To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  Emotion surged, and she blinked frantically to clear dewy eyes. “Really?”

  “Really. About time you knew. Of course, if you and George are the love children of a sea captain who also happened to be a French axe murdering bigamist, I will have to divorce you.”

  “Fair enough. And if we are the legal heirs to an obscure but wealthy European kingdom where women and cake are equally worshipped, I will have to divorce you. Although I might relent and allow you to prostrate yourself at my feet on occasion.”

  “Very gracious.”

  “I thought so,” she replied, yawning and snuggling against his shoulder. Between the sunshine beaming through the glass windows and the rocking motion of the carriage, she was suddenly feeling rather sleepy.

  “I won’t be offended if you want to nap. Especially as you forgot to bring any embroidery to pass the time.”

  She flicked him with a finger and closed her eyes. “Maybe just a short one.”

  When she opened them again it was pitch black outside, only the small lamps on either side of the carriage providing any light.

  Caroline jolted upright. “What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You obviously needed rest,” Stephen replied, but she felt his acute tension.

  “How far are we away from Westleigh Park?”

  “Only a few miles now.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “Jane will be fine. I’ll enjoy watching her box your ears for waking her though.”

  Stephen didn’t smile. His restlessness was palpable as he peered into the suffocating darkness. Finally they were on the long driveway, the swaying movement of the carriage indicating its gentle curves, before pulling up in front of the wide main entrance. Westleigh Park, a sprawling, immaculately kept mini stone and timber village.

  He leapt out of the carriage and sprinted up the steps, her running close behind.

  One door swung open, revealing a young footman holding a large candelabra. “My lord! Thank God!”

  “What?” snarled Stephen. “Where is my mother?”

  “My lord, I…”

  “Speak, man!”

  “We sent a rider…you probably crossed paths…oh, my lord, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the dowager has been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Caroline choked out.

  “Yes, milady. She was taken from the gardens sometime this morning. We searched and searched when the alarm was raised, but found no trace of her. Except this.”

  Stephen stared blankly at the parchment in the footman’s hand, so Caroline snatched it and slowly read aloud.

  Westleigh,

  We’ll be waiting for you at the cottage. If you’re smart you’ll know which one. If you’re truly smart, you and your wife will come alone.

  T

  Chapter Twenty Two

  “La-dy West-leigh. It’s morning, time to wake up, my dear. You really have been sleeping a long time. Rather lazy of you, actually.”

  Thick lashes fluttered but her dark brown eyes were cloudy and unfocused.

  Taff sighed. Perhaps Uncle Albert was right and he had administered far too much laudanum. The dowager had been lying practically motionless on a rather uncomfortable-looking chaise all day and all night, but it was the least rat-nibbled piece of furniture in the ramshackle cottage.

  Damnation, he hated being back here. Sure there was a certain kind of poetic justice to have this location as the final reckoning place between the Forsyths and the Bruces, but he hadn’t been prepared for the violent, overwhelming emotion. Or the gut-wrenching memories. Luckily there were men posted in every direction, despite the personal distractions it would be impossible for Westleigh to stage a surprise attack and rescue his mother.

  “Has she woken up yet?”

  He looked over his shoulder and met Albert Bruce’s narrowed golden gaze.

  “She’s starting to now. Although if she hears your gruff voice she will probably change her mind. Is breakfast ready?”

  “Never mind breakfast, Taff. It was supposed to be a small dose, just enough to weaken her so she could be brought here without any fuss. Not leave her unconscious for hours!”

  “Well, a small dose didn’t work. In fact I have a goose egg on my shin where the damned woman kicked me several times, she might be petite but she’s no shrinking violet. Actually it was bloody hard work removing her from the garden, it was only because I’d been watching for a few days that I knew her staff let her be when she went for walks.”

  Albert snorted. “You’re obviously getting soft-bellied in your old age. I bet Nora would have had no trouble whatsoever.”

  “Aunt Nora is hardly your average woman.”

