Boudreaux’s Lady

by Smith, Lauren

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I won’t ask again. Just tonight.” She caught his hand in hers and he looked down at their linked palms.

  “I cannot deny you,” he muttered with a small smile.

  She scrambled to the other side of the bed as he pulled back the covers for them. She curled up against him once he joined her and rested her head on his chest.

  As she started to fall asleep, she wondered about how everything that felt right to her always turned out to be wrong. How could this not be the same? But that would be tomorrow’s problem.

  * * *

  Thomas Winthrop alighted from his coach outside of the small village of Islington just before midnight. A chill wind dragged its claws along the back of his great coat, and he moved restlessly, looking about.

  The stone cottages were dark and the moon above was waning, allowing only a faint milking glow to illuminate the tops of the trees and the houses on the lane. Wisps of night clouds stretched thin over the distant stars. It was the sort of night to make a man feel very alone in the world. Thomas shuddered and drew his coat tighter about him.

  Lord Lennox, after much searching had discovered the whereabouts of the midwife who’d delivered Roderick. He’d informed Thomas that the woman, Lucy, lived in a cottage with a bright blue painted door in Islington. The cottage in front of him now fit the description. He instructed his driver to wait before he crossed the cobblestone road and unlatched the white, painted gate. A small garden graced the yard in front of the residence, but all the plants were now dormant from the approaching winter.

  He saw no lights save one in the cottage window. He walked up the short path to the door and knocked. No one answered. He rapped the knocker again, but still no one came.

  “Excuse me,” he called inside the half open window. Still nothing. He’d hoped the woman wouldn’t mind as he tried the door latch. It turned and opened with a long creak. A cold pit of dread filled his chest as he stepped into the darkened cottage. A single candle set upon a modest roughhewn table flickered.

  And there, half shrouded in shadows, lay a body. The skirts of a blue muslin dress identifying them as a woman.

  “Christ!” Thomas rushed to the body and knelt. He turned the woman over and held the candlelight to her face. Blood splattered her dress. Two distinct wounds, one in her chest and one in her abdomen, clearly showed where she’d been attacked.

  “Ahh…” She gasped softly. Thomas almost fell backward in shock.

  “Lucy?”

  A flash of recognition crossed her face as her eyes opened. “St. Albans?” she said in a rasp.

  “You know me?”

  “Albina… looked like you. I knew you would come. It’s the only explanation why…” He could only assume she meant the reason for this attack.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “A man. Handsome…cruel.” Her eyes started to close, but Thomas gently shook her shoulder.

  “Wait, please. I need to know. Did Albina Monmouth have another child? Other than Roderick?”

  Lucy’s eyes were barely open. “Twins…but the little boy…poor child…the Wilsons took her…because of…the twins…”

  Her body stilled, the rasp of her struggling breaths finally at a merciful end. The words she’d spoke were a chaotic jumble, but one thing was clear: Albina hadn’t one child, but two.

  Thomas held the midwife in his arms as he collapsed onto the floor. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that before the cottage door opened. When the driver saw him, the man went running into the night calling for help. But it was too late, far too late for so many things.

  Only one thing mattered now: the truth. And that truth was he had a granddaughter. One whose life was in grave danger.

  Monmouth knows. But so do I now and I will stop him.

  Chapter 14

  There was nothing more wonderful and terrifying than waking up in a bed beside Philippa. They had slept clear through the night and dawn was peeking through the curtains by the window overlooking the gardens in the back of Boudreaux Hall.

  Beau lay flat on his back, replaying the night’s stunning turn of events. Bedding Philippa had been the best moment of his life. There was no doubt of that. She had erased all of the memories of other women in his mind. He half-smiled as he looked down at her. She lay tucked beside him, deeply asleep, hair spilling across his chest, her arm curled tight around him as though she feared he would try to slip away.

  He sighed at feeling her breath against his skin and watching her lashes twitch as she dreamed, hopefully of him. It was enchanting. He could have watched her forever, memorizing the smallest features in his mind until he could never forget them.

