Free Dilemma in Yellow Silk by Lynne Connolly Page B

for a morning ride.
    She’d explained to his father later that she didn’t realize she’d taken the gelding, mistaking him for another. He only half believed her. Viola had a restless streak, and every so often she had to release it or burst. Or that was how she’d explained it to him after the incident with the horse, one of the few times he’d sought her out. Killing herself was not the answer, he’d told her firmly before walking away.
    He’d spent far too much time walking away from her. He would make an effort not to do so any longer. Time to face whatever waited for him here. To claim something for his own, in spite of his responsibilities. If their relationship deepened into friendship, he would enjoy it, but in his heart, he wanted more.
    They had reached the gate. He swung it open and waited for her to go through. The land steward’s house was what his father had termed a “comfortable” size. “I’d have enjoyed living in a house like this.”
    “What? How can you say that?” She paused in the act of finding her key for the front door. “We have four bedrooms and three servants, no more. How could it compare to what you have?”
    “That’s the point.” He halted abruptly. “What was that?” Had that male shout come from inside the house? He laid a hand on her arm. “Go back. Go back now.”
    A shot rang from inside the house, and someone yelled.
    He didn’t even have his sword. “Where does your father keep his weapons?”
    “In a locked case in the study.” Typical of her to keep her head. Thank God.
    He pushed her behind him. “Stay out of sight.”
    Two men rushed out of the side door and along the path, heading for the copse of trees nearest to the house. Marcus’s first instinct was to give chase, but if he did, he would leave her unprotected, and who knew how many men were inside? He had to let the ruffian go and hope someone remained in the house for him to beat senseless. Anything to assuage the fury seething through him.
    “Papa!” she cried, and would have rushed inside, had he not seized her arm and held her back.
    “Don’t do that. Wait for me.” They would go in through the side door. Likely he might find a weapon there.
    No person stood inside. He spotted the sword, the one Gates always claimed his great-great-grandfather had wielded at the Battle of Marston Moor. Well, it would give him good service now. He wrenched the weapon from its scabbard.
    “Keep close,” he told her. With those two men on the loose, he couldn’t risk her making a run for it. He would have to take care of her. He needed to keep his wits about him. Protect her with his life, if need be.
    This house was a mile from the main gates and the wall, but anyone could bring a horse in if he knew the different entrances.
    Sure enough, the sound of galloping hooves on turf met his ears. He firmed his mouth. The ruffian would not get far, if Marcus had anything to do with it.
    Viola might have a wild streak, but it did not usually tend to the stupid, especially in such circumstances. She jerked her head toward the stairs, indicating the way they should go.
    They crept up a stair at a time, listening for any response. The house was deadly silent. Where were the servants?
    At the top, they heard a groan. She would have pushed past him, but he held her back and headed toward the source of the sound.
    In the main parlor, her father lay on the rucked-up and torn carpet, holding his head. He struggled as they entered, revealing his tied hands. They had not bothered to tie his feet. The thick bandage around his ankle would have made the task too difficult. The room was smashed, the furniture tipped over, the ornaments, the lamp on the table, and a shelf of books overturned and broken.
    Viola rushed forward and dropped to her knees by her father’s side.
    Fear shaded his gray eyes. “You must go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get out of here.”
    “Is there someone else here?” she