by Lauren Smith
The note failed to give a full name. Nor did it state what the business was. He would not waste time nor coin taking it to the constable. Instead, Hunter planned to go directly to the source. But first, he had to figure out the identity of C. Lionhurst.
“It proves useful.” At the very least, the note might serve as a bargaining chip to force a confession from the man who penned it. One he hoped would be able to put a stop to this madness. Once he solved her issue, he could begin removing Miss Woodcourt from his life before he found himself unable to let her go. An odd feeling hit him with the thought.
“How will we use it?” She trained her gaze on his, breaking his train of thought.
“Not we. Me.” It galled him that she thought she would be parading herself into danger. Footsteps sounded in the distance.
“Hurry, company is near.” Sinclair’s voice drifted through the space.
Hunter grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We have to go.” His heart hammered. It would not do if they were caught in the midst of their caper.
Rose’s breathing came in short, quick gulps. They had nearly been caught. The three of them managed to escape into the shadows just as Wolfe exited his carriage.
Standing in the veil of night, she glanced up at the two gentlemen. Lord Sinclair held the reins to a large beast. “I fear we have but two mounts.”
“Miss Woodcourt will ride with me.” Lord Aubry angled his head toward his horse.
“I most certainly will not.” Rose took a step back. The last thing she could abide at that moment was being pressed against him again.
He lifted her off her feet. “You have no choice.” He carried her to his horse, placing her upon it before mounting himself behind her.
She wanted to scream and pummel him. But most of all, she wanted to dismount. Given all the highhanded, pompous behavior he had displayed, she wished she could slap him. Yet her body pressed against his warmed as if it had a mind all its own.
Traitorous flesh. She would not allow the sensations to overrun her. Rose strained against his arm wrapped around her midsection in an attempt to put some distance between them.
“You cannot go about grabbing people every time the urge strikes you. Let me down!”
“And you, Miss Woodcourt, cannot go traipsing about London’s dark streets dressed as a lad just because you have a mind to do so.”
His warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered the words. A delicious chill galloped through her. “Very well. I concede. You walk and I shall ride.”
Laughter from behind broke the tension. “I fear you have gotten more than you bargained for this evening, Aubry.”
Rose turned her head and glared at Lord Sinclair. He paused momentarily, then resumed, his boisterous laughter filling the air as the men set their mounts into motion.
Hunter pulled her closer to his chest and nodded to his companion. “I will meet you at my residence once I have seen her home.”
Her heart sank. Of course he would take her home. After which, he would make a show of telling Gran what she had done. She stared after Lord Sinclair as he turned his mount in a new direction, growing smaller in the distance.
Gran would have her hide for the behavior she engaged in this evening. They may not belong to the gentry, but she had been raised to behave like a lady.
She had to convince him to keep quiet. Could she appeal to his desire for freedom? After all, they had committed a crime together. For all he knew, Gran would hand him over to the Bow Street Runners.
Rose knew Gran would never turn them in, but Lord Aubry could not possibly be certain of her reaction. She looked over her shoulder, forcing a sweet smile. “May I request a boon?”
He glanced at her with a nod.
“I ask that you allow me to sneak into my home. I do not wish for Gran to know what I have been engaged in this evening.”
“Do I have your word you will never again attempt something so foolish?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Very well. I will keep your secret.” He winked before turning his attention back to the road.
Rose could not escape the strange fluttering in the lower part of her body. Her reaction to him was hard to describe, except to say it was exciting. When he smiled or winked at her, it became far too hard for her to remain cross with him. There was nothing for it but to relax and enjoy the ride home. Determined to bask in the feel of him pressed against her, she settled into his hold with a yawn.
When the horse came to a halt beneath her, she opened her eyes. Her cottage lay just past the tree line. Her pulse picked up speed. Now, if she could manage to get in without Gran catching her, all would be well. She slanted her head to look at Lord Aubry. “My thanks for your assistance tonight.”
“You can thank me by refraining from any further adventures.”
Her cheeks flamed. Just when she started to like him again, he ruined her goodwill. Did he think her daft? She had already agreed not to attempt any more plots. How dare he chastise her for the same behavior he himself had engaged?
“I can handle myself from here.” She attempted to dismount, but found the task impossible with him still behind her.
His throaty laugh made her glare at him. She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from striking him.
“If you please, I would like to return home now.”
After dismounting, he reached out to help her. “I will escort you.”
Her breasts grazed his muscled chest as he lowered her down to stand on her feet, causing her breath to hitch. The angry heat that had filled her just moments before was replaced with a searing need to remain in his arms. She angled her head to gaze at him, her lips slightly parted.
He brought his lips to hers. The kiss, strong and demanding, yet somehow gentle, stole her wits entirely. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, lost to the new sensations coursing through her. Her hands reached up into his hair, twining into his thick locks.
A warm breeze wrapped around them, adding to her increased body heat. Her heartbeat filled her ears, as their tongues tangled together. The kiss went on for long minutes, until he suddenly released her, stepping back. Drat her shaking legs. She fought against their insistent quivering. The blackguard had kissed her senseless, then pushed her away. Her hand met his jaw with a resounding crack before she turned, making haste for the safety of her home.
