Chapter Twenty-Nine
As soon as Emily had freed herself from the man, she’d waddled toward Aria as fast as her enormous stomach would allow. “Aria! Thank God.”
In seconds, Emily was kneeling next to her. Aria didn’t know how long they sat, arms around each, finding comfort with each other. It helped to diminish the terror inside, just a little.
Aria felt the tears welling in her eyes, and for once, didn’t worry about scrubbing her face free of emotion. “Emily, I am so sorry. So sorry he did this,” she kept murmuring. “Please, Emily, you have to sit down.” She pushed herself out of the chair and gently nudged Emily into it.
“I thought you would enjoy having her at our wedding.”
Patrick. Aria had forgotten the bastard stood there, watching them. His tone was benign, but laced with a promise she didn’t need articulated.
“And as long as you behave yourself, Mrs. Whitney will remain nothing but a treasured, well-cared-for guest.”
“I hate you.”
“We can work on that.” He waved a hand to send the thug out of the room. “I’ll let you two have some time together. The seamstress will be back in the morning with your gown. I assume you will conduct yourself as befits a bride, my dear.”
The door clicked shut behind him and the sounds of the lock being turned needled her growing panic. She turned to Emily. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Is the babe okay?”
Emily rubbed her stomach. “The babe is fine. And other than pulling me from my bed in the middle of the night, they’ve done nothing to harm me. Aria, what happened to you?” She reached a hand up to Aria’s face.
Aria pulled away, and the motion brought resigned sadness to Emily’s face.
“Emily, please, it’s not you. It’s...” The words refused to form, in her mind, on her lips.
“Lord Merewood has been searching high and low for you.”
Aria’s heart burst with a wild rush of hope. “He’s alive?”
“Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?” Emily asked, and her face paled. “No, he couldn’t...Did Mr. Wade...Oh my God, Aria, who is that man?”
“A man capable of anything.” The extent of what he’d done to the people she loved, to her...Pressure continued to swell in Aria’s chest and she flattened a hand at her collarbone, the warmth instantly rising to her fingers. “Emily, I...I have to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Papa. He...” She looked down, pursed her lips, and struggled for the strength to say it. “He’s dead. Patrick killed him.”
“Patrick killed him?” Emily whispered. One hand clutched her belly, and the other reached out to grab hold of Aria’s. “Oh, God. I know I said I believed it. I forced myself to—” her words grew mottled from her tears—”so I wouldn’t live with... Oh, my God, he’s gone.” Sobs shook her frame, tears escaped in her delicate way, and pain slashed across her face.
Aria sunk to her knees and wrapped arms, as best she could, around Emily and her babe. “I am so sorry. I was angry at him for leaving, and when he left, I took out my anger on you. You haven’t done anything wrong, but I refused to give an inch. I didn’t want to like you,” she admitted in the jumble of words running together. “But I’m not going to fail you—or Papa—again. I will find a way to get us out of here.” Emily’s hand came to rest on top of hers, and she moved it to the middle of her belly.
“Oh!” Aria cried as something pushed against her hand. She looked down as it happened again. “It’s...moving!”
Through her tears, Emily laughed. “He does that all the time now. Little babe won’t let me sleep at all.” She squeezed Aria’s hand, then lifted it to wipe at the fat wet tears jumping off her chin. “You can’t marry that man, Aria.”
Aria twisted around to lighten the weight on her bad leg, and felt the quick prick of pain from the pin that had made a small patchwork of her skin already. “I won’t, Emily.”
If only she knew how to stop it.
Chapter Thirty
“Adam?” Blythe’s voice called out.
“In here,” Adam replied from his study, the same exact position he’d been in since his sisters had stormed out of the room, as equally angry with him as they were with each other. He’d gone over every misstep, every second he hadn’t paid attention, or hadn’t done the right thing. He’d known that Lily had feelings for Melrose, and he hadn’t given them enough weight.
