Chapter 19

It had taken two days for Philip and the others to reach Devon. Now, less than half an hour after his arrival, Philip paced his study at Flagstaff Castle like a caged beast.

“Where the hell is Chatsworth Manor?” He swung around and started to pace in the opposite direction. “Damn it all. If we don’t find her soon it will be too late.”

“Calm down,” Sebastian said. “You’re not thinking. Francis can’t have arrived in Devon more than four to six hours ahead of us. We rode on horseback. He would have had to take Rose in a carriage. What do you know of Chatsworth Manor?”

“Nothing.” Philip shoved restless fingers through his hair. “That’s what worries me. This is my county”—he thumped the desk with his fist and dropped into a seat—“so how could I not have heard of the place?”

“Perhaps,” Arend said slowly, “it’s a recent sale, and was previously known by another name. Which houses in the area have been sold in the past six months?”

At Arend’s suggestion, something niggled at the back of his mind. Wasn’t there an old manor house on the far-flung east side of the Flagstaff estate that had been sitting empty for years? Yes. As he recalled, there had been a dispute over ownership. Robert had tried to buy it a few years ago, but ownership had still been in question then.

He had no idea whatever happened to the rundown house and land, but he was certain the house had not been called Chatsworth Manor.

Before he could say so, there was a knock on the study door. Almost immediately, it opened and Philip’s mother, Lady Cumberland, walked in.

All the men rose to greet her.

Smiling, she waved them back. “Oh, do sit down, gentlemen. I just heard that you were here, and that Her Grace is missing. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nothing happened in this house without his mother knowing. There wasn’t much in the county that escaped her notice, either. “Actually, Mother, there might be. Please do sit down.”

Christian quickly stood and offered Lady Cumberland his chair. Once she was comfortable, Philip explained the situation and showed her Elaine’s note. “That old manor near the eastern corner. Could that be the place Elaine is referring to as Chatsworth Manor?”

Lady Cumberland’s brow furrowed. “I can’t tell you what the house is called now, dear boy. It used to be Dashington Hall, but I do know it was sold not long ago. Old Fred will be able to tell you more. He knows everything that goes on here.”

Fred was their head groom—or had been. He still pottered around the stables but was getting too old to work a full day. His son was now head groom. But Fred had extended family all over the estate and in various positions. In fact, his brother’s boy, David, had become smitten with the lass Philip had rescued for Maxwell and married her. A happy ending all around.

Please, God, let this be another happy ending.

Philip stood and moved to his mother’s chair, bending down to place a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Mother. If you will excuse us, we will be off to talk to Fred.”

She merely patted his cheek. “Of course, my dear. And make sure you bring Rose safely home.”

It was already dark when the men arrived at Fred’s cottage, a mile from the castle. The night was cold and snow was beginning to fall.

Fred was both surprised and pleased when Philip rode up with the six Libertine Scholars, Sebastian, Christian, Arend, Maitland, Grayson and Hadley. He’d also brought along many of his men. When Philip was asked about Dashington Hall he nodded sagely. Yes, her ladyship was right. Although he didn’t know who had bought it, he thought it might now be called Chatsworth Manor.

“Although it queers me what be wrong with Dashington Hall,” the old man grumbled. “It’s been Dashington Hall dunno how many years.”

Philip tried to keep the conversation away from the past. “What about strangers, Fred? Any strangers about recently?”

“No. No strangers.” Fred kicked at a flurry of snow. “Well, Lord Kirkwood, as is now. Still as cow-handed as he were as a lad. Still slumps like a sack in the saddle. But he’s too high in the instep to even nod to the likes of me, so I suppose I could call him a stranger.”

Philip’s spine stiffened. “Kirkwood? Where did you see him?”

Suddenly finding himself the center of everyone’s focused attention, Fred took a step back. “It were over by the property you be asking about. Dashington Hall as it was.”

That was all Philip needed to hear. “Thank you, Fred. I’m grateful,” he said and then strode down the path, and vaulted onto his mount’s back.

As the men rode for Chatsworth Manor, Philip fought to control his anger, to keep his fury and frustration from communicating to his mount. But he couldn’t control his imagination. If Francis or Kirkwood had harmed Rose, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to avenge her.

He refused to consider he could be too late. He finally understood Grayson’s words. When you find a love like no other you will fight to the death to keep hold of that love.

