by Alyssa Drake
“Have I ever told you that you are extremely distracting?” She whispered against his throat.
“On occasion,” he replied, brushing his lips across her hair.
She moaned, nestling closer. “This is not an indication of my forgiveness.”
“I would never make that presumption.” Lord Westwood grinned, pushing open the door.
Whatever Mr. Davis thought regarding his employer’s unexpected, ghastly appearance that afternoon, he kept to himself. Instead, the butler spent his time fussing over Sam after Lord Westwood deposited her gently in one of the chairs nearest the fireplace. He lingered near her for a moment, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, circling the bruise carefully.
After muttering quick instructions to Mr. Davis, Lord Westwood led both Edward and Mr. Reid to his desk. He gestured to the vacant chair, which Edward claimed after a silent battle with Mr. Reid who took residence at Edward’s shoulder. The three men perused the ledgers for proof of solvency, which must have been impressive since Edward murmured his assent after a few moments of research.
Glancing up at Sam, Mr. Reid grinned and winked. “It is a relief to learn I may continue my lecherous behavior.”
Sam giggled.
“Thomas!” Edward scolded. “Samantha does not need to hear of your exploits.”
“But they are so intriguing…”
“Drink this,” said Mr. Davis, startling Sam as he handed her a cup of steaming liquid. “I am not quite sure what Mr. Morris gave you, but this should help alleviate some of the less pleasant symptoms.”
Sam accepted the cup gratefully and took a tentative sip. The warm broth tasted like licorice. It slid down her throat, easing her churning stomach. “Thank you,” she said, taking a second, larger sip.
Lord Westwood appeared in place of Mr. Davis, sitting in a nearby armchair. He dragged it closer, so the arm touched Sam’s chair. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead, leaving a streak of soot across his skin. His gaze lifted to the desk, watching Edward and Mr. Reid argue, sidetracked into a debate about female appropriate topics of conversation. With a heavy sigh, he turned his eyes to Sam.
“I would like to know the reason you decided to disregard my wishes for your safety.” This one sentence quieted the entire room. Edward and Mr. Reid paused mid-conversation, turning toward Sam.
Sam took a deep breath and set the teacup down. “I found the threatening note from Franklin.”
“I am aware of that,” Lord Westwood replied, holding up his hand to prevent Edward from interrupting. Edward pressed his lips together firmly, his narrowed gaze indicating his displeasure.
“How did you know?” asked Sam, ignoring her brother’s mounting anger.
“I discovered your hiding place.”
Sam glanced at her hands. “I was in a hurry.”
“Did you already know you were going to the townhouse when I spoke with you this morning?”
“No.” Sam shook her head adamantly. “I did not.”
“How did you come to find the note?” asked Edward, unable to remain silent. He rose and crossed the room, kneeling next to Sam’s chair.
Lie.
“I discovered it on the floor outside my chamber this morning.”
“My chamber.” Lord Westwood corrected her with an amused grin.
Edward scowled.
“Yes,” Sam answered with a small smile. “I found it right after Edward stormed off.”
“I did not storm.” Edward bristled.
“Yes, you did,” replied Sam, “directly after calling me a child.”
Mr. Reid choked on his laughter.
“Please continue Miss Hastings.” Lord Westwood silenced Mr. Reid with a wave of his hand.
“I opened the door to apologize for my inexcusable manners,” Sam said, fluttering her eyelashes; Edward rolled his eyes, “and the note was on the carpet. I picked it up but could not find Edward to return it.”
“Why did you not relinquish the note to me?” asked Lord Westwood, his face expressionless.
Sam bit her lip, trying to communicate the truth behind the actual location of the letter. “I am sorry. I did not think to seek you out. Franklin arrived unexpectedly to repair Father’s watch. I hastily shoved the missive under the inkwell, so no one else would discover it, and raced downstairs. When Franklin opened the back of Father’s watch a scrap of paper fell out.” Sam looked directly into Edward’s eyes. “It was in Father’s handwriting.”
