Trimmed in Blue

by Sandra Sookoo

  “I couldn’t agree more, Carrington.” The viscount moved the same time that Cecil did.

  They came together in a tangle of limbs and a whirlwind of flying fists. Punch after punch was exchanged until both panted with labored breath. One of Cecil’s eyes had swollen almost shut and his bottom lip was bloody. His body ached as if he’d been trampled by a dozen horses, but still he fought, for at the end, he’d have Louisa. Nothing else mattered.

  A violent punch from the viscount sent him flying onto his back with the wind knocked from his lungs. As a jagged slash of lightning streaked across the midnight sky, Wrycroft drilled the toe of his boot into Cecil’s chest. A rumble of thunder in the far distance added to the drama of the scene. Then the viscount pulled a pistol from the pocket of his greatcoat. “Let’s end this like gentlemen, shall we?” He pointed the nose of the weapon at Cecil’s head.

  Frissons of cold fear twisted down his spine as sounds of Louisa’s fight slightly above him echoed in his ears. “There is nothing gentlemanly about bringing a pistol to a fist fight.” When the viscount pressed his boot further into Cecil’s chest, his ability to breathe diminished. Without proper air flow, he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight.

  I really thought my death would be less painful.

  “Perhaps not, but it is efficient.” The sound of the weapon being cocked rang like a death knoll. The grin Wrycroft bestowed would haunt him to the grave, which was no doubt imminent. “It looks like the better man won. And after all, isn’t that what Miss Harcourt deserves?”

  Cecil struggled against the blackness infiltrating his vision. He steeled himself for the shot that would end his life. I’m so sorry, Louisa. His last effort to struggle up failed. He simply hadn’t the strength. With a sigh of acceptance, he closed his eyes and affixed an image of her in his mind so he’d at least die happy.

  Instead of the echo of the pistol being fired, there was a dull thud and then a groan, followed by the dead weight of the viscount falling over the lower half of him. Puzzled, Cecil opened his eyes as he took in gasping gulps now that his breathing was no longer restricted. A glance upward put Louisa into his line of sight, albeit upside down. Though she was a mere three feet from him, it seemed miles. She leaned heavily on the stone wall with an expression of tired satisfaction.

  When their gazes connected, she laughed but it was a forced sound. “I do deserve the better man, and I made certain I could have him.”

  None of it made sense. With an effort, Cecil hoisted himself into a sitting position and then shoved the viscount’s body from his person. As the other man flopped onto his back, the dark slickness of blood showed on his temple and the side of his face. Not far from where he lay, two broken pieces of a stone urn decorated the wet ground. An ornamental evergreen shrubbery, dirt and roots still attached, reposed nearby.

  How the deuce had she the strength to lift it let alone throw it? He glanced from the viscount and back to Louisa. “What the devil happened?”

  “I took back my power... and my fate.” An expression of concern crossed her face. “Did I kill him?” A tired sigh escaped her. “I’ve wished to become many things in my life, but a murderer is not one of them.”

  Was there nothing she couldn’t do? Cecil yanked off his gloves that were stained with mud and blood. After tossing them away, he pressed his fingers to the pulse point in Wrycroft’s neck. “He has a heartbeat, but it’s weak, and the gash on his head is quite deep.” No doubt he’d bleed out soon.

  But damned if I’m inclined to save him.

  “Oh, buggar,” she whispered.

  “A clear case of self-defense, I’d say.” God, he hoped his brother would arrive before the constable. “We’ll get things cleared up right as rain. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d rather enjoy fainting.” She disappeared from his view as she slipped downward.

  “Louisa!” Cecil scrambled to his feet. Too tired to attempt climbing over the low wall, he opted for the long route. His dress shoes slid in the mud as he tore through the garden and then up the few steps. He didn’t stop running over the terrace until he’d reached her position. She looked so small and vulnerable crumbled into a heap there on the wet flagstones. “Sweeting?” With shaking hands, he helped her into a standing position, and only then did he notice the prone body of the baron near the house, lying amidst the shattered glass and broken wood scraps that used to be the terrace doors.