He also finally understood Robert’s actions. His brother had loved him, loved him more than his own life. If the roles had been reversed, Philip would have gladly given his life for Robert’s. Gladly.

While he was still to blame for dragging Robert into the war, he finally saw that—by living this joyless half-life he had chosen—he was actually denigrating the sacrifice Robert had made. Robert had died to give Philip a chance at a full life—and to his eternal shame he’d almost mucked this up, too.

He couldn’t lose Rose.

Philip leaned over his horse’s neck, urging him to go even faster. It was only when he saw a light bobbing along the road that he slowed. Even so, he was almost on top of the person before he realized the staggering lantern-holder was Elaine.

He pulled his horse to a skidding halt, slid out of the saddle, and landed lightly on the road, ready to confront the treacherous woman.

He made no effort to try to look less threatening. “Where is she?”

The lady’s maid was already breathless, but the snarl in his voice made her clap a hand to her heart.

“Cumberland.” It was Grayson, voice cool, yet with a warning edge. “Let her catch her breath.”

Philip wanted to shake her, but he stood stomping his Hessians on the snow-covered road, his horse’s reins in one hand, until Elaine had managed to find enough breath to speak.

“Thank God you are here,” she gasped out. “I helped Her Grace escape from Lord Kirkwood, but I’m sure he and Lord Francis Gowan won’t be far behind us. I took Her Grace to one of your estate cottages, my lord. The couple’s names are Faith and David.”

Philip almost collapsed with relief. But he had to ask. “Has he”—he closed his eyes briefly—“has he married her?”

“No, my lord.” Elaine shook her head while stamping her feet to keep warm. “Not yet.”

Philip’s breath left his chest in a rush, and he groped blindly for the support of his horse’s neck. Thank you, God. Rose was still free. Still his.

Gathering his stormy emotions, Philip turned to the men. But before he could issue any instructions to send them off into the night, Grayson gripped his shoulder.

“This is our chance,” he said, urgent and low. “If the seven of us can catch Kirkwood and Gowan in the act of kidnapping Rose, our affirmations, together with Rose’s word, will be enough to bring them to trial and make a case to the chancery to remove Kirkwood as Drake’s guardian.”

Philip cursed into the stormy night. Grayson’s words made sense, but any restriction on his desire to race to Rose’s side and kill Lord Francis made his skin crawl.

He gestured one of his men over. “Take Her Grace’s maid back to the castle.” He helped Elaine up onto the man’s horse. “We shall talk later. Thank you for helping Her Grace.”

The man didn’t wait for Elaine’s response, but wheeled the horse around and set off in the direction of the castle.

Philip swung back into his saddle. Then he and the others started off at a gallop to David Horton’s cottage.

Rose wished she could ask to lie down. After her third cup of tea—liberally laced with David’s whisky—she was no longer cold. Now, however, the room was behaving oddly, and she was starting to feel very hungry indeed.

When her stomach finally decided to protest its lack of sustenance and growled like a savage dog, Faith gave a horrified gasp and jumped to her feet.

“Oh, Your Grace,” she said, her face flaming. “I’m so sorry. What must you think of me?”

A few moments later Rose found herself being served fresh, warm bread, along with delicious homemade cheese.

“Fresh baked this morning, Your Grace.” Faith was still crimson. “I should have known that you’d be hungry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Rose swallowed another bite of the crusty bread and smiled at the young woman, feeling better already. “You’ve no need to apologize for anything, Faith. You’ve done more than I could hope for, and I’m so grateful. You’ve put yourselves in danger for me.” She looked over at David, who stood guard by the window. “I won’t forget it.”

“Movement,” David snapped out. “In the trees. Faith, into the other room. Quickly.”

The floor swayed as Rose stumbled to her feet, still holding her bread and cheese. Then Faith was beside her, pulling her in the direction of the other room, which was their bedchamber. Faith pushed her gently onto the bed and then whisked back and closed the door.

And just in time. David must have opened to the visitors because Rose could hear the low murmur of voices. It went on for quite some time.

Then the bedroom door opened.

For a moment she thought she was seeing the imaginings of a fevered brain. Then she was in Philip’s arms, cradled tight and secure against his rock-hard chest.

Still disbelieving, she breathed him in. It was his scent. It was Philip. He had come for her. He was here, and she was safe.

“Rose, my darling Rose.” He pressed kisses all over her face and throat. “Thank God. Are you all right?”

