Tamed By A Dangerous Lady (Scandalous Liaisons Book 3)

by Ella Edon

  “Who told you that?” he asked.

  “Hanford,” Raymonde said mildly. “He told me, when I accused him, that you had altered the will. That you took charge of the accounts. That you are not the rightful heir at all.”

  “How dare you?” his uncle said, and this time, the hand he rested on her shoulder was not gentle or mild, but harsh and grasping. He shook her, and she cried out, and Cutler forced himself to stay where he was.

  I am as powerless as I was then. As helpless. I had to stand in front of this man after he’d killed my father and obey his commands.

  He started crying, slow tears of rage and pain and hate, falling silently down his cheeks and soaking the scarf he wore.

  “I dare because it’s true,” Raymonde said, and she wasn’t acting the fear in her voice. “Which is why…why I came to you to say that I will denounce Hanford. In return, I will become your countess.”

  His uncle stopped shaking her. He let go so quickly that Raymonde almost fell backwards. Cutler felt his fingernails gouge the skin of his wrist in his effort not to roar.

  “Deal,” his uncle said.

  Raymonde coughed. “Excuse me?” she whispered, incredulously. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, wiping her nose which had begun to run as he shook her.

  “I said, you have come to fair terms,” his uncle said loftily. “You will denounce Hanford, we will remove my nephew – something I’ve been trying my hardest to achieve in the last few years, as you know – and then we will be Earl and Countess. Your brother’s estates are, I presume, inherited by you?”

  Cutler almost choked. The greedy, unscrupulous…he would marry Raymonde, kill him…for that? So that he could inherit her brother’s lands?

  Raymonde nodded slowly. “Yes,” she agreed. Cutler had no idea if she lied or not – he’d never even thought about her status – and then she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I will agree, on condition that you tell me the truth. You did it, didn’t you?”

  Cutler held his breath. This was the moment they’d been waiting for – the moment the entire charade was made for. He wondered if his uncle would: was he grasping and unprincipled enough to agree to tell her?

  “Yes,” he said.

  Cutler almost fell over.

  He took a deep breath, reaching for the pistol he wore at his side. Now was the moment when he had to let his uncle know he’d overheard and threaten to shoot him if he didn’t let Raymonde walk free. He felt his mouth go dry and he forced his knees to lock as he took a slow step forward.

  “Sir!” a man shouted, running up the stairs. “My Lord, Earl! Burglars!”

  No! Cutler almost said it aloud, as the butler ran into the drawing-room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” his uncle snapped, spinning to face the disturbance.

  “Sir…” the butler stammered, perceptibly recoiling as he saw the rage on his Earl’s face. “There are burglars…They left a window open in the kitchen…”

  At that moment, his eyes fixed on Cutler. As his uncle turned to face him, Cutler stepped out of the shadows.

  “Uncle, your rule is over. I heard everything.”

  Lord Stirling turned to face him, his rage unhidden. He ran at Cutler, who held up his pistol. He hadn’t cocked it. He didn’t want to kill.

  “You!” his uncle said softly. He looked at him with a scornful mien, then turned back to Raymonde. He grabbed her by the shoulder, shaking her. “You did this to make me confess?” he shouted into her face.

  Cutler couldn’t handle it a second more. He pulled back the hammer on the pistol, rushing his uncle. He intended to hit him on the head and knock him out. Instead, his uncle whipped around to face him, letting Raymonde go. She crumpled on the floor. As she did, she screamed.

  “Cutler! No!”

  Cutler frowned, bewildered, and then he felt the searing pain of a knife in his ribs. He howled in rage, and unthinking, pulled the trigger. His arm was tilted at an angle and the shot went wide. His uncle drew back the knife as Cutler collapsed onto one knee.

  “I hadn’t meant to have to kill you, along with your dolt of a father,” his uncle said mildly. “But neither of you left me any choice.”

  “My father was a million times… the man you are,” Cutler coughed. He could taste blood, and his strength was dissipating fast. His eyesight wavered, and he could feel blood running down his chest, hot and slippery.

  “He raised you to be a weak-willed, money-squandering fathead, just like him,” his uncle said, the knife inches away from Cutler’s throat now. “If I hadn’t killed him, he’d have given our money to the poor, sold off the estate to commoners and ruined our heritage!” he snarled.

  Cutler remembered, just as the knife struck down, that he had a small knife in his belt. If only he had recalled that earlier, he thought dully, as the knife descended towards his neck, the point grazing the hollow of his throat…if he had remembered, he could have saved his life and avenged his father. But his father would not want that. His uncle was right…he had always been a generous soul.

  In that moment, it seemed as if he saw his father, so clearly – that kindly face, rumpled with lack of sleep; the eyes, tired but full of warmth as he ruffled his hair.

  Always be proud to love, son, and to feel, his father said, kneeling in front of him. Only cowards fear their hearts.

