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“That’s unfortunately not how life works for us,” the duke lamented.
“And why not? You’ve rejected every other cage so many have tried to place on you - expectations of who to marry, and when, and it seems that that young lady has done the same,” Colby reasoned. “Why do you think yourself bound by the legacy of your father?”
The words resounded, and the duke did not have an answer. He had never thought on things from quite that perspective. The duke looked upon the moors again, and he saw her face. Everywhere, he saw her face. He saw her face and heard her voice crying out in love for him and he knew that Colby was right. No man is doomed to make those same mistakes.
“But how could I truly trust myself not to become the man my father did?” he asked Colby.
“I trust that you will not, as I’ve known you for a great many years, and have never seen such a beastly part of you, m’lord. And, clearly,” Colby mused as he tugged on the carriage’s reins, “that pretty young woman felt the same way. She trusted you - with her heart,” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you trust yourself?”
“I...” the duke tried to gather the words, but he did not truly have an answer. He struggled to find one, but nowhere could he devise an excuse for so salient a point. He looked out on the moors and damned himself silently as he saw her again, riding along the bend of the road just behind them. He heard the clop of Midnight’s hooves... and he focused, looking closely onto the far ridge. Stricken with shock, he exhaled, as he realized that this was not an illusion, nor some deceptive and damning ministration of his mind.
“M’lord?” Colby asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Is that... someone... coming up behind us?” the duke asked, his heart beating hard. It looked like her, and she could scarcely make out a carriage, studded with lights, following behind - the earl’s carriage, flashing as it tumbled along the roadway.
“It seems like a carriage, m’lord, and a woman... on a horse?” Colby reasoned. As he peered closer through the dark the duke noticed some movement on the horse, and heard a scream.
“Spin around! Block the roadway,” the duke exclaimed, pain settling into his stomach. “Some manner of... bandit, or some such, is...” he swallowed hard.
“Indeed, m’lord,” Colby responded, a canny and broad smile brimming as he yipped at the horses, pulling their reins around. The carriage swung hard and the duke nearly fell from his seat, but he hung on tight as the vehicle came into place, wheels in the mud and horses sniffling and whinnying as they marched impatiently, blocking passage along the road.
“It’s that bastard the earl, I’d bet,” the duke exclaimed as he stepped with haste out onto the roadway. His heart beat harder as he heard the screams and saw the procession advancing along the dips in the path, the cobblestones rumbling underfoot as they drew closer. Midnight whinnied loud, clearly trying to throw the earl from its back, and then he saw her - fighting atop the steed, with the earl grasping at her arms and trying to take control of the horse. Her face, so pained and desperate, brimmed suddenly with manic joy as she caught sight of the duke standing tall, blocking the path ahead.
“Lawrence!” he heard her shrill cry echo along the path as the wicked earl tried to silence her. He, too, looked up from his grappling of the slight woman, the devil in his eyes as they approached. The earl’s carriage creaked and swayed under the speed and the weight of the chase, but it came to a slow stop as the driver caught sight of the duke’s barricade. Midnight whinnied and rumbled and stopped all at once when it came close to the duke; the horse lifted its back legs, and the surprise earl found himself thrown completely from the horse’s back, landing on his side in the mud along the roadway with a grunt and a thud.
“Agh! Stupid animal!” the earl exclaimed, teetering as he struggled to his feet.
“Lawrence! You came back for me?!” Anne’s voice erupted like a cheerfully singing dove, and she leapt from Midnight’s back and ran to embrace him. He swept her into his arm and held her tight, never wanting to let go; certainly after seeing what had happened. The earl limped along the road, grunting, his face blazing with rage; blood ran down his nostrils, his face swollen and his eyes utterly infected with hate.
“You!” the earl shouted, staggering up the roadway as his carriage driver looked on pensively. “What are you doing here? She doesn’t want you! She doesn’t have a choice,” the earl called hoarsely. “I’ve already decided that she’s mine. And when I want something—”
“You look like you’ve had quite a bad evening tonight, Martin,” the duke coolly retorted, holding shivering Anne close to his side. “That nose of yours might need looked at.”
“This witch!” he hissed. “She did it. And don’t you worry, Duke of Amhurst, she’ll pay for it in time,” Martin snarled. “Now, let go of her, let her be on her way here.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do that, Martin,” Lawrence stated simply.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to do it, you idiot?” Martin sneered. “Let go of her! You don’t even like women,” he raged.
“You know what? You’re right, I don’t like women,” Lawrence said, letting Anne go; she pleaded for him to stay, but with a gentle caress he assuaged her fears. “I love women. Or, woman, more particularly. One particular woman. Anne Hatley of Roxborough.”
“Hah! You’re too late,” Martin sneered. “I’m the Earl of Carteret! I get whatever I want, and there’s little you can do to protest, you fop. You, of all people? Lawrence, of Amhurst? The most lily-touched fool in all England? Think you can take any woman you like?” he continued to rage. “You know nothing! I bed women with a simple smile! I control half of the estates in this country, and I’ll control another half when I’m finished with this harlot! Do you think you can do anything to stop me?” he asked Lawrence with a guffaw. “You can’t even help yourself! What, twenty-nine and you can’t find a wife? What a fool! And you think you deserve the viscount’s estate? What will you do with it, cry upon all of its lands? You idiot! You know nothing! You kn—” the earl’s final narcissistic exclamation found itself cut short by the sudden and quite final meeting of Lawrence’s coiled-up fist against the side of his already-bruised face. The single punch came with such ferocity that the earl spun on his feet, letting out a dumbfounded little groan of shocked pain, as he teetered back-forth on his feet. He turned around, woozy, and seemed ready to make a statement of protest at the complete lack of civility from the Duke of Amhurst... but instead all he managed to do was fall flat onto his ass, staring wide-eyed at the stars twinkling above.
“Hey!” the driver called out in protest from the earl’s carriage. “How dare you? Do you know who that man is?”
“To me, he looks like a silly infant, squirming around in the mud like a pig,” Lawrence proclaimed with a laugh. He felt Anne run to his side, and he laid his arm across her shoulders, feeling... almost transformed. He heard the Colby yip at the horses, and as they began to trot through the mud and back onto the road, he looked down to Anne. Tears on her face - but he knew they were tears of panic, and tears of confusion; and most of all, tears of joy.
“I love you, Lawrence,” she admitted, pressing her face into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d come back for me.”
“I suppose it’s fortunate that I did,” he joked.
“Should I kick him once? Just for the sake of it?” Anne asked with an impish smile, watching the daze earl try to stand on rubbery legs.
“You certainly should,” Lawrence added. And with aplomb he watched as his love left his side, and with her face all tightened up pure anger, she delivered a swift, singular strike of her toes against the earl’s ribs, sending him back to his side, writhing.
“My! That was quite unladylike of you,” Lawrence exclaimed facetiously, sighing as he came round to hold her once again. Her eyes gleamed, and i
t seemed at that perfect moment that the night had come in just the right way, to set up just the right moment, of her tranced in him, and him tranced in her. Their lips met again, with all the primal and molten fury that had in those moments of passion they spent together in the cabin; the feeling erupted within the both of them, and he held her tightly as she gripped at his back, pulling him closer, as close as the two of them could ever be. Lawrence closed his eyes and for the first time in as long as he could possibly remember the nightmares washed away, taken and thrown like scattered ashes tossed to the cool night breeze, deposited in dark places where they would never again be remembered.
