Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Jo cringed with the brigand kicked Halloway’s leg, but forced her legs into motion and lunged toward the rock as the older man dropped to his knees. The brigand kicked him in the belly. She hauled up the rock and whirled. Her mother appeared from the trees on her horse and was bearing down on the highwayman.

  Mr. Halloway tried to rise. The driver jumped to his feet, but the highwayman yanked a dirk from the sheath on his belt and threw it at him. The driver dove aside, but the knife sunk deep into his shoulder.

  The highwayman whirled toward Jo. She heaved the rock with all her might. It hit his leg with a dull thud. She took a step backward, when he lurched forward and grabbed for her.

  Another shot rang out and Josephine cried out before movement drew her attention to the pistol her mother lowered. The man staggered toward Josephine. She jumped back, barely evading a swipe of his big hand. In the next instant, her mother halted her horse beside them. Jo noted with odd detachment that her mother now rode astride instead of sidesaddle. Her mother gave the giant a hard kick to the head. He stumbled forward with the force of the blow, then slumped to the ground.

  Jo stared in shock. An instant later, hands seized her shoulders.

  “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at her mother. “Y-you shot him.” Before her mother could reply, Josephine collapsed into her arms, and turned her head away from the bloody body.

  Her mother gave her a fierce hug, and for an instant she was a little girl again, surrounded by her mother’s warmth after waking from a nightmare. Then her mother held her at arm’s length.

  “When we return to Barthmont Keep, we shall have a talk about daughters obeying their mothers.”

  Her no nonsense tone sobered Jo.

  Her mother continued, “Are you unharmed?”

  Jo nodded. “Aye.”

  “Good. Then let us see to the others.”

  She grasped Josephine’s hand and Jo glanced at the giant as her mother pulled her away. Her heart tightened. Her mother had shot a man to save her, then put herself in jeopardy by attacking him. A tear managed to slip down her cheek before she could stop herself. She hurried alongside her mother to where the driver knelt.

  Jo’s stomach turned at sight of his blood soaked shirt, and she was surprised when her mother said to him, “You will live.”

  “Aye,” he croaked.

  She continued to the young man and knelt beside the woman.

  “He isn’t moving,” the young girl said.

  Josephine’s mother pressed two fingers to his neck, then pulled away the coat the driver had stuffed inside his jacket to staunch the blood. When she yanked open his shirt the young girl sobbed and Josephine had to breathe deep for fear she would swoon. Blood oozed from the bullet wound.

  “He is far from dead, my dear.” Her mother took off the pelisse she wore. “His pulse is strong and he is young.”

  Movement in the corner of Jo’s eye drew her attention to Mr. Halloway who limped up to them.

  “Can you drive?” he asked the driver.

  He nodded. “Aye.”

  “Where is Deeds?” Mr. Halloway asked.

  “In the woods,” Josephine’s mother replied as she pressed her folded pelisse over the man’s wound. Pressing her hand against it, she gently lifted him on one side. “The bullet grazed his lordship’s skull,” she told Mr. Halloway. “He will need assistance to walk. Perhaps you and the driver can bring him up.”

  Josephine caught the worried furrow on her mother’s brow as she inspected the young man’s back.

  “Bartholomew,” the young woman addressed the driver. “Are you well enough to assist?”

  “Aye, the wound isna’ bad.”

  “What of those two?” Mr. Halloway motioned to the two brigands.

  Josephine’s mother’s attention remained on the young man as she held her folded pelisse to his wound. “I doubt they will awaken, but leave your knife.”

  “My lady,” Mr. Halloway began.

  “Sir,” she swung her gaze onto him, “we have no time to lose. This man needs a doctor immediately. Please bring Lord Deeds, then we shall go on to Castle Cruden. It is closer than Barthmont Keep.”

  “You are right,” he said, and waved Bartholomew to accompany him.

  When the men disappeared into the trees, Josephine’s mother shocked her by standing and stepping out of the two petticoats she wore.

