The Marquess Who Kissed Me: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

Belle took it and began to read. Then she looked up. “This schedule is dated a month ago. You mean you’ve had this the entire time?”

  He nodded. “You didn’t actually think I would go unprepared, did you? That’s one of the points of this adventure, learning to be prepared.” The pages of his journal didn’t only detail the schedule but the supplies the boys would need while they were in the woods. He also planned to group them, write down their progress, and see where they’d need improvement.

  Belle crossed a leg over the other. Her skirts still prevented him from seeing anything. “You aren’t going to turn the boys into your father, are you? Get them to think the world is always after them?”

  He didn’t know what bothered him more, the fact that she dared to ask the question or that she truly wanted an answer. “Let me begin by saying this was not my idea but Noel’s. I’m not forcing myself on your children but neither am I denying your fatherless young men a little time with gentlemen who care for their wellbeing.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. Thank you for being so generous. There must be a hundred other things you’d rather be doing.”

  Actually, there weren’t. This trip would have been the perfect distraction from his never-ending thoughts of Belle. Now he’d have to contend with her continued presence.

  He ignored her for the rest of the journey. She poured over his book as he returned to his paper. When evening came, they stopped.

  Most of the young men had never slept in an inn so they were excited about the prospect.

  Oliver waited for Belle to get out before he asked, “Now that you know everything that will take place, will you be on the next coach back to London?”

  She clutched the book to her chest. “No, I plan to be there every step of the way.”

  She walked into the inn and toward a back room that had been prepared for their group. The place was very busy. The inn was a usual stop on the main road out of London. Many families were preparing to go home before winter came.

  Oliver left the door to the main room open. Supper was about to be served.

  Landcastle, Lord Clive, and Noel sat with the boys. Belle sat as far as she could from the seat that they’d left open for Oliver. He’d barely taken his seat before the boys began to ask him questions. They were very excited and Oliver smiled as he gave them vague answers. The mystery of Venmont Hill was far more pleasurable when discovered for themselves.

  They were halfway through the meal when silence fell in the other room. Oliver stiffened.

  “Nobody make a move,” someone said. “If everyone cooperates, we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

  A group of robbers had come in. Scarves covered the bottom portion of their faces to hide their identity. There were five of them, and they all carried pistols.

  The families were dumping their jewels and purses into the sacks they carried.

  One of the robbers looked into the back room and started in their direction.

  “No one move,” Oliver said.

  The young thief moved forward. Clive, Noel, Belle, and Landcastle watched him with open malice but said nothing.

  Oliver glared at Belle, but she remained in her seat. He looked at Noel. If anything happened to him, Remy would not be pleased, but Noel’s expression said he didn’t care so Oliver didn’t press.

  Lord Clive, the Marquess of Fawley, could handle himself, Oliver knew. Cassius had made mention of the man’s past. He’d been a captive of Gregory’s many years ago and had since learned to defend himself.

  By now everyone was aware of what was happening.

  Landcastle’s back was to the door. He stiffened and Oliver hovered a hand over the table, telling the men to settle down. It would do no good to reveal their identities. If these men were going to shoot anyone, it would be him. Thankfully, Landcastle said nothing as their table was approached.

  The robber made his way around the table. Belle offered her possessions without fighting. “The boys have nothing. Just take my things.” She didn’t care about her jewels. Only the boys.

  The robber sneered. “Yes, I can see they’re worth nothing. Still, I’ll take what they got.”

  The boys gave up their items, which were likely worthless to the thief but priceless to them.

  One of the young men began to cry as he put a ribbon in the bag. Oliver believed the boy said it belonged to his mother. Belle tried to offer him some comfort but was silenced by the gun in her face.

  Oliver’s anger switched over to a white brilliant rage.

  Finally, the robber approached and pointed the gun in Oliver’s face. “The pocket watch and your purse, my lord.” He chuckled.

  Oliver moved, but instead of going for his pocket watch, he reached for his wine. He took a casual sip. His other hand still hovered just above the table.

  Clive, Noel, and Landcastle noticed it. They’d had a meeting before they’d left London, signals that Oliver hadn’t thought would be necessary until they reached the woods and went hunting. He was telling them to stay calm but ready.

  The ruffian asked aloud, “Did you not hear me? Are you deaf? I want your purse.”

  Oliver continued to ignore him. He glanced in Belle’s direction and noticed she was glaring at him, begging him to obey.

  He wouldn’t. This man didn’t get to leave alive.

  The other robbers in the room came over to see what was going on.

  “Oliver, please,” Belle whispered. “Just do what the man asks.”

  “I’d listen to the lady,” the young thief said.

  The moment the robbers positioned themselves close to the men, Oliver dropped his hand. The pistol touched his cheek. The move was a mistake.

  Oliver took advantage of the man’s nearness, grabbed his wrist, and jerked up.

  The gun went off.

  The others moved, doing the same. Oliver rose and subdued his man quickly. With a hand in the man’s hair, he slammed the thief's face into the table. The thump rocked the wood twice and then he let him go.

  The robber crumbled in a bloody mess to the floor.

  Noel had his man in a chokehold. Clive’s man was on the floor, not moving.

