back his retort. If he gave his anger rein, he would only prove her right. He inclined his head stiffly and followed Stafford into the study.
McKay entered the room and spread the papers on the desk. Gideon sat, picked up the pen, and dipped it into a waiting pot of ink. He took care to read each line, Stafford showing increasing impatience.
There is no way out. If this keeps Catherine safe, then it is a price I would pay ten times over.
He signed.
Stafford’s smile stretched wide with triumph. He snatched the papers and tucked them under his arm.
“Excellent! A toast, then. To victory!”
As he turned toward the sideboard, McKay leaned closer to Gideon, his voice a low hiss.
“It is a subterfuge. She is not in his power.”
It was a break in the butler’s Spartan self-control, the need to do the honorable thing overwhelming whatever orders he had been given. Perhaps, his master had ordered him to obey Stafford in all things. But McKay’s personal honor was affronted, and he could not blindly obey.
Gideon’s blood surged.
He rose as Stafford returned, brandy in hand.
In a heartbeat, Gideon struck. He lunged across the room and seized Stafford by the throat.
The brandy bottle smashed to the floor, spilling its contents.
Stafford let out a strangled cry as Gideon hurled him against the desk, scattering papers and ink.
All control was gone at the smug smirk that had been plastered across Stafford’s face. The red mist was thick, opaque. He could see nothing but the man who had tried to steal what belonged to him. Tried to make him a fool!
“You bastard!” Gideon roared.
He tightened his grip, throttling the older man as furniture splintered beneath them. Stafford clawed at his wrists, his face purple. Gideon lifted him bodily and flung him into the bookcase.
“Where is she?” he bellowed, “Tell me!”
The door burst open. Meredith rushed in, her face pale.
“Enough!” she cried. “Do you hear yourself? You are proving everything Aaron said of you! You are no Duke—you are a brute, a beast unfit to protect any woman! Unhand him!”
She was half Gideon’s size, but her fury made her ferocious.
Her eyes communicated disgust. Gideon saw himself reflected in her contempt.
Saw the General. But she did not fear that aspect of Gideon.
She had nothing but scorn for the brute force that he represented, the victory of anger and animal rage. Her words struck deep.
He froze, breath heaving, releasing his victim. Stafford slid to the floor, then scrambled away on all fours into the corner of the room. He wheezed, eyes wide with fear.
Meredith’s eyes blazed.
“If Catherine is with you, she is in danger. Better she remain hidden than endure such rage.”
“I will find her,” Gideon said hoarsely.
“You will not.” Meredith’s voice was iron. “Leave this house at once, Mr. Tarnley.”
For a moment, he nearly obeyed. His fury had undone him, cast him in the very image his enemies painted. But then his gaze swept the hall as he strode out. There, on a side table, lay Catherine’s bonnet.
He stopped.
“She is here,” he muttered.
Stafford swayed into the doorway and recoiled when he saw that Gideon had not left. Gideon ignored him.
“Keep your papers, louse. Take the money. I care not,” Gideon spat.
He tentatively raised the bonnet to his nose and breathed in.
He could smell her hair, her perfume. It was as though she were in the room with him.
Stafford jostled him as he ran from the house, shouting for his driver as he hurled himself into the carriage.
Gideon closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.
“Your… I mean, sir… I mean, Mr. Tarnley! He has hoodwinked you. If you don’t stop him, he will go directly to Sir Obadiah and claim your share!” McKay cried, the injustice breaking through his steely self-control.
“Let him,” Gideon replied, simply.
“Let him?” Meredith echoed. “You care nothing for your money?”
“Nothing. Now, where is she,” Gideon pressed. “Bind my hands if you fear for her safety. Only, take me to her.”
Meredith seemed to consider it, pursing her lips. Gideon presented his hands, clasped together, and she gave a laugh.
“Not what I expected. But it makes no difference. A tiger does not change his stripes.”
Gideon smiled tightly. “Then, if you will excuse me, madam.”
He strode past her, deeper into the house, calling Catherine’s name. It didn’t take long to search each room. At one point, a groom appeared, blocking his way and looking for orders from Meredith. The man was twice Gideon’s age and diminutive in stature.
Without a word, Gideon took hold of the man by his upper arms and lifted him, carefully, out of his way. Meredith and the groom gaped as Gideon carefully set the man down and continued his search.
Finally, he saw the back garden through a window.
And then he saw her.
At the far end of the overgrown grounds, a man was half-dragging, half-carrying her into the trees. Catherine struggled, her hair flying about her. Gideon’s heart leapt to his throat.
“Is that the man you think she is safe with?!” he demanded as he hurtled past Meredith to the door that would lead him to the garden.
She looked dumbfounded.
Gideon almost ripped the house’s back door from its hinges and sprinted across the overgrown lawn towards the trees.