Darrington 01 - Marriage Minded Lord

by Sandra Sookoo

  He frowned. Guards were out of place considering the other empty doorways. “Stay here and out of sight the best you can,” he instructed the driver. “If someone comes around, do whatever you can to render them unconscious. I shall strive to return in a quarter of an hour.” Hopefully, with Clarice.

  “Very good, my lord. Give a whistle if you require assistance. I’ll lend my fists.” The coachman’s grin was a sketchy affair.

  Felix nodded. He tossed his beaver felt hat into the carriage. It would be crushed if he wore it to a fight then he strode with purpose down the length of the dock. Every so often the planks beneath his feet squealed in protest. Rank, moist air brushed over his face. The breeze clawed at his tailcoat and cravat. He curled his hands into fists then unclenched them. One way or another, those men would tell him what happened to her.

  The closer he came to the men guarding the door, the more menacing they looked. Clothed in the rough garments of fisherman or dock workers, the bulkiest of the pair had a jagged scar down the length of his right cheek. His slimmer companion possessed a crooked nose and his smile revealed a missing front tooth. He held a revolver while the other held a knife at the ready.

  So that’s how it’ll be. Felix nodded at them both. He’d need to take down the man with the gun first. The bloke with the knife might get in a lucky stab, but doubtful it would be fatal, unlike a bullet at close range.

  “Good evening, gentleman. Nice night to take in the fresh air.” Felix halted with five feet of space separating him from them. He stood lightly, balancing on the balls of his feet, his body tensed yet loose. He had no weapon except his fists, but they had served him well in a pinch while in France then later in Spain.

  “Move along, my lord, unless you want your pretty face bloodied,” the stalwart one ground out. He followed the statement by expectorating on the planks near Felix’s boots.

  “I shall if you’ll impart some information.” He moved forward a few steps. “I’m looking for a youngish lady of French descent.”

  The thugs exchanged a glance. The man with the revolver gestured. “Don’t matter what you want. No one will see ‘er again—at least not in England.” He laughed and his companion joined in.

  Felix peered into the beefy face. Scratches decorated his scarred cheek. He felt a surge of pride that his Clarice would mark him in such a way. “Where is she? For that matter, where is Lord Wynesford?” It was a stab in the dark, but he had to try.

  The slim man snickered. “Wynesford don’t come down here much. Neither does his bitch of a daughter. Keep their hands and noses clean while blokes like me and Canton does their dirty work.”

  “And your name is?” Felix slid his gloves from his hands, folded them and tucked them into a pocket in his tailcoat. They were expensive, after all, and he didn’t want them soiled.

  “Why do you want to know?” He leveled the pistol at Felix’s heart.

  Felix shrugged. “I merely wish to know the name of the men I intend to best before the fight begins.” He assumed a defensive posture with his fists up and guarding his face.

  “I’m Angus. That’s Canton, and this won’t take long.” He flicked his head. His bulky friend circled around to Felix’s rear.

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Instead of throwing a punch, Felix kicked at Angus’s hand, effectively knocking the weapon free of the man’s grasp. It skittered over the damp planks. He twisted around just as Canton slashed with his knife. The blade nicked his side, but he ignored the sharp stab of pain in order to throw a punch with his right fist. It slowed the thug down, but not by much. Angus retaliated with a punch of his own and caught Felix in the left kidney.

  Felix stumbled. Pain exploded through his insides. He dodged Canton’s next lunge with the blade, then spun and planted his foot squarely in the burly man’s crotch. The big man dropped to his knees, clutching himself with both hands, his knife fallen forgotten on the wood beside him. Quickly, Felix kicked the blade away, but didn’t turn around in time to block the next blow from Angus.

  Agony screamed into his jaw as the fist connected. Felix staggered and faltered then took a spill onto the planks. His heartbeat raced. His lungs ached. He made it seem as if he was nearly bested as Angus approached. Breathing heavily, Felix felt around the immediate area. His scrabbling fingers found a broken piece of planking, which he gripped and slammed into Angus’s knees.

