The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(78)

“You think of everything.” The man entered the room, and Miss Betsy pulled the door shut. “There is no one to rescue you now, my dear,” Lord Ruffington said. “Your brother will have to agree to our marriage.”

Good Lord! Ruffington? Charlotte barely knew him. In fact, she did not think she had even danced with the man or been introduced to him. He always seemed to be just outside her circle.

Straightening her spine, she raised one brow. “Lord Kenilworth, however, will not.”

“Do you truly think he’ll want you after I’m done with you?” He looked at the bed. “I was going to wait, but it might be easier to simply take you here.”

Ruffington sauntered forward unbuttoning his falls, then stopped and glanced down as if he was having trouble with one. Charlotte lifted the stool and smashed it as hard as she could on his head.

He fell to his knees, hitting his forehead on the bed frame. “Bloody bitch,” he roared as he tried to stand. “You’ll pay for that.”

*

A wheel hit the rutted road, causing Con to lurch to one side.

Bloody hell! He’d have to slow down. Where the devil was the damn place? Less than a second later a large, grubby building with a sign hanging crookedly from a wooden arm appeared. A coach stood in the yard, horses still hitched.

He had to find Charlotte. Pray God he was in time.

Movement from one side of the inn caught the corner of his eye as a gentleman entered a side door. Stopping his phaeton to one side of the yard, he jumped down and dashed to the side, ducking so that he couldn’t be seen from the windows.

“Bloody bitch!” a man roared. “You’ll pay for that.”

Every muscle and sinew was alive and ready to do battle as he jerked the door on the side of the building open, ran to the door at the end of the room, and kicked it in.

Clutching a stool over her head, Charlotte stood like a Valkyrie. Ruffington—the bloody cur—had blood running from a gash in his head as he rose.

Con grabbed the cur by his cravat. Someone was going to pay dearly, but not his love. “This is for insulting my betrothed,” he growled as he drove his fist into Ruffington’s nose. The sound of bone crunching made Con grin. Blood flowed down the blackguard’s face onto his neckcloth as the man lurched backward. “And this is for even thinking of dishonoring her.” Still holding the neckcloth, Con rammed his fist into the villain’s jaw. Ruffington slithered to the floor, unconscious. “It’s too bad I didn’t kill him.” Con had wanted to. He reached for Charlotte, pulling her to his side. “Are you all right? I was so afraid I wouldn’t arrive before—”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She had thrown her arms around his neck, but let go. “I cannot believe he—he—” She reared back and kicked Ruffington hard in his ribs. “I wish you had killed him as well. The scoundrel! What are we going to do about him?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Bringing a criminal case against Ruffington in the House of Lords was not an option. That would only serve to ruin Charlotte. “I’ll think of some fitting punishment.” Con wanted to hold her again, but they had to escape before anyone found them. “We must get him out of here. We do not know when that villainess will arrive with Miss Cloverly.”

“She left not long ago,” Charlotte said.

Con opened the side door. Merton’s men had arrived and were ready to help. He pointed to the bedchamber. “Get the man in there, bind him, and put him in his coach.”

Turning to take Charlotte’s hand, he almost bumped into her. “Let’s go.”

“Should we not wait to see it through?”

Naturally, she would not want to leave immediately. He’d been foolish for even thinking she would. “If you wish, but not in here.”

“No.” She shivered, as if the horror of the morning was catching up to her.

He heaved a sigh. “Better yet, hide his coach and put him over by my phaeton. That way we can keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Charlotte and Con stood outside as Ruffington was carried out to the trees, dumped on the ground, tied up, and gagged with his own bloody cravat.

“We’ve got him trussed all right and tight, my lord,” said the same outrider who had found the hedge tavern.

“What is your name?” Con asked.

“Jeffers, my lord.” He was a good man. Con was bound to require outriders to protect Charlotte. Perhaps Merton would be willing to let the servant go.

“We have to find some way to keep Miss Cloverly safe,” Charlotte said. “Could you go back to the room and stay there until we ensure she is safe?”

Con hesitated. He would much rather remain with Charlotte and keep her safe. For a moment he thought of ordering one of the other servants to man the room, but if one of them struck a peer, or even the son of a peer, they could be in a great deal of trouble.

“We shall take good care of her ladyship,” Jeffers said.

“Very well.” Con escorted Charlotte to where his phaeton was hidden. “If you are in any danger, do not wait for me. Just go. I’ll find my own way back.” He glanced around. “Where is Jemmy?”

“Right here, sir.” The boy popped up from behind the carriage.

“You stay with Lady Charlotte.”