Scandalous Lords and Courtship

by Mary Lancaster

  * * *

  Lord Brandon and Officer Stephens reached the outskirts of London in good time. They were likely only three hours behind Northcutt and, with a racing curricle, could hope to make up some time on a ponderous closed carriage. As they traveled, Lord Brandon and Officer Stephens discussed the likelihood of Northcutt stopping at towns beyond the great metropolis. Stephens suggested that they begin their inquiries at Barnet and Lord Brandon agreed. Northcutt would have to change horses if he desired to make the journey without rest.

  They had no luck at Barnet or at Hatfield, and William began to feel less confident about their ability to overtake the carriage. At Baldock, a hostler informed them that a large carriage had passed some two hours before; the hostler being surprised to see a carriage on the road that late at night. Stephens also had the presence of mind to inform the hostler that the magistrate of Bow Street would be most obliged if the hostler could pass the word on up the road that the carriage they sought contained a dangerous man who should be detained at all costs. The hostler regarded Officer Stephens with wide eyes and promised most faithfully to send a boy with the message on to Biggleswade.

  The principal inn at Biggleswade did not produce the couple, however, and, despite Stephens’ renewed warnings that Bow Street was involved, Lord Brandon could detect no real desire on the part of the innkeeper to involve himself in a rescue. William returned to the curricle in a downcast mood, filled with more grim determination than hope.

  * * *

  As the lights of Biggleswade receded behind them, Lady Carlyle began to sneeze loudly, startling Northcutt awake. He recoiled against his seatback. She then began to cough, leaning forward as if doubled over with pain, so that she coughed directly in his face. “Oh, I am so sorry, but I am feeling quite ill.” Helena slumped down dramatically. “I feel as if I am going to be sick. Please, sir, if you value my health, I beg you to please find an inn where we might alight.”

  Northcutt wiped his face with the handkerchief and then held it over his nose. He moved as far away from her as he could in the small carriage.

  She coughed again and then sneezed in his direction once more for good measure. “My stomach hurts so much.”

  He mumbled through the handkerchief, “I suppose we must. We will need to change horses, at any rate.”

  * * *

  Lord Brandon, thoroughly exhausted, pulled his horses into the stable yard of the Ox and Four at Alconbury, prepared for yet another disappointment. The faint light of dawn tinged the treetops a pale pink. Then he spied a black carriage off to the left of the inn. The Ox and Four appeared to be a prosperous establishment, and so, as he dismounted and handed the reins to the hostler, he inquired as to the number of private parlors the establishment boasted.

  “We have two, and the coffee room, of course, although one of the private rooms is taken by a gentleman and his sister.”

  “How interesting,” William said, but his heart leapt into his throat. Could they have finally caught up with them? He extended his hand toward Officer Stephens. “This gentleman is from Bow Street. We believe that the gentleman you have in your coffee room may be the man we have been searching for. He is wanted for murder, and we have come to apprehend him and return the lady to her home.”

  The hostler stared at William incredulously until Stephens produced a document from his coat pocket. “What Lord Brandon says is true, so I ask that you let us enter the inn without arousing suspicion. I have no desire to use pistols, so the element of surprise is important. Besides, there is the lady to think of.”

  The hostler nodded. “I certainly wouldn’t want to frighten the lady, in any case, as sick as she is.”

  “Sick?” William said.

  “A terrible cold, she seems to have. She stumbled in all covered with a blanket and the gentleman told us it was a sudden cold that had taken hold of her as they traveled. Why, I had no notion he was a hardened criminal and all, he seemed so fine. Come, I will show you the back door so that you can enter without being seen.”

  The back door opened on a small passageway and William paused just inside it. “How should we approach Northcutt?”

  “We had best get the door open so fast that he cannot draw his gun before we cover him with ours,” Stephens replied.

  William nodded.

  The men crept along the passage until they reached the door that opened upon the parlor where Northcutt and Lady Carlyle had taken refuge.

