Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

" I 'm sorry for making your trip uncomfortable, Your Grace, but we need to speak with one another again."

Violet looked up from the seat where she had been callously shoved to see the sober, thoughtful face of Farrell looking down at her. She resisted the urge to spit on it.

"You have made a big mistake," she said as calmly as she could, considering the fear, anger, and shame that were coursing through her. She was in her nightclothes, after all, and in front of a man who wasn't her husband! "My husband is going to have you arrested for this. If he doesn't kill you himself."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Farrell drawled, smiling slightly. "But that is a problem for later. What I'm interested in now is… leverage."

Violet glared at him. "You think that after one of your goons kidnapped me from my room in the middle of the night, tossed me over the back of a horse, and delivered me here to these godforsaken quarters—" The room she was in was part of a house, she'd noticed that as they brought her inside, and not the inn where they'd met Farrell earlier. "Wherever they might be, you think that you are going to have any leverage? "

"Your husband won't want you harmed," Farrell explained, splaying his hands wide.

Violet narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't dare."

That made Farrell laugh. "And what makes you so sure?"

"Because you're not a fool," she said bluntly. "And you know that if I were harmed in any way, nothing could save you from the Duke's wrath."

There was a short silence during which Violet assessed the situation. She wasn't bound to the chair, which was good. And there were windows in the house. Did that mean she might be able to escape later?

Farrell smiled thinly, and her eyes darted back to his. "You're right, Your Grace. I do not mean to harm you. Your presence here is merely to demonstrate my power to the Duke and to help persuade him to see things my way. You see, while you and I know you won't be harmed, I have the impression that your husband will not think rationally about this matter. He is a very passionate man, is he not? And if he is afraid you are in danger, then he will do anything I ask if it guarantees your safe return."

"You overestimate my husband's passion for me," Violet said tartly.

Farrell's eyes gleamed for a moment. "And you underestimate it."

The door to the room opened, and Violet was surprised to see a maid enter with a tray of tea and biscuits. The girl set them down on the table between Violet and Farrell and then left, only to reenter moments later with a stack of dresses. These she set down next to the tea tray before bowing and leaving again.

"I must apologize again for the rough manner you were brought here," Farrell said, pouring her a cup of tea, "but I am here to reassure you that you are my guest in this establishment, and you will be treated with the utmost respect. I had some local women provide these clothes for you, and you will have a lady's maid at your service. Neither is as grand as you are used to, but I trust you will be comfortable here until we meet with your husband tomorrow."

"Does he know where I am?" Violet asked.

"He knows you are in my custody and that you are safe. A letter was left for him at the inn you were staying at. Another will be delivered in the morning, before he can summon the constabulary, with directions on where to meet us. And then we will negotiate. As equals."

"You will never be equal to my husband," Violet spat.

She expected Farrell to respond with anger, but he merely smiled. "In that regard, you are right. After all, I am the illegitimate son of a fishmonger, and he is a duke. That is why I had to resort to such duplicitous means as kidnapping you—to put us on equal footing for the upcoming negotiations. You might not like my tactics, but this is the world we live in. I didn't make the rules. In fact, it's your lot that makes the rules. I just live with them." He grinned. "And bend them to my liking, of course."

Violet sat back in her chair and tried to look as disdainful as possible. "Well, I hope your plan works, for your sake. Because I wouldn't be surprised if the Duke knocks down this door right now and has you cuffed."

"Drink your tea, Your Grace," Farrell said as if he hadn't even heard her. "And then you should get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, after all."

He stood up, bowed, and left, leaving her alone in the room.

Violet looked around. It was a small, shabby bedchamber, with a single bed in the corner. Never in her life had she slept in a place like this, but that wasn't what bothered her. It was being in captivity that made her feel sick with dread. She believed Farrell wouldn't harm her… for now.

But what about when James refuses to give him what he wants? Will he harm me then?

Or what if James did give him what he wanted? That would be even worse.

Violet didn't want to be the reason that Farrell won. Her husband had been willing to sacrifice himself to keep her safe, and she felt the same way about the duchy—she wasn't going to be the reason that people were forced to work for the gang, that they had to pay them so their thugs would not burn down their businesses or houses, or that dogs continued to get killed in fights. And that was as far as her knowledge went. What about the horrors she was not even aware of?

"I have to find a way to escape," she muttered to herself.

But when she opened the door, she saw at least five bodyguards gathered around a fire and drinking beer.

"Do you need something, Yer Grace?" one of them asked, looking up at her.

"N-no, nothing," Violet stammered. She turned on her heel and closed the door behind her.

There will be no escaping.

