by Cheryl Bolen
Thomas blazed along a road lined with an alley of trees; then he came to still another village, the name of which he did not know. When he slowed down at signs of habitation, he looked far and wide for the colonel’s carriage, but it was not in this village. He rode past the livery stable and cast a glance inside. It held but a dozen horses. He continued on through the village, saw nothing, then turned and raced back down the main street and back to the North Road.
He hadn’t gone more than a mile when Thunder came up lame.
To get a full panoramic view, George sat up on the box with the sergeant’s coachman. That way he would be assured of spotting the colonel’s gaudy red coach. With each clop of the hooves, George cursed himself. Why did I let her go? How could I have been so bloody stupid? He knew what the colonel was, yet he’d allowed his sister to run off with the monster. If he couldn’t prevent her from going, he should at least have insisted on going with her. If anything happens
to her, I’ll. . . Not since his father had died suddenly had George been swamped with such feelings of raw hurt. But this time, he had only himself to blame for the grief. If only . . .
He recalled the colonel’s intense bitterness the day they went to the ruins. And realized the colonel knew Felicity loved Moreland—had probably guessed that she and Moreland had made love in the ruins. And the vicious man had now stolen Felicity away. The question was, Did the colonel plan to force himself on Felicity, or kill her?
For George knew without a doubt that the madman was capable of both. He only prayed Gordon’s love for Felicity would spare her life.
Fortunately, the sergeant’s coachman could skillfully handle the cattle at so grueling a speed. They swung through each of the succession of villages that dotted the North Road. And in none of them was the colonel’s coach visible.
George prayed he wouldn’t be too late. Too late for what? What did the colonel have planned for Felicity? George sombered, thinking of his sweet sister, who always put him and Glee before herself. She had never in her life done anything that would warrant so cruel a fete. She’d had so little happiness in her short life. Harrison’s death was cruel enough a blow for one woman to bear. And just as she was at the precipice of finding true happiness with Moreland, who would cherish her as George cherished his Dianna, the colonel planned . . . What?
If only I can get to her in time.
Then, remembering that Colonel Gordon had an hour on them, George issued an oath.
* * *
Colonel Gordon had never before realized his Felicity was so very heavy. He had thought he knew her as one knows his own face. He knew the very size of her ripe breasts. And her tiny waist. In his chamber on the darkest night, he could picture her blond hair with each of its silvery, shimmery strands. Yet he had not known she would be so difficult to carry.
His arm ached from holding the dead weight of her body. Where was his damned man? He had to get out of the parlor before that cursed woman came back. He backed himself into the wall and used it to brace himself, to keep him from falling.
Ah, now he had a free hand. He could hold her with both hands now. In no time, he had scooted to the corner of the room and, blessedly, to the door that led to the stairwell. He kicked open the door and looked around him to make sure the noise had not brought the innkeeper’s wife.
The hallway was still dark and empty. He pushed Felicity through the door first, then swung himself after her. He kicked the door closed and smiled. Now he stood in the stairwell at the base of the steep wooden staircase and looked up. How his leg ached whenever he climbed stairs. At his own house, he had converted the morning room to his sleeping chamber to eliminate his need for hiking up the daunting staircase.
Damn! Where was that blasted coachman?
He took consolation in the fact that, since it was daylight, there would be no comings and goings to the upstairs rooms. Rooms in the inn were generally occupied only at night. And since it was afternoon, the maid would have tidied the rooms by now. He should have the staircase to himself. He could take his time.
Rest after each step. And hope that his man would arrive and take Felicity off his hands—literally.
Thomas cursed the horse. Cursed himself. Most of all, he cursed the colonel. Under normal circumstances, he would have dismounted and gently walked his horse back to a stable. After all, this was no nag. This was one of the finest horses in England. Thunder had cost nearly four hundred guineas. But today, saving the horse was the least of Thomas’s worries.
