Chapter 17
Froth grew around Gygsy’s mouth as he continued to fly down the road leading away from London. Rem patted the horse on the neck, calling out words of encouragement to the poor animal who had been running for far longer than was advisable.
But he couldn’t afford to let him rest now.
Laura’s life depended on it, and the thought caused his heart to quicken again. Ever since leaving Arberley with the direction of the Fennimore estate, his mind had been a roaring tempest of too much and not enough noise to drown out the panic of not reaching her in time. Gypsy’s hooves ate up the distance as fast as any thoroughbred could, yet he dreaded the time it was taking to reach his destination. Who knew what plans the man had for her, if he was desperate to leave no trace of his crime. Thoughts of her in pain, of Fennimore having her alone and doing something rash to ensure her silence tortured him relentlessly, his eyes barely registering the meadows and trees as they flashed by.
It was his fault.
All of this could have been avoided if he had been more diligent in protecting her, more ardent in securing her for himself. She would never have been alone with Fennimore if they were engaged or even married by now. She would have been safely ensconced at one of his estates or somewhere on the continent basking in luxury on their honeymoon voyage.
If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.
It had begun to rain as the coal dusted haze of London fell behind him, not drizzling, but an abrupt downpour, as summer storms were wont to do. Within minutes, his greatcoat was soaked through, and he made the decision to shed the heavy thing in deference to Gypsy’s efforts, flinging it to the side of the muddy road. His own thighs ached from the punishing ride, so he could imagine his loyal horse’s fatigue as the miles went by. The rain added a new hell to this journey, each drop pelting him with sensations of drowning that he pushed down one by one.
Directing Gypsy to take the right-hand lane of the fork in the road ahead, he realized he wasn’t far from the Fennimore estate now, if Arberley’s directions were to be trusted. He urged his mount faster, promising the faithful beast rewards beyond his imagining if he kept his pace. Gypsy heaved with exhaustion, but did not slow.
Within ten minutes, the road branch off again to a narrow lane lined with beeches. They were very close. Eventually, a large, wrought-iron gate set into twin stone pillars appeared after a bend in the road. As they approached the gate to the Fennimore estate grounds, he pulled Gypsy to a halt and swung down to examine the unmanned entrance. His boots splashed into the mud, spattering his soaked breeches with further filth, but he took no notice. The gate was barred, but the fence on either side of the gateposts was no higher than Gypsy’s flanks, giving evidence to the conclusion that the gate was merely for appearance sake.
He alighted on his horse once more and took him back up the lane a few hundred feet. Then he turned and spurred Gypsy to a thundering pace, heading straight for the fence to the left of the gatepost. His heart sped along with the horse’s hooves as Gypsy prepared to jump, an exhilaration only to be found when riding the great black stallion. The fence approached, and Gypsy launched over the barrier, flying the both of them smoothly over the stone blockade. Rem felt Gypsy’s muscles bunch, extend, and then tighten again as he navigated the jump with the ease of a bird to flight instead of an exhausted equine who deserved a rest in a dry, warm barn.
Fennimore would have many things to answer for, but if he laid a hand on Laura….
Rem urged Gypsy over the manicured lawn and towards the manor house that sat near the top of the shallow slope. When his horse finally reared to a stop near the entrance to the manor, huffing steam in the downpour, Rem wasted no time. He gave Gypsy a quick pat on the neck and promised to be back soon to take him home. Bounding up the slick stone steps, Rem did not do the proper aristocratic knock, but grabbed the handle and wrenched the large door open, forcing himself past a stammering butler who didn’t seem nearly as upset as he should have been at such an entrance.
Rem grabbed the man by the cravat. “Where is she?” he growled.
The man gulped and didn’t bother with pretense. “Up-upstairs, to the l-l-left.”
Rem let the man go and drew the jack-knife he always carried in his custom-fitted boot. He looked up at the wide staircase interrupted by the landing on the second level. He raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and peeled off towards the left wing.
That’s when he heard it- a fierce, desperate scream coming from one of the rooms in the hallway ahead. His heart stopped. Laura.
