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“Marion,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her. “Marion, my love.”
She flinched as he touched her knee, a tremor running through her whole body. Simon wondered sadly how long it might be before his wife could be touched again without feeling the fear of everything that had happened to her this day. It didn’t matter to him. He would be there with her every step of the way.
“It is alright,” he whispered softly. “It’s only me, Simon. You are safe now. Nathan and the constable are here.”
As he spoke, his voice soft and soothing, as if he was calming a fretful horse, he gently tugged her skirts back into place, covering her up neatly, and removed his jacket to drape over her. Then, cautiously, not wanting to scare her, he lowered himself onto the dirty floor beside her and reached for her hands. Her knuckles were white, her fingers curled into fists in her hair.
“Marion,” he whispered gently, stroking her clenched fingers. “Marion, my love, it is alright. You don’t have to look at him, here.” He shuffled himself slightly so that Marion’s head was level with his chest, blocking her view of Nathan and the man behind them.
“Just rest your head here and,” slowly, cautiously, he prompted her to uncurl her fists. They were as tight of clams from fear. He worried her feminine nails might have cut grooves in her palms, but she relinquished, suddenly dropping her hands and lifting her head, resting her blood- and tear-stained face against his shirt, sighing heavily.
“I don’t want to look at him again,” she mumbled, her lips moving against the fabric.
“You don’t have to,” Simon murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of her head and placing a gentle, protective hand over the side of her face, blinding her to the rest of the room. Assured that Marion was safe in his arms, Simon paid attention to the arrest taking place in front of him.
“So, if you’re not Ted Laurie,” the constable said, pushing the man’s wrists into irons, “then who are you?”
“Does it matter? I ain’t him.” The man winced, struggling to keep his weight off his one wounded leg while Nathan still had the tip of the saber less than an inch from his carotid artery.
“How did you come to hear of him?” Nathan asked, narrowing his eyes at the unknown assailant.
Simon held Marion close, ensuring she could not see the man, though he knew she could hear him. He could tell from the way her breathing had hitched, becoming more irregular as he spoke. He squeezed her shoulder gently, trying to reassure her without hurting her more.It’s alright,he said silently,it’s only words. He can’t hurt you anymore.
“We rubbed along the race tracks, back in the day,” the man said, eyeing Nathan cautiously. He had clearly decided that Nathan was the type of man who would slay him in cold blood, and even though Simon knew it couldn’t be further from the truth, he had no inclination to correct him. “Both lived down here for a bit.”
“Where is he?” Simon asked quietly. He felt Marion hold her breath against him. “The real Ted Laurie?”
“Dead,” the man said flatly. “Plague. Nearly three years back.”
Simon felt Marion let out her breath slowly. He imagined this was probably the only circumstance under which a person could be told a long-lost parent was dead, when the terrible alternative of what a living parent could bring had just been so cruelly revealed.
“How did you know of the Countess?” Nathan demanded, drawing the man’s attention back to him. “Did you torture her father?”
“Torture? Couldn’t get the bastard to shut up!” The man coughed. There was blood on his lips. “She were all he talked about at the end. Weren’t hard to find her. He asked me to.”
“He asked you to hunt her down?” Nathan’s lip curled in anger. “He asked you to kidnap her?”
“Not him, the soft fool.” The man grinned through bloody teeth. “No ingenuity, him. He wanted a letter delivered. Wanted forgiveness, didn’t he, poor fool. Head like a baked apple, that one.”
“But where one man saw the hope of forgiveness, you saw opportunity for reward,” Nathan said bitterly, shaking his head.
“Aye, well, I’ve got a reputation to hold onto, guv,” the man smirked. Simon was glad Marion couldn’t see how pleased he was with himself, though he could tell from the tightness in her shoulders that she could feel it. “A rich gal, married to an earl? Only a fool passes up what’s offered on a plate, and I’m not one to turn down a free meal. She was desperate for a father, weren’t she?” The man shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the impact of the irons on his wrist. “Not my fault she’d not had one.”
“No, for that you are not guilty,” Nathan said coldly, “but for kidnap, assault, and ransom you most certainly are. Take him away, constable.”
“Wait,” Simon said, thinking of something suddenly. The man looked at him with tired, suspicious eyes. He clearly knew he had lost. He was a low-life, a criminal with no remorse for his crimes. He was clearly just thinking about his cell and the bandage for his leg that a prison doctor might give him. Simon hoped he rotted there.
“The letter,” Simon said, looking at Nathan to calm down his anger. “The letter written by her father— he might still have it. Check him.”
Nathan nodded to the constable, who did so, rifling the man down as he winced and flinched, and then, coming up victorious holding a crumpled envelope in his hand.
“Here you are, Milord,” the constable said, handing it to Nathan. “We’ll be off now.”
“Thank you, constable,” Nathan said, watching shrewdly as the constable marched the man from the room.
As soon as he was gone, Nathan crossed over to his friends, kneeling down so he was eye-level with them.
“Marion,” Nathan said quietly. “Eleanor has insisted you come back to our home now. She is most worried about you. Would you consent to join us before you return home?”
