Chapter 27
“They were not here.”
James did not raise his voice when he said it, but the words landed with a finality that allowed no room for misunderstanding.
He stood near the center of the drawing room, one hand braced against the back of a chair as though he had only just come to his feet, his attention fixed squarely on Maxwell.
Maxwell did not move further into the room.
“Not here?” he repeated, quieter than he intended.
“They went out earlier,” James said, his expression sharpening as he took in Maxwell more fully. “A promenade, I believe. They were not expected to be long.”
Something in Maxwell’s posture shifted because James straightened at once, his focus narrowing. “What has happened here?”
Maxwell did not soften it.
“There was an intruder at my house this morning,” he said. “A boy. He had been paid to take my wife from the house.”
James went completely still.
“For what purpose?” he asked, though the answer had already begun to show in his expression.
“He did not know,” Maxwell replied. “Only that she was to be removed without notice.”
James’s teeth clenched. “And you came here because you believed—”
“That she would be safer,” Maxwell finished. “Or that she had already arrived.”
The silence that followed was brief. It was enough.
James turned immediately, already reaching for his coat. “Then we are wasting time.”
They did not wait for a carriage.
The distance was not great, and urgency stripped them of patience. By the time they reached the street, James had fallen into step beside Maxwell without further question, his gaze sharp, his attention fixed ahead.
“You are certain of what he told you?” he asked after a moment.
“He had no reason to lie,” Maxwell replied. “And none left in him to lie under pressure.”
James did not respond immediately. “And you believe this is connected to your past.”
“I do not see what else remains.”
James’s expression darkened. “Then we should have anticipated it.”
Maxwell did not answer.
The park came into view sooner than expected, though neither of them had slowed long enough to mark the distance. Even from a distance, something was wrong.
A small crowd had gathered along the path, the usual calm of the promenade broken by a low murmur edged with urgency to draw attention. A carriage stood at an awkward angle nearby, its driver half-turned in his seat as though uncertain whether to remain or depart.
Maxwell did not hesitate.
He pushed through the edge of the gathering without regard for the polite resistance offered. Voices rose in protest at the intrusion, then fell away just as quickly when they recognized him.
At the center of the crowd, Eleanor sat upon the ground.
Her maid hovered close, hands wringing together in visible distress, while a pair of older women knelt nearby, offering assistance in the form of unsolicited guidance. Eleanor’s posture was upright, though there was a tension in the set of her shoulders that had not yet eased.
“Eleanor.”
James reached her first.
He dropped to one knee beside her, his hand lifting to her face, turning it gently toward the light. “Are you injured?”
“I am quite well,” she said, though the words were not entirely steady. “Only startled.”
James’s gaze moved over her quickly, assessing. His expression tightened when he saw the mark on her cheek.
The bruise had already begun to darken.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice lower now.
Eleanor’s attention shifted past him, landing briefly on Maxwell before returning to her husband. “He came upon us without warning,” she said. “Insisted upon speaking with her. When I refused—”
Her breath caught, just slightly.
“He struck me,” she finished.
The words settled into something colder than the morning air.
James’s expression changed, restraint thinning into something far less controlled. “Who?”
Eleanor’s gaze flickered again, this time holding on to Maxwell. “Lord Covington.”
Maxwell’s focus sharpened.
“And Arabella?” he asked.
Eleanor’s composure faltered then—not entirely, but enough that the answer did not come at once. “He took her,” she said. “Before I could—” She stopped, the effort visible now. “He forced her toward the trees. There was a carriage.”
A voice from the edge of the crowd broke in, hesitant but urgent. “I saw what happened, Your Grace.”
Maxwell turned.
The man stepped forward uncertainly, his hat clutched in his hands. “He did not linger. Pulled her along that way—” He gestured toward a narrow path leading away from the main promenade, partially obscured by trees. “There was another carriage waiting. Dark. No markings. They left quickly.”
“How long?” Maxwell asked.
“Not more than a few minutes before you came,” the man said. “We sent for the constables.”
Maxwell did not wait to hear the rest.
He turned at once, already moving in the direction indicated, the noise of the crowd falling away behind him as his pace quickened. The path narrowed ahead, the ground uneven, but he did not slow.
“Maxwell.”
James’s voice followed, closer than expected.
Maxwell did not look back. “Stay with your wife.”
“I have men already on their way,” James replied, matching his stride. “And she is not alone. I will not remain behind while he—”
The rest did not need to be spoken.
Maxwell’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue further.
They moved together then, the path stretching ahead, the quiet of it in stark contrast to the urgency driving them forward. The city seemed to recede, replaced by sharper awareness—distance, direction, time narrowing into something far less forgiving.
“She will not be far,” James said, though it sounded more like calculation than reassurance. “Not if he intends to remain unseen.”
Maxwell did not answer.
His focus had already fixed on the ground ahead, searching for any indication of passage, of disturbance, of direction. Faint impressions of wheels cut into the softer earth where the path curved, leading away from the open promenade and into something more secluded.
He did not slow.
Whatever distance had been gained would not remain between them for long.
* * *
There was another carriage waiting beyond the trees.
Arabella’s first instinct was to pull away— to twist free before the door had even fully shut, but Amos anticipated it. His grip tightened around her arm, forcing her back against the seat, his other hand braced against the frame to block her from slipping past him.
“Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said, his voice lower now, stripped of the easy civility he had worn so well before.
Arabella did not still.
She pressed her shoulder into the side of the carriage, pushing against him with what strength she had, her free hand catching at his sleeve. “Release me,” she demanded, sharper than her breath allowed. “Have you entirely lost your senses?”
He did not loosen his hold.
