He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re no burden.” He smiled grimly. Almost instantly, his eyes softened, grew tender. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right; you must leave, but you are not leaving alone. I’m going with you.”
“No. Anyone who helps me will be in danger. And you’ve already done too much. Far too much.”
“I won’t let you face this alone. Don’t leave, Jen. I will take you safely away. You and Rachel. We’ll leave together. All of us. Tonight.”
She shook her head. “He’ll hurt you. Or Rachel.”
“You are not going off alone to fend for yourself. I will protect you. Do you trust me?”
She let out a sob and nodded. “Yes, of course I trust you. But I’d never live with myself if something happened to you.”
“Nothing will happen to me. I can protect all of us. And Rachel is a good shot, too.” He tilted his head. “Can you shoot a gun?”
“No. But I’m willing to learn.”
“Then I’ll teach you.” He took her by the hand and led her back downstairs. “Rachel do you have a small handgun?”
Rachel looked up from her notes. “No sleep, after all?” She grinned wickedly, no doubt assuming they’d been kissing. She sobered at their expressions. “What’s wrong?”
“Your gun?” Christian promted.
“I have Mama’s gun. It’s in my room.”
“You have Mama’s gun?” Christian said. “How’d you get it instead of Margaret?”
“She has the pearl-handled gun. I have the one that shoots straight.”
Despite his concern, Christian chuckled. “Devious, Rachel. You applied to her vanity, didn’t you?”
“I’m a better shot than she is. A gun like that would be a waste in her hands.”
Genevieve said, “I would like to learn to shoot.”
Rachel turned to her. “Would you? Excellent. When shall we start?”
Genevieve spread her hands. “Now, if possible.”
“I’ll get my gun.”
Outside, Christian and the coachman who’d driven them to Scotland walked the area scanning the hills, probably looking for hidden gunmen. When he was satisfied, Christian nodded to the coachman who took up a watchful stance.
“You should have told me sooner,” Christian chided her. “We could have set a watch all along.”
Genevieve only nodded, too worried to defend her actions. After returning, Rachel presented her gun. Christian showed Geneveive the loading process of packing down the powder and ball, and went through the basic mechanics. His hands were steady and sure, and each time his skin brushed against hers, a soft shiver of pleasure spread.
“Rifles are typically more accurate,” Christian said. “But Mama’s—Rachel’s gun—is uncommonly precise. It shoots as well as my rifle, and I searched far and wide for one of its precision.”
“Christian is as obsessed about the fox hunt as he is the steeplechase,” Rachel interjected from nearby.
Christian grinned. “Almost. With four—” he broke off, “three older brothers looking down their noses at me, I had something to prove.”
Jason. Someday she’d find out what happened to him.
“Actually,” Christian said with a glance at Rachel, “I like the racing better than shooting. Getting the fox is almost anti-climactic after all the hard riding. You are right-handed, I believe?”
“I write with my right hand.”
“That will make it easier. I write with my left, but I shoot and fence with my right.”
“Why?”
He quirked a rueful smile. “Because if I’m ever in a duel, I’d have the disadvantage of exposing too much of my body as a target.”
She raised her brows. “Do you do much dueling?”
“No. But a gentlemen should always be prepared. Here.”
An image flashed in her mind of the day Christian had burst into Lord Wickburgh’s library to break up the wedding. He’d made some mention of meeting Wickburgh at dawn. Because of her. She shivered.
Standing beside her, Christian positioned the gun in her right hand, showed her how to steady it with her left. He slid a hand under her elbow and raised it. Again, warmth spiraled outward where he touched her.
“Line up your target with this notch,” he pointed, “and the end of the barrel here.” His breath whispered on her neck, stirring the stray hairs that had fallen out of her chignon.
Drawing a breath, she tried to focus on his words, rather than on his proximity. She lined up the notch with the small ridge at the end of the gun, then lined them up with the target that looked suddenly very small and far away.
“This particular gun doesn’t have a bad kick,” he added softly, “but all guns do have one to some extent.”
“A kick?”
“As it fires, the gun will jump back. Keep a tight hold.” He exhaled a smile. “Not that tight. Your knuckles shouldn’t be turning white. Now, don’t pull or jerk the trigger. Squeeze it. Take a breath and then squeeze. Gently.”