  A distinct pop resounded. Angus fell down. He held his left leg close to his chest and yelled for his compatriot. “He broke me damn knee!”

  Canton spit out a curse before lumbering to his feet. “You won’t get as lucky this time, git.”

  “If you think you can hit me, be my guest.” Felix wiped his face with his sleeve. He wasn’t prepared when Canton threw his body weight at him. He grunted, staggered backward, his arms locked with the bigger man’s as they both fought for dominance. “Tell me where she is.”

  “Not bloody likely.” Canton maneuvered out of Felix’s hold just enough to deliver an uppercut jab to Felix’s jaw. “Walk away with your life or die here. Your choice.”

  “I’ll keep fighting until you tell me what I want to know.” He threw a punch, but Canton ducked and sidled away. Clarice’s life might depend on him winning this skirmish.

  “You gits and your morals. Angus, go get help if you can.” Canton circled around him. He feinted and lunged, throwing a fist into the mix.

  Felix kept moving, dodging and ducking when necessary. He had no idea if Angus had left. “Is that the best you can do?” When the big man rushed at him, they both went down in a heavy tangle of limbs. Felix hit his head on the dock. The breath whooshed from his lungs as Canton landed on top of him. His vision darkened for an instant. He wheezed, gasping to suck in much needed air. The burly man put his beefy hands around Felix’s throat and squeezed.

  I refuse to expire like this. A strangled sound issued from his throat as he scratched at Canton’s fingers in a desperate bid to loosen the hold. Must remember Clarice.

  He jabbed a knee into Canton’s soft belly. The bigger man grunted, but his grip didn’t slacken. With his heart pounding and his lungs on fire, Felix wriggled. He beat his fists against Canton’s scarred face and head. Finally, the fingers relaxed, and Felix took advantage of the break to lever his feet up. He planted them on Canton’s chest, and with a mighty shove, he pushed the man from his person.

  As Canton lumbered to his feet, Felix flipped to his knees and crawled away. He swept the dark dock for anything he could use for defense. The likelihood of defeating a man of Canton’s stature was dismal unless he had a weapon. Angus’s pistol glittered in the dim light, but it was too far away. The abandoned knife was well beyond his reach.

  Canton grabbed Felix’s ankles.

  Felix twisted, bucking his body in the hopes of kicking free. At the same time, something cold and hard brushed against his right hand. He closed his fingers around the object. A shaky laugh of relief issued from him when he realized it was a short length of chain, the fat links of iron rusty and rough in his hand.

  As Canton leaned over him, his fist cocked backward to deliver a blow, Felix swung the chain as hard as he could. It caught the bigger man on the side of the face. The end of the chain wrapped around his head and smacked Canton’s opposite eye. With a howl of outrage and pain, the thug released Felix’s ankles and staggered backward.

  Felix scrambled to his feet. He rushed at the man, headfirst, and again they both fell to the dock. This time Canton hit hard, landing on his back. Blood glittered on his cheek. The mangled eye was swollen. Felix didn’t care as he pressed the big man down, leaning all his weight on Canton’s sternum. “Where the hell is the woman?” If he didn’t receive answers, he’d search every room in every warehouse though his strength would fade soon.

  Canton gasped for breath. “The warehouse behind us. Door’s not locked. She’s to be loaded onto a ship for Jamaica in the morning.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Felix bashed a fist in
to Canton’s temple, and the man slumped unmoving. He slapped one of his jowls. When the man didn’t come to, Felix heaved himself to his feet. He staggered toward the building. Every bone in his body ached. His lungs still burned. His jaw throbbed. Angus was nowhere in sight. Damn. Reinforcements would arrive soon.

  He needed to find Clarice and leave before another wave of Wynesford’s minions found them.

