“We are engaged. That changes the rules. Liberties are more allowed.”
“Liberties?” She kept her voice cool, but hot nerves shot through her.
“I could not stand to let you be exposed to those indignities any further. Those remarks, those stares. I am sorry that you’ve been subjected to them. But Eliza . . . ” His warm hand pressed her cheek—skin to skin. A rush of energy ran through her. She gasped.
His gaze softened with affection. “You were excellent tonight. Your head high, your neck unbowed. From the waltz to the pianoforte. I admire you, Miss Moore.”
Her heart thumped. “Th-thank you.”
His fingers stroked her cheek, and he drew closer to her from his great height.
A movement beyond him caught her eye. They weren’t alone. A man approached.
She gasped.
It was Lord Crewkerne. He stood across the hall, light from the ballroom falling on his face, revealing a cold expression. She cringed.
Daniel followed her gaze and his body tensed. “How dare he.” He stalked towards the earl.
“Daniel, no!” Eliza tried to catch his sleeve, but he was beyond her grasp.
Crewkerne spun and escaped through the doorway into the main ballroom.
“Wait here,” Daniel called back to her and disappeared through the door.
She was left alone with her pounding heart.
* * *
Daniel barreled through the crowd leaving the supper room, keeping his eyes on the rapidly moving figure of the earl.
Thomas caught up with him, matching the length of his strides. Daniel felt his question.
“Crewkerne,” Daniel growled.
“That blaggard!”
They stalked after the earl.
Daniel would issue his full challenge, and Crewkerne would accept, else Daniel would take his fists to the man right here.
Chapter 21
Candles burned low in the hallway. Several were out and hadn’t been replaced.
Anger ran through Eliza. The unbelievable gall of Crewkerne. Did he have a death wish?
And Daniel! He’d promised not to leave her alone, but he’d left her unattended to chase after Crewkerne.
Did he really think she would wait in this dark hall alone for him to return? She would not. It was high time she retired. Eliza turned with full intentions to find the stairs.
“There she is.”
Eliza froze. Two masculine figures stood in the doorway from the ballroom, their forms backlit, their identities obscured.
“A perfect opportunity,” one man said.
They started toward her. The dim candlelight hit their faces. It was the dissipated man who had dared touch her, and the dark-haired young man who had leered at her while being escorted out.
They stalked toward her, their expressions malicious.
Fear jarred her into action. She spun, her heart thundering. Escape, she needed an escape!
Strong hands closed over her arms, seizing her. Hot bodies pressed too close on either side of her with the stench of sour liquor.
“We’ll just go for a nice stroll, Miss Moore,” the dissipated man said.
“A wonderful evening for it, isn’t it, Miss Moore?” The young man gave an evil laugh.
She gasped, a scream caught in her throat.
They propelled her forward, through another door, and into the servants’ areas. She thrashed, panic keeping her throat closed.
She let her legs collapse, dropping her weight against their grip on her arms.
“Oy!” the young man objected. She almost slipped from them, but they caught hold of her again and hefted her up. “None of that, girl!”
“Help!” She gasped out the word.
She kicked out against her skirts and connected with a leg. One man cursed.
“Where’s Will?” the younger said.
“Here,” another voice said. Two more men emerged from the dark corridor, the scent of outside London air coming with them. They must be near an exit.
“You got her!” There was a stomach-churning excitement in the voice. It was the blond young man from before.
She screamed.
“Gag her!” the dissipated man ordered.
She fought against rough hands. “No! No!” She shot out her soft-slippered feet and connected with the shin of an abductor. Pain arced through her unprotected toes.
A man slapped her across the face. Ringing pain shot through her head. She cried out.
“Eliza!” a masculine roar sounded behind them.
“Daniel!” She nearly cried in relief.
One figure was yanked away from her.
Daniel planted his fist in the man’s face. The ruffian dropped like a stone. Daniel didn’t stop, but grabbed the blond and felled him as well. He towered over the men who held her.
The dark-haired young man released her arm and attacked Daniel in the close confines of the servants’ hallway. He landed a punch to Daniel’s jaw. Daniel shook it off and threw his body into the man, slamming him against the wall with a grunt.
The dissipated older man’s grip tightened on her arm painfully. He yanked, trying to drag her away. Eliza wrenched back and dug her nails into his wrist. The man bared his teeth.
Daniel barreled to them. His fist snapped the dissipated man’s head back. He staggered, losing his grip on Eliza.
With a snarl, he attacked Daniel, landing a glancing blow to his shoulder. The blond staggered to his feet, jumped on Daniel’s back, and got his arm around Daniel’s throat. Daniel ignored him, an expression of intense anger and focus on his face. He sent another blow against the dissipated man in front of him, then swung his great body around, and slammed the blond clinging to him against the wall. The ruffian gritted his teeth and held on.
Eliza stood at the side, helpless and shaking.
The first felled man swayed to his feet next. He moved to rejoin the attack. As he passed her, she shot out her leg. The man’s feet caught in her skirts. He fell, entangled, yanking her almost off her feet with the sound of ripping fabric. She let out a cry and pulled herself free.