Edward placed his hand over Sam’s arm, careful not to disturb its current position. “Do you remember what he wrote?”
“Fortune lays forgotten in a house that is not a home. Treasure waits for discovery in a place Sammie has outgrown.” She closed her eyes as recited the words.
“I have no idea what that means,” said Edward. He and Lord Westwood exchanged a glance.
“I do,” Sam replied, staring earnestly at Edward. “Franklin explained the treasure referred to in the poem is the Hastings family heirlooms like Mother’s diamond and sapphire necklace.”
“Did you figure out the rest of the clue?” Lord Westwood leaned forward in his chair, a muffled groan accompanying the movement.
Sam nodded. “Lucy helped me.”
Lord Westwood’s face cleared suddenly. “The dollhouse… Lucy told me you went to the townhouse to fetch her dollhouse.”
“The dollhouse which used to belong to me when I was a little girl,” said Sam.
“Why did you not wait for me to return?” asked Edward. “We could have searched together.”
“He was going to kill you,” Sam replied, twisting her fingers into knots. “I did not know how much time was left.”
A tear rolled down Edward’s cheek. He quickly turned away, pressing his palm into his cheek as he focused his attention on the crackling fire.
“Yes, I am well aware of what kind of woman I agreed to marry,” Lord Westwood murmured, his eyes flicked to Edward.
“Where is the dollhouse right now?” Mr. Reid asked. He snapped the ledgers closed, setting them carefully on the desk.
Sam thought for a moment. “I left it under Mother’s desk at the townhouse. I am not sure what happened to it during the struggle.”
“It should still be somewhere in the study. Miss Hastings, perhaps it would be best if you and Benjamin rest while Edward and I fetch the dollhouse,” Mr. Reid suggested as he rounded the desk.
“I would prefer Sammie stays with me.” Edward corrected Mr. Reid’s plan with a glare at Lord Westwood. “Not all your intentions are honorable.”
“I am not waiting here. I figured out the clue, I am going with you,” Sam said, rising from the chair. She wobbled and collapsed backward onto the plush cushion.
“You are too weak to walk,” Edward said, a smug grin on his face. Sam stuck her tongue out.
“Mr. Davis can drive all of us in my carriage,” Lord Westwood replied. He stood, holding his hand out to Sam.
Edward shot him a dark look, holding his arm out as well. It was Lord Westwood she favored, leaning against his muscular frame as she recovered her equilibrium. He snaked one arm around her waist, holding her closer than necessary. When she laid her forehead on his chest, Edward nearly bit his tongue in half.
“You are not carrying me either,” Sam stated firmly, her voice muffled against Lord Westwood’s shirt.
He laughed, lightly stroking her hair. “I had no intention of asking.”
Sam looked up at him with a smile and extricated herself from his grasp. “I am pleased to hear that.”
She gingerly inched across the study, unsteady on her legs, her eyes focused on the open door. As she reached out her hand to grasp the door frame, a wave of dizziness overtook her. She froze, breathing deeply.
“Stubborn, is she not?” Edward muttered.
“Indeed, she is,” Sam replied over her shoulder, stepping into the hallway, her hand outstretched for the nearest table.
Lord Westwood appeared behind her, sweeping her into his arms witho
ut comment and continuing his labored pace toward the front door, Sam tucked against his upper body.
“Put me down.” She commanded him with as much dignity as she could muster in her current position. “Did I not just state you would not be carrying me?”
“You did,” replied Lord Westwood, dropping a feathery kiss on her forehead. “However, I told you I had no intent of asking permission.”
Edward snarled, his displeasure echoing in the hallway.
“Would you please stop antagonizing my brother?” Sam jerked her head toward Edward.
Lord Westwood leaned closer, his warm breath tickling her lips. “I enjoy it.”
He positioned her carefully in the carriage before climbing in himself, taking residence on the bench across from Sam. Edward followed in a huff and plopped next to Sam, all the while scowling at Lord Westwood. Mr. Reid, taking the last empty seat, pulled the carriage door closed with a flourish. He winked at Sam.
