by Sara Lindsey
“I only mean to help you, my lord. I’ve been thinking of this servant girl what you told us about.”
With a thought toward Olivia’s reputation, Jason had claimed he was trying to find one of his servants who had been wrongly mistaken for a thief when she’d tried to meet up with him at his brother- in-law’s apartments for a spot of fun. No great harm would come if it got bandied about that the Marquess of Sheldon was tup-ping one of his maids.
“You said the girl was taken outside the hotel. There aren’t any places catering to the Quality that I know of around here.”
“No,” Jason agreed. “My brother-in-law’s apartments are in Bayswater.”
“Then she won’t be brought here,” the constable said. “She’ll have been taken to the office on Great Marlborough Street.”
“Great Marlborough Street.” Jason repeated the words as if they were a lifeline and he a drowning sailor.
“More like she’s there than here, leastways,” the man said. “Number twenty-one, it is.”
Jason could have kissed the man, but he restrained himself, as he thought such an action might result in his being locked up in truth. He bolted outside and hailed a passing hackney. After telling the driver he would double his fee if he got them there quickly, Jason was treated to a bone-jarring, tooth-rattling, profanity-filled jaunt across the city, though the profanity could not be blamed solely, or even mostly, on the driver.
After paying the driver more than the man probably earned in a year, Jason ran up to Number 21 and banged loudly on the door. Something else he was getting used to.
A bleary-eyed porter led him into an undecorated room where a group of men lounged around at desks, each clearly doing his part to ensure the safety of the citizens of London.
No Livvy in sight.
“Where. Is. She?” he growled.
The men gave each other knowing looks.
“That’s a guinea you owe me, Potts,” one man said, rubbing his hands. “I told you the fancy bit would have some sort of rum cove protector. You are here for that pretty little bird Yardley brought in?”
“I am,” he bit out.
“Must be a tough little nut,” mused the man. “Yardley don’t hold with no nonsense, and the interrogation has been going on for ages.”
Interrogation?
“Damn you,” he yelled, lunging for the man, “what have you done to her?”
The man scrambled out of his chair, knocking it to the ground in his haste to get away from Jason. “You nobs are all mad,” he muttered. “I haven’t done anything to her.” He jerked his head toward a door at the far end of the room. “She’s in the back.”
Jason charged in the direction of the door the man had indicated. God help him, if this Yardley bastard had touched a single golden brown hair on her head . . .
He threw open the door.
Livvy.
Thank God.
She did not, he noted, look particularly pleased to see him. In fact, she almost looked angry.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
What was he doing there?
Jason’s eyes narrowed.
That was it. He was, quite simply, going to kill her.
“Oh, the watch,” she said suddenly. “Of course. I didn’t realize they’d sent for you. Look, my lord, I understand you’re none too fond of me just at present, and I know you didn’t actually see Edward give me the watch, but I hope—”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
She frowned. “Aren’t you here to charge me with theft?”
“Why would I do that?”
The constable who must be the no- nonsense Yardley came forward. “I believe this is yours, my lord,” he said.
She’d stolen his grandfather’s pocket watch?
“I have no intention of pressing charges. Miss Weston has an unfortunate tendency to pinch valuables, but only those belonging to me.”
He could practically hear Livvy grinding her teeth.
“I am endeavoring to break her of the habit,” he continued, “but having her criminal tendencies made public would likely ruin her.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“I don’t,” Olivia said angrily. “I’m still trying to figure out what you are doing here.”
“I’m here to rescue you.”
Her eyes had lightened to the stormy color they turned when she was vexed.
“Why would you want to rescue someone you despise?”
Jason kept a tight rein on his temper. Of course, if he just went ahead and strangled her here, he’d save the constables a trip later.
“There is no need to be dramatic, Miss Weston.”
“And there is no need for you to rescue me, Lord Sheldon. The constable has agreed to release me.” Up went that chin into the air.
“Well, that isn’t quite true, miss.”
“But you said you would let me go!” she protested.
“You didn’t let me finish. I told you I didn’t want you out wandering the streets alone. I will let you go, but only if you are accompanied.”
Jason took a very good opinion of Constable Yardley.
“I am happy to release you into Lord Sheldon’s custody now, or you can send for someone else if you like.”
“I’ll send for Sir Charles,” she said after a moment’s pause. “This is his fault.”
“Do you know where Charles is, Miss Weston? He’s waiting at the town house hoping to receive a ransom note.”
She licked her lips nervously. “Is he so angry he wants me to be held for ransom?”
“No!” Jason thundered. “When we didn’t find you at Bow Street, there was no knowing what had become of you. If you fell into the wrong hands . . .” He swallowed hard. “If you were to be ransomed, they would leave you alive and untouched. That is why Charles is hoping for a ransom note.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“My brother-in-law has a great many stupid exploits to his name, but I’ll not allow you to pin this on him. Perhaps he should have known. . . . No, even I would never have believed you capable of this had I not seen it with mine own eyes, and I am far better acquainted with your scheming.”
