Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  “Then let us go get the constables and the Runners involved,” Thomas replied, his tone cold, angry. “We are going to need their help.”

  “You go there,” Solomon replied, “while I return to the house. Crane wants me dead, he may be using her as a hostage to get to me.”

  “Good luck then.”

  Thomas turned his horse and trotted down another street as Solomon kicked his mount into a gallop. His thoughts racing fast, his fears rode him hard. “If you harm her, Crane,” he gritted, but could not complete the thought. Teresa dead – he could not bear it. Solomon knew he could not live without her. Realizing, too late, that he never told her how he felt, and their last moment together was Teresa seeing him in the arms of Rebecca.

  “I am so sorry, Teresa,” he choked, tears stinging his eyes. “I am so very sorry. I love you and I failed you.”

  Returning to his house, he turned his mount over to a groom and ran up the steps to the door. He had no sooner entered the foyer when Mrs. Wolcott tears streaming down her face, rushed toward him. “What happened? Is it Teresa?”

  “Your Grace,” she cried. “A man came.” She stopped, swallowing so she could speak. “He had a message for you. He said to tell you that Edward Crane has Teresa and he will kill her unless you go meet with him.”

  Solomon clenched his fists, and halted a low growl that rose to his throat. Forcing calm into his voice, he asked, “Did he say where?”

  “At Crane’s house, he said. You are to go alone.”

  Seeing Jarvis Hall ambling toward him, Solomon snapped, “Fetch me Anson Walters. And tell the grooms to not unsaddle my horse, and ready one for him.”

  The butler bowed and departed. Solomon glanced back at Mrs. Wolcott. “Thomas went to inform the constables about Teresa. When he returns, send him to Crane’s house with every constable and Runner he can get.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered. “Will Teresa be all right?”

  “You have my word on it.”

  Within minutes, Anson Walters arrived to bow. “Your Grace?”

  “You will accompany me to Crane’s house and rescue Miss Wolcott from his clutches,” Solomon ordered. “I trust you are armed?”

  “To the teeth. I have my pistol as well as a few knives.”

  Solomon headed for the door, Anson at his side. “Might you spare a knife for me?” he asked. “Crane is expecting me to be gentlemanly, and I have no plans to be. I will fight him as dirty as possible.”

  Reaching into his coat, Anson pulled out a long sheathed dagger. Accepting it, Solomon took a moment to shove it into his boot. “I do not believe Crane will have more than a single man with him,” he went on, striding out the front door. “We cannot do much planning until we get there and examine the situation.”

  Anson glanced up at the sky as grooms brought their horses around to the front of the house. “It will be dark by the time we get there. We will have cover and can make our plans from the shadows.”

  Swinging up into his saddle, Solomon led the way down the drive at a gallop. Anson soon caught up to him. “Your Grace,” he said, eyeing Solomon sidelong. “Do we fight to kill or capture?”

  “Capture if possible,” Solomon replied grimly. “Kill if we cannot.”

  ***

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  Seated in an armchair, Teresa watched Crane pace. The red headed man, who Crane called “John”, sat nearby, his pistol in his hand. Though it was not pointed toward her, she knew that if she made any unexpected move, he would shoot her. Her stomach in knots, she tried to prepare herself for anything.

  Even death.

  Neither of the men spoke to her, nor did she bother to ask any questions. It was clear that she had been abducted as bait for Solomon, and that he would be killed the moment he showed up at the small house. It also became clear to her that there was a fourth person in the house, for she had earlier heard Crane speaking in a room toward the back of the house. Suspecting he had given orders to kill Solomon to a hidden ally, Teresa fretted that Solomon would be grossly outnumbered.

  Movement at a window caught her eye, and she glanced in that direction without moving her head. Neither of the two men seemed to have noticed, for John stared at the floor while Crane continued to pace. Flicking her eyes back to the glass, she caught a rapid glimpse of Solomon’s head before he vanished. Be careful, Sol. They are ready for you.

  Hope filled her. Solomon had come, and it appeared obvious he was sizing up the odds against him. Now he knew where she was in the room, and how many men he faced. There is another one in the back room, Sol.

  Her face expressionless, Teresa gazed around the small area, searching for anything she might use as a weapon. With Solomon facing too many enemies, she realized she might be needed to help him. There. Behind John’s chair was a staff, perhaps used by Crane as a walking stick. With John between her and it, she had no way of getting to it.

  Instantly, the door crashed open.

  Crane raised his pistol and fired, but no one was there. Teresa flung herself from the chair and away from John, who lunged for her. With Crane’s weapon empty, Teresa dashed toward the still open door. Crane struck her hard across her shoulder with the butt of the dragon, and she fell, pain lashing across her back.

  At the same moment Crane reached to seize a hold of her, Solomon charged in, his own pistol in his hand. Behind him ran Anson Walters, who hurtled himself at John. The hired killer fired his weapon, but Walters must have anticipated that, for he raced forward in a crouch. The ball missed him completely. Teresa rolled away from the two sets of fighting men, and scrambled to the other side of the room.