  Landcastle had his man’s head trapped to the table. One hand was around his throat, the other pointed the robber’s own pistol to his head. The earl was staring down at his captive and Oliver wondered if he’d pull the trigger. But he didn’t. He looked up. “We should take these men to the local authorities.”

  That didn’t surprise Oliver at all.

  Then he was shoved and found himself falling into his chair.

  Belle stood over him.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 8

  * * *

  “What were you thinking?” Belle screamed in Oliver’s face. She was trembling with rage and fear. “You could have been killed. My boys could have been killed. You put everyone at risk.” He’d put himself at risk.

  She’d seen the gun in his face and thought it the end of everything. Every hope and dream she’d ever had of him, all wasted over pride. Even knowing nothing she’d wanted would ever be, she couldn’t imagine life without Oliver in it. He was right about her need to feel connected with him even if she were only an utter annoyance to him.

  He’d seem so monumental in her life. He was more important to her than anyone else.

  She hadn’t even realized how much until that moment. She could barely make out his face as tears blurred her vision. There was a brush against her arm. Someone touched her and she moved away. She was being hysterical. She was losing her mind, but she didn’t want to be comforted. She needed to be alone for a moment.

  Wiping her tears, she found her way out of the room and then out of the inn. Outside, in the darkness, Shepard found her.

  “What happened?” He’d been with the other staff members. She’d spoken to him earlier about allowing her and Oliver to be alone once more, swearing to him and herself that she could handle it. She’d promised to handle her emotions, but she was already failin
g.

  Shepard grabbed her arms. “It was so quiet in there we didn’t think anything was wrong until we heard the gun go off.”

  Belle fought to slow her breathing. “There were robbers, but Oliver and the other men handled it.”

  “Let me get you to your room.”

  * * *

  It took Oliver a moment to snap out of his thoughts.

  “The authorities have been sent for,” Landcastle said. “I can wait here for them if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

  Oliver looked around. The robbers were all tied up in a corner. Their masks had been removed. When had this happened? How long had he been sitting in the chair? He turned to Landcastle. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Belle seemed rather distraught by what had taken place. Don’t you wish to speak to her?” The earl was watching him in that way he watched people as if trying to figure them out.

  Oliver stood. “No, but if you believe she needs a listening ear, don’t hesitate to offer her your own.” He walked over to the thieves and gave Landcastle his back before the man could answer.

  He didn’t care what the earl did. There was no way Oliver was going near Belle now. In fact, he needed to stay farther away than before.

  Those tears had taken him back to the forest five years ago when she’d begged him not to speak to Gregory on her behalf. Yet again, he’d acted in defense of her.

  The last time she’d cried over him, he hadn’t reached out for her but he had this time.

  Thankfully, she’d pulled away. Had she not, he’d have sat her in his lap and made all sorts of promises to her, anything to calm her and make the tears stop. He’d have kissed her silent and turned her weeping into sighs of pleasure.

  He couldn’t handle anyone caring for him that much, especially her.

  She’d listed all the dangers his plan had caused, but they both saw straight through to her heart. She’d been afraid for him more than anyone else.

  If he’d gotten his hands on her, if he’d had the chance to do the things that were going on in his mind, he’d have been forced to wed her. There were two other lords in the room and both were likely to demand he take her hand and he couldn’t do that.

  He watched Landcastle hand Johnathan one of the thief’s sacks. Johnathan was the youngest boy on the trip and from his strained face, Oliver surmised that he’d been the one crying. Landcastle said something to the boy and then Johnathan went to the other dining room.

  Landcastle came over and said, “Johnathan is upset that he cried when the others did not. I told him to return the goods to the other people in the room.”

  “Good idea.” Keeping the boy busy would distract him from his earlier fear.

  The thief Oliver grabbed was still unconscious and slumped to the side. The other four men held expressions ranging from fear to anger.

  Oliver looked them over and realized they were little more than boys.

  How unfortunate it was that their lives had come to this.

  Oliver glanced over his own young men and noticed two in a corner talking and staring at the boys on the floor with a look of consideration. Their names were Jackson and Ward.

  Oliver called them over. “Do you know these boys?” He remembered the accent of the boy who’d held the gun to him. He was definitely from east London.

  Jackson spoke, cutting Ward off. “No.” Jackson wasn’t a talker. He usually stayed quiet while the rest of the group led the conversation. He was blond with dark green empty eyes. Oliver was most worried about Jackson. He seemed on the edge of making a bad decision that would affect the rest of his life.

  The twelve who had come with him had all previously been fighters. Some had killed in the ring, forced to by their captors. It had taken Noel to get them to trust Oliver and the other men. Since Noel had suffered as they had, he understood them best.

  Oliver had also had his fair share of bloody fights forced upon him, but he had yet to share his story with the others and wasn’t sure if he would.

  But of all the boys present, Ward seemed the least affected by what had happened. He was more cheerful than the others and loved to talk. He had dark blond hair and pale brown eyes that were usually caught in an expression of bewilderment.

  He looked at Jackson like that now, surprised Jackson had cut him off.

