Music for My Soul (28 page)

There would be no escape this time, no hope to sustain her. She’d lost the love of her life. She hadn’t the will, much less the strength, to go on. Unless Garrett was by her side, she had no wish to live anymore.

If she were lucky, she could prod Henri to kill her quickly.

“Do you seek revenge, Henri?” she taunted. “Were you embarrassed in front of your friends for having a wife run off? Did you—”

The kick was swift and vicious, striking her in her ribcage, knocking the breath from her. Pain burst throughout her body, but she kept her mouth closed. She would not give him the pleasure of hearing her cries.

“
Fermez la bouche
!”

Henri twisted his mouth in a semblance of a smile. “Your lover cannot help you now,” he said menacingly. “Only I can, Madeleine. Confess your sins to me, and I will try to make things right for you with God.”

She tried to quell the mounting hysteria in order to answer him calmly. “The only sin found in this room is with you, Henri. You’ve shown me no love, nor mercy, and you have beaten me in anger. That is your sin, not mine.”

The evil smile still played upon his thin, cruel lips. “I know what you do, Madeleine, and you will not tempt me. We shall do this slowly, methodically, so it will be carried out correctly. In fact, we must exact punishment repeatedly for God to be satisfied.”

Madeleine groaned in pain, keeping her whimpering to herself. Henri had left her on the cold stone floor, unable to move when it was done. He’d promised there would be more.

If this was God’s judgment upon her for breaking her vows, so be it. Henri had said that he was taking her home to France. She would simply kill herself at sea, fling herself into the murky waters and find death. She knew by taking her own life she would be damned forever, but it seemed a small price to pay to escape Henri de Picassaret.

Chapter 23

Garrett leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, and stretched lazily, counting the moments till Madeleine returned from the market. His leg was stiff, but he’d incurred far worse injuries in battle. There’d been several nasty wounds over the years, the most severe given to him by a wayward Scot. A slice to the thigh rated as low as a slight bump on the head. But he’d let Madeleine fuss over him because he enjoyed her ministrations.

He could not wait till she was back in his bed.

He’d never been so taken with a woman before, but then Madeleine wasn’t just any woman. He knew that unraveling her layers would take most of this lifetime and on into the next. He looked forward to every minute of it.

Together, they would deal with their problems. He was sure she had been ready to confide in him before Maude interrupted them. Soon he would learn where she came from and the name of the man that had so cruelly mistreated her. As for Lynnette, that mystery would also be solved. He only had to return to Stanbury and confront Barth. Then he could begin to piece together the puzzle of his wife’s disappearance.

Had she truly left him for a lover, or would Barth reveal a different story? Was there a possibility that Lynnette could be dead?

It was hard for him to remember now just what they’d shared together. He’d always been satisfied with Lynnette as his wife. She’d been a bit meek in their lovemaking, but he’d assumed that’s how it was with all ladies of good breeding. She’d brought him considerable wealth, and most importantly, Lissa—a treasure more precious than gold or land.

Madeleine had changed everything, though. The happiness he thought he’d found in his marriage was a pale shadow against the passion he had for this songstress. Madeleine possessed a fire that lit his soul, and Garrett knew this as true love. It went beyond even the physical love they’d made, which was full of heat in itself. No, he desired her in every way imaginable. He could not
—would not
—live without her.

But where was she? He was hungry for her, as well as his noon meal. She’d been gone far too long in his opinion. He stood from his comfortable position in the velvet chair, pushing the footstool aside.

He might have known with Maude involved in the marketing it would take longer than usual. The woman drove a harder bargain than his business manager ever dreamed pursuing. If he were smart, he would put Maude in charge of the selling of his wines. Garrett was sure the Hanseatic ports had never seen the likes of a Maude in all their tradings.

He stretched his stiff muscles, glad to move about now that he was up. A brief smile crossed his lips. He would fetch Ebony and head to the market. He was sure to meet up with them. Maude could return here, for it would take time to prepare their meal. He could wander about London a bit with Madeleine in his arms.

He grinned again. The thought of her pressed against him as Ebony slowly moved through the streets warmed his blood. Garrett was grateful now that she had sold his horse when she’d reached town, for she’d need to ride with him on the return trip to Stanbury. He could almost feel her soft curves, smell her sweet scent.

