Adrien stepped immediately out of the shadows. “Lord Brinsley, I’m sorry to interrupt you tonight. But it is most important.”
“What has happened?” Tension shot through Derrick’s body at the jumpy way the young man moved toward him.
“Lord Ashworth sent a note to inform you that the mission has been accomplished. He wants you and Lady Brinsley not to worry. We’ve succeeded in capturing Chasen and his accomplice.”
A wave of relief washed through him at the news for the sake of both Rathbourne and Amelia. He wanted nothing to upset her on this night. He curbed his need to ask if Rathbourne had beaten Chasen to a bloody mess. He would wait for the details from Ashworth.
“Then why all this subterfuge?” At his severe tone, Adrien took a step back.
“Lord Ashworth was very clear that I was to give the note only to Mr. Jarvis, Bonnington’s butler. When I arrived at the servants’ quarters, a footman led me upstairs to the dining room, where Mr. Jarvis was directing the servants for the late-night supper.
Derrick tried to curb his impatience with the young man who was barely eighteen years old. Tonight must not have been easy for him. Adrien had shown courage to sacrifice himself to protect his mother and sister. It wasn’t lost on Derrick that Adrien followed the same path as Derrick had to protect the innocent.
“There was a very stylish Frenchman in the dining room speaking with Mr. Jarvis. At first I thought he was a guest, since he was wearing a fine coat and jewels. But there was something familiar about him, the way he gestured with his hands. Then I realized he was on the same boat as Lisette and me. I came up on the deck late at night, and saw him in conversation with the man who called himself Chasen, the man who brought us from France. Chasen works for Fouche. They were hiding behind the fishing nets, looking around to make sure they were not noticed.”
“That bastard. I’m going to kill him.” A familiar rage coursed through Derrick’s body, the same sensation as when he was subjected to his father’s outbursts—a need to retaliate and destroy. As a young man, this killing fury had convinced him that he was a savage monster like his father. Over time, he learned to control his response to his father’s cruelty, and then how to temper his reactions in the world at large.
He wanted to swear, and rage, and punch his fist into Pisspot’s soft gut. Instead, he reminded himself that he had sworn to only use his power to defend the weak and the unprotected. And by God, Amelia was the unprotected, and it was totally his fault.
Derrick swallowed the ferocity bubbling up. “He calls himself Pierpont. Did you hear anything they were saying?”
Adrien shook his head. “No. I couldn’t risk having Chasen notice me on the deck.”
“Did you ever see the men together again?”
“Only when we were leaving the boat. The man nodded to Chasen before he got into a fancy carriage and drove off.”
Derrick had to get to Amelia, and then he was going to take Pierpont apart. Or whatever the hell the weasel’s name was.
“Get this information to Lord Rathbourne immediately. Tell him I have enough men to assist me. I will send Pierpont to London once I’m finished with him.”
Before beating Pierpont to a bloody pulp, he needed to extract the Frenchman’s real purpose in entangling himself in Amelia’s life.
“Yes, my lord. I’ll deliver the message immediately.” Adrien bowed.
Derrick turned and stopped mid-step. “Thank you, Adrien for informing me of the traitor. And you’ve done a fine job protecting your sister and your mother.”
Derrick hurried to the stairs while sifting through various dangerous scenarios. Incomprehensible—Pierpont, a French agent sent by Fouche, spending endless hours with Amelia. His entire being was stretched tight and taut, ready for action.
Why hadn’t he trusted his suspicions? Because Amelia wanted to work with the creative genius who was rumored to have been one of Josephine Bonaparte’s favorites. And he wanted Amelia happy. Pierpont’s story had checked out. And, distracted with the Irish threat, Derrick had not delved deep enough. Guilt for allowing Pierpont into Amelia’s life would hound him forever.
But now the challenge—how to extract the bastard from the ballroom without Amelia’s notice. The pisspot was probably going to start screaming or crying when he realized Derrick had found him out.
