Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6)

by Heather Hiestand

  “He is correct.”

  “I have so much respect for you.” She swallowed. “Your work, of course, speaks for itself, but your kindness to me, the risks you took for Jacob, both physically and within your family. I can never repay you.”

  “You aren’t meant to.”

  “I love everything about you,” she said, feeling like crying. “I really, really do.”

  “Then why are you so sad?”

  “I’m not worthy of you. I’m shallow and flawed, headstrong, not beautiful, not especially kind.”

  He ran his index finger along her chin, then cupped it. “You do not see yourself as others do. You are more than worthy of my love. So brave, my darling, so intelligent, so loyal.”

  Tears dripped from her eyes down her cheek. “Ewan.”

  “It is perfectly fine, my darling. Everything is. We’ll go abroad after we marry, if we must.”

  “I can’t take Jacob away from my family, not right now.”

  “Then I will figure out what happened, once and for all. We’ll ask Dougal Alexander to return to the case if necessary. I hate to be apart from you for so much as a day, but whatever it takes. I will scour London; I will walk the streets of Bristol.”

  “Make love to me first, then find a vicar to marry us,” she said. “Let us move forward together, as we’re meant to.”

  He nodded. “You will not hear me disagreeing. Should we switch the order of those two events?”

  She shook her head. “Definitely not. I need your hands on me.”

  “One of my more sterling qualities is my constant desire to please you,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing.

  She giggled and wiped away tears. They disrobed, watching each other. She drank in the sight of his strong body, slowly revealed. He could undress himself far better than she could. Soon, she needed his help. Every time his fingers brushed her flesh, she bit back a gasp. Every nerve ending was sensitized to his touch.

  Finally, she was nude, her back to him. He cupped her breasts as his erection nudged her back. She leaned against his body, feeling herself soften, moisten, become ready. He played with her nipples and she ran her fingers lightly over his arms, making the hair there lift.

  “We’ll make love in far more luxurious surroundings than these over the years, my countess,” he said into her ear.

  “But it will never be so special. Equal, perhaps, but never better.”

  She felt his smile as he nipped her ear, and one of his hands dipped down her torso, then between her legs. Her head fell back on his chest as he stroked through her wet heat and began to circle her pearl with astonishing delicacy. How he treasured her body. How he loved her mind. She’d never thought she would have such grace in her life.

  With a wrench, she pulled herself from him and turned around, grabbing his hand, pulling him to his narrow bed.

  “How I love you, Ewan.” With an animal cry of satisfaction, she pushed him down and mounted his thighs, fitting his erection to her. She plunged herself down, filling herself. He gripped her hips, moaning, his eyes open in pleasured shock.

  She tossed her head back, laughed, and began to ride him in earnest.

  Two hours later, Ewan slid from the bed. Matilda murmured and turned on her stomach, not waking. She’d worn herself out, his darling, both above and beneath him. He wanted her to rest, but he had his marching orders. A vicar to marry them tomorrow, and answers.

  An hour later, he’d shown his special license and made arrangements at his parish church to be wed the next day. With resolve, he made his way back to Lord Murchie’s home, hoping to find some clue to Richard Wyld’s whereabouts.

  Lord Murchie received him in his drawing room, though his face had lost the sunny air of their previous meeting.

  “What has happened?” Ewan asked.

  “Mr. Wyld is no longer in my employ,” the lord said. “Dashed nuisance, having to find a governess for my sister.”

  “Perhaps it is worth the bother, given Wyld is a blackguard,” Ewan commented.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Lord Murchie lifted a hand and waved it about.

  “Have you seen Wyld since we last met?” Ewan inquired after a moment’s silence.

  “No.”

  “Are his possessions still here? May I look through them for clues?”

  “No, sir, you may not. They have been collected.”

  “By whom?” Ewan asked, his senses prickling.

  “A solicitor.” Lord Murchie sniffed.

  Ewan smelled brandy on the man’s breath. He’d been drinking away his irritation. “Can you give me his direction?”

  “No, but I remember his name. Shadrach Norwich. What a mouthful.”

  Ewan swore.

  “Sir?” Lord Murchie said, his mouth screwing up in distaste.

  Ewan shook his head. “My apologies, my lord, but I know Mr. Norwich. I am afraid this whole mess has something to do with Lord Fitzwalter.”

