Anything for a Lord (Ladies Always Shoot First Book 4)

by Summer Hanford

  Victoria slumped against the couch, alone, mortified and thoroughly confused.

  Chapter Two

  Victoria searched her candlelit room for what woke her. Something scraped on the wall outside her window. A thump against the sill followed. The curtain billowed inward. Was she dreaming? That couldn’t be the top of a ladder peeking over the edge of the window.

  “What are you doing here, le Fount?”

  Victoria jerked upright, startled. Good Lord, that was John’s voice.

  A muffled curse came from below. The ladder rattled against her window frame. Her heart stammered in her chest with each clatter. Sounds of a scuffle rose from the yard. She slid from the bed and dropped to her knees. Hands scrambling, she dug a box from beneath her bed and flipped the lid open. Her fingers shook as she pushed aside the other items and withdrew the loaded pistol.

  She jumped to her feet at the slew of curses without. The sound drew away, across the lawn. Pistol clutched in one hand, she crept to the window. Carefully, she eased aside one curtain and peered out, but discerned only the outlines of the fruit trees in the darkness. Victoria leaned out the window and scanned the ground near the bottom of the ladder. She jumped back when a shot rang out somewhere on the front side of the manor.

  Victoria pressed herself to the wall beside the window and waited until the faint pounding of horse’s hooves could no longer be heard. She released a slow breath and hazarded another glance out the window. Nothing. She set the pistol on a nearby chair and reached for the ladder to push it away.

  “Victoria?”

  She froze. Even whispered, she recognized her name on John’s lips. She sagged, dizzy with relief. “John.”

  The ladder shifted, then creaked with the weight of each step up the rungs. In moments, the top of John’s head appeared. Two more steps and he stopped, eye level with her.

  She flushed at sight of his open collar, his tanned neck. Aside from her father, she’d never seen a man without coat and cravat. John’s sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, revealed tanned forearms.

  “Are you unharmed?” he asked, his voice low.

  She jerked her gaze to his face. “I-I am well. Come in. We must speak.” This time, she would have her way. It was obvious Franklin would stoop to any depth to marry her. John was her only hope.

  “Into your room?” He sounded unsure.

  Victoria had no time for uncertainty. She grabbed him by the shirt collar and kissed him. He stilled. The pain of rejection shot through her. She had miscalculated.

  Then he buried his hands in her hair and kissed her back.

  Heat sprang to life between them, flashed through her. Slow and sure, his mouth moved on hers. Her head spun and she clung to him. How could a kiss make her feel so wonderfully alive…so desired?

  His hands slid from her loose tresses and cupped her face as he drew back. He was breathing hard. Hope surged through her. He was as affected as she.

  “Marry me,” she urged, breathless.

  Two heartbeats passed. Her pulse raced. A new, darker dizziness threatened.

  “You are certain?” he murmured, gaze scouring her.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Nothing in her life had prepared her for John’s kiss, for the fierce desire to possess and be possessed. Not by coercion or obligation, but by need. Surely, this was how love began? She stepped back, not relinquishing his gaze lest he disappear again. “Come inside.”

  He climbed higher on the ladder, loomed larger in the window. Suddenly nervous, Victoria moved to collect a taper. Her face heated as she lit more candles, very aware of John climbing over her sill. She tossed the taper into the grate, drew a deep breath, and turned to face him. He stood in the middle of her room, watching her. His eyes roamed over her nightgown-clad body. She resisted the urge to reach for her robe. She would soon belong to this man.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmured.

  Her pulse leaped. “I’m happy you think so, for tomorrow we will marry.”

  “Tomorrow may not be soon enough.”

  A heady giddiness swept through her. Did he want her so badly that he couldn’t wait one night?

  He broke from his stare and stalked to the door on surprisingly silent feet. He wrenched it open. Two maids and a footman tumbled forward. They caught themselves and looked at him with wide eyes.

  “Who among you has gone after le Fount?” John demanded.

