by Gaelen Foley
A moment to grovel, perhaps?
“Er, ahem, yes.” He stepped closer. “I brought you this.”
He was clutching something in his fist, and as he approached, he seemed to hesitate ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure why, but when he stood before her, she could sense an extraordinary nervousness coursing through his broad-shouldered frame.
“Are you well?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said, nodding awkwardly and avoiding her gaze. He cleared his throat.
“Well, what’s the matter, then?”
He sighed, as though casting off whatever thought had been in his mind, and held out his hand, opening his fist. “Here.”
She looked down at his white-gloved palm and saw a ring with a diamond of astonishing size, surrounded by glistening emeralds.
“This is for you. It may not fit you perfectly yet, but it can be fixed, and I-I think it best if you put it on now for propriety’s sake.” Though his head was down, his black hair still damp from his morning ablutions, his glance flicked up to meet hers.
His cobalt eyes were sincere, and by the morning’s light, Maggie could just make out a faint bruise on his cheekbone. His left eye was slightly blackened.
She blinked in astonishment, then stared again at the ring, and pointed at it. “That’s for me?”
“Aye.” He lifted the jewel up between his fingers, presenting it to her when she made no move to take it herself. “It certainly isn’t for anyone else.”
“Oh…” she said faintly.
“You did agree to marry me,” he reminded her.
“Of course. Yes, yes.” She gulped. “It’s not as though I have forgotten.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he muttered.
Maggie’s heart, admittedly, had begun pounding from the moment she had laid eyes on him this morning. All the restless energy in him seemed to be seething with pointed intensity.
But his touch was gentle as he took hold of her left hand and slid the ring onto her third finger over her glove. “There.”
She looked at it on her hand, amazed. “It seems to fit rather well over my glove.” She tilted her head back to meet his gaze as he loomed over her. “I don’t think I’ll lose it.”
“Please don’t.” The worried look in his blue eyes seemed to say, That thing cost me a bloody fortune.
She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”
She paused as he frowned, looking a bit confused.
“It’s nice,” she added just a bit begrudgingly, because if this stubborn man thought that he could bribe his way back into her good graces with a large and expensive engagement ring, he was mistaken.
Of course, the jewelry didn’t hurt. But it could not take the place of him admitting that he had been beastly to her.
“You’re sure you like it?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Well, er, good.” He gave a crisp nod and prowled off away from her. “You keep the ring safe, and I’ll keep you safe. Which is why I wanted to speak to you alone before we set out. I just wanted to go over the details of our plan today.”
“Oh, yes, right.” She nodded, bemused at his all-business attitude, but could not resist letting her gaze travel rather hungrily over his muscular physique as he paced across the drawing room in commander mode.
“To review: our destination is Dartfield Manor in Dorset. It is a journey of about a hundred miles, but if we press on all day, we’ll get there by nightfall. I chose it because it is easily defensible out there on the moors, with broad, empty approaches, and it is my primary duty to keep all of you…womenfolk safe.”
Let’s hope your aunts’ old bones survive it, she thought.
“I, ah, hope I can count on you to be civil to Aunt Lucinda during the journey.”
“Always,” she said crisply, matching his no-nonsense tone.
“Thank you,” he said. “I cannot promise the same from her, but I did speak to her about behaving herself.”
Hmm, Maggie thought.
“Continuing: Dartfield Manor is also the home of Aunt Caroline, Second Duchess of Amberley, and her two young daughters. They’ve stayed away from Town due to their mourning.”
“Understandably so,” Maggie murmured. “The poor woman. Both her husband and her son murdered…”
“Which she does not yet realize,” he pointed out. “Aunt Caroline is still under the impression that both their deaths were accidents.”
Maggie studied him. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Not immediately, but once we’re settled, yes. I’m afraid I have to. I am not looking forward to it, to be sure.” He pivoted and marched slowly past the empty fireplace, but as he passed the window, the sunlight gleamed on his gold epaulets. “Dartfield Manor is also the place where Uncle Rupert fell from the cliff. While we’re there, I mean to hunt around for any clues I might find. Things I might’ve overlooked on my one—brief—prior visit there, since I did not yet know the truth then. That it was foul play.”
Maggie furrowed her brow. “But if that’s where Rupert was killed, doesn’t that mean that the dragoon may be familiar with the property?”
Connor nodded. “Yes, that likely is true. He most likely was stalking my uncle for a while before he made his move. Just as I’m sure he’s been stalking me ever since I stepped off the bloody boat.”
He shrugged. “That is the one part of this plan that I do not much care for, but I have no choice. Without knowing the full scope of the threat, I dare not leave Aunt Caroline and the girls out there unprotected. Our friend has now failed three times to kill me. He cannot be happy about that.”
“Maybe he’ll give up.”
“Have you ever met a dragoon?” he asked wryly.
One corner of her mouth lifted, then she leaned against the cushioned arm of the sofa and folded her arms across her chest, listening attentively.