  “Did I do well?” Her eyes fluttered open. She held his gaze, and though her face was streaked with blood and a large bruise was forming on one cheek, he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  “You were magnificent.” And damn if he didn’t love her all the more. “I’m in awe.”

  “Don’t forget that sentiment the next time we spar,” she said with a tiny giggle that tugged at his heart. “I tried for the chokehold on the baron, but I was never in a good position.”

  “I have no doubts you would have been successful.” He could hardly speak around the lump of emotion sitting lodged in his throat.

  A fain smile curved her lips. “What now?”

  “This.” Gently, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the emotion he’d not expressed. By the time he let her up to breathe, he hoped she knew how much she meant to him.

  A commotion on the street drew his notice. Voices raised in inquiry and alarm. The jingle of horse harnesses clashed with the crunch of carriage wheels over the rain.

  At last, rescue. Cecil whisked off his greatcoat and bundled Louisa into it. No sense exposing her scandalous attire to prying eyes. “Come.” With a groan as his muscles began to cool, Cecil picked her up into his arms and carried her off the terrace.

  Louisa clung to his neck. Her breasts pressed tight against his chest. “Where are we going?” She looked at the baron. A shiver went through her. “I don’t want to see him again, but perhaps now he’s learned that I’m dead serious when I say no.”

  God, she was wonderful. “I’m taking you away from here.” And to the one place that meant security was his parents’ home.

  “Cecil?” The familiar voice of his brother, Thaddeus, came to him through the rain. “What’s all this, then? Samuel said you needed assistance.”

  “It’s a long story I’ll be more than happy to share as soon as I see Miss Harcourt settled.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re safe now.” When he came abreast of his brother and saw half a dozen men coming toward them, he sighed. “We were attacked and forced to defend ourselves.”

  “I want the truth known and don’t care if it lands in the papers.” Louisa stirred enough to look at Thaddeus. “The baron drugged everyone in the house so he could rape me as part of his plan to let the viscount kidnap me for a less than legal marriage.”

  His brother’s lower jaw dropped. He stared hard at her and then transferred his gaze to Cecil. “And here I thought you were being dramatic when you’d told Mother of her situation.”

  “Hardly.” It hurt to laugh.

  “Take her to Mother. She’ll know what to do.”

  “I will. Then I’ll come back and help you. I imagine you’ll need a statement.”

  “At the least.” Thaddeus nodded. Admiration was stamped on his face. “You did all right for yourself, man.”

  “Thanks. I’m borrowing your carriage.”

  “No need. Samuel’s here waiting for you.”

  Cecil carried Louisa toward one of the vehicles. When he saw Samuel on the driver’s box of his own vehicle, his chest tightened. “Thanks for coming.”

  Louisa roused enough to smile at his best friend. “Now I know why you men enjoy fisticuffs so much.” She waved a hand at him. “My very own bruises.”

  “Well earned badges.” Samuel’s rich chuckle rolled through the darkness. “I didn’t want to miss the thrilling conclusion to your story, mate.” He hopped down and opened the door. “You look like a dog’s breakfast.”

  “I
feel like it too, but it’s done.” As gently as he could, he helped Louisa into the conveyance and then vaulted into the seat beside her. There was much to do this night, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d sorted his future.

  Praise be that he had one, all because of the amazing woman in his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  November 9, 1818

  Louisa came awake and stretched. She immediately regretted it when various muscles protested the movement. A gasp echoed followed by the sound of running footsteps.

  “My lady! She’s awake.” The urgency in the female’s voice brought Louisa’s eyes open.

  She blinked against the soft golden glow from a single candle that burned on the bedside table and then frowned at the unfamiliar bedroom. Done in pleasing shades of sage green and peach from the draperies at the windows to the counterpane on the four-poster bed. The down pillows she reclined against were the softest she’d ever felt, and when she held out her hands to examine the bruises on her knuckles, lace-edged sleeves fell back. The nightdress she wore was of a pale green silk, and though it was a decade out of style, Louisa adored it.

