Chapter 3

The chill is the only thing keeping the nausea at bay. The incessant prattle of my new sisters helps with the panic. They verbally spar with each other, reminding me of my sister back at Overton. Tears prick my eyes, but this time it"s happiness.

Seeing her those short weeks ago reassured me she was well. Despite Mr. Beaumont's lies, my sister grows stronger each day. In truth, her health has always been on my mind. She still looks so frail, so delicate despite the hearty timber in her voice. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I wonder if it's all for show.

Could she be putting on a brave front for Mother and me? I sincerely hope not. However, it is quite possible being so secluded in the countryside has made it possible for her to recover. It is, after all, the reason the dowager duchess is making her way toward home.

"You have a sister, do you not?" the matronly woman asks, her eyes kind. "I saw her briefly before leaving your wedding breakfast."

"Yes. She is a few years younger than me."

"She has your mother's eyes and your sense of spirit. I can tell these things about people you know. One might say I'm near clairvoyant."

"Oh, Mama," Lady Margaret chides. "You are not. No one says you're clairvoyant. Meddling, perhaps."

The older woman narrows her eyes. "It will be my meddling ways that secure you a good match. Come now, how can you doubt my abilities? Did I not say William would succumb this season?"

"You did," the younger sister pipes up. "But you also said Robert would take an arrow to the knee. And yet, there he sits astride with nary a projectile to be seen."

"Silly child. That's what you get for listening at keyholes. To take an arrow to the knee simply means-"

"Halt!" Blackport's voice rings out. "Who goes there?"

My heart thumps painfully in my chest as my vision wavers. It's happening again. That same sense of dread which clung to me like a shroud when Mr. Beaumont had me in his grasp now covers me, suffocating me. I reach out into the bond to alert William that something is amiss. However, there's nothing but silence.

In all honesty, that worries me far greater than whatever threat is coming. He never shields from me unless he himself is in danger or needs to concentrate. What could be happening to him to cause this disruption, and does it have anything to do with the peril at hand?

"Oh," my brother-in-law continues, his voice taking on an oddly stilted quality. "It is but a highwayman bent on causing harm. However shall we defend ourselves from such a farce- I mean force." Blackport bends low and looks into the landau. "Steel yourselves, women, for we are about to be beset. But worry not. For I shall defend you."

There's something peculiar in the way he speaks to us. It's as if he's bored by the whole affair and putting on some act. In truth, I've seen many plays with far better acting, even at a discounted price.

It's reminiscent, in fact, of how some of the women at The Rose and Thorne used to talk about their conquests. They played them out with the same aplomb and gravitas, only to dissolve into a pile of giggles. The Duke of Blackport, however, does not seem so inclined to fall into a fit of laughter.

In fact, I've only seen him smile a handful of times. There must be something else at work. Perhaps he's putting on a front to lull the ruffian into a sense of ease before striking? None of this makes sense.

All it does is twist my insides as thoughts and counter-thoughts collide, leaving me breathless and nauseated. Running my hand over my stomach, I command the small breakfast I had mere hours ago to stay put. Casting up my accounts will not aid this situation in the slightest.

Across from us, the sisters sit huddled together, the acrid stench of fear rolling off of them. The governess, though clearly frightened herself, holds herself in front, acting as a shield for whomever is set to attack. Her limbs tremble as she holds her arms out, making herself appear larger than she is.

Next to me, however, the dowager duchess seems almost amused. Her eyes glimmer as she cranes her neck to look outside. How can she be so calm at a time like this?

Sliding my fingers up and over my corset, I dip them inside to where the small knife lies sheathed against my breastbone. If need be, I'll be the one to keep a clear head. Ever since William got me out of the clutches of that madman, he's been instructing me on basic self-defense.

Right now, touching that metal hilt is the only thing keeping me from spiraling out of control. My breaths still come in ragged gasps, but at least I'm still coherent, cognizant of what's going on around me. In fact, if William could see me now, I'm sure he'd be proud.

