Page 59 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
Blythe immediately did as told as he strode through the hall of the club that led to the exit, trying to fight back the black wave threatening to drown him. Blythe never would have left Freddy in a dangerous situation. He knew that rationally, but he also knew that situations could change in an instant.
“I sent a message out weeks ago to men I hoped could get it to him letting him know Freddy was concerned for your safety and wanted to meet with him. It took him forever to answer, but I just knew he would.” Blythe grinned, making Gabe truly want to shake her. “You know how smug he’s always been. He would never have imagined a woman could plan his downfall.”
He stopped abruptly and faced his sister, noting Carrington just behind them. “You don’t really know him, Blythe. I kept the truth from you because Georgette begged me to do so. He forced himself on Georgette and got her with child. I didn’t wed Georgette because I suddenly realized I loved her; I wed Georgette to protect her from Hawk and so her unborn child would not be a bastard. She thought she loved him. She gave herself to him, and then she saw him kill a man. She rejected him, and he ravished her.”
Blythe gawked at him. “What?”
“Tell me she’s not alone with him,” he asked as he exited the club.
“Huntley’s there.”
Bloody Huntley. If anything happened to Freddy, he’d kill her brother for letting himself get talked into this. He didn’t give a damn if the man was besotted with his sister. Gabe ran down the street, the cool air hitting him in the face, and his lungs burning. But he pushed himself faster until his lungs screamed, when he reached the abandoned orphanage, he withdrew the pistol tucked into his waistband, took the stairs three at a time, and flung open the door, immediately spotting Huntley lying on the floor struggling with ropes that bound his hands and legs, and what looked to be his cravat stuffed in his mouth.
Gabe’s world flipped, and he went numb. He strode to Huntley, bent, jerked out the cravat, and demanded, “Where is she?”
“He took her. Lord Brooke was with him.”
Hot liquid poured through Gabe’s veins and curled his hands into fists. He should have killed Brooke when he’d had the chance. And Hawk. “Where?” was all Gabe could manage.
“I heard them say something about the Voltaire Club.”
Gabe knew the place. It belonged to Hawk’s old partner, a man known to profit in the sale of women. Gabe’s worst nightmare, the thing he’d erected walls around himself to avoid, was knocking at his door. He opened up his mouth and roared. He could not lose her. He could not. He needed to save her, tell her he loved her, tell her she’d taken his damned heart when he hadn’t given it, and then cherish her as she deserved to be cherished for the rest of her life. He wanted to raise their child and grow old together. He wanted to feel everything she made him feel, and if that meant worry and fear came along with it, he’d deal with it, with her by his side.
He stood and turned as Blythe and Carrington came into the room panting from the run here. “Free Huntley, Blythe. Carrington come with me.”
He’d made a promise to Georgette, but he’d also made a promise to protect Freddy, and the latter trumped everything now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Freddy woke with a start and a gasp. Her head pounded as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings and settled on Hawk, who sat across from her in a speeding carriage. “Where are you taking me?”
“To sell you.” Hawk’s lips curled back from his teeth, reminding her of a wolf. “There are lot of unsavory men, Lady Frederica, and not just in the rookeries. The worst I’ve ever met are the nobs like Lord Brooke.”
She shivered with cold even as sweat trickled down her back. “How do you know Lord Brooke?”
Hawk leaned forward and set his hands on either side of her knees. Alarm raced through her, but she held perfectly still. “We go back years. He owed me more money than he could pay, and I let him live with a promise to keep an eye on Beckford and alert me the moment he found a lady he was interested in. And through these long four years, I’ve patiently waited to get my revenge, and I made sure to remind Brooke, by sending men loyal to me to beat him every so often, what would happen if he failed me.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat.
Hawk leaned back into his seat and surveyed her with a look that made her skin crawl. “I was honestly shocked when I got to Town and learned he’d wed you so quickly after I’d been sent word of you. But then Brooke told me how Beckford had stood guard outside your parents’ house some months before.”
The news stole her breath. Why had Gabe done that? To ensure she didn’t return to Covent Garden? To ensure she was safe?
“Brooke’s an idiot, and I cracked him good for not sending me that information when it occurred. But it’s turned out well enough. I got what I came for.” He smirked at her.
It took all her will not to move her hands protectively over her stomach. “He’ll never stop coming for you if you hurt me or make me disappear.”
“Of course he won’t. That’s the point. He’ll never find either of us, and it will destroy him to know he had the chance to kill me but didn’t take it. And because of that, he lost you.”
Noise buffeted her eardrums. The whoosh of the wind outside. The wheels turning over the road. The fast clops of the horses’ hooves. They all joined the furious patter of her heart. She couldn’t just sit idly by and let him do this. She licked her lips, expelling a painful breath as she flicked her gaze to his pistol, which had slipped to his side and now pointed downward. Gabriel may have made a promise not to kill Hawk, but she hadn’t, and she would protect her unborn child at any cost.
She gritted her teeth and prayed for a moment when she could act. Not long later, Hawk closed his eyes on a yawn, the pistol dropping farther, and she didn’t think, she just lunged for it.
Gabe’s heart stopped at the sight of the abandoned carriage in the middle of the lane near the Voltaire Club. He motioned to Carrington to approach with caution as they descended from the carriage they’d come in, but caution wasn’t needed. As he got near, the metallic smell of gunpower filled the air and stung his nose, and the carriage door was ajar. No one was inside, but there was something there—blood.
“Christ,” Carrington muttered beside him.
He turned and speared Carrington with a look. “It is not her blood.” He refused to allow the possibility even as a suffocating sensation tightened his throat.