Derrick thundered up the stairs and into the ballroom. Standing at the door, he scanned the crowded ballroom for Amelia. Grateful for his height, he was able to see over the heads of all the guests. There was no sign of his bride or the Frenchman in the sea of people. Derrick wished to hell the betrayal was not going to devastate her, but first he must make certain that Pierpont didn’t harm her. How could Amelia’s perfect night be shattered? And where was she?
He refused to give in to the desperate fear skirting on the edges of his mind, making his hands shake and his body tremble.
Pierpont had no clue that his cover was blown. Amelia was safe.
Realizing that many in the crowded room had turned at his entrance and were staring at him, Derrick took a deep breath and nodded formally. He needed to pull himself together, and not draw attention and alert Pierpont to his danger.
He pasted a smile of sorts on his face and pushed his way through the guests. “Excuse me, needed by my wife.”
He heard a few men chuckle and offer their sympathy. “Poor dog.”
It took all his discipline to not shove harder. If he wanted to, he could clear the room in seconds. He lost his smile and polite manner halfway across the enormous room. He caught the comments that were intentionally loud enough for him to hear. “Already marital problems…” “Told you the happiness was all an act… Miss Bonnington was always in love with Lord Kendal.”
Derrick gritted his teeth and dodged two gossiping matrons before finally making it to the other side of the ballroom. Amelia was not in the entranceway with her brother and Miss Lyon. She had promised she would join them.
Derrick barked at the two footmen who stood at the doors. “Where is my wife?”
The footman stiffened. “My lord, Mr. Pierpont informed her ladyship that Cook had fallen and broken her leg. Lady Brinsley was very upset and went to the kitchen.”
The bastard had Amelia. How had Pierpont discovered the threat? Derrick ran toward the servants’ quarters. He shouted back to the footmen. “Was anyone else with her?”
“No, my lord. Only Mr. Pierpont.”
Derrick didn’t take the time to gather his men, who were scattered throughout the estate. He wasn’t going to waste a second. He would take care of Pierpont himself with his bare hands.
Derrick barreled around the corner of the long hallway. Amelia and the snake were walking together. “Amelia.” Derrick didn’t want to give any indication to Pierpont, but he heard the desperation in his voice.
Amelia turned. “Darling, what has happened?” She began to rush to Derrick when Pierpont grabbed her arm. The usually languid bastard was certainly fast and efficient when he grabbed Amelia.
Stunned, Amelia tripped and turned toward the Frenchman. “Pierpont, what are you doing? You’re hurting my arm.”
Pierpont pulled out a sharp stiletto from his boot. “He knows.”
Derrick considered rushing Pierpont, but the cornered man might stab Amelia.
“Have you gone mad? Release me now.” Amelia twisted, trying to break his grip on her arm.
Derrick clenched his fists at his side. “Let her go, and I’ll go easy on you. If you harm her, I will slowly tear you apart.”
Pierpont yanked Amelia’s back against his chest and pressed the glimmering knife against her pale throat.
Pierpont was going to suffer and wish he had never touched Amelia with violent intent.
“She’ll be dead before you can reach her.”
Pierpont’s maniacal laugh froze Derrick and forced him to stillness. Derrick prayed no one came out of the servants’ quarters and forced Pierpont to react.
“Derrick, will you pleas
e explain why Pierpont is holding a knife to my throat?” Amelia, trying hard to be brave, heightened Derrick’s frantic urgency to free her and abolish Pierpont.
“Release her, and you can go.”
Pierpont laughed again in a high-pitched cackle. “As if you don’t intend to hunt me down.”
“On my gentleman’s honor, I will not hunt you. But only if you let her go unharmed.” Derrick didn’t mention that he wouldn’t prevent Rathbourne and Ashworth from pursuing the traitor.
“Miss Amelia, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” He sneered at Derrick. “I will kill her if you don’t allow me to leave. I’ve killed many, and it is of no consequence.”
Amelia was staring at Derrick as if she were hatching an idea to break away. Derrick glared at Amelia, trying to convey “Don’t you dare” with his steely glower.
