Then he heard it.
The sound of suffering.
From beneath the hovel, there’d been a muffled scream.
Haven!
Gripping the pistol tightly in his rain slicked hand, he moved toward the sound, his heart in his throat.
Must get to her.
“Here.” Like a godsend, Perez’s voice led him to a thicket. Pushing past the thick foliage, he found where the weeds and overgrowth had been cleared away from a wooden door set into the ground.
A cellar.
For the first time that night, he thanked God for the storm, that its wind and hammering rain provided cover for him as he pulled the handle of the decrepit door, hauling the rain-heavy panel up, and letting it fall against the mound.
Taking a deep fortifying breath, he descended the slick stone steps. One foot in front of the other, lower and deeper until he reached the bottom.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom of the cellar, and he listened.
Shaking his head to rid it of the sudden pounding in his ears, he focused on Haven. He would rescue her, and then he would apologize for the words he’d spoken in anger. He would tell her he loved her. He would romance and seduce her until she agreed to marry him, to stay in 1817, and build a new life with him. He would do whatever it took to make her stay, but he had to save her first.
Stealthily moving forward, he spied a dim, flickering light in the room just ahead. Thankful for the shadow-cloaked hallway, he took one slow, silent step, and another. He walked by atiny room to his left and stopped. The room contained a single wooden table. Roselyn lay atop it. Dead. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out a pool of blood on the table beneath her neck.
The villain had slit her throat.
Dragging in a deep, silent breath, he gathered his strength and peered around the corner, hoping whatever he saw wouldn’t be Haven dead as her maid was.
The light of the other room hit his face, and he nearly gasped in fear and sorrow. There, with hands and feet tied to a table, lay Haven. She was naked, her usually olive skin deathly pale, and ugly, oozing cuts covered her body; some shallow and straight, but many of them were deep, the wounds jagged.
His heart thudded.
He shook his head, unable to comprehend it. There wasn’t an inch of her body not marred by a bleeding slash.
Dear God.
A movement in the corner grabbed his attention. Furious heat raged through him, and blood roared into his head.
There, beneath the light of a makeshift chandelier, stood Angelous Kroger, Divinia’s twin.
“My brother is off attending to his hobby...,” she’d said almost gleefully. “He’s working on something so exquisite, it will bring you to your knees.”
Blistering anger of betrayal rose within him. That conniving, evil woman had known about her brother’s activities all along, but stood there, prevaricating to his face, while Haven lay here in the dark and dank, scared, naked, and bleeding.
He would kill her for this.
Glancing at Haven again, he focused on her face. He wanted to look into her eyes, to tell her he’d come and he was going to save her.
Every muscle seized, and his heart thudded to a stop. The fiery, brilliant jade eyes he’d grown to love were two blank, dull marbles. The shallow rise and fall of her chest told him she still lived, but her vanquished expression told him she didn’t have much time left.
Stepping out from the shadows, he raised his pistol, aiming squarely at Angelous’ head. He pulled back the hammer, and the other man looked up from the table where he’d been cleaning his knife. An expression of utter shock flew over his face, but diabolical poise quickly replaced it.
“Mr. Kroger, please drop the knife and step away from the table.” His voice held the promise of violence.
Angelous’ expression turned dark, his eyes flashing ice, his lips curling into a sneer.
He tsked. “Lord Dunham, Duke of Caspire, man of means and blue blood....”