How could she be anything else now that he was here? “Yes. I’m just tired and”—she lifted the forgotten bread and cheese in one hand—“starving.”

“Are you sure?” He gazed down into her face, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She nestled her cheek into his coat. “You’re here now, and that is all that matters.”

It was only then that Rose considered Faith, and her feelings. She had seen Philip catch Rose up, witnessed his embrace, heard his endearments. How it must hurt to see the father of your child welcome another woman in such a way.

But Faith did not seem at all hurt. She was watching them with a dreamy look on her face and a secret smile.

But before Rose could think too much more about it, David called from the other room. “Someone else is coming.”

Philip carefully lowered Rose back down to the bed and turned to Faith. “Stay here and stay quiet,” he said. “My friends have the cottage surrounded. We want to catch Francis and Kirkwood in the act.”

He turned back to Rose, his eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry, my love. It’s dangerous, but it’s the only way we can prove their villainous scheme and stop them.”

Did he think she would object? “Good. I want that wicked man and his son as far away from me and Drake as possible.”

She’d hardly finished speaking when the front door slammed open.

“Drop the pistol, my man”—it was Lord Francis—“and tell me where Her Grace is. Quickly, or I’ll put a bullet through your heart.”

Faith’s face drained of color, and only Philip’s quick movement of warning made her stifle a cry.

“There’s no need for that.” Kirkwood sounded his usual urbane self. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Roxborough, is ill and not in her right mind. She ran away from us, believing she was being kidnapped, when Lord Francis and I were merely escorting her home to Cornwall.”

Rose had wondered why Kirkwood had chosen to hide her in a house in Devon. Now the reason became clear. If they were stopped or caught, all the men had to say was that they were escorting her home.

It would be her word against Kirkwood’s. The word of the scandalous Wicked Widow against that of a powerful and well-regarded marquess—a man with whom she had always been friendly. She would never win Drake’s freedom that way. They had to compel Francis and Kirkwood to admit their crime—and there was only one way to do that.

She struggled to her feet, forcing herself to stand tall. When Philip put out his hand to stop her, she shook her head.

She moved closer. Whispered in his ear. “I have to make them admit what they have done and what they intend to do. We need proof before you and the other Libertine Scholars can bear witness and arrest them.”

Indecision, fear, and finally resignation flickered over his handsome face. When he nodded, she pressed a kiss to his lips and then slipped past him, and through the door into the main room.

“Come, Lord Kirkwood,” she said as if chiding a child Drake’s age. “I believe David here is well aware that you have no intention of escorting me home. You plan to force me into marriage either with Viscount Tremain or with Lord Francis in order to control my financial assets. And we both know your unholy alliance doesn’t end there. Your plans go a great deal further.”

Kirkwood stepped toward her and it took an effort for her not to step back. “Rose, my dear,” he said. “You are overwrought and tired from your pregnancy. You are speaking absolute nonsense.”

“I am not speaking nonsense. Neither am I overwrought—no thanks to your idiot son. I suppose I should be grateful, Lord Kirkwood, that you suggested Tremain marry me rather than Lord Francis.” She cast Lord Francis a withering look. “Being married to this imbecile would have been hell.”

Her taunt had the desired effect. Lord Francis’s lip drew back in a sneer. “You haughty bitch. Yes, my father’s idea was to marry you off to Tremain. He definitely doesn’t want a Cumberland cuckoo in the Kirkwood nest. But I disagree.”

“Shut up, you fool,” Kirkwood growled.

But Francis was too enraged by her taunt and her escape from his clutches. He prowled toward her, a vein throbbing at his temple.

Rose refused to cower or move back. She knew her defiance would anger him more. “Really? You disagree?”

His eyes flashed fury. “Yes. I do. Now I think I would very much enjoy schooling you to be a respectful, obedient wife. A pity that our romantic runaway match will have such a tragic end. The ton will be overcome with pity for me when both you and your son have a terrible accident. But I shall be more than adequately consoled by Roxborough’s money.”

“Francis!” Kirkwood’s voice cracked like a pistol shot. “That is enough. The woman is baiting you.”

But Lord Francis was past reason. He swung around on his father. “I am not a child to be told what to do. Tremain can go to hell, and so can you. I’ll marry the bitch, and if I marry her then I get the money.”

