"Yes, Sir Coyner. Straightway." With a word to the horses, the driver cracked the whip, and the conveyance lurched forward.
Only when the vehicle cleared the vicinity of Pendleton's property did Gerald Coyner release a breath. He reached for the handkerchief in his pocket, his hand shaking. He mopped his damp face and tried to calm his disordered thoughts.
Damn Kent. He's ruined everything. But he shan't have Primrose—she's mine!
How could this have happened? He'd chosen Kent because the fellow was an order-following nobody—a man whose respect for law and authority should have made him the perfect tool to be used. A soldier, stalwart and expendable. Instead of providing the evidence to frame that brazen Draven bitch, however, Kent hadsavedher time and again—and for what purpose? To lie between those well-used thighs?
Coyner shuddered with disgust. He'd make sure that the apple—the sweet, nearly ripened fruit of his eye—fell far from the tree. Primrose was the embodiment of purity, innocence. His hands grew clammier at the thought of losing her.
Not after all I've worked for, how long I've waited. Primrose is mine by right.
Rage cleared away some of the fear. He'd never give up his treasure. Did he regret that he'd now have to leave his old life behind? Perhaps. Yet he was an adaptable fellow; if he could survive Eton and his mother, he could survive this.
Thinking of the past agitated his stomach. Life was blasted unfair. Pendleton, Ashcroft, and Boyer got away with everything, whilsthehad to toil and live in fear. Those three bastards had carried out heinous acts; they'd committed rape and buggery, had profited from the misery of others. Coyner's idea of altering the dates on Leach's receipts had been brilliant: let that Draven whore expose the men's sins, bring scandal down on their heads. Red herringsandjustice, how perfect was that?
Yet his ploy had come to naught.
Instead,hewas the one being persecuted and for what? All he wanted was to care for his Primrose.Sweet flower, only you understand me. I will protect you, let nothing come between us.When the time came, Primrose would transition from being his ward to his dutiful, loving wife. He grew hard, imagining her small body next to his. Ah, he was looking forward to a new beginning. A new life where he would be ruled by no desires but his own.
To achieve that, he'd have to make his next moves with care. He figured he had a small window of time—a day, two at most—to make his escape. At present, Lady Marianne would have her hands full tending to her injured lover... irritation nettled Coyner once more. He might have finished her and Kent off, if that giant African hadn't come running to the rescue. His stomach knotted, and he forced himself to take a breath. At the very least, mayhap he'd managed to end Kent with that bullet.
Comforted by the possibility, Coyner reviewed his plans. He'd make a quick stop in London to pick up his emergency belongings. Then he'd go pluck his pretty flower from the secret garden where he'd kept her all these years. Together, they would head to new shores and leave this cursed uncivilized place behind.
Calm settled over him as he envisioned his future with his child-bride at his side.
36
The worldslowly came into focus. Groggily, Ambrose registered that he was lying in a strange bed. Posh furnishings, pale light seeping through a crack in the curtains, and dozing on the chair next to him...
"Marianne?" His voice came out hoarse, slurred.
Her head snapped up. She blinked at him, her hair an untidy tumble over her shoulders. Her face blurred in and out of focus, and he tried to shake off the buffle-headedness. He felt a squeeze on his hand, her touch grounding him.
"How are you feeling?" she said softly.
"Like the devil." He grimaced as the words dragged against his dry throat. His head throbbed as if he'd consumed pints of ruin, and when he moved, fire lanced through his right arm. Breathing harshly, he looked down and saw the bandage wrapped around his bicep. It all came back to him.
Chasing Marianne down in the woods. Coyner.The shooting.
Fear jolted him upright. "Are you hurt?" he said tersely.
"I'm fine. After you saved me, Lugo arrived and scared Coyner off." Gently, Marianne pushed him back to the pillows. Her soft palm settled against his forehead. "The fever's only just gone down, darling, so have a care. Here, take a sip of this, and mind you drink it slowly."
Perching on the bed next to him, she held a glass to his lips. The cool water slid down his parched throat, and he couldn't help but drink greedily. When he was done, Marianne blotted his lips with a napkin.
"We've got to find Coyner—" he began.
"Easy, my love. You must rest."
"Coyner has your daughter." Urgency cleared his head. "He hired Leach to purchase Primrose from Mrs. Barnes."
"How do you know this?" she asked.
"I found Skinner, and he told me everything," Ambrose said. "When you hired him to investigate, he picked up the trail to Leach early on. He followed the solicitor around for weeks. Eventually, he stumbled upon a meeting between Leach and Coyner. He overheard the solicitor trying to extort Coyner for more money to keep the transaction for Rosie a secret."
Marianne turned pale. "Why didn't Skinner tell me?"
"Having done contract work for Coyner, Skinner knew that he was dealing with a powerful and ruthless man. That's why Skinner disappeared: he was afraid of Coyner. Of what Coyner might do to preserve his secret. Coyner killed the solicitor, and that was him in the woods." Ambrose's jaw tautened. "He's tying up loose ends."
