“One thief was only too happy to talk about the people he’d seen going in and out of Mr Preston’s office, including a woman dressed as a boy, on the arm of a duke. The same duke your carriage went to later that day.”
Francis cursed again. He had been so certain that they had managed to lose the man that followed them through the streets, clearly, they had not been careful enough.
He took a step forward, away from Josiah and Diana.
“Where is Phoebe?” he said with an insistent tone.
“That is none of your business.”
“It is my business! It is the point of my being now.” Francis shouted the words, not caring that they echoed back at him off the walls of the inn. “I will not let you take her away!”
“Really? You think you can stop me?” Lord Ridlington said with a smirk of derision as he turned the pistol back to Francis.
* * *
“No, no, this cannot be possible,” Phoebe said as the man before her released his hand from her mouth. “Father? What are you doing here?”
The last time she had seen him was at the assembly where she had decided to flee her husband’s house and hide within Hayward’s home. Her father had been uninterested in her even that night, not caring for her beyond insulting her. Now he was here? Having crept into her chamber at an inn in the countryside?
“What is there not to understand? Stupid girl,” he said with venom and took hold of her wrists, dragging her out of the bed. She half fell out, landing on her knees in such a way that she yelped in pain. “You have betrayed the name of your family, betrayed your husband. You went on the run and have been hiding with a duke? Did you think I would never find out?”
“I did not care if you found out!” she cried in truth. “I do not want to stay married to Graham –”
She was cut off from saying anymore as he used his grasp on her wrists to drag her to her feet. In the darkness around them, she couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, nor the tightened skin around his face, but she could see his slicked hair was coming undone in his wildness.
“Do you think you remotely have a choice in the matter?” he said, spitting with the words. “You are going home. Now.”
“No!” She fought against him, trying to be free, but he didn’t let her escape and he was too strong. It didn’t matter how much she fought against that grasp, the pincer like grip around her wrists was unrelenting, pinning her in place. “I will not go back to him, Father. Why would you take me back there? Why are you helping him? I am miserable there!”
“I agreed you were to marry him.Youcannot undo that promise and suddenly decide you do not want to be married to him anymore.”
“I never wanted to marry him in the first place.”
He lifted a hand as though he would strike her, but she squealed and cowered away, making him stop from landing the hit. With one hand still on one of her wrists, he moved her toward the door, heaving her to it. She grabbed first at the bed, trying desperately to stay where she was, but his strength outmatched hers, and she was soon dragged through the door, kicking and screaming all the way.
“Let me go, Father!” she ranted and railed, but he ignored everything she said. Out in the corridor, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her high into the air, so that her feet could no longer try to escape him either. She scraped her fingernails against his arms, trying to be released, but he wouldn’t let her go. “No! Release me! Francis!” She heard herself calling Francis’ name before she had realized she had done it.
“Phoebe!?” His cry of fear came back to her, but it was further away than she had anticipated, not from his room at all.
When her father reached the stairs, he tackled her down it, even when she tried to grab the banister to stop him from taking her any further.
“Let her go,” Francis bellowed.
Phoebe snapped her head round to see Francis was standing in the entrance hall, in front of Lord and Lady Dodge, all in their night things. In front of Francis was Graham, with a pistol outstretched in his hand, and the barrel pointing straight at Francis’ chest.
“Who is that?” Francis said, pointing up at her father.
“This is Gerard Lewis, Baron Notley. My wife’s father,” Graham answered before Phoebe could. Francis’ face stiffened even more, his angry glare turning away from Graham and onto her father.
“You would manhandle your daughter in such a way and take her back to a man that beats her?” he accosted her father with the words, shouting them so loudly that Phoebe even felt her father flinch around the grasp he had on her, just as they reached the bottom step.
“They are married. If she runs from him, she destroys my reputation as well as hers. What else do you expect me to do?” her father said with a sneer as he released her.
Phoebe wavered on her feet, nearly falling over before she stepped forward. She was hurrying toward Francis, intent on reaching him as he moved to her, then something moved in their way. It was Graham.
Phoebe felt the firm strike across her cheek before she had seen it coming. It made her rear back on her feet, and this time fall over completely, landing on the floor in a heap.
“You…” Francis swore, rushing toward Graham, but there was a click of a pistol and Graham turned round, pointing it directly at Francis’ chest another time.