“The money.” Kirkwood was almost as furious as his son. “The only reason we need the damned money in the first place is because you have brought the Kirkwood title to near bankruptcy.”

“And for money,” Rose said, sickened and disgusted, “you’d kill an innocent child.”

“Yes.” Kirkwood turned his pistol on her. “I’d kill anyone to save the Kirkwood name and estate. In fact, it would be easier if I kill you now, and blame it on David here. Of course, I’ll have to kill him, too. What else could I have done when I found that he’d kidnapped you and then raped and killed you?”

His teeth glinted in the firelight and the light in his eyes made him look crazed. “With you dead, I’ll have ample time to set up an accident for young Roxborough. In the meantime, as his guardian, I’ll have access to his funds. No one will ever know that, of course, because the poor boy will die before he comes of age. Perhaps riding that pony Cumberland gave him for Christmas.”

A red haze seemed to drop down over Rose’s eyes, over her mind. She was not even aware that she moved. But the sound of her palm meeting flesh brought her back to herself, and Kirkwood’s howl of pain was almost as satisfying as the feel of her nails scoring his face, tearing bloody trails down his cheek. “Coward. Murderer. Touch my son and I will tear out your eyes.”

“My God!” Lord Francis doubled over, whooping with laughter. “Little hellcat!” he gasped. “Worthy of the Kirkwood name.”

“Bitch!” Kirkwood shoved Rose away and raised his pistol.

Rose staggered back, arms protectively around her belly. The muzzle of the pistol seemed to yawn like a cavern before her. Oh, Philip. I’m sorry.

“Stop!”

Maitland’s thunderous roar echoed through the room.

Kirkwood swung around, pistol leveled at this new threat.

Maitland stood in the doorway with a pistol in each hand, one aimed at Kirkwood, the other at Lord Francis. “Lower your weapon, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you both.”

Rose’s heart thundered in her chest, almost drowning out the sound of Kirkwood’s curses. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the door where Maitland stood, and behind him, Hadley. Two dukes had witnessed Kirkland’s treachery. Kirkwood was done for.

David slipped behind the men to go to Faith in the other room as Rose staggered over to her chair by the fire once more. The nightmare was finally over.

“Cumberland!” Maitland raised his voice. “Do you want to do the honors?”

Philip strode out of the bedroom, face grim. “It will be my pleasure.” He went first to Kirkwood and took his gun. Then he moved over to Francis and did the same. Then he handed both guns to Hadley, who had come to stand behind him, and stared at Lord Francis.

“Normally,” he said coldly, “I would ask you to name your seconds. But I don’t cross steel with common cowards. This is how I deal with cowards.” His fist shot out and slammed into Lord Francis’s jaw. “And kidnappers.” A second punch. “And murderers.” A third. “You come near the Duke or Duchess of Roxborough again and I will kill you.”

“Not necessary.” Maitland sounded confident. “I think we have enough evidence to get a conviction.”

“I concur,” said Hadley. “I heard his diabolical plan—and saw him aim to shoot Her Grace.”

The room was suddenly crowded as the rest of the Libertine Scholars pushed into the small cottage. The air felt too close, but the chill had seeped back into Rose’s bones. She let her eyelids close.

“What do you want to do with them?”

It sounded like Sebastian. She opened her eyes. What would Philip do with her now? Send her away? She swallowed down tears.

“Take them back to Flagstaff Castle.” Philip gave Kirkwood a very unfriendly look. “Old castles have their advantages. I have the perfect dungeon for you until the magistrate organizes your arrest and trial.”

Relief rushed through her. It wasn’t her he was sending away. She needed to tell him about their child. She blinked, trying to get rid of the black spots before her eyes. “Philip?”

A moment later Philip knelt at her feet, gripping her forearms in trembling fingers. “My God, Rose. When I agreed to bear witness, it was not to your death. What the devil did you think you were doing? He could have killed you.”

Intended to. Would have. “But he didn’t.” Why was everything so far away? “And Drake is safe.” And Philip was safe. And their child was safe. “I’m so c-cold, Philip. Why am I so cold?”

Philip swore and surged to his feet. A moment later she was cocooned in a blanket, wrapped like a mummy. Still, she couldn’t stop her limbs from shaking. Even the blanket and heat from the flames seemed to make no difference.

Somewhere, a long way off, she thought she heard a man’s warning shout as she began to slip from the chair. And then Rose heard nothing at all.