Chapter Nineteen
John’s heart was firmly lodged in his throat as his father continued to hold Caroline captive on the Serpentine Bridge. And what was more, her wrists were bound in front of her.
He bristled. The effrontery of that scurvy scum!
The structure served as a boundary between Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, with the fat part of the Serpentine on one side and narrow Long Water on the other. The more the baron held that pistol trained on her, the more anger roared through his chest. His pulse thudded hard in his ears, and he hoped that Brand would be able to surprise him, for the plan was to have him come up from the rear. John’s part was to serve as a distraction, and he’d been remiss thus far.
“I rather doubt you’ll kill anyone.” It was a gamble, to be sure, for his father was slightly unhinged. How had he come to this pass? And how the devil could he rescue Caroline, untie her, and do something about his father at the same time? He hoped Brand had an idea.
“Desperate men are driven to desperate measures.” Slowly, his father advanced, pushing Caroline ahead of him until they reached the middle of the bridge. “I want that coin.”
So, this was where his father would make his last stand. So be it. After this incident, John wanted no part of the man’s life. He was finished trying to make amends. Caroline certainly didn’t need that sort of anxiety in addition to what she already carried, and from the moment he’d pledged his life to her, she came first. With a growl, John took another step. He’d meant what he said to the earl. If need be, he’d put a period to his father’s life. As he came closer, he caught the unmistakable evidence of bruises forming on the side of Caroline’s face.
The bugger will pay for that.
One of his hands curled into a fist. The longer his father mistreated Caroline, the more John’s anger grew, filled the whole of his being until he was shaking with it. Perhaps he’d have the whole mess done with tonight.
“Let her go. We’ll talk as men.”
The baron snorted. “The time has passed for that.”
“No.” Caroline shook her head. Somehow, she maneuvered herself around so that she could peer at her captor. How could the man not be taken with her looks, her soulful eyes, that mouth that hinted at a smile? “You can always talk. John me that taught. Makes you feel better.”
Oh, he was so proud of her! She’d come so far with growth since they married. It also humbled the hell out of him that he could help her in that way, but if he didn’t do something and soon, he might lose her. I’m so sorry you’re in the middle of this drama. If he could snatch her away, would his father shoot him in the back? Cold fear shook him. He took another tentative step toward them, for he had to try. “I brought the blunt, but not the sum you specified.”
“Damn it! You had one directive, and you’ve failed.” He gestured with the pistol but kept hold of Caroline’s hair. “Because of your incompetence, you’ve as good as signed my death warrant.”
John frowned. What the devil did that mean? Then he understood. “Ah, some of your money lenders aren’t best pleased you’ve got pockets to let. Have you sold off everything of value then?” The townhouse had certainly not seemed as if the paintings and décor had been picked through, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t spoken for after the ball had ended.
“I did what I needed to do.”
“Ah, to continue to purchase enough spirits to pickle your liver? One hell of a slow way to meet your Maker.” Well, that was his own sorry fault. He’d made that mess all by himself. Perhaps he didn’t deserve mercy or a second—twentieth—chance. “I’ll wager they won’t kill you just yet. Cause you pain, sure, but not death. You’re no good to them in a coffin.” The sad fact remained there were not enough funds to lay his father out in a vault on the Surrey property with his forebearers. A simple coffin in an unnamed churchyard would be his final resting place.
His emotions were split upon that fact, and it further angered him. Why should he care what happened to this sorry excuse for a man?
“You have no idea how far gone things are.” The admission was said in a soft voice. “I am out of options, and quite frankly, I’m tired of fighting.”
“Meaning what?” Surely, he didn’t wish to end his own life. John’s chest tightened, not because he would miss his father; there was no love lost between them, but due to the fact that he wasn’t ready to land in the spoiled soup the title represented.
However, if suicide were declared as the cause of death, perhaps the courts would rule the Westfield title and Butler blood “infected” or “corrupt” which would therefore circumnavigate the need to become baron. The title and the debt simply wouldn’t pass on.
“Meaning I’ve made a muck of things and have no idea how to fix it.”
“Do you wish to make amends?” That would come as a surprise if so.
“I don’t know. I’ve been miserable for so long…” The words trailed off, and when John assumed he might lower the pistol, he shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “I only know that it will start with the coin you’ve brought, but I’m still going to demand the ransom I asked for.” He jammed the nose of the pistol harder into Caroline’s side. “Perhaps I’ll hold her hostage until then.”
Her whimpers of alarm went straight to John’s heart and squeezed. “Of course you would say that.” Everything the man did revolved around money. There was nothing inside him that had compassion for anyone else. “You’re quite the selfish bastard, Father. It’s good to know you never disappoint in that regard.” He didn’t trust his father as far as he could throw him. “Did you ever wish to make something of yourself instead of dig a hole around you and the title?”
“Perhaps, at one time, when your mother was alive.”
“But you broke her heart along with the rest of us,” he said in a low voice. That had been a terrible time in his life. Shortly thereafter, he’d escaped to the navy. John glanced at Caroline as the rhythmic slap of the water below provided background sound. Trembles racked her frame as she clasped her hands together. Tears streaked her face in the moonlight. Portions of her pretty gown had been torn, and the crescent moon pendant she’d worn tonight was missing from around her neck. Whatever he did, he would free her from his father. “Mother had so much hope you’d make her proud, but you couldn’t manage it. Vices took control. And now, you’re holding my wife at pistol point. Such a gentleman.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from the statement. The muscles in his belly clenched. How to extricate Caroline without rendering her harm? “It doesn’t bode well for the future, does it?”
For one second, he thought that perhaps his father might have had a change of heart, but then his expression hardened, and the baron shook his head. “Our future was decided the day your mother died, and then the days you and Mark walked out on me.”
“You gave us no choice!” What did he not understand about that? Why would grown children wish to continue to let someone beat them nearly every day?
“Shame on you, Lord Westfield.” Then Caroline gasped.