Chapter Twenty-Three
Gemma buried her head into her arms as they rested on her knees, the tremors coursing through her body growing more and more wild. She couldn’t help herself, considering the circumstances.
She had been in this cold, dark, dank cell for hours, had been forced to huddle in a corner the entire night in an attempt to sleep, which had proven worthless. She was filthy and freezing, and her only food since the day before had been some very hard, dry bread that her captors had tossed into her cell as if she were a dog.
The two burly men, Arthur and Brutus, if she had heard right, stayed at the furthest end of the room, apparently forced to remain with her. They chose to ignore her, for the most part, and she could only say she was grateful for that. She could easily be beaten and worse, severely mistreated for no other reason than sport.
But no, they quite simply did as they had been bid, and would continue to do so until payment was received. They were entirely immune to her tears, unmoved by her attempt at hysterics, and unimpressed by her rage. They had no idea of niceties or propriety, did not care that she was a fine woman, and had absolutely no manners at all that she could see, particularly after witnessing their evening meal.
All told, they seemed to be a bit dim-witted and chosen for their size and strength rather than capability and intellect.
If she knew what to do with that, she might find a way out of here.
She wrapped her arms more tightly around her, feeling abandoned and alone, despite their presence in the room. They had the only sources of light and warmth and no amount of pleading had swayed them to share it with her. Too many echoes of her past haunted her in these circumstances, crying where no one could hear, dark where no light would come, alone with no hope of salvation…
Bennett had tormented her the entire ride from London, sharing far too many details of his past with Celia, their joined amusement at Lucas’s distress, the many stories Celia had shared of how she strove to wound him… Then he turned even more cruel, telling her every horrible and depraved way in which he would see her and her husband ruined, both through her and through his machinations against her husband.
It seemed he had been sending anonymous threats and warnings to Lucas all this time, playing on fears and taunting him with hints, all designed to wound Gemma and ruin their lives, and Lucas, used to scorn and so careful with everything he did, had become nearly obsessed with them, fixated and driven to spare her from the effects that may unfold.
It was agony to imagine what Lucas had suffered, and knowing what he would suffer still with her being gone.
She’d been terrified that Bennett would actually follow through on some of the horrors he had described for her, but in reality, he had simply deposited her with her captors and instructed them on her neglect and incarceration, then left without a second thought.
She could not tell if he were a cruel man or a cowardly one.
It made no difference, it would all play out the same way for her husband, who had been broken down too many times to endure more.
She wondered if he would even know she was missing yet. And when he did inevitably find her missing, would he think the worst?
Why shouldn’t he? What had she ever been for him but a source of torment and strife? None of this misery would have begun if she hadn’t started that blasted wager with her friends. If she had simply let the requested dance pass as anyone else might have rather than encouraging him, they might have remained as polite acquaintances.
She shook her head at herself, irritated with her self-pity. She refused to regret what had passed between them, for she had discovered far more than she had ever expected in him, and had come to love him with a fierceness that startled her. Their life might have been more difficult than either of them had expected, but it was hardly enough to make her wish it away.
And with the child she now carried within her, she had more reason than ever to wish for it all to remain.
She rubbed at her tired, weeping eyes and leaned back against the wall, tremors fading. She needed to have faith in her husband, in his feelings for her. He loved her, and with a depth that still took her breath away. They needed years together to fully explore and understand their connection and each other, and he would not give up on that, not after what they had shared.
And neither would she.
Lucas deserved a wife that was as determined and strong as he, one that would not shirk in the face of uncertainty or doubt. He had faced enough horrors in his life on his own; he would not have to do so now.
He had spent the entirety of their marriage trying to protect her, thinking all of the weight should rest on his shoulders.
No more.
She was going to fight tooth and nail for her marriage, and he was going to have to bear with her fierceness, for he was worth such a defense. She loved him and he loved her, and no pride or rumors or former lover of a late wife was going to get in the way.
She would choose to believe the best in her husband, and pray he would do the same with her. Despite Bennett’s claim that her husband could not love her and would not miss her and all the other lies he had spouted, she would choose faith. She would make the best of all situations, even this one, and hold on for dear life.
Even if he did not come, even if she had to save herself, she would hold on.
