The carriage picked up speed when it left the street. He watched for landmarks and hoped Grace was all right inside. How the hell had they got her out of the house without him noticing it? He went cold, realizing they must have made her climb out the window; it was the only way he would not have seen them.
Nick closed his eyes at the thought of her falling. He had underestimated the Russian, believing he would not come for her again, here, knowing that Nick was now on to him. Especially as they had found the house Boleslav had held Harrington in, and taken three of his men whilst rescuing Grace’s cousin.
The carriage swung around a corner at speed, and Nick bit back a curse as he felt his hand slip, but he managed to hold on. They were leaving the busy streets of London, but it was some time before Nick felt the carriage begin to slow and he noted they had entered a village. The carriage rolled by some cottages and then turned up a driveway that was rutted and narrow. The dark concealed him as he jumped from the back and followed on foot, watching as the carriage pulled up in a clearing outside a house. The doors were thrown open and soon Grace appeared.
She was struggling against the hands that held her. Dressed only in her nightwear, she at least had on her slippers and a shawl. She was saying something in Russian, her words clipped and angry. The man who was presumably Boleslav grunted something back.
They carried her into the house and she fought them every step of the way.
“Good girl,” Nick whispered, making his way through the shadows toward the house. The moon was high, which would alert whoever was watching if he stepped out into the open, so he stayed where he was until he knew how many people Boleslav had put outside to guard the house.
He saw one at the front, and making his way round the rear of the house, he found another. With no gun or knife, he would need to be quick to disarm them. Waiting until the man had turned, he made his move, running across the grass and leaping, catching him from behind and throwing him to the ground. Once there, he knocked the man unconscious. Taking his gun he then searched him and found a knife. He slipped both into his waistband then headed around the building and did the same to the guard at the front.
Opening the front door slightly, Nick listened. He heard no voices, so slipped inside.
He checked the downstairs rooms, but found no one, and began to make his way up the stairs, stopping when he heard voices. One was Grace’s, but she was still speaking Russian, so he had no idea what was being said. He could hear another voice, again presumably Boleslav, but was unsure if he had any other men up there with him.
He then heard the sound of footsteps, and hurried back down, managing to hide beneath the stairs as two men reached the bottom. Hoping they were the only two in the house, he waited until they had moved to another room, and once again started back up. Light was coming from only one room. Turning the key, he unlocked the door and slipped inside.
Grace was seated at a table under a lamp with some papers and a pen before her. Her eyes went wide as she realized who had entered, but thankfully she remained silent. Placing a finger to his lips Nick walked softly to where she sat and cupped her face, before lowering his head and kissing her softly.
“Nick,” she whispered against his lips, and he heard the desperation in that one word.
“Shh, sweetheart.” He lifted her from the chair and into his arms, holding her close for precious seconds before placing her on her feet. He then went to the window. It was nailed shut. Smashing the glass would be too loud, so they would need to leave the room and find another, which hopefully had a window they could climb out of.
Taking her hand he then led her to the door, opening it he looked out, and saw the hall was empty, so he motioned for her to follow. He then locked the door behind them.
Taking Grace’s hand, he led her toward the only other room on that floor. He entered and headed for the windows. They were not nailed shut, and opened with a bit of force. Looking out, he gauged the drop to the ground, which was not great, but still enough to hurt Grace if she fell.
“I’m going first,” he whispered in her ear, “then you follow, and I will catch you from below.”
She nodded, but said nothing further, and he brushed another kiss over her hair before helping her out onto the roof. Nick then lowered himself over the edge and dropped to the ground. Once there, he motioned for Grace to follow. She didn’t hesitate, doing exactly as he had and then letting herself fall into his arms.
He heard a shout then, and realized that someone had entered the room and found Grace missing.
“Run!” he called, lowering her to the ground. She did, heading for the front of the house with Nick on her heels. The carriage had been moved and he knew they would have no time to find it, so he took her hand and headed down the driveway. There were ruts, and they both stumbled, but soon reached the bottom. Turning right, Nick then started running once more, leading them back into the little village.
Stopping at the first house he saw, he slipped around the back and found a good-sized stable. Opening the door, he pulled Grace in behind him.
“We need a horse,” he said, releasing her. She followed as he made his way along the stalls until he found a large bay that would be strong enough to carry them both back to London.
Finding a bridle and saddle, he quickly slipped them on, and led the horse outside toward the street.
“Hurry, Nick, they will be following,” Grace whispered.
Picking her up once they were on the street, he threw her up into the saddle, then climbed up behind, settling her into his lap.
“Dear lord, they’re coming.”
Nick didn’t look behind him as she said the words. Digging his heels into the horse’s sides, it sprang forward and he let it have its head as he heard the wheels of the carriage grow closer.
~ * ~
Grace dug her fingers into Nick’s forearms and held on. Her body was pressed to his, and his thighs held her secure. Dear lord, she could not believe he had come for her so soon. When she’d seen him walk in the door, her heart had nearly stopped. Her large handsome husband had found her and she had never been so terrified to see anyone in her life. She feared they would find him and in some way hurt him, and it was then Grace realized just how much this man had come to mean to her.