  William signaled to Stephens, then with one quick movement, he pushed open the door and leveled the pistol at the room’s occupants.

  * * *

  Helena had done her best to act as incapacitated and weak as possible. She made Northcutt untie her, and once untied, stumbled about so much that he was forced to hold her up. As he walked closely beside her, a hard object in the pocket of his greatcoat banged against her knee. She had a sudden moment of insight. It must be a pistol, perhaps even the silver pistol Officer Stephens mentioned in his report. The pistol that killed her husband! Helena felt a cold shiver of fear run down her spine.

  Once Northcutt maneuvered her into a private parlor, she recovered herself and coughed in his face repeatedly until he fled to the other side of the room, far away from her supposed contagion. Then, slumped in a chair by the wall, she plotted her escape. She had just resolved to leap up and run screaming into the taproom when the door burst open and she found herself staring at the barrel of a pistol. It took her mind only a fraction of a second to realize that the man holding the gun was Lord Brandon. He had come for her!

  Then a shot rang out. She dove for the floor and prayed that Mr. Northcutt hadn’t decided to murder her as a last act of desperation.

  “Mr. Northcutt, as a duly appointed officer of the magistrate of Bow Street, I hereby arrest you in the name of the Crown for the murder of Lord Carlyle,” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

  Helena sat up and realized that Northcutt had not attempted to shoot her, but instead, gripped his shoulder in a peculiar manner as a red stain slowly spread across his coat. His skin was white as death. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his wound.

  “What just happened?” Helena said.

  William hurried to her side and helped her stand. “It is true, Lady Carlyle. Northcutt is the murderer, not Reginald.”

  “But why? And how is it that you and Officer Stephens discovered the truth about the murder and found me?”

  “We can explain in a moment. First, we need the innkeeper’s help,” Stephens replied.

  The innkeeper, who had run to the parlor door at the sound of the shot was soon made aware of the situation and offered Helena the use of the other parlor. He sent a boy off with a message for the apothecary and another with a message for the local magistrate.

  William went with Helena and helped her to a chair at a large oak table. He called for wine and when it arrived, poured her a large glass. “Here, Lady Carlyle, please drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  “Thank you.”

  After the innkeeper retired from the room, Stephens came in and sat down at the table. “Northcutt almost got away with your husband’s murder. If it hadn’t been for Lord Brandon remembering his days at Oxford, Northcutt’s scheme might have succeeded.”

  “So, it wasn’t Reginald who broke into my aunt’s house, but Northcutt?”

  “Yes. He knew Reginald was the obvious suspect in any malfeasance connected with your late husband, so he stole one of Reginald’s watch fobs and then left it on the floor to implicate Reginald,” William said.

  Helena took a sip of wine and savored how the dark liquid slid smoothly down her throat. “But what was it that he sought? None of the papers were missing.”

  “The notebook your husband kept about the Black Kings. You gave it to me, so he couldn’t find it when he searched.”

  “But why would he want that?”

  “Because it proved that he made his living cheating at cards and dice, Lady Carlyle. And that is not a gentlemanly occupation,” S
tephens replied.

  “You mean he was a swindler?” Helena said.

  William nodded. “Carlyle caught him cheating at Oxford, and I assume Northcutt promised to mend his ways. Then years later, Carlyle must have caught him again and threatened to expose him. That is why he followed your husband from London and shot him, making it look like a robbery gone wrong.”

  “He wanted to marry me in order to hide his murder and cheating?”

  “That, and, I imagine, for your fortune, Lady Carlyle. He would then have been able to leave the cards for at least a little bit of time,” Stephens said.

  William looked at her with pleading eyes. “I am so very sorry that I did not review the notebook sooner. I could have saved you from so much pain.”