Her eyes, so distraught only moments before, now glinted with fury. “My scheming, as you call it, was done to help you. You’re right; this isn’t Charles’s fault at all. This is your fault.”
“Mine?” Jason exploded.
“Yes, yours. I sneaked out to overhear your talk with Charles, but you and Charles wouldn’t have been having that talk if you weren’t such a heartless beast!”
She spoke everything in one breath, getting progressively louder so that she was almost shouting at the end.
Jason took her arm in a firm grip. “I am taking you home,” he said in a low tone. “If you struggle, I will toss you over my shoulder and carry you out. In that position I could quite easily administer the swats to your backside you have earned with this outlandish stunt. I doubt very much that any of the men here will object to my actions. Do you understand? Very well, I shall take your silence as consent. Thank you, Constable, for keeping her safe. She won’t bother you again.”
“You’ll see to it she keeps out of trouble, then? I can’t say I envy you such a task.”
“Oh, I assure you it won’t be difficult.”
The constable laughed. “Going to lock her in a dungeon, eh?”
“No,” Jason said, his voice serious. “After what she’s put me through tonight, I am going to kill her.”
To her amazement, Olivia managed to hold her tongue while Jason hailed a hackney and for the duration of the ride from Great Marlborough Street to Grosvenor Square. She wanted to speak, but Jason was so stiff and silent beside her, she feared if she said anything he might be tempted to make good on his threat. Instead she focused on the coach, which was decidedly shabbier than the one she had taken earlier. It had probably belonged to a nobleman at some point, but the silk upholstery was shattered, reveal
ing clumps of horsehair padding that was no doubt host to all manner of disgusting vermin. She shuddered at the thought, grateful for the mask of darkness. If she could not see the nasty creepy-crawlers, then, she decided, they simply were not there. Fortunately, the ride was short, and she survived without being murdered by the marquess or nibbled to death.
The elegant square was quiet, as nearly all of its well-heeled inhabitants had departed for their country estates some months earlier. Jason must have told the jarvey to go around to the back, for they rumbled past the Sheldon town house, which was easy to pick out, as it was the only one with lights in the windows. It wasn’t until she was alighting from the coach, when she reached for skirts that were not there, that Livvy remembered she was still dressed as a boy. She stood by while Jason paid the driver and suddenly, now she was home safe, the enormity of what she had done sank in. Trembling, she sank to the ground, buried her face in her knees and began to cry.
The driver cracked his whip and drove off in a loud clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Jason cursed under his breath, then picked her up and carried her up the steps to the back door. He juggled her weight to one arm to rap on the door, and Olivia buried her face in his shoulder, too ashamed to meet the curious eyes of whoever let them in.
“Oh, thank heaven you found her!” Aunt Kate cried as Jason strode inside. “Olivia Jane Weston, of all the harebrained notions you’ve taken into your head . . . You might have b-been k-killed!”
At the sound of the break in her aunt’s voice, Livvy broke down. Self- loathing filled her as she thought of all the distress she had caused with her selfish, reckless conduct. Of course, she knew Aunt Kate would forgive her, and, somehow, that only made her feel worse.
“Just like a woman,” Charles remarked. “Only crying once the time for tears is in the past. Come along, there’s no point in standing in the hall when there’s a nice fire waiting in the drawing room.”
Livvy recalled what Jason had said about Charles waiting here, hoping to receive a ransom note so he would know she was alive. . . . She curled her fingers into Jason’s coat and pressed her face harder into the wool, trying to muffle her sobs.
“Miss Weston’s scolding will be postponed until the morrow,” Jason said as he followed the others up the stairs to the ground floor. “Ah, Dimpsey, I should have known you would be waiting with the others. Help your mistress to her room and tell her maid to make up a sleeping draught. I’m taking Miss Weston to the drawing room. She needs to warm up and take a dram of brandy before bed; she’s trembling like an aspen leaf. Charles, I trust you can show yourself out.”
“Very good, my lord,” Dimpsey voiced his approval. “Shall I come back after to assist you with Miss Weston?”
“That won’t be necessary. I doubt she’ll get into more trouble tonight. I don’t know where Katherine has you sleeping, but there should be a small bedroom close to the nurseries you can make use of. I want someone near the children at night.”
“Of course, my lord. As it happens, the marchioness was of the same mind and placed me in that very room. Here, my lady, take my arm. . . .”
The conversation faded to incoherent mumbling as Jason carried her down the hall to the drawing room. She eased her head from his shoulder to peek at him. He might have been carved from stone, so firm and unyielding was his expression. The arms holding her were also stiff with coiled tension. He might have sounded calm and controlled to the others, but his fury hadn’t abated in the slightest.
He set her down in a chair by the fireplace before walking over to the sideboard. He poured what had to be several drams of brandy into a crystal tumbler but, rather than bringing it over to her, he tossed back the contents without pausing for breath. He splashed a tiny bit more liquor into the glass, then looked over at her. He muttered something unintelligible, then shook his head and turned back to the decanter.