  His uncle mewled in surprise, then, and turned left. Cutler stared up to see Raymonde, holding a brass plate with which she had just hit him on the head.

  She dropped the plate and his uncle, roaring in anger, stabbed down at her with the dagger.

  “No!” Cutler roared, and without thinking, he drew the knife and stabbed it into his uncle’s leg. He felt it bite and twisted it. He would never kill another man outside of war, but anybody who threatened Raymonde was, in his mind, owed naught but death.

  The man fell, full-length, a gasp of pain from him followed by a crash as he dislodged some ornaments, falling and shattering on the floor behind him.

  Cutler sprang to his feet, ready with the knife. “My father was a generous, loving soul!” he screamed, prepared to take the man’s life, if he must do. “You are nothing but a coward.”

  He held the knife to his uncle’s throat, and they grappled, his uncle wrestling to throw him off.

  “I will not…kill you,” Cutler whispered, trying to breathe as his uncle’s hand tightened on his throat. “My father taught me mercy. His love saved…even you.” He felt his vision begin to cloud over, his gaze darkening as the air was choked, slowly, from his lungs.

  Just then, a brass plate descended, swift and hard, striking his uncle’s temple.

  The man fell and lay silent.

  Cutler stared at Raymonde, who put her back to the wall and slid down it. The plate clattered from nerveless fingers. She sat on the floor, deathly-pale. Her dark eyes shone in the lamplight.

  “Raymonde! No!” Cutler got to his feet. He was coughing, his throat burning with pain. He wheezed for breath, then collapsed beside her, gathering her in his arms.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered. “My sweetling! Are you bleeding?”

  “No,” she whispered into his ear. “Just…so tired.”

  He held her close and he could feel her heartbeat thudding in her chest. It was so slow! He knew she should get to a doctor urgently, but he was tired. So tired…

  “Sir?” a voice said behind him. He looked up as somebody shook his shoulder. He found himself looking into the face of the butler.

  “What?” he rasped. If the fellow was about to complete his master’s work and kill them, he had no impetus left to stop it. If he died now, so be it. He had done what he came to do.

  “Sir, I heard everything you said. You are right. My master had no rights here. If you would wish it, I will send for the Watch?”

  “As you will.” Cutler nodded. At this point, he had no more interest in his uncle. The man’s hold on him was broken, and that was all that mattered to him. The only other thing that matt
ered now was that Raymonde was kept safe. “Is there a physician?”

  “I will assuredly call one, sir,” the butler assured him. “Your wounds need treating.”

  “And…hers,” Cutler whispered. He was about to pass out, his vision blurring and wavering. But he had to know she’d be safe.

  “Yes, sir,” the butler said. He could just make him out, his face blurred in the darkness of the room. “I will ensure she is seen to as well.”

  Cutler smiled, whispered his thanks, and then fell abruptly unconscious.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Awakening

  Raymonde stirred in bed, feeling the sunshine fall on her eyelids. She sat up, stretching. She winced as her side stretched and she reached down to find a linen bandage wrapped around her body.

  With that, she remembered where she was. She stood up and slipped out of bed, wincing as the wound on her side stretched with the movement.

  “Where is Cutler?” she whispered.

  She reached for a dressing-gown that had been thoughtfully hung up by the bed. She was in a room at the manor house, she remembered. She drew up the satiny coverlet and stretched again, looking around the luxurious room. Beautiful as it was, she wanted little more than to be away from it.

  She tiptoed to the door and stuck her head out. She saw a servant hurrying along the hallway, dressed in a dark-colored suit. She called out to him.

  “Excuse me? Where is Lieutenant Wingate? Can you take me to him?”

  “Of course, Madam,” the servant said. “I’ll take you to his bedchamber.”

  “Thank you,” Raymonde said politely. She slipped her feet into silk-embroidered slippers and followed him along the hallway, the floor cold under her feet. When they reached a doorway, standing open a crack, she stopped.

  “Cutler?” she whispered.

  He was by the window, the light lining his profile, striking warm highlights from his hair. She could see that he hadn’t heard her yet, and she tiptoed in softly, not wanting to disturb him. Somebody had wrapped a thick bandage around his chest – she could see the outline under his nightshirt – and another bandage was wrapped around his shoulder. She walked up and stood at his shoulder.

  “Cutler?”

  He turned around. His dark eyes looked up into hers with such sweetness that she felt her heart melt.

  “Raymonde,” he whispered. He reached for her hand, squeezing it and holding it to his cheek. She stroked his hair, tears sluicing down her face.

  “Cutler,” she whispered, and knelt in front of his chair. “I’m so glad you’re well.”

  “I’m so glad you’re well,” he whispered. He stroked her hair. Then, his face distorted with emotion, he reached down and pressed her to his chest.

  She held him close, then heard him wince as her arm pressed against the wound in his side. She smiled up at him, stroking his cheek.

  “My dearest,” she whispered. “I shall have to be careful with you, I think.”

