Only a Hero Will Do (The Heart of a Hero Book 2)

by Alanna Lucas

  “You needn’t worry. Her identity is safe with me.”

  “Why are you so willing to protect her?”

  Fulcher stroked the old scar that ran the length of his cheek. “Let’s just say I owe a debt to her late grandfather.”

  Grant was going to press for more information, but the warning in Fulcher’s eyes gave him pause. The tension in the room thickened as half a dozen men turned their full attention on Grant, closing in around him.

  “Danke, Herr Fulcher.” Grant eyed the rest of the men, suspecting this would not be the last he saw of them. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  Although he left the disgruntled group of men, he knew the fight was only just beginning.

  Shadows bounced off the well-lit corridor wall. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A large figure loomed in the distance at the top of the stairs. He heard two sets of footsteps scurrying behind him. He sucked in his breath and prepared for battle.

  As he approached the grand staircase, a large figure stepped out of the gloom. “Hardwin,” he said in a less than congenial tone to one of Fulcher’s most vicious lackeys.

  “Captain.” Hardwin offered a sinister half smile.

  Without warning, Hardwin charged Grant with a banshee-like holler, waving a small dagger. Grant blocked the thrust with his forearm. The dagger went flying over the banister, landing with metallic clink on the marble floor below. Grant swung his right fist, making contact with Hardwin’s jaw. The man lost his footing and tumbled backward down the stairs.

  An older, robust man with a crooked nose rushed forward. “I’m next.”

  Raw energy coursed through Grant’s veins. He tightened his fists in anticipation.

  The large man taunted Grant. “Are ye re’dy fer a good pumm’lin, Captain?”

  “We’ll see who pummels whom,” Grant growled out. His opponent danced around with fancy footwork and quick little punches that he found more bothersome than anything else. He’d had enough of this sparring. With one powerful punch after another, he unleashed his anger and hammered at his opponent until the man collapsed with exhaustion.

  “Who’s next?” he called as another brute approached. Grant was tall, but this man was a veritable giant.

  Cracking his knuckles, the giant snarled out, “’Tis my turn.”

  “With pleasure,” Grant said in return.

  The two men circled each other. Their eyes locked in mutual determination. The giant swung his fist through the air making contact with the right side of Grant’s jaw, causing his head to swing back violently.

  Grant knew he would have to alter his strategy, but before he could change tactics a loud shot rang through the air, echoing off the marble floor. One moment the giant was standing, the next he was slumped on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood.

  Soft footsteps scurried down the steps into the darkness below.

  Grant took off in the direction of the gunman, taking the steps two at a time. By the time he reached the bottom, the only sign of life was the still unconscious gatekeeper.

  “Damn,” he swore under his breath. Commotion from above drifted down to the ground level. He needed to get out of here.

  Fog had drifted in, and along with it an eerie foreboding. Death, failure…regret were three things he did not want to contemplate. No one was safe, not even the daughter of a viscount.

  Without thought, he ran to Atwell House. Although deep down he knew nothing could ever happen between them, he was still responsible for Elizabeth as long as he had this mission. A strong protectiveness filled him pushing him toward her. Grant needed to know she was safe.

  As he approached the house, he noticed a faint flicker of light from a second story window. He crept around to the back of the house, hoping to avoid being noticed.

  A large tree stood sentinel next to the grand structure. He was not concerned with what harm a tree might bring after what he had just dealt with.

  Pulling himself up onto a low-hanging branch, he slowly made his way up the sturdy oak. The first window, on the lower level was locked. He climbed higher, testing windows as he scaled the tree. He was about to lose hope when he reached the last window accessible from the branches.

  The window opened with ease.

  Maneuvering himself into position, he leaped from the tree to the sill. It wasn’t much of a challenge and, within seconds, he was inside. There was only one problem. He didn’t know where in the house he was. His chest tightened. This wasn’t like him. He glanced about the dark room wondering what had caused him to act so irrationally.

  The answer came a moment later.

  “Sophie? Give me a moment to…” Elizabeth’s words trailed off as she peeked her head into the room. “Grant, what are you doing here?” she whispered.

  How was he supposed to respond when he didn’t know the answer himself?

  Elizabeth kept her body hidden behind the adjoining door. Alarm bells rang through his head. He stepped closer, eyeing her face. Her normal impeccably-coiffed hair was in disarray.

  Before she could retreat, he closed the distance, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room. Guilt streaked across her face as he eyed her up and down.

  He knew he didn’t want to know the answer, but asked the question regardless. “Why in bloody hell are you wearing breeches?”

  She pulled her arm from his grip. “It is rather difficult and impractical to sneak about in a dress.”

  “Where have you been?” The words came out harsher than intended. Did she have no concept of danger?

  “I believe you know the answer to that question, Captain Alexander, and you’re welcome.”

  “That was you at Hell’s? You fired the pistol?” His temper flared. “What were you thinking? You could’ve been hurt.”

  Elizabeth replied sharply, “I fared better than you.” Ignoring his question, she stated, “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing? Come here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the window.