  “No. Anyone who can follow the drum for years, then birth eight babies is a cut above the rest. Pity none were boys, but you get what you’re given and there is no point complaining.”

  “She will be sorry to miss this. Did they get away in the boat all right yesterday? Where will they stay?”

  “Yes, it all went very smoothly. One of my cousins up and married a Frenchman, so Nora and the girls will stay with them in Paris for as long as necessary. Besides, if something goes wrong it is better to only have one parent in prison. I’ve been putting money aside for some time now, they will be able to live in relative comfort without me.”

  “Don’t say that,” Taff said fiercely. “Nothing is going to go wrong. We’ve worked too long and too bloody hard for this. Now, please bring in the food, I’m starving.”

  He smiled when Albert stomped away. It was easy to see where the Bruce girls got their short tempers, how his uncle had been such a successful soldier he’d never know.

  A soft moan sounded and his gaze jerked back to the dowager countess.

  “So, you’ve finally decided to join us, hmmm, my lady? You’ll probably note you are bound rather tightly, and no, I won’t be untying you. I will however, remove the gag because screaming or shouting would be completely pointless. We are in the middle of nowhere and the only people around are those who really couldn’t care less if you lived or died. Understand?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “All right then,” he said, removing the rolled up wad of linen from her mouth. She coughed, desperately trying to create some moisture to lubricate her no doubt bone-dry mouth, so he picked up a pitcher of well water and splashed some onto her face.

  “Thank you,” she croaked, frantically licking her lips to catch the droplets, until abruptly she leaned over the side of the chaise and retched.

  He tsked and poured more water into her mouth.

  “I must apologize for your current state of health, it wasn’t my intention to make you ill. We’ve now decided that our quarrel is not with you.”

  “What do you m…mean?”

  “It is my understanding you neither endorsed nor condoned your eldest son’s activities, and in fact tried to stop them.”

  The dowager bowed her head, her breath coming in harsh, wheezing pants. “I loved G-Gregory. I will always l-love him, he was my firstborn child. But I think he h-hurt people. And I c-can’t forgive that.”

  “He did more than hurt people, Lady Westleigh. He murdered them.”

  Her head jerked up, the movement obviously too fast for her unsettled stomach as she groaned and retched a second time.

  Again, he gave her water.

  When she’d recovered she blinked owl eyes at him, although her face remained a combination of deathly pale with bright pink blotches. “Murder? No, I…the others…”

  Taff laughed, although the sound contained no humor. “Oh yes, the other members of the group are heartless, murdering bastards. Or were, in the case of Major Rochland.”

  “Were?”

  “He’s dead. An unfortunate run-in with a dagger about a week ago. But do not think for a moment, my dear countess, that y
our eldest son did not kill and maim as well if not better than the others did.”

  “Who? Who did Gregory k-kill?”

  “My daughter,” rasped a voice from behind him. “He beat, chased and caused my little girl to fall from the cliff. My sweet Hermia’s last moments were nothing but terror and pain…”

  Lady Westleigh’s face went near-translucent, her eyes huge. “Sir Albert? But I thought…I read…she slipped while out walking.”

  Uncle Albert shuffled forward, fury and despair twisting his face into gargoyle-ugliness, his eyes glittering with hatred.

  “Filthy lies to protect the devil! No, my lady. Your bastard son murdered Hermia because she was carrying his child.”

  “What? No, it was just a flirtation. Gregory said…”

  “Wrong! Taff was there. He saw everything. Hermia did slip on the path when she was running to escape your son, but she got caught on a vine a few feet down. Taff tried to rescue her and managed to get ahold of her wrist to pull her to safety. Except Hallmere stabbed Taff in the hand and shoulder. Stabbed and stabbed until he couldn’t hold on any longer and my little girl and the baby growing inside her fell…”

  Albert paused and dashed a hand across swollen, reddened eyes.

  “They fell so far, Lady Westleigh. All the way down the cliff face and onto some rocks. My girl was near unrecognizable. So broken.”

