Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Carter’s heart stuttered, not from the possibility he might die in the next few seconds, but that she–Lucinda Warren–might meet her end, as well. From where had she come? He had left instructions for Croft to remove her and Arabella from danger. Had he not just considered the pain of never seeing her again? Had he conjured her up somehow? He could not permit the stranger to hurt her.

  When his assailant had turned his head toward where Mrs. Warren stood, the pressure he had placed on Carter’s back lessened ever so slightly, but enough to shift the advantage to Carter. He bucked like the wildest horse in Lawrence’s stables, sending his attacker tumbling backward. Carter scrambled to catch hold of the man. They were rolling. Kicking. Punching. A jab in his kidneys stung, but Carter ignored the impulse to reach for the point of contact.

  Instead, he brought his knees up to wedge them against the man’s chest and to flip his assailant over Carter’s head to sprawl upon his back. Rolling to his feet, he stomped hard upon his attacker’s chest. The sound of ribs cracking brought a quick end to the fight. The masked man clutched at the pain.

  He watched warily, but Carter stepped from the stranger’s reach and opened his arms to the woman who had saved him. Instantly, she was in his embrace, and his world righted. “I thought he would kill you,” she sobbed against his chest. She possessed daring and cleverness, and the woman stirred his protective instincts.

  Carter nestled her beneath his chin and carefully eased the pocket pistol from her trembling fingers. “Your appearance saved the day,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. The gesture reminded him of another kiss–just a brush of his lips across Grace Crowden’s cheek. It had spoken to him of the missing parts in his life, and suddenly his world tilted closer to Mrs. Warren.

  She continued to cling tightly to his lapels, but Mrs. Warren’s practical side had returned. “Who is he? Is he the one who threatened me?”

  Carter kept the pistol pointed at the man. “I am uncertain.” He nodded toward where his gun rested on the ground. “Could you retrieve my gun and bring it here?”

  She dashed away her tears with her knuckles before turning to do as he had asked. If he had had his choice, Carter would have caught her tightly to him to kiss the lady senseless, but danger had not receded. It had only taken a step back. The situation required he remain alert.

  When she returned to his side, she also held his assailant’s gun. He smiled at her ingenuity. Mrs. Warren was one of a kind. He regretted she had given her heart and her loyalty to a man of Captain Warren’s caliber. She deserved better. The lady deserved a man who would worship her bravery, her good sense, and her beauty.

  He accepted his gun and set it for firing before returning it to her hands. “I plan to remove our attacker’s mask,” he said softly. “If he makes any unnecessary moves, shoot him.” It was an unusual request; a gentleman never exposed a woman to danger, but their relationship had never been one to follow propriety’s standards. Carter trusted her to protect him, as she trusted him to do the same for her.

  She nodded her agreement. “I shall do my utmost to prove myself worthy.” Mrs. Warren handed him the stranger’s gun before adjusting her grip upon his weapon.

  Carter leaned closer to say, “You are the most incomparable woman of my acquaintance. I am blessed you have chosen me as one of those you safeguard.” He smiled to ease her nervousness. “Remember,” he said with a tease, “When pointing your weapon, I am the handsome one.”

  The lady presented him a serious scowl, but her countenance quickly recognized the mirth in his words. With a very feminine giggle, she countered, “We shall see if that assumption holds true. Perhaps, Sir Carter, the man bears the countenance of Apollo.”

  He tapped her upturned nose with a gentle stroke of his finger. “I cannot have my Lady Fair preferring another. If yon stranger is fair of face, I will be forced to rearrange the man’s generous features.”

  Mrs. Warren smiled, and Carter’s heart did a double flip. He wondered what it would be to start each of his days with that smile. “I shall endeavor to disguise my reaction to my masked dark knight.”

  Pleased that her good nature had returned, Carter left her where she stood some six feet from the man, who had rolled to his side. Glancing to her again, he leaned over his assailant. He caught the man’s mask and jerked it upward. What he found was a man of some five and thirty years with dark brown hair and matching eyes. He had the look of those of Western Europe, with skin pale and pasty, but features finely chiseled. “Who are you?” Carter demanded. “Why have you chosen to make my family your target?”

