One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Jo Goodman

  “Which choice is that?” he demanded. His words were almost drowned out by the rolling thunder. Rain was beginning to saturate the pine boughs. Droplets slipped through the canopy and spattered his hat and the capes of his greatcoat. “The one he made to stay with you or the one he made to leave us both?”

  That took Cybelline’s breath, but she recovered quickly. “I was thinking of Anna,” she said. “Nicholas chose to father a child. That is what you could not accept.”

  “On the contrary. Anna is the reason I’m here. Do you not yet comprehend that you were merely a brood mare? She is in every way more my daughter than yours. From the very first I’ve made her care my responsibility, and Nicholas indulged me.”

  In the eerie light of another lightning strike, Cybelline’s face was perfectly white. She held her ground even while it shook under her. Anna began to fret and Cybelline gave her a small bounce on her hip. “Do you imagine I’m going to give her to you?”

  “I imagine you will, yes.”

  Ferrin was not certain he would be permitted to draw another breath. Sir Richard had the pistol’s hammer cocked and seemed bent on proving to Cybelline that he did not make threats of no account. Watching him, Ferrin had no more time to prepare for what happened than Sir Richard did, but his reaction was quicker when Cybelline gave Anna a second bounce. While it seemed as though she meant only to shift Anna to the other hip, what she did instead was toss her high into the boughs, then make no move to catch her. It was Ferrin who plucked Anna out of the air. That action stayed Sir Richard’s hand and gave Cybelline the moment she needed to throw herself at him.

  The force of her charge was not enough to push Sir Richard off his feet, but it did make him stumble into his horse. His pistol fired and the shot creased Titan’s flank, making the animal rear up and swing his head mightily. The loosely tied reins slipped free of the beech, and Titan tore away and headed deep into the thicket. Lightning struck again, this time close enough for Cybelline to feel every hair at the back of her neck stand at attention. She fought Sir Richard for the spent pistol, clawing at his arm when he would have brought the weapon down on her head. Thunder masked his wounded animal cry as Cybelline bit through his leather glove to the fleshy ball of his thumb. He flung her aside hard enough to make her fall to her knees on the muddy ground but dropped the pistol in the same motion.

  Useless as a firing weapon, the pistol nevertheless could batter a skull. When Sir Richard stooped to pick it up, Ferrin kicked it out of the way, then brought up his knee. He clipped Sir Richard in the jaw with enough force to make bone crack and drive his upper teeth into his gum. Screaming, Sir Richard fell backward and sprawled on the ground. His hat tumbled to one side. Rain diluted the blood seeping from his crushed mouth so that it ran past his cheeks into his hair and finally into the mud under his head. He raised himself up as far as his elbows before Ferrin planted a foot firmly in the middle of his chest and flattened him again.

  Cybelline stood, shook off the rain that matted her fur collar to her face, then calmly bent to retrieve the pistol. She gave it to Ferrin. Anna was crying in earnest now, but Cybelline refused Ferrin’s offer to take her. Instead, she circled around and stepped out into the open, where the rain beat hard against her.

  “Cybelline?” Ferrin watched her go. She didn’t even acknowledge that he called after her. She didn’t turn in the direction of the hall but hurried away from it. He glanced down at Sir Richard, who remained quite still beneath his boot. Not trusting that he would remain that way, Ferrin removed his foot to prevent being upended with Anna in his arms and took a step back. He stuck the pistol into the waistband of his breeches. “I’m not certain Mrs. Caldwell realizes you threatened her husband with exposure. You meant to ruin him. Ruin her and Anna as well.”

  Sir Richard’s eyes opened, and he stared darkly at Ferrin. He had to support his jaw in one hand to speak plainly. “You can’t know that.”

  “True, I don’t. But it’s accurate, isn’t it? That’s why he killed himself. He loved you, certainly, but he loved Anna more. You knew he would never leave her mother. Whatever promises he made to you, whatever his assurances, you saw that he no longer was capable of keeping his word. He meant to cut you from his life to protect Anna. Perhaps he did not say as much to you, but you suspected it. I’ve read his letters; I know that he was trying to convince himself that nothing would be changed by his marriage and fatherhood. You knew everything would be different, and in time, so would he.”