Chapter Seven
Rose’s heart beat so loud she feared Gran would hear it beyond her closed bedchamber door. How dare the despicable, handsome lord place his lips upon hers? Worse than his brazen action, she enjoyed every toe-curling second. In truth, she was glad he kissed her, but vexed she had so thoroughly enjoyed it. She wanted more, acting like some Jezebel, as she pressed against his muscular form, desperate to take all he offered.
She tip-toed across the dark room, her hands stretched out in front of her, searching for her lantern. Her knees knocked against the bedside table and she reached lower, desperate to light the space. She needed to wash the dirt off her face and change her garments at once.
At last, her fingers brushed the lantern. After lighting it, she moved to her washbasin. Gazing into the looking glass, she wiped the streaks of grime from her cheeks and forehead.
Her lips were swollen from Lord Aubry’s kiss. She rubbed a damp cloth over them, shoving the memory of the blackguard’s demanding kiss from her mind. Earls do not marry common misses. No lords do. She sighed, dropping the rag into the basin.
They had been known to have dalliances with commoners, some even kept them as mistresses, but they rarely married beneath their station. She would never agree to a wanton assignation nor would she find herself as a mistress. Not even for the alluring Lord Aubry.
The breeches clung to her as she pushed them down her thighs. Memories of Lord Aubry’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, assaulted her senses. Every inch of her longed to feel his closeness again. Stop. Shaking her head, she balled up the male garments and stuffed them in the corner
of her wardrobe before pulling out fresh nightclothes.
Memories of this night would not leave her. She would cherish them for the rest of her days for she was not sure she would ever experience such a feeling again.
She sighed as she slid her nightgown over her head. The humid air in her room stuck to her, as she moved to her bed and pulled back her coverlet. Blankets would not be necessary tonight. She climbed into bed and settled against the pillows, her mind still racing.
The chamber door squeaked open, freezing Rose in place. Gran stepped inside, clad in her favorite cotton nightdress and cap. She held her breath, waiting for Gran to speak. Had she been found out?
“I left my bed to get a drink and heard you moving about. When I saw the light coming from under your door I decided to check on you. Is everything as it should be?” Gran approached the bed, a smile tugging at her lips.
Rose drew in a breath. “Yes, I simply could not sleep for worry over this mess with Mr. Wolfe and what he may do next. I thought a turn about my room might help.” A lie, of course. This new habit had to stop.
“And did the venture prove successful?” Gran lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I believe it has. My mind is now at ease.”
“Good. Now, get some sleep and do not waste your energy on things you cannot control. Even if he takes our home, we will find a way to go on.”
Rose nodded.
Gran dropped a kiss on her forehead before standing to take her leave. After a few steps, she paused before moving toward the wardrobe. “Whatever is this?”
Before Rose could think to stop her, Gran had bent down and straightened with a crumpled, white gentleman’s shirt in her hand. Rose’s heart sank. “It is… I was…” She sheepishly bit her lower lip.
“Never mind, dear. I am certain I know why this is here. It can be a comfort to keep our loved one’s things near our person once they have passed on.”
Thank heavens. Rose averted her gaze from Gran’s, unable to bear the sympathy shining in her eyes. “Indeed.” The lies piling up did not sit well with her. Once Wolfe was dealt with, she would never lie again.
Gran moved back to the bed. “I miss him, too. Despite his faults, your father was a wonderful man.” She patted Rose’s shoulder, then took her leave, shutting the door behind her.
Rose extinguished her lamp then settled back against her pillows. Papa would likely tan her hide if he were here now. He would no doubt be outraged over her sneaking about London in the dark and kissing earls behind the tree line.
Pray, forgive me Papa. Surely, you see I had no choice.
Hunter strolled into his parlor, heading straight to the crystal decanter on the sideboard. Miss Woodcourt had gotten to him--again. When he held her close, titles did not matter. Even the opinions of his peers failed to signify. Nothing other than the two of them existed. In those moments, he needed her the way one needs air. It had taken every bit of his control to set her away.
He filled a glass with brandy and took a long drink. The attraction between them was dangerous, yet he felt powerless to stop it.
“Welcome back. I trust you saw the chit safely returned to her home?”
Hunter turned. Sinclair lounged in a wingback leather chair, a glass of spirits in his hand. “Indeed.” He lifted his own glass and took another large drink, savoring the slow burn as the amber liquid traveled down his throat. The effect of brandy coupled with thoughts of Miss Woodcourt wrapped his gut in warmth.
He had succeeded, if one did not count the fact he had compromised her. Bloody hell. Why had he kissed her? It would never happen again. He could not allow it.
“I hope the search turned up something of use.”
“We found a slip of paper with a note scribbled upon it, but I am afraid it may not help at all.” Hunter sat down across from his friend, bringing the decanter along. “It was penned by a C. Lionhurst.”
With any luck at all, the man who had left the note would talk. If he did, it might prove enough to stop Wolfe and get Miss Woodcourt out of his life. His chest constricted at the thought. An after effect of the kiss they shared, nothing more.