  Solomon had lost his grip on the pistol as he and Crane punched at one another, blood streaming from his brow. His heavy fist slammed into Crane’s jaw, but Crane came back with a sharp blow to Solomon’s gut. Teresa gasped as Solomon bent double, and Crane hit him across the back of his neck with both his fists. Solomon fell to the floor.

  Turning her back long enough to grab the staff, she spun back around as Crane reached for the dropped pistol. Lifting it, he pointed it at Solomon’s head, a sneer lifting his lip. “Good bye, old friend.”

  Teresa screamed. “No!”

  Too far away to do anything, she watched in horror as Crane cocked the hammer back.

  A fraction of a second later, he bellowed in pain, his body jerking away from Solomon. The pistol fired harmlessly into the floor as he stumbled, then fell. Shocked, not quite able to understand what had happened, Teresa gaped as Solomon lifted the long dagger, red coating its edge. Only then did she see the blood covering Crane’s foot.

  Crane, his face a mask of rage, tried to rise, but his cut hamstring would not allow it. “You bastard,” he snarled.

  “Sorry,” Solomon replied, breathing hard as he got to his feet. “My parents were wed by the bishop.”

  Reversing the hilt of the dagger, Solomon slammed it into the side of Crane’s head. The blond man dropped to the floor, unconscious, more blood trickling from his temple and sliding into his hair. Tearing her gaze from Crane’s body, Teresa discovered Anson had overwhelmed John, and currently sat easily on the man’s shoulder blades, grinning and squashing the breath from his lungs.

  “And you thought this would be difficult,” he commented dryly.

  Solomon started to laugh, his grin including Teresa. “I am so sorry –”

  The door to the back room opened and a woman’s scream cut through whatever Solomon was about to say. “Edward!”

  The beautiful young woman with black hair ran to the fallen Crane and dropped to her knees beside him. Teresa clearly saw Solomon’s face blanch, the blood draining from his face. “Carol?”

  The woman stared up at him, her own snarl of hatred twisting her lovely features into a thing of hate. “You killed him. You killed him!”

  “What the devil are you doing here?” Solomon demanded. His eyes flicked between the strange woman and Crane. “What are you doing with him?”

  “Yo
u were the one who was supposed to die, Solomon,” she half screamed. “I hate you. I have always hated you. You got everything while I was forced to marry that horrible Eban.”

  In a flash, Teresa knew who she was. Solomon’s sister. “You tried to kill your own brother?” she snapped, striding forward. “For heaven’s sake why?”

  Carol, Countess of Eban, glared at her. “For his inheritance, of course, you stupid woman. Edward and I planned it. Kill him,” she flicked her gaze to Solomon, “and my son inherits the dukedom, the businesses and all his wealth. I will get everything after all.”

  Solomon’s expression shut down. His eyes flat, he glared down at her. “You will not, sister,” he growled. “I am still alive am I not? Nor will your son inherit anything for you are now disinherited.”

  Spinning, Solomon turned his back on his sister to stalk away. Her lips slicked back from her teeth, Carol yanked a small pistol from the pocket of her skirts and raised it toward him. Reacting without thinking, Teresa spun the staff in her hands and cracked it across the other woman’s arm. The pistol fired, the shot crashing into the wall in front of Solomon.

  Carol screamed in pain, dropping the dragon and clutching her right arm. Teresa advanced on her even as Solomon did, lifting the end of the staff to push it into Carol’s throat, fury roaring through her. “Coward,” Teresa spat. “Shoot a man in the back, will you? I should break your neck.”

  Carol stared at her, her hazel eyes filled with fear, as she slowly tried to back away from Teresa. Solomon’s laugh broke through her rage and her focus on the other woman. His hand on the staff lowered it away from his sister’s throat.

  “My little vixen,” he said, still chuckling.

  Teresa finally looked at him, her rage ebbing away. “You have a rather interesting family,” she said dryly.

  “Yes, well,” he admitted, glancing at the now cowed Carol, “we never did get along. I never thought she would stoop to having an affair with that idiot, nor to killing me.”

  “Edward and I loved each other,” Carol snapped. “Eban was next to die, and we could live together with everything.”

  “Unfortunately,” Solomon said slowly, “Edward will hang, and if you do not, then you will be fortunate enough to live out your days in Newgate.”

  Thomas burst through the still open door, his dragon in his hand, followed by uniformed constables. He stared around at the scene, his mouth opening and closing. “Uh,” he began, his glaze flicking from Teresa to Solomon to Carol and back. “I expect I am not needed.”

  “Indeed you are,” Solomon replied. “There are three people to be taken into custody, including my dear sister here.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes, that woman there.” Solomon stared at his sister, who continued to rub her wrist, glaring at him with hate. “You could have had a very good life, sister. Now what did greed bring you?