  “Mother,” Jo said, horrified. “What are you doing?”

  “Making a bandage.” She used her teeth to start a tear in one of the petticoats, then ripped it down one side. “What is your name?” she asked the girl as she folded the second petticoat.

  “Mary Ann Roberts. This is my brother, Lord Crawford.”

  “Mary Ann, you and my daughter will lift your brother upright so that I can wrap this fabric around him. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “Each of you take a side. Josephine, keep the pelisse pressed firmly against the wound.”

  Josephine followed her directions, and she and Mary Ann lifted her brother into a sitting position. Jo’s mother made quick work of removing his jacket and Josephine stifled a gasp at sight of the blood that soaked the back of his white shirt.

  “Dear God,” his sister whispered, and Josephine feared the girl might faint. But she held her brother steady while Jo’s mother deftly wrapped the torn petticoat snugly around him. When they laid him down, Josephine released a slow breath in relief at sight of the continued rise and fall of his chest.

  “Do you really think he will live?” his sister asked.

  “I do,” Jo’s mother replied, and Josephine couldn’t halt the rush of pride when the girl looked at her mother with tears in her eyes.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Thank me when he is safely in bed.”

  Tears threatened Jo again. This was the mother she had known for twenty three years. Bold, confident...honorable. How could this woman have betrayed her husband and family?

  The men arrived, supporting Lord Deeds between them, and Josephine rose in an effort to find a distraction from the turmoil of her emotions. She held open the door as they put Lord Deeds and the young man into the carriage. They threw the two highwayman over the backs of horses—though Josephine wondered if the man her mother had shot would live—and Mr. Halloway rose with the driver up top. Jo’s mother sat on one cushion with the young man’s head in her lap, while the other three sat opposite them. Jo noticed the worry lines around her Mother’s eyes, which made her anxious for the young man’s life.

  It seemed hours before they reached Castle Cruden, though the ride was no more than twenty minutes. Lady Arlington welcomed them and immediately called for a doctor. Minutes later, a ruckus sounded outside the sitting room where Josephine and her mother waited, and Jo’s father and Nicholas burst into the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Nicholas had never been so afraid in all his life as when the three ladies arrived at Barthmont Keep with news that their party happened upon highwayman robbing a carriage. If Jo was unharmed—and she would be, for he could consider nothing else—he planned to take her over his knee for not returning with the other women. Given the ashen look on Montagu’s face when he heard the news, Nick suspected the marquess planned for his wife the same punishment.

  Seeing mother and daughter now, dusty and disheveled but sitting on a lavish settee sipping tea as if it were any other afternoon, Nick’s gut loosened a notch. He would never again let Josephine out of his sight without an entourage of bodyguards that would incite terror into the blackest hearts of any criminal.

  He strode alongside Montagu to the woman. The marquess pulled his wife up and into a hug. Nick reached for Josephine. She shied away, but he grasped her arm and drew her to him. She stiffened, then her warm, soft curves melted against him. He felt a burning pressure against the back of his eyes and released a shuddering breath. She shivered in response. Suddenly, he needed her more than he’d needed any other woman, more than he�
�d needed even her.

  He pulled back and looked down at her. The room melted away and he saw only her dark eyes staring up at him, wide with an answering heat that took his breath. Nick bent over her and brushed his lips against hers. She leaned into him. Raw desire streaked through him. The scent of lilac soap teased his senses and he wanted to devour the scent, devour her. He tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss. She grasped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscle. He wanted—needed those fingers on his skin.

  A sound penetrated the haze. Someone was clearing their throat. Nick froze, the realization that they weren’t alone slamming into his brain, and he forced himself to break the kiss. He met her father’s gaze and saw no condemnation in his eyes—or the marchioness’ eyes when he dared a glance at her—but the message that this was not the time or place to make love to their daughter.

