Chapter Seventeen
Selina sat before her vanity studying herself in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, pearls askew. Her face was smeared with tears. She’d sat here once before, preparing to marry a man she didn’t love. And then she’d been kidnapped on the way to the chapel. But the place she’d gone was far more dangerous than Trethewey House, far more painful than a father who didn’t love her.
Once more she found herself a victim of circumstances beyond her control, property of a man incapable of love. Except this time, the orders she’d been given came at the hands of her betrothed.
What was she to do now? Papa was experiencing some kind of fit, Owen’s life was in jeopardy, and Wolf had deserted her. Defeated and isolated, with her heart torn from her chest, Selina lost the will to fight. Lord Gariland had tossed her inside her bedchamber like an angry child discarding a toy, not caring whether or not she hit the floor and was harmed in the process. He’d even locked her inside to ensure her obedience.
Selina reached up and swiped away an errant tear from her face. For one moment, she thought her father had finally seen her, really seen her. It was a moment she never wanted to remember for the rest of her life. Papa was insane, and she finally realized she could never please him, no matter what she did. Nor would she ever forgive him.
Who was Selina Herding? The vibrant creature she’d felt pulsing through her veins on board the Sea Wolf and in Wolf’s arms was gone. Without her freedom, without Owen, without the means to disappear into music, and without Wolf, she was nothing but a shell of her former self.
She glanced down at the finery on her vanity. Pink crystal decanters shimmered in the lamplight, housing perfume and various oils and lotions a woman of means could afford. Her indulgent existence had given Trethewey a hostess and feminine appeal to a mineral lord who sought acceptance by the ton. But even the man who preyed upon her spirit and denied her the right to think for herself and choose her life’s path had demons to fight.
In a fit of rage, she brushed her arm across the surface of the vanity, tossing the worthless trinkets across the room. Crystal shattered against the wall.
Her mother’s pianoforte had been destroyed, and Selina had no doubt in her mind that its ivory keys and perfectly carved legs were already in the rubbish pile. Papa and Owen had memories of her mother, but other than Trethewey House and Owen, the musical instrument had been her only connection to the woman who’d given her life. Somehow, when she’d played it, she’d felt her mother’s spirit sitting beside her. Now that too had been stripped away.
The longcase clock ticked solemnly. Selina thought of Owen again and immediately righted her frame of mind. Here she sat, clothed in finery, a roof over her head, food in her belly. Could Owen say the same? What right did she have to bemoan her existence when her brother suffered privations she might never discover?
She stared at her reflection and narrowed her eyes, determination rising within her. It didn’t matter what had been denied her or stolen away. “I will figure out a way to leave this house and I will find you, Owen. I will not stop until I do.”
A key clicked in the lock of her bedchamber door.
Selina bolted from her seat on the vanity and stood in the middle of the room. Her heartbeat pounded, demanding more space as her stays tightened, and she fought to breathe a calming breath.
The door opened, and Mary appeared, carrying a tray of tea.
Selina relished the sight of the maid and stepped forward, counting the seconds until she could embrace Mary.
“Oh, Miss!” Mary glanced down at the floor as her feet crunched over the fragments of crystal. She moved to the cleared-off vanity and placed the tray there before rushing to Selina’s side. “I had feared what Lord Gariland had done to you. He was ever in such a state when he returned downstairs.”
“Where is he now?” she asked, contemplating if she could persuade Mary to aid her in some way without suffering punishment.
“He is downstairs with your father. There were several arguments after the couples were strong-armed out of the house.” Mary squeezed Selina’s hands in gesture of support.
Selina summoned a smile for the woman’s benefit. Papa would explain away his momentary lapse in sanity. It wasn’t as if the mineral lords in his corporation hadn’t seen him fall to pieces before. Their wives hadn’t, though. Surely the doctor would be sent for, bearing witness that Papa had suffered some delusional vision about his long-dead wife and acted out of character.
“There is more.” Mary’s voice heightened Selina’s concerns. “I am saddened to tell you that your beloved pianoforte is beyond repair.”
She suspected as much. “Owen warned me this might happen. I should have listened to him.”
Just as I should have placed more merit on Owen’s concerns about Lord Gariland.
But never in her wildest dreams had she suspected her betrothed had a violent streak. The man had never raised his voice or a hand to her before. And this new deficit in his character filled her with dread. How would he treat her once they were man and wife?
“I knew the chance I took when I played for Wolf tonight,” she said. “But I wanted him to hear Mozart’s piece.”
“Oh, Miss. He heard. Polke said—” She paused. “Well, I shouldn’t repeat what the servants say, but in this instance, I feel it must be allowed.”
Selina nodded, yearning to hear anything related to Wolf. “Go on.”
“He . . . Well, the captain left in a hurry as if a bucca-boo was after him.”