Rem sprinted down the hallway to the door from which the cries were emanating. Unsteady light bloomed from under the door, suggesting a lit fireplace. Rem knew it was unwise to burst into a room with no plan or knowledge of what lay inside, but there was no time to think it through. He carefully twisted the knob as quietly as possible, and then shoved the door wide, hoping to surprise the occupants.
The scene which he entered into almost caused his knees to buckle. There was only one person in the small, sparse room, but the woman looked almost nothing like Laura. His lungs froze at the sight of her slumped in a wing chair next to the fireplace, her arms and legs tied tightly to it. The amount of red everywhere, from her body to the surrounding floor, was alarming. Her hand dripped blood in a steady patter to the boards and angry welts covered her other arm. There was a tear in the fabric of her gown in her stomach area, but he couldn’t see if there was any damage in his quick sweep of her person.
What concerned him the most was, however, was her face. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and he saw something that made his blood run cold: she had given up. Her eyes were flat and unfocused, not registering his appearance, and she panted in little, controlled gasps that were barely audible. Her features were slack, as were her limbs. The fight had left her God knew how long ago at the hands of the madman that resided here.
“Laura,” he whispered, stepping towards the chair. Suddenly, a sharp blow to his left temple sent lights flashing before his eyes as he stumbled to the floor. He tried to get up off his knees, but the room was dissolving into blackness. Laura’s slippered feet, the left spattered with blood, blurred into hazy colors. Rem knew he couldn’t let himself slip into unconsciousness, so he forced his eyes to focus on Laura’s visage, knowing he was her only hope now. Her eyes remained blank slates of clear emerald green surrounded by red rims.
After clearing the cobwebs from the corners of his vision, he did not rise up, as his attacker no doubt expected, but swept his leg out behind him in a lighting quick arc. His shin connected with the ankles of someone, who swore as they went down, crashing heavily to the floor. Rem rose up and turned to see Grayson Fennimore sprawled on the floor at the end of a four-poster bed with lilac coverings, grimacing up at him. Fennimore’s eyes were too bright, and Rem realized he was past rationality.
There would be no reasoning with this man- only subduing a killer.
“Stay down if you know what’s good for you,” Rem told him, flicking the knife with his wrist as a warning.
“We were finally getting somewhere,” Fennimore said ruefully. “Neither of you understand anything about this.” He seemed calm, despite Rem having the upper hand.
“I understand you killed a man and had more murdered to cover it up. I understand you like inflicting pain and don’t care about anyone but yourself,” Rem said coldly, the uncompromising judgement in his voice clear. “And now you’ve made a greater mistake, one you won’t be able to run from. You’ve hurt the woman I love, and you will face justice, either in a courtroom or by my hand, so help me.”
Fennimore laughed. “As I said, neither of you understands anything, and you will die in your ignorance because you won’t leave here alive.” He lunged forward, pulling a glowing letter opener from behind his back and plunging it into Remington’s calf before he could react.
Rem growled in pain, his calf muscle burning in objection to the sharp invasion. He grit his teeth to keep himself from reacting as he caught Fennimore by the arm and flung him away. The man didn’t go far, however, and came right back, rushing at Rem full force, letter opener jutted forward with deadly intent.
He dodged Fennimore’s knife hand, grabbing it and swinging the man around. With all the force of one arm, he slammed Fennimore’s hand onto the corner of a washbasin stand, the water in the deep basin rippling at the impact. Fennimore roared as he dropped the blade and it clattered out of reach, spittle flying from his lips. Rem tried to pull away to gauge an opening for the jack-knife in his other hand, but Fennimore swung at Rem before he could react, his fist catching Rem in the side of the head.
While Remington didn’t take but a moment to recover from the force of the blow, Fennimore took the opportunity to shove Rem face-first into the copper hip bath that sat on the floor between the bed and the chest of drawers. He was plunged into the water up to his waist, Rem’s nostrils and mouth filling with water, and he tried to raise his head up out of the liquid, but Fennimore pushed down harder, forcing Rem to seek other parts of Fennimore to target.
No sound or light penetrated his world, only sensations that caused his muscles to bunch as adrenaline surged through his body. Rem could feel his chest tightening with the familiar panic. Of all the tactics Fennimore could have used to subdue him, he had chosen water submersion in a fluke happenstance. As he swung out into the air with his jack-knife, hoping to catch Fennimore with it, his mind struggled to keep pace with the choked inhalations of water he was bringing into his lungs.
