by Shana Galen
She shook her head, clearing it, then allowed her knees to give way when she saw the attacker was down.
***
It seemed an eternity before Dominic reached Jane. She was down, and he grabbed her, checking her for blood. “Where are you wounded?” He felt wetness on his hand and pulled it away from her belly. His gaze met hers.
“My stitches came out,” she said, her breathing ragged. “The devil, but it hurts! Help me up.”
He gave her a long look. “Maybe you should sit here a moment.” He heard the sounds of people coming. He’d have more servants than he knew what to do with in a matter of moments. One could carry her into the house and fetch the local doctor. But the look in her eye wiped that thought away. She was not going to be reasonable.
“Either help me up or move out of my way,” she said, struggling to rise. He grabbed her elbow and assisted her. She pulled away and marched to the body. The man lay motionless on the grass. She stared at him a long moment, then bent and pushed his coat aside. A red stain in the center marked where a small pistol ball had entered. Dominic had imagined there would be more blood, more gore. But the pistol she’d used was small, and so was the ball. But small or not, she was deadly accurate. She’d hit him straight through the heart. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.
“So my thief isn’t one of the grooms.”
She turned to look at the stable hands running toward them. “This isn’t your thief,” she said before they were both surrounded and swept into the maelstrom of shock and confusion.
Several hours later, near dawn, Dominic was finally able to go to his bed. He’d answered every question, told his side of the story countless times. The sheriff had been summoned. The local magistrate had been summoned. The doctor had come. He hadn’t been able to save the dead man, but he’d stitched Jane again—or so Dominic assumed. Because of her injury, she’d escaped most of the questioning. Her aunt had put her to bed, but as Dominic climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, he doubted she would stay there for long. In about an hour, the house would settle down. In about an hour, he could wash, shave, and change his clothing.
And so it was, when she stepped into the stable—presumably intent upon stealing one of his horses—he was waiting for her. She gave a small jump of fright, and he was sorry for that. He could see by her wince the jump had pained her, though surely her pride injured her more than her knife wound. “Going somewhere, Miss Bonde?”
“For a ride, Mr. Griffyn. Surely you would not begrudge me that small indulgence after the night’s excitement.” She was dressed in a tight-fitting light blue riding habit, her golden hair tucked neatly under an ostrich-plumed shako hat. She looked quite fashionable and quite desirable with her impressive figure displayed to advantage. It was difficult to believe he had kissed her last night, touched her. Matters had gone too far. He’d been forced to explain his rules to her—rules meant more for temporary encounters with willing barmaids than a lady, than this women he was beginning to care for.
From now on, he would not allow himself to touch her, and he would protect her at any cost. Most especially, he would protect her from himself.
“I would not, no,” he said, “but I cannot allow you to return to London.”
“I’m not—”
He raised a brow.
“Very well. I have to go. It’s urgent.”
He took a deep breath. “I know you cannot trust me after…what I did last night. But I give you my word, it will not happen again. You are in no danger here, with me. You are quite safe as long as you do not touch me again.”
She blinked at him, her blue eyes strangely clear despite the fact that she had probably not slept. “Shall we walk, Mr. Griffyn?” she asked. “I fear we might be overheard here, and I have something to tell you.”
“You are injured.”
But she was already walking toward the door. He followed, and they stepped out into a day that seemed intent on being neither sunny nor rainy. Clouds threatened to open up with rain, but the sun broke through in patches. He walked beside her, keeping a small distance between them. She turned to look back at the stables, and then obviously liking what she saw, said, “I am not leaving because of what happened between us last night.” She looked at him, her gaze direct. “I liked it. Not the part where you berated me, but the other. I liked it far more than I ought.”
“Miss Bonde—”
“Jane. You don’t scare me, Dominic. Nothing you could do will ever scare me. Even my own response to you doesn’t scare me.” She looked down as though struggling to be honest. “Well, it doesn’t scare me much.”
“You must allow me to apologize for speaking to you that way.”
“I wish you had told me sooner. One needs to know one’s parameters. You understand why I am confused. You have a policy that forbids kissing, yet you have kissed me on more than one occasion.”
“It will not happen again.”
“Yes, it will, and I won’t follow your rules either. You can’t have me on those terms, Dominic. We decide on mutual terms or none at all.”
Fury rose in him at her tone. What the hell did she know about terms? Who was she to tell him what he would and would not allow?
“I can see you do not want to discuss it. Your look is as black as those thunderclouds.” She pointed to the distant clouds. “But I have been through a few traumas myself. One thing I know is that talking about what happened does help. Keeping it inside only makes it seem that much bigger, and makes one feel that much more alone.”
He rounded on her, and she stepped back. She was scared now, and she should be. He had rarely been this angry. “I am alone, Miss Bonde. You cannot possibly imagine the things I have endured.”
“Can’t I? I’m not so innocent or gently bred, Dominic. I have traveled the world. I have seen all manner of atrocities, and it does not take much imagination for me to surmise what happened to you.”
