Cursing the ropes that kept him firmly bound to the chair, Claredon held his breath as the man cautiously opened the door and peered outside. For a moment nothing occurred, and Claredon nearly cried out in disappointment.
Then, with a sudden flurry of movement, the door was wrenched off its hinges as half a dozen servants tackled the villain and drove him to the ground.
The battle was over before it even began, and Claredon nearly laughed out loud as Johnson delicately stepped over the tangled men in the door to come to his side.
“My lord, are you harmed?” he demanded, the glint in his eyes telling Claredon that he was quite prepared to take any wounds out on his captor’s hide.
“No.” He glanced over the coachman’s shoulder to view the villain being hauled away by the servants. “Is he dead?”
“I do not believe so, my lord. Merely knocked out.”
“Good,” he said fiercely, shifting so that the servant could cut through the ropes that bound him. “As much as I would love to put a bullet in his gut, I believe I shall take more pleasure in watching him hang.”
Bending down to slice the ropes around his ankles Johnson gave a nod of his head. “Yes, sir.”
Released from the chair, Claredon rose unsteadily, wincing as the blood rushed back to his hands and feet. For a moment he swayed, nearly falling to his knees. The combination of nerves and hours tied to the chair and made his muscles stiff and his head dizzy. Thankfully, his faithful coachman was swiftly at his side, placing a steadying arm about his waist.
“Thank you, Johnson.” He smiled wearily, wanting only to go home and hold his wife in his arms. “Let us return to Longmeade.”
* * *
Claredon pulled his wife closer as they snuggled beneath the covers. It had taken far too long to at last find a bit of privacy with Victoria, he thought with a sated sigh.
Returning to Longmeade, he had found the house in chaos. Not only had Victoria called for the local magistrate, but she had also sent for the doctor, who refused to leave until he had thoroughly examined Claredon. By the time the magistrate had been told the full story of Andrew Banfield and hauled him off and the doctor had assured himself all was well, not to mention the large group of servants who wished to see for themselves the desperado had not harmed their master, the night was nearly spent.
That had not halted him, however, from seeking the comfort of Victoria’s embrace the moment the house had settled to sleep.
Their coming together had been tinged with a bittersweet urgency at the realization of how close they had come to losing one another. Claredon had held her tightly in his arms, his entire body filled with a shimmering happiness at the knowledge they now had their whole lives together.
Running her hands over the arm that was laid over her stomach, Victoria winced as she felt the scrapes upon his wrist from the ropes that had bound him.
“My poor Claredon,” she murmured.
“Poor, indeed,” he agreed, softly stroking the tender skin of her temple with his lips. He inhaled deeply of her scent, wondering what he had ever done to be fortunate enough to have this woman in his life. “I shall be in need of endless care to fully recover.”
He had meant to tease a smile from her, but Victoria swiftly stiffened in lingering anger and fury at Andrew Banfield. “To think that lout would . . .”
“No.” He placed a finger upon her lips, far too comfortable to recall the horrid events of the day. “We have seen the last of Banfield. No good can come of dwelling upon the past—although I must say I am very impressed with how you managed to discover my whereabouts.”
She snuggled even closer, stirring all sorts of interesting sensations. “Yes, I thought I was rather clever myself.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Modesty as well as beauty. An irresistible combination.”
“I should have realized the truth much sooner,” she admitted with a hint of annoyance. “It was not until Vicar Humbly mentioned his confusion over how Mr. Banfield managed to spot the hidden servants, as well as his odd decision to meet during the day, that I realized he must have used the telescope in the cottage to keep track of our movements.”
Allowing his fingers to stroke the perfect satin of her cheek, he heaved a rueful sigh. “It was a foolish mistake to leave the ladder down so the villain could discover the cottage.”
She abruptly turned to face him, her expression fierce in the dim candlelight. “No, I am glad that you did. He was determined to kidnap you, and had he taken you somewhere else we might never have found you.”
He smiled gently. “Well, as the famous old bard once said, ‘all’s well that ends well.”’
“Yes.”
“I presume that Mr. Stice will soon be leaving?” he demanded, careful to keep his voice bland. Although he no longer believed Thomas Stice was in any way involved with his cousin, he could not wholly deny a burning desire to be rid of his presence. He had no wish to share Victoria with anyone, including annoying ex-fiancés.
“Indeed.” She gave a dry chuckle. “He took to his bed soon after we discovered his mother’s jewels and would not leave until he was certain his cousin had been hauled away in chains. Now he is anxious to return to London to prove to his mother he had nothing to do with the theft.”
“Good riddance,” he muttered.
“Claredon.”
He refused to apologize for his seething dislike. “For such a buffoon, the man caused us no end of trouble, first by stealing your sympathy and then by giving you a figurine filled with stolen loot.”
“In all fairness, he did not know about the jewels,” she said softly.
“How about the months of jealousy I endured while you believed yourself to be in love with him?”
“You, jealous?” She arched her brows in a teasing fashion. “I do not believe it.”
He gave a low growl as he pulled her even closer. “Horridly, wretchedly jealous.”
