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

by Summer Hanford

  John dove for him. Franklin yanked the blade up. Victoria cried out. She fired the pistol as Franklin drove the knife into John’s shoulder. For a horrible instant, she thought she’d hit John. Then he surged upward and slammed his fist into Franklin’s jaw. Her cousin’s head snapped back. She saw his eyes glint white in the moonlight as he sailed over backward. He landed on the ground with a thump.

  John leaned over Franklin’s still form. “Little do you know, I more than have it in me. It’s only the hope of love that’s keeping you alive. You aren’t worth a second hanging sentence, le Fount.”

  John staggered upright. His features twisted in a grimace as he yanked the knife free of his shoulder. He lifted his face. “Victoria.” The word was quiet and filled with question and pain.

  “John, I’ll come down.”

  “No.” He took two paces to the ladder and started up. If the bloody gouge in his shoulder pained him, he gave no indication. His eyes were on her as he climbed, the eyes of a drowning man gazing toward shore. He stopped at the top, framed in the window. His clothing was askew, his hair disheveled, but she’d never seen a more handsome man.

  “Will you come in?” she asked. “Let me bind your shoulder. You’re bleeding.”

  He shook his head. “Everyone will have heard that shot. Richard and his footmen will arrive soon. Your cousin didn’t lie. I’ll hang for coming here.”

  She’d shot. She’d alerted the household. Victoria dropped the spent pistol on the floor. “Then run. Go now. I’ll misdirect them. We can meet somewhere. Ireland.”

  “Not yet.” He reached out and slid his fingers along her cheek, into her hair. “If I’m to hang, I need you to know that I love you, Victoria.” His voice was low and rough. “I was striving toward being a better man, but bungling the job—until I found you.”

  She twined her arms about his neck and kissed him as hard as she could. She kissed him as if this was their last kiss.

  Someone pounded on her door. Men’s voices approached below. They swarmed about the ladder. She went on kissing John, hoping against hope that his love wouldn’t turn into a memory.

  Epilogue

  Victoria stood on the bluff, watching the dark waves of the Irish Sea churn. Far below, they broke apart and slammed onto jagged rocks. She raised her eyes to take in the nearly full moon. A steady breeze blew in, tangy with salt, making a banner of her long, white-blonde hair. She shivered against the chill of the night.

  Warm arms slid around her. She leaned back into John’s embrace. His breath fanned her flesh in the instant before he pressed a kiss to her neck.

  “You look cold,” he murmured.

  She turned to wrap her arms about him. “I was, but now you’re here.”

  “Why did you leave bed?”

  “We should get word tomorrow if we may return to England.” Somewhere, behind her and across the sea, stood her father’s cold, empty manor.

  “Is it very important to you that we may?” he murmured the question against her ear.

  She shook her head, burrowing into his warmth. “I only need you and the sea. I don’t care which side we’re on.”

  “Good, because I don’t hold much hope.”

  “But Annabel said your brother would speak on your behalf.”

  He wrapped his arms more tightly about her. “He may, but he won’t be convincing. Richard will never trust me again. I don’t blame him. Even if he could forgive me, the peerage never will. My crime is great.”

  “But you are no longer that man.”

  He trailed kisses down her neck, then back up to her ear. “If only you were my judge, I should be allowed to set foot in any country.” He pulled away slightly to look her in the eye. “I know you’re happy here. We don’t need England. What truly troubles you?”

  “Tomorrow is the day they will sentence Franklin. There was proof in his ledgers that he paid the men who abducted Annabel’s brother and sister-in-law, among other crimes. He tried to abduct me, another man’s wife. He trespassed on Southwood’s lands. In truth, his crimes are too numerous to list.”

  “You fear they’ll be too harsh?”

  She shook her head. “I fear they’ll exile him here.”

  A rare smile turned John’s lips upward. “Then let me put your fears to rest. I’ve taken steps. He will be exiled, but much, much farther away. You need never worry over your cousin again.”

  “Steps?”