Chased by the hounds of hell? Had the music triggered some sort of memory after all?
“And?” Selina pressed.
“He said, ‘Tell her I am sorry for my hasty departure, but I must go.’”
“He has left, then,” she said, her mouth going dry. He truly had abandoned her. She turned to gaze at herself in the mirror again, hating the weak, foolish woman who gazed back.
Wolf needed her, but not for money and prestige. He actually needed Selina for who she was, what only she could provide him—unconditional love.
She clapped her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t possible! Not after all she’d been through. She barely knew Wolf, and yet, she felt as if she’d known him all her life. It wasn’t possible to care about someone this much so soon, was it? To feel their pain, to desire to endure it with them, come what may?
“What is it, Miss? Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “What else can you tell me about the captain’s departure?”
Mary pursed her lips and patted her hands. “Worden asked him if you would be joining him.”
“And what was Wolf’s response?” she asked.
“He told Worden, ‘She is safer here than with me.’” Mary clasped her hands again as footsteps sounded in the hall. “Oh, Miss. He cares for you. Can you not see it? What are you doing here, sitting lifeless, resigning yourself to your fate? You are a fighter, I know it. Always have been, always will be. The young master has seen to that. We all watched your brother nurture your courage, and it gave us hope. What would Owen want you to do, eh?”
Selina took a long, cleansing breath as life began to flow through her veins again. Besides Owen, Wolf was the only man who’d ever considered her needs—and before his own.
The footsteps grew louder, and a loose plank on the floor creaked.
“I will not be safe until I am with Wolf again,” she told Mary. “He will help me find Owen. I just know it.”
Her maid nodded. “Plain as day, it is.”
“Act as if nothing has changed. Speak to Polke. Have him get word to Worden that I will be coming for my horse as soon as I can distract Lord Gariland.”
She squeezed Mary’s hands reassuringly, just as Lord Gariland entered the room. “Did I hear my name?” he asked, crooking his brow as glass crunched beneath his feet.
Mary curtsied and moved past the man. “I delivered the tray as you ordered, my lord.”
“See that this is cleaned up when I leave.” He waved his hand, motioning for her to leave.
“Yes, my lord,” Mary said, pulling the door closed gently behind her.
Selina moved back to the vanity where the tea tray waited. She sat down, determined not to show the man any fear, and took her time pouring the tea.
Lord Gariland moved to the mirror, positioning himself behind her, turning his chin to observe the angles of his face. He straightened his cravat and then placed his hands on Selina’s shoulders. “I think it is time we had a talk, Selina.”
“Of course,” she said, feigning meekness. “I have been waiting here for that very thing.”
“Before you flatter me with your desire to consummate our union . . .” He pointed to the bed reflected in the mirror behind him. “I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not care to bed you at all, but I will do so to ensure my seed grows in your belly.”
Selina swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. “I am ready to do my duty to you, my lord,” she lied.
He clucked his tongue and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Those are the words a groom likes to hear. But know this . . . Pretty words will not make me forget that you’ve been sullied by a pirate. A man, I should add, that is at this very moment breathing his last breath.”
She bolted from the vanity chair, but Lord Gariland pushed her back down. Blood drained from her face. She clasped her hands and bit her lip to harness her anger and despair as Lord Gariland tightened his fingers around her throat.
“The world you now belong to is pox-riddled and crass, not particularly what I had envisioned when I’d selected you to be my bride.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You are a viscount’s son, a titled gentleman, and my father—”
“Ah that. You see,” he said, smacking his lips and gazing at his reflection, “I owe many dangerous men a great deal of coin. And these men will do anything to get it, including kill my beautiful wife.” His stare hardened. “Just as they’ve killed your captain by now.”
He allowed that knowledge to settle over her, clearly hoping to scare her. But the fool only made her angrier. She was practiced at controlling her emotions; she’d spent her entire life holding them in. She knew how to play the game well. So she said nothing, giving him no satisfaction.
“You are mine,” he said. “While I know you’ve occupied your days with fencing, riding, and other masculine pursuits, you should consider those days done. Do not expect to leave this house—and if it comes down to it, this room—without my approval.”
He smiled warmly, transforming back into the charming man who’d finessed his way into Papa’s good graces. “I expect the reverend will be arriving within the hour. We shall take advantage of your father’s need to see you out from under his thumb.” He glanced back at the bed with its high headboard. “It’s a shame you do not have a four-poster, my dear. What I wouldn’t give to see you tied to the mast . . .”
The disgust Selina felt for Lord Gariland grew by leaps and bounds as his hands slipped around her throat. He wouldn’t dare hurt her. Convinced of this, she did nothing to stop him, thinking he only meant to scare her. His devilish laughter said otherwise as he tightened his grip, squeezing her neck.