“Liza!” Daniel’s strangled voice brought her head up. His face was dark. His hands strained against the villain’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The dark-haired young man was back, throwing punches into Daniel’s gut.
Daniel’s friend, Major Yarrow, arrived. He grabbed the dark-haired young man and punched him in the nose. The young man gave a feral roar and attacked Yarrow, landing several blows, and then took a punch in the ribs.
The blond was still choking Daniel! She looked around her for a weapon, any weapon.
She grabbed a heavy pewter candlestick from a table, raised it over her head, and brought it down on the back of the neck of the blond man choking her fiancé. It glanced off Daniel’s shoulder.
“Oh, sorry!” she cried.
Daniel groaned, the villain cried out, and his grip loosened. Daniel threw him off and stood, his mighty chest heaving.
The butler, with staff around him, finally arrived. “What is this?”
Footmen rushed forward and began strong-arming the three young men.
The dissipated man had disappeared.
Soon the marquess was there, directing the detention of the aggressors, his pale face grim.
Eliza felt dazed.
Daniel moved stiffly to her side, his face a careful mask.
She was unable to hold his inscrutable gaze.
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his swollen cheek. His eyes closed, and he pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers.
She trembled.
He looked at her with heavy eyes. “You’re safe.” Blood oozed from his split knuckles.
She gasped. “Your knuckles are bleeding.”
He glanced at them and dropped his hands again. “No matter.”
“How is your shoulder?”
“It’ll do.”
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
The corner of his mouth
upturned. “You were marvelous.” Wicked delight lit his eyes, but his breathing was still labored.
She wanted to reach out to him. “You need rest.”
“As do you, Eliza. Are you well?”
Her hand went to her swollen jaw.
Daniel’s eyes darkened.
“What happened with Crewkerne?”
Daniel grimaced. “We lost him. Quite quickly. Then Thomas asked where you were. I got a sick feeling in my gut and ran. It’s a good thing I did.”
She pressed her arms against the roiling tumult in her stomach. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry I left you alone. I shouldn’t have.”
She turned away. Yes, he shouldn’t have. But neither should she need constant accompaniment. She hated this.
“Daniel.” The marquess came up to them, his sharp eyes scanning them both. “Take your lady and get your injuries seen to.”
“Yes, sir.” Daniel saluted, then grimaced from pain. “Come, Eliza.” He held out his uninjured arm. She took it gingerly.
He led her gently up the servants’ stairs. They moved slowly. They emerged at the top through a door into the family quarters.
He led her into her room and closed the door behind them. She didn’t have the energy to object.
He stood silent for a long time in the dim light of one burning candle.
“Eliza, will you marry me in the morning?”
“P—pardon?” Her brain was too fuzzy with exhaustion and the aftermath of terror to comprehend his words.
“I need to get you properly tied to me, and then out of London. I don’t know what this was tonight, but I hope being legally married will offer you more protection. The sooner the better. Tomorrow. I have already procured a special license.”
“You have already—?” She blinked. One salient point rose to the surface of her stunned mind. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Weddings do not occur on Sundays.”
He paused. “Yes, you’re right. Monday then. Early.”
“The marchioness won’t like the haste.”
“No, but she’ll understand the necessity.”
He stood near, so near that all Eliza needed to do was step forward and she could fall into his arms. For some reason, she wanted to.
She resisted.
“If you think it best.”
“I do.”
She folded her hands before her and inclined her head. “Very well then.”
His lips lifted in a fleeting smile. He bowed, accepting her acquiescence. And gave a grimace of pain.
She took a step toward him. “Would you like to take a seat . . .?”
“No, much to do, I thank you.” He moved slowly to the bell-pull and pulled the rope. “But I ask you not to leave this room for the rest of the evening.”
“Have no concern on that point.” She wanted nothing more than to collapse onto her bed. But she would not while this man who was not yet her husband remained with her. She moved across the room from him. Was she hoping for safety in distance?
He rubbed his shoulder.
“I apologize again for hurting you.”
“No need, no need.”
“And for . . . all of this madness.” She gestured in the air, her mouth tight. “I regret the necessity of this . . . marriage.” The word was difficult. “You are giving up too much—”
He strode to her, and she stiffened.
“Eliza, no more of that. I am happy too.”
“Happy?” How could any of this be happy?
“I care for you.”
“How can you—”
A knock sounded, and a maid entered. Eliza turned away from him, her insides in tight turmoil.
“Good. Come in, come in,” he said to the young maid. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Betsey, m’lord.” The girl curtsied, glancing between them, her eyes wide.
“Good name, Betsey. You’ve been serving Miss Moore?
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Please continue. And don’t leave Miss Moore alone tonight. She was attacked this evening.”
The girl gasped.
“A cot will be set up for you in the dressing room. Please keep the door open between.”
“Yes. Yes, my lord!”
“Very good.” He stepped back, looked at the girl up and down. “You willing to travel, Betsey?”
