Winter sunlight filtered through the thinning trees. The edge of the ravine was ahead. Garrick clutched the knife and made his move. It took only five long strides to reach Victoria. He slammed his shoulder into the man’s arm and sent him reeling to the side.
Victoria tumbled to the ground with a grunt. Garrick forced himself not to glance in her direction. If the man happened to kill Garrick, she would be next. John swung a meaty fist around. Garrick dipped to the right, but the punch caught the edge of his jaw. Pain exploded.
The man was on Garrick before he fully recovered, grappling for the knife. Garrick broke the hold John had on his wrist and stabbed upward. The point met flesh, and Garrick drove the knife deeper. John’s eyes widened, and his grip loosened. He staggered backward into a tree and slid to the ground, still propped against the trunk, his legs splayed wide.
Breathing hard, Garrick watched the life leak from the man, then he shook himself free of the icy fury that held him in its grip. Victoria lay on her stomach, her hair out of its pins and in her face.
Garrick fell to his knees and helped her to sit, brushing her hair back with a shaking hand. A bruise was forming on her temple, and she was scratched and dirty, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.
“My arms. Can you cut me loose?” Her pain reverberated to him.
Garrick returned to the dead man, pulled the knife free and wiped the blood off as best he could on the dead leaves at his feet. He sawed through the rope binding her wrists. As it began to give and her arms moved, she groaned.
“Easy now. Let me help,” he said softly, chafing her arms. “How are your hands?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t feel them.”
He peeled off her gloves and found her hands swollen and unnaturally white. “I’m afraid this is going to be deuced uncomfortable.”
He rubbed her hands between his, stimulating blood flow and offering her his warmth. She bit her bottom lip and grimaced, but didn’t cry out. After several minutes of his ministrations, her hands had turned pink, and she could open and close her fingers.
“John is dead?” It was a surprise to hear a hint of grief in her voice.
Garrick glanced over his shoulder. “He is. Are you sorry I killed him?”
“I suppose a quick death is better than the spectacle of being hanged.” She looked to where their hands were clasped together. “I do feel sorry for him though. Does that make me weak?”
“It makes you human. Do you reserve the same sympathy for Mrs. Leighton?”
“Did you… kill her also?”
“No. I spoke to her briefly to ascertain your whereabouts, but my guess is your father has her in custody.”
“I was scared,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“I was too,” he admitted.
Her gaze darted up. “I didn’t think anything could rattle you.”
“Losing you could.” He took a deep breath, wanting to say more but knowing he shouldn’t. “Let’s get you back to the house and into a bath.”
He rose and helped Victoria to her feet. She swayed, and her face paled. Before she could slide back to the ground, Garrick wrapped an arm around her and brought her to his body.
“I’m so dizzy.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.
“No wonder, considering you were hauled upside down over a man’s shoulder like a sack of grain.” He scooped her into his arms and picked his way through the trees. “That knock on your head isn’t helping matters. I’ll make certain you are examined by a physician.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and trembled in his arms. “I was a mistake.”
“Pardon?”
“A mistake. They meant to abduct Eleanor from the Bear and the Crown, not me. It was never a plot involving Father.”
“Why Lady Eleanor?”
“Mrs. Leighton is in love with Lord Berkwith and thought to eliminate her competition.”
“That was an extremely risky, not to mention foolish, plan.”
“She was desperate. Her hands are arthritic. She won’t be able to carry on as a milliner for much longer.”
Garrick didn’t say what he was thinking. No matter the state of her hands, Mrs. Leighton wouldn’t make another bonnet.
“Will they show mercy?” she asked.
Garrick wasn’t sure who “they” referred to. Sir Hawkins? The magistrate? Garrick felt none of the compassion Victoria struggled with. Mrs. Leighton had sentenced Victoria to die. “She’ll get what she deserves.”
The woods were growing sparser, and a dark gray tower of the house came into view. Victoria had gone limp in his arms, her head lolling on his shoulder. He shook her slightly, and she roused, her eyes heavy-lidded.
“You can’t go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“But I’m so tired.”
“I know, but it could be dangerous.” Head wounds were tricky and unpredictable. He lengthened his stride and ignored the burn in his shoulders and arms. He would carry her back to London if he must.
She touched his cheek, drawing his gaze to hers. “Am I truly your sweetheart?”
The terror and fury of the past hour had stripped away any pretense. “You’re my love. My life.”
She blinked slowly and smiled before slipping back into a stupor. A shot of fear quickened his steps. He cleared the trees and jogged across the lawn toward the front of the house.
A footman met him on the graveled drive. “Sir! Is that the missing lady?”
Garrick was out of breath. “Summon a physician. Bring hot water, clean cloth, and smelling salts to Miss Hawkins’s room. Find her father, Sir Hawkins, and send him up.”
The footman nodded and scampered off. Garrick clattered into the house. Several ladies emerged from the drawing room, Lady Eleanor included.
“Oh, Victoria!” Lady Eleanor cried before half collapsing in her mother’s arms. “I must see her.”
Garrick had not the time nor patience to deal with hysterical young women. He ignored the crowd and took the steps two at a time, finally reaching Victoria’s room. He lay her on the bed and made a quick examination of her head. The contusion was swelling outward, which he knew from experience was a positive sign.
A wide-eyed maid hustled in with a basin of steamy water, clean white linen, and a kit with a small supply of medicines. She set it on the stand next to the bed. Garrick nodded his thanks and uncorked the smelling salts.
One pass of the vial under Victoria’s nose roused her. She took his wrist and pushed the vial away, but didn’t immediately release him. Her grip was reassuringly strong. “Where am I?”
“In your room at Barclay Manor. You’re safe.”
“I was safe the moment you found me.”
Her words were like arrows shot straight into his heart. He had survived loss, and he would survive losing her, but he would walk the earth a ghost. Victoria would always have the best of him.
The door banged open, and Sir and Lady Hawkins strode toward the bed. Garrick extricated himself and stepped aside, stoppering the smelling salts.
“My darling girl.” Lady Hawkins sat on the edge of the bed and kissed Victoria’s cheek.
Sir Hawkins joined Garrick. “We found the woman. What happened to the brother?”