  Josephine pulled back, obviously aware she, too, had forgotten where they were. Satisfaction swelled on a rolling tide through him. Whatever had her afraid of marriage had nothing to do with the marriage bed. He’d known as much yesterday. The way she had responded to him after he’d caught her with Beaumond told him that. But to forget they were in public with her parents standing beside them meant she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Perhaps it even meant she loved him.

  “You are unharmed, my dear?” Montague asked his wife.

  “Not so much as a scratch,” she replied.

  “You will have to replace Mother’s petticoats,” Jo said.

  “Petticoats?” The marquess’ expression darkened. “If those ruffians—”

  His wife cut him off. “They did not lay a hand on Josephine or myself. I used the garments to bandage the young man they were trying to rob.” She looked at her daughter. “But I will be disciplining my disobedient daughter. I instructed her to go with the other ladies.”

  “As you should have done,” Lord Montagu said.

  The marchioness lifted a hand and stroked his jaw with the back of her fingers. “Nonsense, my lord. If anything, it was Lord Deeds who should have returned home. He charged haphazardly into the fray.”

  “What happened?” Montagu asked.

  They sat, the women between them, and the marchioness recounted the story. When she finished, Nicholas said to Josephine, “I believe your mother is correct, Lady Josephine. You deserve some sort of punishment for acting so rashly.”

  Jo’s eyes glinted with fury, but before she could say anything, her mother said, “What punishment did you have in mind, Lord Grayson?”

  “A hand to her backside would be a good start,” he growled.

  “You are mad if you think for an instant that I will let you touch me,” Josephine retorted.

  “You letting me will have nothing to do with it,” he replied.

  “My mother was right,” she said. “There was no need for us to flee.”

  “I believe I said there was no need for me to flee, my dear,” the marchioness said.

  “I can do anything you can do,” Josephine said.

  “Is that so?” the marchioness said.

  Something flickered in Jo’s eyes, and Nicholas was struck with the thought that she regretted her words.

  “I doubt Papa ever spanked you,” Josephine said.

  The marquess and marchioness exchanged a glance and Nicholas was sure he had, in fact, taken her over his knee.

  Josephine seemed to have interpreted the look to mean the same thing, and Nick wasn’t surprised when she changed the topic by saying, “How did you know where to find us?”

  “Castle Cruden is the closest residence to where you encountered the brigands. It stood to reason if there were any injuries, you would come here first.”

  “Arlington told us the highwayman shot a young man. How is he?” Montagu asked.

  “The bullet went clear through his chest,” the marchioness said. ”But nowhere near his heart, thankfully. His biggest danger is the loss of blood.”

  The marquess nodded. “And Deeds?”

  “A bullet grazed his temple. He will be unsteady for a few days, but nothing more serious, I suspect.”

  Montagu looked at Nicholas. “I haven’t heard of a robbery on the roads here in ten years.”

  “Perhaps five years,” Nick said. “At least, nothing fatal in that long. It is unusual.”

  “I will speak with the sheriff about patrolling the roads.”

  Nicholas caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see Wylst and Henry Maxwell enter. Jo stiffened beside Nicholas. He looked sharply at her, but she leaned forward, picked up her teacup from the table and took a leisurely sip.

  “Wylst. Henry.” Montagu rose. “What are you gentlemen doing here?”

  The men came to where he stood beside the sofa.

  “We learned the party had encountered highwayman and came right away,” Henry said. “Is everyone all right?”

  “The man the brigands were trying to rob was shot,” Montagu said.

  “Good God. Killed?” Wylst asked.

  The marquess shook his head. “No, but it is serious. The doctor is with him now. Deeds sustained a flesh wound, and the driver of the carriage was wounded.”

  “I am relieved our services aren’t needed,” Wylst said.

  “It was good of you to come,” Montagu said.

  A young woman appeared in the doorway.

  The marchioness rose. “Lady Mary.” She crossed the room and took the young girl’s hand in hers and led her to the group.