  He knew he should slip away before she woke, but he couldn’t. If he was being honest, he didn’t ever want to leave this bed as long as she was here with him. His fingers trailed down her back and she stirred but didn’t fully wake. He repeated the action and she sighed softly before she murmured something.

  “What’s that, darling?” he asked, holding in a chuckle.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Five more minutes, Ruth,” she grumbled and burrowed deeper into him.

  Lord, what a lovely disaster this situation was. He shifted a few inches and pulled the bell cord to summon the maid. His stomach grumbled and he realized with an inward chuckle he and Philippa had been too distracted by what had happened between them that they likely hadn’t heard the footman knock with their dinner trays. The poor man had likely heard the sounds of their lovemaking and gone back down to the kitchens.

  So, by now the entire household would well be aware of this new development. He couldn’t prevent the spread of gossip inside his house, but he knew his staff would keep quiet to anyone else.

  The door opened a few minutes later and Louisa appeared around the door. Her eyes were wide as she saw him in bed with Philippa.

  “Breakfast, please,” he whispered.

  She nodded hastily and ducked back out of sight. A few minutes later, a footman entered and set a tray of food on the bed near Beau’s hip. He added more logs to the fireplace before discreetly leaving them again.

  The smells roused his sleepy lover and she rolled away from him, her eyes blinking slowly as she stretched and yawned before she saw him watching her. She gasped. Clutching the covers up to her neck, her face reddened, and she shut her eyes tight.

  “Please tell me we didn’t… Did we?”

  “We did, darling.”

  “Not a dream…” she said to herself, opening one eye to peep at him. “And was it…good or did I not…?” she stammered into adorable silence.

  “You did very well.” He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. He didn’t want to tell her it was the best he’d ever had as that seemed a far too dangerous thing to admit.

  She opened both eyes again and sniffed the air. “Is that breakfast?”

  “It is. We missed dinner last evening.”

  “I’m sorry, I suppose that’s my fault.” Philippa stared longingly at the poached eggs, toast, and a pot of marmalade.

  “No, it was entirely mine.” Beau set the tray on his lap so she could sit beside him and prepare a plate. “I waited for you to join me at dinner. When you didn’t come down, I told Stoddard to send up some food for us.”

  Philippa’s hand paused as she reached for the toast. “But then we…”

  “Yes, and we didn’t hear the footman knock.”

  “Oh dear. They know then about this? About us?”

  “I’m afraid so. But you must not worry. My staff is loyal. They will tell no one.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “When I return to service, they will remember this. It could follow me back to Lennox House if they do decide to talk and what if…?” She stared up at him. “What if I am with child?”

  Beau almost cursed. He hadn’t even thought about that. Normally he sheathed himself in a French letter, and he was used to his mistresses having their ways of helping to prevent conception as well. But Philippa was a virgin and h
e lost all control and thought last night. He alone was to blame if any babe had been conceived. He was the one who knew the ways to prevent a child and his impulsiveness had put Philippa at risk.

  “If you did conceive, I will take care of you and the child. You need not worry. It’s not guaranteed that you will be with child after just one night, yes it is still possible, but it is not for certain.”

  She frowned, but after a moment she relaxed and prepared an egg and toast. She tapped the egg with the spoon, cracking the shell before she peeled it off. They ate in a quiet silence, but he liked it. They did not need to speak to enjoy one another’s company. He offered her a soft smile as they finished eating and she returned it.

  “Well, as much as I would like to stay here with you, we must pay calls today. Are you up for the challenge?”

  She muttered something about not having a choice.

  “It won’t be all that bad.” He tapped the tip of her nose as he slipped out of bed and dressed. Then he leaned over and kissed her soundly, until she made a soft delighted sound in the back of her throat. Only then did he step back long enough to see the dreamy grin upon her face before he left to get dressed.