And just like that, he was ten years old, drowning in a rushing current of water he couldn’t control. Rem’s limbs struck out, trying to reach for anything that would rescue him. He was nearing complete shut-down of his faculties, and part of his mind realized that he was not in a river on a stormy night, but fighting for the lives of himself and the one woman who made his life worthwhile. Still, his body reacted as if he were in that maelstrom of a swollen river, unable to find a way out.
Yoska, his mind screamed.
Yoska had saved him then. He had not drowned that night, and he would not drown now. He had conquered this fear. He had conquered water itself, using it to hone his body into a force to be reckoned with, his shoulders and arms swelling with thoughts of his triumph.
He forced that part of himself to gain control, to understand the moment that was happening in the here and now. Laura needed him, and he would not let this monster touch her again, if it was the last thing he did.
Feeling the knife in his hand, he gripped it tightly and used the powerful muscles in his upper back to slash back and down, slicing into Fennimore’s arm, even as his lungs gave out for lack of air. He managed to hang on to consciousness for a moment longer, stumbling back as Fennimore released the pressure on his head with a howl. The man seethed, holding his bleeding arm.
Rem sucked in mouthfuls of air and wiped the droplets of water from his face, regaining his bearings just in time to see Fennimore pick up his dropped letter opener and lunge towards him. Rem knew better than to rashly attack as Fennimore was doing, but he knew the man had to be desperate now. All his secrets had caught up with him, and two witnesses would expose him to the world if they weren’t dealt with here and now. One of them would most likely not leave here alive, but Rem had no intention of letting it be himself or Laura.
Just as Fennimore reached arm’s length, he stepped neatly to the side, allowing the man to fly past him and crash into the side of the fireplace mantel. Fennimore caught himself, and that’s when Rem realized his mistake, because Fennimore was reminded that the woman tied to the chair near him was the only leverage he needed in this situation. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, they understood the other’s intentions perfectly.
Rem started forward, but couldn’t reach her in time. Laura inhaled sharply as Fennimore stepped behind her and drew the blade across her throat.
“Don’t take another step,” he said darkly, smiling at Rem. Stroking his other hand over the halo of golden hair that draped her shoulders, he whispered, “There now. You’re mine.”
“Get your hands off her,” Rem warned, still heaving from the deprivation of oxygen to his system. His blood pumped loudly in his ears knowing he could not control this man’s actions, and any sudden move could result in Laura’s slender throat being sliced open. There would be no going back from that. He looked Laura in the eyes, willing her to know how much he loved her and how he would do whatever it took to take her away from all this. She stared back, and there seemed to be a spark of recognition in them, yet her features still remained vacant. Her tiny puffs of labored breath were like pins in his heart. “If you harm her again, I will end you here and now,” he told Fennimore.
“It’s interesting that you still think you have any sort of power here,” Fennimore remarked, moving his hand to rest on Laura’s shoulder.
“Only a fool thinks he wields power by hurting others.” Rem gripped his small knife tightly, ready for any opening in Fennimore’s guard.
“On the contrary, power is no discerner of morality. It matters not how the power was gained- only who holds it.” He paused, smiling. “And that would be me.” He pressed the blade closer to her flesh, causing Laura to gasp.
Rem stepped closer and caught himself, panic clawing at him. “You’ve made your point,” he said quickly, holding out an arm toward him. “You have the power. Now what do you want?”
Fennimore gave Rem a once-over, a smile warping his lips. He cocked his head. “Here is my offer, Rothstone. I won’t cut her throat- if” He eyes lit with an unholy light, reflecting the flames in the hearth “….. you cut yours.”
Rem’s heart pounded, and he swallowed, trying to wet his dry, sore throat. He coughed, forcing some of the water out of his lungs. His mind scrambled, trying to find a way out of the ultimatum. There was nothing in the room that would lend him at advantage, nothing about their positions that could turn the tables. He truly was powerless, and for once, he wasn’t angry; all he felt was terror- terror that he could not solve this, that he could not find a way to save her, and they both would die.
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t simply kill her once I comply?” Rem asked.
