Carrie sat with Nicholas, drinking coffee while he had a glass of port. It was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the crackle of a small fire in the grate. She rose and went to the window. Outside, a footman, carrying a rifle, roamed the lawn.
She turned back to Nicholas. “One of your footmen is outside. He is armed. Do you expect trouble?”
“Merely a precaution.”
“Is it because you’re worried about Simon? I can’t imagine he would attack us in our beds.”
“I agree. I’m probably overly cautious.” He finished his port and put down the glass. “You should go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“It has.” She slipped into the chair beside him again, wanting to be close to him. “If you’re not planning to retire, would you like to talk for a while?”
He smiled. “Was it a good journey?”
“Except for the delay when a horse required a new shoe. I am pleased to be here. It’s especially heartwarming to find Bella and Jeremy less distressed than when I left,” she confessed.
“You have only been away for a few days.” He smiled wryly. “Aren’t you eager to go back to London? You will be missed.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “There is no one there I shall miss.”
“Not yet, perhaps. What about Ludlow? Nice fellow. You seemed to like him.”
“He told me you were very attentive to his sister some years ago. They hoped you would marry her, and now have hopes for his younger sister, Mary.” She tilted her head. “Or perhaps it’s the lady you took into supper? You seemed on very good terms.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I trust you’re not implying they have hopes of me marrying Mary. Perish the thought. Now shall we talk of something else?”
She laughed. “Very well. But that’s hardly fair, is it? When you wish to discuss my suitors.”
“Talking of fairness, was it fair to drag Gwen back here?”
She bit her lip. “No. I am sorry, but I think she’s pleased to go home for a visit. I am frightened, Nicholas. Does Uncle Simon really wish to harm Jeremy?”
“There’s no evidence he has any such plan. But we will thwart any attempt he makes to try to see them. You must trust me.”
She looked at her hands. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world I trust more than you.” She looked up at him, his eyes dark and troubled in the candlelight. “But it was impossible to remain in London, not knowing what was occurring here. I couldn’t have enjoyed myself. And I might be of help to you.” She searched for signs his resistance weakened.
“How?”
“Another pair of eyes. Lady Penelope will not be of much help, and Scotty suffers from pains in her knees.”
“It might take weeks to resolve this problem with Simon. I’m not even sure I’ll send Jeremy back to school. It would be better for you in London. You can dance with Phillip Ludlow.”
She scowled. “What makes you think I want to dance with him.”
“Poor Ludlow. Is he so bad? You seemed to like him.”
“He is a decent man.” She forced a smile. “He has written an ode to my beauty. I like him a great deal better than some.”
“Then, when you return, you can enjoy the attention of the other keen swains. They all crowd around you like bees to honey.”
She glanced sharply up at him. Might he be jealous?
“You surely can’t prefer to be here in the country with scant entertainment on offer. And indoors for most of the time.”
“I don’t need to be entertained. I’ll keep Bella and Jeremy company. That will free you to do whatever you need to. Surely you must agree that is helpful?”
He stood and held out his hands to her. “It will be. We are pleased you are here with us, Carrie.”
Carrie gazed up at him as she came to her feet. She wanted to slip her hands around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. She wetted her lips with her tongue.
His gaze settled on her mouth before he turned away. His voice sounded strained when he said, “I don’t believe I’ve made a secret of enjoying your company.”
She sighed and picked up her shawl from the sofa. “No, you have not.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I must take Chester for a walk.”
“Then I’ll go to bed. Enjoy your walk, but please be careful. You are special to us. We are all very fond of you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and, up on her toes, kissed his cheek.
Nicholas’s arm slipped around her waist, and he pulled her into a hug. Before she could enjoy his strong arm around her, he released her and stepped away. “As I am fond of all the Leeming family. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
She climbed up the stairs, deeply frustrated with the memory of his spicy male smell, his smooth cheek against her lips. Every tread on the stairway made her want to stop and go back and demand him to be honest with himself. With her. Even if he never wished to marry her, he wanted her as a man wants a woman. Carrie knew it. She yearned to hear him say he cared for her. Because she was sure, he did. But was it the mad passion she felt for him? The passion which kept her awake had her staring out the window at the stars and foolishly wishing for the moon?