  Oliver turned to Ward. “Do you know these young men?”

  Ward shook his head. “But I thought it sad that they’d had to rob to eat. It’s good we have you and Lord Landcastle and Lord Fawley and Lady Belle to feed us. Otherwise, who knows what we’ve have done if we got hungry?”

  “Enough,” Jackson said in irritation. “I don’t know them. Ward doesn’t know them.”

  “What are you going to do to them?” Ward asked.

  “They’ll be arrested,” Fawley answered as he came over. “Their weapons were loaded. That makes them dangerous.” Fawley went on to tell the boys about what would take place, placing fear into the twelve and warning them against ever committing such an act.

  As though half of them hadn’t been pickpockets before this trip.

  Oliver looked over at the table. Landcastle was gone. Had he gone to Belle? Oliver turned away. It didn’t matter. What Belle did was no longer his concern.

  Landcastle was a good man and Belle…

  He was starting to believe he’d jumped to conclusions about Lord Urnish. Belle had never told her side of the story and why would he take the word of a liar over her? However, so much time had passed that Oliver didn’t want to ask. It was too late for that. It was too late for them.

  Belle deserved happiness, and he would work to give her that even if that meant staying out of her way.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 9

  * * *

  Oliver followed his footman door into the cellar where he’d been told he could find clothes that would fit the young men. This was the part of Venmont House that he stayed away from. His worst memories were of this place.

  The dark brick walls and the cold air made Oliver shiver. Gooseflesh rose over him and his forehead broke into a sweat. Oliver’s foot landed on the final stair, and the worst night of his life came rushing back.

  “Cut him!”

  “No.”

  Oliver thought it was prepared for the blow when it came, but no one could truly prepare for Nardo’s hand. The air was ripped from his lungs as his father’s fist hit him. The pain launched into his blood.

  His eyes connected with Leo at the same time, and he begged his brother not to weep for him.

  But his brother already knew what to do. Leo didn’t make a sound. His face was a mask of indifference. He looked as cold as Nardo wanted him to be. But Oliver knew that was a lie. A mask. In a few days, ten-year-old Leo would leave, disappear without a trace. Their father liked that, always thought it proved Leo needed no one but himself to survive.

  Stories of thefts would get around town and Nardo would assume it was Leo, out in the world making his own way. Nardo would hope he never came back.

  Sometimes, Oliver found himself hoping the same, but then he’d push that thought away. He couldn’t allow Nardo to have that much power over him. He loved his brothers.

  Little Nick had just turned five. His nurse attended him now that their mother was dead, locked away in a room where Oliver couldn’t get to him.

  His father hit him a few more times until he was on the floor. Oliver’s jaw cracked underneath the pummeling hand. He’d already lost a tooth in the back.

  Blood poured from his mouth, nose, and other places.

  “You’re a survivor,” Nardo shouted. “Anyone who gets in the way of you surviving is your enemy.” He looked at Leo. “You understand that, don’t you, boy?”

  Leo nodded once.

  Nardo turned back to Oliver. “Your younger brother gets it. He loves no one. Why don’t you run and try and make your way like Leo?”

  Oliver didn’t answer, but the reason he stayed was because of Nicholas, and Nardo kn
ew it. He stayed for Leo as well, because though the boy ran, he always came back and if anyone was going to receive the brunt of their father’s abuses, it would be him.

  A knife clinked as it hit the floor. “Stab your brother,” Nardo instructed again. “Don’t you hate him every time he returns? He knows you’ll suffer for it and still you inflict no pain on him.”

  Oliver said nothing.

  “You know why he returns?” Nardo asked. “Because he hates you for how weak you are. He wants the title for himself. If I asked him to, do you think he’d slit your throat?”

  Oliver stayed quiet.

  “Pick up the blade.”

  Oliver didn’t move, but he heard footsteps and realized his father hadn’t been speaking to him that time. With the blade in view, he watched Leo’s fingers curve around the hilt.

  “Show your brother that you’re a survivor,” Nardo said.

  Oliver braced, knowing his brother wouldn’t hesitate.

  “No!” Nardo shouted.

  The blade went through Oliver’s arm. The pain was immediate and then it burned.

  Oliver gasped.

  Nardo cursed. “He can’t fight if you stab him there! I said cut him. Cause him pain, not injure him.”

  But Leo knew what he was doing. He was smiling as he backed away, but Oliver was in on his game. He came so Oliver’s punishments would go on forever.

  Leo’s presence was a blessing and a curse.

  Nardo yanked out the blade and then positioned it under Oliver’s chin.

  “Love will to cost you every time,” Nardo whispered. “One day, love will be the ruin of you.”

  “My lord,” the footman called. “Will these do?”

  Oliver came out of his thoughts and looked at the basket of clothes the man held. It was stacked with shirts, socks, and breeches. They’d once belonged to Oliver and his brothers. They were not fashionable, and they weren’t supposed to be. The boys would be getting dirty and sweaty.

  Oliver hoped they had a pleasant time. “Where are the boots I requested?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Oliver nodded and rushed back up the stairs. He told himself he wasn’t running, but he had a nagging suspicion that it was a lie.