  His valet was waiting for him in his room, where he shaved and put on fresh clothes. He went downstairs to his study to catch up on his affairs, but the moment his palm curled around the door handle, Stoddard sprinted up to him, his face red as he panted.

  “There you are! You have received an urgent summons by His Grace.”

  Worry prickled beneath his skin as he tore at the letter Stoddard handed him, frantically scanning its contents.

  “St. Albans knows something about Philippa. I must go. Tell her to wait until I return.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Beau collected his hat and left the house, all but running down Pall Mall Street until he reached the duke’s townhouse. He knocked and the butler ushered him in.

  “This way, sir. You’re expected.” Mr. Jarvis escorted him straight to the St. Albans’s study.

  St. Albans was facing the windows that overlooked the street and did not immediately turn when the Beau was announced. He seemed focused, and yet lost at the same time.

  “Your Grace?” Beau spoke after minute.

  Finally, the Duke turned around and Beau stepped back in shock. The Duke was splattered with…was that blood?

  “Good God! What happened?” Beau demanded.

  “Sit down, my boy. Please,” the Duke entreated.

  Beau slowly lowered himself into the nearest chair.

  “After the Essex ball, I went hunting for the midwife who helped Albina through the birth of Roddy.” St. Albans seemed unconcerned by his frightening appearance and unharmed, so Beau remained silent.

  “I discovered her name was Lucy and she lived near Monmouth’s estate. I arrived after dark and found the woman on the verge of death. It is her blood, not mine. I’ve only just returned and haven’t had the time to change. You see, what I have to say could not wait.”

  “Your Grace…” Beau’s heart began to pound against his ribs. Whatever St. Albans was about to say, he knew that it would change his life forever, he simply couldn’t fathom how.

  “She said a handsome, cruel man stabbed her. I can only surmise it was Lord Sommers on another of Monmouth’s errands after he failed to kill Philippa.” The duke spoke her given name quietly which surprised Beau. That fact that the duke had just called the maid by anything but her surname was shocking. St. Albans was always too proper, except when it came to Beau and his endearment of using my boy.

  “You believe Sommers killed the midwife? Why?”

  “Because she was a loose end, one that had to be removed.”

  “What does she have to do with Philippa?”

  “That woman had everything to do with her. I held the poor woman in my arms and her dying breath expelled one crucial word.” The duke’s eyes were full of pain, to the point where it hurt Beau to meet his gaze.

  “What did she say?”

  “Twins. My boy. Twins.”

  “Twins…” Beau’s ears began to ring. He blinked as things began to settle into place. “But how…?”

  “Philippa is mine, my boy. My granddaughter.”

  Beau’s chest tightened, preventing air from getting in. He gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.

  “Your granddaughter?”

  “Yes. Somehow she and Roddy must’ve been separated at birth. We must find the girl’s parents, those people on Bond Street.”

  “Yes… The textile shop owners,” Beau said faintly. He could barely process what the duke had told him. If what he said was true, then…

  Beau flinched. He’d seduced and compromised St. Albans’s granddaughter, not a servant. There would be far greater consequences for what he’d done with her last night. Not that he was enough of a cad to assume that Philippa as a maid mattered less than her as a lady, but only that St. Albans’s wrath might be harder to manage than Philippa’s parents.

  Hellfire and damnation. What have I gotten myself into?

  “We must tell Philippa,” Beau said, trying to remain calm. A duke’s granddaughter, a woman who was still in grave danger, had been working as an upstairs maid at Lennox house.

  “We must find her parents first. I’ll change my clothes. Wait for me.”

  After the duke left, Beau found his legs and went to wait in the foyer. Jarvis was already there, watching him anxiously.

  “Do you know what this is about, Mr. Boudreaux? His Grace has been secretive, but I worry about him,” the Butler confessed.

  “As do I, Jarvis. As do I. As soon as he can tell us what he knows, I suppose this will all be revealed.”

  “Ready?” St. Albans came down the stairs freshly dressed.