  Although he clutched at his chest, the man defiantly spat in Carter’s face. “I will…tell you nothing,” he growled.

  Carter said viciously, “We will see how brave you are when my friends and I have a session with you.” He carefully searched the man’s pockets for additional weapons before standing slowly to survey the situation. Carter would never permit a woman to witness the Realm’s techniques for securing information. He wished for Brantley Fowler’s assistance; Thornhill had a knack for the unusual when it came to questioning prisoners. The scene told him he required a means to transport both Hamby and the stranger to Maryborne.

  “What of Mr. Croft?” he asked casually, although he was well aware Mrs. Warren’s gaze had not varied from where the man rested upon the ground. For a brief second, he wondered if she possessed some knowledge of the stranger. In reality, her intensity was more frightening than was their captive’s.

  She did not move a muscle, but she said, “The coachman followed your orders to protect Lady Hellsman.”

  He slowly circled the man’s body. Carter held no doubt she would empty the gun into the stranger if the man made a move to escape. Carter preferred not to be in the lady’s sight lines if that particular scenario occurred. “My orders said Mr. Croft was to protect you, as well as the future baroness.” He moved behind her and reached around her to take possession of the gun. It was a brilliant idea to secure the weapon, but it was a terrible one for his body to spoon hers. The intimacy called for him to linger. He nuzzled Mrs. Warren’s neck, leaving a brush of his lips on her skin to be rewarded with a quick hitch of her breath. It was a stimulating reality that his presence affected her. He felt an inexplicable rush to stake his claim to her.

  He thought he could remain as such forever, but the sound of advancing hoof beats brought him to alert. He shoved her behind a twisted bush. “Perhaps our attacker has reinforcements,” he warned.

  Surprisingly, Mrs. Warren did not panic. Bloody hell! She was magnificent! Instead, she whispered, “Tell me what you wish me to do.”

  Spend the night in my bed, his body screamed, but Carter’s Realm training spoke with more sensibility. “Stay here, while I have a look.” He started away, but paused. “This time, if something happens to me, you are not to interfere. You must save yourself. The boy’s future depends on it.”

  Lucinda stared into the intenseness found in his eyes. They were the eyes, which had haunted her dreams. Since they had shared their kiss, Lucinda had wondered whether he was truly attracted to her. More than once, Sir Carter had called her “beautiful,” but she was certain that many times he found her extremely annoying. Yet, he had kissed the back of her neck, as if he had found her alluring. Alluring? she thought. Since her schoolroom days, she had never considered herself more than plainly acceptable, certainly not beautiful and definitely never approaching alluring. What confused her most was if the baronet truly found her handsome, why did Sir Carter accept his sister’s matchmaking schemes. Lady McLauren had thought Mr. Monroe a good prospect for a war widow, and Sir Carter had made no effort to turn Louisa Hutton’s head.

  Little did the countess know of the thoughts and dreams, which flooded Lucinda’s mind, nor did Lady McLauren hold knowledge of the experiences, which had defined Lucinda as a woman. Had she known war’s hardships? Most definitely. Yet, was she a widow? Most assuredly not. She was a woman who understood the ferocity practiced by me
n, but had never known a man’s passion. To be a widow, a woman must have known her husband in the Biblical sense. No, Lucinda was a not the type of woman to know a man such as Dylan Monroe. Mr. Monroe was too “green.” He thought of her as something fragile and breakable, but “breakable” was not a word Lucinda associated with herself.

  Neither was she the woman for Carter Lowery, at least, not in Lady McLauren’s opinion. Lucinda had overheard Lady McLauren and Arabella Lowery discussing Sir Carter’s aspirations. “Our Carter hopes to replace Aristotle Pennington,” Louisa Hutton had explained as the pair oversaw Lucinda’s fitting for the gown she would wear at Lady McLauren’s upcoming evening of entertainment.

  “Lawrence believes Sir Carter’s youth could be detrimental. Although our brother has the most experience, the committee may pass him over for a man less worthy.”

