The Abducted Heiress. Claire Thornton

lady! My lady!’ The roof suddenly filled with her servants. A young porter ran past Arscott. He seized Jakob’s arms in a cruel hold, twisting them up behind Jakob’s back and forcing him on to his knees. The porter was joined by other members of her household. There were shouts for lights and ropes. Desire stared at Jakob as her servants surrounded him. She was afraid he might resist and there would be more injuries, but he let them bind him without protest.

      ‘Hang him from the parapet! Fetch another rope for the noose, Tanner!’

      ‘No!’ Desire cried, horrified at the idea of her servants meting out such rough justice. She was sickened that two men had already died, but Arscott had discovered them armed and in the very act of attacking her. He had done what he believed necessary to protect her. The third was already tied up and no longer an immediate threat to anyone.

      ‘My lady, he’s nothing but gutter scum,’ the head porter protested, visibly shaking with outrage at the violation of the house.

      ‘He must go before the courts,’ Desire insisted forcefully. ‘There will be no lynchings from my roof. Take him to Newgate.’

      The men muttered with dissatisfaction, but she knew they would not disobey her direct command.

      ‘He must be held prisoner until he comes to trial,’ she said, steel in her voice.

      ‘Then he’ll hang,’ said the head porter. ‘Waste of time and trouble—’ He caught Desire’s eye and ceased his audible disapproval of her command.

      Jakob turned his head towards her. He looked straight into Desire’s eyes. He was on his knees, her prisoner, but he had not been defeated. His raw, virile power might have been temporarily contained, but it hadn’t been destroyed. She saw pride in his fierce gaze as their eyes locked.

      The impact shook her to her core. She felt as if he had branded her with that burning glance. For several seconds, she was unable to move or even to look away.

      ‘My lady? Are you injured?’ Arscott asked.

      Jakob shifted his attention from her to the steward, but Desire still felt the impact of his searing blue gaze. Had he been promising he would one day have his revenge on her for this defeat and humiliation?

      ‘My lady, are you hurt?’ Arscott said more urgently.

      Desire gave a start and looked at him. The steward was of slight build and average height. At first sight he didn’t appear much of a fighting man, but as a youth he had been a fearsome sharpshooter during the war between King and Parliament. It seemed his marksmanship was as accurate at the age of thirty-nine as it had been when he was seventeen. Now he was watching her with a worried frown.

      ‘No,’ Desire whispered, still shaken by the glance she’d exchanged with Jakob. She was only half-aware of Arscott taking the pistol from her. ‘You saved me!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Arscott, you saved me!’

      He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her words. ‘I’m here to serve you,’ he said, though there was a hint of anger in his well-controlled voice.

      ‘I…I…thank you.’ Desire’s legs turned to water. She turned her head away and locked her hands in her skirts so that no one would see how badly they trembled.

      As she did so, she noticed a surreptitious muttering among her household. Jakob was on his feet again. The head porter had put another rope around his neck and was using it to lead him towards the stairs. She was sure her servants would obey her direct orders within the confines of Godwin House—but she had a sudden premonition that a fatal accident might happen to Jakob Smith before he ever reached gaol.

      ‘Stop!’ The order ripped from her throat.

      Everyone turned to look at her. Even in the half-light she saw the sardonic expression on Jakob’s face. He knew as well as she did what the men planned for him.

      Desire kept her arms by her sides and her shoulders square, but she gripped her skirts convulsively as she scanned the faces before her. Surely not every man was riven with the need to avenge the violation of the house? But to her dismay, even the usually level-tempered Arscott seemed to be suppressing simmering hostility.

      Then she saw Benjamin Finch, her Gentleman of the Horse, who had only just arrived on the roof. Like most of her senior household, he had served her father before her. He was older than Arscott, and somewhat out of breath from running up the stairs, but he was always good at moderating disputes and he commanded respect among the other men.

      ‘Benjamin!’

      ‘My lady, are you hurt?’ His voice was sharp with anxiety as he looked first at her, then at the disorder around her.

      ‘No. Benjamin, this man is my prisoner.’ She pointed at Jakob, letting her hand fall quickly before anyone could see it was shaking. ‘It is my will and command that he be delivered safely to Newgate. He must stand trial for his crimes here today. I want you to make sure that he is delivered unharmed to gaol,’ she concluded in ringing tones.

      At the end of her speech Jakob gave a small, ironic bow in her direction. Several servants looked mutinous but, to Desire’s relief, Benjamin immediately accepted the charge she laid upon him. In a quiet, but firm, voice he gave the necessary orders for Jakob to be taken under guard to the gaol.

      Now the worst was over, Desire wanted to burst into tears. Two dead men were being carried from her roof. Only by a hair’s breadth had she managed to avoid a lynching, and the angel who’d invaded her garden at sunset had turned into a devil at twilight.

      Desire had been a child during the first Civil War. Her father, the Earl of Larksmere, had been a Parliamentarian. For five weeks in 1644 Larksmere House had been besieged by Royalists. For those five weeks Desire had lived in the heart of violence. She’d even suffered the consequences of it—she unthinkingly touched her scarred cheek—but that had been more than twenty years ago. Her life had been peaceful for a long time. The nightmares of the past were no more than distant memories, but she felt as if she’d once more become the frightened, helpless child who’d watched in confusion while adults fought around her.

      ‘It would be best if you sit down, my lady.’ Arscott guided her to a stone bench. ‘It was an unpleasant incident, but soon everything will be back to normal.’

      Desire looked around and saw that he was right. The roof was now deserted except for her and the steward.

      ‘An unpleasant incident?’ she repeated disbelievingly, amazed that Arscott could so lightly discount what had happened.

      ‘My apologies,’ he said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to belittle what happened. But it is better not to distress yourself over such things. It is over now.’

      ‘Yes.’ Desire took a deep breath, determined to maintain her composure in the face of Arscott’s stiff-backed demeanour.

      Her family and his had been connected for several generations. Desire’s grandfather had considerably enlarged Godwin House during Elizabeth’s reign, and Arscott’s grandfather had been the master stonemason who’d worked on the new wings. Arscott’s father had also been a mason, but Arscott had chosen to serve the Godwin family more directly. He had begun as a footman and risen to be steward of Godwin House. The death of Desire’s father, followed very soon after by the death of the man Lord Larksmere had appointed as her guardian, could have caused great upheaval in her life, but Arscott’s competence and loyalty had protected her from many potential hazards. She was enduringly grateful to him, though she did not find him a particularly congenial companion.

      ‘You are right,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘We must not dwell on what just happened. But we must take steps to prevent it happening again. You have often mentioned the possible risk if I go out, but I never thought I would be attacked in my own home.’

      ‘No, my lady. But you are a rich prize, as we’ve discussed before,’ Arscott replied sombrely.

      He spoke in his usual, measured tones, but Desire thought she saw a flicker of annoyance in