The Earl in My Bed (Rebellious Desires 2)

“Get in the coach,” one of the men said, pointing at a nearby parked vehicle.

Daphne stiffened. He released her hand and stepped away from her. “I’ll come, but the lady will return to her carriage.” Their equipage was out of sight, but they hadn’t walked far.

The two nastier-looking men leered at his countess, the lust in their eyes disgusting him.

“By even looking at her, you threaten all that you hold to be precious,” Sylvester said with icy smoothness, shifting his thoughts from the crooked, bloody, and dangerous path they wanted to merrily dance along.

Grudging respect flared in the man’s eyes before he lowered his lids. This one was clearly more intelligent than the rest and was perhaps their leader. “She will come with us.”

The other two moved in with menacing purpose, and Sylvester stepped forward and smashed his forehead into the man closest to him. He cupped the back of the man’s neck and yanked him forward, tripping him so he fell into the two men who lunged at his back. The large brute rushed at him, and Sylvester twisted, taking the blow on the side of his ribs rather than the center of his chest. The man threw a right hook, and Sylvester ducked beneath the attack, angling himself to the man’s side, and caught the arm, which he placed in a lock, forcing the man to his knees. Without hesitation, Sylvester broke the man’s arm.

The man screamed, and the other ruffian froze. Clearly, they hadn’t expected him to be schooled in the art of self-defense, nor had the person who employed them informed them of their predecessors’ failures.

“Sylvester.” The soft voice of his wife halted him as nothing else could have.

The leader had a pistol pressed into her side. His blood iced over, and he felt as if it were a beast and not himself that stretched inside and assessed the best way to put down a threat to her. Over the years, he’d grown remarkably proficient at defending his life and limbs. After the third mysterious attack that had been blamed on footpads, he had rightfully concluded that he threatened the interest of those who founded their wealth on the suffering of others. He hadn’t expected it to embroil his countess in any way.

The man’s eyes were flat and devoid of emotion, and Sylvester sensed he would not hesitate to hurt her to force his compliance. He barely nodded, showing he would comply, for now. The man lowered his weapon, and Daphne rushed toward him. They made their way over to the parked carriage, the crest hidden by a black cloth. He entered and assisted her in, and the carriage door was shut.

A carriage lantern was lit low, and inside was spacious and comfortably appointed. It belonged to some well-to-do bastard. But then, they were the ones whose profits he threatened.

His countess took a tentative breath, bracing herself as the carriage lurched precariously. “I presume we have been kidnapped.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Who could be so frightfully bold?”

“Enemies.”

“I forgot we had enemies,” she said drily.

We. What a strange moment to feel a burst of pleasure. The flush along her cheeks was barely noticeable in the flickering lamplight in the carriage. Other than that small tell of heightened senses, she was otherwise remarkably composed. Still… “Are you going to swoon?”

His wife scowled, evidently offended that he’d even considered the notion. “Do not be absurd!”

He should have known—his wife seemed far too sensible to descend into hysterics. Then he noted her fingers clenching the squabs. “It’s quite normal to feel frightened. But I promise, no harm shall come to you.”

She did not look terribly reassured. “There are three of them.”

“I know.”

She regarded him with an expression of deep concern. “And they have weapons.”

“I know.”

“Where do you think we are traveling to with such speed?”

“To the bounder who commissioned the deed. If they had wanted to kill me, they would have done so before we boarded the carriage.”

His wife paled and swayed alarmingly. “Dear God, kill you? Do you believe that is what they want?”

“No, of course not,” he said soothingly. “Come here, Countess.”

With a soft sigh of relief, she scrambled over, and instead of allowing her to sit beside him, he tugged her onto his lap. It wasn’t wise, for he needed to be free to defend her when the doors opened. He was less uncertain because she was there. Sylvester would have waded into the fray from the onset, but the pistol pointed so menacingly toward her heart had made him feel a fear that he had never felt before. “I cannot hold you for long, I need to be ready for when the door opens.”

She stiffened, and he could feel the frantic beat of her heart. He rubbed soothing circles over her shoulder. “What can I do to be ready?”

He wanted her nowhere near the danger, but from the fiercely protective light in her eyes, she would be hard to deter. “Your sole job will be to run, wife. Any opportunity you see, you escape. Watch and listen. Move slowly at first, gauge how close each man is to you, and create as much distance as you can. Then when the time is right, you will flee.”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “Without you?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not,” she whispered fiercely.

“I will worry less if I know you are safe.”

She seemed to think about this for several seconds. Then she pushed from his lap and returned to her seat. She reached up to her elegantly dressed hair and withdrew a long golden pin. “My weapon,” she murmured. “I will not hesitate to use it.”

Her eyes were luminous when they peered at him, and there was an emotion he could hardly identify, but the promise of something soft and tender made his heart clench.

“Sylvester—”

“Now is not the time, Countess.” For he had a notion of what she would say, and it was not required.

“You cannot know my thoughts, and I feel I must tell you.”

“What is it?”

Silence. Then…

“Do not die. I couldn’t bear it if you were to perish.”

“You would be free,” the devil in him said.

Her eyes flashed with beautiful fire. “Never at the expense of your life.”

A knot formed in his gut. “So you admit to still wanting us to be separated?”

Her eyes widened, and she glanced away from him for several seconds, then she leveled a very intense stare at him. “I fell in love with you that day by the river,” she said with stark simplicity. “I cared nothing for your rank and consequence when I married you. I was young, and despite the ridiculous nature of it, my admiration grew, even when I hated that you did not give me…or our marriage, a chance.” The angle of her chin hinted at a deep core of pride. “Do you have any tender feelings for me, my lord?”

Sylvester jolted, his mouth drying. “I’ll allow our present situation can tangle with our emotions and will let you feel emotions keener and—”

“I’m neither stupid nor overwrought. Please answer the question.”

“This is neither the time or the place.” He needed to be ready and her declaration was wreaking havoc with his resolve to not hold her close. Sweet mercy, never had he wanted to touch her or kiss her so badly. He was conscious of how wildly his heart was thudding, and it wasn’t only in fear for her safety. There was a desperate need inside to offer her tender words, the urgency of it burned through him, but he wanted them to be honest, and he was at a loss to explain the feelings he had for her.

“I disagree. When the carriage stops, we won’t know what is waiting for us on the other side of that door. Now is the perfect time to discuss our feelings, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap and lacing her fingers tightly together. His wife was nervous.

Before he could respond, the carriage jerked to a stop. They hadn’t traveled long. The pulse fluttered at her throat, and he wanted to say something, anything to reassure her, but could not find the words. Sylvester swore savagely. There was

a shadow in her eyes he did not like, but now was definitely not the time to be assessing hearts and emotions.

“I will not die, and I swear on my life and honor you will not be harmed.”

Then the carriage door opened and there was no more to be said.