  Lady McLauren shook off the idea. “Ernest assures me for Carter to know success, our brother must choose a Society catch with deep connections. If he could court and win either Lady Cecilia Pickford or Lady Marquerite Nichols-David, his nomination would be easily confirmed. Both women hold multiple connections to those within the Home Office.”

  Hearing so, Lucinda’s hopes had skittered to a stumbling halt. She held only a thin connection to the Earl of Charleton, and scandal covered every facet of her life. No, Sir Carter would never consider her a proper choice. He might dally with her, but she would never know him as her husband. The idea was too bizarre.

  Lucinda forced herself to listen for any sign of danger. She had watched Sir Carter make his way silently toward where the coach had first met with disaster, and she had filled her mind with the fluidity of the baronet’s movements. Of how he was designed to defend others. Of the perfect protection of his soul.

  Staring intently at the opening in the shrubbery into which Sir Carter had disappeared, she waited impatiently for any sign of danger, but when a broken twig sounded behind her, Lucinda swung around to meet the intruder. With trembling hands, she raised the gun to greet the unknown. “Show yourself, or I shall shoot,” she threatened with the appearance of more confidence than she possessed.

  “Easy, Mrs. Warren,” a familiar voice called. “It is I, Lord Hellsman.” The future baron stepped into the opening.

  Lucinda released the breath she held. “Thank Goodness!” She felt her knees buckle just as Lord Hellsman’s hand caught her arm.

  “Are you unwell?” he said with concern.

  Lucinda shook her head in denial. “Just relieved,” she admitted. She glanced to Sir Carter’s brother–so alike, but so different. She pleaded, “Please tell me Lady Hellsman did not suffer from the return to Maryborne Park.”

  Hellsman scowled. “No thanks to Mr. Croft’s actions. Arabella was thrown quite violently about the coach.”

  “Was your lady injured?” She wondered whether to ask of the child she suspected Lady Hellsman carried, but no one had made an official announcement so Lucinda swallowed her words.

  “Arabella is distraught over the fact you were left behind, and she worries for your safety.” He studied her carefully, and Lucinda fought the urge to fidget.

  “I acted impulsively,” she admitted. “I simply could not fathom the possibility of Sir Carter knowing danger.”

  Hellsman grinned widely. “In reality, I suspect Lady Hellsman is most upset because she did not react with equal resolve and equal timing. My wife is more than a bit adventurous.”

  Lucinda chuckled lightly. “Yes, Lady Hellsman has shared the tale of her ride to save your favorite thoroughbred.” Hellsman rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Lucinda quickly added, “And you admire Lady Arabella for bringing her light to your life.”

  “I could not survive without it,” he said as he led Lucinda toward the opening in the hedges. “Now, permit me to see to your and my brother’s safety.”

  Carter had sent Lawrence to retrieve Mrs. Warren and his attacker while he tended to Hamby. In reality, he was not certain it was a good idea for him to be close to the lady again. Every time she was near, he had the desire to touch her– to feel her respond to his touch, which was most definitely a mistake. There was no future for them, and playing with her affections was not in Carter’s nature. She remained a temptation he did not require in his life. His world was crowded enough with duties and responsibilities. If Lucinda Warren had been an innocent debutant, Carter would be speaking his proposals.

  As he bent to examine the footman’s injury, his mind and his body remained with the lady. Her scent clung to him, and the taste of her skin tantalized his memory. Forcing his concentration on the task at hand, Carter announced, “You are a fortunate man. The bullet went through the flesh just above your boots. I suspect the metal button deflected the impact. You must be aware of infection, but you will heal quickly.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Several of the servants lifted Hamby to the waiting wagon. Lawrence and McLauren had arrived first, followed by several groomsmen and a flat wagon. “McLauren, would you see to the loading of our prisoner. Remind your men our attacker has several broken ribs.”

  The earl nodded his agreement. McLauren was the highest-ranking aristocrat in the area, and Ernest Hutton took his responsibilities seriously. “I have sent young Jemy for the surgeon.”