  “You don’t say?” Lord Murchie raised an eyebrow. “Well, I am sure you have some notion of the streak of madness running through that family. Mind you, I’d been told only the men named Walter were ever truly mad, so I saw nothing wrong with hiring a Richard.”

  “Are you saying Richard Wyld is related to the Douglas family?”

  “Of course. He’s an offshoot of the current earl’s grandfather, I believe. Or was it father? He’s so much older than I am, you understand. But certainly related somehow. Richard Wyld Douglas.”

  “His name is Douglas?” Ewan found himself standing without knowing how it had happened. “He doesn’t use the name?”

  “Hiding from creditors, I expect.” Lord Murchie raised an indolent hand again. “Would try it myself, if I wasn’t so well known.”

  Ewan bowed slightly. “Thank you for your time, my lord. I’d like to depart for Norwich’s office before he leaves for the day.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Do your worst.” Lord Murchie forced a smile and rang for a servant to escort Ewan to his front door.

  Ewan drew in a deep breath as he entered Norwich’s office. The solicitor, who’d been warned of his arrival by a clerk, had his fingers steepled in front of his chin and his brown bottle at the ready.

  “Asking for an increase in your allowance so soon?” he asked, an unusually acidic tone to his voice.

  “I think you know why I’m here,” Ewan said, keeping his own voice level with effort. “Richard Wyld.”

  “He is Richard Walter Wyld Douglas, in point of fact. I was hoping we could keep him out of it.”

  “Lord Fitzwalter was behind this mess all along, wasn’t he?” Ewan said. “You’ve told me one lie after another. I can scarcely understand the timing, given that I had only just formed a connection with Miss Redcake when her son was taken. Which means these evil deeds must be about business.”

  “His intention was to weaken the family in order to draw you away,” Norwich said. He lifted his bottle and drank deeply, his Adam’s apple moving up and down his fleshy throat as he swallowed. “The adulterated flour was meant to destroy Redcake’s high-end business. Kidnapping the boy was done to distract the family while the bad goods were whispered about among fashionable Society. Jacob Bliven was the easiest Redcake child to access. The earl didn’t want you to risk continued ties. Business partners had told him you were doing well, but he wanted you dependent on him.”

  Poor Matilda. If he’d been a weaker man, he’d have wanted a soothing drink from the brown bottle himself. “So my relationship with her had nothing to do with this.”

  “It didn’t help matters any,” Norwich said, draining his bottle. He set it on the desk and glanced mournfully at it.

  “What a foul man he must be,” Ewan muttered. “What did he promise Wyld?”

  “I imagine he wanted the earldom,” Norwich said. “But he’d never have inherited. Money, though, well . . . A kidnapper can become a blackmailer easily enough once he’s a taste for it, and he knew all about Lord Fitzwalter.”

 
“I am marrying Miss Redcake tomorrow,” Ewan said. “I expect Lord Fitzwalter to be in attendance, with a smile on his face no less. She and the boy are under my protection. I don’t need his employment or his money.”

  “Understandably,” interjected Norwich. “But the earl is confined to bed, Mr. Hales. Some sort of attack.”

  Ewan wondered if he’d suffered a true medical crisis or had merely gone into hiding. “Very well, but I will, in any case, expect him to protect my wife’s name and welcome her into the family. By letter, if necessary.”

  “Yes,” the solicitor said.

  “I suggest Wyld be sent to manage that farm in Vermont,” Ewan continued. “I don’t imagine you will be able to make him confess his crimes to the police without implicating the earl.”

  “I would never do so,” Norwich said stoutly.

  Family. His urge was for vengeance, for trials and judges and prison, but he did not have the power to demand it. “I do not want Wyld in, or adjacent to, any country in which a Redcake resides. I assume he was Izabela Pickett’s lover?”

  Norwich nodded.

  “Did he kill her?”

  “No. He planned both kidnappings, but that poor girl took her own life. I don’t imagine she knew what Mr. Wyld had been asked to do. He told me she became quite inconsolable when the boy was removed from her care.”

  “It can’t have helped when she realized she was carrying the child of such a blackguard. Where is Hulk now?”

  “I can ensure he goes to Vermont with Wyld.”

  “No, that isn’t good enough. Australia for him, far away from his partner in crime, or prison here.”

  Norwich sighed.

  “What about those miscreants at the house where Jacob was kept?”

