Chapter 18
Pain lanced through the back of Olivia’s skull, yanking her from unconsciousness.
She gasped and instinctively reached up to cradle her head.
Her fingers brushed against a tender lump, and she winced.
Slowly, she blinked her eyes open. The world came into focus in wavering shadows and harsh light.
She was lying on a straw-stuffed mattress—coarse, foul-smelling, and threadbare.
The only other furnishing in the small, dingy room was a warped chair slumped in the corner.
Her head throbbed as she pushed herself upright. Panic fluttered at the edge of her mind, but she forced herself to breathe. Steady now. Think.
A grime-smeared window offered a sliver of the outside world. Judging by the filtered daylight, it was sometime in the late afternoon. How long had she been unconscious? A few hours? A day?
The last thing she remembered was being in her brother’s townhouse… then darkness. Someone had struck her. But who? And why?
Below her, rough laughter erupted—slurred and raucous. Men. Several of them. From the timber and the scent of ale wafting upward, she guessed she was above a tavern or an inn. Perhaps a coaching house? That, at least, gave her a hope of being in a public place. A place from which she might escape.
She swung her legs off the mattress and stood, though the motion made her sway. Her head pounded in protest, but she gritted her teeth and staggered to the door. The handle refused to turn. Locked. Of course. No surprise there.
Her gaze darted back to the window and to the tree branch that swayed just beyond it. She felt a stirring of hope. It was close enough to reach. If she could get the window open…
Crossing the cramped space in a few hurried steps, she braced her hands against the grimy panes.
They were stuck. She shoved harder. The frame groaned under the pressure, reluctant but not unmovable.
With a final heave, it slid open, shrieking in protest. A rush of cool air hit her face, and with it, a strange exhilaration.
There was no time to second-guess her decision. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her door. They were coming closer. Louder.
She clambered up to the sill and reached for the branch.
The bark scratched her palms as she hauled herself up and out.
Her gown snagged and tore, but she didn’t stop.
Inch by inch, she crept along the limb towards the trunk.
Her breath caught as she lost her footing momentarily, but she didn’t fall. Not today.
At last, her boots met solid earth.
A shout rang out from above.
She didn’t wait to see who had called her name.
Olivia ran.
The street was unfamiliar, dingy, and crowded. A weatherworn sign swung from a rusted bracket above the door of the building she had just escaped: The Dragon’s Head. She burned the name into her memory.
People stared as she ran past them, but she didn’t stop. A hackney stood at the far end of the lane, the driver half-dozing atop the box.
She stumbled to a halt beside him. “I need a ride.”
The portly man squinted at her. “I don’t give rides to unescorted women.”
“Please,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I was abducted. I need to get home.”
He grunted. “Likely story. Do you have any money?”
“No. But—”
The driver cut her off. “No money, no ride!”
“Wait!” she pleaded. “I am Lady Westmere. If you take me to Mayfair, you will be rewarded.”
He scoffed. “A lady? In your state? Do you expect me to believe such a tale?”
She looked down. Her once-elegant gown was ruined. Mud clung to her ripped hem. Her hands were scraped. She likely looked mad.
But she stood straighter. “I swear it. I give you my word.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, and she thought he might turn her away. But at last, he jerked his head. “Get in. Before I change my mind.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, nearly sobbing with relief.
The interior of the hackney was vile—stained seats, a sour stench—but she barely noticed. As the carriage began to move, she huddled low. Two men rushed out of the tavern’s side entrance, scanning the street. Searching.
She ducked further.
Each jostle of the hackney felt like an eternity, but finally, blessedly, she recognized the familiar curve of their street. Their townhouse. Home.
Before the coach even rolled to a full stop, she flung the door open and stepped out. A footman rushed down the steps, but she ignored him.
She had made it.
Then—
“Olivia!”
She turned her head to see Evander step out of their crested coach. He sprinted towards her and she barely had time to breathe before his arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him.
She relaxed into him. “I’m all right,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. All she knew was that she was home. In his arms. Where she belonged.
A sharp voice came from behind them. “Lady, I don’t have all day!” the hackney driver declared.
Olivia leaned back and explained, “I promised him a reward if he brought me home.”
Without hesitation, Evander pulled a velvet pouch from his coat and tossed it up. The man caught it mid-air.