“There is none,” Fennimore said simply. “My word used to mean something in our circles, so that will have to suffice.”
“That was before I knew you were unhinged,” Rem said wryly, his voice graveled and raw from choking.
Fennimore shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t care either way what you decide. In fact, it would be quite satisfying to see the look on your face as I take her life when you refuse.”
“It doesn’t have to come to that.” Rem spread his arms wide and looked Fennimore in the eyes. “What is it you want? I have money. I have influence. I have the ears of many men. Being a viscount and the heir to a dukedom has its advantages, so just tell me what you need, and I will get it for you.”
Fennimore’s mouth turned to a snarl. “I want my Madeline back,” he scraped out. “Can the all-powerful Duke do that, Rothstone? Can he bring back the dead?”
Remington hung his head, shaking it. Rem knew there was no comforting someone who had lost the person closest to them. “Did you kill her out of jealousy?” he asked. This, he wanted to know.
“Madeline was the bravest and brightest woman I’ve ever known. I would sooner take my own life than hers.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Rem said calmly.
Fennimore’s lip curled in disgust. “No, Rothstone. I did not kill her. But do not think that means I am not willing to take a life.”
Rem chuckled. “Oh, I do know that. I know all about Craigerton.”
Fennimore smiled grimly. “Then you know he got what he deserved.”
“I don’t appoint myself judge over others, but seeing as you have, hear this.” Rem took a deep breath, preparing for what might be their last hope. He was taking an enormous gamble and assuming things he didn’t know to be true, but he had to appeal to something in him that might still be there in the insanity that consumed him. “Laura is to me what Madeline was to you,” he said softly. “She is my Madeline, Grayson. I would sooner take my life than hers, just as you said. And if you ask, I will take this knife and slice my own throat so that she might live, even with no guarantee, but on the off-chance that you are a man of your word. I will risk that you understand the kind of love that binds two people and twists their destinies together, in life and death.”
Laura slowly blinked several times, and then a tear that caught the firelight fell to land in a dark spot on her silk dress. For the first time, she raised her eyes to look at his face.
He continued, hoping Fennimore would not notice his captive’s cognizance. “So I ask you- would you condemn us to the same fate, knowing Madeline gave her life for that same sort of love? That she would be with you if she could, but that something took her away from you. Would she want you to become the very thing that takes the life of someone else’s Madeline?”
Rem saw Laura scrunch her eyes closed, and then open them quickly, revealing a clarity he hadn’t seen before. She smiled, her lips trembling, and it was the sort of smile that one could not help but do after sipping hot chocolate on a cold winter’s eve- as if everything was right with the world, and there was nothing to worry about in the entire cosmos. Rem’s breath caught. She was smiling for him, he knew, assuring him that no matter the outcome of the next few moments, she was happy because he was there with her and because she knew he loved her.
He reluctantly looked away from her bright eyes to gauge Fennimore’s reaction, and saw that the man’s hand was shaking now. He waited, meeting the other man’s dark eyes, unsure of what was occurring behind them. “Grayson,” he said gently.
“My Madeline would have wanted everyone to live happily ever after,” Fennimore whispered. “She was that kind of innocence, the kind you can never-,” he breathed in. “The kind you can never snuff out, no matter the darkness that you subject it to. Darkness you can’t exorcise from yourself.” He took several deep breaths, looking into the flames still dancing in the grate. “I never was her equal- and I am weary of trying to be. She’s gone, and nothing will make that right. Sparing your lives won’t change that.” His tone was resigned, a deep lassitude weighing his expression.
Rem wracked his mind for anything to say to this man who, unfortunately, understood the situation too well. He knew he would go to prison if either of them left here, and felt he had nothing to lose. If even his precious Madeline’s judgement wouldn’t sway him, he didn’t know what else to say to dissuade him.
“Your turn, Rothstone. I believe you know what you need to do to gain Miss Parrington’s freedom.”
This was it then, he thought. This was how he died. He supposed it wasn’t such a bad thing to die for someone else. To give Laura a chance at a long life. Fennimore might or might not keep his word after he was gone, but there was no other choice now except to hope that his sacrifice wouldn’t be for naught. It was worth the risk, if there was even a chance she would survive this and move on with her life.
