Page 78 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

He stood short as he looked down at her. His eyes were wild and wide. His teeth were bared. Never had she seen him so angry. And never had she been so afraid.

It was all well and good to stand up to a person, to prove that you could. But sometimes, such acts of bravery were pointless and did more harm than good. And from the way her father stood over her, Arabella knew that harm was exactly what she was about to experience.

Her father had won.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was dark as Caspian rode his horse; not so much as a sliver of light was available. The danger of riding as fast as he was could not be denied, but that did not stop Caspian from slowing down. If anything, he rode faster.

He was angry; of that there was no doubt. The need for vengeance burned hot inside of him; he would see it sated before the night was through. And more than once, he pictured what he might do when he came face to face with Lord Witherington.

Mostly, on that ride, Caspian found himself thinking about his wife.

Yes, some of it was conjuring of the danger she was in. Much of it was horrid images of her suffering; the fear that he was too late to save her. But through that, there was a light at the end of the darkness, and that was what Caspian tried his best to picture.

Caspian let his mind wander to the future. Tomorrow, the day after, and the one after that. He pictured himself and Arabella together, Timothy by their side, thinking about the family they might create once everything was settled. Most of all, he immersed himself in the feelings of what it meant to be both a father and a husband.

He was not his father. He had never been. For a time, he had worried that he might become that, and that if he were to let another into his life, they would pay the consequences. But if anything had been proven from tonight, it was that he had the capacity to care and to love and to put others before himself.

What was more, tonight proved beyond question what Caspian wanted most of all. Her name was Arabella, and he would save her.

Just as she has saved me…

Caspin followed the main road that Mr. Tibbs had told him about. It wound through forest and marsh and then more forest. For a time, he worried that he had been lied to and cursed himself for being such a fool for believing those lies.

But as that sense of dread started to compound, the road became more worn and narrower, the sense that this was a place few had ventured. Around him, the forest grew darker, creeping closer to the edges of the road, and if it had been dark before, that was nothing compared to the blackness that consumed all in sight.

Through the darkness, just as Caspian began to lose hope, he finally came across a cabin.

It sat alone in a small glade. Rundown with a sunken roof, overgrown trees, and shrubs crawling up the walls, he might have guessed that it was abandoned. However, the carriage parked beside it told Caspian immediately that he was in the right place. And if not that, the soft glow of orange light from the windows was the final indication.

He pulled the horse to a stop by the carriage and leaped down. Slowly, careful not to make a sound, Caspian crept inside.

Immediately, he heard soft voices… Pleading, it sounded like. A female’s voice that could only be Arabella’s. Over that voice, there was a dark growl, mocking laughter, and the final bit of proof that Caspian needed to know that he was in the right place.

He hurried through the small cabin, keeping silent, until he came upon an open doorway. There, he stopped short, and the moment of relief he had felt vanished quickly because what he saw sent fear through him the likes of which he had never known. Fear, and fury.

Lord Witherington stood with his back to Caspian, holding an iron bar in his right hand. While she was out of view, there was no missing Arabella; she was pressed against the wall, on her backside, looking up at her father with fear.

Caspian wasted no time.

“Lord Witherington…” He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the man’s back. “Step away from my wife.”

“Caspian!” Arabella cried.

Lord Witherington clutched the iron bar firmer as he glanced over his shoulder. He saw Caspian, as he saw the pistol, and while most might have cowered back in fear, Lord Witherington did no such thing.

“Ah, Your Grace…” He flashed an evil smile. “This is a surprise. I take it that your being here means that my men failed? It is so hard to find good help these days.”

“I will say it again.” Caspian took a step forward, pistol still pointed. “Step away from my wife.”

“Do you mean to shoot me, Your Grace?”

“If I must.”

Lord Witherington continued to smile, and he kept the iron bar raised so that one quick stroke would see it come down on his daughter. “I hope you are a good shot. If you are not, you will not be given the chance for another.”

“Caspian—”