He donned his cloak and hurried outside, barely favoring his leg now and called for John to saddle Ebony.

As he started toward town, he decided that he would kiss her soundly, first thing, because he would ache until he did so. He wanted her now more than he ever had. He didn’t think he could ever get enough of her.

The streets near midday were teeming. He glanced back and forth as he approached the market, disappointed not to spot Madeleine on her return trip.

Suddenly, he heard Maude’s cry. Panic rose in him instantly when he spied his servant rushing toward him, Madeleine nowhere in sight. He leapt off Ebony as she approached.

Hair askew, Maude’s alarm was written across her face. “Oh, my lord, my lord. You must do something.” She clutched Garrett’s arm. “She’s gone!”

For a moment, Garrett’s heart sank. She’d left him again. This time it was for good.

Then Maude burst into tears. “I didn’t see it. I couldn’t stop it! Oh, my lord, forgive me. She’s all sweetness and sunshine, and I know how she loves you so. You must get her back. You must!”

“What mean you?”

His servant angrily wiped her tears away. “The man, my lord. The man who took her. You must find her. He will kill her.”

“Who? What happened?”

Maude shook her head. “Come with me, Lord Montayne. They can tell you better than I. Old James saw some of it.”

She turned and ran through the crowd, tiny as a child, darting in and out. Garrett followed quickly, urging Ebony along with the reins, his eyes on Maude the entire way.

The strong stench of fish permeated the air as Maude stopped in front of a stall and motioned him over.

“This be Old James, my lord. He saw it.”

Garrett faced a man with a ruddy complexion. “What did you see? Where is Madeleine?”

“We be all talkin’ ‘bout he!” James exclaimed. “The way he grabbed her. ‘Twas the most excitement I’ve seen in a good number o’ years.” He paused, a crowd gathering around his stall. “I wuz doing my business wi’ Maude here, and from the corner o’ my eye, I saw that man. A gentleman, he was.” James frowned. “Something not quite right ‘bout him, though.”

A woman with straggly, mud-colored hair pushed her way to the front. “I saw, too, my lord. I saw it all.” Her eyes gleamed expectantly. “For a coin or two, I could tell ye more.” She held out her hand to Garrett, confident he would pay.

He reached into his purse with an unsteady hand. He should never have let Madeleine out of his sight. Handing over the coin, he prodded the stranger. “Go on.”

She shrank back a moment as she caught the look he gave her. She swallowed once before she began. “He were tall, my lord, and as skinny around as my finger here.” She stuck it up to show Garrett for good measure. “He had a bulging stomach, though, like he was carrying a babe. Gray hair, too, and a terrible, evil grin.”

A raw chill ran through him. A perfect description of Henri de Picassaret.

The woman warmed to her story now. The crowd pressed closer. “Fair rattled her teeth, he did. Slapped her so hard I thought her head would snap off.”

“And hit her again!” cried another voice. “She went down fast after that.”

Garrett fumed. “And none of you came to her aid?”

The group froze at his tone. The woman who’d stepped forward said, “He were gentry. The likes of us know better than to interfere.”

Garrett’s gaze swept over the shabbily dressed crowd, and they quickly melted away.

Only Maude and James remained, and James spoke softly. “Happened so fast, my lord. One minute they’re here, and the next the old devil’d dragged her off. ‘Twere none o’ our business.” The fish seller crossed himself for good measure.

Garrett mounted Ebony. He had no time to waste. Without a backward glance, he made for Lord Fenton’s. When he’d last met with de Picassaret in London, it had been there. He only prayed Fenton had again played host to the Frenchman.

He rode like a madman through the narrow streets, shouting warnings to those who crossed his path.

Madeleine’s abuser had found her. It was de Picassaret all along.

Now the truth stood before him. Henri’s own wife had run from him. And that wife had been Madeleine.

She had tried to put him off when she spoke of the sanctity of marriage vows. She’d been speaking of her own vows with Henri. Garrett’s love for her—both physically and emotionally—must have torn her apart.

Yet she loved him. He was certain of it. They had a spiritual connection that ran greater than the physical. He had promised himself he would find the man who’d tortured his woman, who’d marred not only her body but her soul. He would kill the bastard before he let him touch her again.