“No, he’ll redouble his efforts now. Which is why I want all you ladies out of the way before I go to war with him properly. My men will protect you once I’ve seen you settled in at Dartfield Manor. I’ve summoned ten of the best fighters from my regiment. It may take them a couple of days to get there, but they’ll come. When they arrive, I’ll return to Town and put an end to this for good.”
Maggie lowered her head, disturbed. Again, all he spoke of was killing…
But it seemed that Connor mistook her silence for fear about the situation.
“I wish I’d never dragged you into this,” he said in a heartfelt tone, taking a step toward her.
She looked up in surprise. “I don’t regret it.”
He stared at her. “Even after last night?”
She nearly answered the question with a ready “Of course not,” but she suddenly caught herself being too quick to smooth away the trouble, as usual.
Just in the nick of time, she remembered her newfound resolve. He had not apologized for barking at her yet. So she merely lifted her chin and, instead of giving him the soothing answer he expected, waited for him to continue.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning her face. Then he quirked an ebony brow, surprised at her cool manner, turned away, and, rather stiffly, continued his report. “Ahem. Well, then. Moving on.”
She clenched her jaw in frustration at his recalcitrance. Surely he knows how rude he was to me.
“About our ‘footpad’ of last evening,” he said. “Saffie’s dragoon.”
Irked as she was at him, Maggie remembered something important. “Connor, in all the excitement last night after we returned to the party, I never got the chance to tell you that was the same man who offered me a ride home in the rain.”
His square jaw tightened. “I assumed so.”
“Do you know who he is?”
He looked relieved to have another topic to discuss other than the tension between them. “Yes, now I do. He goes by the name of Seth Darrow—Captain Seth Darrow—though he is the son of a man called Elias Flyn
n.”
“And who’s that?”
Connor hesitated. “I probably should’ve told you this earlier, but I was afraid it might change your view of my family sufficiently to make you refuse our alliance.”
“Good God, what is it?”
A taut expression crept across his hard, sun-bronzed face. “It seems that Grandaunt Lucinda originated as the First Duke’s mistress. She was, er”—he winced—“a notorious woman of the demimonde, I’m afraid.”
“What?” Maggie’s jaw fell open. “Are you jesting?”
“No. And Elias Flynn was the man in charge of, shall we say, hiring out her services to his titled, wealthy clients.”
Maggie stared at him in astonishment, then lowered her voice to ask, “The dragon lady was a harlot?”
“Hard to believe, I know, but yes.” He grimaced. “I spoke to her last night about all of it. Indeed, I grilled her after the guests left. She finally admitted that her former, er, pimp—forgive the word—has been blackmailing her ever since she married Granduncle Charles.”
“Good Lord,” Maggie murmured, wide-eyed.
“There was a monthly allotment that had to be paid as Flynn’s recompense for setting her up as a top courtesan and helping her to land a wealthy husband.”
Maggie shook her head in disbelief.
“For fifty years, Aunt Lucinda dropped off the money every month, as ordered. But after Uncle Charles died, she no longer wished to pay. And it is there that our current difficulty started.”
Shocked, Maggie slumped her shoulders where she leaned on the scrolled arm of the sofa.
“I had no idea about all this,” Connor informed her. “My grandfather in Ireland never discussed all the old family secrets he had left behind, and Aunt Lucinda was certainly not inclined to tell me when I arrived here. She was exceedingly unhappy that I had learned of her past, the mule-headed woman. Must’ve taken her decades to live it down, and then finally Society let it go or forgot about it. The last thing she wanted was having it brought to light again.”
“How did you find out?”
“Lord Sefton told me. Gable’s father.”
“You’ve known that long, and you didn’t tell me?” she asked indignantly, irked anew. “I was supposed to be helping you!”
“And I had determined to keep you away from the danger, remember? I wish I’d kept you out of it entirely, because look what it’s led to.” He gestured angrily toward the waiting carriage outside. “Now the bastard knows where you live.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of him,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Her words made him smile curiously, but she was not about to compliment him outright on his fighting prowess when that very skill was part of what had come between them. She didn’t dare give him the impression that she was in favor of him going around thrashing whomever he pleased.
“Well,” he continued, “according to Lord Sefton, fifty years ago, our dear dragon lady was quite the scarlet woman, stealing hearts all over town. Believe it or not.”
Maggie pressed her lips together, holding back a smile. “It is…difficult to imagine.”
Connor’s blue eyes danced with mirth, but he attempted a stern look. “Do not laugh in her face—that is all I ask of you.”
“You know I never would. She has long since changed her ways, obviously.”
“Just so. And let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Which certainly isn’t me,” he mumbled.
Maggie’s ears perked up. Was this the beginning of an apology?
But no. Apparently, mulishness ran in the family, for he stuck to the topic at hand. “I am not making excuses for the way the woman treats people, mind you,” he said. “But I thought if you knew a little about her past life, it might help to explain her behavior last night, and perhaps make your time in the carriage with her today more bearable. We can hire a hack horse for you at one of the livery stables along the way if you wish to escape the coach for a leg of the journey. Or,” he added, eyeing her, “you could share a horse with me.”
Riding double with him across the moors sounded terribly romantic, she had to admit. But the rogue was not getting off the hook that easily. “We’ll see.”
