A Wicked Earl's Widow

by Aubrey Wynne

She nodded and smiled weakly. “My daughter?”

  “I’m fine, Mama. Please do as he asks,” Eliza said from across the room.

  Her voice was weak but clear and Nathaniel whispered a silent prayer. “Yes, let’s get you cleaned up also.” Maxwell returned with a bucket of water from the well. Using the handkerchief that had been her gag, Nate wiped the blood from Eliza’s neck.

  “Is he…”

  He nodded. “He won’t ever hurt you again.”

  “Please, help my mother. She’s much worse than I am and has lost too much blood.”

  He nodded but didn’t move. Relief seeped through him like honey, sweet and satisfying. She was in his arms again and he was reluctant to let her go. But the dead man next to him, lying in a puddle of blood, assured him that she was safe.

  Eliza touched his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, and went slack in his arms.

  “She fainted,” Nate announced.

  “It has been a trying day,” agreed Maxwell. He turned to the marchioness. “A wagon is on its way. I’m afraid the ride back will not be pleasant for you.”

  “My dear sir, the bumpiest of wagons could not compare to the trials I have been through. Do not worry yourself on that account.” Pain threaded her voice but her blue eyes were clear. “Today I have been emancipated. I can bear a bit more discomfort.”

  Nathaniel nodded at his future mother-in-law. A howl outside alerted them to the arrival of the wagon. He rose, adjusting Eliza in his arms. She was alive. That was all that mattered. And today would be the first day of the rest of their lives.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days later

  Pendle Place

  * * *

  “The Justice of the Peace has arrived, my lord,” announced the butler.

  “Show him in, please. And inform Lady Eliza I will meet her in the library in one hour.” Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “I’d like to keep the women out of this if possible.”

  Maxwell nodded. “It’s fortunate the good doctor here was able to take care of the autopsy. Hopefully we can close this investigation today.”

  The JP entered the room. All three men rose to greet him. “Sit, gentlemen, sit. I am sorry to see all of you under such grim circumstances. Let’s dispense with the niceties and get right to the matter, shall we?” The elderly man set his satchel on his lap after he settled into a chair. He pulled out some papers, adjusted his spectacles, and raised a wrinkled face to his audience.

  “The body is in the carriage house, and we can bring you to the scene of the crime if necessary. It’s a small woodcutter’s shed on my property.”

  “We’ll see after I hear the testimony,” he said, pale brown eyes focusing on Nathaniel. “You may begin.”

  Nate explained the background, Landonshire’s abuse, attempts to coerce his daughter into marriage, and then the kidnapping. “When I arrived at the cabin, he had a knife raised in the air ready to strike Lady Eliza and scratches down his face. It seemed she had fought him at one point and he was retaliating. When he saw me, I gauged by the crazed look in his eye that he would not see reason, though we tried.”

  “So you feel the marquess would have harmed his daughter?” asked the JP as he dipped his pen in the ink bottle and scratched more notes. “You felt the need to intervene in the defense of another?”

  “Yes, the brute was out of control. When he aimed the blade for Lady Eliza, I shot him.” Nate gave Maxwell a side-glance. “Twice.”

  Dr. Goodman agreed. “Yes, the body had one shot to the chest and another to the head.”

  “So you had to shoot him more than once?” asked the man, adjusting his glasses as he looked up at Nathaniel.

  “He was…a difficult man to stop, large of build and in excellent shape for his age.”

  “I understand. And the weapon type?”

  “One of Manton’s tube lock double-barreled pistols. I picked it up in London last year.”

  The little man itched his bald pate with the tip of his pen and looked to the physician for confirmation. The doctor nodded his agreement.

  “And the ladies? May I get a statement from them?”

  Nathaniel glanced at Maxwell before speaking. “I would prefer we handle this without involving the women. Unless you wouldn’t mind waiting another week or so? They are recuperating from the tragedy and Lady Landonshire is in a great deal of pain.”

