Page 83 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

“Ha!” he cackled. “Just try and run again…” The grip around her throat tightened. “This is me in a good mood, girl. You donot want to see me in a bad one.” His grip tightened further… her breath caught… her lungs tightened… her face began to turn purple as she felt the life leaving her body…

Suddenly, he let her go, and she gasped for air, hacking and coughing and sputtering as he climbed from her and walked back across the room. The pain in her chest was great, but she was weak, barely able to push herself to her knees.

“I suggest you get your rest,” he said calmly as he strode to the door and opened it. Then, he looked back, a pleasant smile on his face as if the two had just engaged in a loving conversation. “You are going to need it for our little trip later. And then some.” And then, he stepped through the door, closed it behind him, followed by the click of a lock.

“No!” Somehow, Caroline managed to scramble across the room. She threw herself at the door, trying desperately to open it to no avail. “No! Please!” she cried, hammering on the door. “Let me out! Let me out!”

She screamed, and she shouted, and she cried out for help. For hours, it felt like. Until her hands hurt from beating the door, until her throat hurt from crying, until she could no longer stand, collapsing in a broken heap where her cries for help turned to wails of pain and misery.

For two years she had run. But now, there was nowhere left to run. Alone. Trapped. Without options. Her father had won. She had lost. And her fate was decided.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Frederick found the carriage roughly five miles down the road from where William, the stable hand, had been attacked. It was parked on the side of the road, empty and abandoned although the horses were left tied to it.

Naturally, upon finding the carriage, Frederick rode in every direction, screaming Caroline’s name. “Miss Dowding!” he shouted as loud as he could, choosing to use the name that he knew her by. “Miss Dowding! Miss Dowding!”

He rode up the road, at least two miles along its length, then he turned back. Then he rode east of the road, across the pastures that ran toward the horizon, again shouting her name. From there, he rode west through the forest, calling for her, his voice bouncing off the trees until they were swallowed by the night.

He knew it to be a hopeless gamble, for Frederick did not think that the kidnappers had simply stolen the carriage without any intent on keeping Miss Dowding for themselves. Wherever theywere, so was she, and that was very unlikely traipsing by foot through the forest.

It was late at night when he came back to the carriage to reassess his plan. The moon was covered by cloud so dark that he could barely see two feet in front of him. There would be tracks to follow, he guessed, some sort of clue. But as dark as it was, there was little he could do until the morrow.

Needless to say, Frederick did not sleep well that night.

He spent most of it pacing his room in thought, fear taking over, worry weighing him down, guilt crippling him. This was his fault, he knew. He was the one who sent her away. He was the one who left her defenseless. He was the one who had put her in this position in the first place. He should have trusted her! He should have given her a chance. But old wounds took time to heal, and after his first marriage, trusting was not something that he was very good at.

Dawn could not come soon enough. Only this time, he did not search for Miss Dowding on his own. He had sent word the previous night for George to meet him on the road as soon as he woke, and he was pleased to see his old friend riding its length as he made his way back toward the abandoned carriage.

“Frederick!” George cried. “Is everything all right! I came as quickly as I could!”

Frederick rode up beside him. He had not told George exactly what had happened, simply begging for his help, knowing that George would not hesitate in giving it.

A quick explanation of all he knew, and George’s reaction was as expected.

“Dear God,” the man gasped. “Taken by whom?”

“I have been thinking about that,” Frederick began as the two men began at pace along the road, “and it can only be her father, Lord Edgerton.”

“Lord Edgerton?” George said, sounding unconvinced. “But how?”

“It does not matter how,” Frederick growled, his anger not aimed at George but himself…. and Lord Edgerton. “When we find the man, however, feel free to ask him.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

It was a good question.

The carriage was as it had been left the night before, parked on the side of the road as if abandoned in a hurry. On first inspection, it appeared as Frederick remembered, and he worried for a moment that the day’s delay might have cost him everything. But then he looked a little closer…

“See here!” he cried quickly; down from the horse now, he bent down on the other side of the road. “These markings—tracks!” He indicated to the deep, muddied tracks that lined the side of the road.

“Another carriage?” George asked, picking up on what Frederick was implying.

Frederick bit into his lip as he studied them, noting the way they moved off the road and headed south toward London. “He parked his carriage here and made down the road where he intercepted Miss Dowding.” He pictured it in his mind as he put the pieces together. “Then he brought her back and transferred her to his own carriage, and he took off again…” His eyes searched down the road, following the tracks the best he could.

“And then what?”

“Let us find out!” He was quick to climb back atop his horse and take off in the direction of the carriage tracks.

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