Page 66 of The Marquess of Secrets

Lydia sighed as she stepped onto the stone path. Already she decided to take a position here, even without the rest of the tour. Lydia knew enough at first glance that this was a well-run home, clean and fresh and bright. The few patients she’d seen were kept busy with various activities. They were well cared for. Loved. Treated with dignity. Isn’t that all anyone ever wanted, no matter the circumstances?

Removing her gloves and tucking them in her cloak pocket, she then trailed the tips of her fingers along the top of a manicured shrub. Without warning, a rough hand clamped against her mouth.

“Keep quiet. You’re coming with me. Where you belong,” a foul breath hissed in her ear.

Huntsford! Do not panic. Keep your wits. Stall him from leaving, for Harrison and his brother will return any moment.

The gardens were not in a courtyard, but they opened up into the rear of the home. That must be how he accessed the property.

My God, he followed them here? All the way from London?

“If I release my hand, you will not scream, correct?”

She gave a quick nod. As soon as Huntsford moved his hand, a revolver jabbed into her side. Lydia turned slightly, catching a glimpse of his face. He looked disheveled; his pupils dilated. Of course, he was under the influence.

“Why can’t you leave me be?” she whispered. “Why do this? You’re not thinking straight. It’s the opium, the morphine; it has twisted you beyond recognition.”

He’d always been possessive. At first, Lydia had reveled in the attention, but it soon got out of hand with the increase in his drug use. Like now.

“I am not your possession to do with as you please. Our relationship turned toxic. It’s ruined, John, beyond all hope. You know this. I’m trying to get my life back on track; I would suggest that you do the same. Please, I beg you.”

He snorted. “A pretty speech, acting like you care a damn. Why do this? Because you are mine. No bloody marquess is going to take you from me.”

Huntsford pulled her against him, and his erection prodded her back. Lydia's insides tumbled with revulsion.

“Remember how it was between us?” he continued. “We can have that again. I still have drugs left from the theft. We can play as we did before, me rubbing the powder on you while I pound inside—”

“Release her at once, Huntsford!”

Harrison and his brother.

Relief covered her at the sight of them. Mrs. Eaton looked on in shock. It was then she noticed Harrison had a revolver of his own.

Oh, no!

The last thing she wanted was for Harrison to be injured in any way.

Huntsford moved the barrel of the gun to her temple. “Back away, my lords. And Tennington, lower your pistol, or I may have a fatal accident with my own,” he spat. “We’ll be leaving now. You’re coming with me, aren’t you, love?”

“Y-yes. Whatever you want. I will come with you. Don’t hurt anyone.”

Huntsford backed up several steps, yanking Lydia along with him. Her mind raced.

Kick his leg? Elbow his guts? Could she move swiftly enough to escape being shot? Huntsford was capable of it. Could she scramble far enough away for Harrison to take a clear shot?

With that thought barely formed, a thunderous bang exploded.

Lydia thought: that’s it, it’s the end.

But it wasn’t her that screamed. Or Harrison.

Huntsford fell to his knees, dropping the revolver, then held onto his left shoulder, blood trickling between fingers.

“An excellent shot, Robins. Well done,” Harrison said.

Lydia whirled about to see Mr. Robins, Taylor, and two other men with weapons drawn.

“We followed him here, my lord,” Mr. Robins said. He held up a carpet bag. “What remains from the St. Thomas theft. Found it in his rented room in Hastings. We’ll take him into custody. Put him up at the local jail until we can make arrangements for his transport to London.”