Page 3 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Andrews tightened his hold and Charlotte’s vision started to gray again. A loud thwack sounded near her ear and the arm smothering her loosened and fell. She coughed, then drew a deep, clean breath. Her father’s henchman lay at her feet. The stranger now stood next to her, his gun pointing at Cates. Hope stole through her breast once more.

“Tell me what’s going on, miss.”

“I apprehended this horse thief,” her father spoke up before she could say a word, “and was about to administer justice when you came along. As I said, it is a private affair.”

“That’s not true.” Charlotte turned to their rescuer, her heart thundering. She must convince him to help them or Edward would die. “My betrothed and I were eloping. My father found out and waylaid us here. They are going to kill Edward.” Her heart lurched at the sound of the words spoken aloud. She searched the man’s face, praying with every fiber of her soul that he believed her. That whoever he was, he was a match for her father and his men. “Please, I beg of you, you must stop them.”

“He was stealing my horses, taking my daughter as a hostage for ransom.” Her father cut his eyes toward Cates.

Charlotte tensed. What would the wretched man try next?

“The lady seems rather enamored of her kidnapper, which I find odd if what you say is true.” The stranger gestured to Edward. “What do you have to say, sir?”

Edward tried to rise, but Cates slammed the butt of the pistol into the back of his head. He fell forward onto the table.

“No!” Charlotte shrieked, her stomach twisting anew. She darted toward the still figure.

Her father grabbed her arm and jerked her behind the table next to him. His fingers dug into flesh, biting even through her clothing.

The stranger swung his pistol around, pointing it at her father’s face. “Because you didn’t want me to hear his reply, I’ll assume it would have confirmed the lady’s tale.”

“And if it did, you have no authority to aid and abet their illegal flight to Scotland,” her father countered. “My daughter has not reached her majority; therefore, I am fully within my rights to keep her from making such a mésalliance.”

“Quite correct, sir. If she is your daughter, she does fall under your dominion. This man, however, does not. And you certainly have no authority to kill him.”

“That was never my intention.”

“Oh yes, it was.” Charlotte tried to pull away from her father, but his strong grip on her upper arm pinned her next to him.

“I think I will take the lady’s word over yours, all the same.” The stranger smiled, and a chill ran down Charlotte’s spine. “Get him on his feet.” He gestured with the gun to Edward.

Cates glanced at her father, who nodded. The henchman grabbed Edward by the back of his coat and hauled him up.

Groaning and groggy but able to stand, Edward stared at her, the anguish in his eyes matching the ache that tore at her heart.

The stranger clasped him about the waist and they backed toward the door.

“Make sure you do not take any of my horses.” Her father finally released his grip on her aching arm. Shaking it loose, she ran toward the door, shouting, “Take the chestnut mare. She’s mine.”

Cates blocked her way, but moments later the muffled sound of hoofbeats told her they were away, Edward safe at last. Her shoulders slumped and the tears began to flow once more, relief at his escape warring with the hollow ache of her heart. She would never see him again. If she could die right now, she would count herself blessed.

“Wake up Andrews and bring my carriage around.” Her father barked out the order to Cates. Glaring at the tollkeeper, who was now cowering in the corner, he tossed a gold sovereign on the table. “For your trouble and your silence.” At last he turned his attention to Charlotte, his lips twisted in a snarl. “You will fill an ocean with those tears before I’m through with you.”

He grabbed her arm again and pushed her out the door into the chill air and pale moonlight that would be the rest of her life. Oh, yes. Death would have been a blessing.

* * *

“My lady, wake up.” The insistent voice of her maid scarcely penetrated the fog of exhausted sleep Charlotte had fallen into early that morning. She grunted and turned over. If she never woke up she’d be perfectly happy.

“My lady.” Rose shook her shoulder. “Your father wants you downstairs immediately.”

Oh, God. Charlotte groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers. The reckoning she’d known was coming had arrived. Too heartsore to be afraid, she crawled out from beneath the covers. Best to get this over with, take her punishment as she always had at her father’s hands, so she could come back here to mourn Edward’s loss in private.

She peered at herself in the mirror and wished she had not. Her face was badly bruised where Cates had hit her. Rose would be hard pressed to cover the purple marks on her cheek even with cosmetics. And her arm throbbed from her father’s brutal grip. Still, her heart ached more than her body. She wanted to be happy that Edward had escaped, but she couldn’t ignore the empty pit in her heart.

An hour later, she entered her father’s study, fighting not to wince as she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. Unless she met the man with strength, he would trample her and never look back. She stood before the huge, worn mahogany desk, exactly as she had every time she’d displeased him in her eighteen years.

He continued writing, not even looking up to acknowledge her presence. Another of his ploys.