Her face lit with interest. “Happy to, my lord!”
“Good. If Miss Moore has no objections, you are promoted to her lady’s maid.”
The girl’s mouth fell open.
“And will accompany Miss Moore and me on Monday as we leave for our wedding trip.”
She clasped her hands together. “Oh, thank you, my lord!”
He looked at Eliza. She didn’t have the energy to object. She inclined her head.
“Done then. I bid you goodnight, Eliza.” He bowed and walked to the door.
She dragged the words out of herself. “Good night. I thank you, Daniel.”
He gave her a long look, a sweet half-smile softening his face. She pulled her eyes away. He left.
She smoothed the front of her ripped skirts and felt strangely bereft.
* * *
After leaving his bride safely in her room with the maid, and a footman on guard outside the locked door, Daniel descended the stairs back into the crowd of the ballroom and located his friend.
“Thomas, I need you.”
“For my doctoring?” He scoured Daniel up and down with his gaze. “I don’t think you’re dripping blood now, but you were.”
They were drawing interested looks. Daniel schooled his expression. Frederick had been trying to keep noise of this from spreading through the Ton, but he was afraid too many servants of the guests had witnessed the aftermath for it to be hushed. “Yes, yes, let’s go to my brother’s office.”
Thomas patched up Daniel’s knuckles.
“I shall marry on Monday. The list of what needs to be done is long.”
“I won’t fail you.” Thomas looked over him. “You sure you want to get married with split knuckles and a bruised neck and ribs?”
“That’s what gloves and neckcloths are for.”
Thomas raised a brow. “Makes for a miserable wedding night.”
Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You know it will not be such a night. Not for a while.”
“That’s a miserable thought. Alright, my man. If you think being leg-shackled will lead to happiness someday . . .?” Thomas raised his brows.
Daniel answered with solemnity. “I’m betting the rest of my life on it.”
Thomas rocked back. “Not a hand I would like to stake my life on. I salute you, brave man.” He flicked his forelock.
“I’d plunge into hell for her.”
Thomas tilted his head. “She may require it.”
Daniel let out a breath. “There seems to be a greater conspiracy, does there not?”
“Yes.” Thomas finished bandaging Daniel’s hand. “Lord Crewkerne and the scoundrels involved tonight could easily have any light skirt they wished. Why this fixation on Miss Moore?”
They discussed possibilities but didn’t come to a solution. Daniel grew impatient. “Only one thing is certain. I need to get her out of London.
“Indeed. Where are you taking her?”
“I had thought to Kentworth, but now I’m reluctant to go anywhere so obvious. If nefarious people are determined to try again, I’d rather they not quickly find us.
“Well then, I know the place. Take her to Bredon Wold.”
“Your Cotswolds hunting box?”
“The very one. I haven’t been back since it fell to me. It might not be up to scratch—needs some repairs, I think—”
“I don’t want an uncomfortable place for Eliza.” Daniel frowned.
“I’m sure it’s not that uncomfortable! Been in the family for years. My uncle lived there till his death. And there’s a caretaker. Never fear. I’ve been meaning to get over there now the war is over ag
ain, and see what can be done with the place. You can go before me.”
Daniel had reservations but agreed it would be unexpected. No one would know to look for them there.
Chapter 22
“My lord, a man claiming to be your uncle, a Mr. Harlow, is downstairs, wishing to speak to you.”
Daniel looked up from his ledger to the butler standing at the door. His throat tightened. The confrontation he had been dreading had come.
He checked his appearance in the mirror. The waves of his hair were in place, the bruising on his face less evident after a poultice had covered it all night. Frederick’s valet had carefully shaved Daniel that morning in preparation for chapel. He’d been stiff and awkward during services, the visible bruising on his jaw, and invisible ones everywhere else making sitting straight painful. Eliza had been as tightly controlled and stiff as ever, the fading red mark on her cheek mostly unnoticeable except to him, who noticed it too well. They had braved the whispering crowds and attended the services at Curzon Chapel. It was a statement that needed to be made.
He straightened the knot of his cravat and headed down the stairs with a measured pace.
He could hear his uncle’s heavy footsteps from the hallway. The large man paced back and forth in an agitated manner in front of the sitting room fireplace.
“Uncle Harlow—” The glaring expression his uncle turned on him gave Daniel pause, but he pressed forward. “It is good of you to honor me with a visit. I thank you.” He bowed.
Uncle Harlow scowled. “Honor, you say? Then what is this if you have any idea of honor?” Uncle Harlow waved an unfolded letter through the air with sharp movements. Daniel recognized the letter he had sent his uncle a few days before.
“Sir, as I said in the letter, I thank you most humbly for the honor of your interest, and for the honor of your offer of the bequest. And, as I explained in the letter, as I cannot fulfill the terms of your bequest . . .”
“The terms! The simplest of terms! I suppose I should thank you for informing me before you married with no intention of waiting for my blessing on the match, a blessing I would never give.”
“I understand that you cannot give your blessing, sir, which is why I did not ask for it. I merely wrote to inform you—”
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 13