  “You’d be amazed by what even a small portion of your father’s fortune can buy.”

  She searched his eyes. “Then why didn’t you use money to secure your pardon?”

  “I made my peace with Richard and Annabel. No Darrius or Mitchel will ever again be threatened because of our trade interests. I don’t need England. All I need is the Irish Sea and you.”

  She answered his smile with one of her own. “I love you, John.”

  “And I love you, Victoria, more than any country, any ocean, in all the world.”

  He kissed her. Slowly, passionately. The sea breeze danced about them. The music of the waves crashing below enveloped them. They were alone, together, in their own piece of the world.

  ###

  From the Author

  I hope you enjoyed my Half Hour Reads series, Ladies Always Shoot First, released by Scarsdale Publishing. It was a lot of fun to write and Scarsdale Publishing is wonderful to work with. We hope to see you back for my next Half Hour Reads series, Lords in Love, as well as my upcoming novel with Scarsdale Publishing, The Archaeologist’s Daughter. If you’d like to leave a review, they’re always appreciated and you can do so here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071J56JPC/

  Happy Reading!

  Summer Hanford

  The Archaeologist’s Daughter

  Regency Rendezvous

  Summer Hanford

  Only a man with secrets can save her…

  Lanora cares nothing for love, marriage, dances or gowns. She cares about people and family. When the rakish Lord William courts her, Lenora sets out to discover what dark secrets motivate him. If she doesn’t learn the truth in time, those she loves could suffer a lifetime of hardship.

  Chapter One

  William Greydrake, future Marquess of Westlock, lounged on the leather couch in Lethbridge’s London office, watching the attorney shuffle pages. The room, furnished in dark wood, was perpetually gloomy. It suited its occupant.

  “Have you any brandy?” William asked. “If I must endure your paper pushing, I should like a drink.”

  Lethbridge darted a look at the clock on his mantel. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

  “You’re the one who cried urgency. It’s inhumane to drag a man from his bed at this hour, and more so not to compensate for it with a snifter.”

  “I haven’t any brandy.” Lethbridge’s words were clipped. He pulled free a page.

  “You ought to. The old man pays you enough.”

  William could read the frown pinching the attorney’s already narrow features. He’d seen the look often enough, on so many faces, to know what Lethbridge saw. A tailcoat creased from being worn all night. An untied cravat. William’s disheveled brown hair. His still shiny boots, propped on the furniture.

  He was the image of an indolent nobleman’s son. Owner of the world. Careless and carefree. It was obvious to anyone who saw William that he’d been out all night, likely gambling, drinking, and enjoying lightskirts. He wore his depravity proudly before the world.

  That was how he arranged to appear. His reputation could even explain the occasional black eye. With the marquess’s men watching him, he must jealously guard his true nature, his actual dealings. The old bastard had well-ingrained the price of not conforming to his ideas of what a peer should be.

  William leaned his head back on the couch. He studied the ceiling until he properly blotted out the repercussions of falling short of the marquess’s expectations. Dropping his gaze, he traced the dark wood paneling with his eyes, skimming over the small door that closed off Lethbridg
e’s record room. He adopted an indolent smile and focused on the attorney. “Exactly why am I here?”

  “Your father asked me to draw up a list of acceptable brides for you.” Lethbridge proffered a page.

  “Brides?” Maybe he really did need that drink. “I have four more years of freedom. The marquess is of the opinion no worthy gentleman weds before thirty.”

  “He has changed his mind.” Lethbridge set the page down on the edge of his desk. “He wishes to ensure you marry correctly.”

  William drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “Why now?”

  Lethbridge drew in a breath, looking more serious than usual, no mean feat. “Lord Westlock is dying.”

  Feet slamming to the floor, William came upright on the couch. “Don’t toy with me, Lethbridge.”

  “I assure you, I do not.”

  Giddiness swept through him. “Are you certain? He’s sought a doctor’s opinion? A priest’s? We wouldn’t want to be wrong about this.” Could the joyous day finally be at hand? William grinned. A world without the marquess was wonderful to contemplate.