After she let out her breath and drew in another, she squeezed the trigger. She jumped as the gun practically leaped out of her hand. Her ears rang from the shot and the hills echoed.
Christian smiled. “A good showing, for a first try.”
“I didn’t hit the target,” she said in dismay.
“It takes practice.”
He had her reload and fire until her shoulders began to ache and she begged for a respite. Taking up the guns, Christian and Rachel easily knocked off every target lined up along the stone fence. They jeered and taunted each other good naturedly while Genevieve sat on a rocky outcropping and watched, admiring Christian’s fine form, envying Rachel’s confidence.
After the last target fell, Christian squatted down in front of her. He looked at her soberly and took her hand. “Don’t be discouraged, it does take practice. You did very well.” He smiled.
She wondered how it was possible that she could live in the same house with this man for days and still be reduced to a stammering miss every time he smiled. She should be accustomed to it by now.
As they went indoors, Rachel cast a sideways glance at her. “When is someone going to tell me what is happening?”
Genevieve glanced at Christian. He nodded. Rachel should know if she were to accompany them to wherever Christian planned to take her.
Rachel took her hand. “Genevieve, we’re friends. You can confide in me.”
As they went inside, Genevieve shivered and drew a breath. “I…” She began haltingly. “I left my husband. I had hoped he’d think,” she glanced at Christian, “that I perished. But he’s here. He wants me to know he’s coming after me.”
Rachel digested that in silence as she took a seat on an armchair. “Does he mean you harm?”
Genevieve nodded. “And anyone who gets in his way.”
Rachel shook her head, her brows furrowed. “If he were here, wouldn’t he just appear at the doorstep and demand that you return with him?”
“He loves to play cruel games. Taunts me, tries to make me feel safe and then he does something … horrible.”
Rachel blinked as if unable to fathom her meaning. “Why didn’t you just leave him?”
“I did once. He had me declared mad and locked me in the asylum.”
Rachel gasped. Christian looked like he was about to put a fist through a wall.
As memories threatened to drown her, a heart-wrenching sob tore out of her. “After three days, I’d had enough of that horrible place and agreed to go back to him.”
Christian pulled her into an embrace. Genevieve nestled against him like a frightened child. With his arms wrapped around her, he held her close. How she longed to stay there. But she couldn’t. Every moment they remained here brought them all closer to danger. She stepped out of his arms.
Rachel took several deep breaths. “And this time you thought you’d escaped?”
“I’d dared to hope that he’d believe me dead and not look for me. But he found me somehow. He left a rose on the bed, just like the kind he used to give me. And the bullet was meant for Christian, I’m sure of it. I need to leave here, draw him away from you.”
“I already told you; you are not going alone.” Christian’s tone was final.
“Certainly not,” Rachel sniffed. “We’re friends and we’ll stand together.”
“I do agree we should leave,” Christian said. “We’re too exposed out here. We’ll go to London and find a safe place to stay while I work on a way to draw him out.”
Genevieve fisted her hand in his sleeve. “No, Christian. He’ll hurt you.”
“You said you trust me.”
“I do.”
“Then stop worrying,” he said in a low voice. “All will be well.”
“I worry for your safety. You and Rachel. You are in danger, too.”
“We can handle ourselves.” The arrogant lift to his head made him look as lordly as his brother the earl.
Rachel patted the gun at her hip, a cocky grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We’re friends, Genevieve. We’re staying by you.”
Christian exchanged a meaningful look with Rachel, then looked down at Genevieve. A fierce and possessive light entered his eyes. “I will not let him hurt you. He will have to find a way around me before he can touch you.”
Tears stung her eyes. “That’s what has me so frightened.”
Rachel gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll pack and make arrangements for the rest of my things to be sent home.”
As Genevieve packed, her gaze landed on a gold ring glimmering on her nightstand.
A wedding band.
Her wedding band.
She stumbled backward. Panic robbed her of all coherent thought. A scream burst out of her. She staggered backward, stumbled, and fell onto her knees. Her lungs closed over. She looked wildly around, expecting Wickburgh to burst out from behind the furniture.
Christian charged in. “What is it?”
She pointed.
He looked at the ring, his eyes widening. “Yours?”
Nodding, she stuttered, “I-I t-took it off b-before I j-jumped into the r-river.” Blinding waves of terror drowned her.