  The warmth of her hand sent a bolt of desire through him. Pale moonlight caressed her upturned face and full pink lips. He wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked. What in God’s name was he thinking? Control yourself. You’re here to protect her, nothing more.

  Pulling his hand away, he sucked in his breath as desire and anger collided. “I cannot believe you were traipsing all over London at this time of night as if you were taking a stroll in the park.”

  “It wasn’t all over London, and I know how to fend for myself.”

  “That’s beside the point.” He softened his tone. Every word he spoke was laced with concern. “Elizabeth, what were you doing at Hell’s Gaming House?”

  “One of the letters I decoded mentioned the gaming house. I decided Fulcher might have some answers. Clearly I was not off the mark since you believed so as well.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Grant tried to reason with her. “You can not go gallivanting all over the place. You’re the daughter of a viscount.”

  “I know very well whose daughter I am. I don’t need you to remind me of it.” She took a step closer. The pleading tone in her voice went straight to his core. “Don’t you see? I don’t want to be just the daughter of a viscount. I want a life of my own choosing. I’m not some simpering miss.”

  “No, you’re definitely not.” His gaze traveled over her face, settling on her brown eyes filled with intelligence and independence of spirit. A rapid thumping pounded against his chest. Time seemed to stand still, wrapping them in a blanket of moonlight.

  “Grant,” she whispered his name as she brushed her fingers across his sore cheek.

  The door handle began to turn. Elizabeth eyed the space behind the sofa before pulling Grant down behind the barrier. A moment later, the door opened and closed with a gentle click. Soft footsteps crept across the room. There was a moment of silence until the sliding of books broke it.

  Elizabeth stretched up, but Grant pulle
d her down. “Stay down,” he mouthed, pointing his finger downward to emphasize the command.

  A different sort of pounding than he’d experienced a few moments ago coursed through his body. He took in a deep breath and jumped up and over the sofa. A fierce growl rumbled from the intruder as Grant tackled him to the floor.

  Punching the man hard in the jaw, Grant demanded, “Who are you?”

  The intruder did not answer, but let out a cynical laugh before he whipped out a flask and swallowed the contents in one gulp.

  Involuntary shudders rippled across the man’s limbs as he struggled through large gasps of air before going completely lifeless.

  “What happened?” Elizabeth said as she pulled the curtains wide, allowing more moonlight to infiltrate the space.

  Grant stood and looked down at the corpse. “Laurel water.” He turned to face her, expecting aversion, but she was calm, almost unfazed by what had just happened.

  She stepped closer and studied the man’s features. Her eyes widened. “I know him. He worked as a stableman, but Father dismissed him last year.”

  “Why?”

  “He was caught rummaging through my father’s study. Mother believed him to be a common thief, but my father suspected otherwise. Before Father had a chance to question him, he disappeared.”

  “Do you have any idea what he was after?”

  Elizabeth stood to her full height and slid her hand into her shirt. Grant was mesmerized by the action, finding it difficult to focus on the situation at hand.

  “This.” She pulled out a necklace with a medallion dangling from the chain. Two snake tails shimmered against the pale moonlight.

  “How in bloody hell did you get your hands on that?”

  “We can discuss that later. First we have to get the body out of here before my cousin returns home.”

  Grant stepped forward. “I will take care of him. You will stay here.”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms with defiance. “You don’t know the way. And besides, I believe my assistance at Hell’s proved that I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

  After this evening’s events, Grant knew the statement was true. He’d seen her handle a bow and arrow, and only a short time ago, she’d shot a man with the precision of an expert. Even so, she was still his responsibility. The only way to protect her was to keep her close. Her stubbornness would be the death of him.

  There would be no reasoning with her. “We can argue about this later.”

  “I’ll add it to the list,” she responded with sarcasm.

  Grant hoisted the corpse over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

  She directed him to the far end of the bookcase, where she removed two books and reached her hand further into the shelf. Pulling out what looked like a small book, she lifted the cover and removed something. Keys clanking echoed in the otherwise quiet room. She clasped them together in one hand, silencing the metal clink.

  With a raised brow, she challenged him to follow her. “This way, Captain Alexander.” Grant let out a long sigh. Back to formalities. It was probably for the best.

  She strolled toward the door the intruder had used. Turning the knob, she gently opened the door and peered into the dark hall.

  “All clear,” she whispered as she disappeared into the darkness.

  Grant adjusted the body draped over his shoulder and followed her.

  At the far end of the hall, a large tapestry encompassed the span of the wall. Elizabeth pulled the covering to one side, and the soft click of a door unlocking and keys clanking broke through the silence. She held the tapestry aside, expecting Grant to follow without question.

  It was a huge leap of faith, but Grant did as he was instructed and entered the dark cavity. He was about to question what the space was and where it led when Elizabeth answered his unvoiced curiosity.

  “My great-grandfather was a little concerned about intruders and wanted quick escape routes. There are several concealed stairways in the house known only to a few.” She turned her gaze to Grant and shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  She passed through and closed the door, concealing them in darkness. He heard her step forward, then felt her hand on his forearm.

