According to Jarvis, Emma had left the castle before two in the afternoon and had not yet returned. Frantically, Alaric rode through the darkening dusk to the dowager house, Kent and Will flanking him. He barged through the front door, bellowing Emma’s name.

No response.

No servants.

Fear worse than any he’d known gripped him.

“I dinna like this,” Will said grimly, echoing his own thoughts.

The three split up, searching the house. Alaric tore through the duchess’ bedchamber, and disbelieving fury roared over him when he found a leather satchel housing a collection of vials. The purpose of each vile potion was labeled in Patrice’s spidery hand.

Pain. Sedative. Endless Sleep.

He shouted for the others. Showed them the dowager’s diabolical arsenal.

“Where would Patrice take Emma?” Kent bit out. “If she intends to harm her?”

“She will probably try to make it look like an accident,” Will said.

Alaric’s hands balled. He looked out the window into the night, toward the shadowy movement of the water. Terror thudded in his chest. “The loch.”

* * *

In her dream, Emma drifted.

Surrounded by inky waves, she couldn’t resist their cool, silken pull. They lulled her, drawing her deeper and deeper into their embrace.

Yet something stopped her.

Don’t leave me.

She clung to the voice, yet the darkness was so strong. Overwhelming. The tides of oblivion rose quietly, inexorably around her …

* * *

Alaric saw the rowboat on the mist-shrouded loch. Glazed by moonlight, it floated, a silver leaf upon the glassy black surface. It was sinking.

He sprinted toward the water, stripping off his jacket and boots as he ran. He passed Patrice, didn’t stop, her voice following him with the eeriness of a spectre.

“It’s too late. You can’t save her.”

The hell I can’t.

He dove into the icy water, slashing the waves with sure strokes. Hold on lass, hold on, his heart thundered. The tides grew choppier, washed over his head, yet he pushed on, spitting water, kicking out against the churning depths. His muscles strained. His lungs burned. A single imperative drove him on.

Get to the boat and save his woman.

He saw the boat yards away, wrapped by tendrils of mist, its sides half-submerged. He battled the waves with renewed vigor, surging forward with powerful kicks. His hands closed on the wooden edge, and he hauled himself up.

Emma. The water was just closing over her face.

He yanked her up by the shoulders, shouted her name.

Limp, lifeless, she didn’t respond.

He wrapped an arm around her, nestling her back against his chest. Vigilantly keeping her head above the water, he fought the currents with his free arm. The fog grew thicker, obscuring the way to safety, bearing down upon him. Fatigue turned his muscles to stone. Emma remained slumped in his desperate grasp.

“You stay with me, Emma,” he gritted out. “We do this together. Either way.”

“Strathaven! Where are you?”

Kent’s voice reached him, a buoy in the darkness.

“Over here!” Alaric shouted. “I’ve got her.”

Moments later, a yellow glow burned through the mist, followed by the bow of a boat. Kent dropped the oar and reached out, hoisting Emma aboard. Chest heaving, Alaric followed and knelt beside her.

“How is she?” he said hoarsely.

In the light of the single lantern, Kent’s face was bleak as he covered his sister in his jacket. “She’s breathing, but her pulse is weak.”

Panic seized Alaric. He cupped her chilled face. “Wake up, love.”

She didn’t reply, didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash at his plea.

His terror burgeoned until he could barely breathe.

“Devil take it, Emma,” he choked out, “you made me a bluidy promise, and you will keep it. You come back to me right now. You fight this!”

Was it his crazed imagination—or did her bosom rise on a fuller breath?

“Don’t leave me, love.” His voice cracked, and he cradled her to his chest, saying in an agonized whisper, “I’m not letting you go. Wherever you go, I’m coming with you ...”

Emma coughed. Sputtered out water.

“Darling?” he said in a torment of hope.

Her lashes lifted. “A-Alaric?”

“Aye, lass.” His eyes stung. “I’m here.”

She coughed out more water. “Your aunt ... she drugged me.”

Even as tears scalded his throat, his lips twitched at her indignation.

“I know, and I’ll be dealing with her shortly.” He smoothed a damp tendril from his beloved’s cheek. “You’re safe now. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“You gave us a fright, Em,” Kent said gruffly.

Emma turned her head in his direction. “Thank you for rescuing me, Ambrose.”

“That’s what brothers are for. Although ’tis your duke here who deserves most of the credit.”

Emma looked up at Alaric, her expression so adoring that his throat burned once more.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, his voice gravelly. “So damned much.”

He kissed her reverently, and in the warm vitality of her response, his fear receded.

When they reached the shore, Will was waiting. He had Patrice under his watch. As Alaric faced their aunt with Emma in his arms, he knew it was time for a reckoning.

He bit out a single word. “Why?”

The dowager’s plaintive smile made his gut roil. “Because, my dear boy, I was trying to save you, care for you, as I’ve always done. She,”—the bitch pointed a finger at Emma, and Alaric’s muscles bunched protectively—“would have hurt you. Just like Laura did.”

“You tried to kill my wife. Tried to kill me and murdered Clara Osgood instead,” he said through his clenched jaw. “Lily White confessed that it was you who hired her to put poison in my whiskey.”

