by Laura Landon
Briggs felt the barb of her words strike at his heart. “I do take my job seriously, my lady.”
“I know you do, sir. I imagine, however, that this isn’t the exciting case you’re used to solving. I doubt you thought you’d be forced to accompany me on tedious walks around the park.”
“I have not been forced to do anything I have not found pleasure in doing. Nor have our walks been tedious.”
“Ever the diplomat, aren’t you, Mr. Murdock?”
Without waiting for him, she continued down the path. He caught up with her quickly enough. “I know these last three weeks have not been easy for you, Lady—”
She spun to face him. “No, they haven’t, Mr. Murdock. They’ve been bloody horrible.”
She turned away again and continued down the path. He caught up with her again. “Is there anything I can do to make them more pleasant?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without stopping or turning to face him. “You can go back to London and leave Mr. Livingston here to protect me.”
He followed, making sure to keep a few steps behind. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my lady.”
“Why? Are you afraid you will not be paid your very generous wage? Don’t worry, Mr. Murdock. I’ll make sure father pays you what you agreed on. And more.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to refuse.”
She marched on. “Why?”
“Because I have always seen every assignment through to its completion. I refuse to let you be my first.”
She slapped her fist against her skirt. “Oh, please. I’d love to have that distinction. At least there would be one reason for you to recall having met me.”
Her words came back as forcefully as a slap across the face. “Enough, Polly!”
She stopped. Turned. Then glared at him with the angriest, most contemptible expression he’d ever seen. One he never expected to see on her face.
“How dare you!”
She took one, then two steps in his direction.
“How dare you call me Polly!” She took another angry step toward him. “No one calls me Polly! My father doesn’t even call me Polly.” She clenched her hands into tight fists. “How dare you refer to me in such a familiar manner.”
“I dare because that’s how I think of you.” He clasped his hands around her upper arms and held her. “I dare because you’ve been Polly to me since the night we met.” He pulled her closer so she was forced to lift her chin and look at him. “I dare because Polly is the only name that fits you.”
Then he did the dumbest, most irresponsible, most careless thing he could imagine doing. He pulled her to him, lowered his head, and kissed her.
His kiss contained all the anger and frustration that had been building inside him since the moment he’d discovered who her father was. Her kiss contained all the hurt and righteous indignation that had been building inside her since he’d told her she meant nothing more to him than the money her father promised to pay him.
He deepened his kiss, wishing he could erase all the hurt he’d caused her. He moved his lips over hers, hoping he could show her how deeply she affected him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. He didn’t know what he wanted her to understand. What he wanted to show her. Give her. Tell her. Because he could never be anything to her. He could never mean anything to her.
A bolt of reality shot through him with the force of a battering ram. What the hell was he doing?
With an abruptness he couldn’t control, he lifted his mouth from hers as if her lips had burned him.
Their ragged gasps hovered in the country air. His chest heaved as violently as hers did. His heart thundered violently enough that he knew she could hear it beating beneath her ear. Feel it beating against her cheek that rested against his chest.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered as he held her. “What the bloody hell have I done?” He sucked in a deep breath. “Polly, I—”
She stepped out of his arms. In a swift move, she held up her hand to silence him. “Don’t! Don’t. Say. One. Word. Don’t you dare!” Then she turned her back on him and walked away.
Briggs watched her walk down the path that led into the garden and he let her go. Kissing her had been a monumental mistake.
He took one step toward her, and another. Then stopped. What could he say to undo the damage he’d done? What words would erase the hurt he’d caused?
“Briggs!”
Briggs stopped short when he heard Roarke holler in the distance. He turned when he heard him running toward him.
“Where are Lady Pauline and the dowagers?”
“Lady Plainsworth and Lady Shillingham stopped a ways back. Lady Pauline is up ahead.”
“You go after Lady Pauline. I’ll get the dowagers. I found tracks. Someone broke through the guard line. I lost them. But they’re close.”
Briggs ran toward Polly before Roarke finished his sentence. If something happened to her it would be his fault.
He raced down the path she’d taken. He didn’t call out. He didn’t dare. He couldn’t risk alerting anyone as to where she might be.
She wasn’t down the first path he took and he doubled back to search a second. His heart raced faster in his chest. He’d never battled such raw, uncontrollable fear in his life. Never been consumed by such overwhelming terror as was devouring him now.
He stared down the path before him, praying that he’d see her there. But the path was empty.
He turned, not knowing where to search next, and he saw her.
She’d stepped off the path and stood still as a marble statue as she stared out across a small pool of water.
The relief he felt was unimaginable. He raced toward her, anxious to get to her before something happened.
She turned to face him before he reached her and he knew from the cold expression on her face she wasn’t pleased to see him. He also knew she wasn’t in any frame of mind to cooperate. He used the only words he hoped would break through her hostility.
“They’ve found you. You’re in danger.”
Her expression changed on a breath. Briggs was thankful she didn’t argue, but turned to follow him.
