Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 76
“But if I do not, take Peter and go. You still have the ring I gave you?” she whispered, remembering the heavy wedding band Chastain had given her on their wedding night.
Andrew was preparing to lower himself into the carriage and she only had a moment. When Dutton nodded, Lorelei continued. “Trust no one—not my family, no one. If I am well enough, I will meet you at your sister’s home as we planned. If not, please take good care of my son.”
Her focus blurred and she rubbed at her eyes. Her hand came back covered in her own warm blood.
“Andrew,” she called again before it was too late. “Please, help Mrs. Dutton and Peter.” She labored to bring more air into her lungs.
She felt the carriage sway as his feet landed not far from where she was trapped. The interior of the carriage, while seemingly cramped moments before, now felt bigger than her bedroom at Chastain townhouse.
A dim light came from above her, allowing enough illumination for her to see Andrew take Peter in his arms while Mrs. Dutton crawled to her unsteady feet. Before Lorelei’s eyes, the woman was lifted out the open door above.
“Andrew, let me see him,” Lorelei pleaded.
“When I have you out, there will be plenty of time for that.”
She lay there helplessly as Andrew handed Peter to a set of strong arms. The baby continued to cry, though softer now.
Andrew knelt beside her and she saw the torment in his face. “Lorelei, my love?”
“I am here.”
“Why did you run from me?”
“It was not you…” She knew her time was limited. “Andrew, do you see a bag?”
“I am unconcerned with a bag—”
“No, you must find it.” She desperately wanted him to understand the importance. “Please, take it with you and keep it safe—and hidden.”
“Shhhh,” he leaned in close and whispered. “We will have you out of here soon.”
He set his hand on her forehead to calm her.
“Someone, hurry and get in here. We have more people.” His shout was accompanied by a jerking outside the carriage.
The rod moved deeper through her, amplifying her pain.
“Have you got the bag?” she rasped.
Andrew finally gave in to her wish and looked about the carriage. “Yes, here it is.”
“Is the case—” Her words stuck in her throat as she shifted. “…inside?”
He didn’t immediately respond, for he must be searching the bag. Finally, he held the case in her line of sight. “I have it, now stay quiet and still. I beg of you.”
She wanted to yell at him to open his eyes. She was trapped, a wooden rod through her side. Though she couldn’t see beneath her, she knew her injuries were substantial, and no amount of shifting or jostling of the carriage would free her.
The pain was more than she could have imagined, radiating from her midsection to her fingertips, taking over the aching in her head.
She’d wanted to say goodbye to Peter, to hold him one last time—yet, Lorelei never wanted his only memory of his mother to be tainted by red.
At least Mrs. Dutton knew what to do: she would already be spiriting Peter away from the crash and would await Lorelei. If things transpired as she feared, then she’d made sure the nursemaid had the means to get Peter out of London and to her sister’s house, far from France and Lorelei’s parents—and the plans that had ruled her life.
Chapter 28
Her eyes glossed over and her breathing became increasingly shallow and labored.
“We will have you reunited with Peter very soon, my Lorelei.”
The impossibility of the situation rocked him to his core. Lorelei was bleeding out before his eyes—blood filling her lungs—and the only damn thing he could do was reassure her that everything was going to be fine, though he knew well and true that she would not walk away from this accident.
But she must live through this—if he could convince her, perhaps he could convince himself, as well. Any future without her was unimaginable.
The carriage shook, and a man called down to him. “Send up the next!”
“Go, Andrew,” she said, closing her eyes as if her energy to keep them open was gone. “Please…know I cared…for you.”
Cared?
“I am not ready to let you go,” he choked. “Stay quiet and conserve your strength.” They’d only just given themselves to one another, though Andrew had belonged to her for much longer.
“But you must…” She inhaled deeply, the fluid in her lungs making it impossible for her to gain a full breath. “…let me go.” She squeezed his hand, the pressure of her grip hardly registering. “You must promise me…you will take that case, keep it close…”
She paused once more, her eyes shutting.
Andrew bent forward and brushed his lips lightly over each closed lid, hoping to give her strength to go on.
“…and destroy it as soon as you are alone.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Just do as I request.” With the little light that penetrated the closed carriage, Andrew saw a thin trail of crimson slip from the corner of her mouth and soak into his shirt. “And Andrew?”
“Yes?”
“Trust no one…else with this.” The words were little more than a whisper, and he feared he hadn’t heard her correctly. “You must go, get far from here.”
He couldn’t leave her. Not now, though he knew he was being selfish, as he’d always been. The right thing would be to send word to her family. Mayhap they would arrive before she took her final breath. But the moments it would take to send for them would be less time for them to be together, and Andrew would not give up a second.
“I cannot leave you.” He brought their hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers softly—they were so very cold and slick with her blood. “Not now, when you need me so.”
For him, time stopped. He wasn’t crouched in an overturned carriage, the man above wasn’t shouting to get his attention, and most of all, Lorelei wasn’t lying almost lifeless in his arms, her color fading as the life drained from her broken body.