Emma stiffened in his embrace. “I knew the maid was important.”

Patrice’s expression turned pleading. “Lady Osgood was an accident. How was I to know that she would drink your whiskey and so much of it? I wasn’t trying to kill you, dear boy, but to make you understand that you need me. You were pushing me away, Alaric. Distancing yourself.” Her eyes glittered with tears of madness. “I calibrated the dose perfectly to give you a reminder of your illness—what we had been through together, all those days and nights I spent nursing you. I never intended to harm you permanently. I planned to come to London and save you.”

At Emma’s gasp, Alaric knew that she’d reached the same nefarious conclusion as he had.

Insides churning, he said, “There was no illness, was there? It was you all along. All that I suffered—it was at your hand.”

His aunt licked her lips. “It wasn’t my fault. I had no choice.”

“No choice?” Emma choked out. “You crazed witch—”

Alaric held his wife back. “Let her finish.”

“It was my husband’s fault,” the dowager said, her lips trembling. “I loved my Henry—gave him everything—yet he betrayed me. With your whore of a mother.”

Shock jolted Alaric. He heard Will’s chuff of surprise.

“It was at a house party at Strathmore. We’d invited our poor relations to see the castle. And how did they repay us?” Rage lit Patrice’s eyes. “The slut seduced my duke—her own husband’s cousin—and got herself with a bastard.”

Pieces began to fall in place. Created a picture with sickening clarity.

“That’s why Da hated me.” The words left Alaric numbly. “Because I was not his.”

“To avoid scandal, we all agreed to keep it a secret. The truth would have accompanied us to our graves if my son hadn’t died. After that, everything changed.” Tears leaked down Patrice’s cheeks, her voice bloated with grief and self-pity. “Henry and I tried, yet we couldn’t have another child, and that made him turn from me. Made him remember that while he had no legitimate issue, he had a bastard with his blood. Without my consent, he made up his mind to take you—the spawn of a harlot—into our home.”

Alaric felt Emma’s arms squeezing around his waist, lending him strength.

“Under the guise of guardianship, Henry was going to raise his by-blow in my house. I couldn’t allow it.” Cunning curled Patrice’s lips. “So I hit upon the perfect solution. For I knew my duke well, knew how he despised weakness above all else. I gave him what he deserved: a frail, useless bastard, one that could never take my own son’s place.”

“You took your jealousy out on an innocent lad!” Will snarled. “Alaric had naught to do with any of it, you underhanded bitch!”

“I know. That is why I spent countless nights tending to him.” Malice melted to anxiety, the maniacal shift terrifying to behold. Alaric felt nauseated as his aunt looked upon him with glowing fondness. “The more my husband despised you, the more I loved you. I’d lost his affection, but I could have yours—and I could remain mistress of Strathmore ... if certain obstacles were removed,” she said dreamily. “You were fourth in line to inherit, after all. And since your father obligingly died in that carriage accident, there were only two hurdles to surmount. Two childless, weak cousins who had never amounted to much. Their deaths were hardly noticed.”

Holy hell.

He said in disbelief, “You poisoned them ... your husband’s kin?”

“I did what needed to be done to secure your legacy.” She smiled with horrible pride. “So we could be together, my dearest boy.”

A hideous thought seized him. “Laura, Charlie ...”

“I had no hand in that. At first, I’ll admit I was concerned after your whirlwind marriage to that Jezebel,” Patrice said airily, “but when I met her, I knew that she posed no threat. It was clear the passion between the two of you would quickly sour. Laura didn’t need my help to destroy your marriage—she did it all by herself. But Emma here,”—the dowager shook her head morosely—“she was different, her hold on you too strong. She left me no choice but to take action.”

Alaric’s arms tightened around Emma. “You’ll never get near my wife again. We’re handing you over to the magistrates, and you are going to pay for your crimes.”

“She belongs in Bedlam,” Emma said.

“No.” Patrice stumbled backward. “I’m not going anywhere. I belong here.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Kent said. “You cannot escape justice.”

A mad, sly smile crossed Patrice’s features. “There’s always an escape.”

She twisted her ring; the carnelian flipped open. In a blink, she brought the hidden compartment to her lips, downing the contents. Her eyes bulged, and she fell to the sand.

“Bluidy hell,” Will exclaimed.

Kent crossed over and, crouching, placed a hand on the dowager’s neck. He shook his head.

Alaric didn’t know how to respond. Cold numbness spread over him as the revelations swirled in his head. Death, pain, and suffering. His aunt—a crazed murderess, perpetrator of countless ills ... who lay dead before him. So many betrayals. It was too much to take in. He could sense the dark walls curving over his head, the past trapping him ...

“Alaric?”

Emma’s steady voice reached him through the darkness. Her face came into focus, became his only focus when he saw the fierce love in her eyes. Her flame vanquished the prison walls, turned them into smoke.

“I’m here, my darling.” She cupped his jaw, and her warm strength seeped into him. “Everything will be all right.”

“Because of you,” he said hoarsely. “My love.”

He pulled her into his arms and held on tight.