That’s when he saw it. The glint of something to his right. A slight movement of something…someone, in the bushes. Realization struck him that it was too late to escape.
Briggs pulled Polly to him and pushed her to the ground. He heard the muffled pop of gunfire behind him. Felt the fiery sting of a bullet tear his flesh. Knew he was wounded enough to lose consciousness if he gave in to the intense pain. But he couldn’t. Polly wouldn’t be safe if he did.
“Stay down,” he whispered. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
A wave of relief washed over him. “In my pocket,” he rasped. “My pistol. Can you reach it?”
“I think so.”
He felt her reach into his pocket and pull out his pistol. He took it in his hand, but had trouble supporting it. The bullet had entered his flesh on his shoulder. His body screamed in pain with every move.
“Don’t get up no matter what happens.”
He pushed her down flat against the ground, then rolled to his uninjured side. The gunman chose that moment to lift his pistol to take another shot at them.
Briggs fired and the man yelled.
“Briggs!” Roarke yelled.
Briggs could hear his fellow investigator race toward him. “I’m here.”
“Are you all right?” Roarke asked as he ran past them.
“Good enough.”
Briggs tried to get to his feet but couldn’t manage. He lay back down on the grass beside Polly. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” he asked her.
“No.” She sat up and looked down on him. “Thanks to you.”
He tried to smile but wasn’t sure he managed. Thankfully he heard the clatter of footsteps racing down the path from the house. “Is someone coming to help?” he asked.
“Yes, several of the staff.”
“
Good.”
“Briggs?” she asked. There was a frown on her face now. “What’s wrong?”
He felt her trembling fingertips touch his forehead, then the side of his face. She placed her hand beneath his jacket to help him sit. He struggled to keep the moan from escaping, but wasn’t able to.
She pulled her hand out from beneath him and stared at her palm. “Briggs, don’t move. You’ve been shot.” She turned to where Roarke was attending the assassin. “Mr. Livingston!”
“I’m all right, Polly. I’m not badly hurt. Stay here until Roarke comes for you. I just need to sleep for a while.”
“No, no. Don’t go to sleep.”
She reached for his hand and held it.
“Roarke!” he heard her yell. “Hurry! Please.”
That was all Briggs heard.
He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Polly sat at Briggs’s bedside and watched him sleep. The doctor had been here then left. He’d removed the bullet from Briggs’s shoulder and put some salve on the wound with instructions that they place a fresh bandage and salve on it every day. Thankfully, Briggs slept through the ordeal.
“How’s he doing?” Roarke asked when he entered the room.
“I think he’s waking,” she said. “Would you help me hold him down? He mustn’t tear the stitches the doctor put in.”
Roarke went to the other side of the bed, then held Briggs down. “Steady, mate,” he said. When Briggs bucked to escape the hands holding him down, Roarke placed his arm across Briggs’s chest.
“Don’t move, Briggs,” Polly warned. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t move, Briggs. Just lie still.”
“Polly. Polly!”
“I’m right here, Briggs. I’m fine. We’re both safe. It’s all over.”
Briggs calmed considerably, then his eyes fluttered open. He looked from one side of the bed to the other. “Polly?”
“Yes, Briggs. I’m right here.”
Briggs’ chest heaved as he struggled to take several breaths. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He turned his head and locked gazes with his fellow investigator and friend. “Did you get him?”
“Yes. We got him.”
“Is he dead?”
Roarke shook his head. “You didn’t even wound him proper. Just enough to slow him down. He’s locked up in the storage cellar telling everything he knows. I sent one of the servants to London with the details concerning the man who hired him. Including his name.”
“Who was it?” Polly asked. She hadn’t really believed her father when he’d told her there was a plot to harm her. Now, she knew he’d been right.
“The man who hired him was the Earl of Flemberly.”
“Flemberly? I don’t believe it. Why? He’s a friend of Father’s. We’ve been invited to his home on several occasions. I am friends with his two daughters. We are of an age. I’ve known them my whole life.” She looked at Briggs. “Is this over the bill Father is introducing before the House?”
“Yes,” Briggs answered. “Your father’s bill will expand export trade. There are several in the House who are against foreign trade. Some are against it as a policy. Others oppose it because of lost capital.”
“But to resort to murder?”
“Greed is a powerful motivator, Lady Pauline,” Roarke added.
“So what now?” she asked.
“We wait for instructions from your father. When he sends word it’s safe, we’ll return to London.”
Polly looked down at her hand still held in Briggs’s grasp and pulled it free. That meant that after they returned to London, she’d never see him again. It meant that he wouldn’t have to pretend he didn’t care for her, because she knew he more than cared for her. The kiss they shared proved he did. Just not enough to be bothered with her.
Roarke stood and turned to the door. “I’m going to get you something to eat, my friend.”
“I’m not hungry,” Briggs said.