  “Where does this lead?”

  “Shh, don’t talk.” She brushed past him and began to count softly. “One…two…three…four…,” she uttered. “The stairwell begins here.”

  Grant began to maneuver around her.

  “I said I would—” She began to argue, but he stopped her.

  “Just while we’re going down the stairs. It’s dark and if I miss a step….well, he’s already dead. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Grant hoped his quick explanation would be enough.

  There was a long pause before Elizabeth let out an acquiescing sigh. “Alright.”

  He took his time, feeling for the edge of each step before descending. It felt like an hour had passed by the time they finally reached the bottom landing.

  Edging past him, she opened a door. A cool breeze whisked around him as he stepped into the night air. Elizabeth turned to close the door and then maneuvered past him once again, intent on leading the way. This game was becoming dull. Didn’t she realize he was only trying to protect her?

  “This way.” She continued down an overgrown path that led deeper into the darkness. They hurried in silence for several minutes before she stopped.

  “We can put him in there,” she said as she pointed to a small greenhouse. “There’s a storage room with a lock. We can send word to Lord Fynes and no one will ever know.”

  It was as good as any plan at this point. Grant followed her into the moonlit structure. A rich earthy smell filled the space, followed by a hint of sweet rose.

  “In here,” she ordered as she opened the door to a storage room.

  Grant tossed the body into the small space with little care. The man deserved worse, in his opinion. He let out a sigh. This was not how he’d thought he would spend his evening. And yet, through the whole ordeal, images of kissing Elizabeth had plagued his thoughts.

  With the body ensconced in the room, she closed the door and locked it. “I will send Lewis to inform Lord Fynes.” She raised a delicate brow. Her tone was laced with sarcasm. “I can tell what you’re thinking. You need not worry, Lewis will be discreet.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” Grant needed to put some distance between them. He brushed past her with every intent of leaving until she said his name with quiet emphasis.

  Elizabeth was desperate for Grant not to leave. Ever since their first meeting, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. He was such a conundrum. Only she wasn’t enjoying trying to solve this puzzle. Why did he have to be so difficult? Every time they seemed to understand each other, he had to spoil it by reminding her of her station.

  “Grant, you never did tell me why you came to my home this evening,” she called to him.

  In the blink of an eye, Grant turned on her. His words were full of anger and frustration. The fiery gaze in his eyes turned darker. “Where did you get that medallion?”

  Elizabeth knew trust was important to Grant, and if she was going to convince him of her qualifications she needed to trust him.

  “My grandfather gave it to me before he died.” She took a step closer to him. For one brief moment she thought to give him the medallion, but she decided otherwise. She needed leverage to get what she wanted.

  “Where did he get it?”

  “If you suspect my grandfather of being one of Typhon’s men, you’re wrong.”

  “I didn’t say anything of the sort,” Grant defended himself. “But you have yet to explain how a beautiful woman, the daughter of a viscount no less, is in possession of a medallion that could get her killed. And what was your grandfather’s association with Fulcher?”

  Of course he had to mention her lineage. It wouldn’t be a proper argument without that detail.

  Ignoring the later question, she answe
red, “Only a few people know my grandfather was a spy for the crown. He was the one who first introduced me to this world.”

  “Why would he purposefully expose you to danger?”

  “I don’t think he ever thought of it that way. When I was a young girl, I loved hearing him weave adventurous tales. As I grew older, I realized they weren’t just fanciful stories contrived by a man who many believed to have lost his mind, but were actual events. He shared his knowledge and showed me there was more to life than the ton.”

  Grant stepped closer. Heat radiated from his body. Oh dear, he smelled wonderful. “Why did he give you something so dangerous?”

  She looked into his blue eyes, shrouded in mystery. “He knew I would do the right thing. Is it too much to want to serve my country? I want to help bring Typhon down. I want to make a difference.”

  “It is very admirable, but—.”

  “Don’t you dare say it’s because of my sex. If I were a man, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “If you were a man, we’d both be in trouble.”

  Slowly, seductively, his gaze slid from her eyes down to her lips. Her whole being seemed to be filled with waiting, anticipating. She thought he meant to kiss her when he leaned his head in. The scent of soap and leather invaded her soul. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through his silky blond hair, caress the single dimple on his left cheek.

  “Grant,” she whispered his name.

  He blinked several times before backing away abruptly. “Send word to Lord Fynes.” He started to turn and walk away, but stopped and offered one more scold. “And don’t go on any more adventures.”

  “I suggest a truce,” she called out to him, halting his egress.

  “What do you have in mind?” He asked as he turned to face her.

  “I will not go gallivanting on my own, and you will let me aid in this investigation.”

  “Sounds more like a bargain.”

  “Call it what you will,” Elizabeth challenged. “Do we have an agreement?”

  Grant was motionless countless seconds, clearly evaluating her suggestion.

  “You have to promise, no more of these little adventures. And, you must listen to me when I am trying to protect you.”