  “The Bristol police shut down the house,” Norwich said. “They’ve lost their livelihoods.”

  “I want everyone from the Douglas warehouse who was involved in the scheme to lose their positions immediately. I will do what I can to make this family honorable again.” He paused, then added, “If there is ever one unfavorable whisper about my wife in Society, I will come to Fitzwalter for reparation. He had best guard her as one of his own.”

  “Understood.” The word was slurred. “But you will be earl soon enough.”

  Ewan knew he was done here. He stood, then bent and put his hands on the desk. “After you see the earl, I suggest you take a long voyage yourself, Norwich. You aren’t looking well.”

  The solicitor nodded vigorously. “Haven’t left London since my wife died seven years ago.”

  He wanted to tell the man he was out of a job but couldn’t risk his files disappearing. Dismantling this mess would take time. “Anything else?”

  “The best to you and your bride.” The solicitor forced a wobbly smile.

  “Go to some European spa, man, and get your health back,” Ewan suggested, throwing the words over his shoulder as he walked out.

  When he went into his room, he found his almost bride half-dressed again, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I can’t lace my own stays,” she said, her cheeks pinking at his frank regard.

  “I don’t think you need them laced.” He threw down a newspaper-wrapped package of fish and chips. “May not be what you’re used to, but it will get us through the night. Then, tomorrow, you can dress at St. James’s Square before our wedding.”

  “Oh?” Matilda pushed strands of fiery hair out of her eyes.

  “It’s done, my darling.” Ewan sank onto the bed next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m very afraid that it was all my fault. Fitzwalter wanted to make your family less influential. He wanted to hurt you to get to me.”

  “But Jacob?”

  “A horrible coincidence,” Ewan admitted. “They must have reached Izabela before they could act on the servants around Noel or Lady Mary Ellen.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Suicide, according to Fitzwalter’s solicitor.”

  “So she felt so guilty in the end that she took her own life? And her baby’s?”

  “A sad ending,” Ewan agreed. “But we have a new start for ourselves. I’m afraid Wyld is a blood relative of mine, however. Are you sure you want to marry into a mad family?”

  Matilda leaned her head on his shoulder. “Given the adventures of my own siblings over the years, I can hardly declare us categorically sane, Ewan darling. At least Greggory and his family are a quieter lot. I think we should raise our children under Uncle Charles’s influence instead of my own father’s.”

  Ewan smiled. “I like your father.”

  “I know it.”

  He kissed her cheek. “But you are correct. We are bound for Bristol. I look forward to shaking the hand of every one of your men who helped us.”

  Matilda nodded. “I plan more than that. I want to throw a party, with gifts, a welcome home for Jacob that all the factory workers can join in on.”

  “It can be a wedding celebration, too. How about we stroll over to Redcake’s and make some telephone calls? Do you want your family at your wedding?”

  “Will there be time?”

  He nodded. “I suppose I will have to lace you back into your stays after all?”

  “Just for today. Then you can spend the rest of your days removing me from them.”

  Her smile was so tender, so naughty and loving, that Ewan knew, if he had ever had any doubt, that he’d found his home within the Redcake clan forever. This redheaded hoyden would soon be his wife, and the mother of his children.

  “If we can manage it soon enough, they may even be able to bring Jacob up to us tonight,” he suggested. “Turn around, my love, and let’s see you dressed.”

  Don’t miss the rest of the Redcakes series, available where eBooks are sold!

  The Marquess of Cake

  One Taste of Scandal

  His Wicked Smile

  The Kidnapped Bride (novella)

  Christmas Delights

  About the Author

  Heather Hiestand was born in Illinois, but her family migrated west before she started school. Since then she has claimed Washington State as home, except for a few years in California. She wrote her first story at age seven and went on to major in creative writing at the University of Washington. Her first published fiction was a mystery short story, but since then it has been all about the many flavors of romance. Heather’s first published romance short story was set in the Victorian period and she continues to return to historical fiction, ever fascinated by the past. The author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved best-seller status at both Amazon, and Barnes & Noble. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room.

  For more information, visit Heather’s website at www.heatherhiestand.com.Heather loves to hear from readers! Her email is heather@heatherhiestand.com.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2015 by Heather Hiestand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  First Electronic Edition: August 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-6165-0794-7

  eISBN-10: 1-61650-794-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-795-4

  ISBN-10: 1-61650-795-0