  Dr. Goodman added to this sentiment. “The marchioness has punctures in both thighs, a concussion at best, and is extremely weak at this point.”

  The JP shook his head. “No, I think with your testimony and Dr. Goodman being so kind to step in as coroner, this should be sufficient. Mr. Maxwell, do you agree with Lord Pendleton’s summary of events?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’d like to finish up this nasty business as soon as possible.” He collected his notes, placed them in his worn leather satchel, and rose. “Please give my condolences to the ladies. I will be in touch, but I see no reason for a formal hearing.”

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Nathaniel paced up and down the Axminster carpet, anxious to begin his new life. Their new life. Eliza entered, bruised and beautiful, in his favorite blue gown marked with tiny purple flowers and pink satin ribbons. The colors matched her swollen eye. He smiled as she dipped her head, trying to hide the injury. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun but waves of golden tresses caressed her skin and were somewhat effective at covering a cut on her cheek. Long white gloves hid the scratches on her forearms and the raw skin around her wrists.

  “You are lovely regardless of any physical mark”—he held out his arms and she stepped into them—“or invisible one.”

  She looked up, long pale lashes creating shadowed crescents upon her cheek, and gave him a bittersweet smile. “I may sound melancholy, but I wish this could have ended well. So much violence, so many regrets…”

  “I have spoken with the Justice of the Peace and he is satisfied. There will be no need for you or your mother to endure a trial. I killed the Marquess of Landonshire in defense of you and your mother.”

  “But my mother—”

  “Is recuperating and neither of you deserve the trauma of reliving the sordid details.” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, taking in that. “Now, what did the letter from Grace say?”

  “My relatives would welcome the chance to get know Althea and me. I am to write them at my convenience with my plans.” She spoke into his chest, her words muffled.

  He tipped up her chin and brushed a lock of blonde silk behind her ear. “And do you want to go to Scotland?”

  Eliza shook her head but would not meet his eyes. He bent on one knee, brought one gloved hand to his lips. “Eliza, I ask you again, with all the sincerity of a gentleman in love. Will you be my wife?”

  A tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away, nodded her head, and gave him a watery smile. “Yes, Nathaniel Pendleton. With all the sincerity of a lady in love, yes.”

  He stood and gathered her in his arms. His lips brushed hers softly until her arms slid around his neck. Her soft form, molded against his, his need roaring through his veins. His mouth claimed hers, his hands caressing every curve, every soft hollow. His lips trailed down her neck and over her shoulders while passion pulsed through his core. Pulling back just enough to speak, he bent his forehead to hers, trying to control his growing desire. Their breaths mingling, his voice husky as he whispered, “I will protect your mother and daughter and help you heal. I will be with you each day while you grow stronger and marvel at the woman you are and the woman you will become. I love you, Eliza, with every breath in my body.”

  Epilogue

  Pendle Place

  Two weeks later

  “Stop hovering over me, daughter. I am fine.” Lady Landonshire stood next to her bed, clutching the back of a chair. “My legs won’t get any stronger lying in bed.”

  “It’s only bee
n two weeks, Mama. You aren’t recovered yet.”

  “Dr. Goodman said I could get out of bed whenever I thought myself ready. I’m ready.” Her mother’s chin stuck out, indicating the conversation was over.

  With a sigh, Eliza resigned herself. Her mother had withstood so much. It was hard to believe her father was dead and they were all safe. And she was betrothed. The bans would be read next month after they were sure Lady Landonshire was well enough to attend the ceremony. She would meet her relatives from Scotland for the first time when they arrived for the wedding.

  After hobbling about the room once, the older woman returned to her bed. “That’s enough for one day. I don’t want to tire myself before Grace and Lord Sunderland arrive tomorrow.”

  “Did I tell you the Falsburys will be here soon? I know they miss Althea terribly, as we miss them. They should arrive some time in the next two weeks. I do wonder what they will think of their granddaughter’s new companion.”