  “No. No, it can’t be,” whispered the dowager, tears edging down her haggard face.

  “That’s exactly how it happened. Then Hallmere stabbed Taff in the chest and he fell too. Show her the scars, Taff. Show the ignorant woman what her devil son did.”

  Silently, he removed his jacket and stripped off his linen shirt.

  She gasped in horror, tears now gushing from her eyes as she took in the deep, vicious disfigurements which cut and dissected his chest. “Oh God. Oh my God. Oh, Taff,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. And Sir Albert…your Hermia…”

  “Not just a precious daughter but a grandchild, Lady Westleigh!” Albert spat. “Your son murdered our grandchild! An innocent babe not even given a chance at life by its own father!”

  The dowager cried harder, her whole body shuddering uncontrollably despite her tightly bound hands and feet. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry. I’m s…so sorry.”

  “Hermia was the only woman I ever loved,” said Taff quietly. “Do you see? Do you understand now, why we couldn’t let Hallmere live?”

  “You?” she replied, stilling. “It was you at Nexham’s estate?”

  “Of course. It took a long time for me to recover sufficiently from my injuries. Years in fact. We planned the entire event meticulously, but because we weren’t mired in evil we decided not to torture Hallmere the way he’d done to Hermia and me that day on the cliff top. One shot to the heart was faster and far kinder than he deserved. Do you understand?”

  “I understand Gregory wronged you, terribly. But what about Andrew? My h-husband? Was he an accident? Or…”

  “No,” said Albert bluntly. “We couldn’t take the chance he would reach help and save Hallmere. His was an excitable horse, not used to being ridden. Nexham ensured that. Taff loosened the saddle and added some burrs.”

  Lady Westleigh turned her face into the chaise, her knees curling up until they nearly touched her stomach. “I see,” she said in a suffocated voice. “So what n…now?”

  Taff sat back on his heels and retrieved his clothing. “Now we wait for our very special guests to arrive so the cottage party may truly begin.”

  “Who?”

  He smiled. “The Earl and Countess of Westleigh.”

  ***

  On the journey to Westleigh Park, the rocking of the carriage had been soothing. On the return trip it just made her nauseous.

  Caroline swallowed hard, breathed deeply through her nose, and flexed her limbs. Despite the absolute luxury of Stephen’s well-sprung carriage, any surface resembled stone after you’d been sitting on it for the best part of twenty hours and her backside was so sore she wanted to curl up in a ball and whimper.

  But no sound would escape her mouth. Not when that rotten criminal had Jane, and Stephen was nearly beside himself. As soon as he’d seen that note from Taff, they’d both sprinted back outside. A change of horses, coachman and footman and ten minutes later they were back on the road to London with their grim-faced outriders, who all insisted they were more than capable of managing the return journey. After a brief stop at Forsyth House for new escort, more food and to send a very detailed note to White, they’d immediately set out for Kent.

  Stephen still hadn’t slept a wink, not even a five minute nap. He merely sat like a statue and stared blankly out the window as the scenery flew by, his face so pale and haunted, so grooved and dark circled, he actually looked like a walking corpse.

  Caroline reached down into the new basket of food Mrs. Conroy had prepared and pulled out two slices of freshly baked bread spread with butter. “Something to eat?”

  “No, thank you,” he said, not looking at her.

  “Go on,” she coaxed. “Just a few bites.”

  “I’m not a recalcitrant toddler, Caroline. Neither am I hungry.”

  “You need something in your stomach. Please? It won’t do at all if you pass out before we find Jane.”

  Eventually he took the bread and ate it, but there was no sign of enjoyment. She might have given him two pieces of leather for all his reaction.

  Helplessly she stared at him. What could she say? Were there any words at all that could offer a whit of comfort in a situation like this? “Stephen,” she began. “Listen to—”

  “Please don’t. I need to think. There will be death today, I hope to God it will be Taff’s, but there is an equal likelihood it will be mine. If that happens, I just want you to know…”

  “What?”