Footsteps sounded along the hardwood floors until Blythe appeared in the doorway.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, walking toward his desk, “you couldn’t have stopped what happened between Cordelia and Lily, even if you’d been sitting on them day and night.”
“I certainly wasn’t doing that, was I? I got distracted, the one thing I swore would not happen after your miserable marriage to Thomas Ashton. I promised all of you, myself, hell even Papa’s memory that I would protect them. I failed.”
She took a step toward him. “It’s not as if you’re running off for a fox hunt every day. You’ve been trying to help Aria find her father.”
“Yes, another example of my excellent skills at taking care of people.” Disgust with himself curdled his stomach, pushed him to stand up and walk around, even though every step hurt like hell. “When I met her, I didn’t know her father was missing. I told myself it was to keep her away from Ravensdale, to stop her from ruining your betrothal.”
“Which was never in any danger,” she interjected and smiled. “I had to point that out.”
“But it wasn’t about you,” he admitted. “I was drawn to her from the very first moment. Believing she was going after Ravensdale’s title was a convenient way to stay connected.”
“Shall I find you a hair shirt to wear? For God’s sake, there is nothing wrong with wanting someone. You act as if you’ve committed an unforgivable sin. Out of all the things you wish to pile upon your shoulders, the one you are responsible for is your own happiness.”
Before he could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Ravensdale strode into the room, following by one of the footmen they had sent out to watch for any word of activity by Wade.
“Wade is on the move,” he stated.
Adam stilled. “Where?”
Ravensdale looked at his companion, who stepped forward. “He arrived at his offices at the dock a few hours ago, stayed a moment, and then left. James and I followed him to a chapel on the outskirts of Westminster.”
“A chapel?” Adam’s overloaded brain tried to figure out... “Bloody hell. He’s going to try and marry her.”
“How can he if she’s not willing?” Blythe asked.
Adam didn’t even want to contemplate that.
“James is following him now,” Ravensdale said.
“So now we wait for James to return. If Wade leads him to wherever he’s hiding Aria, you can get her before then,” Blythe said.
The expressions on the other men’s faces matched Adam’s thoughts. “If James isn’t spotted. If Wade doesn’t realize he’s being watched.”
“And if he is aware? What...” Her words faded along with the color from her cheeks. “Oh my God. Michael, you have to send someone after him.”
“We don’t know where they are,” he replied grimly. “All we can do is wait.”
“No, we can go to that bloody chapel and find out what is going on,” Adam replied. “I am not sitting by and waiting any bloody longer. Charlie, with me. Blythe, get Mr. Whitney.”
An hour later, they pulled their horses next to a small chapel James had directed them to. A moat of green grass filled with dandelion and weeds surrounded the tiny building, shaded by an outer perimeter of trees. The building itself boasted dirty, peeling walls that might have once been white. The door was built of a sturdy wood, but scuffed and worn with time and unkind elements, and fronted by a stoop and a set of five stairs.
Adam slid from his horse and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The pain had become a constant, but it had nearly drowned in the rush of blood that pulsed inside at a breakneck speed and kept him on alert. The heavy wooden door opened with ease, and he strode inside. The church smelled of musk, and the altar of worship, with candles, a podium and a Bible, stood clean and reverent at the head of the pews. His footsteps sounded like cannon fire against the slated wood floor. “Is anyone here?”
A door next to the altar opened and a man of average everything—age, height, weight, looks—appeared. He wore the somber uniform of a vicar, his white collar nestled against a clean-shaven neck. He held two white unlit candles in his hands. “I am Father Mills. How may I help you?”
“A man was here this morning. Patrick Wade.” Adam walked toward him, aware as he did that the door opened behind him. The footsteps of his companions echoed in the room. “What did he want?”
Father Mills’s eyes had widened slightly at the mention of Wade’s name, but he moved quickly into a gentle, calm expression. It never wavered. “I cannot help you, I’m afraid. What a man wants with his church is private.”
“Mr. Wade has abducted my betrothed, and we fear for her life. Her name is Ariadne Whitney.”
