by Jo Barrett
"Yes, of course! But you must promise me the same."
A crooked grin tipped up the edge of his lips. He pressed a quick kiss to her brow with a murmured promise, then raced to join the bucket brigade. Agatha did the same bringing up the rear with the rest of the women.
"Agatha, we need to wet down the area near the hedge,” Katherine said, as she appeared beside her.
She nodded, understanding what she intended. If they kept the area around the shed wet, then the fire was less likely to spread.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?” Lord Crittenden shouted, snagging Katherine by the arm.
"What does it look like, you fool?"
"You shouldn't be here, it isn't safe!"
She shoved at his chest. “There isn't time to argue, go help Lord Leighton!"
With a snarl, he hurried to aide Magnus, while she and Agatha, along with several of the female staff, tossed out water as fast as they could.
Several of their male guests joined the brigade to put out the flames while the ladies watched in abject horror.
"Ninnies,” Agatha growled, and tossed another bucket filled with water.
Although it took almost the entire day, and her arm was dreadfully sore, the flames were finally doused, the house saved, and all of them weary to the bone.
Agatha leaned against the wall, feeling ready to topple over, but strong arms pulled her away and lifted her from her feet.
"Magnus, I'm all right,” she coughed.
"You're exhausted.” He moved into the house and made straight for the study. Once there, he gently placed her on the settee. A glass of brandy appeared before her and she took it with a sigh, as he inspected her arm.
"It doesn't appear to be bleeding,” he said.
"I'm sure it's fine."
"You'll have Tess change the bandages when you go to your room."
She nodded at his order, noting for the first time the scars on his chest. With his coat gone, his shirt dampened with sweat and water, they stood out sharply against his skin.
Her eyes slid closed as she felt a deep pain in her chest for him. He'd endured so much, the fire, the loss of his wife, and now this lunatic determined to take revenge for something they couldn't fathom.
Katherine sat beside her with the assistance of Lord Crittenden.
"Can I get you anything else?” George asked her, as he handed her a glass of brandy.
"No, this is fine,” she replied with a heavy sigh.
The door closed and Lady Crittenden appeared before them. “Is there anything I can do, Magnus? It seems this week has been fraught with troubles."
"No, but thank you,” Magnus replied.
She looked down at Agatha and Katherine, a worried frown in her face. “Are you all right?"
"They both nodded and sipped their drinks."
"Well, I must say I've never seen such a sight,” Lady Crittenden said with a huff. “The two of you heaving buckets and the like? Such things are generally left to the men. I can understand such things from you, Miss Reynolds, American's are—different.” She cast a sly glance over her shoulder at her son. “But Ladies don't generally do such things."
"That's quite enough,” George snapped. “I'll not have you slight Miss Reynolds for her bravery and clear thinking. If she'd not thought to wet down the surrounding gardens, the whole house could be ablaze."
A grin teased the older woman's lips. “But George, dear—"
"Now is not the time for a lecture on deportment. Now if you don't mind, I'd like a word with Lord and Lady Leighton."
"Very well. I'll see to the others and make certain you're not disturbed,” she said with a nod toward Magnus before disappearing, a satisfied smile on her face.
Agatha glanced at Katherine who sat somewhat stunned, but no less aware of what had just happened. Lady Crittenden had been quite obvious in her little play, for they both knew she'd been filling buckets as fast as she could at the well. But George had been completely taken in. So much for doing nothing. Although to George's eyes, she was no longer prodding him to marry, the poor blind fool. The question was, however, did Katherine wish for George's suit?
Agatha shook her head at the quandary, there was little room left for more ponderings in her weary mind.
George bent low before Katherine. “You should be resting."
Katherine eyed him over her glass. “No, I'm quite fine. Right here with you,” she said softly, placing her hand atop his.
George's mouth fell open then closed with a click as he straightened and tugged at his neck cloth.
Agatha and Katherine exchanged amused glances.
"Yes, well,” George said, clearing his throat. “This business today—"
"It was set,” Katherine said without preamble.
Agatha nodded. “I'd feared as much. But how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You'd said that all of your chemicals had been removed. There was nothing left to cause such a blaze, so it had to be helped along."
"Agreed."
"Bloody hell,” Magnus said with a growl as he lifted his drink and downed its contents.
Katherine set her glass aside. “What I'd like to know is why the potting shed?"
George threw up his hands. “She's trying to kill her!"
Agatha chuckled roughly, her fatigue gaining ground. “George, what Katherine means is it was obvious I wasn't in the shed at the time, so why bother burning it down?"
"Isn't that what I said?” Katherine asked, her dainty brows arched.
"Not directly, no,” George grumbled.
It would seem an intelligent woman was a bit more than George had expected.
Agatha laid back against the cushions her head suddenly pounding. Matchmaking mothers, killers, chemicals, and a husband who teased her to distraction, all of it was paying a heavy toll on her sanity.
"Perhaps she was warning you,” Katherine said.
"That seems rather odd, she's made several direct attempts, supplied a note, why would she warn her?” George asked.
Before anyone could attempt an answer, Barstoke appeared.
