Chapter Twenty
Please let meget there in time.
He swam to the area where he thought she might be. “Caroline!” Another series of splashes before the eerie silence engulfed the night. The hell with it. Diving beneath the surface, he swam as best he could with his shoes on. The inky blackness didn’t help, but his hand rasped against the filmy fabric of her skirting. With his heart pounding, John reeled her to him, hand over hand, until he was able to wrap an arm about her waist and push them both to the surface.
Once more, his head cleared the water, and he pulled her up with him. Caroline coughed and sputtered as they bobbed along with the current. She gulped in lungsful of air.
“You came.” Her words were soft, choked, wheezy.
Oh, dear Lord, his heart would soon explode from the relief of having her still with him. “Didn’t I say that I would?” He smoothed the wet shanks of hair from her face. “Good enough so I can get you to the shore?”
“Yes.” A shiver racked her shoulders. “I was so frightened.” She lifted her arms and then looped her arms about his neck so her tied wrists were at his nape. “Your father lashes out…” She took another gulp of air. “…because grieving he is, like a wounded animal.”
“That’s not an excuse for trying to kill both Brand and you.” John hardened his heart against his father’s plight or his emotional fragility. “But I will say my piece to him. If he’s receptive, we’ll proceed from there.” He swam as best he could with Caroline clinging to his body like a quaking monkey. “Sweeting, we shall talk once the business with my father has concluded.”
Precious minutes ticked by while he brought them both to the riverbank against the current. At the back of his mind, he wondered if a patrol would come by, attracted by her scream when she’d gone into the water. Would they agree to take his father into custody even if he was a peer? Doubtful. Men with titles were very seldom arrested or even put to trial. There was absolutely nothing keeping men from being the worst versions of themselves. No consequences meant continued bad behavior.
It needs to stop. For my sake. For Caroline’s.
For their future.
Finally, he disentangled his wife’s arms from about his neck and then hefted her onto the bank. When he pulled himself out of the water, a chill immediately swept through him, but he ignored it in favor of removing Caroline’s bonds, rubbing her wrists. “Are you all right?”
Her teeth chattered but she nodded. “He ruined my gown.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, the corners of John’s lips twitched. “He has much to answer for, I’m afraid. We’d best have it over and done with. The sooner we do, the sooner we can go home.”
“Home.” Caroline gave him a tired smile. Then she gasped. “Brand is hurt.” Before he could respond, she’d dashed off, moving over the grassy embankment and toward the path that would lead to the bridge.
“I suppose there’s no stopping her when she’s determined.” He followed, but every muscle in his body was taut and overwrought, for there was no easy answer for his father. Catching up with his wife as she approached Brand and the baron, he drew her to a halt. “I want to keep you safe. He’s a dangerous man at this point.”
She nodded. “Will you punch him?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.” She laid a hand on his arm. “But he’s your father. Mine is gone; yours is not.” Her gaze met John’s in the dark. “He is hurting, doesn’t be kind know how to, so show him. Then if he rejects that, you have the answer.” Her fingers tightened. “Please?”
Perhaps she’d summed up the situation clearly. “I’ll do my level best.” Residual anger gathered in his gut, pushed into his chest. The crimes against his family—the people he’d chosen to put in his life—still rankled, but Caroline remained by his side, and he was sorely glad for her presence.
The baron stood with his back to the stone railing. Brand waited a few feet away. Even in the inky blackness, it was apparent his face had blanched. Somehow, he’d taken possession of the pistol, but it didn’t matter. It was a single barrel weapon, and until it could be reloaded, it was basically useless. Leave it to his father to cling to antiquated pistols like he did ideals.
“I want the coin I was promised.” Emotion rendered his father’s voice rough. “It will at least mitigate some of the worst creditors.”
The gall of him to think he’d be rewarded after the events of the night! In silence, John retrieved his evening jacket. Before handing it to Caroline, he withdrew a small leather pouch from the pocket and tucked it into the waist of his trousers. “Put this on, sweeting, lest you shiver to death. You can tend to Brand after.” Then he addressed his father, ignoring the others for the moment. “You are the lowest form of blackheart I can imagine just now.” And because the night had already been trying enough, John lashed out with a fist. He caught his father on the chin. The force of the blow sent him flying, crashing to the ground. “That’s for what you perpetrated during my formative years.”
Damn, that had felt all too good, and he’d wanted to do that for too many years.
When the baron struggled to his feet, he laughed. The bugger actually laughed! “Men all over England regularly beat their children. There is no crime in it, and it’s done in the hope of making them into fine gentlemen, strong leaders who don’t let the weakness of emotions color their decisions. I learned from my father, and he from his. So on throughout the generations.”
“By fear, intimidation, and pain?” He’d had enough of his father’s excuses and reasons. He struck again, and this blow glanced off the baron’s cheek. Would be a first-rate shiner tomorrow. Yet, the satisfaction he’d gained after that first punch didn’t come with this one. “That was for daring to shoot my best friend, the man who is closer to me than my own brother. Thanks to the horrors you inflicted upon us that made us both flee.”
When his father staggered back to lean against the bridge wall, he held up a hand. “So I can assume the beating you’re giving me is acceptable behavior?” He lifted a hand to his broken lip where a thin trickle of blood had started. “Where is the line, John? Why is this any different from what I did to you and your brother? You who are allegedly so noble and kind and gentle.” The mocking tone he’d adopted when he said those words grated across John’s nerves. “You would bust me up with your fists and leave me here for the criminals to pick over?”
The truth of it caused his heart to seize. There was no difference, and in continuing to rain blows upon this sorry excuse for a human merely in retaliation, he was exactly like his father. With a gasp, John shoved a hand through his hair instead of landing him another blow for tossing Caroline into the river.
“You’re right. It was my mistake, and it won’t happen again.” His wife had told him time and time again he wasn’t the same man as his father, and he needed to continue to believe that, act like it. “But there is one difference between you and I.” He took a step away. Behind him, Caroline murmured soothing words to Brand, fussed over him as if it were her single mission in life to take care of him. Later, when he had the opportunity, John would marvel over that little bit of growth in his wife, but right now, he needed to clear his future. “I am making a conscious effort to not live the whole of my life in your footsteps. I refuse to perpetuate the hurt and coldness I received from you. There are other, more effective ways to teach the next generation, and in doing that, my children will not fear or come to loathe me.”
His father scoffed. “You will prove an embarrassment to the title.”