  Officer Stephens downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. “Let me go and make arrangements to transport Mr. Northcutt back to London as soon as the apothecary has had a chance to dig the bullet out of his arm. I am certain that a search of his rooms will uncover Lord Carlyle’s ring and watch, which I’m sure he couldn’t fence for fear of discovery. Ah, and here is your pistol, Lord Brandon.” Stephens set the pistol on the table. “That is a mighty fine piece, if I might be permitted to say so. Very quick on the trigger.”

  When he closed the door, William turned to Helena. “Are you all right? I didn’t want to bring the subject up in front of Stephens, but Northcutt didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  Helena extended her wrist and said ruefully, “Just a few scrapes from the rope he used to tie me. I coughed at him so much that I think he was afraid to touch me.”

  William swallowed hard. “So, he did not force himself upon you?”

  “He hadn’t got the chance.” She looked William in the eye. His eyes, warm and inviting, drew her in. She felt her heart speed up and the breath catch in her throat. Finally, she said, “I just want you to know that I didn’t go willingly. I have never been interested in becoming Mrs. Northcutt.”

  William noted the faint flush of her pale cheek and the rounded softness of her full lips. Slowly, very deliberately, so as not to frighten the rabbit into the bush, he reached out and clasped her hand. “I must say—”

  Before he could finish, Helena leaned over and placed her lips gently on his. She felt him start back in surprise, but gripped his hand in hers and would not let him go. Instead, she deepened the kiss.

  “Say you will marry me, William,” she managed to get out as his lips moved from her mouth to her ear and then down the soft skin of her neck.

  He shifted enough to read her expression. “Do you really want to marry me? This is not the product of gratitude?”

  She boldly slid her arms around his neck, serene and giddy at the same time. “While I am eternally grateful, I don’t think I could possibly live without you. If that is not love, then I don’t know what love is.”

  He smiled, a smile so sweet and genuine, that Helena felt momentarily breathless. I am dazzled, she realized, but not by him. It is by his love for me. What a fundamental difference.

  “I accept your very generous proposal,” William said.

  Then he kissed her as he had wanted to kiss her since he had first danced with her at Almack’s—slowly, tenderly. Then he could not restrain himself further, with a wild abandon that would have shocked Helena’s younger self.

  William and Helena jumped away from each other when the door opened. Officer Stephens regarded them with an indulgent smile. “Northcutt is well enough to travel back to London tomorrow, and I have commandeered his carriage for the purpose. I don’t know what your plans are, Lord Brandon, but the innkeeper tells me that he has two rooms available if you wish to rest a bit before you travel back.”

  William got up and shook Stephens’ hand. “Thank you for all of your hard work, Officer Stephens. We are most grateful.”

  “Aye, I bet you are.” Stephens bowed low. “It has been a privilege and an honor. Please do not hesitate to contact me should you ever need Bow Street’s services again.”

  William closed the door behind Stephens and turned back to Helena. “Do you wish to start back to London immediately or would you prefer to rest?”

  Helena stood and walked slowly toward him. William could not keep his eyes from the slow sashay of her hips. Her evening gown was wrinkled and torn in several places, showing the white skin beneath. Her hair had fallen haphazardly from its braids and large locks hung down her back. William had never seen her more regally beautiful. His eyes locked on hers, and this time he did not have to hide the desire that welled up.

  Helena met his gaze openly and marveled for the hundredth time that she had been so blind for so long. Her body hummed with excitement at the thought of a wedding night as Lady Brandon. “I think some rest is in order. Tomorrow, we can resume our journey, after we have made a few provisions for ourselves and have sent word to my parents and Aunt and to Sir Stirling James.”

  “Our journey to London?”

  She smiled at him, her sapphire eyes suddenly mischievous. “To Scotland. Our work in London is done, and I find I rather like the idea of an elopement.” Her hands reached out and cupped his face. “I have lately discovered that life is too short to postpone a single moment of happiness.”