She didn't sleep a wink that night. Not only was she terrified for herself, but she was distraught at the thought of her mother, sister, and husband looking all over for her.

They must be worried sick.

Worst of all was the guilt. Because now Violet knew that her husband had been right—it had been a mistake for her to come here, and she had talked him into it. Now she was certain that he was blaming himself, and she wished, with all her heart, that she had listened to him.

"We should fetch the constabulary," Lady Carfield said. She was sitting across from James at a table in the inn's dining room, where all of them had gathered as they waited for Farrell's second letter. "They will be able to help us."

"The local constabulary are in Farrell's pocket," James scoffed, without looking at his mother-in-law.

He couldn't bear to look at her. Couldn't bear to see the disappointment and blame that he was sure were there, to know that he had let her down so completely and lost her daughter to a man such as Farrell.

"And there isn't time to ride to London to alert the Bow Street Runners," he added. "I'd have sent Lochs if I thought he would be able to get there in time, but it would only make us more vulnerable when we confronted Farrell."

"Do you think Violet is all right?" Rosalie squeaked from the end of the table, where she was sitting with her legs up in front of her and her arms wrapped around them.

It was an unladylike position, but no one seemed to care. Not with Violet missing.

"Of course, she is, my dear," Lady Carfield declared at once. "Farrell promised he wouldn't harm her."

The letter in which Farrell made this promise was currently sitting on the table in front of James. He looked down at it. Yes, Farrell had promised not to harm his wife, and James believed that the man would keep his word.

Even Farrell isn't that reckless. He knows he isn't that powerful.

But that didn't mean Violet was safe. Things went wrong all the time in situations such as these.

Of course, he didn't say that to his mother and sister-in-law.

Just then, there was a sound of hoofbeats outside, and then several disjointed voices. Seconds later, the door to the dining room burst open and Grimsby walked in, holding up an envelope.

"It's from Farrell," he announced, handing it to James.

James tore open the envelope, his hands shaking slightly as he did.

"We're to meet him at the dog-fighting ring in four hours," he read slowly. "For the lunchtime bout."

"Four hours!" Lady Carfield cried hopefully. "Surely that is enough time to get to London."

"No," James said, "it isn't. Anyway, we need to have both guards here, in case things get ugly. Although under no circumstances are you and Miss Rosalie to be present. I will not risk anything else happening to your family."

"But…" Lady Carfield looked dismayed. "My daughter is in danger! I must be there for her!"

" No ," James repeated, this time with such emphasis that he knew it left no room for argument. "No one else will come to harm because of my… ill-laid plans. My arrogance. You will go to the house of a local farmer I trust, and you will wait there until I return with the Duchess. Is that understood?"

Both Lady Carfield and Rosalie nodded.

Truthfully, there was no one that James trusted at the moment, but he had no other choice. And he couldn't allow for any distractions at the lunchtime bout.

His hands crumpled the letter.

Not if I am going to destroy Farrell.

The moment James entered the dog fighting pit, he looked for his wife.

And there she was, sitting primly in a drab but respectable dress and pelisse, in the stands around the pit, at the right-hand side of Farrell.

James felt his hands clench into fists at the sight of the gang boss sitting next to his wife, engaging her in polite conversation.

"That's right, Violet, don't respond," he muttered to himself as he saw his wife coldly look away from Farrell when he asked her a question. It made him glad to see that the feistiness she so often displayed with him was also very present when she was in the company of such a dangerous and despicable man.

"Your Grace!" Farrell exclaimed, catching sight of James. "You have arrived!" He stood up and made his way down the stands, extending his hand. "How glad I am to see you."

James noted that Farrell didn't bow to him, as was customary for a commoner when greeting a member of the aristocracy. But he knew this was just another powerplay.

Under different circumstances, he would have refused to shake hands with this man, but James could feel the eyes of all the onlookers on him.

My tenants are curious to see how I will treat him. And Farrell wants me to behave ungentlemanly. That's why he has Violet sitting up there. He's antagonizing me, trying to show my people that I cannot treat someone lower than me with respect.

So even though it took a great deal of effort, James grasped Farrell's hand and shook it. Surprise momentarily flickered in the gang boss's eyes, but then it was gone.

"Farrell," James uttered. "We meet again. But before we discuss anything, I require a word with my wife."

"But of course." Farrell gestured to Violet. "Although I must insist that you speak to her here so that I can be sure you will not run with her."

James wanted to punch the man, but he controlled himself.

As if I could run with my own wife! He's the one who kidnapped her.

"Of course," he agreed stiffly and then followed Farrell up the stands to where Violet was sitting.