  But where was she and how did she get here?

  “Good evening, Louisa.”

  The sound of another voice at the door had her scooting into a sitting position. Anxiety knotted her belly while her heartbeat accelerated. “Lady Brockmorton.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve rejoined the living.” The viscountess swept into the room. Her navy taffeta skirts rustled in the silence. She settled into a delicate chair at the bedside. “I came as soon as my maid told me.”

  “Why am I here?” Oh, God! The baron. Viscount Wrycroft. Were they both dead from her actions? When she moved to leave the bed, the other woman put a cool hand to her shoulder and stayed her flight.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Baron Althrop attacked me. I fought him.” She shivered. “It was raining. Cecil came, but he was fighting with Viscount Wrycroft.” Her chest tightened and she pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart. “He had a pistol, meant to kill Cecil, so I....” She stared at the viscountess as her eyes widened. “I picked up one of the heavy urns on the terrace—I don’t know how—and threw it at Wrycroft’s head...”

  “Cecil told me.” Lady Brockmorton smoothed a few tendrils of hair from Louisa’s forehead. “You’ve been here for almost two days. He explained everything.” She bestowed a smile upon her that left Louisa reeling.

  She didn’t know how to act in the face of such kindness. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  “Hush now. You’re safe here.” She patted Louisa’s hand. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you want some laudanum? Surely you must hurt.”

  “No!” Panic shot through her veins. “The baron used that on the whole household... I shouldn’t be here. You’ll be in danger.”

  “Shh.” Again, the viscountess patted her hand. “It’s all right. No one will hurt you.”

  The doorway remained open and empty. Louisa frowned. “Where is Cecil?” She needed to see him if only to assure herself he was doing well.

  “He was outside your door until dinner was called. The poor boy hasn’t eaten since he brought you here. I guess hunger got the best of him.” Lady Brockmorton continued to smile, as if she knew a secret and it thrilled her. “I imagine once he hears the news, he’ll be right up, but he didn’t leave your side. He’s very loyal and a good man.”

  “I know.” Her heart trembled as did her chin. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I’d like to see him.”

  Footsteps echoed at the door. Cecil rushed into the room, his eyes wild, his sandy-blond hair mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it, dark sandy stubble clung to his cheeks and chin. “Pardon my tardiness.”

  “Cecil.” Louisa swept her gaze up and down his person. He’d dressed for dinner, more or less, but his cravat was loose, he hadn’t shaved, he sported a real shiner on his left cheek and another on his chin, and he’d shed his jacket at some point, but he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “I told you he’d be here.” The viscountess chuckled. She offered her cheek, and when her son bussed it, she stood, moving to the foot of the bed.

  “How do you feel?” Cecil dropped into the chair his mother had vacated. He searched Louisa’s face, worry clouding his stormy eyes.

  “Sore.” There was so much she wanted to discuss with him, but she didn’t know where to start.

  Cecil glanced at the viscountess. “Mother, will you please give us some privacy?”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll be at dinner should you have need of me. I’ll make certain you’re not disturbed.” With a mysterious wink, the viscountess crossed the room. She paused at the doorway and looked back at her. “I’m glad you’re here, Louisa. You’ll fit in nicely I think.”

  “For what?” She bounced her gaze between him—a rather odd flush had engulfed his neck and cheeks—and his mother, but neither of them answered.

  When Lady Brockmorton left, she pulled the door firmly closed behind her.

  Louisa turned to him. “I have so many questions.”

  “As do I.” Cecil left the chair. He climbed on the bed, cupped her cheek, and kissed her slowly and thoroughly as if he had copious leisure time at his disposal. When he broke contact, his breathing was uneven, but he laughed, the sound rich and warming. “I couldn’t wait. Good evening.”