So he turned around, dug in, and forced the beast back to the village they had just left. Just five minutes before, he had been pleased Thunder had covered so much ground after leaving the village. Now he regretted every furlong they had traveled. It would only mean taking longer to return.
Finally, Thomas dismounted and tied Thunder to a tree. Then Thomas took off on foot. He had long legs and could run well. That would be much faster than limping into the village on Thunder’s back.
In ten minutes a winded Thomas began to slow down as the livery stable came into view. A minute later, he was within. “Hurry!” he barked. “I must hire a horse. Immediately.”
A young man quit brushing a gelding and came forward. “I can help.”
Thomas reached into his pocket and offered the man a handful of coins. “Hurry. Saddle your fastest horse as quickly as you can.”
As the man slung the saddle over a bay’s back, Thomas asked, “Have you, by any chance, seen a red coach go through here today?”
“Actually, I did, sir,” the man said. “I was sittin‘ out front ’bout half an hour ago. I thought I was seein‘ things when I saw a red coach going down the North Road.”
Thomas’s heart thumped. Maybe it isn’t too late. Apparently, he had already gained a half hour on the colonel. “Would you say the coach was traveling fast?”
The man thought on it for a moment. “Not particularly. I’d say they was travelin‘ at a regular rate of speed.”
Thank God.
In less than two minutes, Thomas was atop the beast and fairly flying from the village, encouraged that a single horse could go a great deal faster than a coach.
He had to catch up with Felicity.
Chapter Thirty-two
The colonel’s coachman finally came when Colonel Gordon was halfway up the staircase. “It’s bloody well time you got here,” the colonel growled. “Here, carry my wife-to-be, will you?”
The man threw a long glance at Felicity. “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Quite sure,” the colonel said. “Can you not smell the ale on her? She’s merely had too much to drink. After she sleeps it off, she’ll be fit as a fiddle.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” the burly coachman said, bending to pick up Felicity. He threw her over his shoulder as if she were a rolled-up rug.
“What is the number of the room you procured?” the colonel asked.
“Room Number Five.”
Without his cane, the colonel held tightly onto the banister as he painfully mounted the rest of the stairs. Then he leaned into the wall and scooted himself a few feet at a time, using the strength in his good leg. The first room he came to was Number One. He cursed. The colonel scooted along the dimly lit hall until he came to Number Five. Its door stood open and the coachman was putting Felicity on the bed.
The colonel entered the room and gazed at Felicity. Pure excitement filled him like water spraying from a fountain. “Go back to the private parlor and get my cane,” Gordon snapped.
“Yes, sir.” The coachman left the room, closing the door behind him.
As hard as it was not to plunge into Felicity, the colonel decided to wait until the coachman returned. He had waited a very long time for this and had no wish for it to be interrupted.
A moment later the coachman tapped on the door to Room Five, then tried the knob and entered the room. “Here it is, sir. Will you be needing me further?”
The man would have to fetch the cleric. “Yes. You are to
watch my window. When you see a white cloth waving there, you are to go to the vicarage and bring the vicar to this room. You’re to tell him my sweetheart is on her deathbed, and I wish to marry her before she dies. Do you understand?”
“I thought you said she was all right.”
“She is, you idiot. Don’t think. Just do as I say.”
“How will I know which room it is?”
“You bloody idiot, count. There’s only one more room on this side of the hall. That would make this the next to last one. Is that so bloody difficult a concept for you?” Anger flashed in his eyes.
“No, sir. I’ll do as you say. Be sure to wave the white cloth for a good long while. You can’t count on me seeing it first thing, you know.”
“How bloody well I do know, you idiot!”
Now that he had his cane, the colonel hobbled to the door and locked it behind the oaf. Then he turned to gaze at Felicity. After five years of worshiping her, now, at last, he would taste her pleasures. And he was assured of a compliant body. No bloody fighting. e limped to the bed and, smiling, looked down at her beautiful face. “Now I will see your face on the pillow beside mine for the rest of our days, my beloved.”