She giggled, and Edward and Lord Westwood rolled their eyes, a simultaneous display of annoyance. Within a few minutes, the coach arrived at the Hastings townhouse. It was eerily quiet. An involuntary shudder traveled the length of Sam’s spine.
Something did not feel right.
“Sammie, I want you to remain in the coach while we fetch the dollhouse,” Edward said.
He must feel it too…
“Mr. Davis will wait with you,” Lord Westwood added as he climbed from the coach. He nodded to the aforementioned man who scrambled down from the driver’s seat and stood guard outside the carriage.
The three men entered the house cautiously, calling out Mr. Walton’s name. There was no response. Shouts echoed from inside the house. Edward’s ashen face appeared first. He sprinted to the carriage, his chest heaving, eyes wide.
“Sammie, I want you to leave right now.”
“What happened?” she asked, anxiously peering around Edward.
“Now,” he replied, shoving Mr. Davis toward the front of the coach.
“Miss Hastings should not travel alone. Someone must go to with her.” Mr. Reid yelled from the front door of the townhouse.
“I will.” Lord Westwood slid past him and stumbled down the steps, flashes of agony dancing across his brow.
“Edward.” Sam tried to climb from the coach, but Edward pushed her back into the cabin with more force than he intended. She bounced once on the cushion and propelled herself forward toward Edward.
“Sammie, for once, please listen to me,” he pleaded, swinging the carriage door.
“What happened?” She repeated her fearful question, her foot blocking Edward’s attempt close the door.
“Mr. Walton has been killed.” Lord Westwood huffed as he rounded the rear of the coach. He leaned against the rear wheel, bent at the waist in anguish.
“Benjamin!” Admonishing him angrily, Edward jerked his head in the direction of Sam’s pale face, peeping out the open door.
“She is bound to discover the news when Mr. Walton does not return with us, Edward,” Lord Westwood said curtly.
Sam scrambled out of the coach. “Where is Franklin?”
“He has vanished.”
“Benjamin!” Edward’s visage purpled.
“Edward.” Sam pulled his face toward hers, interrupting the impending argument. “Franklin told me someone else helped him set the townhouse fire. I heard another voice at Franklin’s lodgings.”
All color drained from Edward’s face. “Can you remember anything about the second man?”
Sam shook her head despondently, fuzzy memories obscured by Franklin’s drug.
“We need to move quickly.”
Mr. Reid appeared, the dollhouse tucked under his arm. “Edward, they cannot be more than ten minutes ahead of us. With Morris injured, they should not be too difficult to locate.”
“Sammie, do you remember where Franklin’s lodgings were?”
Sam shook her head.
“No matter,” Mr. Reid said. “We will find them.”
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, his internal struggle violent. Sighing, he turned to his left. “Benjamin, as the most injured of the three of us, I must ask you journey alone with Samantha to your mother’s estate. Your presence will only hinder our search.”
Lord Westwood bristled at Edward’s statement.
“It is against my better judgment to allow this unchaperoned activity; however, the situation calls for a lax in decorum.” Edward stepped to Lord Westwood’s shoulder, narrowed his eyes, and growled. “Whatever you do to her, I will do to you, understand?”
Lord Westwood clamped his jaw tightly in annoyance but did not respond. Sam wondered what waspish comment he chose to swallow. Considering Edward’s current emotional state, Lord Westwood’s silence was wise.
“Samantha, please climb back into the carriage and close the door completely.”
Sam complied with Edward’s request without protest. The door swung closed with a tiny click, and all sound was cut off. Through the carriage window, she could see the three men talking animatedly and wondered what other pieces of information Edward was keeping from her. She very much doubted she would be able to pry the information from Lord Westwood during their unsupervised drive to the country.
Alone with Benjamin. The words danced happily through the empty carriage, despite Edward’s creative threat and Franklin’s disappearance.
No, she firmly told herself. This was not the time for passion, but she could not deny the montage of memories which filtered through her consciousness. Sam bit her lip in anticipation, twitching anxiously. She tried to distract her mind by focusing on the ash-covered tips of her shoes, but her mind replayed the previous evening’s pleasurable activities with Benjamin.