  The girls exchanged a look. “Two groomsmen,” one stammered.

  Victoria gasped. No wonder Franklin said her servants weren’t to be trusted. How long would it take for her cousin to return, and who would he bring?

  John turned back to her, his expression questioning.

  She looked at her mantel clock. Eight minutes after midnight. She was now old enough to marry without the consent of a guardian, and so she would.

  She swung her gaze to John. “We’re leaving.” She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and stuffed her arms into the sleeves, suddenly aware that her ankle ached. Ignoring it, she slipped her feet into the slippers she’d worn that morning. She spotted the pistol, hurried to the chair, snatched up the weapon, then faced the servants. “And no one will stop us.”

  Their eyes jerked from the pistol to her face. They clutched each other, backed out of the room, then fled.

  “Watch the door.” Victoria pressed the pistol into John’s hand.

  She dropped to the floor by her bed. The box lay open where she’d left it. She lifted out the remaining items—a stash of money and the special license. She looked up to find John in the doorway, his back to her. She rose, then hurried to his side.

  “We have to be quick,” she said, slipping past him into the hall. “Franklin might bring men with him this time.”

  With John a step behind her, she hurried downstairs, her ankle throbbing. She stopped in the foyer and turned back to John. The house was hushed, the servants hiding.

  Taking in John’s serious look, she mustered a smile. “We shall wake the local rector and be married—before you can run off again.”

  He reached for her. Victoria remained motionless as he cupped her chin and trailed his thumb across her lips. The intensity in his eyes sent a delicious shiver through her.

  He whispered, “Whatever you wish, Victoria.”

  Chapter Three

  It took a fair share of her money, many harsh words and the pistol to convince the rector to marry them. Victoria had to override several renditions of, ‘but Baron le Fount said.’ In spite of the difficulties, an hour before dawn, Victoria was a Darrius—a Kirkland no more.

  Unorthodox though the event was, when the ceremony ended and John kissed her, it was the most joyful moment of her life. No one had ever looked at her the way he did, with love bright in his eyes. It made her feel safe. It made her whole.

  They didn’t return to her manor. Instead, he pulled his coat more tightly about her, then hoisted her into the saddle of her horse, and vaulted up onto his horse. They rode farther down the coast to the small estate he was renting and arrived just as daylight touched the land.

  Victoria knew the house, though she couldn’t recall the owner. When John carried her inside, insisting she’d been putting too much weight on her ankle, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Most of the furniture was still sheet-shrouded. His strong arms about her, he took her up the steps to a room where nothing was covered, and carefully sat her on a large canopied bed.

  He crossed to the window, pushed the curtains back and threw open the window. Victoria drew in the sea breeze. With trembling fingers, she pushed his coat from her shoulders, then her robe.

  John returned to the bed, darkly handsome, his chin rough with a day’s worth of stubble. She reached up, drew her fingers along it, fascinated with the rakish look it lent him.

  He half closed his eyes, leaning into her caress. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You’re too good for me,” he w
hispered.

  “You’re perfect for me.” She smiled. “You’ve saved me in more ways than one.” From her cousin, from solitude, from not knowing the joy that bloomed inside her at his kiss.

  John pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He kissed her until she lost all sense of time or place, until only he remained. There was only John, his caresses and the salt air swirling in through the open window.

  He drew back from the embrace. She swayed. He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen from him, though somehow it seemed infinitely sorrowful. Then it was gone.

  “I must see to the horses.”

  “Now?” she asked, startled.

  “It won’t take long. You get in bed.” He kissed her again, dizzyingly, then left her with only a bedpost for support.

  She did as he asked, feeling a jumbled mixture of excitement, insecurity and a touch of fear. Under the covers, she turned her head toward the window and breathed in calmness with the sea air. Try as she did to keep them open, her eyes drifted shut.

  Victoria started awake. Unfamiliar surroundings confused her sleep-muddled brain. Curtains billowed before an open window, but they weren’t her curtains. This wasn’t her bedchamber. She bolted upright. She was married and this was her husband’s chamber.