Lucas had given her that strength and confidence.
He had never left her alone in truth.
She had simply been too blind to see him there.
She sniffed back the last of her tears and glanced over at her captors, chewing on her lip as she strained to catch what she could of their conversation. She may not have all of the skills of a refined woman of Society, might have no idea of the current fashions or styles of hats, and certainly had not garnered the attention and respect a viscountess ought to have done.
But none of those skills would help her here.
There was one skill, however, that Gemma had always possessed, her greatest strength and most unconventional attribute.
And that just might save her now.
Lucas rode wildly along the miles to Feltham, and the man beside him rode just as madly.
He’d been joined shortly after reaching the outskirts of London, and there had been no conversation between them at all. It had been unnecessary and unwanted. He could feel the drive and fire of his friend, dressed almost unrecognizably as the Gent, and it was a comfort to have such a man beside him.
His mind conjured several scenarios of how they might find Gemma, what she might have suffered, and he somehow found the strength of will to force them aside. It made no difference to him, except for the agony slashing his heart at each. He would take her in whatever form she was in, however ruined she might be. She could not be ruined in his eyes, could never be less than his perfect match and ideal, would never be anything but the woman he loved.
This horrifying, cruel plan would not succeed.
“Stanford is your man,” Rafe suddenly announced from his saddle.
“I know,” he grunted in response.
“I’ve taken the liberty of informing his brother of that. Hope you don’t mind.”
He almost smiled in satisfaction. “Not a bit.”
“Thought not.”
“Bow Street?”
“Them too.”
“Good.”
Feltham was approaching and his throat was suddenly on fire, every breath and swallow agony. His horse sensed his change and jolted forward awkwardly against him.
“Steady on,” Rafe ordered, ever the controlled man. “You don’t know what we’re facing.”
“Gemma’s in there,” he replied roughly. “That’s all I need to know.”
Rafe had no response, and as the warehouse loomed before them, he veered off to scan the perimeter. Lucas let him, his eyes focused on the barely lit building.
His wife was inside.
Was there any way to prepare for the sight he was about to see?
Rafe reached his side as he dismounted before the building. “No additional guards, no other exits. We should… Wait! Don’t do anything stupid!”
Lucas ignored him as he marched forward, not waiting for him to dismount and enter with him. He barged through the door and scanned the darkened room anxiously.
In the furthest corner, next to a poor makeshift cell, sat three figures around scattered candles, a lone female with tattered dress and scattered golden hair chatting animatedly.
“You cannot simply tell her what to do,” she was saying, giving the largest man a scolding look. “It sounds to me that Agnes is a woman of strong opinions…” She paused as both men laughed heartily. “…which you sorely need, and if you would try for a bit of understanding, you might find her more agreeable to your opinions.”
Lucas’s heart jumped into his throat, and he barely heard Rafe enter behind him, nor the cocking of his pistol.
The three figures turned at the sounds they made and all froze.
Gemma’s eyes widened and a hand went to her mouth.
“Gemma?” he managed, hardly able to believe that she was not only well and whole, but charming the very men holding her captive.
That was, in effect, the brilliance of his wife.
“Lucas,” she replied, the whisper carrying across the room.
Then they were moving, and she was flying into his arms. He clutched her head to him in one large hand, shaking and barely able to breathe as he enveloped her against him.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God.”
Gemma said nothing as she clung to him, the quaking of her frame the only sign of her distress. She eventually pulled back and cupped his face as he stroked her hair and cheeks. “You didn’t believe him, did you? You knew I would never leave you, right?”
He opened his mouth, but he could not say anything. The truth was too painful. He had doubted, for a moment, and he would not deny that he had.
Her eyes welled up and she pulled his head down to hers, touching her forehead to his. “Oh, Lucas. Can’t you see that I love you? Can’t you see that you are everything to me?”
“I want to,” he vowed, holding her tightly, his fingers clutching at her hair. “I want to so badly.”
Gemma sniffled and kissed him gently. “Then open your eyes. I am right here in your arms where I will always be.”
He shook his head against her, running a hand along her hair. “I love you,” he whispered in a low, growling, passionate voice that seemed to be ripped from his chest.