They were standing closer than he thought, and she reached out a hand and placed it on his newly shaved jaw. He flinched back immediately, shocked at her touch, and even more shocked that she would willingly consent to touch him. If she really had any idea how sullied he was, she would never touch him.
Then why did he look at her and think she had some inkling? And if that was so, how could she bear to stand beside him?
“I am here,” she went on, “if you ever want someone to talk to. I know our betrothal is not in earnest, but I would like to be your friend.” She leaned forward, and again he was shocked, because he could see she intended to kiss him. He made to move away, but she put her hand, feather light, on his cheek again. “It is not that sort of kiss,” she said, and brushed her lips across his cheek. Indeed, he did not think a woman other than his mother had ever kissed him so sweetly, so innocently. He did not know how to feel. Part of him wanted her to kiss him again. Part of him wanted to flee.
He stood his ground.
“As I said, I am not leaving because of you.”
Ridiculous woman. “You cannot leave at all. You shot the thief. The magistrate is undoubtedly on his way. He will have questions.”
“I cannot afford to wait to answer them. He will not believe I shot the man anyway. He will think you did so, and I am claiming to have done it to save you from a charge of murder, though we have the man’s pistol and the evidence that he shot first. Not to mention he was no thief.”
Dominic shook his head. He was not certain he was following. He had assumed the thief would be one of his own men, but he was not shocked it was an outsider. “If he was not the thief, who was he?”
“One of the Maîtriser group. His name is Tueur.”
Dominic stared at her. “You knew that man?”
“He and I are—were—old rivals. He’s an assassin. We were both extremely fortunate to escape. He is very good at what he does, or rather, did.”
�
�You are not sorry at all that you shot him?” The thought struck Dominic with all the weight of a wheelbarrow of bricks. He had thought she would feel guilt and repentance. He had thought she would leave not only because she feared him, but because she could not stay where she had killed a man. But, of course, she’d killed men before. Exactly how many? Ten? A dozen? Two dozen?
She’d spoken of traumas…
“Sorry? I am glad. If he had lived, we would all be in grave danger right now. As it is, we do not have much time.”
“Foncé knows you are here.”
She nodded. “He is not certain. He sent his assassin to kill me if he found me. If he knew without a doubt, he would have sent enough men to make certain I died. He might have killed everyone here, just because he could.”
“But you killed his man. He doesn’t know now.”
“But when Tueur doesn’t return, Foncé will suspect. I have to find him before that. You must stay behind to protect your mother and my aunt. Better yet, move them to another of Edgeberry’s estates.”
“The devil I will. I’m going with you. I can better protect them by destroying the threat.”
“You are staying here.” She began to march back to the stables. Apparently she considered their conversation at an end. He was of a different opinion.
“I am going with you.”
“You will only be in my way. I do not need an impediment.”
“Harsh words, if I really believed them. But I can help you. If nothing else, I can protect you.” Of course, he hadn’t protected her last night. But he would not think of that now. Perhaps, if he could save her from these assassins intent on killing her, he could make amends for his own behavior.
She’d reached the stable and gestured toward the stalls. “Do you want to choose, or shall I?”
He ignored the question. “It will take me a few moments to speak with Edgeberry’s butler. I will ensure footmen keep watch on the house all night and escort the ladies wherever they wish to go. And we cannot go without giving your aunt and my mother some sort of explanation.”
“You give them an explanation, then,” she said, turning to him, her pistol in her gloved hand. Bloody hell! She was pointing it at him. “I said you are staying, and if I must ensure you stay, I will.”
***
Jane hated to make threats. She always made promises, but pointing the pistol at Dominic was definitely a threat. She would not shoot him, not even in the foot. Still, she had to find some way to keep him here. She could not allow him to risk his life in London with her. As soon as she’d seen him in the stable, she’d known he would be difficult. She’d thought that telling him about Tueur would help him to understand. Apparently he had some misplaced sense of chivalry. She didn’t need his chivalry. She much preferred he choke her than kill her with his kindness.
He looked at the pistol and then looked at her. His dark eyes told her nothing, except there was no fear in him. “Go ahead and shoot me then,” he said. “That’s the only way you will keep me here or stop me from following you.”
She wanted to curse him aloud. She’d known he would not be easily deterred. The man was extraordinarily vexing. She should shoot him for that reason alone.
“I wouldn’t even blame you for shooting me. I deserve it after last night.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “You deserve it? Because you kissed me senseless? Because your touch made me want to do things I have never considered doing with another man? Risking what I have never been willing to risk before?” She lowered the pistol and stepped closer, trying to force her point through his thick skull. “We were both experiencing intense emotions, and yours triggered a memory. I have seen it before. Do you think what happened to you as a child makes me want you, the man, any less?”
She had said too much. She could see in his eyes the complete shock and disbelief. He really did think it mattered. He really did think his past defined him. If she’d believed that about herself, she couldn’t have rolled out of bed in the morning.