Again he filled the tumbler and quickly drained it, tilting his head back to swallow the last drops of liquid. Livvy’s eyes were drawn to his large Adam’s apple, which moved up and down with each contraction of the strong muscles of his throat. He radiated masculinity and power and—she flinched as he set the glass down with unnecessary force—anger. She could easily imagine this man as her Mad Marquess, prowling the moors and terrifying the maids.
He turned to face her, but still he said nothing. He simply watched her behind hooded eyes that gave her no indication of what he was thinking. She shivered and hugged her arms close about her. She had nothing to be afraid of, she reminded herself. After all, Constable Yardley hadn’t taken his murderous threat seriously. But, as the silence dragged on, her nerves stretched closer and closer to the breaking point.
Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, he started toward her. Before she knew what he was about he had lifted her in his arms once more. She opened her mouth to tell him she was perfectly capable of walking and could see herself to bed, but he stopped her with a sharp shake of his head. Given his current mood, she decided it would be wise not to argue. If he wanted to carry her up another two flights of stairs, who was she to object? She did think, however, that such a desire indicated an unbalanced mental state, for she was not nearly as light as the proverbial feather. But he made no complaint as he carried her, nor was he the slightest bit out of breath when he paused at the landing. Livvy was about to tell him not to worry, that she could manage the next bit on her own, when he abruptly turned away from the stairs and began walking down the corridor. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he was taking her to his chamber. . . .
He shifted her weight as he opened the door, and then slid her down his body until her feet touched the floor. Oh, my! It was quite impossible to mistake his arousal. Was he planning on having his wicked way with her before he killed her? Lord, she hoped so!
She opened her eyes as he moved away to shut the door. There was something in the set of his shoulders that told her the evening had been as difficult for him as it had been for her.
He came forward to face her. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself? It had better be good because I am as close to beating a woman as I ever have been in my life.”
She said nothing, but wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his.
He stood rigidly in her embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His arms came up, clasping her to him so tightly it bordered on painful.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was? Hell, it was pure chance that I recognized you as the thief being carted away. What if the constable hadn’t been an honorable man? I sent Charles back here to wait for a bloody ransom note.”
She began to cry again as she nestled her head into his chest. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m so sorry.”
With a strangled groan he pressed a kiss into her hair.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Livvy. Do you hear me? You are never to try anything so foolish again. My God, when I think what could have happened to you out there alone . . . I’ll lock you up. I’ll barricade you in the Old Tower at Arlyss and—”
She slid a hand up to cup his cheek. “Shhh,” she soothed him. “I’m safe.”
“Damn you, Livvy, you will not placate me so easily. Tonight was easily the worst night of my life.”
Oh. With everything that had gone on she’d forgotten that he’d spoken with Charles.
“Would it help to talk about it?”
He shook his head, and part of her was relieved.
“What’s done is done,” he said. “I don’t want any more recriminations or accusations tonight.”
“W-what do you want?” She tried to sound seductive, but she couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. She needed him. Here. Now. If he refused her . . .
“I want you, damn it.”
Her mouth met his eagerly, as desperate for the taste of him as he was for her. Her hands crept up to circle his neck, and her fingertips traced lazy circles on his nape. She felt those circles on her ow
n body, on her breasts, and lower, at her very center. She stood on her toes and pressed herself into Jason, loving the way his hardness provided the perfect counterpoint to her softness.
His breathing was ragged.
“Stop me now, Olivia.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” She rubbed herself against his length.
He groaned. “I’m trying to be noble, damn you.”
She shrugged. “All the heroes I read about are noble.”
“Then you appreciate my restraint?”
She pulled away from him and began unbuttoning her coat. Well, it was really his coat. . . .
“You stole my coat as well?”
“It wasn’t stealing, exactly,” she said, remembering Charlotte’s defense. “It was more borrowing. And Edward and Charlotte were the ones who took the watch. Edward gave it to me when we got engaged this morning.”
“I beg your pardon? Did you say you are engaged to my son?”
“Not anymore. He decided working in the kitchen was preferable to marrying me.”
“Smart boy,” Jason said approvingly.
“Knave.” She threw the coat at him. “What happened to being noble?”
“The fact that you’re not already naked in my bed is a great testament to my nobility,” he responded.
A delicious shiver ran down Livvy’s spine.
“It occurs to me,” she said, “that the heroines in my books might have a great deal more fun if the heroes were a little less noble and a little more . . .”
He threw the coat aside, and took her hands. “More what?”
“A little more wicked.” There, she’d said it.
He looked amused. “You want me to be wicked?”
She leaned up and planted a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Only if I can be wicked with you.”
The amusement faded and was replaced with hunger. “God, Livvy, you’re going to be the death of me.”
She reached down between their bodies and ran her fingers along his hard arousal. “You feel very much alive to me.”
He grabbed her hand, stilling it. “You want wickedness, my little adventuress?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You’re certain?” he asked.