  “He is certain, as is his physician.” Lethbridge’s face remained bland, but his eyes went dark with disgust.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Lethbridge.” William stood, restive. “The old man is a bastard and a half and you know it. He all but killed my mother.”

  Lethbridge dropped his gaze. “Your mother killed his heir, your older brother. She was ill, mentally unfit. The marquess could have seen her hang, but instead he installed her in a facility where she could get the care she needed. I’m sure they did all they could to help her.”

  “My mother was not a murderer, or mad.” William’s voice was low as he struggled for an even tone.

  “I’m sure you have fond memories of her. You were what, four when she was removed? But I assure you, I’ve seen the papers. A competent doctor declared her unfit.”

  “Yes, I know.” A doctor the marquess paid off. “She was violent and unfit. The old man was wracked with grief. Too overcome to set eyes on me, he shipped me, a child of four, off to Mr. Darington in Egypt. Common knowledge.” And all a lie.

  “Exactly. It therefore behooves you not to delight in your father’s decline.”

  “Tell me this, why was I such a terrible reminder? The world knows I am the image of the marquess. Nothing about me speaks of my mother.” Every mirror a reminder. “While you’re prevaricating, explain as well how the man can have the devil’s own luck with wives. One a mad murderess, one fallen to her death, and a third too ill to remain in England?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re insinuating. The marquess is a great man and worthy of your respect.”

  William ran a hand across his hazel eyes, seeking calm. Lethbridge was the marquess’s man through. There was no sense arguing with him. Besides, if the old bastard really was dying, it would soon be moot. His spirit buoyed by the prospect of the marquess’s death, William pulled his composure about him.

  Eyes open, his attention caught on the page at the edge of the desk. A list of names. A few lines at the bottom. He crossed to scoop it up. “These are the women, then?”

  Lethbridge nodded. “He ordered you to sign it, to agree you will marry one.”

  William crossed to the fireplace. Behind the clock on the mantel hung the dreariest landscape he’d ever encountered. Beneath, the fire wasn’t lit. That would make the room too inviting. Coals glowed red in the grate, though. Perhaps when he was alone, Lethbridge permitted himself to be comfortable.

  Leaning on the mantel, William studied the page. What a list. Diamonds of the first water, to be sure. Women with ice in their veins, all of them. The sort of women a man could never know happiness with, likely not even pleasure. Diamonds had sharp edges, after all.

  His eyes caught on a name near the bottom of the page. Lady Lanora Hadler, the archaeologist’s daughter. “You said you drew this up?”

  “Your father left it to my discretion, after setting his parameters.” Lethbridge sounded proud.

  William cast a look over his shoulder, not hiding his disdain. Lethbridge smoothed back his stringy brown hair, used a kerchief to wipe the oil from his hand. Only the attorney would be proud to be asked to draw up such a list. The marquess’s toady, hopping at the chance to please.

  William reread the name. The marquess would never have included Lady Lanora, only child of Robert Hadler, Duke of Solworth, a man much respected by the Royal Society for his work uncovering the secrets of Egypt. The marquess had no use for learned men, even dukes, but especially avoided Solworth. If anyone could uncover the secret of William’s past and tarnish the Greydrake name, it was the archaeologist.

  Interest tugged at William. He’d long wished for words with the duke. In Egypt, Solworth worked in parallel with his fellow archaeologist, Mr. Darington. A man William had never met, despite well-circulated information to the contrary. Darington, who lied for the marquess, yet, somehow, was the only man William trusted.

  Not that courting Lady Lanora would bring her father. It was common knowledge the Duke of Solworth hadn’t set foot in England in a dozen years. More than that, William had spotted Lady Lanora across many a ballroom. Though she had alluring midnight locks, sculpted features and lush curves, she inspired little desire in him. If women of her caliber had ice in their veins, Lady Lanora’s were frozen solid. It was a wonder she could move, let alone with such grace, given how rigid she was. She had a reputation for sending gentlemen fleeing.