Chapter Nineteen
Nicholas called his dog, and they went outside into the quiet night air. The fragrance from the gardens made him think of Carrie. Her womanly scent and curvaceous body held so briefly against his. Her soft lips on his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive another week of this. Keeping his hands off her and behaving as he should. What would Lady Penelope make of him if her sharp gaze saw desire in his eyes when he looked at Carrie? He could not guess. The lady constantly surprised him. While she had accepted his offer of protection from Simon, he suspected she came out of interest and was not one to defer to any man.
He strolled along the path toward his footman, who waited a few yards from the house in the shadows. “See anything untoward, Jerry?”
“No, milord.”
“Keep alert. A dangerous scoundrel might roam the estate. I don’t want anyone hurt. I will relieve you in a couple of hours so that you can get some rest. You’ll be called again in the morning. I’m afraid this could go on for a while.”
“Yes, milord.”
Nicholas turned away as Chester disappeared into the bushes and barked loudly. He followed the dog but could see or hear nothing beyond the scrambling and rustling Chester made. Probably after a squirrel.
When he whistled, the whippet ran back to him, tongue lolling. “Inside to bed, Chester.” They returned to the house. As the dog obediently scampered through the open front door, Nicholas stood for a moment gazing up at Carrie’s window. He didn’t want to think about her tonight. If only she hadn’t come back. He was just a man. She’d been dismantling his defenses for weeks, and tonight, filled with desire and the need to protect her, his fortifications threatened to crumble.
Did she fancy herself in love with him? Or was she merely infatuated? Should he ask her and bring the matter into the light? And what then? He wasn’t right for her. She deserved better. He groaned as he made his way back to the library. He must keep what was best for her in the forefront of his mind, what Max wanted for her.
Nicholas dozed in his chair in the library for several hours, then went outside to take over from his footman. A nightingale’s song filled the quiet air. Nicholas would have liked Carrie to hear it.
Jerry was nowhere in sight.
Nicholas searched for him. The braziers burning along the lake set the water alight. Their fiery blaze lit up the lawns but failed to reach as far as the house where the candlelight in the entry hall fell away beyond the porch. That left a large area beneath the trees in total darkness. He crossed the lawns, still wet from an early shower. The darkness hampered him, forcing him to slow his steps so as not to trip himself until he stepped onto the path leading into the shrubbery.
“Jerry?” He kept his voice low, for sound carried at night. He didn’t want to wake those whose windows opened onto this side of the house. It would
alarm them.
The footman didn’t answer—neither a murmur nor a whisper. Growing more concerned, Nicholas picked up his pace along the garden paths he knew so well. Jerry was a good lad, very reliable. He would not leave his post. An uneasy feeling tightened Nicholas’s chest. Had something happened to him? Two footmen patrolled the west and north aspects of the house and Warren, the east.
Gun in hand, Nicholas continued soft-footed toward the eastern wing. Shadows leapt out menacingly as he walked. The stillness and quiet became more oppressive. A kind of breathless silence. Nothing but the breeze ruffling the leaves and the occasional rustle from some small animal among the bushes. No sign of Jerry. Turning the corner, a light from a bedchamber window above fell upon him. Warren swung around to face him, his gun pointed directly at Nicholas.
“Michael.” Once the gun lowered, Nicholas ran up to him. “Jerry has gone missing. Did he pass this way?”
Warren shook his head. “Haven’t seen him.”
“That worries me. Where has he got to?”
“Do you want me to search for him? Perhaps he’s ventured farther out.”
“No. Fetch a lantern for me. I’ll check on the others.”
Warren slipped into the dark.