  Clarice struggled to open her eyes. Darkness, thick and cloying, met her gaze. Some sort of scratchy fabric rasped over her face and body. A rag had been stuffed into her mouth and no amount of spitting would dislodge it. She turned her head. A sharp tug of pain streaked over her scalp at the back of her head. No wonder the rag wouldn’t move. It was probably secured by a tie and her hair had gotten caught in the knot. The pungent aroma of mold and damp assailed her, but she couldn’t take a deep breath without a sharp pain flaring through her ribs. Somewhere in the recesses of her prison, the faint scratch of rodent claws rasped into her consciousness. Where am I? Panic climbed her spine. Anxiety chewed her stomach. She tried to move her limbs, check them for injuries, but both her wrists were bound behind her back and her ankles were tied as well. How?

  As her pulse pounded through her veins, she attempted to remember what had happened. Once she’d run from Felix, Lady Drummond had waylaid her at the Amherst’s front door, pleading a headache. She’d requested Clarice return home with her at once, which Clarice had agreed to with alacrity. The fear of running into Felix far outweighed the thought that Lady Drummond’s disposition was too nice, too accommodating, especially after the scene at dinner. If she’d come across Felix, she’d want to throw herself into his arms and plead for his protection, but vanity kept her from finding him. Hadn’t she always prided herself on looking after herself?

  Once she and Olivia had returned to the Drummond residence, Clarice had retired, and still out-of-sorts from the events of the evening, she’d laid upon her bed, not bothering to undress. She must have fallen asleep, but an out-of-place sound in her room brought her awake with a start. Shortly afterward, a man had yanked her from her bed, pressed a damp, foul-smelling cloth to her nose and mouth. She didn’t remember anything after that.

  Mon dieu. Olivia had followed through on her threat.

  Flutters filled her belly as the panic increased. Kidnapped. She’d been kidnapped and could be God only knew where right now. Would anyone notice her absence? The bitter taste of bile rose in her throat. Of course they wouldn’t. Lady Drummond would merely tell her staff that Clarice had moved on to another position. No one would have cause to question her. Lord, what would she tell Felix? Something horrible no doubt to throw him off suspicion.

  Was she even now on a ship headed to God knew what fate? Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t feel the pitching she imagined would be present in a ship’s hold. Clarice thrashed about, trying in vain to loosen her bonds. Settle, Clarice. You can figure this out. Only with a level head could she hope to escape.

  She breathed through her mouth, even though the rag remained in place, in an effort not to smell the air. Still unable to see, she took stock of her bearings, finally realizing the pain in her ribs was from the huge coil of rope she’d been thrown onto. Squirming until she’d maneuvered onto her back, she extended her legs, moving them to the right and left. Once she hit a wall, she squirmed on the rope coil, seeking a better position, and then she banged her feet against the wall. Any human contact was better than being left alone in the dark and wondering about her fate. She’d worry about surviving once her present situation righted itself.

  Minutes slid by and still she pounded on the wall until her feet ached and her heels grew numb. She collapsed onto her makeshift bed. Her wrists throbbed. Tears leaked from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. What would happen? Would Felix try to look for her? Would he question whatever tale Olivia happened to tell him to explain her absence? She sobbed, not out of fear, but from regret. Never would she see him again, hear his voice, feel the heat of his body against hers.

  The doorknob rattled.

  Clarice froze, her limbs tensed. She waited, her heartbeat racing. The door opened with such force it slammed against the wall.

  “Clarice?”

  She sagged into the ropes. Felix! He’d come after her. She tried to say his name, say anything, but the gag prevented her from uttering anything except a string of guttural sounds. She wriggled her body to let him know where she was, and then he was beside her, pulling away the covering, and murmuring her name over and over. She stared into the gloom and discerned his outline from the clinging shadows of the room. He’s here. Sobs choked her as he untied the cloth then pulled the rag from her mouth.

  “I’m so glad it’s you,” she said in a rush as soon as she could. Her mouth felt dry and tasted of soiled laundry. “Oh Felix.” There was so much she longed to say, but the rush of relief at being rescued left her tongue-tied.

  “Hush, dearest. Don’t try to talk.” His voice sounded raw and tired, but he made quick work of her bonds. As soon as her limbs were free, he stood and pulled her to her feet then into his arms. “Everything will be all right now. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

  She clung to him, twined her arms around his neck and held him close. Having him here, in her embrace and hearing the comforting resonance of his voice calmed her. Needing a closer connection, Clarice pulled his head down and kissed him. As if she’d never see him again, she put every ounce of the fear, gratitude and happiness she felt into that one meeting of mouths. By the time she wrenched away, need had stolen her breath and longing pulsed through her body in heated waves.