Was he imagining it, or did his wife look relieved—even happy—to see him?

"James," she whispered as he sat down next to her. Her voice sounded choked. "You came."

"Of course, I came," James murmured.

This close to her, he could smell her signature scent and feel the warmth of her skin, and it took everything in him not to close his eyes and breathe her in.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"

"Not at all. Farrell is a man of his word—at least in this regard. I haven't been harmed."

Relief flooded James, and he took her hand. "I am happy to hear that. I have been so worried."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she squeezed his hand. "James, I want to apologize. You were right when you said it was too dangerous for me to come here. I have been foolish and arrogant. With the threat of my father looming over our heads, I didn't take the threat from Farrell seriously enough. It's my fault that this has happened, and I'm deeply sorry."

"It is not your fault," James reassured her at once, his heart clenching with agony at the thought of her blaming herself. "It is mine. I am your husband, and I should have protected you better. I have failed you, Violet…"

"You have not failed me," she said so earnestly that he almost believed her. "And I know you will find us a way out of this."

"I will," he promised. "Farrell's kidnapping you was a foolish and desperate move. I believe that the townsfolk will turn on him for it—they will not support him for threatening my wife."

"Do you really think you can get them on our side?"

"I do," he said, nodding.

If anything, Violet's kidnapping had given him a surge of confidence. He could do this—for the townsfolk, for the dogs, and, most importantly, for her.

"I…" Violet bit her lip, then flushed. "I believe in you, James."

Warmth spread through his chest, and he kissed her hand.

"Just do not give in to his demands," she murmured. "I don't want you to give up your lifelong dream of cleaning up the duchy because of my foolishness."

James shook his head. "You are very brave, Violet, but you must know that if push came to shove, I would choose you over the duchy."

His wife's lips parted in surprise, and he understood that until this moment, she had not known that.

He squeezed her hand. "You are my wife," he murmured. "And that means everything to me."

"Well, I assume you have a plan," she said, "so hopefully it will not come to that."

"No," he uttered grimly, clenching his jaw. "It won't."

"All right, that's enough," Farrell said abruptly behind them, and they turned to see him scowling down at them.

James released Violet's hand and then glanced around. What he saw filled him with hope. All around, the townspeople were watching them and whispering amongst themselves, their expressions concerned and kind. A few of the women were misty-eyed, while several of the men were glaring at Farrell.

James's heart leaped.

Farrell's plan is backfiring on him!

Violet's Kidnapping had roused the townsfolk's sympathy for him, he was sure of it. They could imagine how they would feel, being separated from their wives, and they believed, as he did, that one should never harm another man's wife—let alone a lady—no matter what their differences were.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Farrell boomed suddenly, turning to the audience with a wide smile on his face. He clearly hadn't noticed their looks of anger. "Welcome to today's dog fight! As you may have noticed, we have two honorable guests with us today—the Duke and Duchess of Attorton. They have joined us here today to see how our little operation works, and we are delighted to have them with us."

There was a smattering of applause, but from the sour look on Farrell's face, it was much less than he was used to. The townsfolk were still looking at him with stony expressions, and his confidence seemed to waver under their disapproval.

"But let us not tarry on pleasantries, or waste time when your money is on the line. Bring in the first dogs!" he called out, clapping his hands together.

The doors on each side of the pit opened, and two men came out, one from each side, both leading a dog by a leash. One was tall and lean, fast-looking and powerful, while the other was short, stout, and savage-looking.

The moment the dogs saw each other, they began barking. Spit was flying from the shorter one's mouth, and its eyes looked wild. James wondered how long it had been starved, and how many times it had been beaten, to make it so angry and desperate to attack.

He felt his stomach twist, and he thought he was going to be sick. This was always how he'd felt when he attended dog fights in his youth with his father. And when he glanced at Violet, she had an equally repulsed look on her face.

He made up his mind in a flash. Jumping up from his seat, he leaped down the stands and then turned to face the crowd. Farrell's eyes narrowed, and James saw him cast a look at several bodyguards stationed around the edge, as if to say, Be ready to seize him.

"Mr. Farrell!" James called out in his loudest and most commanding voice. "For too long you have ruled this duchy, matching dogs against one another and making them fight to the death! For too long you have extorted my people and profited off their honest labor! For too long you have allowed dogs to die while you count coins in the stands. And for too long you have hidden behind these fights, sure that you were too powerful for me to stop you.

"But I say, enough is enough! I am not afraid of you, and you are not too powerful for me. Therefore I have a proposition for you—prove your strength against mine, and meet me now, in this ring, for a fight!"