  “I like that sort of greeting.” She smiled. Awareness of him sent gooseflesh sailing over her skin. Her grin faltered. She traced his cheek with her fingertips. “Does it hurt?”

  “It aches. Everything does, but now that you’re awake, it’s better.” Wicked promise gleamed in the depths of his eyes. “We need to talk.”

  The rock of worry sank again into the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm. “Is Wrycroft dead?”

  “Yes.” When she stifled a cry, he continued, “He hung on for a day before succumbing to his head injury.”

  “I killed him.” Panic welled into her chest. “Am I going to Newgate?”

  “No.” Cecil gathered her into his arms and reclined them both into the pillows. “After hearing the story, both Bow Street and the local constabulary have deemed the death in self-defense to prevent the viscount from murdering me, as well as kidnapping and raping you.”

  “What will become of me?” Louisa clutched at his hands. “How can I go forward knowing I killed someone?”

  “You’ll go on to live a life free from fear.” He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed the battered knuckles. “Sometimes, in a fight when your own death is in the offing, you do whatever it takes to prevent that. The viscount’s demise was from injuries received in a fight. Such things happen with alarming regularity in London. That’s all.”

  “When he pulled out that pistol and intended to kill you, I saw red, didn’t think of anything except stopping him. So I lifted that urn even though it was heavy...” Tears welled in her eyes. “How does one live with this on their conscience?”

  “You talk about it and spend time with someone who will support you through the bad days when it preys on you.” Emotion clouded his eyes that she didn’t dare to analyze.

  “And the baron?”

  “The buggar lives. However, he’s been taken to Newgate and awaits questioning for a variety of crimes. Some you know about, some you don’t.” Anger threaded through those words. “It remains to be seen how long he’ll be in prison, for he does have high connections. But if he’s released, he’ll come home to an empty house. Your mother and brother covertly moved to a small cottage on my father’s country estate in Devonshire.”

  Louisa gaped at him. “She’s not been kind to me in recent years.”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance. This was the compromise I proposed in order to keep Jonas safe and in your life.” He stared at her as if she needed to grasp a certain concept but couldn’t. “Once they’re s
ettled, we’ll pay them a visit.”

  A tear fell to her cheek. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I wanted to show you I was serious about looking after you.” He rubbed his thumb over her bruised knuckles. “Do you understand?”

  When had he lost the ability to use words? Perhaps he needed encouragement. “I might.” Having him beside her after surviving such a horrific night showed what she valued in life as sharply as if it had been drawn on the wall. As she watched his dear, battered face, she undid the buttons on his waistcoat and then slowly pulled his shirttails from his trousers. Cecil’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t dissuade her.

  “What are you doing?” His voice had a breathless quality.

  She adored the power a woman had over a man when bed sport was involved. “If you won’t tell me what you came to say, then I’ll have to coax it out of you.”

  “You will?” His breath hitched when she put a hand beneath his shirt to slide over his chest.

  “I’m a woman who knows her own mind. Why shouldn’t I?” She smiled as he shivered. “I want you, Cecil.”

  “We can’t. I can’t yet.” His gulp was audible.

  “Why?” Would he say the words she so desperately wanted to hear?

  “I’m expected downstairs at dinner to tell them...”

  Thank goodness she was a widow with a bit of experience. She eased a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers and brushed her fingers along his already rigid length. Tremors of need throbbed between her thighs. Oh, she wanted to know what sexual congress with the right man would feel like when love was exchanged. “To tell your family what?”

  “I...” When she wrapped her hand around his growing arousal, his body shuddered. “Damn it, Louisa, leave off before I lose my mind.” Frustration wove through his tone. He tugged her hand from his trousers and held it. “They’re expecting me to announce our engagement,” he finished with a wry grin.

  “What?” She’d not figured he’d declare himself with another proposal. Some of her enthusiasm dimmed. “I’ve already said I won’t have you if you wish to rescue me.”