When You Give a Duke a Diamond (20 page)

“But Will,” she protested. “It could take hours to search the stables.”

“Then we’ll be back in time for dinner.”

He walked resolutely now, and she knew her objections were futile. She could not believe they were going to search the stables—horse manure and feed and hay. She’d mucked out enough stables in her life to know she did not care to spend more time in them. But she had told him she would not be left behind. She could not bow out now.

But she might put the inevitable off for a few more minutes. She paused as they reached the door that would lead outside and to the stables. “I’ll join you in a moment. I want to use the ladies’ retiring room.”

He frowned. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, go ahead. I’ll be there directly.”

He leaned down and kissed her lightly then walked outside. She watched him go, almost too stunned by his actions to move. Who was this man who kissed her so easily, laughed with her, and teased her? Surely this was not the rigid, arrogant duke she’d met at Carlton House not even a fortnight ago.

She took her time finding the retiring room, seeing to her needs, and setting her hair to rights. When she felt another moment would cause Pelham to send a search party, she started for the stables. Once outside, she was assailed by a brisk northerly wind. The skies promised rain, and thick gray clouds rushed overhead. She wished she had dressed more warmly and crossed her arms over her middle to keep in body heat.

Perhaps Juliette’s crossed arms made her slow to respond. Perhaps it was because she was staring at the sky or thinking of Will’s kisses or wishing she was back at Rothingham Manor with a hot cup of tea. Whatever the reason, she never even saw the man until he had taken firm hold of her and was dragging her away from the stables and the protection of the house.

At first, she was so taken off guard, she stumbled and had to focus on moving forward without tripping over her feet. And then she realized what was happening, and she tried to wrench her arm from his grip. Lastly, she began screaming, but she knew that was all but futile. The wind was too loud and the stable already too far away. With the horses pawing and stamping, and Will busy searching in and around, he would never hear her.

“Release me!” she screamed and pulled away. But Lucifer’s grip was iron. Her hair was blowing in her eyes, and she had yet to see his face, but she knew it must be him. How had he managed to get to her? Will had taken every precaution. “I don’t have the diamonds. Release me, and you still have time to get away.”

“Get away? Without you? Why would I want to do that?”

Juliette’s blood turned to ice in her veins. She angled her head into the wind so that the loose locks of hair blew back and away from her face. She finally caught a glimpse of the man dragging her into the moors.

It was not Lucifer.

***

Will reached for his pocket watch and swore with frustration when it was not there. As soon as he returned to London, he would purchase another. Devil take him if it made him less than spontaneous. He needed to have some notion of time. He cut his gaze out the doors of the stable and tried to judge by the darkening skies. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but it was more than he liked. Where was Juliette?

He stepped outside and looked toward the house, hoping to see her, but the path was empty. A raindrop fell on his hand and another on his cheek. One of the grooms stepped out beside him. “It’s going to storm, Your Grace. Should I ready your carriage so you can be home before the worst of it hits?”

Will looked back at the stables and frowned. He’d like to search them more thoroughly, but he didn’t want to be stranded on the road back to Rothingham in a rainstorm.

“Yes, prepare the carriage,” he said to the groom. He started back toward the house, noting that a light drizzle was falling now. The temperature had dropped, and the wind had a definite chill. When he stepped into the house, Pittinger was there to greet him.

“Might I be of assistance, Your Grace?”

“I’m leaving. Where is Miss Juliette?”

Pittinger frowned. “I thought she was in the stables with you.”

Will scowled. “No, she’s still inside. She wanted the ladies’ retiring room.”

“Yes, but I saw her head toward the stables a full quarter hour ago, Your Grace. At least that’s where I assumed she was headed when she walked out the door.”

A slow panic spread through Will’s body. It was as though an iron fist closed on his lungs. He could not seem to breathe, and he could not seem to speak.

“What is it, Your Grace? Did the duchess not make it to the stables?”