"My lord, the Magistrate has returned, per your summons."
"Show him in,” Magnus said.
Katherine touched her hand. “Do you wish me to leave?"
She gripped her friend's hand in return. “No, but I warn you, he's not an easy fellow to deal with."
Katherine chuckled. “Neither are English lords,” she said, shooting her a grin.
"But you seem to manage so nicely."
They both chuckled, while George grumbled a choice explicative or two.
"You should go up to your room and rest,” Magnus said, taking her drink from her hand. “As should you, Miss Reynolds. Crittenden and I will handle this."
"You know, I think you are right. We shall leave this to you,” Agatha said, climbing to her feet. “But if you need any information regarding—"
"Yes, I know, Agatha,” he said, and ushered her to the door.
He turned to Miss Reynolds on her other side. “Have Tess stay with her once you've seen her to her room.” Magnus said, his hand at Agatha's back.
"Not to worry,” Katherine replied. “She'll not be alone, I promise."
But Magnus did worry. The fire was meant as a warning, but not to Agatha. It was directed at him. Whoever was perpetrating these events, wanted to remind him of the past.
Worn to the bone, Agatha insisted Katherine retire to her room, and set about taking a bath to remove the soot and grime. She nibbled at the last bit of cheese from a plate Barstoke had sent up for her dinner some time ago, having missed breakfast and lunch, and thought about Katherine's comment.
Why would she burn down the shed knowing I wasn't there
The door opened, and a breeze brushed across her damp skin. “I don't need you anymore this evening, Tess,” she said without looking over her shoulder.
"You were not to be left alone!"
"Oh!” She ducked deeper into the wat
er, but knew Magnus could see practically everything. “I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she snipped.
"This person grows more dangerous with every attempt! You are not safe alone!"
She sat up, forgetting her nudity, and flipped her towel open, exposing her pistol. “I happen to be a crack shot. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my bath."
His eyes roamed over her body, and she sank back beneath the water. With a leisurely stroll, he crossed the room.
"Allow me to assist you, my lady,” he said, his voice thick. He took a seat behind the tub, and she spun around, unable to face him.
He lifted the washcloth and slowly rubbed it across her shoulders. “If you want me to leave, you've only to say it."
"S-stay,” she whispered.
His breath brushed across her shoulders as he exhaled. Nervous, a little scared, but very excited. She wanted this, she wanted him...she wanted love, but what could they have together? Could she be so selfish as to accept his attentions when he couldn't find his pleasure as well?
His lips touched her skin at the base of her neck and she failed to withhold her gasp. His hands slid across her shoulders and down her arms to disappear beneath the water. She could feel the scars on his hand and arm, how different it felt from the left, but it didn't bother her in the least. All she could think of other than that passing thought of their difference, was what he was going to do next? Or more to the point, what part of her was he going to explore next and should she allow him? It was so unfair to him. This was so much...more than his kisses and his attentions the other night.
His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts and her breathing quickened. Then he lifted them from the water, caressing them as his lips moved across the nape of her neck to her shoulders. Rolling the pebbled peaks between his fingers and thumbs, she moaned in sinful delight, and laid her head back against his shoulder.
"You should stop,” she whispered, guilty for enjoying herself when he could find no pleasure of his own.
"Why would I want to do that?” he asked with a soft chuckle.
She turned, sloshing water over the sides and peered into his eyes. “It isn't fair that you give me pleasure when—” He stopped her words with his lips and lifted her from the bath.
He lowered her feet to the floor, ending the kiss. His gaze traveled every exposed inch of damp skin. “I never thought I would ever see anything so lovely ever again,” he said, his fingers gliding down her sides to her waist.
More compliments, but she wasn't about to stop him. It all sounded too wonderful.
He dabbed at her damp skin with a cloth, and she felt no shyness at his attentions, likely due to the fact that his lips followed much of his work, thoroughly distracting her from any embarrassment.
"This seems so unfair,” she murmured as his mouth teased a taught nipple, while his hands roamed lower.
"In what way, darling?"
"You should—mmm—find your pleasure—oh my,” she gasped as he teased the curls at the apex of her thighs, finding a highly sensitive spot.
"And you think this doesn't bring me pleasure?"
"I don't know—ohhh.” He slid a finger into the heated center of her being while his thumb toyed with that deliciously sensitive spot, and she nearly collapsed.
"Yes, Agatha. Let it take you, and I'll find my pleasure."
He swallowed her scream with his kiss as she flew apart in his arms. She'd never known such wonderful sensations, such rush of emotions. No longer able to remain upright as the waves receded, she collapsed against him.
Magnus lifted her and carried her to the bed. Her eyes glazed with spent passion, her flushed body bare to his view.
"You are stunning,” he whispered, and lowered himself to the bed. He slipped her spectacles off and placed them on the bedside table then began a long leisurely path down her throat to her breasts with his lips. Pausing, he pulled one pebbled peak into his mouth, and she arched into him.