“I have a horse waiting at the servants’ quarters. And once I’ve left the estate, I will deposit Miss Amelia on the road. If your men follow me or shoot at me, she is a dead woman. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. I’ll adhere to your plan.” Derrick put his arms in the air as an act of surrender. “Do not harm her. She has done nothing.”
Knowing that Pierpont was desperate, Derrick forced his voice to a quiet calm. “Amelia, do exactly as he asks.”
He hoped she would not try anything. Knowing Amelia, she was already considering ways to disarm him.
“You go ahead. I don’t want you behind me.” Pierpont pointed to the door.
Derrick opened the delivery door to the outside. A horse was tethered to a post.
“Walk outside slowly. And don’t consider shouting for help.”
Amelia gasped when Pierpont pressed the blade harder against her throat. “One little slice, right here at the artery, and your wife will bleed to death.”
Derrick kept his hands at his side, not wanting to incite the lunatic into a rash act.
“Amelia, I will collect you on the road after Pierpont makes his escape. There is nothing to be worried about.”
How Pierpont planned to mount the horse with Amelia in an evening gown, he didn’t know, but it opportunity Derrick was waiting for. If Pierpont lifted her onto the horse, he would have to turn his back to Derrick.
But the gleam in Pierpont’s eyes conveyed that he had deduced Derrick’s plan.
Pierpont turned Amelia with her back to Derrick. “If you make a move, I’ll still have time to gut her.”
Amelia flinched. Derrick stood perfectly still, painfully aware of how dangerous Pierpont had become.
“What a shame, Miss Amelia, that you’ve become my means of escape. I’ve enjoyed our time together.” He slashed Amelia’s dress at her knee with the sharp blade, tugging at the material until Amelia’s legs were now exposed to her silk drawers. The bastard was going to suffer for the indignities inflicted on Derrick’s precious bride.
Amelia snorted. “I should have suspected when I realized you have no sense of color or design.”
Pierpont grabbed Amelia’s arm. “Mount the horse, and no tricks. I know you to be a skilled rider.”
Amelia gave Derrick the innocent, wide-eyed look he recognized from cricket matches. She was going to do something very risky and very stupid.
“Amelia, do you trust me to protect you?”
“Of course, darling.” Why didn’t Derrick feel reassured by her response? He leaned forward, ready to dive between Amelia and the knife.
“Shut up and get on the horse.”
Derrick would have a small window, an instant of time, to jump on Pierpont when Amelia was out of the direct path of the blade while Pierpont mounted the horse. Derrick readied himself mentally to grab the slimy bastard, then held his breath and waited.
Amelia placed her foot into the stirrup and then threw herself up into the saddle with a great leap, then sliding over the top of the horse and landing on the gravel.
Before Pierpont could react, Derrick leapt forward and threw a solid punch to the villain’s face, holding nothing back. Pierpont folded like a deflated balloon and crumpled to the ground. Derrick bent over the unconscious man. It had been too easy, and not very satisfying to knock him out, stone cold, with one punch. Derrick retrieved the knife from the ground.
Amelia tethered the horse’s reins back to the post.
“Amelia, are you hurt?” Derrick rushed to her and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m fine.” She trembled against him with tiny shivers. He could feel her galloping heart against his chest.
Derrick released her, only to remove his coat and wrap it around her, before tugging her back into his arms.
“I am never going to forget…” Derrick couldn’t finish. The words were wedged in his throat, strangling him with fear. He couldn’t consider the possibility of losing her. “And what were you thinking, taking such a risk? Of all the insane ideas.”
Amelia snuggled closer and hugged him around the waist. “I knew you’d make toast of Pierpont if you had a chance.”
Derrick laughed loud in relief that his beloved Amelia was safe.
“And I was right.” Amelia looked back at the unconscious man. “But what was Pierpont’s purpose in ingratiating himself as a design protégé? And is Lady Wadsworth a French spy, too? I am at sixes and sevens.”
Derrick recognized Amelia’s chatter as a release of nerves like a greenhorn after his first battle. “Let’s get you inside and away from this scum.”