  Her mother shuddered. “That drooling beast! But he is so devoted to our little girl. And he is a hero of sorts, I suppose.”

  Hearing a knock on the door, the women turned to find Hannah with a tray of tea. Nate stood beside her, holding Althea’s hand, who in turn held Cyrano’s ear. “May we come in?”

  “Of course. I just finished a bit of exercise and need to rest. The company would be lovely. Come give me a kiss, Althea.”

  The little girl ran to the bed and pulled herself up to sit next to her grandmother. She very carefully leaned over and kissed Lady Landonshire on the good cheek. Hannah poured the tea for everyone and settled in a chair at the foot of the bed. Eliza sat next to Nate, trying to wipe the smile off her face. It happened every time he entered a room. He was a hero, her hero. No romantic novel could have created a man more wonderful than Viscount Pendleton.

  The inquiry by the Justice of the Peace had been handled by Nathaniel. Dr. Goodman had taken the place of a coroner. Nate had taken responsibility for Landonshire’s death with Maxwell as the witness. That act alone had convinced Eliza that he would do everything in his power to keep her and her family safe. Their family safe.

  When he proposed again, she’d remembered what he’d said in the cabin, while the storm raged outside and he had captured her heart.

  You are not weak but scarred. Terrible wounds do that. But the pain goes away and with time the scar fades. It may never totally disappear. I know that. But it will grow fainter as the years go by.

  Eliza repeated those words every day. It had become part of her morning ritual. And she came closer to believing it each time.

  “Have you given any more thought to our proposal, Lady Landonshire?” asked Nathaniel. He tried to look around Althea, who now sat on his lap, busy trying to retie his cravat.

  “I believe I will accept your offer. There is nothing that could make me happier than spending my final days with grandchildren surrounding me.” Her eyes shone. “The dowager’s house will be a piece of heaven for me. I can’t thank you enough.”

  He shook his head and picked up Eliza’s hand. “No, my lady, I can’t thank you enough.”

  Eliza breathed in deeply. The carriage of life would still have unexpected turns. But these days, she held onto that leather strap with joy and anticipation.

  * * *

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  Rhapsody and Rebellion

  (Once Upon a Widow #3)

  Sneak Peek

  * * *

  The story of Gideon, Earl of Stanfeld, and the Highland beauty Alisabeth MacNaughton

  * * *

  Prologue

  * * *

  “Rebellion against tyrants is obedience to God.”

  Benjamin Franklin

  * * *

  June 4, 1792

  King’s Birthday Riots

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  * * *

  The noise outside grew steadily louder until Maeve’s mother, Peigi, snapped the drapes closed. Specks of dust danced in the slivers of sunlight, beckoning Maeve to investigate the muffled cries for justice, the shatter of glass, and splintering wood outside the window. The bedlam on the city streets was horrifying and riveting. It reminded her of the first time she’d witnessed a deer hunt, not wanting to watch the dying animal but unable to look away.

  A sheen of sweat covered Ma’s face in the humid, still air of the dining room. Maeve reached out and squeezed her fingers in reassurance. “He’ll be here soon.”

  They would be safe with Da. He was bigger and stronger and more astute than anyone she’d known in her fifteen years. The sound of horseshoes and carriage wheels crunched in the driveway. A moment later, the heavy oak door slammed open. Calum MacNaughton filled the doorway, wild black curls clinging to his neck and strong jaws, a whip in his hand.

  “Let’s go, my lovelies. We dinna know how long this uproar may last.” Sapphire blue eyes glittered with urgency. “I’ve rented a hack to get us out of the city limits. The carriage is too tempting for the rabble.”

  Maeve picked up her heavy skirts with one hand, grasped her reticule with the other, and hurried for the door. The footman tossed baggage on top of the hansom then returned to assist Maeve. Her heart beat rapidly as she settled on the worn padded bench. A far cry from the soft velvet of their own carriage. Maeve had been delighted to accompany her parents to Edinburgh. Now she prayed for the safety of her Highland home.

