So he’d hired a horse in the hope of quickening his pace and left Lance to catch up as best as he could. James’s heart had pounded faster than the hooves thundering against the ground while all sorts of awful imaginings filled his head. But nothing was as bad as what he eventually found when he entered the second inn and was told that a man and woman matching Chesterfield’s and Abigail’s descriptions had indeed rented a room.
“You mustn’t disturb them,” the innkeeper had shouted above the noise of the men who were eating and drinking in the taproom.
James had simply headed for the stairs and proceeded to climb them two at a time.
“They’re newlyweds and according to the husband, his poor wife took a dangerous tumble while—”
James didn’t hear anything else. The rage pouring through him and the fear he harbored on Abigail’s behalf made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. His muscles flexed and strained beneath his skin, and his hands fairly trembled with the need to do violence.
“Which door?” he somehow managed to ask.
The innkeeper, who’d followed him and now wisely realized he’d better speak up or risk having James barge in on someone who didn’t deserve it, pointed toward a door at the end of the hallway.
James stalked toward it, hands clenched and jaw set. Without breaking his stride, he raised his foot and brought it down next to the handle, producing a massive bang as the door broke away from the frame.
With one quick scan, James took in the scene before him: Abigail, trussed like a lamb about to be slaughtered, her rumpled gown pushed up around her waist to reveal her bare buttocks, Chesterfield kneeling between her thighs, one hand on her back while the other worked the buttons on his breeches.
With a roar that seemed to come from some primitive place deep inside him, James leapt for Chesterfield’s throat. “Get your bloody hands off of her, you bastard!”
Chesterfield’s eyes went wide. He froze for a second, then raised his hands to defend himself. But kneeling as he was on the bed, his balance was poor, so the moment James struck him, he tumbled backward onto the floor, gasping and sputtering while clasping his neck.
“You like hurting women, do you, you lecherous bugger?” James fell to his knees next to Chesterfield, pulled back his fist then slammed it forward with all the might he possessed. It struck its target with a loud crack. A howl splintered the air but James ignored it. Now that he was hitting this man who’d been seconds away from violating Abigail, he could not seem to stop. There was a hunger inside him that needed satisfaction, a thirst for blood that had to be quenched, and a fog in his brain that made him oblivious to anything else.
It wasn’t until someone pulled him back and away from his target that James was able to see the mangled state of Chesterfield’s face. His eyes were swollen shut, his nose turned slightly sideways, his lip and cheek torn open, and...he didn’t look conscious. Blood was everywhere, on Chesterfield’s face and on James’s knuckles.
Shaking, James stared at Lance who was muttering something important about his sister. A flash of bright light exploded behind James’s eyes, narrowing everything down to one point. He turned away, searching for Abigail. She was sitting up now, staring at him in stricken silence. Her skirts had been pulled down, thank God, her gag and restraints removed, no doubt by her brother. Tears streaked her cheeks as she rocked back and forth while hugging herself.
“I’m sorry,” James croaked. “I...I...” His throat closed, preventing him from saying anything further.
A solid hand grasped his shoulder. “You did the right thing,” Lance said, his voice tight with restraint. “And if you hadn’t, I would have.”
James nodded and stepped toward Abigail, unsure if his feet would carry his weight but knowing he had to be near her. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he sank to his knees before her. And he was sorry. Not for hurting Chesterfield, but for what she’d had to go through and for not being able to help her sooner.
Clasping her hands, he gazed into her watery eyes and felt his heart shatter. Her lips were trembling, her right cheek grazed so badly it glistened with un-spilled blood.
A lump the size of an orange lodged itself in his throat, and his own eyes stung with tears. “He won’t hurt you again.” Bringing Abigail’s hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles, her fingers, her palms. “No one will ever hurt you again, my darling.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I swear it.”
Her only response was a ragged breath.
“I, um,” Lance murmured. Standing near Chesterfield, who was still passed out on the floor, he shifted as if uncertain of how to approach the subject he wished to address. He cleared his throat. “I realize this is a difficult moment, but there are some practical matters that must be handled without delay.”
James knew he was right. So although he was far from ready to deal with the ramifications of what had occurred, he stood and faced Abigail’s brother. “I ought to call him out.” He jutted his chin in Chesterfield’s direction. “But I’d rather have him arrested, I think.”
Lance nodded. “I’ll see to it that someone fetches the local magistrate.” He glanced at his sister, his expression going thoughtful before he added, “You have to marry right away and yet...I fear her return to London will be disastrous. People will want to know what happened and will either figure it out or draw their own conclusions. Either way, it doesn’t look good in terms of salvaging her reputation.”
“I can take her to Arlington House. It’s not far from here and the servants there are loyal. If you can—”
“Townsbridge.” Lance stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “You cannot think of doing something like that before she’s your wife. It’s...it’s...I mean...”
“Would you rather we head back to the church?”
“No. Of course not. But we could take her to Foxborough House and have the two of you marry there.”
“I don’t want to be gawked at or pitied or questioned,” Abby muttered. “I just want privacy.”
It was the first thing she’d said since James had arrived, and the sound of her voice, so lifeless and faint, caused his anger to rise again. “We’re going to Arlington,” he told Lance decisively. “Inform our families, if you will.”
Lance didn’t look remotely happy but James didn’t care.
