Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“Louisa!”
Benedict was halfway to the stables when he heard the shot. Already walking very fast after hearing Lady Gordons’ garbled story of the message from the stables and Louisa’s precipitate departure, he now dropped the canvas bag and burst into a run.
It was Ashbourne’s doing in some way. Benedict knew it, although he did not know how.
Would anyone at Rosemere come to assist? The music might have drowned out the sound of the shot, or the guests might only think the fireworks were starting early. He could rely on nothing but himself.
“Louisa!” he yelled again as the stables came into sight, the single lantern hanging there, and no sign of anyone in the vicinity, never mind a golden-haired figure in a white silk dress.
Dear God, please let him not be too late again. Not this time. Benedict might tear Ashbourne limb from limb, but if he had already hurt Louisa it would do no good.
Then, he heard the sound of Thunder’s panicked neighing and saw the stallion rearing and jumping about the paddock, spooked by the gunshot. A white-clad figure was on the ground, her dress spattered with red, and Benedict’s heart felt it would burst with the effort he now made to reach her.
As he vaulted over the paddock fence, Louisa kneeled up, clutching her left wrist. He could not immediately see Ashbourne, but she was far too close to the out-of-control stallion.
“Benedict!” she called to him, her cry half a sob of relief and distress as he scooped her up and carried her over to the stables and away from immediate danger. “Oh God, Benedict! He shot me, Lord Ashbourne shot me, if it hadn’t been for Johnson, I’d be dead…”
Examining Louisa’s arm as she gabbled out her story, Benedict gave a shout of relief to find only a flesh wound. The shot, presumably from the smoking pistol lying on the ground nearby, had only grazed her arm.
A short distance away, a white-faced young man with blood on his forehead was untying ropes from around his ankles, an apparent gag now loose around his neck, and his wrists raw from where he had wrested them from the binding of other ropes.
“He hit me over the head and tied me up in there,” the dazed stable lad said. “I tried to get loose when I heard him with Lady Louisa, but it took so long and I couldn’t untie my legs. All I could do was throw the horseshoe at his head when he pulled out the pistol. Thank God I didn’t miss.”
“You did well, Johnson,” Benedict told the boy. “Where is the bastard now?”
The sound of hoofbeats answered this question before the pointing of the stable lad.
Dressed in a coachman’s outfit, Lord Ashbourne was on horseback and making good his escape.
Well, not if Benedict had anything to do with it.
Ashbourne had tried to murder the woman he loved, and he would never have a chance to try again.
“Get Lady Louisa back to the house,” Benedict ordered the stable lad, already on his feet and instinctively moving, even while rational thought drowned in the red mist rising in his soul.
Racing back over to the paddock where Thunder still whirled and snorted, the Duke of Northwick jumped onto the fence and then onto the horse’s back, a feat that even he himself might have previously judged impossible. With a wild roar, he then drove the stallion forward and leapt the paddock fence.
Lord Ashbourne would pay dearly for what he had done this night…
Benedict gained swiftly on Lord Ashbourne over the fields, streams and woodland, before his quarry made for the steeper hills. In the bright moonlight and silence, there was no need even for basic tracking skills. For Benedict, it was only ever a matter of time before Ashbourne was cornered.
The blackguard might have counted on his greater familiarity with the landscape, especially in the dark, but he could not have known Benedict’s almost preternatural ability to ride blind through the night, even under extreme pressure.
Nor could he have understood the combined power of the crazed stallion and furious duke, compared to his own mount, which looked to be a coach horse.
At last, faced with a sheer unrideable rock face, a steep drop and Benedict on the path behind, the chase was at an obvious end.
“Halt Ashbourne!” Benedict bellowed. "You cannot escape.”
He saw the other man glance over the virtual cliff edge behind him, with a strange expression that was neither desperation nor fear.
Christ, is he mad enough to ride the horse over? Damned well let him…
“If I die, you’ll hang for it, Northwick,” Lord Ashbourne shouted back, grinning. “One man falling from a great height in your company was judged misadventure. But two?”
A man like Ashbourne liked mind games but he was wrong to think he could play them with Benedict.
“I shouldn’t think the House of Lords would judge your death a great loss, Ashbourne,” retorted Benedict, now close enough that shouting was unnecessary. “I doubt they would even bother assembling to try me, not even if I pushed you. No one would care.”
“No one?” repeated Lord Ashbourne with a weird chuckle, his eyes fixed somewhere behind Benedict’s head. “I don’t believe that’s true. I think there’s someone who would care very much.”