  “Not too careful,” he said, and kissed her lips.

  Raymonde felt her body flood with longing, which surprised her, since she was so tired. She stroked his dark hair and smiled into his eyes.

  “We should wait until we are back at home, my dearest,” she said gently.

  He chuckled. “Yes. That is true.”

  They kissed again, and he stood up, wincing as he had to move his chest. She stood beside him and they held each other close and then, slowly, they went down the hallway.

  “Barnes?” Cutler greeted the man in a black suit, whom Raymonde vaguely recognized as the butler. “Can we have breakfast sometime?”

  Mr. Barnes nodded crisply. “It’s in the breakfast room, sir.”

  Raymonde nodded, and raised a brow as the fellow departed swiftly. It seemed that, already, Cutler was accepted as being in charge.

  They sat down in the breakfast room together. It was an elaborate room, with Chinese satin wallpaper, richly decorated with leaves and flowers in dark green and red. It was clear that, despite his cold nature, Lord Stirling had spared no expense when it came to decorating his house.

  Raymonde watched Cutler’s face as he buttered a slice of warm toast. She could see he was uncomfortable here – it was evidently not as it had been when he had lived here. But, despite the discomfort, she could see he looked at peace. And, when she looked into his eyes, she could see the shadows had gone.

  “Will we have to remain here long?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We might have to remain here for today,” he agreed. “I spoke with Mr. Barnes a great deal last night – while the doctor was seeing me – and we settled much of the business.”

  “Good,” Raymonde agreed. She knew it was best to proceed slowly, to let Cutler tell her as he wished. She bit into a pastry and listened while he explained what would happen.

  His uncle, it seemed, had been taken into custody that morning. They had no idea what would happen yet, but with their testimony and that of Mr. Barnes, the written statement from Mr. Hanford, and the proof of the letter he’d sent as Luke, all came together…they were sure there was no court who would disagree that he had committed the crime.

  “I don’t really care,” Cutler finished, smiling at her sheepishly. “He’s of no matter to me anymore. All I care about now is us.”

  Raymonde felt her heart blossom as if it was a flower, opening.

  They settled some minor business and then rode back to their small house that afternoon. Mr. Barnes insisted that they took the coach, and Raymonde and Cutler agreed. It would have been far too trying for them to ride, especially for Cutler, given the seriousness of his injuries. He had stitches in the wound in his side, he’d told Raymonde, and his throat had red imprints from where he’d been strangled.

  She felt only gladness that they were together, and alive.

  When they arrived home, they went straight up to their bedroom. Raymonde was glad to have a chance to take off her dress and get into fresh clothes. She turned to Cutler, who was standing by the window, dressed only in his shirt and breeches.

  “I think,” she said in a soft voice in his ear, “that we will have to be careful for a little while, will we not?” she asked.

  He turned to her and smiled. “Not that careful,” he said, kissing her face.

  She laughed and, together, smiling happily, they tumbled back onto their bed.

  Epilogue

  Raymonde looked out of the window, watching the branches of the trees move in the soft breeze. It was early summer, and the oak-tree was full of green leaves, waving in the breeze. She smiled and stretched lazily and looked up as Cutler set aside a fire-poker and turned back to her.

  “Is it warm enough?” he asked.

  She smiled sleepily and nodded. “I’m warm, my dearest. Come and sit?” She patted the bed and he walked over and came to join her, stretching his legs.

  Alford Heights was warm and cozy now, since they had moved into it. Hanford had left, preferring to take a cottage and a small plot of land near Alford Acres. With him there to administer, the community was doing well. Simmons could keep an eye out, and, with reduced rents, the place was thriving.

  Cutler reached out and took her hand in his, pressing it to his face. He kissed her lips and she felt her body heat up with the touch of his mouth on hers. He smiled down at her.

  She reached up and stroked his hair and he kissed her passionately, his dark eyes lighting up with ready arousal. She sighed and held him close and he kissed her neck, moving down to her breast, which showed at the neck of her low-cut bed-robe.

  He kissed her nipple and she shut her eyes, gasping in wonderment as he sucked it. It felt so good to have him do that! His hands were at her belly, stroking it gently. She sighed and turned to press her body against his, stroking her hands down his back. He was wearing only a shirt and breeches, and she stroked bare skin where the two met.

  He moved to her belly, kissing lower. She lay still, fighting the urge to press herself against him, to cry out as
he moved to between her thighs. His lips tugged gently at her folds, and she twisted below him, unable to keep still as waves of sensation flooded through her body, making her light up.

  He was lapping at her folds with sharp strokes now, moving faster, his tongue warm and soft as it licked her there, making little motions that were causing waves of feeling to rise up her body, glowing in her abdomen, melting her insides…

  She cried out as her body filled with feelings, the climax ripping through her like a hurricane through the leaves of trees. She lay back, sleepy and exhausted, and reached down to stroke his arm.