“Hold on!” He was crouched over her as the wind rushed at them, catching Grace’s hair and whipping at her clothes. He then turned the horse and headed for some trees. She could hear the carriage, the rattle of the harness, and thunder of hooves behind them, as they reached what appeared to be a forest. Nick didn’t slow the horse, just galloped between the trees, and as the first branches tore at them she heard the sound of a gunshot.
“Nick!” Grace cried as his body bent over hers.
“I’m all right, turn and press your face into my body!” he roared. “Hold on to me.”
She did as he asked, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. She could feel the thud of his heart against hers as he continued to race them through the trees. Minutes later they burst out once more onto a road. Looking around him, she saw the carriage, now some distance behind them, but still following.
“It’s farther back now!”
Nick grunted something but she had no idea what and then he was once again heading for the forest.
“The horse is not fit, and slowing,” he said into her ear. “We will need to find somewhere to hide until they find us or it can run again.”
They being the Lords of Night Street, Grace guessed. Once again she felt trees tearing at her hair and clothes and then Nick was pulling the horse to a walk. Grace kept her face pressed to his chest, her arms around his body, as they moved deeper into the forest. She was safe here in his arms, and so was he in hers… for now.
They walked for a while and listened for sounds of those who followed them, but heard nothing. Still, neither she nor Nick spoke as the horse walked softly through the trees, regaining its breath for when they needed it to run once more.
She felt his lips in her hair, and his large warm hand on her back as he stroked her slowly, and she did the same to him, slipping her fingers under his jacket to touch the tense muscles.
“We will make our way out now,” he said after a while. “Be alert.”
The moon was still high, and Grace looked down the road as they slipped out of the trees and saw no sign of a carriage, but she kept silent. Nick pressed his heels to the horse’s sides and it once again sprang forward, and soon they were galloping down the road. It was as they approached London that she heard the thunder of hooves and rattle of harness once more.
“They’ve found us, Nick!”
“So have the others!”
She looked forward, through the horse’s ears, and saw three horses coming toward them. The Lords of Night Street, Grace thought. They were galloping, guns raised as they flew past Nick and Grace. Nick stopped when he came to a small fence.
“Get behind it!” he said, lowering her to the ground before he turned and headed back to meet the carriage with his friends.
Grace gripped the wood as she watched him ride, ignoring the pain as it bit into her already sensitive palms. He stopped beside his friends, who had spread across the road, before the now stationary carriage.
“No!” She pressed a hand to her heart as she watched Nick jump from his horse, pistol raised as he ran toward the carriage. Leo joined him, while Marcus and Jacob stayed on their horses, guns pointed at the driver. Nick reached for the door handle and wrenched it open, anger evident in his every move. Grace crept forward slowly so she could see and hear what was happening.
“Out, before I have my friends open fire on the carriage,” Nick roared. “Now!” he added.
Grace held her breath as Mr. Boleslav stepped out.
“I should shoot you now for what you’ve put my wife and Lord Harrington through,” Nick growled.
“But you will not,” Mr. Boleslav said slowly. “Because unlike me, you are a good man, and murder is not something that would sit easily with you, Lord Attwood.”
“Yes, but I can still make you hurt,” Nick snarled. Grace watched her husband walk forward and smash his fist in the man’s face, who then fell to the ground heavily.
“We will finish this, Nick. Take your wife home now,” Lord Vereton said, gripping his shoulder, in case he was tempted to punch Boleslav again.
He turned and started back toward her, scowling when he noticed she had left the safety of the fence.
“I told you to stay there.”
She didn’t stop to think when his frown darkened, just ran at him. His arms opened as she drew near and she leapt at him.
“Grace,” he whispered into her neck. “Let’s go home.”
They did, taking the brave horse that had run hard and fast for them. He held her close as they walked through the streets and the gray light of dawn began to wake the city of London.
Vidal answered the door. “Lord and Lady Attwood!”
“It is a long and tiring story to accompany a long and tiring night, Vidal, therefore I shall reserve the telling of it until we have had some sleep, if you don’t mind. Please have this horse cared for, as he has ridden hard this night, and inform Lord Harrington when he wakes that we will now not be leaving for the country.”
“Of course.”
“And now my wife and I need to sleep.”
They walked through the quiet house together, and up the stairs. Nick led them to his rooms and pulled back the covers.
“In you get, sweetheart.”
“I need to change my nightdress,” she said, turning toward her rooms, but he stopped her by lifting her off her feet and lowering her onto the bed.
“You don’t need a nightdress.” He pulled it over her head then motioned her under the covers.
Grace helped him remove his clothes first, then climbed into the bed, sighing as her tired body settled against the sheet, seconds later he joined her. Turning her in his arms, he pulled her back to his front, pillowing her head on his shoulder.
“You, wife, have caused me nothing but trouble since our wedding.”