Turning my way, the dowager duchess gives me an affected frown, the mirth in her eyes not matching the seriousness of her expression. "Whatever shall we do? What if poor Robert cannot defend us? Why, the highwayman might strip us of our jewels or worse, our-" she pauses, glancing over at her daughters as they hang on every word. "Or our… dignity. Yes. Dignity is an appropriate word."

Dignity, such a small word compared to the enormity of what she's implying. I'm no longer na?ve or innocent like they are. I am quite capable of comprehending what she's not saying. If this highwayman finds us lacking in the treasures department, then our flesh might suffice.

I can't do this again. I cannot go through with another man taking a part of me he has no claim to. When Mr. Beaumont marked me, I longed for death. Could this blackguard do the same or worse?

Gripping my fingers into fists, I allow a small bit of madness to take over. Just for a moment, enough to give me a modicum of relief from the present situation. As my vision hazes over, I rest in the soft hum of the bond.

Whatever may happen, William will find me. He always does. Besides, if I can handle the agony of a shattered bond, I'm sure I can live through another. Shaking my head, I pull myself out of my stupor. I cannot allow myself the freedom to drift away from the situation. Not when there are other, far more innocent women who can be taken advantage of.

Glancing over at the dowager duchess, I note her expression. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or delirium threatening to take hold of me again, but it seems as if the older woman is nearly glowing, bursting with anticipation. It's as if she knows something but isn't revealing it. Granted, with the way the younger girls huddle in on themselves, perhaps she's attempting to be optimistic for their sakes?

If only it would work on me. Instead, it does the complete opposite. Now, instead of just worrying about some rogue highwayman, I'm concerned for her health. Could she be descending into depths of delirium? I long to cry out to Blackport, to warn him of his mother's potential condition, but I dare not drag his attention away from the foe about to beset us.

"It will be quite all right, Elizabeth," the older woman nods. "Robert is an expert at dispatching with unpleasantries. He will protect us."

"Yes, but…your vision."

Her face crinkles for a moment, as if unsure of what the younger sister is talking about. "What do you mean, child? What vision?"

"About Robert," she wails, burying her head in her hands. "Is this where he takes an arrow to the knee? Will he even still be able to defend us while crippled in such a way?"

For a moment, silence descends on the interior of the landau. The dowager duchess blinks at Lady Elizabeth before dissolving into a peal of laughter. "Oh child, how I envy that imagination of yours."

Before I can interrupt, to explain what this phrase means, the door opens, revealing Blackport's face. I search his eyes, looking for some reassurance, but finding none. His lips thin as he peers in at us. "We are beset," he grumbles, his tone still devoid of any actual inflection. "We will not make it out of here with our lives."

Next to me, the dowager duchess throws her hand over her eyes and flops backward, as if in a faint. "Oh my. Whatever shall we do? This cannot be the end."

Suspicion niggles at my brain as I watch the theatrics before me. Neither she nor Blackport have even a whiff of fear coming off of them. It's as if they knew this was going to happen and are merely playing their part. While the older woman moans and rocks back and forth, Blackport looks off down the road, his expression more bored and annoyed than actually concerned.

"Oh. Oh my," he cries out, rolling his eyes. "You have cornered us. Whatever shall we do?"

"Your sword," Lady Margaret shrieks out. "Use your bloody sword!"

"Language," the governess, Blackport, and the dowager duchess cry out at the same time.

For a moment, Blackport's gaze drifts over to the governess, where he locks eyes on her. "If you are to be their guardian, then I expect her mouth to remain pristine. I never want to hear another oath fall from her lips. Are we of an accord?"

"Yes, Your Grace," she whispers, her face turning crimson.

"I take no issue with filling your mouth with a cake of soap if I catch her saying something like that again."

I blink as I watch the interaction between the two. Blackport seems to cast aside all notions of a highwayman so he can be a demanding oaf. Unfortunately, it's made all the worse as a slight tendril of arousal drifts off of her. From there, her blush becomes even redder, as if she's fully aware we know the effect his words have on her.

"Oh, Robert. Be kind to the poor girl. After all, are we not beset with a madman descending upon us?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, you are quite right." Clearing his throat, he pulls away from the door and draws his sword. "Behold. It is he. Come forth and fight me like a man or slither off like the coward you are."