He wanted to see more of her. All of her. But his bulging need was too great. He must take his own pleasure first. He sat on a chair to pull off his boots. Then, trembling with his mounting need, he removed his breeches and stood facing her.
Just as he heard the handle of his door turn. Whoever it was could not open the door. The colonel climbed onto the bed beside the lifeless Felicity, his weight on his knees.
Then he heard a loud crash and looked back. The door splintered, and a hole gaped in its center. A man’s hand reached through the gap and unbolted the door.
The next thing the colonel knew, Thomas Moreland, a pistol in his hand and fury on his face, rushed into the room. His glance swept over the scene before him. “I’ll kill you, Gordon!” Then Moreland lunged at him. The colonel fell back into bed. His hand could just reach the pants he had removed. Moreland flew over the foot of the bed. As Moreland’s fist slammed into his face, Gordon pulled his knife from his breeches.
He enjoyed the look of fear on Thomas’s face as he saw the glint of the long blade. The colonel slashed at Thomas, as Thomas tumbled away from him. The knife scored Thomas’s forearm, forcing him to drop his pistol in the folds of the blanket.
Now the bed lay between the two enemies: Thomas standing on one side, unarmed; the colonel at the other, poised to hurl the knife. Then, cursing, Thomas leaped on the bed, his long arms lurching toward the knife.
Gordon lunged forward and stabbed Thomas’s hands, but even then Thomas kept trying to disarm his assailant. Blood gushing down his arm, Thomas heaved himself forward and grabbed the colonel’s forearm. Still, Gordon managed to turn the knife toward Thomas’s face. “I’ll kill you, Moreland,” he growled. “I’ve killed once for her, and I’ll gladly kill again.”
With one hand securing the colonel’s arm, Thomas used his other hand to twist the knife toward Gordon’s chest But he was stronger than Thomas had expected.
There was a flash of movement at the room’s open doorway. Then a sound as loud as an exploding cannon filled the room, shook it. Thomas saw blood begin to ooze from the colonel’s chest, and he turned to the open doorway.
There stood George, smoking gun in his trembling hand. “I was afraid he’d kill you, old chap. And I can’t say that I particularly wanted the bloke to live, anyway.”
Thomas looked at the dying man with disgust. Now he could see the hole where the bullet had torn through his chest. He saw, too, that blood had spilled down his shirt—and lower, to where the colonel’s prominent manhood was wrapped in scarlet.
All Thomas could say was, “Thank God.”
Behind George stood Sergeant Fordyce. “What the hell was the bloody fiend trying to do?”
By now Thomas had his wits about him and was feeling for Felicity’s pulse. “She’s all right.” Thomas lifted her and cradled her in his arms. “Thank God.” Then he faced her brother. “I think he gave her a sleeping draught.”
“So he could have his way with the blessed angel,” the sergeant said.
George’s eyes rounded. “Thomas ... he didn’t. . . Could you see?”
“Her skirts haven’t been disturbed,” Thomas said, his voice filled with relief. “Had we been a moment later . . .” Tears filled his eyes.
Now the innkeeper and his wife rushed into the room. “What happened?” the innkeeper yelled, his glance taking in the grim scene. “Is the lady . . . dead?”
“No, but the man is,” Thomas said.
“Why isn’t she moving?” the man’s wife asked.
Thomas spat out the words. “This fiend gave my wife-to-be a sleeping draught so he could ravish her.”
“Oh, how awful—and what an awful mess,” the woman cried.
“I’ll take the beast out of here and clean up, too,” the sergeant offered. “Never could tolerate the man, and it appears now with good reason.”
“How—” Thomas began.
“How—” George began at the same time.
“You first,” Thomas said.
“How did you know Gordon had abducted Felicity?”