  When she did not answer, Solomon guided Teresa out the door. .

  ***

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  At breakfast the next morning, Solomon grinned as he gazed around at Teresa, Thomas and Amelia. “Now that we are all together, Thomas, Teresa, I would like to make a formal request.”

  Thomas blinked. “A what?”

  “Do I have your blessing to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage?”

  Stunned, Teresa’s mouth opened, then she realized what she was doing and shut it again. “Sol?”

  He winked at her. “Well, Thomas?”

  “Well, yes, of course.” Thomas finally grinned. “Yes, Your Grace, I would be proud to have you ask Teresa to marry you.”

  Striding around the table to her, Solomon knelt beside Teresa’s chair, his eyes sparkling. “Miss Teresa Wolcott, will you marry this foolish man who has brought you nothing but trouble thus far, and whom I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you?”

  Her astonishment gave way to joy. Crying and laughing, Teresa gripped his hands tightly, her vision blurred by her tears. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Solomon the Devil Duke. I love you.”

  “I love you, my little vixen.”

  Epilogue

  Solomon Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  Solomon watched Thomas pace, trying not to grin. “Perhaps you should have another drink,” he suggested.

  “What is taking so long?” Thomas snapped, striding over to accept the brandy Solomon poured. “She has been in there all day.”

  “I am no expert,” Solomon replied with a careless drawl, “but babies are not delivered quickly.”

  “Do you think there is a problem?” Thomas continued to pace, gulping the brandy. “I mean, woman, and their babies, die in childbirth. Why have we not heard anything?”

  “We will. And nothing will happen to either of them.”

  Amelia had gone into labor late that morning, and the midwife had secluded her, with Teresa, in their bedroom on the top floor of the newly repaired townhouse.

  Teresa, with her brother and sister-in-law, had returned there to live until her wedding day. Trying to distract Thomas from his worry, Solomon asked, “Did you find Rebecca Calhoun?”

  Blowing out a gust of air, Thomas finally sat. “Yes. She was in York. I spoke with her at length, and I hope you will find it in you to forgive her.”

  Solomon pressed his lips together in anger, scowling. “Why should I?”

  “She has a bastard son, Sol.” Thomas gazed at him fully, his eyes sympathetic.

  “It is the Count of Eban’s child, and is in Eban’s custody. Your sister and Crane threatened to kill the little boy if Miss Calhoun did not do what they ordered her to do. Which was seduce you, timing it so that Teresa saw it.

  Then, naturally, Teresa thought you were, well, untrustworthy and left, enabling Crane to seize her.”

  Solomon cut his eyes away. “Rebecca did seem very strange that day,” he muttered. “Perhaps she even apologized. I did not understand then.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes. No. I do not know, Thomas.” Solomon stood up and paced. “Why did she never tell me she had a son? Why did she not come to me for help?”

  “How could you have helped? Ride to York and take the boy from Eban?”

  Not knowing the answer, Solomon merely shook his head. “Will she return to London?”

  “Perhaps. If she knows you will do nothing against her.”

  Solomon snorted. “I will not do anything. What can I do? Have her arrested for trying to kiss me?”

  Thomas laughed. “You might.”

  “I suppose I will forgive her,” Solomon went on. “After all, I expect she had little choice. She did what she had to do.”

  “As did we all.”

  Sitting back down, Solomon breathed deeply. “A pity Beaulieu died before he could be hanged,” he said, his voice heavy. “The Prince Regent took his lands and titles for his crimes. Had you heard?”

  “I knew he died, yes. The rest, no I had not heard.”

  “Beaulieu’s name will be scrapped, and no one attended his funeral.”

  “No one wants to be associated with a murderer. Even a dead one.”

  Though he stared into the blazing fire, Solomon felt Thomas’s eyes on him. “I, er, also heard about your sister. I am sorry.”

  Solomon glanced at him. “Why? I certainly am not.”

  “Sol. She was your sister.”

  “And she died in Newgate after being convicted of trying to murder me. She is lucky she did not hang beside Crane, a spectacle for all to watch as they did him.”

  “Do you not feel anything toward her?”

  Refusing to answer, Solomon stared at the fire. “Perhaps she died of a broken heart,” he commented dryly, “as she passed on not long after Crane. She got what she deserved.”

  Thomas did not reply. For long moments, the two sat in silence, Solomon reflecting that he did feel something toward Carol.

  Sadness. He knew much about how she died – shrieking, tearing her own flesh to ribbons with her fingernails i
n her madness. Though he tried not to think about it, a small part of him grieved for her, for the life wasted, her son growing up without his mother.

  The drawing room door opened, and Teresa came in. Both men shot from their chairs at the same time. “Is everything all right?” Thomas burst out.

  Teresa grinned. “Go upstairs, Thomas. You have a fine son.”

  Gaping, Thomas stood where he was, his mouth open. “A son?”