  His eyes glittered in the shadows. “As much as I would love to continue this interlude, we must go. I have a carriage waiting, and there is every chance more men will come to avenge the two I put down in order to rescue you.”

  She nodded. For the first time she noticed the blood at his temple and jaw. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.” He waved away her concern.

  “Felix, it was Lady Drummond who—”

  “I know.” He put an arm about her waist and ushered her from the dingy room. “Quickly. We can talk more in the carriage.”

  As they walked along the dock, they passed a man lying motionless. She frowned, then noticed Felix’s modified gait. He now walked with a slight limp. Looking into his face, she saw a bruise purpling on his jaw and a trickle of blood over one eyebrow. “You fought them and are injured.”

  “I’ll live. None of the wounds are deep nor will they require medical attention.” He tugged her at a quick march past shadow-filled doorways. When they arrived at a town coach, he tersely greeted the driver, yanked open the door and handed her inside, following seconds later. Once the coach lurched into motion, Felix hauled her into his lap with his arms like strong bands of steel around her. He rained kisses all over her face, jaw and neck. A growl rumbled from deep in his chest and he situated her so that she straddled him and he began the kissing circuit all over again. “I’m so glad I found you in time.”

  She forgot about the rope burns on her wrists and ankles, forgot the fear of Lady Drummond’s retaliation, forgot everything except the visceral firmness of his body beneath hers or the heat that warmed her fingers as she smoothed her hands over his chest. “Lady Drummond will not be pleased to find I haven’t been sold after all. She’ll come after me, and she’ll know you had a hand in it.”

  “You needn’t worry. I’ll secure you a small house here in London, or if you’d prefer, a modest cottage in the country until such time as we can—”

  “I beg your pardon?” The warm haze surrounding her faded as his words sank in. “Despite what happened this evening, it doesn’t give you leave to pledge ownership of me.” Did he assume his rescue meant she’d reverse her earlier decisions and become his mistress?

  “Damn it, Clarice, that’s not what I meant.” He tightened his hands on her shoulders.

  “Perhaps you should explain.” She attempted to wriggle off hi
s lap, but he slid his hands to her hips and held her in place.

  “I just want you to be happy, and safe. I cannot do the latter unless I’m assured of where you’ll be, but I can certainly contribute to your well-being now.”

  “I am happy…” Her words trailed away as tendrils of old familiar fear wound up her spine.

  “I meant with me. If I secure you a small residence, I alone will know where you’ll be and can keep you safe from Lady Drummond. Why do you resist my overtures at every turn or think the worst of me? Do you wish to spend the remainder of your life miserable and fighting with every person who comes into your life?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Me, Lady Drummond, Cook, the maids, anyone in an authority position… eventually you’ll do the same with my mother.”

  She looked sharply into his face. What did that mean? “I fight because I care. I’ve tried to defend my roots and reputation. It’s the only thing I have of value, and that’s precious little besides.” Was that even true though? Did she argue at every turn because her life lacked depth?

  “Ah.” He drew abstract designs at her waist with his thumbs. “But what do you really want out of life, Clarice? You’ve met your father, now what is the dream you have hidden in your heart?”

  Her breathing grew shallow. She couldn’t think with him so near and conversing so intimately. A shrug was her only answer.

  “You are a coward, sweeting.” A grin flashed in the dark confines. “I’ll tell you what’s on my heart, which I should have done days ago. I care about you too much to see the hurt and ache in your eyes every damn time I look at you.”

  “I don’t have—” Her protest died when he placed a finger on her lips.

  “Don’t argue, huh?” His tired chuckle filled the cozy confines of the coach. “I want you by my side every day. I want to wake up beside you every morning and kiss your lips every night before retiring. I want to see your belly swollen with children—our children—and I want to grow old knowing I won the hand of the most beautiful woman in all London.”