“I’ve been suspicious of him for some time, so I hired a Bow Street runner to follow him. The runner stormed into my house this morning, telling me the colonel had picked up Felicity and appeared to be going some distance with her. Since she had told me that she was going to terminate her relationship with him, I was understandably wary. Now tell me how you knew.” Thomas stroked Felicity’s golden hair.
“Sis told me this morning the colonel had received a letter from their friends from Portugal, the Fordyces.” He indicated the sergeant, who stooped over the colonel, muttering oaths with every breath. “This is Sergeant Fordyce, by the way. Felicity said the colonel told her the sergeant was dying and had to speak with her before he died. Damn, but I should have prevented her from coming.”
“How were you to know the man is a murderer?” Thomas asked.
“You mean an almost-murderer,” George said.
Thomas’s glance was steady when he looked at George. “No, I mean a murderer. He killed Captain Harrison so he could have Felicity. He also shot himself in the leg in order to come home from Portugal with her.”
George winced when he heard Thomas say the colonel had killed Harrison. “How do you know he killed Michael?”
“He told me just before you came on the scene.”
George closed his eyes as if he were in great pain. “Poor Michael.”
“He was as fine an officer as there ever was,” Sergeant Fordyce said. “I’d heard the rumors about Colonel Gordon shooting himself. I thought he was just a coward. Little did I know the man was a bloody fiend.”
“I actually met the soldier who saw Gordon shoot himself,” Thomas said. “He was here in Bath, and I talked with him after noticing how he avoided the colonel.”
“I suppose we’d better get the colonel’s breeches back on before I lug him downstairs.” The sergeant picked up the breeches, which were torn where the knife had sliced them, and dressed the colonel. “A bloody blight this man is to our army.”
At her home on Charles Street, Thomas sat with Felicity throughout the night, burning a candle so she would not be frightened if she were to awaken.
Saying he could not leave his unconscious sister, George had sat with Thomas until past midnight, when Thomas urged him to get some sleep. Putting a hand to George’s shoulder, Thomas said, “You showed great maturity today, Sedgewick.”
“Does that mean . . . ?”
Thomas nodded. “Perhaps we can have a double wedding ceremony.”
For the rest of the long night, Thomas watched Felicity, drinking in her loveliness. ‘Twas a face he would never tire of. In her sound slumber, her dimples were barely visible. He longed to see a smile pierce them. He longed for so much more but happily realized their tomorrows str
etched endlessly before them.
Once her chamber was bathed in the late-morning sunlight, Felicity began to stir. Thomas watched as she rolled to her other side. He waited anxiously to see her lids flutter open. When they did, she looked straight ahead—out of sight from Thomas, who sat on her other side. Disoriented, she spun her head around to his side.
Her brows lowered. “Where . . . what... I feel so terribly confused.”
He moved to the side of her bed and smoothed his hand over her face. “Everything’s all right now, my love.”
“Why are you here?” She sat up. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember . . .”
“The innkeepers tell me you had soup at midday yesterday. I believe the colonel somehow put a sleeping draught in your soup.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in fear. “That explains . . . But—”
Thomas gathered her hand in both of his. “Don’t worry, love. Colonel Gordon’s dead.”
“How? Where was I?” She gripped his hands.
“He brought you to an upstairs room at the inn. I believe he intended to compromise you there. His coachman said the colonel planned to wave a white cloth in front of the window. That would have signaled the coachman to fetch a cleric to perform a marriage ceremony.” He paused and continued to hold her gaze within his. “We found a special license in Colonel Gordon’s pocket.”
“Dear God . . .”
A painful expression on his face, Thomas nodded. “I believe he planned to tell you that you had drunk too much ale, and while in such a state, you agreed to marry him.”
“Never!”
“I know, my love.”
“But I couldn’t have had that much to drink. I don’t even like ale.” She stopped, putting nose to chest. “Yet I smell of it.”
“He probably poured it on you while you were unconscious.”