Page 79 of An Innocent Bride for the Duke

“You dare talk to me of murder when you shot at a defenseless woman tonight?”

“Better dead than dishonored by you,” laughed Lord Ashbourne, his eyes dark pools of twisted hate.

Benedict’s hands seized Ashbourne by the throat, trying to shut him up, to stop that awful laughter. Yet even as he was throttled, the unbearable sound of it still bubbled up from his torso.

“You’re… just… like me…” gasped the man on the ground, “…like your father… She will see… for herself…”

The hate now flowing in Benedict’s veins was overwhelming and his hands tightened on the other man’s throat, ready to squeeze the life from him. Then a voice sounded from the darkness behind him, a voice he could never ignore, even though it seemed to come from somewhere far away.

“Benedict!” Louisa shouted. “Don’t!”

Anger and loathing possessed Benedict almost entirely and in this state of madness the features of his father had now somehow superimposed themselves on the shadowy features of the man thrashing, laughing and choking beneath him. Or was that Benedict’s own face, and the savage hands were those of his father? He might hear Louisa’s pleading but his body was no longer obeying the rational part of his mind.

“Benedict!” she called out again with even greater feeling. “You are better than him! You are not a murderer!”

This time her words were like a magic spell and, in a flash, Benedict knew she was right. His mind cleared and his reason revived, evil passions blown away by the force of Louisa’s sentiments. Benedict was not a murderer, he was not his father, and he was not Lord Ashbourne. He had both conscience and freewill, and a woman who believed in him.

Benedict’s hands fell away from the other man’s neck as he understood how very nearly Lord Ashbourne had won a final mind game against him. If he had killed Lord Ashbourne tonight, he would certainly be a murderer and Louisa would have known it, poisoning their relationship forever.

Just as Ashbourne was mad enough to have killed Louisa, he was mad enough to sacrifice his own life in order to hurt them both more. Ripping off Lord Ashbourne’s stock, Benedict rolled the man onto his front and tied his hands tightly with the winding cloth. Keeping a knee on Ashbourne’s back, he then tied the man’s ankles with his own stock.

“Do not think I will let you get away with this, Northwick. I will…Mmmph.”

Stuffing his handkerchief into Lord Ashbourne’s mouth, Benedict then raised the man like a sack and flung him face-forward across Thunder’s back.

“You belong in Bedlam,” Benedict told him bluntly.

Finally, he looked up at Louisa, not sure what to say in this situation, and not wanting to speak intimately in front of Lord Ashbourne. Her radiant smile told Benedict that he didn’t need to say anything at all. In her eyes, he had done the right thing and their enemy was vanquished.

The moonlight shone on Louisa’s profusion of tumbled curls and her disordered dress as she rode astride the hastily saddled Moonlight, having taken no care for propriety and a side-saddle in her haste to follow. Thank God that she had come and prevented him from destroying their love and future happiness…

“Moonlight can carry two, can’t he?” Benedict asked.

“Yes, if we walk slowly,” Louisa agreed.

“We have to do that anyway,” he said, with a gesture to Lord Ashbourne.

Smiling, Benedict swung himself up into the saddle behind Louisa, lifting and settling her before him as he took the reins from her hands, and then Thunder’s halter too.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing Louisa’s ear as she leaned back against his torso. “I love you. All will be well.”

All would be well. As they rode back to Rosemere, Benedict really believed it himself.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Ashbourne is locked up securely you said?” Benedict asked as he emerged from a long conference with Lady Esher. “Where?”

The party had ended abruptly several hours ago after news of the shooting in the paddock and then Benedict and Louisa’s return with their bound and gagged captive. The news that Lord Ashbourne had disguised himself as Lady Huxley’s coachman and attempted to murder Lady Louisa Ascot had spread through the guests like wildfire.

It was the most shocking local event for decades. Doubtless many guests had gone straight home to write of it to friends and families and the tale would be across the country within a day or two.

“In the cellars at Barrow Manor,” Damien assured him, “guarded by a contingent of armed local constables, volunteer servants and young gentlemen. I believe Sir Arthur himself plans to sit outside with a pitchfork until three expert physicians arrive to certify the deranged state of Lord Ashbourne’s mind. The Rosemere ladies are well-loved. No one has taken kindly to someone shooting Louisa, even if her injury was minor.”

“That young groom deserves a reward for his part in foiling Lord Ashbourne,” remarked Benedict. “I’ve agreed with Lady Esher that I may offer him a role at Northwick, if he wants it.”

“Then you’ve decided to live there after you marry?” asked his friend curiously. “I wasn’t sure of your plans.”

“Perhaps six months of the year here and six months there,” Benedict replied. “It seems wrong to take Louisa away from a place she loves so much entirely.”