He furrowed his brow and looked away with a silent oath on his lips. He probably hoped she had not seen it. Had he forgotten how stubborn she could be? He need only ask Delia.
“Thank you for explaining about your aunt,” Maggie told him in a lofty tone. “It does add context. Which will help me in finding patience with her. In fact, she sounds much like my sister. Relying on her rank to put others in their place before they can do the same to her.”
A brooding look had come over Connor’s face as he studied the carpet. “I suppose it’s just her manner of establishing her dominance in a situation. Maintaining control.”
Maggie arched a brow, unsure if they were still talking about his aunt, or if, perhaps, they’d drifted on to the major’s talent for establishing his dominance, but she let the question go.
If he wanted her forgiveness, he was going to have to do better than dropping subtle hints. By God, I will civilize him yet.
With that, she left her perch on the sofa’s arm and glanced again at the giant ring he’d given her: proof of her full right to his respect.
“Well,” she said in a cool tone, “whatever Lucinda’s excuses, I am not sorry that I stood up to the bully. Those who shove others should expect to be shoved back at some point. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and he frowned warily. His Grace deigned not to answer, however, battened down in his male pride.
Let him suffer, then, Maggie concluded. He’d get the message eventually.
He would get nowhere with her until he said he was sorry.
“Shall we get underway?” she inquired, already drifting toward the drawing room door. “Or was there something else you wished to say?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and when she saw him grit his teeth again, was slightly amused at his obstinacy. The intensity was back in his blazing blue eyes, but it mingled now with real puzzlement at Maggie’s continued refusal to play her former role of appeaser.
Indeed, he did not seem to know what to make of the new Maggie, whom he himself had helped to shape.
“That is all,” he answered uncertainly.
She forced a bland smile past her irritation with him. “Very well.”
Without waiting for him to dismiss her—she was no servant, no soldier under his command—she let herself out of the drawing room and went nonchalantly down the stairs to the entrance hall, glad about her small victory.
He hadn’t apologized yet, but she was quite sure now that he got the message.
They made their last-minute preparations, and Connor walked out as well, still eyeing her curiously as he crossed the entrance hall and went back outside.
This day-long journey in the coach had just become a good deal more interesting, Maggie thought. What he had told her about his aunt had been most enlightening, and of course Maggie would never use the information against the old woman.
She could only imagine what torments the haughty ladies of the ton must have put the First Duchess through in her day. Maggie wouldn’t dream of repeating that behavior. No doubt they’d been judgmental and cruel.
Still, as she looked around at their three-vehicle convoy of traveling chariot, servant coach, and baggage wagon, surrounded by several outriders, including Major Carvel, Maggie’s heart sank.
It was going to be a long ride to Dorset.
Soon, she said her goodbyes to Edward and Delia.
“Stay safe, my dear,” Edward said, hugging her. “We love you.”
“I love you too.” She gave his portly waist a squeeze, then accepted Delia’s embrace.
“Try not to go mad,” her sister murmured, glancing toward the carriage. “You want my advice? Tie the old harpy to the carriage roof with all the luggage if she gets nasty again.”
Maggie laughed. “At least I’ll have proper chaperonage, eh?”
Delia chuckled, then the two sisters parted.
As Maggie turned toward the carriage, where Connor waited by the open door to hand her up, she noticed Penelope’s look of wonder at Delia’s change of attitude.
Indeed, Maggie was feeling a bit like a miracle worker today. But as Penelope handed Maggie her reticule and novel for the journey, she just hoped that her newfound powers would work on the fire-breathing duchess and her iron-willed nephew as well as they’d worked on her domineering sister.
As she headed toward the luxurious traveling chariot, the birdlike Aunt Florence poked her head out the door with an eager smile and waved.
“Yoo-hoo! Good morning, everyone! Good day, Lord and Lady Birdwell! Don’t worry, we shall take good care of her!”
“Thank you, Lady Walstead!” Edward replied, waving back as he put his arm around Delia.
Maggie was quite pleased to see her sister slip her arm around Edward’s waist. She noticed Sergeant McFeatheridge tip his hat to Penelope, then Connor handed Maggie up into the coach.
There was no help for it; his brief touch still made her blood zing.
Then she had to slide across the seat to make room for Penelope—which put Maggie directly across from the duchess.
“I suppose you think you’re very clever,” Aunt Lucinda said with a glare when she saw the ring on Maggie’s finger.
She just smiled. “Shiny, isn’t it?”
Penelope whipped her face to the side, pretending to look out the window as she stifled laughter, while Aunt Florence ducked behind her lady’s magazine, doing the same.
“Humph,” said Aunt Lucinda, but Maggie thought that she detected a slight undertone of begrudging respect in that one gruff syllable.
Then Connor, astride his silver stallion, gave the order, and their well-armed convoy rolled into motion…
Leaving Moonlight Square.
CHAPTER 28
On the Road
“Nice! Nice, she says.” Connor huffed as he sat on the driver’s box beside Rory. “That thing cost more than most people’s houses, and she calls it nice.”