  William studied the coals in the grate, contemplating remembered glimpses of the black-haired beauty. His gaze caught on a scrap of paper in the ash, and he suppressed a start of surprise. The handwriting, so familiar, couldn’t be mistaken. Darington’s. William knew Darington was a client, referred by the marquess. What could warrant burning?

  Surely not the list. Darington wouldn’t have anything to do with such high-handedness. Besides, the man wrote so often of his daughter, William had long since realized Darington hoped for the connection. Reading of her kind heart and generous nature, William often did as well, but Darington’s daughter wasn’t the sort of woman who would make Lethbridge’s list. Too low, and far too kind.

  Taking the page back to the desk, William dropped it onto the dark wood. “None of these women will have me.”

  “Perhaps if you mend your behavior.” Lethbridge’s tone was tentative.

  William snorted. “The marquess requested a life bereft of sentiment or compassion, lived only for pleasure. Now, he wishes me to appeal to these?” He tapped the page.

  “Some would agree for your wealth. Some for your title.”

  “What if I refuse?” William sat on the edge of Lethbridge’s desk, carefree demeanor employed with practiced ease. “The old bastard asks much, after all. This isn’t like demanding I flaunt my circumstance among the Ton. This is marriage. Misery for all my days.” At least, it would be with any of the women listed. His eyes drifted to the fireplace and the words among the ashes.

  Lethbridge frowned, craning his head at an uncomfortable angle to look up at him. “Then the marquess requested I inform you he had me draw up a second will. He hasn’t signed it, but he shall, if you do not concede to his demand.”

  “Oh?” William drawled. “And what does this dreadful second will do that the first did not?”

  “Leaves your half-sister everything but the entailed ancestral lands, which will be bankrupted without the rest.”

  “Madelina? She’s sixteen. Who would run the estate?”

  “I would.”

  Did William imagine the avaricious glint in Lethbridge’s mud-colored gaze? “You,” he repeated, tone flat.

  “I will be her guardian until she’s of age, or until I give her permission to wed.” Lethbridge squared his thin shoulders, snapped the stack of papers nearest him straight and set them back in place.

  “So, my choices are to thaw the heart of one of these diamonds, or end up a pauper on a bankrupt estate?” William had
plans for the marquess’s money. It didn’t surprise him the old man had conjured up a final hurtle.

  “That is one way to see it, yes.”

  “It is the only way to see it.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Fine, I’ll marry a debutant off your list. How difficult can it be to find one willing to become a marchioness?”

  “Excellent.” Lethbridge opened a drawer and pulled out a neatly trimmed pen. “You’re making the right choice.” He reached for the inkwell and slid it across the desk to a spot on William’s left. He set the pen beside it.

  William wondered if Lethbridge was being thorough or needling by remembering he was left handed. The marquess considered it a defect in character. He’d paid many tutors to break the habit. Only, William’s writing instructors had failed. In all other matters, William could appear, as the marquess put it, respectable.

  His eyes sought the mantel clock. He wasn’t actually one for drinking early, but it was drifting toward midday. Somewhere, outside of Lethbridge’s gloom-filled office, there was daylight to walk through, his club, and a bottle waiting. William felt a more compelling than usual need for a drink.

  His gaze drifted to the grate. He tried not to feel the loss of Darington’s daughter. She was a dream. He’d never met the girl. Besides, he could always hope the marquess died before he managed to win one of the diamonds. Taking up the pen, he signed.

  “The marquess is giving you a score of days. After that, he’s signing the new will.” Lethbridge had read William’s mind.

  William tossed the pen on the desk. He took delight in the ink blot, and how Lethbridge scrambled for his kerchief to wipe it up. “I surely hope that’s enough business for today,” William said.

  Lethbridge didn’t look up as he scrubbed at the ink. “There’s still the matter of Miss Chastity.”

  William frowned, on guard. “My mistress? What of her?”

  “If you’re to marry, will you be keeping her? Another payment for her townhouse is due.” Lethbridge’s eyes darted toward him and away.