  “Yes.” Beau followed him outside where the coach was waiting.

  “Your Grace, if she’s truly your granddaughter…” Beau wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

  “If she is, you and I must discuss her future,” the Duke of St. Albans said without hesitation.

  “Future, yes.” Beau had the strange sensation that an invisible rope was tightening around his neck.

  “She’s been living with you for days with no chaperone.” The duke’s trap shut around him.

  “She has,” Beau agreed.

  “You know my feelings on that even when I thought she was a servant. Now that I am convinced she is my flesh and blood, you will do the honorable thing, my boy.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Beau replied as he pulled his neck clock. Was it overly hot inside the coach? Yes, it was very hot and smoky.

  I’ve died and now I’m burning in the fires of hell for what I’ve done.

  The coach jerked to a stop.

  “Bloody Christ!” The duke dove out of the coach as men and women suddenly started shouting fire! Beau looked out of the open coach door to see a row of shops nearby were indeed on fire. The center shop had a hanging sign which said Wilson’s. Beau began to run, sprinting past the other man as he reached the shop.

  “Beau! Wait!” St. Albans was behind him, almost on his heels, but there was no time to wait. Beau opened the shop door and rushed inside. He lifted his arm, covering his mouth with his shirt. With his other hand he ripped his neck cloth off and covered his mouth so he could breathe past the smoke filling the air. Flames licked up the walls, eating up the large rolls of cloth displayed about the shop. A set of stairs led to another floor. Beau braced himself against the heat as he headed up the cramped steps. He found a closed door and pounded a fist on it.

  “Wilson!”

  “Yes?” A shout answered him over the roar of the blaze.

  “You’ve got to come out. I can help you.”

  The door opened and smoke poured into the room beyond. A man and a woman were holding each other. The woman’s face was streaked with tears.

  “Is there a way out? We woke up and saw the smoke…” Wilson’s eyes were red and his voice rough from the smoke.

&n
bsp; “Yes, we must go now though.” Beau helped them into the hallway and as they headed down the stairs, the wood around them creaked and groaned.

  “Just a bit further,” Beau encouraged. He put an arm around Mrs. Wilson’s waist, supporting her as they dodged the flames. The roof above them cracked, fractures showing in the wood beams.

  “Run!” Beau shouted. The second the ceiling began to fall, Beau shoved Mrs. Wilson ahead of him. The beams fell right behind where she vanished into the light and safety of the outdoors. The timbers blocked the only way out. He and Wilson shared a look.

  “Thank you for saving my wife,” Wilson called out above the fire.

  Beau nodded, not knowing what else to say. They were going to die. This was it and all he could think of was Philippa. The way her eyes seemed to consume his soul as she gazed up at him moments after they’d made love. It was a moment he would carry with him always, that feeling of…completeness, of a gentle unending obsession to never lose her. And now that memory would be his last. Wilson coughed and shielded his face against the flames.

  “Wait…” Beau suddenly stared at the cloth roles all around them. “Do you have wool?”

  Wilson coughed and pointed to a corner opposite where they stood.

  “Grab it.” He and Wilson lifted the heavy bolt of fabric. “Take it to the door, unravel over the beams.” They worked to roll the heavy fabric up over the pile of flaming wood beams. As he had hoped, the fabric didn’t catch fire. Wool did not catch fire easily, if at all.

  “Climb! Quick!” Beau push Wilson ahead of him as they climbed the unsteady, half-burned wood pyre. There was only a few feet unblocked between the top of the door frame and the crumbled ceiling beams, but he and Wilson crawled out, singed but alive.

  St. Albans was there to drag him away from the shop, shaking him hard. “You bloody fool. You could have died!” And then St. Albans crushed him in an embrace. Beau coughed. He felt almost as if he were capable of breathing fire like some medieval Dragon. He bent double, his hands resting on his knees as he panted for breath.

  “You saved us,” a feminine voice whispered. “Thank you.”