Instead, he adjusted it, pulling her further from the door as the carriage lurched into motion. The sudden movement threw her off balance, and for a moment she was forced to steady herself against him—the contact unwilling, unavoidable.
“Sit,” he said.
“I will not.”
The refusal came at once, though her strength faltered again, the earlier dizziness threatening beneath the strain. She forced it back, dragging in a breath that did not quite steady her.
“Where is my sister?” she asked, her voice tightening. “What have you done to her?”
“She is not my concern,” he said.
Arabella stared at him. “You struck her.”
His jaw shifted, though he did not deny it. “She placed herself in the way.”
The answer landed cleanly.
“And so you removed her,” Arabella said, quieter now, though no less pointed. “That is how you justify it?”
His gaze flickered, something unsettled moving beneath the surface before it hardened again. “You misunderstand the situation.”
“Then explain it,” she said. “Because from where I sit, it appears you have abandoned reason entirely.”
The carriage turned sharply, the motion forcing them both to brace. Amos released the frame just long enough to steady himself, but his grip on her did not ease.
“I have done what was necessary,” he said.
“For whom?”
“For you.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Arabella let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You believe yourself my protector.”
“I know myself to be so,” he said, his voice tightening. “You are not safe where you were.”
“Not safe?” she repeated. “In my own home?”
“In his home,” Amos corrected.
Arabella’s expression shifted, something colder settling into place. “My husband’s home.”
“Yes,” he said. “Your husband.”
The word carried weight.
“I wondered,” he continued, his gaze fixed on her now in a way that felt less like attention and more like fixation, “when I heard of it. How could such a match be made so quickly? So conveniently. It did not align with what I knew of you.”
“What you knew of me,” Arabella repeated, her tone sharpening.
“That you would not willingly bind yourself to a man like him,” Amos said. “Not without cause.”
The carriage jolted again, the rhythm uneven now as it moved farther from the main road. Arabella steadied herself, her fingers tightening against the seat as she studied him.
“And what cause have you decided upon?” she asked.
His expression darkened. “That you had no choice.”
Arabella’s brows lifted—not in surprise, but in disbelief. “You have constructed an entire narrative to justify this,” she said. “Have you considered the possibility that it is simply untrue?”
“You do not speak as one coerced,” he admitted. “But that does not mean you are not.”
“And you would know the difference?”
His gaze sharpened. “I know what he is.”
The words landed differently now.
Arabella held his gaze. “Do you?”
“I know what he did,” Amos said, his voice tightening further. “What he was. The company he kept. The choices he made without consequence.”
Arabella did not interrupt.
“He took what he wished,” Amos continued. “He left ruin where it suited him. And when the reckoning came—when someone finally answered him—he was allowed to retreat behind a title and a mask, as though that erased it.”
The carriage rocked again, the path rough beneath them now.
Arabella felt the shift in him more than she saw it.
“You believe he wronged you?” she said.
“I know he did.”
“You think I speak from rumor?” Amos’s voice sharpened, something close to a laugh breaking through it. “I watched him ruin her. Watched him take what he pleased and leave her to bear the consequences of it.”
Arabella’s breath caught, though she did not interrupt.
“She was not like the others,” he continued, more quietly now, though the intensity in it did not lessen. “Not to me.”
The words settled heavily between them.
“And when I warned him,” Amos went on, his gaze fixed ahead rather than on her, “when I made it clear he was not the only man in this world with something to lose— he laughed.”
Arabella felt something shift, sharp and sudden.
“So you had him beaten,” she said.
“I had him stopped,” Amos corrected.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
“And so you take it upon yourself to correct it,” she continued. “By abducting his wife.”
His expression flickered, irritation breaking through the certainty. “You are not a part of this.”
“I am precisely a part of this,” she said, steady now despite everything. “You have ensured it.”
He leaned closer, closing the space between them. “You were always a part of it. You simply did not know it.”
Arabella did not look away.
“You have convinced yourself of a great many things,” she said. “None of which alters the fact that you have acted without reason.”
His jaw tightened. “Without reason?”
“You speak of justice,” she said. “Of protection. And yet you strike a woman in the street and force another into a carriage against her will.” Her gaze held his. “Is that the conduct of a man who believes himself righteous?”
The words landed.
For a moment, the composure he had maintained fractured—something sharper breaking through.
“You do not understand what I am trying to prevent,” he said.
“Then enlighten me.”
His grip tightened again. “You are carrying his child.”
The statement landed with a force that stilled her—not from agreement, but from the certainty with which he spoke it.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment.
“And you would raise it under his influence,” Amos went on. “Under the same conditions that shaped him.”
Arabella studied him. “You assume a great deal.”
“I have seen enough to know.”
“And so you remove me,” she said. “From my home. From my family. From any choice I might have made.”
His expression hardened again. “I am giving you the chance to make it properly.”
The carriage began to slow.
The shift was subtle at first, more felt than heard. Amos glanced toward the door, his attention dividing for just a moment.
Arabella took it.
She pulled sharply against his grip, the motion sudden, unanticipated. It was not enough to free her, but it forced him to adjust, his balance shifting just long enough for her to gain a fraction of space.
“Do not—” he began, reaching for her again.
She did not let him finish.
“If you believed any of this,” she said, cutting through him, “you would not need to force me into it.”
The words landed harder than she expected.
For a moment, something like uncertainty flickered in his expression.
Then it was gone.
“You will understand,” he said. The conviction sounded thinner now. “In time.”
“I understand enough.”
He lifted his hand then to strike her.
Arabella’s breath caught. Her body tensed—
The carriage door was torn open before the motion was completed.
Cold air rushed in, sharp and immediate, cutting through the enclosed tension. Amos turned at once, his attention snapping toward the intrusion.
And in that brief, fractured moment—
Maxwell stood there.