But would he be too late?

He reached Fenton’s in a quarter of an hour. No groom was in sight to take his winded horse. He looped Ebony’s reins to a post and dashed to the door. He rapped the knocker in a steady stream. When no one answered, he beat on the door with his fists.

“Open up!”

He’d about given up hope when the door opened a slit. A young boy of eight or nine poked his head out.

“No one’s here, my lord. Lord and Lady Fenton be gone to the country. Can’t help ye none.”

He started to close the door, but Garrett forced his boot in. “I’m here to see Monsieur de Picassaret. My name is Montayne.”

The boy looked at him now in recognition and smiled. “Ye be the owner of the dark beauty.”

Garrett had seen the admiring glances the lad had given his horse the last time he was here. “Yes, my horse is named Ebony.”

The child relaxed a bit and opened the door to him, motioning him to come in. “The Frenchman be gone, my lord. I heard him tell me mum that they was going home to France.”

“Where is your mother?”

“She went to Bessie’s to help her ha’ a babe. She helps with birthings all the time,” he said with pride.

Garrett knew it would be hard to track the woman down. He must get what he could from the boy. “Was he leaving for France today?”

The boy screwed his eyes closed for a minute. “I dunno. Maybe. I think his servant said somethin’ ‘bout Tuesday.”

“Tomorrow,” Garrett said aloud. He tossed the lad a coin and started down the steps. If Henri had already left Fenton’s, he’d most likely be down on the waterfront, especially if his ship were leaving on the morning tide. Garrett prayed he would find them there.

He mounted Ebony. The youngster called out to him. “Tell his wife I hope she gets all better.”

Garrett whirled around. “What did you say?” he demanded, reining in so suddenly that Ebony reared under him. “Speak, boy!”

The child took a step back, his eyes round. “She be in a bad way. She fell down the stairs. She couldn’t even walk. The valet had to carry her.”

Wheeling his horse in a tight circle, Garrett spurred him through the gate. Between Fenton’s and the waterfront he saw nothing but a blur of colors, felt nothing but the pounding pulse of his anger.

He would kill de Picassaret.

At the office of the harbormaster, Raleigh greeted him. “Already back, m’lord? I’ve not seen the lady in question.”

Garrett shook his head as he caught his breath. “Which ship leaves for France tomorrow?”

“
The Avril
. It sails at sunrise.”

“Check the manifest for Henri de Picassaret.”

Raleigh burst out laughing. “No need to do that. Seems the man bought half of England while he was here. Wouldn’t surprise me if’n the ship sank under the weight he carries back.”

“Do you know where he stays?”

Raleigh cocked his head to one side as he thought. “I’d venture The Wild Duck.”

“Tend my horse.”

Garrett hurried through the seedy side streets near the port. He reached the inn quickly and inquired which rooms belonged to Henri de Picassaret.

“Not here. Went out wi’ his servant.”

Garrett slapped a gold coin on the table. “Which rooms?”

The innkeeper appraised him for a moment, scratching his scraggly beard. “I could let ye wait in his rooms.” He quickly pocketed the money, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “That’s a possibility.”

He handed Garrett a key and pointed toward a rickety staircase. “Up those. Last room on the left.”

Garrett mounted the creaking stairs and continued to the far end of the unlit corridor. He slipped the key into the lock and slowly pushed open the door.

The light from a dirty window revealed a lumpy bed and a stack of trunks. There was no sign of Madeleine. He couldn’t imagine Henri staying in such a place for very long.

Garrett moved toward the trunks stacked in disarray near the corner. Behind them, under a dirty blanket on the floor, he spied movement. Reaching over the trunks, he gently lifted the blanket.

He stared at the pile of rags for a moment before recognizing an arm, then a tumble of hair. His stomach lurched. He quickly hauled away the trunks around her and knelt down.

Madeleine lay on the floor, a small pool of sticky blood under her face. How he recognized her, he wasn’t sure. Filth matted her long, golden hair. A mass of bruises covered her face. Blood trickled from her nose. One eye had completely swollen shut. Around her throat were deep purple contusions evenly spaced, as if someone had tried to choke the very life from her.