He'd wanted this, wanted it all, but had been too afraid to move them to this level of intimacy before. He'd felt bold the other night, but now, after seeing the flames licking the sky, knowing that he might lose her no matter how hard he tried to protect her, he was determined to have all that he could—all that she would give.
He moved down, nipping and licking her skin, lower and lower.
"Magnus?"
"Hush.” His breath blew across her damp folds and she gasped at the sensation. Then his mouth was there, tasting her, tormenting her, driving her over the edge again, but from a much higher level, he was certain, and she shattered like fine crystal beneath him.
He wanted to claim her, make her his in truth, but dare not risk her rejection. It would kill him to see the disgust on her face. This was as far as he braved.
He rose from the bed and pulled the covers over her, and tucked her in securely, then turned to leave.
Her hand fell to his. “Stay with me, Magnus."
He clenched his jaw, wanting desperately to please her, but feared he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he were to lie beside her again. Not after watching her body flush with her release. He would return to her later, but not until his blood had cooled significantly.
Like a goddess, she rose from the bed to her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please, Magnus,” she whispered against his chest.
He held her tightly to him, her lack of clothing leaving his situation more exposed than he'd realized as his rigid shaft pressed against her belly.
She looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “Magnus?"
He put her at arm's length, hoping she didn't understand, but somehow knew he'd been caught in his lie.
With a frown, she reached for her spectacles on the table and turned her gaze to his. “You needn't have lied. You could've simply said you didn't want me. I said I would stay with you, you needn't have gone to such great extremes to keep me here,” she said, her voice tight.
He clamped his lids closed, hating that he'd let her believe he couldn't make love to her. But she had to understand. “I was trying to spare you."
"Spare me? From what, Magnus, the truth? That I'm a plain, plump wallflower? That I'm merely suitable as a wife?"
"No, damn it! You are not plain! You're beautiful,” he choked out. “You deserve a man that isn't—isn't a monster,” he said with a resigned sigh.
"You are no such thing.” She rose to her knees, her beautiful body barely hidden by the bedding she clutched in her shaking fists.
Brushing her fingertips across his scarred cheek, she said, “I see you, Magnus, not your scars."
"They're not only on my face, Agatha."
"I know,” she said with a watery smile. “But they aren't you."
"Agatha, I—I can't."
"Yes, you can.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he inhaled her delicate scent. Could he truly have what he wanted? Would she not turn away?
"Make love to me, Magnus,” she whispered.
He looked into eyes filled with more emotion, more caring than he ever thought possible, and all for him. But he could not, would not risk losing her.
"I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, prying her arms from around his neck, then left the room.
Grabbing a passing footman, he made sure someone was stationed outside her door at all times.
Agatha waited until she heard his solid footsteps leading away from the door before she fell to the bed in a torrent of tears. How could loving someone hurt so much?
He wanted her, his desire was evident, she'd been a fool to accuse him otherwise, but she'd felt so hurt once she'd realized he hadn't told her the truth.
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed her emotions aside, attempting to look at it logically. He wanted her, desired her, but would not make love to her because of his scars. He feared she'd be repulsed by them.
Shaking her head as she rose to retrieve her nightgown, she vowed not to let his fear win. “I will not let the past haunt
our future."
She returned to the bed and made her plans. First, she had to stop this fiend who wanted her dead and Magnus to suffer, a man who already suffered. He'd lost his wife, the grief alone would be difficult to bear, but he'd suffered so much more.
"Grief stricken,” she murmured, staring at the canopy above her bed. Could this woman be driven to murder by grief?
There was a clunk outside her door that sent her heart careening against her chest. Easing from the bed, she fetched her gun from the chair by the tub and silently made her way across the room. She pressed her ear against the door.
Muttered cursing seeped between the cracks. A footman, no doubt, had been ordered to watch her room.
She straightened with a soft sigh and shook her head. “Magnus, my love, what am I to do with you?” With a guard on her at all times, how was she to catch the murderer?
Still, it did bring a grin to her lips. He cared for her and her needs in so many ways. And soon, she'd see to caring for his.
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Chapter Twelve
The house finally devoid of guests except for Miss Reynolds and Lady Crittenden, Magnus breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Some of the guests had left the day before, shortly after the fire, while others had decamped that morning, feeling that with the recent incidents, they'd be wise to vacate the premises as quickly as may be before one of them fell prey to the accursed bad luck that plagued Bridley Hall.
If only his own luck would change. All day Agatha refused to speak to him. He supposed he deserved her censure for not telling her the truth. He'd spied her inspecting the remains of the shed with Miss Reynolds, refusing to heed his warnings to stay clear and inside where he could keep watch over her. Then once they'd completed their assessment, they shut themselves up in the orangery, neither he nor Crittenden were allowed inside.
"Damned annoying to be barred from a room in my own house,” he grumbled.
"They're scheming something. I feel it,” Crittenden replied.
"You've had matchmaking mothers and marriage minded ladies chasing after you for months. It's understandable that you would be a bit paranoid."
"I tell you, they're scheming something."
Magnus looked to Crittenden sitting across from him, a plaintive frown on his face. “Scheming or no, you've lost, you realize."