  ###

  A Match Made in the Highlands

  The Marriage Maker

  Book Twenty-Seven

  The Beasts of Blackstone Abbey

  Lana Williams

  Chapter One

  Fiona Ainsley stared out the coach window, throat dry at the sight before her. A slow, deep breath didn’t help. Blackstone Abbey, the ancient monastic estate that was her destination, was more remote than she’d expected. The rugged mountains of the Highlands, combined with more sky than she’d ever seen in Edinburgh, provided a dramatic backdrop to the stone structure that spoke of decades of use.

  “‘Tis amazing, Fiona.” Her ten-year-old brother, Brody, practically bounced on the bench seat. “Except for sheep and cows, there’s nothing out here for as far as I can see.”

  Fiona’s stomach quivered at his observation. She’d known that the abbey was rustic and isolated, but this...

  This...

  The coach rumbled along the rutted road. She and Brody braced themselves time and again as the jerky, uneven sway threatened to dump them to the floor. The three-day trip from Edinburgh, combined with staying in strange inns along the way, meant they’d had little sleep—well, she’d had little sleep. Brody could sleep anywhere. She was tired and sore. Even now, with midday upon them, she wasn’t certain what the rest of the day would bring.

  The coach halted, though they hadn’t arrived at the abbey. The vehicle tilted a little to the left. Was the driver dismounting?

  “I had better see if something is amiss.”

  Fiona forced a reassuring smile for her brother, but he clearly wasn’t worried. Mayhap she was trying to reassure herself. At nineteen, she was the head of the family—what remained of it. Their mother had fallen to a fever last winter, their older brother had died on the battlefield a few months prior to that, and they’d lost their father five years past. That left her responsible for Brody’s welfare.

  She opened the door as the driver stepped onto the sideboard and dragged down her bag. “Why have we stopped?”

  “Cannae go no farther, miss. Might break an axle and then I’d be stuck out here for days.” He gave an uneasy glance at the abbey as he dropped Brody’s bag on the ground. “Not worth the risk.”

  She glanced at the road. The ruts were no worse than those he’d already endured. “The road is clearly passable,” she insisted.

  He shook his head. “Ye will have to walk from here.”

  “But our bags—”

  He jumped to the ground. “Leave them here for now. Ain’t as if anyone is goin’ to filch them.” He chuckled. “Not in this place. Send one of the servants down to fetch them for ye. If there are any,” he muttered the last part.

  “What was that?” she asked. His comment hit upon her own fears.
Did anyone truly reside at Blackstone Abbey? From this distance, she saw no sign of life.

  “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all, miss.” He stepped over to the door and offered her his hand.

  “You cannot leave us here.”

  “Either that or return to Inverness with me.”

  She hesitated. He lifted a brow in question. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his and stepped to the ground. Brody bounded down after her.

  The driver tugged his hat brim. “I wish ye and the lad the best of luck. You are goin’ to need it if ye intend to marry one of the Beasts of Blackstone Abbey.”

  The nerves dancing in Fiona’s stomach shifted into a dizzying reel. She’d hoped to have the coachman wait until she made certain of their welcome. Or, in case she decided this trip had been a mistake. Before she could think of a way to convince the driver to delay his departure, he’d climbed up to his seat and flicked the reins to turn the horses and coach in a wide circle for the return to town.

  “Come along, Fiona.” Brody hefted his bag, his thin frame bending under the weight. “We’d best make haste. Looks as if a summer storm is coming.”

  Fiona followed his gaze to a bank of ominous clouds moving their way. She hoped that darkness wasn’t an omen of things to come. She lifted the other two bags and followed her excited brother’s march up the hill toward the abbey.

  “Do you think they have horses?” he asked. His love for animals of any sort never failed to make her smile.

  “I would be surprised if they didn’t.”

  “There’s not another building as far as you can see.” The wonder in his voice forced her to take a second look around. The green hills and sharp peaks, awash in sunlight, glowed against the backdrop of the approaching storm, and the rising breeze, free of Edinburgh’s soot, momentarily lifted her spirits. However, the quiet would take some getting used to, at least for her.