The vicar frowned. “Abducted, you say?”
“She is in grave danger. The man who has her is capable of terrible things.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Whitney shoved forward. “She is my bloody daughter! This bastard attempted to kill me in order to clear the way to her. If you know something, you must tell us.”
Tense and still, the man gave a careful perusal of each of their faces, his fingers worrying the smooth texture of the candles in his grasp. Finally, his shoulders loosened, and he nodded. “He wished to plan his wedding.”
Adam smothered a curse. “When?”
“Tomorrow.” He held a hand up. “I know ’tis unusual, but he offered a generous donation to the church, had a wedding certificate, and I could not see the harm in accepting it. He spoke of his bride with love, and I assumed...”
“What information did you he give?” Whitney asked. “An address? A location? Anything?”
Father Mills shook his head. “Nothing. He simply provided payment and scheduled for tomorrow at two in the afternoon.” He looked to Adam. “What can I do to help?”
“Thank you, Father,” Adam said without answering his question and turned. They had what they came for. Now, they waited for Charlie to return with Wade’s whereabouts.
There would be no bloody wedding.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Would you cease that incessant pacing?” Ravensdale snapped hours later, even as he jumped from the chair he sat in to pace in the other direction. “Damn it, he should have been back hours ago.”
Adam continued his direction around the couch in the parlor. For the twentieth time, he looked outside again at the dimming light as afternoon settled into evening.
Charlie had not returned.
The sick feeling in Adam’s gut told him he wouldn’t.
Adam increased his stride. They had no idea where to look for the man, and Adam felt about as useful as a fish flopping about the bottom of a fishing boat. They’d sent a handful of men out to Wade’s home, his business, his local haunts. But who knew how many properties the man actually owned. The initial checks into his background had proven resources and wealth far beyond what they expected. The man’s wealth easily rivaled that of any member of the ton. Though Adam had no doubt that every shilling had been earned through blood and crime.
Even knowing that, they’d found nothing that would lead them to Wade. To Aria.
“Damn it!” Adam yelled. “We have no choice. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“At least you know Aria is alive,” Blythe said softly as she entered the room with a tray full of food. Adam paid little mind; he had no appetite.
Ravensdale stopped his pacing right in his path. “Go eat, you idiot. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“Shut it, will you?” Adam muttered, hating that he was right. Without ceremony, he reached for some of the cold meat and cheese on the tray.
Blythe turned back toward the door, and then stopped to peer back at him. “Adam, how long are you going to keep Mr. Melrose waiting? He’s been sitting in the parlor for hours.”
It had completely slipped his mind, Adam realized. He rotated his neck, hearing the cracks amid the painful stretches. “Fine. I’ll get this over with.”
Reaching for another handful of food, he followed Blythe out into the corridor and veered into the open door of the parlor. Melrose sat on the couch, back stiff and hands gripping his legs. Lily sat in a chair across from him, and Hypatia stood sentry over them both. Faces were grim, and no one looked particularly happy.
Good.
“Melrose,” Adam said, pulling his attention. “I have sent a note to my solicitor, who will meet us in two days hence to discuss the betrothal contracts, dowry, and whatnot. I assume that will give you time to inform whomever you must? Your father, perhaps?”
Melrose looked distinctly uncomfortable at that. “In regards to my father, do you think it possible to leave out the circumstances surrounding this betrothal? If word doesn’t get around, of course, might we proceed as if—”
“As if you actually had proven a gentleman and courted only one of my sisters?” Adam snapped. Hypatia cleared her throat, and Adam bit off the words he really wanted to say, ones wholly unsuitable for mixed company.
For the first time since he’d entered the room, he really looked at his sister. Her hands were clasped in her lap, fingers rubbing together. That in itself was unusual, as he recalled very few times when he’d seen her without a quill and paper in hand. But what sunk his heart was the resignation that weighted her down. She slowly lifted her gaze, as if feeling his perusal and the sadness in them shattered him.