Had someone come riding after them? Perhaps Damien had heard the shot too, or that young groom had already alerted some of the manservants. Or maybe…No! Surely Louisa had not ridden after him?!
Risking a turn of his head, Benedict saw a flash of white on horseback in the distance and groaned. Lord Ashbourne dismounted and Benedict quickly did the same, suspecting that his opponent might try to scramble up the rock face on foot. This did not, however, appear to be Ashbourne’s intention.
“Why do you think Lady Louisa is coming, Northwick?” asked the blonde man, low and sinister.
“Not for your sake, Ashbourne,” replied Benedict, watching his opponent as carefully as he might watch a snake or scorpion. “I’m sure of that much.”
“Are you wondering whether I have a knife in my pocket? The answer is yes…”
Benedict sprang forward faster than Lord Ashbourne could reach into his jacket, knocking the other man to the ground and striking him across the face. Disconcertingly, rather than struggling, the other man began to laugh, insanely, almost demonically.
“Come on, Northwick. There’s a fine cliff drop you could tip me over. Or perhaps you could dash my brains out with a rock? I know what kind of creature you are, even if Lady Louisa does not. I know a killer when I see one.”
“You dare talk to me of murder when you shot at a defenseless woman tonight?”
“Better dead than dishonored by you,” laughed Lord Ashbourne, his eyes dark pools of twisted hate.
Benedict’s hands seized Ashbourne by the throat, trying to shut him up, to stop that awful laughter. Yet even as he was throttled, the unbearable sound of it still bubbled up from his torso.
“You’re… just… like me…” gasped the man on the ground, “…like your father… She will see… for herself…”
The hate now flowing in Benedict’s veins was overwhelming and his hands tightened on the other man’s throat, ready to squeeze the life from him. Then a voice sounded from the darkness behind him, a voice he could never ignore, even though it seemed to come from somewhere far away.
“Benedict!” Louisa shouted. “Don’t!”
Anger and loathing possessed Benedict almost entirely and in this state of madness the features of his father had now somehow superimposed themselves on the shadowy features of the man thrashing, laughing and choking beneath him.
Or was that Benedict’s own face, and the savage hands were those of his father?
He might hear Louisa’s pleading but his body was no longer obeying the rational part of his mind.
“Benedict!” she called out again with even greater feeling. “You are better than him! You are not a murderer!”
This time her words were like a magic spell and, in a flash, Benedict knew she was right.
His mind cleared and his reason revived, evil passions blown away by the force of Louisa’s sentiments.
Benedict was not a murderer, he was not his father, and he was not Lord Ashbourne.
He had both conscience and freewill, and a woman who believed in him.
Benedict’s hands fell away from the other man’s neck as he understood how very nearly Lord Ashbourne had won a final mind game against him. If he had killed Lord Ashbourne tonight, he would certainly be a murderer and Louisa would have known it, poisoning their relationship forever.
Just as Ashbourne was mad enough to have killed Louisa, he was mad enough to sacrifice his own life in order to hurt them both more.
Ripping off Lord Ashbourne’s stock, Benedict rolled the man onto his front and tied his hands tightly with the winding cloth.
Keeping a knee on Ashbourne’s back, he then tied the man’s ankles with his own stock.
“Do not think I will let you get away with this, Northwick. I will…Mmmph.”
Stuffing his handkerchief into Lord Ashbourne’s mouth, Benedict then raised the man like a sack and flung him face-forward across Thunder’s back.
“You belong in Bedlam,” Benedict told him bluntly.
Finally, he looked up at Louisa, not sure what to say in this situation, and not wanting to speak intimately in front of Lord Ashbourne. Her radiant smile told Benedict that he didn’t need to say anything at all. In her eyes, he had done the right thing and their enemy was vanquished.
The moonlight shone on Louisa’s profusion of tumbled curls and her disordered dress as she rode astride the hastily saddled Moonlight, having taken no care for propriety and a side-saddle in her haste to follow.
Thank God that she had come and prevented him from destroying their love and future happiness…
“Moonlight can carry two, can’t he?” Benedict asked.
“Yes, if we walk slowly,” Louisa agreed.
“We have to do that anyway,” he said, with a gesture to Lord Ashbourne.
Smiling, Benedict swung himself up into the saddle behind Louisa, lifting and settling her before him as he took the reins from her hands, and then Thunder’s halter too.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing Louisa’s ear as she leaned back against his torso. “I love you. All will be well.”
All would be well. As they rode back to Rosemere, Benedict really believed it himself.