  Nicholas stood and noted with disgust the flicker of Wylst’s eyes to the girl’s breasts. She couldn’t be a day over seventeen, barely out of the schoolroom and more than half his age. The man had no self-control. Except, Nick realized, he hadn’t looked at Jo like that. At least, there had been no trace of lust when he’d found them in Lady Allaway’s garden. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall Wylst looking at Jo with a man’s lust at all.

  “This is Lady Mary,” the marchioness said to the group.

  She introduced the men and when she came to Wylst he took the young lady’s hand and bent over it. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary.”

  “Lady Mary’s brother is the young man we spoke of,” Lady Montagu said. “How is he, my dear?”

  “He is resting. The doctor concurs with your prognosis, ma’am. He is young and strong.” The girl clasped her hands. “I cannot thank you enough. You saved his life—perhaps all of our lives.”

  The older woman chuckled. “I doubt that. Mr. Halloway was quite gallant, as was your Bartholomew.”

  “Indeed they were,” she agreed. “I thank God for all of you.”

  “Speaking of Halloway,” Henry said, “where is he?”

  “I believe he was seeing to the two highwayman we captured.”

  “Captured?” the marquess blurted. “You said nothing of this.”

  “Didn’t I?” she said.

  “Madam, after you have that talk with your daughter about obedience, you and I will have a talk of our own.”

  “Of course, my lord. But for now, I should like to return to Barthmont Keep.”

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  She looked at Lady Mary. “Your brother is in good hands and Lady Arlington is a most gracious host.”

  “She has been most kind, ma’am. She has offered to let my brother stay until the doctor gives him leave to make the journey home.”

  “Where is home?” Montagu asked.

  “Fortose.”

  “That requires a journey by ship. It will be some time before your brother can travel.”

  “The doctor estimates a week, maybe two,” she said. “Lady Arlington has been so kind—everyone has been so kind.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks and Lady Montagu took the girl into her arms.

  The marchioness looked at Montagu. “Perhaps we will leave a little later.” She pulled back from Lady Mary, who swiped at her tears and straightened. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea?” Lady Montagu asked.

  “I be
lieve I would rather sit with my brother—if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I fully understand. And since you will be here for an extended stay, we will come and visit you again.”

  Lady Mary’s eyes glistened with more tears. “Would you?”

  “Why, of course,” the marchioness said. “We are to be at Lady Allaway’s home for another nine days—or more. You know how these parties go. I wager you and your brother will leave before we do.”

  “I would be so pleased to see you—all of you.”

  She left, and Wylst said, “Crawford. I don’t recognize the name.”

  “Her brother is the Earl of Crawford,” the marchioness said. “Their father died suddenly a little more than a month ago. I doubt they get to London much, I gather the Earl was something of a recluse.”

  Nicholas caught the lecherous glance Wylst cast at the girl as she disappeared out the door. The man was a parasite.

  “I will say our goodbyes to Arlington,” Montagu said.

  Josephine rose and surprised Nicholas by slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. She had, he realized, remained uncharacteristically quiet the last few minutes.

  “I am very ready to return to Barthmont Keep,” she said. “Our horses ran away, however.”

  Nick covered her hand with his. “Perhaps Lord Arlington will loan us his carriage.”

  She nodded, and Nicholas noted the tired look in her eyes. He also noticed that she kept a firm hold on his arm as they chatted while Montagu arranged for transportation back to Barthmont Keep. Something was wrong, but what? In the weeks since his return, she hadn’t encouraged him, much less clung to him as she was doing now. What had changed?

  “It’s a shame you weren’t able to have your picnic,” Wylst said.

  “There will be other days,” Lady Montagu said.

  “It is early yet,” Wylst said. “The afternoon might yet be salvaged.”

  Josephine’s fingers tightened around Nicholas’ arm, then relaxed as she said, “We have lost our horses and food.”

  Nick suddenly knew what it was that had her worried: Wylst.

  Chapter Nine

  Josephine’s hand shook as she stared at the note that she found sitting on her nightstand.