He stared at her, her eyes closed. Was she past feeling the pain?
She truly was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and would ever know. He swept the hair from her face and ran his fingers along her brow. This must be how she looked in slumber, completely at peace, he realized. Her face devoid of worry, pain, and anger—leaving only a flawless jawline, pert nose, and kissable rosebud lips. Her face no longer had the deep color of her French birth, but had begun to turn a dull grey. She lay as peacefully as she had in his bed, only hours before.
“I love you.” He did not know what else he could say. He did love her, had known for some time, yet the words sounded meaningless in the shadow of such tragedy. “I only wanted you to be happy. I am sorry I pursued you thus. I never dreamed we would not have the future—our future.”
He was rambling. His words tumbled over each other in an attempt to share a year’s worth of sentiments in the few moments they had left together.
And there was so much he longed to hear her say.
“I will take care of Peter, you have my word,” he whispered. Chastain, his best friend, lay motionless under the spot where Lorelei was pinned. He hadn’t moved; no fluttering of his eyes, no agonizing moans, nor did his chest move up and down with shallow breath. “He will want for nothing. All I have will be his: my love, my home, and my title.”
Lorelei’s eyes flickered open at his declaration. “He cannot be—” she paused, her lids becoming too heavy for her to keep open, “—for you.”
“Shhhhh.” Confused, he leaned down and set his lips to hers. “Just rest.”
“No, I…must…tell…you…all.”
“We have been through this, my love. I do not blame you for all that has happened. You did what you must.” He needed her to know he understood, and he did not begrudge her the decisions she was pressed to make.
“Andrew, my family…and I are not here for the matter…you think.” The words poured from her as if she knew if she didn’t get it all out now, and quickly, she would soon be unable to say anything.
Lorelei coughed and more blood ran from her lips. “We were here to…obtain the case inside the satchel…you now hold.”
He looked at the unsuspecting bag he held. He’d assumed within were Peter’s things, the things he would need if Lorelei didn’t make it through this.
“Please, take them. Destroy them. Keep them far from my son.” She coughed once more and he saw her remaining energy drain from her body. “They are not safe, even with you. They will cause you nothing but grief, as they have me.”
“But—”
“Andrew.” Her moss-colored eyes stared intently into him. “Would you deny me my last request?”
“Never, Lorelei. I would deny you nothing; yesterday, today…and forever more. Nothing I would deny you, my love.”
“I…am…sorry for involving you.”
With one last effort, Lorelei expelled a deep sigh—and she was gone from him. Her head lolled to the side and the hand that had gripped his went limp.
“Come on, m’lord!” a man shouted from atop the carriage.
Finally, Andrew could no longer ignore the voices above him.
“There is no one left.” She was gone—his reason for…everything, gone. “Help me up.”
The men lifted Andrew from the wreckage to the sight of a dozen people milling about.
A man hurried toward him carrying a satchel, his hair and glasses askew. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
Andrew looked down at himself. In the lamplight and glow from the many torches, he could see his coat and undershirt were saturated with blood—Lorelei’s blood.
“No.” Andrew moved past the man without another word, the bag Lorelei had given him securely under his arm. “But please see to the child.”
“Child, my lord?” the man asked.
“Yes, he and his nursemaid were lifted from the carriage a few moments ago.” Andrew turned to a dock worker helping the coachman to his feet. “Where did the child go?” he yelled to him.
The man looked up and down the street. “They be over there not a few minutes ago.”
Andrew searched the growing crowd for the stout maid and Peter, but they were nowhere to be seen. The crowd began to thin as interest in the accident waned, and the only work left to do was right the carriage.
The crowd was abuzz with news of the couple inside. “Is it true that Lord and Lady Chastain both perished inside?” someone called to him. He ignored the questions and kept moving through the crowd. Up and down the street—checking alleys, nooks, and doorways. But they were nowhere to be found.
He’d given himself one task, and he was unable to accomplish even that. Peter had disappeared.
Lorelei had begged him to get as far away as possible, destroy whatever was in the bag slung over his shoulder, and not to look for her son. But how could he not?
Peter was all he had left of his Lorelei.
He wasn’t certain whether a fine mist had started to fall or if the moisture that soaked his face was from his own eyes. In the blink of an eye, he’d lost everything.
His months of dwelling on what to do without Lorelei seemed trivial now. She’d been alive—living with another man, true, but alive. Now, she was gone. No matter how many hours he pondered what could have been, it would never be.
No, he was left with this case and…
He hadn’t even begun to work through the notion that Chastain had used her body when she hadn’t agreed. All these months of hating his best friend and Andrew hadn’t even known the depths of Benji’s deceptions. The urge to tear the man limb from limb had been strong, but his need to love Lorelei had been stronger, knowing the time would come when he’d deal with Chastain. But first, he’d needed to have her, save her, keep her.
He hadn’t been there to protect her that night in Covent Gardens.
