“Hard to come by good help these days.” The earl pocketed the vial.
Marcus clenched his fists. It had to be the poison. The arsenic. Quimbly knew where she was. Marcus wished he’d formulated more of a plan before rushing over here.
And then frustration, anger, and outright terror at the thought of losing her took over. In a flash, he leaned across the desk, fisting Quimbly’s cravat with his right hand. “Where is she?”God damn him to hell if he so much as harmed a single hair on her head…
The older man’s lips trembled as his eyes jumped toward the door. As though they’d been waiting outside, two burly servants entered.
“Lord Blakely was just leaving,” Quimbly managed to gasp. “If you’d care to show him out.”
Marcus’ arms were roughly seized from behind, forcing him to relinquish the grip he’d had on this bastard. Although Marcus knew logically that he could not defeat the two brutes, he resisted with a few tugs and then an elbow into one of the blighter’s guts.
“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you!” Marcus promised as he was dragged from the room. “Do you hear me, Quimbly?”
“You’ll honor that contract, Blakely, by God.” Quimbly showed less fear with Marcus contained and several feet away.
“It’s void, you bastard,” Marcus seethed. “And God help your daughter to have been fathered by a devil like you!”
And then more crashing from above.
What the hell was going on up there? All eyes momentarily shifted to the ceiling.
But Quimbly did not move to tug at the bell pull. He did not holler for his servants to have a care.
Emily.
Good God, Marcus realized it had to be her.
At that moment, however, there was nothing he could do about it. The hulking men dragged him out of the study and hurled him out the front door.
Emily felt her wrist begin to swell even as she tried to convince herself she’d not injured herself. “Dratted. Stinking! Be damned ducking Grddlehmph!” A stream of words she’d only read enthusiastically escaped past her lips as she attempted to rebuild the tower once again.
She was speaking so much to herself that she nearly missed the sound of the door at the bottom of the steps rattling and being opened. “Be quiet up there!” someone ordered. Before she could lurch herself toward the open door, it slammed loudly, her captor having deposited a small tray on the bottom step.
Previously unspoken words expanded her vocabulary further.
After pounding on the door several times to no avail, she turned and stared at the offering of food left behind.
Her stomach growled.
Perhaps some sustenance would improve her strength and balance. If only she’d had a moment or two more, she might have been able to open that window.
She lifted the lid off one plate and her mouth watered. Fresh bread along with some slices of cheese and ham. A small carafe had been filled with a hazy liquid, garnished with a lemon. Lemonade.
She smacked her lips together. She’d become absolutely parched.
Despite being physically tossed out of the residence, the earl’s other servants were kind enough—or simply efficient enough?—to have Lady freshly watered and waiting. Marcus mounted the proud mare with absolutely no intention of abandoning his mission.
Emily was here.
He was certain of it.
Allowing the horse to walk leisurely along the drive, Marcus mentally considered his options as he approached the tree-lined country road. He would tether the mare to one of the trees and then double back on foot.
Crandall would have called for the magistrate by now and likely some form of assistance would reach him any moment.
But he could not afford to wait.
Looping the reins loosely to a tree stump, Marcus plotted his next move. With a knife in his boots and considerable adrenaline coursing through his body, he stared back at the large residence. She’d been the one making the commotion overhead. On one hand, he was relieved to know she was able to do so. On the other hand, he feared that her tart mouth and naiveté might invite greater harm.
