“You are a vile woman, Daphne,” Hero ground out. Her head was beginning to clear now, and the feeling was returning to her extremities. She needed to do something. But what?
“Not vile,” Daphne retorted sharply. “Determined.Determined to take for myself what life has not provided.”
“I think you took Charlotte Brontë’s work too literally.” She looked out the window as the gravel drive carried them across the lawns and toward the aqueduct that marked her last true chance for help. If she didn’t get out of the carriage before they left the estate, she might very well be dragged all the way to France. God only knew what future awaited her there. “It’s a work of fiction, not a bible.”
“It is truth!” Daphne shouted, waving off Girard’s attempts to calm her.
There! Hero saw it then. Dickie might be manning the gates, prepared to let Daphne steal her through, but there were others, dozens of others, patrolling the grounds. She could see them, a pair of her huntsmen on horseback heading away from the drive.
With the gates just a few score feet away, she used all of her strength to thrust herself out the window and screamed for help at the top of her lungs. “Thomas! Andr—” Hero gasped as Girard grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back in, but she threw her head and shoulders back against his face and screamed once again, “Help!”
The coachman whipped the horses into a run in an attempt to get away. Hero and Girard were tossed back against the cushions while Daphne, in the rear-facing seat, fell to the floor with a curse.
There were shouts.
A gunshot.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They had her.
Even more than twenty-four hours later, Ian couldn’t help but smile at the thought. His only regret was that he hadn’t been able to spare Hero her brief abduction or to see to her rescue himself. Yesterday had seen the delivery of Daphne and all her accomplices into the magistrate’s hands, and today the castle celebrated. It seemed only fitting that the summer solstice festival was taking place in Ayr that day. A festival with food, wine, and music for his entire staff to enjoy.
But for him and his bride a more private celebration was in order.
They were free. Free of the troubles. Free of the pall those worries had hung over them.
Free to truly begin their lives together.
He followed the sound of the piano playing to the music room once more, without fear that Hero would be gone. This time the tune was a lively one and he could hear laughter as he approached. At the door, he watched her play without disturbing her. The setting sun slanted through the west-facing windows and caressed her skin, casting it in gold. His heart warmed just as it always did when he looked at her or even simply thought of her. Still, it never ceased to surprise him, this consuming love.
Beaumont sat by her side as she played, turning the pages of the sheet music for her. He was speaking quietly to her. Ian couldn’t hear the words, but whatever the duke said brought a slight smile to her lips. Her lips moved in response, and the duke laughed buoyantly.
“Ah, good evening, Ian!” Beaumont boomed, spotting him in the doorway, and Hero raised her bonny eyes to his. They softened and a different kind of smile turned up the corners of her lips.
Hero looked up to find her husband leaning gracefully on the doorjamb, his arms crossed across his broad chest and his eyes dark with love. Her heart rate accelerated, and she smiled warmly at him, unaware that intense love shone as obviously in her eyes as in his.
“Good evening, my lord.”
It never failed to amuse Ian that no matter how intimate they became, when in public or even within the servants’ hearing, she would always address him in a formal way. He teased her about it so mercilessly she sometimes wondered if she continued to do so only to cause that humor to light his eyes.
“Good evening, Lady Ayr,” he said softly as he approached and bent to place a gentle kiss on her upturned lips. “Harry, Cooper awaits you below to attend the summer solstice festival.”
“I think not.”
Hero and Ian exchanged surprised looks. “I thought you were excited about the festival, Papa.”
“I am more tired than excited.” The duke waved a dismissive hand as she reached out to him. He then surprised her even more by using her name. “No, Hero my dear, don’t worry about me. I shall go straight to bed and you shall have an evening alone with your new husband. It has been a long week, has it not?”
She nodded. “Are you certain?”
“I am.” He kissed her cheek and rose, making his farewells as he went.
“I hope he’s all right,” she said after he left.
“I’m sure he is. Harry isn’t one to withhold how he feels. Now the staff has gone and your father will soon be abed. Would you care to walk with me on the ramparts, my bonny bride?”
“That would be lovely.”