And he’d failed to keep her safe once more.
Andrew didn’t deserve her or Peter.
And she’d been a spy? He just could not believe her words. His task of taking and destroying whatever lay in the case seemed farfetched to the extreme.
With a hurried thought, Andrew rushed to his horse with a new destination in mind—but first, he needed to make one stop.
Chapter 29
After stopping at his townhouse to hide the case within and commanding his servants to lock every door and window, Andrew once again mounted his horse and departed for the one place he could find answers. There was nowhere else to go—and perhaps, he would find Peter, as well.
The night grew late, carriages having long since returned their masters to their homes for the night. Andrew rode like the fires of hell were nipping at his heels. If everything were true, his opportunity to find clarity in all that had happened could, at this very moment, be escaping his grasp.
Coming to a stop before the comte’s townhouse, he saw that only a few candles could be seen lighting various rooms within. Either the comte and his wife were asleep, or they had departed in haste. For if they knew of their daughter’s demise and their grandchild’s disappearance, surely they’d be awake and mourning their loss—or searching every lane in London for their babe.
They would be frantic with grief, as Andrew was at this moment. Surely they’d also be searching for answers to this tragedy.
That is, unless they knew Lorelei’s secrets—possibly even shared in her deceptions. But then still they would grieve her death.
He dismounted his horse and took the front steps two at a time.
His fist upon the door echoed within the cavernous house as if nothing lay within but empty, hollow rooms.
When no one came to the door, Andrew grasped the handle and pushed, ready to take down the solid door himself if that meant gaining entrance and possible answers. But that was not necessary, for it swung open of its own accord, unlocked.
Stepping inside, Andrew listened.
He listened for the cries of an injured babe.
He strained to hear the soft singing of a nursemaid to calm an innocent.
After a moment, he still heard nothing.
Stilling his breathing and attempting to calm his racing heart, he listened once more. Footsteps could be heard moving somewhere in the large house. Andrew focused, realizing the sounds came from above.
Angry voices argued back and forth in French, confirming whoever was here was on the second floor.
Andrew rushed up the stairs. A thick rug muted his approach. Light came from a room far down the hall—the same window lit by the candlelight he’d seen from outside.
“Did you hear that?” Andrew knew enough French to make out the question.
“You are hearing things.” Lorelei’s father’s voice was unmistakable. “He must have known something would be here or he wouldn’t have come.”
Andrew paused not far from the cracked door. Inside, Lorelei’s parents rushed about—a pair of prone legs on the floor could be seen not far from the bed.
“Where do you think they went?” If one didn’t concentrate so heavily on what was being said, the shrill nature of the comtesse’s words wouldn’t have been understandable.
“If I knew that, we would have departed by now.” The comte’s deep voice thundered through the room. “She may have them with her—and fled, leaving us to deal with things.”
“Oh, Mathis,” the comtesse cried. “Lorelei would never deceive us, would she?”
“She is not our concern any longer. Your daughter has abandoned us.”
“She would never,” the poor woman moaned.
They thought Lorelei had abandoned them? Andrew wanted to tell them the truth, but hesitated to enter the room.
A groan sounded.
“Quiet,” the comte hissed at the man on the floor. “If you refuse to answer my questions, then remain silent and accept your fate.”
Andrew realized then that Lorelei had been correct about the comte and comtesse.
“Keep searching. If there is something to find it is either with her or here. Lorelei would be a fool to retain the plans in Chastain’s own house.”
“But why would she bring them here and not tell us?” The comtesse sounded close to hysterics.
“Perhaps our child knew she’d soon be departing London.”
Andrew applauded his own foresight in dropping the case at his townhouse before continuing on. He’d risked missing the comte, and possibly never seeing Peter again, but Lorelei had been carrying what they sought with her, not the man lying on the floor close to his demise.
Drawers opened and closed, and the creak of bed ropes could be heard from within. “We must depart. Someone will search for De Pez soon, or the servants will return and find him. Perhaps Lore did the smart thing by disappearing; we were sent on a fool’s errand. How do we even know the plans still exist, or that Bonaparte will spare our lives if we fail?”
“That is not for us to question, Camille,” the comte said. “We were given a task, and we failed.”
Andrew had heard enough. Lorelei’s parents were willing to forsake her for their own lives. It was clear no one had been round to tell them of the accident, and Peter most certainly was not within this house.
Still, Andrew listened, though he should be out the door and back on his horse searching—there was a great chance Peter was badly hurt. His nursemaid could have, in her daze, wandered off and gotten lost.
Andrew pushed the door open, revealing a feminine bedchamber. Hair brushes, clothes, and ribbons were scattered about. The bed sheets pulled from the straw mattress lay in one corner. The dressing room had been completely emptied of belongings, as well, and they were now piled about the floor and tables.
The comtesse yelped like a frightened pup when he stepped into the room and glanced to the man lying motionless on the ground.
The comte was instantly on guard. “What are you doing within my house? I shall call for the magistrate immediately.”