Rem’s hand seemed to have a mind of its own, separate from the numbness that had pervaded his thinking. He wondered what came next as his hand raised the knife to his stubbled throat. Would he meet his Maker? Would everything simply go black or would it be like going to sleep gradually? His detached thoughts seemed to hum louder, yet farther away as he touched the cold edge to his jugular. Would it be painful? Cold? How long did it take to die from such a thing?
“This is very interesting,” Fennimore remarked. His hand moved to skim over Laura’s collarbone. “I find myself enjoying this almost as much as I enjoyed making Laura scream until she couldn’t think straight. I doubt you’ve been able to do the same, Rothstone,” he leered.
Rem grit his teeth, trying to banish the images his words brought and the sting of the innuendo. It was true. His biggest regret in this moment was that he’d never shown Laura how much he loved her. He’d never worshipped her body with all the tenderness he felt for her, never given her that moment of joy that he had thought about a thousand times without being able to act. No one would ever love her as he did, but he hoped she found someone who gave her all her heart’s desires.
But right now, he did the only thing he could to show her all those things. He met her wide eyes. “I love you, Laura. I have from the moment I met you.”
And he pressed the blade into the skin if his throat.
He felt the puncture of his skin as a distant sting, the sound of his heart thumping wildly in his ears. Fennimore stared as a pinprick of blood began to flow. The man was clearly mesmerized by the sight of Rem taking his own life, some strange obsession wrapping him in its grasp.
But while his gaze was firmly on Rem, Laura abruptly tucked her chin and bit down ferociously on Fennimore’s hand, causing him to drop the letter opener with a roar.
Rem saw it, and almost didn’t react in time, such was his shock. But he knew an opening when he saw one and swiftly darted forward, shoving a raging Fennimore away from Laura, who was spitting out a mouthful of Fennimore’s blood. Rem pushed Fennimore against the wall next to the window and held the knife that was recently against his own throat to Fennimore’s.
The other man growled, taking in seething breaths as he held his bleeding hand, the same arm already bleeding from Rem’s earlier attack.
“Not so enjoyable when it’s you who’s bleeding, is it?” Rem asked, smirking. Fennimore’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing.
“Rem,” Laura rasped.
He ignored her, needing to make sure Fennimore could never hurt her again. “You have two choices, Fennimore,” Rem told him, making sure to press the blade of his knife uncomfortably close. “You can try to best me, in which case I will gladly slit your throat. Or, you can call one of your lackeys up here to untie Laura and then you will take her place in that chair. Then, when you are all nice and trussed up, we will take our leave, and you will never come near us again. You will have until I reach town and alert the authorities to flee. But know this,” Rem lowered his voice. “If I ever see your face again on English shores or within a hundred miles of Laura, I will make everything you did to her seem like a day at the Roman Baths. You will suffer. You will not survive. Do you understand?” he ground out.
“Rem!” Laura said sternly.
He turned his head to look at her.
“Don’t hurt him. Just let him be,” she said gently, shaking her head, the halo of her hair floating near her cheekbones.
“He-” Rem started, intending to explain how he was trying to do just that.
Fennimore suddenly swiped at Rem’s knife-arm, trying to dislodge his hold, causing Rem push in closer. Fennimore tried to slip to the side, but Rem wasn’t budging, holding him to the wall. “Do not test me, mongrel,” Rem growled.
“I choose option three,” Fennimore said, launching his weight to the side, Rem’s knife sliding precariously across the skin of the Fennimore’s neck.
Rem could tell he hadn’t done enough damage to cause him to bleed out, so he lunged after him. There was no way he would let the man go near Laura again. Rem reached for Fennimore, but he didn’t attempt to get around Rem at all, instead launching himself through the thin panes of glass and out the narrow window that looked down over the gardens. Rem inhaled, watching as Fennimore fell to the earth below, almost three full stories. He carefully looked through the jagged opening to see Fennimore’s body sprawled on the flagstone terrace, his legs in unnatural positions while blood pooled outward from his head.
He looked away quickly, troubled by the sight. His body was still operating on adrenaline, and his lungs drew in air greedily. It was over. Fennimore was gone, and no one was going to hurt either one of them.