  The sun streaming through the window told her the hour was past noon. Victoria touched her cheek, mortified. She’d fallen asleep on her wedding night—morning—

  whatever it was. She’d drifted off, and John had been too kind to wake her.

  She threw back the covers, jumped from bed, and hurried to the door. Carefully, she opened it, then peeked out. Thankfully, no servants lurked in the hallway as she’d feared. A gentleman didn’t usually travel alone, but if she was lucky, John hadn’t yet had time to hire a staff.

  A more through search found the manor empty, only the bedchamber and one table and chair in the front parlor even used. Food and a note waited on the table. Ignoring the first, she snatched up the second.

  My Dearest Victoria,

  I am a cad and a liar. Your cousin did not return last night to take you. I staged the entire incident. I came to you for the purpose of seduction, and lurked outside your home, plotting. Two years ago, I wronged my brother, the Duke of Southwood, irrevocably. When I learned of your father’s death, I formed the plan of securing you as my wife to put an end to the feud between my family and yours. I thought that would, in some small way, make amends for my actions.

  Given your father’s and cousin’s natures, I did not expect you to be all that you are. Beautiful, kind, so in need of someone who loves you. I cannot bring myself to exact the price of my past mistakes from you. Take this note to your rector. Have the union annulled. Find a man who is worthy of your love, for I shall never be.

  Your devoted servant, always,

  John

  Victoria’s hand shook as she set the letter on the table. She stared at the sheet-shrouded furniture. Tears slid down her cheeks. Each beat of her heart was a hard thump, as if it was all the organ could do to manage one more. She rubbed at her chest, pain a living thing inside her.

  John loved her. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his kiss. Worse, she loved him.

  He’d conspired with her father once, he said. Was that when he wronged his brother? Southwood was a name she knew, one of the le Fount’s greatest rivals in business. What had John said, about planning to work with her father?

  Her fists clenched. John had lied to her. Manipulated her.

  He’d also saved her. He’d kissed her, and given up his own plans in order to set her free. John was worthy of her. He’d proven it by leaving.

  Well, she wouldn’t let him leave. She would go to Southwood, find John. And as she only had a piece of paper, two easily bribed witnesses and a rector who already belonged to her cousin to prove she’d wed, she’d best go quickly, before Franklin located her.

  Chapter Four

  “What is it you want from me, Miss Kirkland?” Lord Richard asked. He sat behind a massive desk. His wife, the elegant Lady Annabel, perched on a couch to the side, sewing.

  Lord Richard Darrius, Duke of Southwood, was a black haired, hulking bear of a man, but Victoria wouldn’t be intimidated. Disconcertingly blue eyes stared out of a face that bore resemblance to John’s, but lacked his depth. John’s face spoke of a man who’d known hardship and loneliness. A man who could understand the sorrows with which she’d lived. Lord Richard exuded the confidence of one for whom everything had always come with ease.

  “It’s Darrius,” she corrected. “Mrs. Darrius. I showed you the marriage certificate.”

  “You also showed me John’s letter.”

  “Richard.” Lady Annabel’s calm tone held no hint of reprimand, but Lord Richard frowned, chastened.

  “I only want to speak with him,” Victoria said in a low voice. “I believe there is love between us.” That was all she could muster. It had been a long journey, not without peril, to reach Southwood. “He is my husband.”

  Lord Richard drummed his fingers on the desk. “Yes, he’s your husband now. The time for annulment is long past.”

  “Richard.”

  He didn’t look at his wife. “You must understand my suspicion. My relations have suffered le Fount threats for years.” His blue eyes locked with Victoria’s. “Furthermore, John is not here. He’ll hang if he’s caught in England. He was exiled for attempting my death and that of Annabel’s sister-in-law.”

  Victoria stared at him. “Impossible.”

  “I assure you, it is the case.”