One of her delicate hands gripped the back of his neck tightly. “I know you do,” she replied as she kissed him, her lips effectively shredding the last of his resolve.
He clung to her, letting his kisses confess everything he had felt and feared, and all the promises he would make later.
A scattered sniffling broke the moment and Gemma gave a small laugh against him, breaking off. “Would you two stop?” she scolded, turning towards the captors. “I told you he would come for me, did you think I was lying?”
“I’m jus’ happy to see you so happy, my lady,” one of the thugs said as he mopped his eyes.
Lucas raised a brow and looked down at his grinning wife. “You made friends with your captors?”
She shrugged, sliding her hands to his chest. “It seemed a better option than cowering in my cell and waiting for you. I can be quite charming when I put my mind to it.”
He shook his head in wonder. “Weren’t you scared at all?”
She reared back and snorted. “Of course I was! I was hauled into a carriage at gunpoint and bound and gagged and sat in that horrid cell for hours before I wore Brutus and Arthur down. It took all of my best efforts, I have never had to work so hard.”
He shuddered and held her closer. “I believe it, love.” He kissed her quickly. “You are so brave, so brilliant.”
“And I was worried for you.”
He jerked in surprise. “For me? You’d been abducted and could have been killed, and you worried for me?”
Gemma shook her head with a small smile. “Silly man, when will you realize that my life is bound up in yours?”
It took him several attempts to properly breathe or swallow. “I don’t deserve you,” he admitted roughly.
Her smile grew and she tugged on his greatcoat. “And that, my dear viscount, is precisely why you do.”
She glanced behind him at Rafe and her brow furrowed. “I know him, don’t I?”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you?”
She nodded. “I do, and yet I don’t.”
He assumed rather than heard Rafe shrug. “That happens a lot,” Rafe admitted in a fake Cockney accent that was really quite good. “I’ll jus’ be waitin’ outside, milord.”
Lucas closed his eyes, suddenly wanting to laugh hysterically at the one secret he may actually have to keep from his witty and captivating wife.
“I do know him,” Gemma muttered to herself. “I’ll figure it out, see if I don’t.”
“I am sure you will, love,” he assured her, only half placating. Knowing Gemma, she just might do it.
She looked up at him, slipping her hands around his neck again. “How did you find me?”
His jaw tightened and he pulled her closer, suddenly more fiercely protective. “I went to Stanford. He was at home, all superior and preening, and then I figured it out, and… quite lost my temper. It did the job.”
Gemma tilted her head, seeming torn between smiling and frowning. “You don’t have a temper.”
He smirked at her. “Oh yes, I do. When someone interferes with my wife, I very much do have a temper. When someone threatens her and abuses her and takes her from me, I have quite the temper indeed.”
Her eyes widened and her throat worked on a swallow. “Oh dear. Did you kill him?”
Now it was he who cocked his head at her. “I thought you said I could never kill anyone.”
“I am revising my opinion, just this once.”
That oddly pleased him. “No, I didn’t kill him.”
Gemma exhaled in relief. “Thank God.”
“But I was damn close.”
And then, of all things, Gemma sighed, smiling a bit dreamily.
Confused and amused, he nudged her with his nose. “What on earth was that for, love?”
She shrugged, sighing again. “Every now and then, I must give in to some distinctly feminine impulses and sigh pathetically over my husband. If you give me a moment, I may work up a swoon and be quite overcome.”
He barked a short laugh. “From my temper?”
She gave him a devious look that started a fire in his bones. “From you, my love. I could become quite accustomed to swooning over you.”
Lucas smiled a slow, heated smile that made his wife’s eyes darken. “Swoon away, darling. I won’t tell a soul.”
Gemma’s fingers began toying with his hair. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind if you did. I should swoon publicly.”
“Why ever for?” he asked, afraid to hear her answer.
“So that the world will know that Lady Blackmoor swoons and pines for her husband. Let them speculate on that for a time.”
Lucas threw his head back and laughed, then kissed her quite thoroughly.
When he allowed it, she broke from his lips. “You owe me money for that laughter, my lord,” she said in a breathy voice that curled his toes. “And even more for such a kiss.”
He swung her up into his arms. “Bill me,” he growled as he kissed her again.