“Well, I am. If you don’t eat what Cook sends up, I will.”
Polly watched Roarke leave the room. When she turned back, Briggs was looking at her. The expression on his face told her he wanted to say something.
Polly knew what that something was and she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear him tell her he regretted kissing her. She didn’t want to hear him apologize for his reaction to their kisses. She didn’t want to hear him make excuses for kissing her. Excuses that were lies.
“Are you thirsty?”
Briggs nodded.
She stood and filled a glass with water, then placed it to his lips. He drank, and when he finished, she put the glass back down. “I think I’ll leave you for a little while. Mr. Livingston will be back soon.” She walked to the door.
“Don’t go, Polly. We need to talk.”
She stopped with her hand on the knob. He’d called her Polly again. He’d called her a name that no one used when speaking to her. A name only she had ever considered fit her. A name he made sound like an endearment.
She shook her head. “You made your feelings abundantly clear before you were shot. You regret kissing me. I understand that. And I regret that you kissed me.” Polly swallowed hard. “I regret that kiss more than you know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some rest.”
Polly stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her before he saw the tears she couldn’t hide.
. . .
More than a week had gone by since Briggs had been shot. His friend, Roarke, had been correct when he’d predicted that Briggs would heal quickly. He had. Other than having to take it a little slowly, he was out of bed, and able to walk on his own. He spent a great deal of time out of doors, as if being confined indoors was intolerable. Or perhaps, being confined indoors with her was what he found intolerable.
It was evening, and he still hadn’t come in from the garden.
Polly stepped out onto the terrace and looked around. It was starting to get dark and he’d been out far too long. She should have checked on him earlier and hadn’t. Now she was beginning to worry.
She walked across the terrace, then to the bench down one of the paths. This is where he usually sat when he came out. Thankfully he was there now.
“I see you’re reluctant to come inside again tonight,” she said when she approached him. “I don’t blame you. It’s a beautiful evening.”
He turned.
The first glimpse of him caused spikes of longing to pluck at a soft spot inside her chest. She ached with a need she’d never felt before. She longed for a relief from agonizing desires she couldn’t understand. Desires she knew wouldn’t go away.
She walked closer and he made room for her beside him. She sat, even though she knew there was no wisdom in such a move. “I wonder why we never visited Redwood,” she said. “I know it’s a long distance from London, but it’s beautiful here. So peaceful. It would have been worth the time it took to get here.”
Briggs didn’t answer, for no answer was needed. They sat together and looked up at the moonlit sky.
“Have you heard from Father yet?” she asked. Part of her feared that he had and they’d have to leave soon. Another part of her dreaded that he hadn’t and the painful torture of being with him, yet trying to avoid him, would continue for more agonizing days. Or weeks.
“No. He hasn’t written yet.”
“I imagine we’ll hear before long.”
“Are you anxious to return to London? You’ve missed a large part of the round of balls and social events.”
“Not so very many. I hate to admit this, but I could live without going to one all Season. I find them tiresome.”
“Then why do you go?”
She hesitated. “Because it’s what’s expected of me. And…” She found it difficult to continue.
“And,” he finished for her. “It’s where you go to be included in the marriage mart.”
“Yes.
”
“And have you met your future husband, yet?”
“No,” Polly answered through the lump in her throat. “I haven’t met him yet.”
“Don’t worry, my lady,” he said. “You will.”
“Yes, I will.” Polly didn’t want to talk about this any longer. The idea of searching for a husband was the last thing she wanted to think about. How could she even consider searching for that special someone when she’d already met him? When she’d already discovered the only man she could ever love?
She looked up into the starlit sky and breathed a sigh. Yes, she’d already discovered the man of her dreams. But he didn’t want her.
She rose to her feet. “It’s getting late. Are you ready to go inside?”
“Yes,” he answered, then stood. The second he got to his feet, he staggered.
Polly reached out and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Hold on to me until you regain your balance.”
“I don’t know what happened,” he said, clasping his arms around her.
“You’re not completely healed, Mr. Murdock. You’re still weak. Hold on to me until you’re strong enough to stand on your own.”
They held on to each other for several minutes.
Polly wasn’t sure the exact moment she realized that Briggs’s strength had returned. She wasn’t sure the exact moment she realized that his arms had moved from holding onto her, to just holding her. Or when his hold became an embrace.
She took several deep breaths, then slowly tipped her head back and looked into his face.
His gaze was focused on her—on her lips, and she saw him struggle with his resolve not to kiss her. She knew the exact moment he lost his battle.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
He drank deeply from her, taking as much as she would give, demanding more than he’d ever asked of her before. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she opened for him.
She’d always thought of kisses as the brief touching of lips, as nothing more than the embrace of two close acquaintances. But kissing Briggs was nothing like that. His kisses were thunderstorms, and bolts of lightning, and violent winds. His kisses were quakes that shook the earth and brought down buildings. His kisses shook her whole world and left her weak with desire.