Good man, Warren, Nicholas thought. You couldn’t beat an experienced soldier watching your back when times get tough. He was mighty glad to have him at his side.
His gaze searching the shadowy gardens, Nicholas moved to the corner of the house and edged around it. Giles saw him and hurried over to him.
“Have you seen Jerry?”
“No, milord.”
“Keep a sharp eye out.”
Alex ran up to Nicholas when he appeared. He hadn’t seen Jerry either. “Something’s not right. Better you go inside.”
Alex clutched his pistol. He looked eager for a fight. “No, milord. Let me stay.”
“Until we find Jerry, but if anyone comes, sound the alarm. Don’t be a hero.”
“Right, milord.”
Nicholas returned to the front. His unease grew. Where was the young footman? Light spilled from the entry hall as Warren emerged through the front door carrying the lighted lantern. He handed it to Nicholas. Would Jerry have gone inside? He hoped it was so. Holding the lantern high, Nicholas shone the light into the shrubs bordering the path. Several yards on, the light picked out a booted foot beneath the bushes. His breath stopped in his throat as he ran over and parted the branches. Jerry lay on his stomach.
“Jerry!”
He didn’t move.
When Nicholas placed a hand on Jerry’s shoulder and gently shook him, blood spilled over his fingers. He went cold. “Help me get him out,” he said to Warren, who squatted beside him.
They carefully eased Jerry out and laid him on the ground. Nicholas stared down at the twenty-one-year-old country lad, delighted to be given a responsible job who sent money home to his mother.
They turned him gently over. “He’s alive,” Warren said, relief in his voice.
“Let’s hope that head wound isn’t as bad as it looks,” Nicholas said through clamped teeth. “We’ll get him inside. Take him to the library.”
They carried him there and laid him on the leather sofa. Jerry groaned. His hand touched the wound on his head.
“My poor fellow, are you in pain?” Nicholas asked him over his shoulder as he poured brandy into a glass at the drinks table.
“My head hurts damnably, milord. But I daresay I will live.”
“Good lad,” Nicholas tamped down his fear. What sort of monster were they dealing with? “I’ll send for the doctor in the morning, but until he comes, the housekeeper will tend to your wound. Did you see who hit you?”
“No. The blighter came up behind me. Said something. But can’t think now what it was.”
Nicholas came over to the sofa and handed him the glass. “Don’t think of it now. You will remember in time.” But would he? What did this miscreant want? Was Simon behind it?
Somehow it didn’t fit. What did the man think he could achieve by attacking Nicholas’s home? Ice threaded its way down his spine. If it were Simon, would he try to kidnap the children? He’d expected the man to employ more subtle means to achieve his ends. To wait until he could find the children unattended. Were they dealing with a madman? “I’m going to check on the children,” Nicholas said grimly. He ran up two flights of stairs to the children’s bedchambers. Both were safe, asleep in their beds. He knocked on Miss Scotsdale’s door.
When she opened the door groggily, with a long gray braid over her shoulder and her cap half over one eye, he quickly explained, trying not to alarm her.
“Dear mother in heaven,” she said. “I shall sit on a chair in the corridor outside their rooms with my hatpin. If anyone comes, they shall have to deal with me!”
“I don’t believe they will come inside, Miss Scotsdale. I don’t want the children alarmed.”
“Trust me, my lord,” she said, thrusting out her chin. “I shall say nothing to Bella and Jeremy. The chair will be gone at first light.”
“You are a brave woman,” he said helplessly, realizing nothing he could say would dissuade her from her course.
When he returned, Jerry sat up sipping the brandy. “Were you bending over or standing up when attacked?” he asked him.
“I was standing, milord. Searching through the trees where I’d heard a noise. He must have tossed a rock, and when I went to investigate, he came up behind me.”
Was it Simon? Jerry was tall. It would have been difficult for Simon, who was short, to hit him on the head, but not impossible. Still, it seemed unusual to visualize a man as unfit as Simon appeared to be taking on a strong young footman.