She grabbed hold of his hands, trying to loosen them. He tightened his grasp on her. He smiled wickedly as she flailed for something to hit him with, anything to stop him. The tea service clattered as tea cups upended. Finally, her fingers latched around the teapot handle and she swung her arm back, coming into contact with Lord Gariland’s face.
His roar met her ears as shadows danced before her eyes, claiming her consciousness, and the room turned black as night.
Wolf galloped to the front of Trethewey House and vaulted out of the saddle, landing on the gravel drive at a run. He’d lost his hat and was winded, but he thought nothing of his own condition as he took the stairs leading to the massive front door. He’d escaped Gariland’s assassins. As a result, he knew what had happened to Owen, and he was sure Selina would be eager to hear the truth.
Worden joined him as thunder boomed in the distance, a storm draw nearer. “He’s got her in there, Cap’n. Locked her up tight. Won’t let any of us near her except Mary.”
He glanced down at Worden. “Has she seen Selina?”
“Aye, sir. Still courageous as the day is long. Mary told us she’s plannin’ to escape. We’ve been waitin’ for her signal.”
Wolf nodded. “Is there a back entrance to the house?”
“Mrs. Gribble uses the herb garden, sir. It leads to the kitchen.”
He furrowed his brows in deep concentration. “Gather the horses and tether them behind the stable.”
“What for?” Worden asked, dumbfounded.
“We’ll need a diversion.”
Worden’s mouth dropped open. “Ye’re not thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’, are ye?”
“Burn down the stables. You can always rebuild.”
“Do we have to go to such extremes?” Worden’s brows knit together, and he pursed his lips.
“Do you want to work for Gariland?” he asked.
Worden shook his head with a vengeance. “No. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Trethewey and the mines out of that bastard’s hands.”
Wolf patted Worden’s shoulder. “Once the fire starts, create as much confusion as you can. Pretend the horses are inside. I’ll try to get Herding out of the house.”
“Aye, sir.” The stable master scurried off to set their plan into motion.
Moonlight lit the way as Wolf sprinted toward the corner of the house and around to the back entrance. There, several guards had been posted to force back anyone who attempted to enter or take them by surprise.
Wolf bent his arms and flicked his blades into place, the metallic sound slicing the air. He closed his eyes, praying the guards hadn’t heard, and then glanced around the corner.
The first guard stood twenty feet away, armed with a sword, several daggers, and a musket. Wolf ducked back to the other side of the house, resting his head against the exterior stone wall. His heartbeat raced as he closed his eyes, dredging up twenty years of sorrow and misfortune to fuel his rage. He’d killed his own father, damn it. He was a murderer, a freak, a man with no home and no name. The berserker emerged, clawing inside Wolf, desperate to be free.
Wolf sucked in a breath and stepped around the corner of the house. He pulled a cigar out of his coat. “Can anyone light this?”
Caught by surprise, the first guard craned his head around and narrowed his eyes to make out the intruder.
Wolf plugged the cigar into his mouth and raised his blades. They glinted in the moonlight.
His warlike gestures pushed the guards into motion. The first one called out to his partner, and the two men rushed forward. Swords were pulled from their casings, spurring him on.
If shots were fired, Lord Gariland would be warned. He couldn’t allow these men an easy shot. The only way around that was to turn on his heel and disappear around the corner of the house, forcing the men to follow.
They did.
Wolf sliced off the hand of the first pistol barrel that peeked around the wall. The man’s hand dropped to the ground with a thud. Not one to take any chances or allow a man to bleed to death, Wolf rolled over the stunned guard, and crushed the man’s windpipe with his boot. He pulled a dagger from behind his back and threw it at the other guard. His weapon hit its mark. Wolf raised his leg and kicked the shocked man in the stomach, sending him reeling backward into the wall. The shock to his system was enough to knock the man out cold.
With the way into the house clear at last—or so he presumed—Wolf moved to the door. There, he was met by the cook, who put her finger over her lips and led him indoors.
They moved through the house until they arrived at a set of servants’ stairs located in the rear. She pointed up and nodded before backing out of the room.
Wolf glanced up the winding staircase, muttering a silent curse. Bollocks. There was no way to defend himself in the tiny space. He craned his neck and quickly ascended the stairs, careful not to make a sound. When he reached the top of the landing, he slinked around the easement and moved slowly down the hall, recognizing it as the one he’d used earlier that day.
Mary was there. She motioned him closer, and he moved toward her.
When he was within reach, she shoved him into a room, closing the door behind her. “Her door is locked, Captain. But I took the key from the housekeeper.”
Wolf nodded, grateful she was willing to help him.
“Wait,” she said. “He is in there with her.”
He stiffened. As he suspected, Gariland wasn’t taking any chances. “Worden is setting fire to the stables. When that happens, I want you to ensure the master makes it out of the house alive.”
She nodded. “And then?”
“And then,” he ground out, “I’m going to kill Gariland.”