Will swallowed and fought back the panic. “No, she didn’t.” She had been wearing a dark red dress today, and the color would stand out against the drab yellows and browns of the moors. He stepped to the windows but did not see any sign of red. The rain was beginning in earnest, though. Heavy drops fell on the ground and pattered against the window as though seeking entrance.

Will clenched his hand. If Lucifer had her—no, he would not think such thoughts. Nothing had happened to Juliette. Nothing would happen to her. He whirled to face Pittinger. “Get every man, woman, and child you can find. I want everyone searching for Miss Juliette. Search the house, the outlying buildings, the gardens, the moors.”

“But, Your Grace, it’s raining.”

Will grabbed Pittinger by the collar and all but lifted the man off his feet. “I don’t care if it’s bloody snowing. I want her found.
Now.
”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man rushed away, and Will did not wait to see if his orders had been followed. He yanked the door open and stepped into the howling wind and sluice of rain. He pulled the collar of his coat up against his neck and started running.

***

“Oliver,” she said, her voice shaking. Her feet had stopped working, but he was still dragging her. She stumbled, and he scowled at her.

“Clumsy cow. Come on!”

She complied, staring at him as though he were a specter. He had aged in the last—what was it? Seven years? His brown hair was salted with white. His face drooped, and he had lost at least a stone, perhaps two. His skin seemed to hang off his jowls, and his clothes were too big on him.

He had never been a particularly tall man. They were of the same height, but now it seemed he had shrunk. Or perhaps she had made him seem bigger in her mind. His hands were still thick and red, his grip still punishing as it dug into the tender flesh of her upper arm.

And suddenly she looked ahead and realized Oliver was leading her away from the safety of the house, away from Will.

She wrenched her arm, but he held on fast. Digging her heels in, she screamed, “Will! Will!”

“Shut up!” Oliver screamed. “Your lover will never hear you, and your voice grates on my nerves.” He all but carried her up a small rise. For a wiry man, he was strong. She knew she would have bruises on her arm to match those on her face.

Her face!

She gaped at him. “It was you. It wasn’t Lucifer at all. It was you who attacked me.”

He shoved her down the rise, and she had to fight to keep her feet under her. She tumbled to her knees at the bottom, and Oliver stood over her. Juliette knew she could not be seen from the house now. And it had begun to rain. Would Will think she had waited inside for the rain to abate? If so, he would never find her before it was too late. She had no illusions about what Oliver would do to her. This time he would kill her.

“Who did you think it was? The fallen angel Lucifer? You might prefer hell to what I’m going to do to you. I’ve been waiting for my opportunity for a long time. And then just as I’m about to strike, you seduce Pelham. Mighty inconvenient, but then when you’re a whore who beds half of London, what can a man expect?” The rain sloshed over the rim of his hat and dribbled onto his shoulders.

Juliette was cold and shivering and feeling hopeless. There was nothing and no one anywhere in sight. In the distance, she saw several sheep huddled together, but with the rain, no person was likely to venture out.

“Let’s go.” Oliver reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. “Keep walking. I want more distance.”

Juliette knew she was on her own, knew no one was coming to help her. Perhaps she could run. She was younger than Oliver, and she might be faster, even though she had heavy skirts and flimsy slippers to contend with. But if she could outrun him, she might just have a chance. She began walking, knowing each step took her farther and farther away from Will.

“You thought you got away from me,” he was saying. “You thought you were rid of me. But you’ll never be rid of me. I
own
you.”

He was right. She’d always known he’d come back for her. She’d always known this day would come. But she was not giving in—not this time. She wasn’t the same girl he’d married. She was stronger, braver.

They started up another rise, and Oliver clenched her arm tightly, but he was watching her and not where he was going, and he stumbled, losing his grip slightly.

Juliette grasped her chance, yanked her arm free, and staggered into a run. She ran blindly, wildly, but as fast as she could.

Behind her, she heard Oliver scream and then the sound of his booted steps pursuing her.