Amelia pulled out of his arms and stepped around Pierpont, who lay motionless on the ground, and picked up the fabric from her gown. “I don’t want anyone to find the silk and speculate about how my dress was slashed to shreds. There is going to be enough gossip when I return to the ball in a different gown.”
“You are not going to return to the ball. You need to rest. A French assassin just held you at knifepoint.”
“There is no need for concern. I knew you’d save me.”
Derrick was grateful for her faith in his ability, but he knew how quickly Pierpont could have delivered a deathblow. He didn’t want to think about how close he came to losing her. It would be a long time before he forgot this night. If ever.
Amelia rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Returning to the ball will help us both forget this unfortunate episode. And I refuse to have bad memories of my wedding ball. I want to dance.”
“Fuck the ball. We are leaving for my estate. Go change your clothes.”
“Derrick Brinsley, did you just use that word in my presence?” And she giggled. She wasn’t as collected as she was trying to pretend.
“I’m going upstairs to change into another gown, while you do whatever you do to get rid of this…this traitor.” She shook her head. “And to think I trusted him.”
“I apologize, Amelia, for my language, but I’m not interested in anything but keeping you safe and away from harm.”
“Darling, please, I want to dance with you at our ball. You promised me.”
“How can you care about a damn dance? We’ll go to plenty of balls.”
“We’ll never have our wedding ball again, and I refuse to allow French spies to ruin my night.”
Derrick realized he should be grateful that Amelia wasn’t falling apart. She had worked hard to create the perfect wedding ball for them both, for months. He resigned himself to dancing and socializing. “Aunt Mabel was right about you. You have pluck. I’ll give you that, but from now on, no more damn French anything. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, dear.” Amelia, wrapped in his coat, rushed through the door. “I’ll meet you in the ballroom in less than twenty minutes. What thrilling stories we’ll be able to tell our children and grandchildren about our wedding ball.”
Epilogue
Amelia locked fingers with her husband’s. She tested the word silently—husband. Yes. Derrick truly belonged to her. In the black night, she looked up at the large figure towering over her. Derrick was as solid, straight, and true as the giant oaks looming above
them.
Light from the lantern swinging in Derrick’s hand accentuated the hard angles of his broad face.
In the silent woods, she could feel the quiet tension radiating from him. After the ball, he had been brusque, directing her to dress warmly, since they would be walking to a surprise rendezvous for their wedding night. Since it was the wee hours of the night, she had assumed that they would spend their wedding night at her father’s estate.
Derrick wasn’t a man of surprises. He was a quiet, serious man like her father.
Her world had been tilted on its axis many times in the past few days.
Nothing about the wedding had turned out as planned, including the revelation that her assistant wasn’t a friend or a design expert, but a French assassin sent to kill Gabby’s brother for revenge.
Amelia felt the burn of embarrassment, almost shame, like a sunburn on her sensitive skin. She had always believed herself to be a good judge of character, observant, possessing spy skills like her husband, since she had helped to expose a French smuggling ring the previous year.
She felt ignorant and ashamed by how naïve she had been. She knew nothing of the lengths men might be willing to go to seek revenge.
The only thing she did know was that she would never again be concerned when everything wasn’t perfect. Life wasn’t perfect. And it was messier when you cared.
“Derrick, where are you taking me?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.” Derrick kept a tight grip on her hand.
“But why all the secrecy? You’re not expecting another French assassin, are you?” Her attempt to lighten her husband’s somber mood fell as flat as a ball hit off the side of the bat for a cheap base hit.
Since the encounter with Pierpont, Derrick exuded a level of tension she had never witnessed in him. He’d returned to the ball after dealing with the French worm, and performed the roles of host and newlywed husband admirably. Only someone who knew him very well could know he was simmering with suppressed emotion.
“I wouldn’t put it past your brothers to plan hijinks for our wedding night. In fact, because of the grins I saw on those scoundrels’ faces at the end of the ball, I have a feeling it is exactly what they planned. I wish I could see their shock when they discover your empty bedchamber.”
A Wedding Code Page 9