She pretended to give the matter some thought as she lightly ran her fingers over his arm. Claredon shuddered with a slowly simmering desire. Gads, this woman had only to be near for him to be consumed with need. A most unnerving sensation.
“Well, he is responsible in some vague fashion for the two of us being together.”
Claredon grimaced, refusing to concede anything to the bumbling fool. “I far prefer to believe that it was fate. I cannot imagine any other woman but you as my wife.”
Her eyes darkened at his words, a suddenly somber expression descending upon her pale features. “Claredon?”
“Yes, my minx?”
There was a long pause before she at last cleared her throat in a nervous fashion. “There is something I desire to say to you.”
Claredon felt his heart stop. They had come through so much to at last be together. Surely to goodness she was not having regrets? He did not believe he could bear the blow.
“That sounds rather dire,” he attempted to tease, too frightened to breathe.
“No, not dire, only . . .”
Clamping onto his nerves, Claredon reached out to gently cup her cheek. Whatever she had to tell him, he never wished her to fear to speak the truth. It was past time for honesty in their relationship. “Victoria, you can tell me anything,” he whispered.
Ominously her gaze dropped before she at last managed to speak. “I . . . I love you.”
Sharp, disbelieving relief rushed through him, making him feel as giddy as if he had consumed a dozen bottles of champagne. Unable to halt himself, he tilted back his head to laugh with bone-deep joy.
Clearly offended by his unusual reaction to her confession of love, Victoria glared at him in embarrassed anger. “What is so funny?”
Attempting to restrain his mirth, Claredon swooped downward to seal her lips with a kiss of pure possession. “You sounded more as if you were confessing that you burned down the barn or overturned the carriage rather than your undying devotion.”
Not at all appeased by his teasing words, she sent him a speaking g
lare. “I wish I had not said anything now.”
With a swift movement he rolled atop her, trapping her face in his hands. He briefly wondered if a gentleman’s heart could actually burst from sheer happiness. “Oh, no, you cannot take it back now,” he informed her in firm tones, his gaze memorizing every fascinating detail of her face. “No matter how you say you love me, it fills my heart with joy.”
“And a great deal of amusement, obviously.” She sulked.
Placing a delicate kiss upon her brow, he leaned back to regard her with an unwavering gaze. “Forgive me, my dearest,” he murmured. “I know it was not a simple matter to be the one to first say the words, so I will make it easier by admitting that I love you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I adore you.” He kissed her stubborn chin. “I cherish you.” He brushed the fullness of her lips. “You are truly the woman of my fantasies come to life.”
Her expression melted as she placed her arms about his neck, her eyes shimmering as brightly as emeralds in the shadowed light. “Claredon.”
“Oh my sweet, God truly was watching over us to ensure two such stubborn, thick-skulled fools managed to find one another.”
She gave a faint shiver. “It was a near thing, was it not?”
Claredon could not even allow himself to contemplate the odd tangle of circumstances that had brought this woman to him. How easily it might have been never to have realized that Victoria was the only true woman for him, and how easily she might have ended up tied for a lifetime to Thomas Stice.
His stomach clenched as he gave a slow shake of his head. “Too near,” he growled in rough tones. “To even consider the possibility that we might not be together is unbearable.”
She smiled wryly at his fierce tone. “All because you slipped into my room with the intent of seduction.”
Seduction.
A wicked expression replaced his frown. Now that was a subject far more interesting at the moment.
“Just the beginning of a lifetime of nights I intend to slip into your room with the intent of seduction,” he promised, his hands moving in a determined path over her delicate curves.
She lifted her brows in mock surprise. “My lord, whatever are you about?”
His pulse raced as the ever ready desire coursed through his blood. “Well, I did manage to purchase the land before I was so rudely kidnapped. We shall have need of heirs to appreciate our efforts.”
Her lips twitched at his logic. “Very conscientious of you.”
“Well, family duty is family duty,” he sighed.
“Of course.”
His hands became more determined as he sought to stir the embers of her own desire. “And besides, if I am to return to my bed, I must have some comfort to keep me until we can be together again.”
Without warning, her hands moved to frame his face. “No.”
Rather taken aback by her unexpected rejection, Claredon gave a startled blink. “No?”
“I want you to stay.”
“Here?” he demanded in disbelief.
“Yes.”
It was, he knew, the last barrier she possessed, and he tumbled into love with her all over again. It went beyond modesty to the very essence of her heart. She had at last committed herself utterly to him, with no lingering doubts as to her feelings.
“Are you certain?” he demanded, not wishing to push her beyond what she desired to give freely.
She smiled deep into his searching gaze. “I do not intend to be parted from you ever again.”
“You will get no argument from me, my dearest,” he whispered as his head lowered. “No argument at all.”
Fifteen
Vicar Humbly was forced to call upon every scrap of his Christian charity, not to mention having to bite his tongue more than once.
It was not that the new vicar was in any way a bad man. Indeed, Humbly was quite certain that he was determined to do his very best for the people in the neighborhood.