“You are in extreme danger,” Sam declared aloud. “Franklin tried to kill you this morning,” she continued, adamantly trying to realign her brain with the peril of their current situation. It refused. Her eyes unconsciously rose to seek Lord Westwood.
She caught him watching her over Edward’s shoulder, his head tilted with an amused expression. Could he read the carnal thoughts which preoccupied her mind? He winked; he knew. A blush exploding across Sam’s face, she jumped away from the window, anticipation crawling down her spine.
Unchaperoned…
Chapter Eight
Thomas yanked open the carriage door, gesturing to the empty bench, and placed his other hand on Benjamin’s back, shoving him toward the coach. “We’re wasting time. We will discuss this matter later.” Thomas jerked his head toward the carriage. “Miss Hastings is in dire need of rest, and you look a frightful sight.”
“Do I?” Benjamin asked, turning to Miss Hastings whose pale face peeked out the open carriage door.
“You are…” she paused, debating the word. “Horrific.”
Edward snorted.
Benjamin offered a half-smile. Climbing slowly into the carriage, he settled himself on the opposite bench with a grunt. Thomas slid the dollhouse along the carriage floor, stuffing it under the bench, his eyes flicking up to Benjamin, no humor lighting his face. He bobbed his head once, a sharp movement, which was returned by Benjamin.
Just in case I never see you again.
Thomas vanished.
“We will meet you at the country estate.” Edward grabbed Benjamin’s arm, twisting it toward him. “Take care of her, Benjamin.”
“I will.”
Edward turned toward Miss Hastings, taking her hand. She dropped from the bench to the carriage floor, wrapping her arms around him.
“Please be careful, Edward,” she whispered in his ear. “You are the only brother I have.”
“I will see you soon.” Patting her arm, Edward released her, slamming the carriage door.
Benjamin lit an oil lamp and hung it from a hook inside the coach. Sliding the curtains closed, he leaned back and groaned, adjusting his leg, and combing his fingers through his hair
“Horrific, am I?” he teased. Miss Hastings sank her teeth into her
lip.
The air vibrated between them, tensely wound passion threatening to incinerate them both. The moment the carriage lurched forward, Miss Hastings flew off the bench. Benjamin opened his arms and enveloped her, crushing her body against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She straddled him, accidentally jarring his left leg. Benjamin cussed. She froze, unsure if she should move.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, her blue eyes wide. She tentatively laid her hand on his shoulder. “I do not know where you are injured.”
“Everywhere.” Benjamin redistributed her weight, touching his forehead to hers. “But seeing you helps ease the pain.” His thumb skated across her lower lip, and her mouth parted, nipping lightly on the pad of his finger.
“Edward will be extremely irritated with you,” murmured Miss Hastings as Benjamin tipped her chin.
“Let him.” Benjamin’s mouth brushed across her lips.
She was safe, here in his arms, and he would never let her go again. Ever. Morris would pay with his life for what he did to Miss Hastings.
Growling, he drew her closer, the heat between them burning through his clothes. His lips devoured every visible inch of her skin, nibbling along her collarbone, over her throat, and down to the swell of her breast. She shifted her hips, grinding against his erection.
His hands wandered down her body, slipping under the hem of her skirt. He slid one finger up her leg, caressing the soft skin. Skimming up her thigh, his finger brushed against her sex. She gasped and pushed her body against his hand.
“Please.” She panted against his mouth, rocking her hips forward.
Benjamin captured her lower lip with his teeth and bit lightly as he pushed his finger deeper. She quivered against him, crying out in ecstasy. His mouth captured hers, swallowing her screams as she trembled uncontrollably.
Unbuttoning his trousers, he slid them low on his hips. He ripped her undergarments from her body, lowering her back onto his lap, inch by inch. She gasped again as he sheathed himself completely. Sliding his hands leisurely down her back, he grasped her firmly and pulled hard against his hips.