His breath came out in a loud expel. He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip.
Christian pulled her into his arms while she fell apart. He held her without speaking, smoothing his hand over her hair. He was strong and solid and safe. She clung to him as if her sanity depended upon it. She felt as if she tottered at the edge of a cliff with a wind pushing from behind, and only a tenuous finger-hold protecting her from falling.
Christian’s voice pulled her away from the edge. “I’m here, Genevieve. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Rachel’s voice sounded next to her. “What’s happened?”
Christian pointed to the ring. “Her wedding ring. She left it behind but it’s here now.”
Rachel let out an unladylike exclamation. “He wants you to know he’s here.”
“He’ll torment me like this before he actually strikes.” And he might strike first at Christian or Rachel.
Christian took command. “We’re leaving. Now. Pack a few things.”
Genevieve reluctantly left the circle of his arms and with trembling hands, placed a satchel on the bed.
“I’ll pack, too,” Rachel said.
Christian and Rachel strode out.
Taking only the necessities, Genevieve gathered as much as she could take in her satchel. How could she get away without him discovering her? There seemed no place she could go where he wouldn’t find her. And now she’d put Christian and Rachel in harm’s way. She should have left on her own without getting them involved. If Wickburgh hurt them, Genevieve would never be able to live with her conscience.
Christian reappeared in her doorway moments later. “Here.” He tossed her a pair of breeches. “They belong to my valet. The footman and one of the outriders are going to wear yours and Rachel’s cloaks and take the family coach deeper into Scotland with the stable hand and one outrider. The three of us will leave together on horseback and you and Rachel will ride astride like men.” He took a step closer and touched her cheek. “Know this; I will not allow you to face him alone. We all go together.”
She almost threw her arms around him. Instead, she nodded. After he left, she struggled into the breeches, shirt, and coat of a man. The family coach left moments later with two footman wearing cloaks riding inside and an armed rider alongside. Christian, Genevieve and Rachel, all wearing breeches, dark woolen coats, and hats pulled down low, met outside the house. The coachman stood holding the reins of four horses. Nearly paralyzed with fear that so many lives were in danger because of her plight, Genevieve glanced around, half expecting Wickburgh to leap out at them. But that wasn’t his style. He’d pick them off, one at a time. She only hoped the cover of growing darkness would protect them.
Christian gestured to the coachman. “Harrison is a good shot. He will ride with us and watch our backs,” Christian explained.
She nodded. She trusted Christian. The grim warrior who stared back at her looked fully capable of far more than a gentleman’s duel. He looked capable of anything.
CHAPTER 19
Riding between Rachel and Genevieve, Christian glanced back. Harrison rode behind them, his shoulders slumped and his mouth pulled tight as if in pain. The darkened road lay empty beyond. Evening shadows lurked like monsters awaiting a kill. The wind whispered in the trees like voices plotting their demise. Sweat poured down Christian’s back despite the chill stinging his face. They pushed their horses as fast as they dared on roads still muddy from recent rains. After riding all night and day, they’d reached a point of exhaustion he feared would make them careless. They’d have to stop for the night the next time they stopped to change horses.
As they urged the horses along the tree-lined highway, darkening shadows lay deep over the road. They rounded a bend and headed to the stable of the posting inn.
Dressed as boys in breeches and coats, with hats pulled down low over their eyes, Rachel and Genevieve lifted their heads. Dark circles lined their eyes standing out against pale faces.
“We’re stopping for the night.” Christian said. “We cannot keep up this pace.”
No one argued.
After securing stalls for the horses and a private room for them to share for the night, Christian led the exhausted women inside. He gestured to Harrison. “I want you inside to guard the door.”
Harrison hesitated, clearly uncomfortable crossing the lines of social class, but obeyed Christian’s request. After a servant lit a lamp and the fire, he left without giving them a glance. Christian closed and bolted the door. Rachel sank onto the large four poster bed, and Genevieve collapsed onto a chair by the hearth. Christian glared at the narrow settee by the window. Perhaps he’d be more comfortable on the floor than that small excuse for a couch. Within minutes, deep breathing of slumber filled the room. Christian went to the window and tested the lock. It held securely. Surely no one would notice four shabbily dressed, road-weary males and consider them ripe for the plucking. Harrison took up position in front of the door and fell asleep instantly.