But while he attempted to reassure himself that the church would be in competent hands, Humbly could not deny a certain sadness as he glanced about the shabby vicarage that had been thoroughly cleaned and refurbished with a stiff formality that said much of the young, rigidly reserved man.
How would he react when the local tenants came tramping through his tidy home with their muddy boots and faithful hounds at their side? Or when the children came racing and tumbling in to search for the bits of candy he always kept ready in the parlor?
He gave an inward sigh.
Thoroughly unaware of Humbly’s dark thoughts, Mr. Roster glanced primly about the library with obvious satisfaction at the barren cleanliness. “As you can see, I have created an entirely new filing system.” He waved a hand toward the desk. “It is far tidier than tossing important documents about in a haphazard manner.”
Humbly cleared his throat, well aware that he was being gently chastised for his lack of organization. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Yes, indeed.”
“And I reorganized the books.” The thin, rather sharp-featured man shot Humbly a pointed glance. “Really, I do not know how you managed to find the necessary references.”
Humbly shrugged, not about to admit that he rarely bothered with references when writing his sermons. To his mind speaking from the heart and in a language that could be understood by all was far more important. “I suppose I muddled through.”
Mr. Roster heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I have yet to begin on the church records. I fear they will demand a considerable amount of effort.”
“It appears that you have been very busy.”
“It is my duty.”
Resisting the urge to point out attending to the needs of the parishioners was surely his first duty, Humbly gently cleared his throat. “I do hope you have had the opportunity to acquaint yourself with your neighbors?”
“Certainly. Any number have come to the vicarage for a visit.” His features tightened with a vague disapproval. “Indeed, I have been astonished to discover that you were in the habit of encouraging your congregation to call whenever they pleased.”
“To be honest, I enjoyed visiting with them,” Humbly confessed.
A thin smile curved the thin lips. “Very proper, of course, but hardly the best use of your time. There must be routine established if God’s work is to be done. I have requested that all visits be confined to the hours between two and five. Far more tidy than having people interrupting me all hours of the day.”
“Very tidy,” Humbly forced himself to agree, deeply relieved that Mrs. Stalwart had elected to join him at his tiny cottage. He would not wish to hear what she would have to say about the new vicar’s rigid schedule.
“Would you care to see what I have done with the study?”
Humbly managed to conceal a shudder. His Christian charity was, unfortunately, not boundless.
“Not today, thank you,” he said hastily. “Mrs. Stalwart will be expecting me home soon.”
“How disappointing.” There was a perfunctionary edge to his voice. “I do hope you will call again.”
Humbly simply could not resist. God, he was quite certain, had a lovely sense of humor. “Yes, between the hours of two and five on the next occasion.”
Blithely unaware that he had just been insulted, Mr. Roster gave a nod of his head. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”
“No doubt. Now I bid you good day.” With a polite bow, Humbly gathered his hat and set off on the long walk to his cottage.
“Humbly, you are an old fool.” He chastised himself for his petty dislike, knowing that at least a portion of it came from his own reluctance to acknowledge he was no longer vicar. He would no doubt find fault with anyone, especially a man so vastly different from himself. “Time to make room for the younger generation.”
Still . . . there was no denying that the man was a bit of a twit, a renegade voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Shaking his head at the follies of both Mr. Roster and himself, Humbly trudged down the
path.
Perhaps the problem was that he had not yet fully accepted his decision to retire to his tiny cottage, he at last acknowledged. It was not that he did not find the small home just as cozy and peaceful as he had desired, nor that he did not enjoy puttering about in his gardens. It was more a realization he was no longer needed.
He heaved a faint sigh.
There was something very satisfying at the thought he could bring comfort to a sick widow or lend a quiet word of encouragement to a disheartened tenant or even allow the local squire to vent his spleen upon his own head rather than the heads of his poor servants.
Perhaps his small skills would never change the world, but they did make a difference in the lives he cared for. He would miss that feeling of being depended upon.
Feeling oddly blue deviled, Humbly finished the walk to his cottage and entered the tiny foyer without his usual bounce. He removed his hat, not surprised when Mrs. Stalwart hurried to join him.
Since leaving the vicarage, the older housekeeper had been even more inclined to cluck over him like a mother hen. “Well, Mr. Humbly, it is about time you returned.”
His smile returned at her chiding tone. It would not be home without her ceaseless scoldings. “Forgive me, but I decided to stop by the vicarage for a visit.”
Her round countenance tightened with obvious disapproval. “Well then, it is no wonder you look as cross as crabs. That man is enough to put anyone out of sorts.”
Feeling a pang of guilt that he secretly agreed with the housekeeper’s assessment, Humbly gave a shake of his head. “Now, Mrs. Stalwart, he appears to be quite . . . organized.”
“A pompous fool,” she retorted with a snort.
Weary of brooding upon Mr. Roster, Humbly sought to distract the tenacious woman, who no doubt could go on several hours. “I believe I might have a small sherry before luncheon,” he murmured.
With astonishing speed, Mrs. Stalwart lost her dark frown and instead offered him a rather sly smile. “I beg your pardon, Vicar, but you have a guest awaiting you in the garden.”
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