“I’ll send for the parish constable in the morning. In the meantime, we must get Giles and Alex inside,” he said grimly to Warren. “Bring the lantern.”
They left Jerry on the sofa with Chester, attempting to lick his face.
“The dog is happy,” Warren observed.
“Chester’s always delighted to have company,” Nicholas said wryly. “It’s curious, but I doubt Simon Leeming attacked Jerry.”
“No, milord? Then who?”
“That we have to find out.”
Outside, a few clouds drifted across the sky. They blotted out the moon, the stygian darkness sinister. Somewhere in the distance, a fox barked. Guns cocked, he and Warren rounded the corner of the house.
Giles spun around, gun in hand. “Oh, it’s you again, milord.”
“Nothing stirring?”
“No. Nothing, milord.”
“Come with us. Someone hit Jerry over the head.”
“Thunder an’ turf! Is he all right?”
“He will be. But we’re dealing with a nasty rogue.”
The three ran toward the east wing of the house. Only a few hours until daylight, Nicholas thought with relief. Then they would have a better chance of finding this assailant, or assailants, and dealing with them.
Warren raised his head and sniffed. “I smell smoke.”
“Me, too. It’s coming from the east wing.”
They reached the corner. The footman, Alex, lay sprawled on the ground. His attacker had piled bushes up against the wall of the house and set them alight. As Warren ran toward the flames, the fire blazed high, already eating into the wooden window frame. Another few minutes, and it would be inside the house.
Warren and Giles set about shoving away the pile of blazing sticks and bushes from the wall while Nicholas knelt beside his footman. He, too, had been attacked from behind.
“Alex, can you hear me?”
He didn’t stir. Nicholas brought the lantern closer. Alex was dead, his skull savagely crushed.
Nicholas’s stomach roiled. He swore violently. Jumping up, he went to assist the two men fighting the fire. “Alex is dead,” he said grimly. The heat seared his skin as he pulled away a burning branch and stamped out the flames.
Warren turned to him, his eyes wide and appalled
in the reflected reddish glow from the fire. “God, no!”
“I swear I’ll find this villain and pay him in kind if it’s the last thing I do.”
Once the last embers had died away, they carried Alex inside the house and laid him out in the lesser-used parlor. Tomorrow, he would send for the magistrate, Sir Henry Markham. He’d summon the parish constable, along with the vicar and the doctor for poor Jerry. He’d also have to write to Alex’s father. Deeply saddened, he bowed his head.
“Giles, go to bed. You get some rest, too, Michael.”
“But I’m perfectly all right, milord. Let me take this shift,” Warren protested.
Nicholas wouldn’t sleep until this man was caught. “Thank you, but no. You won’t get much sleep, either. We’ll go after this villain first thing in the morning.”
Nicholas left them and made his way outside. For the last remaining hours of the night, he grimly continued to circumnavigate the wings of the big house, his gun cocked and ready, willing the murderer to come and try to strike him down. Wanting him to make the attempt. But apart from the nightingale, whose sweet tune now stirred no joy in him, no sound or movement came from the gardens or the wood beyond.
The sky lightened to gray. Close to dawn, the temperature dropped. He shivered and rubbed his arms. His mind began playing cruel tricks on him, summoning up his failures.
Earlier, he’d been tempted to declare his feeling for Carrie. To go down on his knee and ask her to marry him. He was relieved now that he had resisted. The death of his young footman had shaken him and brought back with vivid clarity his failure to protect those he cared for. He swallowed on the raw pain of loss. How cruel fate could be. He did not deserve happiness.
After Sylvia’s death, he’d thought himself unworthy of living, but Max had helped him to get on with his life. And now, this. A young man’s life ended far too soon in a senseless manner. Nicholas groaned, and as the sun rose, casting its bright light over the trees, he went inside to write that letter to the boy’s father.
At his desk, he forced himself back to the present, his jaw tight, determined to banish everything else from his mind until these scum were found.
Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) Page 17