***

Will paused, hands on knees, and studied the landscape before him. The rain was coming down heavy and hard now, obscuring his vision and making anything more than a few feet away impossible to make out. He’d already run headlong into one of Nowlund Park’s footmen. It encouraged him that the staff was searching, but he was beginning to think the effort futile. He had the bad feeling he was simply covering the same ground over and over.

But he was not going to give up. He could not lose Juliette. Not now. Not when…

He did not want to consider his feelings right now. This was not the time or the place. When he had her safe, when he had her in his arms, then he would take a moment to examine what he felt for her.

He started running again, a slow jog up a slight rise. He did not remember this rise and took it as a good sign that he was making progress. At the top of the rise he stood and scanned the moors before him. The rain made it difficult to distinguish details, but he swore he saw a flash of red in the distance.

“Juliette!” Was that a figure? A woman? If so, she was running away from him.

Will wiped the water from his eyes and squinted. No, not away from him—away from another man chasing her. “Juliette!”

But he could already see he would be too late.

***

Juliette stumbled on a rock, caught herself with her hands, but the moment’s pause cost her. She was cold and stiff, and her muscles were not hers to command. Her knees buckled, and she went down, scraping her hands painfully on the rocks beneath. With a cry of pain and terror, she lurched to her feet and limped forward. Blood mixed with water, making her hands appear pink.

She could hear Oliver’s rough breathing behind her. He’d stopped cursing her, probably to save energy for catching her. She was still ahead of him, but he was not far behind. She had to keep going. She had to keep running…

Suddenly Will’s words—words that it seemed he spoke a lifetime ago—flashed into her mind.
The
Dukes
of
Pelham
do
not
run
away.

She was no Duke of Pelham, but hadn’t she tired of running? Hadn’t she run far and long enough? Perhaps it was time to face her problems and suffer the consequences, even if those consequences were death.

She spotted a fist-sized rock ahead, stooped to grasp it in her hand, and swung to face Oliver. He was close, so much closer than she had anticipated. She realized she would never have beaten him. In another moment, he would have caught her hair or shoulder, yanked her backward, and that would have been the end of her.

At least now she would die fighting. She raised the rock. “Come on!” she screamed. “You want me? I’m right here.”

Oliver gave her a wary look and slowed. He was breathing hard and squinting at her. That was her one advantage. The wind was behind her, blowing rain into his eyes, while she faced away.

“You’re going to pay,” he yelled. He was not far from her, but the wind made it all but impossible to hear.

“Fine. Do your worst. I’m not running from you anymore, Oliver Clifton. You don’t scare me anymore. You don’t control me anymore.”

“We’ll see how scared you are in a moment, you worthless slut.” He was coming for her, and her hand itched to throw the rock she clutched tightly. The rough edges cut into her flesh, the pain keeping her mind clear.

Wait
, she cautioned herself.
Wait
until
he’s close enough.

She would have one chance, one shot. She could not miss, or she would die.

“Worthless?” she spat. “You tried for years to make me believe so. You belittled me and tried all you could to break my spirit. And you almost succeeded, but you couldn’t break me completely, Oliver. Deep down, I knew I was worth something. And now I’ve proven it. I’m a celebrity. I’m in the papers. Everyone knows who I am. I dine with the Prince Regent!”

“You take him to your bed. You’re nothing more than a glorified slut.”

“And what are you? No one and nothing. A warped old man who was bested by a slut. I got away from you. I forgot you. But you couldn’t ever forget me.”

“And now you’ll
never
forget me!” He charged her, and she raised her arm and flung the stone. She watched in horror as it went off course, hitting him in the cheek instead of the center of the forehead, as she had hoped.

And still he stumbled forward, surprised by the action and the impact. Juliette hit him over the head. It probably hurt her as much as it hurt him, but she wasn’t going to die without a fight. He plowed into her and knocked her over. She fell hard on the rocky ground, and for a moment, the world dimmed. Rain mixed with fresh tears of pain, coating her face. And then Oliver’s face came into focus. He was bleeding from a gash on his cheek, his teeth were bared, and there was murder in his eyes.