  “What if they stop the carriage? I’m frightened, Calum.” Panic added a shrill pitch to her mother’s voice.

  “They’re just hungry and tired of not being heard. I willna let any harm come to ye.” Her father’s calm tone soothed both the women. “Now up ye go, Peigi, my love. We’ll be out of here in the blink of an eye.”

  He sat across from them, rapped his knuckles against the roof, and the vehicle lurched forward. The horses whinnied in protest and sidestepped men running through the streets and debris flying in their path. Someone tried to hitch a ride on the side of the vehicle. Calum swore under his breath, leaned out the window, and punched the man in the face. The trespasser fell on his arse in the mud, waving an angry fist and holding his nose.

  The driver headed toward a narrow alley to avoid the throng of rioters. Maeve peeked out the window to view the square, packed with hundreds of people streaming in from all sides. On a shoddily erected platform hung a noose, with a group of workers balancing what looked like a man on their shoulders. They tied the noose around his neck. One of his arms swayed unnaturally by his side, and she sighed with relief when bits of straw fell from the coat sleeve.

  The coachman cracked his whip, careened into the alley, and broke free of the crowd. As the noise subsided, Maeve listened to her parents argue about the political situation that had led to the insurrection. She leaned her head against the hard bench, each rut jerking her neck back and forth. It had been such a long day, with little sleep the previous night. Her lids grew heavy, and she gave in to a fitful sleep.

  The horde of men jeered and poked flaming torches at the driver and team of horses. Their clothes were filthy, and they had an air of men used to taking what they needed. A man of wealth poked his head out of the gleaming carriage, his tall hat hitting the window frame and toppling to the dusty ground.

  “What are you hooligans about?” he demanded. “I order you to step aside and let us cross the bridge.”

  One of the men laughed, his yellow teeth protruding from his cold smile. He appeared to be the leader. “Sorry, milord, but we canna do that. In fact, we think it’s time you traveled the same as the rest of us.”

  “Look here, I insist—”

  Two of the rabble pulled the nobleman from his upholstered seat and sent him sprawling across the dirt road. The stiff breeze picked up the clouds of dirt that swirled into little grayish brown whirlpools. Another man touched his torch to the wooden bridge in several places. Embers glowed then spread, crackling as the fl
ames began to lick at the dry planks.

  “Looks like ye won’t be crossing the stream today, unless ye don’t mind getting those Hessians mucked up.” The group laughed as the leader picked up the hat and placed it on his own head.

  “You will all pay for this. Do not think this attack will go unpunished.”

  “I beg yer pardon, my lord, but this topper here could feed my family for a month or more. Can’t imagine yer family ever goin’ hungry.”

  “And to be honest, the riots in Edinburgh are keepin’ the constables a bit busy.”

  The earl rose and brushed himself off, only to be cuffed in the jaw and sent back to the dirt. Just as he managed to rise onto all fours, a kick in the gut sent him down again, clutching at his belly and moaning with pain.

  A shot rang out. One of the rogues crumpled to the ground. The driver stood, a shaky hand still pointing a smoking pistol.

  “Well now, that wasna verra polite.” The leader removed his newly acquired hat, set it carefully on the dead man, and rolled up his sleeves. “I’m afraid I’ll have to teach ye a lesson in manners before ye have time to reload that thing.”

  A blade flashed and landed in the driver’s chest with a thump. The earl cried out as his cravat was yanked from his throat then wrapped around his neck once again. His well-manicured fingers dug at the makeshift noose. His face turned purple, a gurgling, hacking noise escaped his gaping mouth, and his body slowly slumped to the ground.

  * * *

  “NO!” Maeve sucked in a breath and sat up.

  “What is it, daughter?” Her mother brushed back an auburn lock that stuck to her cheek. “Ye’ve slept like a restless spirit on Samhain.”