  “She killed him.”

  Ferrin opened his greatcoat and moved Anna protectively inside. She stopped weeping and nestled against his chest just as she had done earlier. With her face hidden, Ferrin felt free to grind his heel into the soft underside of Sir Richard’s outstretched arm. “One would think you would exercise more caution in your speech,” he said pleasantly. Ferrin removed his foot only when he elicited a surrendering groan from his captive. “I should very much like to hear what you had in mind for Anna. That is not entirely clear to me.”

  Sir Richard did not answer. He folded his injured arm against his chest and continued to nurse his jaw with the other.

  Ferrin nudged Sir Richard’s knee with the toe of his boot. As a warning of where he intended to strike next, it was sufficient to loosen Sir Richard’s swollen tongue.

  “Meant her no harm,” he said.

  “I know that. You would not have left Anna on the wall for me to find if you’d intended to harm her.” Ferrin expected some confirmation from Sir Richard, not a subtle shift in the man’s dark stare. It roused his curiosity. “You did not abandon her,” he said slowly, working out the puzzle. “There was someone else. It was your accomplice who left her.” This time it was the slight lift of Sir Richard’s eyebrows that confirmed Ferrin’s suspicions.

  Ferrin immediately took another step back to remove himself from Sir Richard’s reach. Lightning crackled the air again and momentarily limned the skeletal tree branches with searing white light. Under his coat, Anna’s small hands curled tightly around the throat of his shirt. Making a circle where he stood, Ferrin made careful note of his surroundings again before he returned his attention to Sir Richard.

  “Who is he?” Ferrin asked. “I will have the name of the man helping you.”

  “Will you?”

  Ferrin did not allow himself to be baited by Sir Richard’s dry, disdainful tone. He nodded. The movement caused water collecting on the brim of his hat to cascade over the edge and drum the ground with more force than the falling rain. “I think you will give him up when you consider the alternative.”

  “The alternative?”

  “Pain.” He noticed this seemed to give Sir Richard pause. “Do not mistake my resolve. I can inflict a great deal of pain. You will welcome the briefest moments of respite; you will beg me to be merciful. And when you realize that I will show you no kindness, you will pray to your savior for death.” Ferrin fell silent when he judged that Sir Richard’s complexion was sufficiently pale. He allowed Sir Richard a few moments to think and called out for Cybelline. That she had gone off alone disturbed him, but that she had not already returned gave him good reason to be alarmed. The certain knowledge that Sir Richard had not acted entirely on his own lent him new awareness of the danger she faced.

  Ferrin called for Cybelline again. Thunder stole his voice. When it passed, he cupped one hand around his mouth and made a third attempt to draw her attention. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sir Richard rise up on his elbows and look toward the clearing. Ferrin knew well that it might be a trick to distract him, but he could not risk that it wasn’t. He pivoted on his heel, ducking the water-laden pine boughs, and darted a glance in the same direction as Sir Richard.

  Cybelline stood just ten yards into the clearing. She was no longer alone. Her figure was made more fragile by the rain that pressed her pelisse to her slender frame and the breadth and height of the horse and rider at her side.

  The distance was not so great, nor the curtain of rain
so dense, as to prevent Ferrin from seeing the rider was not Sherry. This did not surprise. From the moment he turned to follow Sir Richard’s telling glance, Ferrin had prepared himself to discover the presence of the accomplice, even to discover that Cybelline was being forced to accompany him, so his first look confirmed his expectations.

  A second, more thorough, look revealed that his expectations had been set far too low. He had been as guilty of underestimating his warrior queen as Sir Richard. Cybelline was not accompanying the horse and rider, rather they were accompanying her. She held the leading strings, and the rider—most astonishingly—held fast to the string of a kite.

  Rain beat against the kite, but a gust of wind lifted it. The rider’s hands were raised at the same time, and Ferrin saw clearly that Cybelline’s captive was not simply flying the kite. He was bound to it.