  Carter looked up to see his brother escorting Mrs. Warren toward the wagon. Impulsively, Carter said, “I will take the lady up with me.” If he had possession of a thick stick, he would have smacked himself upon the head: He played with fire, and he was likely to see his fingers burned. But the pleasant tingling sensation from where his lips had skimmed her skin remained. He explained, “I would prefer not to expose Mrs. Warren to the likes of our stranger.”

  “I could carry Mrs. Warren to the estate,” his brother offered, but Carter disliked the idea of the woman being from his sight.

  “I believe you and McLauren can handle this situation. Suddenly, I am quite exhausted, and I wish to tend my wounds before the magistrate arrives with his questions.” He accepted a horse from one of the earl’s grooms.

  Lawrence’s eyebrow rose skeptically, but he said, “As you wish. Please assure Arabella and Louisa that McLauren and I met no armed force.”

  Carter grinned. “You were too late to play the hero, Law.” It felt good to taunt his older brother. It brought a sense of normalcy, something Carter had not experienced since the onset of his acquaintance with Mrs. Warren.

  Lawrence scowled. “It is hard to achieve such recognition as younger brothers rarely learn to share.”

  Carter easily swung up into the saddle before accepting Mrs. Warren from the waiting groom’s boost. He settled her upon his lap. “Next time, Law, you are to escort the ladies about the village.” With that, he dug his heels into the horse’s sides.

  He had met with the local sheriff regarding the attack. With McLauren’s assistance, he had convinced Mr. Wendel to leave the stranger in his custody overnight, but the effort had proved fruitless. His assailant refused to provide his name or the reasons for the attack. What troubled Carter the most was he still held no idea whether he or Mrs. Warren had been the shooter’s target.

  Actually, the lack of information was not his greatest worry: The remembrance of his stilted conversation with the lady upon their return to the estate peppered his conscience with regret. Evidently, his more recent liberties had offended Mrs. Warren. Although she had clung to him as he set the horse in motion, the woman had refused to meet his eyes. She asked of his injuries, of what he would do with the man he had caught, and if she was to guard her tongue before the sheriff and with his family.

  “Obviously, we should not raise my sister’s expectations with news of our seeking comfort in each other.” The words had been difficult to pronounce when he wished the contrary.

  She blushed, and Carter was aware of the heat rushing through her veins. “Of course,” she murmured. “Lady McLauren has spoken of your need for a wife who would advance your career.”

  Carter had not known how to repl
y and had, therefore, remained silent, which had solidified his sister’s assertions in Mrs. Warren’s mind. If he now refuted Louisa’s predictions, Mrs. Warren would likely interpret his denial as a seduction, and despite Carter’s desire to know more of Lucinda Warren’s sweetness, he was not prepared to lead the woman through a “merry dance.” When he considered all involved, he knew it best to keep his desires on the shelf.

  “What would you have me do?” McLauren asked cautiously. Carter, Law, and the earl remained longer than usual over their port. So long, in fact, Louisa, Arabella, and Mrs. Warren had decided to retire early.

  “I have sent word to London for the Home Office to send agents to Lincolnshire to place our shooter in custody.”

  The earl pressed, “Do you suspect the man an enemy of Mrs. Warren?”

  Carter noted Lawrence’s raised eyebrow, but his brother held his tongue. “I hold no reason to suspect Mrs. Warren was the man’s target.”

  McLauren scowled. “Then who? I thought you said someone had threatened the lady.”

  “True. There was an anonymous note, which indicated Mrs. Warren had been singled out. Previously, she has experienced a break in, a bizarre accident while crossing a busy street, and a mysterious fire,” he confided. “But I could just as easily be the target. My position creates innumerable enemies.” Carter paused for emphasis. “Or the man could have been an inept highwayman. He wore a mask.”

  Law chastised, “No one would believe our culprit to be inept. His aim was quite accurate. And what respectable highwayman robs a coach in mid afternoon on a busy village road?”

  Carter had simply placed the possibility of the shooter’s nefarious ways into the conversation to distract his brother and McLauren. “Then no highwayman,” he said ruefully. “But as the stranger is refusing to divulge any information, either Mrs. Warren or I could be the intended victim.”