“It is hardly my fault,” she said, her voice slurring as sleep began to pull her under.
“From now on I shall have to keep a closer eye on you.”
“Yes,” Grace sighed as one of his hands stroked the outside of her breast. “You will.”
“Grace,” he said, kissing her cheek.
“I love you,” they both said together. No other words were spoken then, as they both drifted to sleep.
~ * ~
I hope you enjoyed Lord Gallant, book 1 of the Lords Of Night Street series. The second book in the series is Lord Valiant, and continues the Night Street boys journey, as they fight for justice.
About Wendy Vella
With 16 books published, best-selling author Wendy Vella’s passion for romance novels has grown stronger with every new release. She has multiple ideas running through her head at all times, and loves writing strong heroes and feisty heroines. Humor is her trademark, and mix that will sensuality and intrigue and you have a book that will keep you turning the page until the end.
For more information visit
www.wendyvella.com
RAKE’S HONOUR
Brazen Brightwell Series - Book 1
by
Beverley Oakley
A beautiful but penniless debutante, betrothed to a villain, embarks upon a bold plan to capture her true love's heart. But first a spurned suitor vowing revenge must get his comeuppance.
Miss Fanny Brightwell is in desperate need of a suitor that will please herself and meet her mama's exacting criteria. When a sizzling encounter with a handsome stranger at a masquerade ball leads to love, Fanny's dreams have nearly come true. But happiness and honour require settling a few scores, first.
Publisher’s Note: Rake’s Honour is written using British spelling.
Copyright © 2014 by Beverley Oakley
CHAPTER ONE
Vauxhall Gardens, 1818
One balmy summer evening in Vauxhall Gardens, the irresistible but impecunious Miss Fanny Brightwell made the biggest miscalculation of her life.
She realised it as she tore herself from the arms of her evening’s unsatisfactory escort, choking on a sob as she stumbled from their supper box onto the Druid Walk. She knew the repercussions would be very terrible unless the discretion of her deficient admirer could be relied upon—which was scant consolation since Lord Alverley’s notion of honour was the very reason she was in such a predicament.
Yes, there would be consequences for her surprising lapse. She just had no idea how terrible they’d be.
“Forgive me, Fanny!”
Alverley’s voice, desperate and disembodied, competed with the distant strains of the orchestra as he hurried after her. “Lady Georgiana has been my intended bride since we were children… I thought you knew that.”
Alverley wanted her to forgive him for such a betrayal when her future lay in tatters? Her mother would never forgive her.
Clutching the spider-gauze fichu of her daring costume, Fanny turned with a glare, stepping back to avoid his open-armed approach.
He wanted her, but not as his wife. Could he really imagine she’d sacrifice her reputation, and that of her family, to be his mistress?
Fighting back tears, she delivered her parting words, more a hiss than the dignified approach her mother would have counselled. “You deceived me, Alverley.”
The thought of being in his embrace ever again made her stomach churn. He had betrayed her, wasted more than a year of her precious life. A year, when she had less than weeks…
“Fanny, wait—” His eyes were beseeching.
Cow’s eyes.
She’d thought it from the start, so why had she persisted in this futile courtship, knowing, yet refusing to acknowledge, that his outward charms were illusory, his address gauche and his intentions—she trembled at the indignity—so extremely dishonourable?
The answe
r taunted her before she’d even finished asking herself the question.
Because the alternative was worse than death.
She thought of fat Lord Slyther, with his moist skin and his repulsive breath, and trembled even more.
Yet it wasn’t only Alverley’s deception that had landed her in this predicament. She had to take responsibility for her own gullibility. The normally careful, calculating Miss Fanny Brightwell had miscalculated, and wouldn’t her mother remind her that Lord Slyther was both just punishment and more than a girl like her could have hoped for?
She would, and Fanny couldn’t bear it.
“Fanny, I—” He was right behind her. Quickly, she spun away, her flimsy-soled slippers skidding on the gravel, her ankle giving way beneath her. She felt the brush of leaves, the scratch of branches, and thought of the pitiful sight she would make as her mother vented her fury upon her.
Fanny was to have made the Brightwells’ fortunes. She amended this in the split second available for thought. Fanny had begged to be given this last chance before the ghastly alternative that would ensure the Brightwells’ survival…
…but Fanny had failed.
The ground rushed to meet her. So! This was to be the final indignity—to land in the dirt at his feet!
She closed her eyes, throwing out her hands and tensing as she anticipated the pain, wishing the price of her failure could be similarly condensed.
Instead, strong, unfamiliar bare arms scooped her up and an amused voice murmured in her ear, “Young lady, I think you’d be far safer tucked up in your own bed than consorting with this obviously unsatisfactory gentleman.”
She was pinioned against a hard chest clad in fine linen. When she looked up, a pair of dark eyes glinted at her through the slits of his demi-mask. Instinctively, Fanny struggled, causing her rescuer to chuckle. “It seems your companion has bitten off more than he can chew.”
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