  “I’ve amended my will. You won’t ever have to worry about money, my bankers will see to it that you’re provided for, always. If by chance you are with child, a boy would of course inherit everything, a girl an extremely substantial dowry. I know you’d be a wonderful mother, always lovingly caring for our child and remembering me to it…”

  Terror gripped her chest so hard she could hardly breathe. “Stop it! Stop that awful talk this instant!”

  “This talk is reality,” he said gravely, so gravely she couldn’t bear it. “You have to face it whether you want to or not. I know you will, because you are brave and bold and clever. Too damned clever…”

  “Don’t, Stephen,” she mumbled, her voice wobbling dangerously.

  But he merely smiled sadly. “I’d wish for a little girl. A miniature of you. Your eyes, because there is no lovelier color than jade. Your smile, so you’ll always know sunshine. Our baby hellion would have you gray haired before you’re thirty, but I know you wouldn’t swap her for the world. Promise me you’d educate her properly, Caro. About everything. Especially the best foot-crushing and china-throwing techniques.”

  Caroline burst into tears and threw herself into his lap. “I said stop it! You are not going to d-die because I forbid it. Do you hear me? I absolutely f-forbid it!”

  “All it takes is one bullet. You must be prepared for the worst.”

  “I must do nothing of the sort! Let me explain actual reality. The only person who’ll go gray haired because of our ch-children’s antics will be you! Forsyth House will be bursting at the seams with rogue m-mathematicians and too-clever hellions and you’ll grumble and curse every time you trip over a corridor b-battlefield or are sweet-talked into dancing lessons or have to replace yet another exploded object. But it won’t stop you reaching for me in the night because maybe just one more b-baby would be the perfect number…”

  Stephen’s arms clamped around her like a vice, pulling her so tightly against him she could scarcely tell where she ended and he began.

  “I think
,” he said unsteadily. “Long after the perfect number was achieved I would still reach for you. I know I haven’t said it. Maybe I haven’t shown it enough or very well either. But I…care for you, Caroline Emily Forsyth. Very much. You are everything a man could hope for in a wife.”

  Warmth enveloped her heart, like stretching out in front of a blazing fire. No meaningless flattery, no extravagant poetical platitudes from him. A short, solemnly awkward speech of carefully chosen words, straight from the soul.

  Cupping his cheek, she brushed her mouth against his. “I’ve loved you since I was thirteen years old, Stephen Douglas Forsyth,” she whispered against his cheek. “And I will love you forever. No matter what.”

  He sucked in a harsh breath and tilted her face so their lips could meet in a hard, brutal kiss. A clinging kiss of desperation and fear and need and joy all at the same time, one which somehow promised the world despite what had happened before and what might happen afterwards.

  They held each other in silence for the longest time, both unwilling to say anything that might shatter their temporary peace. Until they crossed onto Bruce land and the carriage stopped. Gently lifting her from his lap and onto the squab beside him, Stephen opened the carriage door and leaned out to speak in low, terse tones with the coachman.

  As soon as he sat back down they were again speeding forward, the crack of the whip distinct in the crisp mid-morning air.

  ‘We’re nearly there, aren’t we?” Caroline said hoarsely.

  “Yes. Not far ahead is the clearing where Taff performed the great poacher rescue. The cottage is about one more mile northwest from there.”

  “Will the carriage drive all the way?”

  “No. They’ll find a spot, maybe a half mile to go, and stop there. The footmen and my coachman will stay with the carriage; the outriders will each find themselves a spot around the general area. If they find…unexpected guests…they will take care of them.”

  Caroline shivered. “I see. What about us? What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to return to London, sip tea with Louisa and practice your lullaby tunes,” he said shortly, running a hand through his hair. “But since the note insisted you be present, I want you to stay near me at all times. Don’t allow Taff to get between us. Watch his hands, drop to the floor behind a chaise or chair if you need to. But for God’s sake, avoid baiting him. He’s obviously severely unbalanced and out for blood.”