“All this for me?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Thank you for bringing my wife home… to me,” Evander said, his voice full of emotion.
The man nodded and flicked his reins, disappearing down the street.
Evander turned back to her. His eyes searched hers. “How are you here?”
“I escaped.”
“Yes, I gathered that,” he said. “How?”
“I climbed through a window and down a tree.”
Lord Warwicke appeared beside them, his brow knit in concern. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside.”
Evander took her hand in his. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“You’ll hear no protest from me,” she murmured.
Inside, Evander immediately gave instructions for tea, a bath, and a doctor. She tried to object, but he silenced her with a look.
She didn’t argue again.
In the drawing room, Lord Warwicke’s tone was all business. “Start at the beginning. Tell us everything.”
She recounted what she could about the inn and the escape. When she revealed the name of the tavern she was being held in, Lord Warwicke sucked in a breath.
“The Dragon’s Head?” he repeated sharply.
With a nod, she said, “The sign was above the main door.”
“That’s where the reformers meet,” Lord Warwicke said grimly. “It’s where I last saw Lord Luca.”
Evander’s jaw clenched. “Then Lord Luca’s behind this.”
“Maybe. He didn’t speak at the meeting. He just observed.”
“Then he might at least know who orchestrated it,” Olivia offered. “But why would he target me?”
“Because the reformers are getting desperate. They want Westmere out of India.” Lord Warwicke began pacing, thoughtful. “But why make the effort to kidnap you… only to let you escape?”
“They didn’t let me,” Olivia said, indignant. “I climbed out of a window, and it wasn’t an easy feat.”
Evander pulled her close again. “They underestimated you.”
Lord Warwicke shook his head. “Something’s off,” he muttered. “Why would Lord Luca align himself with reformers? He is the son of a duke.”
Evander dismissed the speculation with finality. “All I care is that she’s home. And she stays here, until this is over.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Olivia said.
He smiled down at her. “Care for that bath?”
She sighed. “Desperately. I must look a fright.”
Lifting a hand to her cheek, Evander said, “To me, you’ve never looked more beautiful.”
The warmth in his eyes threatened to undo her. Did he mean it? Was this love?
Before she could speak, Lord Warwicke cut in. “I’m going to speak with Luca. Westmere, would you care to join me?”
Evander looked conflicted. “I don’t want to leave her, but…” He stopped. “I would like to be there to beat him to a bloody pulp, should he confess.”
“You should go,” Olivia encouraged. “I’ll be here when you return.”
“Promise me?”
The vulnerability in his voice sliced through her. She longed to say I love you. But fear kept her silent. So instead, she nodded. “I promise.”
“Before I go, I will assign footmen to guard your every move. I won’t let anyone hurt you… ever again.”
The conviction in his tone sent a tremor through her. “Thank you.”
He brushed his thumb against her cheek, then turned and followed Lord Warwicke to the door.
The door clicked shut behind Evander and Lord Warwicke, leaving Olivia alone at last. She crossed the room in a daze and sank onto the settee, the upholstery sighing beneath her. Her hands trembled in her lap. She clasped them tightly to still them.
She was safe. She had escaped. But the truth of it—the full weight—was only just beginning to settle on her shoulders.
A shiver worked its way down her spine as she thought of the locked room, the window that had resisted her touch, and the boots thudding outside the door. If she hadn’t climbed out in time…
She curled her fingers into the fabric of her ruined gown. Don’t think about that. You’re home.
A knock at the door stirred her, and the butler stepped inside with a bow. “Your bath has been prepared, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she said, rising on unsteady feet.
She climbed the stairs more quickly than she’d expected her legs to carry her and stepped into her bedchamber.
Her lady’s maid was already there, setting out fresh linen. At the sight of Olivia, she gasped. “My lady! Are you hurt?”
“No, I am all right,” Olivia replied. She gave the maid a reassuring nod, though she doubted it looked particularly convincing.
Annie approached cautiously. “Shall we get you out of that gown?”
“Yes, please,” Olivia murmured, turning around and lifting her heavy hair out of the way.
She stared blankly at the wall as the buttons were slowly undone, the whisper of fabric loud in the quiet room. Her gaze shifted to the hearth where the water basin waited, steam curling lazily upward. The scent of lavender drifted through the air, soft and familiar.
And still, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.