“Tsk, tsk, Lady Bridget. Language, my dear. I do not want my countess to be considered foul-mouthed.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“We are on our way to Gretna Green, dearest, where we will declare our intention to marry.” He grinned, and she wished she had the strength to slap his face, but she still felt weak.
“I will never agree to marry you. You killed my best friend.”
His eyes grew dark, and in a flash, his demeanor went from jolly to dark. This must have been how poor Minerva had lived. Davenport was obviously mentally deranged. Cheerful one moment, frightening the next.
“Your best friend was a weak, whining, waste of a woman.”
Bridget drew herself up. “She was not. You are a monster, and you beat her and ultimately killed her. I saw her bruises.”
She shrank back on the seat when he pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at her heart. “Remember, my dear, once you are mine and I have all that wonderful money your father left, I will no longer need you.”
“You will never get away with this. I will refuse to speak the words that will marry us.”
“Yes. You will speak the words.” He settled back on the seat. “I suggest you take another nap. We will be on the road for a couple more hours until we reach my favorite inn, where I will announce to all and sundry that we are eloping.”
She raised her chin. “I will deny it.”
Davenport waved his hand at her. “No matter. You will be ruined anyway, so you will be forced to marry me.” He leaned over, the odor of alcohol emanating from his breath. “I will give you a bit of laudanum before we arrive, so you will be—shall we say—more cooperative?”
Bridget fought the lingering effects of the knock on her head she’d already received but was unable to stop him from pouring laudanum into her mouth, seeing as he held the gun to her head while he did it. “Swallow, bitch. Or I will kill you the minute our wedding is over.”
As long as she stayed alive, there was always a chance of escaping his clutches. She had to figure out how to get away, because if he managed to drug her enough that she could not resist marrying him, all of Papa’s money would go to him, and that would be the end of her plans for the women’s shelter, which was nothing compared to the life she would be subjected to with Davenport. She also had no doubt that were she forced to live in his house—with no money, where else could she go?—it would not be long before she met with an “accident” herself.
It mattered not what she needed to do. She had to keep that disaster from happening. She yawned, and despite her best efforts, her eyes drifted closed.
…
Cam took the time to stop at every coaching inn along the well-traveled road to Gretna Green. The ride to the infamous marriage town was a lengthy one, taking several days even when the weather was good. Davenport would be forced to change horses and spend the night at inns along the way.
His lips tightened at the idea of Bridget in Davenport’s hands and subjected to stopping at inns with him. Even if they never reached Gretna Green, she would be ruined and expected by Society to marry the man who’d ruined her.
He would kill him first.
He ate a quick meal at the Peacock Inn, changed horses, and headed back out. He’d been on the road for a couple of hours, so, given the speed of his horse as opposed to a carriage, he should be overtaking them soon. Unless he was completely wrong about what Davenport had in mind.
The next place he stopped, the stable man informed him that a carriage bearing the Davenport crest, with a man and a very sleepy woman, had stopped for a meal and a change of horses about an hour before. At least he was on the right path, which relieved him of that worry.
A sleepy woman?
He knew how Davenport was controlling Bridget. He must have doused her with a drug—most likely laudanum—to keep her quiet. The Bridget he knew would have probably knocked Davenport out with her fist or a healthy shot to his groin with her knee if she’d had her wits about her. The thought made him grin, and even more anxious to rescue her from the fate Davenport planned.
The sun was setting, and soon it would be too dangerous to continue traveling, so most likely Davenport would stop at the next inn, which was about ten miles up the road. At least he hoped the fool man would not attempt to travel at night. With the cloud cover, there would be no moon.
He spotted the lights from the inn through the trees as the road turned to the west. His heart in his throat, he pulled up to the front yard and jumped from his horse. “Here, you, lad.” He called to a young boy coming from the stable.
The boy trotted up to him. “Yes, my lord.”
“Did a coach arrive in the past hour with a man and a sleepy young lady?”
“Yes, my lord.” The boy hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “The lord’s carriage is behind the inn.”
Cam flipped a coin to the boy. “Take care of the horse. See that he gets a good amount of oats. He’s been running hard.”
“Yes, my lord.” The boy’s eyes grew wide at the coin Cam tossed him.