  She looked away, trying to hold back tears. That was not the John she knew. He’d repented. He’d changed. He wouldn’t consummate their marriage without telling her the truth, let alone murder his brother or some poor woman. Was the attempt on Lord Richard’s life the plan her father had involved him in? Hope surged. She was sure it was. John had been a fool for being manipulated by her father, but he was not an evil man.

  The duke sighed. “I can see from his letter he is not the same man he was, and it seems he has ended the threat of your family to mine.” He narrowed his gaze. “Unless you mean to take up where your father left off?”

  Victoria shook her head. She didn’t know what her father and cousin had been doing, but she surely wouldn’t continue it. Not that she could stop Franklin. He would continue to manage her affairs until her husband stepped in to take his place. “I need John to run my father’s business.” She was dismayed at how ragged the words came out. “I wed him. Everything that was mine is his.”

  “Richard, couldn’t you use your influence to have the marriage annulled, even now?” The eyes Lady Annabel turned on Victoria shone with sympathy. “Then you could choose someone else, dear. I’m sure an unconsummated union would be overlooked, in view of your lineage and, well, considerable wealth.”

  Victoria surged to her feet. She swayed with fatigue. “I don’t want my marriage annulled. I want John.” The man who’d saved her and loved her enough to leave. “You must know where he is.”

  Eyes wide, Lady Annabel rushed to her side. “Come, you must stay with us until this is sorted. You’re family now. Let’s get you a bath. It will all come out right.”

  It may not, Victoria thought. Sometimes things didn’t come out right. She could tell, though, for the smiling duchess, that such failure was never the case. Under Lord Richard’s speculative gaze, Victoria let Lady Annabel lead her away.

  Victoria was given a lovely room overlooking the garden, as well as the service of a maid, a warm bath, and the loan of a gown, for she’d only one decrepit garment scrounged from the home where John had left her. She’d been too afraid of Franklin to return to her own manor before setting out. She was also given a healthy dose of Lady Annabel’s cheerful manners and a nightgown, and told to sleep herself out.

  It was pleasant to be in a fine home again. The windows to the garden let in a freshly scented breeze, though she missed the ocean. Secure in the idea that Lady Annabel, at least, wou
ld make some attempt to help her, Victoria climbed into bed.

  It was full dark when the noise woke her. She blinked, disoriented, for it sounded similar to the disturbance outside her window at home, the one that had set her world on end. As if to emphasize the point, a ladder clanked against the sill, protruding through the open window. Here, though, the moon was nearly full and shone directly in to illuminate the rough wood.

  Victoria crawled from bed. She slipped her pistol, kept loaded during her journey, from her somewhat ragged reticule sitting on the nightstand. As quietly as she could, she crept to the window, hoping beyond hope it was John.

  “Set a foot on that ladder and I’ll pound the life out of you,” John’s voice growled.

  Her heart leapt, even as her mind rebelled. Was he playing the same game again? To what end? She leaned out.

  “She’s mine, Darrius,” Franklin snarled. He crouched at the base of the ladder, arms spread wide. Looming over his own moonlight-thrown shadow, he looked like a giant spider in the grass.

  “So, you figured out who I am.” John’s tone was grim.

  “The servants reported your name, not that it matters. Victoria and her fortune won’t be squandered on a worthless second son, especially one stupid enough to be goaded into trying to murder his own brother. Did you really think le Fount would have made you his partner? He would have seen you hang and taken the Southwood share of the market.”

  Victoria cocked the pistol, then grasped the butt in both hands.

  “And I would have deserved to hang,” John said, his voice low. “And probably will for coming here, but that doesn’t change the fact that you will never lay a hand on Victoria.”

  Franklin shifted and she glimpsed the glint of moonlight on steel in the instant before he jabbed at John. John dodged the knife. She aimed at Franklin, but the two men circled and she feared missing Franklin—or worse, hitting John.

  “You don’t have it in you to stop me, Darrius. If you couldn’t kill for a title and money, you’ll never be man enough to kill for love. You’ll hang for being caught in England and I’ll take her.”