  He looked back over his shoulder and saw that Sir Richard was attempting to get to his feet. “Drop the reins,” Ferrin called to Cybelline, waving her closer. “Come! Take Anna!”

  Cybelline let the reins fall and ran to Ferrin. “Is she all right?”

  “Of course.” Now that Cybelline was beside him and out of immediate danger, he realized that nothing was so urgent that he could not draw her close and hold her for a long moment. He let her take Anna out from under his coat, then he turned and slipped under the boughs to haul back Sir Richard.

  Ferrin caught up to Sir Richard before the man had gone twenty feet. He had to duck when Sir Richard turned suddenly and struck out with his fist. Ferrin took a glancing blow to his shoulder but didn’t lose his footing. He responded with a hard right punch that landed solidly against Sir Richard’s midriff. While Sir Richard was trying to recover from that driving fist, Ferrin delivered a second blow with his left, clipping Sir Richard on his unprotected cracked jaw and breaking it.

  Sir Richard’s howl of pain coincided with another lightning strike, this one giving a supernatural brilliance to the heavy underbelly of dark clouds. Ferrin anticipated thunder, not the high-pitched, keening cry that followed the strike. Fearing for Cybelline and Anna, Ferrin ran back to where he’d left them. The thunder, when it came, was powerful enough to vibrate the entire wood.

  Ferrin drew abreast of Cybelline and saw that she and Anna were uninjured. The cry had not come from her. He followed the direction she pointed even as she turned away from it. Ferrin saw the horse first. The animal was tearing across the clearing toward the lake. Spooked by the lightning, he seemed determined to outrun the storm, and with no rider to rein him in, there was a greater chance that he would injure himself than win the race against the wind and rain.

  Ferrin’s gaze was drawn next to the kite lying at an oddly pitched angle in the high grass. Partially obscured by the colorful fabric and rag tail was the fallen rider. When he didn’t stir, Ferrin began to suspect that he’d not merely been thrown when his horse bolted.

  Glancing skyward, Ferrin ticked off the time between strikes. He felt Cybelline try to hold him back, but he shook her off and ran into the clearing. He hunkered down and quickly tossed the kite aside. Sir Richard’s partner was lying facedown in the grass. The smell of burnt wool and flesh, the acrid scent of singed hair, firmly set Ferrin’s impression of what had taken place.

  He touched the man’s shoulder, shook it, then slipped two fingers under the muffler to press against his neck. The pulse he detected was faint, so faint he was not entirely certain he hadn’t imagined it. He rolled the man over and tore at the muffler.

  Astonishment set him back on his heels.

  “Bloody hell.” He closed his eyes a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat. A rivulet of water slipped under his coat and worked its way down his back. He shivered slightly, then slowly got to his feet. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

  He had imagined the pulse. The eyes that returned his stare had no consciousness behind them. Perhaps there had never been any conscience either. It no longer mattered.

  There was nothing he could do.

  Several long minutes passed before Ferrin realized the storm was moving on and that Cybelline had come to stand beside him. She held Anna’s head cupped in her hand to prevent her from seeing the body. He would have liked to have protected Cybelline in the same manner. A sideways glance at her grim expression assured him she would not have permitted it.

  “Did you know?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her once again to the sheltering wood. The rain was falling more gently now but every drop had an icy edge. In spite of that, they didn’t hurry. Ferrin took Anna from Cybelline and pointed to the hall where Sherry was leading another group of servants through the gardens toward them. The scoundrels ran alongside, easily keeping pace with his horse.

  Ferrin knew he would have to stop the boys before they reached the kite, but he did nothing to impede Sir Richard’s halting progress across the field. Neither he nor Cybelline paused when he limped past them. There was nowhere for him to go except to the body, and when Ferrin glanced back, Sir Richard had dropped to his knees beside it.

  “Who do you suppose she was to him?” he asked.

  Cybelline could only shake her head.

  The question they shared was answered as Sir Richard Settle clutched Nanny Baker in his arms and cried out mournfully for the loss of his sister.