The man draws into view as the dowager duchess alternates between gripping her hands and pressing them against her heart. "Oh, shall we yet be saved? Shall Robert keep this ruffian at bay?"

Before I can remark, a familiar scent teases my nose. William! Though he's cloaked in a garment I've never seen before, I know the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his hips anywhere. He moves with a fluid grace, brandishing his sword high in the air.

"I have come for your bounty," he roars, my heart flipping at the decadent sound.

"There is no bounty to be found," Robert intones, his voice flat and despondent.

It confirms what I was hoping for all along. They did know about it. Now that I'm certain it's my husband and not some stranger set to defile me, I can breathe easier. More importantly, I can now play along.

"Stand aside. I shall judge for myself whether or not there is a prize to be found in this landau."

"No. You will have to get through me first." At this point, Blackport seems so bored with it all, unable to even muster the strength to put in a good fight.

However, to the sisters, this is all too real. They stare out of the windows and watch, their mouths agape. There's no way this will not affect them. I'm not sure how they will feel after the farce is revealed, but for now, it's as if they see their lives flashing before their eyes.

Unfortunately, I'm unable to comfort them as the sound of metal upon metal rings out. I watch, transfixed, as my husband and his brother spar. With William's mouth covered like it is, I can't see the smile on his face, but the crinkle around his green eyes tells me everything I need to know.

More than that, the bond hums between us, nearly sizzling with sexual tension as he glances my way. Lust pours over me, hot and heady as he steps in for the attack. Though I'm not sure how long this interlude between the two was supposed to play out, Blackport seems to just want it over with.

Raising his arm, he allows William to slide the sword home, pretending as if he has been struck down. "Oh, life. Oh, horror. Shall I now die while my family is ravaged? I shall haunt you from beyond the grave."

His speech is without flourish, delivered as dryly as the cook reading off her list of needed ingredients. Still though, the sisters buy into the act as tears stream down their cheeks. Next to them, the governess simply watches on, her brows furrowing as she watches Blackport twitch in a far more dramatic flair than his words.

William storms over, sending his mother into a flurry of false hysterics. She rocks back and forth, clutching at her fichu as she mumbles a prayer to the heavens. Unable to contain myself, I throw my body over hers and look up at my husband.

"Oh please, Sir. Spare us. You may have whatever you like. Just spare us."

He pokes his head into the landau and looks at each of us before spearing me with a heated glance. "I am after only the finest of treasure. What baubles do you carry?"

"Sir, we are without decoration, as you can plainly see. Just some women heading off to the country to take in the good air."

I look over at the sisters who still sob and quake. Can they not smell their brother? Are they so far gone they can't even recognize his voice? I would laugh, but it would ruin the scene he set up.

"If you have nothing for me, then I shall have to take one of you instead. What about that younger one? She seems strong enough to cook and clean for me."

At the very mention of doing chores, Lady Elizabeth howls a heart-rending cry to the heavens. This has certainly gone on long enough.

"Pray, good sir. Take me in her stead. I will work hard for you. If, indeed, hard work is what you require."

"I'm sure I can find other ways to make you useful. Come. I shall look at you in the light of the golden sun, unmarred by the trappings of this landau."

His mother reaches out for me, her fingers digging into my arm. "Do not sacrifice yourself. What about William? Whatever will he do without you?"

"Oh, I think he can manage. I've spent far too many days in his presence and long for a change of scenery."

"Clearly, Madam," he growls out. "You do not know a good thing when you have it."

"In truth, my good sir, he was beginning to bore me. I'd much rather give up my life in sacrifice than live cloistered away." Looking over at Lady Elizabeth, I gather her hand in mine. "I do this for you. Do not let my sacrifice be in vain."

Stepping over the dowager duchess, I give her a conspiratorial wink and open the door. Before I can step out, William's warm hands wrap around my waist, dragging me against the hard planes of his body.

"Please," I cry out as he carries me away. "Do not forget me. Allow my memory to stay poignant on your lips."