The sound of Laura’s sniffling brought him back to reality. Rem strode over to her quickly and knelt down in front of her chair.
He didn’t attempt to say anything while he untied her wrists, keeping his fury in check for her sake as he carefully untwisted the clamp from her hand. The more he saw of her injuries, the less troubled he was by the thought of Fennimore’s death.
“Do you think he really loved Madeline?” Laura asked, watching him slowly take the clamp from her hand and set it to the floor.
Rem hesitated in answering, but kept working at untying the ropes digging into the flesh at her wrists. “I don’t know. I think love can be simple, or it can be complicated, and theirs was complicated.” He let the rope fall and moved the other wrist.
“I think he did,” she stated, looking towards the window. “Maybe he didn’t know how to love someone the way it’s supposed to be, but he cared for her more than anything else.”
Rem didn’t respond as he finished untying her ankles. He wasn’t sure if he agreed or not, but there was obviously more to the story than he knew. He would ask her about it later, when they were away from here.
“Are you alright?” he asked when she was free, stroking the hair from her face.
“I’m not sure,” she said quietly.
“You will be,” he promised, helping her to her feet. She wobbled, but he steadied her.
Laura winced. “I suppose my mother was right; using technology is dangerous.”
Rem chuckled and then sobered, stroking her back. “I won’t leave you ever again. Even if you send me away.”
“I don’t want you to go away. I want…” she trailed off, holding her uninjured hand to her stomach.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” he voiced, scooping her up into his arms. His injured calf burned with the added weight, but he pushed the sensation away like a bothersome fly.
“Wait,” she said, stopping his movement towards the door. “I need to tell you.”
“You can tell me later,” he said, feeling an urgency to get her somewhere safe besides this death trap of a house in the middle of nowhere.
“No, now,” she told him, putting a hand on his chest.
He nodded, sensing her resolve, and went to the bed. He sat down on it with her in his lap, holding her with care in case there were injuries he couldn’t see.
“I’ve come to realize that the future is never certain, and I want no regrets of not saying exactly what I should have long ago.” Laura studied his face, as if committing it to memory.
Rem’s breath froze taking in her tear-streaked face, her emerald eyes reflecting his own in the light from the weak fire. She felt so vulnerable in his grasp, but he would always make sure she was protected from anything that could harm her. He would probably never let her out of his sight again, now that he thought about it.
She cleared her throat. “I love you, Remington Rothstone,” she said softly. “I love your strength, and I love that I make you weak with just a touch. I love the way you tease me and make me question every thought I’ve ever had. I love that my weaknesses don’t seem like flaws to you. Most of all, I love that you knew what love was before I came to my senses, and you fought for it. You never gave up, and you forced me to face my own cowardice. But you never forced me to choose you.” She swallowed, wanting to choose words that would leave him with no compunctions about how she truly felt towards him. “So now I want to choose you. I want you forever. I want all your kisses, and all the moonlit nights, and every moment until we’re withered and gray,” she said, raising her good hand to his face.
Oddly enough, Rem’s heart did not race at her words. Instead, there was a deep calm that caused him to feel as if his heart had finally settled into the rhythm at which it was meant to beat his entire life. “Yes,” he said simply. “All my life is yours.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his, sealing her to him. His lips played over hers, and he knew he had to be gentle right now, but he couldn’t help the sweep of his tongue as it sought hers, slipping past her teeth to tangle in the sweet recesses of her mouth. He felt himself begin to harden, and pulled back. She wasn’t ready for anything more at the moment.
“Are you ready to go home now?” he asked.
“I’m ready to become Lady Rothstone now, if you please,” she replied saucily.
Her smile warmed him as nothing else could. She was remarkable, his Laura, smiling despite all that had happened that day. “Now, now,” he admonished her, touching her nose with a fingertip. “We’ll see how it goes after the first year of your contract,” he told her, quirking his lips.
Laura’s eyes went wide, and she gasped, pushing at his chest. “Remington Rothstone, you had better marry me the second we get back to London!” she commanded.
Rem snuggled her closer, hiding his wide smile in the crook of her shoulder.
“Yes, Lady Rothstone,”
And so he did, stealing more kisses than was prudent along the way.