  The music room at Granville Hall was unusually quiet. Sherry sat on the bench at the pianoforte but with his back to the instrument. In a half recline, he rested his elbows on the lid covering the keys while his long legs stretched before him. He appeared to be contemplating the toe of his boots.

  Lily had chosen a straight-back chair beside the candelabra. She had an embroidery hoop in one hand and a needle and floss in the other. She had yet to make a single stitch, though from time to time she plucked one out.

  Ferrin and Cybelline shared the chaise longue. His hand lay lightly over hers. Occasionally his thumb would make a pass across the back of her hand. Like Sherry, he seemed to be contemplating the toe of his boots. Cybelline’s attention was for the corner of the room where Anna was stacking blocks. The scoundrels had already been sent to bed, but Cybelline was not yet prepared to allow Anna out of her sight.

  It did not matter that the danger had passed, that Sir Richard was in the custody of the authorities or that Nanny Baker’s body had been removed for burial. What mattered to Cybelline was that she could see her child. No one objected. Cybelline noticed that when her companions were not staring at their feet—or in Lily’s case, her hoop—they were stealing glances at Anna, assuring themselves of her presence.

  In truth, Anna was perhaps the least affected by the events of the day. From her perspective, she’d had an adventure. Every cautious question that Cybelline put to her was answered in a way that supported that view, and no one pressed her for more information than she was prepared to give at the outset. As best as Cybelline could determine, the thunderstorm seemed to have made a larger impression on Anna than either her abduction or the confrontation with Sir Richard in the wood. There was nothing for it but to wait for time to tell.

  The attention of everyone in the music room was drawn to the door when the butler appeared. Wolfe inclined his head and addressed Sherry. “You asked to be informed if there was a change in Miss Potter’s condition.”

  Uncertain what he was about to hear, Sherry rose from the piano bench and indicated to Wolfe that they should step out into the hall. He reappeared a few minutes later and shut the door quietly behind him. “It is good news,” he said. “Miss Potter is alert again and able to recall her name. She has taken a light repast, which apparently did her no harm. She also recollects how she came by her injuries and most particularly asked after Miss Anna.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cybelline observed Anna lifting her head, alert to the sound of her name. When no one fussed over her, she simply went back to the blocks. Anna’s perfectly self-cen
tered world raised Cybelline’s small smile. She squeezed Ferrin’s hand, reassured in equal measure by her daughter’s calm and Sherry’s report.

  “Good news, indeed,” Cybelline said softly. “I confess, after Dr. Meacham explained her condition to me, I feared she would not fully recover her senses.”

  Lily dabbed at her eyes with one corner of the fabric lying across her lap, then smiled apologetically. “My thoughts also. She was a long time having her arm set and even longer under his knife. When she remembered nothing that had transpired earlier, then not even her own name or where she was, it occurred to me that the surgeon’s cure had rendered her feebleminded.”

  Sherry went to Lily’s side, touching her cheek gently before he placed his hand on the back of her chair. He addressed Cybelline and Ferrin. “Miss Potter will require a lengthy convalescence, and there is no question of moving her. I hope you know you are welcome to remain at Granville Hall as long as you like, but you should be confident that Miss Potter will be well looked after and not plan your own departure around her ability to travel. In time she can join you or she might consider taking a position here at the hall. Rosie’s nurse is up to the task of tending to an infant, but Potter has demonstrated a tenacity that Lily and I believe will serve our daughter in good stead.”

  Cybelline nudged Ferrin with her elbow. “Do you see, my lord, he is trying to steal her from me. He puffs the thing up, but that is the gist of it. Deny it, Sherry. I dare you.”

  “I cannot, but it was Lady Sheridan who proposed the idea to me.”

  “Sherry!” Lily gave him a disapproving look. “Lord Ferrin is not so well acquainted with your rather odd sense of humor as I am. He will think you are quite serious.”

  “I am,” Sherry said.

  Watching the play between Sherry and his wife, Ferrin’s lips twitched. He glanced at Cybelline and saw she was also holding a smile in check. Given all that had taken place this day, it was perhaps still too soon for outright laughter, but it would surely be forthcoming. Ferrin believed that boded well for the future.