She would have to change the way he thought about himself. But not today, not when she had to stop the Maîtriser group from overthrowing the government. Her love affair would have to wait until King and Country were safe again. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that she was dealing with an extremely obstinate and clever man. She’d lowered her pistol in the heat of her speech, and he took advantage of that now. He leaned forward and swiped it from her hand.
“No!” Damn this man who was neither friend nor enemy. She forgot to keep her guard up with him.
“I ask you to give me half an hour. That is all,” he said.
“I am not negotiating with you!”
“I have your pistol.”
She all but rolled her eyes. “As though you would shoot me. I can fetch another in London. You go to the house and arrange your footmen. I will be gone by the time you return.” And they would see if he could catch her.
“In that case, you leave me no choice.” He pocketed the pistol and reached for her. She was ready this time, and she kicked him soundly in the shin. But he was still stronger than she and quicker than she anticipated. Added to that, he was her betrothed. She couldn’t exactly stick her dagger in his belly or break his nose, as she would have done with an actual attacker.
“Release me, or I promise you will regret it.”
He’d all but carried her into one of the stalls. A brown horse blinked at her then continued to graze on feed. A line of rope hung just outside the stall, and he quickly went to work. She did not make it easy for him. She wiggled and darted, but he had too much experience in dealing with recalcitrant animals. He tied her quite easily, her arms locked at the wrist and held above her head. He allowed her some give, probably because he did not want her to stretch her wound, but she was secure. For the moment. She was cursing at him, and she saw him reach for his handkerchief, obviously considering gagging her, but deciding against it. Good. She would scream, and the grooms would untie her.
“I’m going to tell the grooms to stay out of the stable.”
“I am going to make you extremely sorry,” she said.
“I know you will.” And then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She tried to smash his nose with a violent jerk of her head, but he moved back too quickly. “I will return in a half hour.” He walked away.
“Griffyn!” she yelled. “Griffyn! Come back here!” No answer. Torture would be too good for the man. But he’d underestimated her. She could escape any situation. She needed only to locate the knots and…she looked up. The knot securing her arms was far out of her reach. She would have to manage the ones around her wrists. That would be difficult with her wrists pressed together. But Griffyn was not cruel. He had not tied her as tightly as he might. She worked her wrists, pulling and stretching, until she found a knot and began to work on it. If only she could reach her knife. But this would have to do. It would be time consuming, but standing here, waiting for him, would drive her mad. She should be on the way to London by now.
When the Maîtriser group was defeated, she would delight in overturning their betrothal. She did not care that such a thing would harm her reputation. If this was what men were like, then she could do without them. She didn’t want to marry anyway. She didn’t want children either.
At least, she never had before… But seeing Saint with child, seeing that children were a possibility for another agent, had made an impression. Now she found when she thought of babies, she did not feel quite so panicked. She actually felt a little pull of longing.
The horse she was sharing quarters with finished eating then and looked at her curiously. “Hello, horse,” she said. “Stay over there.” It was a large horse. She could barely see over its shoulder.
She started on the knots again. She worked the knot as best she could, then realized her gloves were making such a manipulation impossible. She struggled to remove them jus
t as the horse grew braver. It took several steps closer. “I do not have carrots or apples or sugar or whatever it is you want from me,” she told the horse.
It breathed warm air on her, sniffing at her gown. Its teeth closed on the fabric of her gown and tugged.
“Step back, horse!”
It raised its head, looked at her, and when she could not back her command with any action, it took her riding habit in its mouth again. Oh, this was humiliating. She could not even fend off a horse.
“That is not food,” she told it, twisting away. “Stop. Boo! Boo!”
The horse looked up at her curiously.
“She’s not scared of you.”
Jane looked up at the thin, white-haired man standing in the stall doorway. He did not appear surprised to see a woman tied inside it. He did remove his hat out of—she assumed—respect. In her current position and with her riding habit now dirtied with horse saliva, she was hardly worthy of it. “I realize that,” she said. “But as you can see, I have no other means of dissuading her.”
“I do see that.” He held out an apple, and the horse took it, munching happily. “I’m Old Connor.”
“Jane Bonde. Would you mind untying me, Mr. Connor?”
“I would not, Miss Bonde, but I’m afraid Mr. Griffyn would have my head. I will stand here and make sure Little Molly doesn’t accost you any further.”
Little Molly? Good God. She could not imagine what Big Molly would look like. “I assure you no harm will come to you if you release me, Mr. Connor.”
“It’s Old Connor, miss. No mister.”
“Fine. But you can hardly leave a lady tied in a stall.”
“I don’t ask questions, Miss Bonde. I’ve learned to trust Mr. Griffyn over the years. He and I didn’t always see eye to eye. But he’s a smart man, and he has his reasons for what he does.”
“He can have no reason for tying me. It is unpardonable!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He scratched his head. It was still bare as he continued to press his hat to his chest. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. He doesn’t generally act rashly. Taught him everything he knows about horses. He learned everything he could, taking it all in slow and deliberate like. He knew he wanted a free hand in this stable, and he made it so Lord Edgeberry couldn’t refuse. The stable and these horses have prospered because of him. But for all that, I think he needs the horses more than they need him.”