.
Rachel came to, and pulled in a great breath. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see anything. Perhaps she was asleep in her bed, though she didn’t feel as though she lay in a bed. She was on her back, but the surface was hard. She stretched her arms out, or tried, but they wouldn’t go far. The she started to kick, but her legs had nowhere to go.
The panic started a second later, and she struggled to control her breathing but found she couldn’t. She tried to recall that she was safe.
But couldn’t.
She didn’t know if she was safe, because she couldn’t remember what had happened. She felt over the flat surface of whatever was above her. Or was it below her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t see. She didn’t know if she was standing or not. It was black. She was in complete darkness.
Sweat broke over her, sliding from her brow and down her neck.
Something make her lurch, and she once again was oriented.
She was on her back, inside of something.
Then she felt herself being lifted, and started to beat her fists on her confinement. “Please! Please, let me out!” She didn’t care how hysterical she sounded. She tried to dig out, scratching her nails against the surface, but nothing gave.
She wept loudly and greatly, continuing to feel herself being rocked.
Her head felt light. She was drifting away again.
She wanted to go. She wanted to be taken away. It was better there.
The rocking stopped, and then she was blinded by bright light, but more importantly, there was the presence of cool air. She became surrounded with it. Someone had set her free.
“My lady?”
Rachel looked over and hugged the man at her side, recognizing him instantly. She wept as she held him, thankful that he was here to save her. She was free. She could breathe. “Thank you.”
His arms came around her, heavy and hard, and his fingers trailed down her back. “Oh, my lady, you’re safe now. You’re safe, my sweet Florentia.”
Reuben was in the carriage once more, heading to Castell’s residence. Woodley was with him. Chris had ridden with one of the footmen to Lord Yall’s, while Nash had gone to speak to a group of people he said were resourceful.
“How is Lord Fosse allowed to walk the streets after what he did to Rachel and a countess?” Reuben asked. His anger made his words cool. It was either that, or act upon them. He was enraged, ready to tear the very carriage apart.
Woodley was staring out the window. “He’s an earl, Reuben. Untouchable, much like yourself.” He looked over at him then. “If my daughter is with Lord Castell, she did not go willingly?”
Reuben turned away. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps, she’d decided she rather liked the idea of choosing the better brother.
Yet even that thought didn’t seem right. From what he knew about Rachel, she didn’t seem the sort of woman who’d disappear with another man, and she’d especially not have left her deaf aunt alone that way. No, this was something else.
Yet Reuben didn’t think Lord Castell the sort to steal a woman, but one could never know what one’s brother was capable of. He only had to look at the evidence against Nash’s uncle, to know that.
They were received at Castell’s, by Yall.
The duke frowned. “What is this about?”
Woodley said. “My daughter and your son are missing. Why are you here?”
Yall lifted a brow. “I was looking for my son, as well. I went by the party earlier, and was told he was no longer there. Are you saying that he and your daughter are together?” He was speaking to Woodley, and yet his eyes shifted to Reuben, repeatedly.
Reuben frowned. “Do you know something?”
Yall’s gaze widened. “My son is a grown man; however, a gentleman should take better care of his fiancée.” Then he looked at Woodley. “You might wish to rethink who you allow to marry your daughter.”
Reuben ignored him and started searching the house. Yall followed, shouting something about trespassing, but Woodley said something that made the man quiet. As the minutes past, Reuben’s fear grew.
He returned to the foyer and spoke to Yall. “Where else could your son have gone?”
“Like I said, my son is a grown man.”
Reuben tightened his fist. A savage part of him wanted to hit the duke in his face, but he gained control, just as Woodley grabbed his arm.
“We better go.”
Reuben turned to follow the earl, but Yall stopped him.
“A word, Lord Eastridge.”
“I don’t have time.” He was at the door, when Yall spoke again.
“You should make time for your own father, at least.”
Reuben stilled, as did Woodley. They both turned, then.
Yall’s gaze was narrowed. “The Blue Blood Coalition received a report on what tomorrow’s story would be. Apparently, Miss Best’s next letter will reveal the truth about you.” He spat the last word.
Woodley looked between the men and then turned to Yall. “Are you sure?”
Reuben found it hard to breathe, as he stared in his father’s eyes. His arms felt numb and he couldn’t form a single word. It didn’t make sense. He’d burned the page that had included his name, the one that spoke of his mother and his birth.
Yall’s eyes widened. “You knew.” His looked away, and his own rage grew, and then he pointed a finger at Reuben. “You! You’re behind this! Slithering your way into the aristocracy wasn’t enough, was it? You were out to prove yourself, while ruining my standing in the Blue Blood Coalition.”
Reuben stared at his father’s anger, and felt his own vanish. His shoulders lost their tension and he slowly shook his head. “No. I found out the truth at sixteen years old, and burned the page that spoke of you, my mother, and the circumstances of my birth. I loathed knowing I was related to you, and prayed you’d never find out.” But now, Reuben didn’t care, because it no longer mattered. He’d moved on.
The duke hesitated at that, and Reuben was glad.
The duke’s brows remained drawn together. “Well, it seems Miss Best enjoyed writing about you, because the page you spoke of is not the one that will be in the papers.”
Reuben froze, as his thoughts shifted. Christmas. It was still possible that Chris’ truth would come out. He cursed.
Woodley put a hand on Reuben. “You don’t need him, son. Let’s go find Rachel.”
Reuben nodded and turned, just as Nash came in with a very thin lad next to him. Chris was right behind them, likely coming there after hearing of Yall’s whereabouts.
Nash turned to the boy. “Tell him what you know?”
“I stand ‘round St. Anglia.” St, Anglia was in St. Giles, a small church. He stood slumped with his hands hanging at his sides, but his eyes met Reuben’s straight on. “I saw a pair of fellows wit’ a trunk. I heard them say the lady weighed noffin’. At the time, I wondered why they’d call a trunk a lady. Then they mentioned a wedding.”
“Wedding?” Yall stepped forward.
Reuben looked at the duke. “If your son is forcing Rachel into marriage, then know your line ends tonight.” Then he was running out the door.
“We’ll follow,” Chris said.
Woodley followed, and Reuben growled, when Yall entered the carriage.
“If my son is there, I wish to know for myself,” the duke said, before thumping the roof. “To St. Anglia’s!”