“It would be best if this could be kept from a scandal,” Adam agreed. He glanced at Melrose. “If you are agreeing to consider this a mutually desired betrothal, then that is how we will proceed. Lily?”
She nodded, not once looking at Melrose. “Very well.” Then she stood up. “May I go upstairs now?”
Adam nodded, but Melrose said, “Lily?”
She paused and in that moment Adam saw the pain she fought to hide. Then with a large breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the man she would marry. “Yes, Mr. Melrose?”
The formality threw him, but he stood as well. “I should like to call upon you tomorrow. If I may.”
She gave a curt nod, but didn’t say anything before nearly fleeing from the room. She left, crossing paths with Cordelia, who strode in, fire in her eyes, looking beautiful and mutinous. She completely ignored Melrose.
“I have selected a husband,” she announced.
Dear God
,
please strike me now
. He was near his breaking point.
Hypatia stepped forward. “We can discuss this later.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” She whipped around, her fury directed at Adam. “I have chosen him, and you will agree to it.”
“I hardly believe your choices have been trustworthy thus far,” he replied, not caring if Melrose sat in the room. He crossed his arms, prepared to argue. “Who is it?”
A calculated smile spread across her face. “Halton.”
“Cordie!” Hypatia cried.
“That will not happen. I told you that already.”
“It’s too late, Adam. I accepted. I wrote him and told him so.”
“Then I will untell him. You are not marrying that man!”
“Will he beat me?” Cordelia asked.
“No, of course not, but that is not the issue.” He may not like the man for his sister, but he knew Halton to be honorable.
“Will he lock me in a room and force to me to darn his socks for eight hours a day?”
“Cordelia, take this seriously.”
“I am taking this seriously. He’s a good man, Adam.”
“But he is... old.” Older than their father would have been, had he lived. And therein lay Adam’s biggest fault with this plan—their father would have not approved.
“If being old is the worst that can be said about Lord Halton, then he’s a better choice than some,” Cordelia said. At that point, she turned and looked directly at Melrose. “I pity my sister for having to marry you.”
Melrose’s jaw clenched. “You set this in motion, Lady Cordelia, when you lied about what you saw.”
“And forced you to live with your choice.”
“That’s enough,” Adam said, disturbed by the obvious emotion still existing between these two. “Melrose, you should leave now. We will work out the details tomorrow.”
Hypatia escorted him to the door, and Adam found himself looking up at the large, looming portrait of his father. It seemed to push back at him, with the knowledge of all that had gone.
Of all the ways that Adam had failed him. Had failed his family.
“I miss him.”
Adam snapped back to the moment, realizing the soft, melancholy words belonged to Cordelia. She stared at the portrait with unwavering attention. “He was bigger than life, wasn’t he?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued on, “He used to snuggle me on his lap when I was little, tell me I was his princess. He would sneak me sweets and tell me of the wonderful life that awaited me.”
“Then why, Cordelia? Why do you want to marry Halton?”
“I know what to expect from him.” Though her emotions were perfectly in check and cool reserve shone from her eyes, Adam realized she’d been hit by what had happened with Melrose and Lily. There were cracks in the armor of her attitude. In the way she held her hands under her elbows, the way her fingers rubbed the elbows as though trying to offer herself comfort.
It had damaged her.
“And we won’t wait,” she added, her chin raising slightly. “I don’t need a big wedding, I don’t want a fuss. Something simple. The banns can be posted immediately, and we can be married in a matter of weeks.”
“Four weddings,” Hypatia said faintly as she came into the room. She put a hand to her heart.
Four bloody weddings. How had that happened? They’d arrived this season without a betrothal in sight, and would end the season married. All of them.
Cordelia and Lily marrying men he didn’t approve of and they didn’t love. Blythe marrying a man she adored, but whom Adam still itched to go a few rounds with.
Then there was Aria. He hadn’t expected to fall in love, nor would he have believed it possible so fast.
But somehow, he thought he was the lucky one.