“What do you intend to do with it on the morrow?” Sinclair asked, nonchalantly uncrossing his legs and straightening his back in the chair.
“Once I locate the man, I intend to confront him and demand he explain.” Hunter savored another drink of the soothing liquor before setting his glass aside. “The note demands payment for a service rendered. My hope is that this C. Lionhurst aided Wolfe in gaining the forged mortgage documents. If I can get the man to turn on Wolfe, I may be able to put an end to all of this.”
“And if you cannot find the man, or even figure out who he is? What if his service was not the forgery?” Sinclair balanced his glass, while flicking off a speck of dust from his sleeve.
“I will find him.” Hunter did not bother addressing the remaining question. This C. Lionhurst had to be the key to stopping Wolfe.
Persisting, Sinclair lifted one blond brow. “And if the man refuses to help?”
“He will not.” Hunter slammed his glass down on the side table. “We will not allow it. I cannot fathom what Miss Woodcourt may attempt next if I should fail her.” Hunter studied the wallpaper near the hearth.
He blindly stared at the burgundy scrolls, as he recalled the feel of her pressed against him. He could not allow himself to spend much more time with her. It would be detrimental to them both. He did not trust himself to keep his hands off her.
“My God, the chit has gotten to you.” A slow smile spread across Sinclair’s lips.
“She most certainly has not.” Hunter looked away as he took a drink of his brandy.
“She is rather alluring, running about in men’s clothing and breaking into offices. I must admit she charmed me as well.”
“Nonsense. I am not interested in Miss Woodcourt. If not for my sister, I would not be involved in this mess at all. I am only helping because I am too honorable to ignore her plight.” He filled his glass again before setting the decanter down with a sharp thud.
“Keep feeding yourself that line of rubbish, old friend.” Sinclair chuckled.
Hunter strolled to where Sinclair sat, decanter in hand. “Here, have another drink. It may clear your mind of those delusions.” He held out the liquor and Sinclair took it.
“Would you like for me to accompany you tomorrow? I may be of some assistance.” Sinclair smirked. “Or will our spunky chit be joining you to find and interrogate C. Lionhurst?”
Hunter blew out a breath. “Miss Woodcourt assures me she will not be executing any more plans. You are welcome to assist me.” The idea of her accompanying him sent his pulse rate through the roof. What if the man became aggressive? She could be harmed. He would kill this Lionhurst fellow before he allowed the man to harm a hair on her pretty head.
“Very well.” Sinclair stood. “I will return with the sun.”
Hunter nodded. The sooner, the better, in his opinion.
“May sweet dreams of the brave, spirited beauty fill your night.” Sinclair turned to take his leave. “I know she will appear in mine.”
Hunter glowered at Sinclair as he bolted from his chair. “Keep her out of your dreams.” The words came out rough, threatening.
“And there you have it. Honor has nothing on infatuation.” Sinclair chuckled as he made his way out of the parlor.
Bloody hell. He played right into Sinclair’s hand. Now, the viscount was no doubt convinced he cared for Miss Woodcourt. His actions were proof of nothing. He would do the same for any damsel in distress. He took another drink of brandy.
The memory of her lips pressed to his flashed through his mind, causing his breeches to grow tight. Lust, nothing more. After tomorrow, everything would return to normal. She would be out of his life.
Sleep did not come easy. Hunter tossed and turned for the better part of the night. Thoughts of Miss Woodcourt tormented his mind. At last, he admitted he cared for her. It did no
good to deny his feelings. He could not hide the truth from himself. Nor did admitting them change anything. He could not have her. Society would never allow the suit.
He gave himself a mental shake, slid from his mount, and followed Sinclair to the door. Before retiring last night, Hunter spoke with a trusted man he had used for locating people in the past.
This morning, an address was delivered to him. As it happened, there were only two living C. Lionhurst’s in London. One of them was yet a wee babe. He glanced at Sinclair. “Ready?”
Sinclair nodded then knocked on the weathered wooden pain.
The door to the small abode on one of London’s poorer streets creaked open. A middle-aged woman stood before him with red, swollen eyes, one hand fisted against her chest.
Hunter forced a smile. “We have come to call on Mr. Lionhurst.”
Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes. “I am afraid that is not possible.”
“We come on an urgent matter. Pray tell, when might he be available?” Hunter glanced over his shoulder at Sinclair.
“My Cecil was pulled from the River Thames this very morn.” Her shoulders shook with another round of tears.
“We are sorry to hear of your loss.” Sinclair clapped Hunter on the shoulder. “Do the authorities know what happened?”
She sniffled. “They say he was shot.”
Hunter suffered a moment of shock before he recovered himself. “Did your husband ever speak of a Mr. Wolfe?”
“Not that I can recall.” The woman sniffled.
Hunter turned for his waiting mount. “Bloody hell. Let’s go.”
“Thank you for your time.” Sinclair nodded to the woman before following Hunter.
“It seems this Mr. Wolfe may be more dangerous than I gave him credit for.” Hunter swung into the saddle. “Go report what we know to the Bow Street Runners.” He handed Sinclair the note they had found and a pouch of coins. “Hire them. I am going to pay a call on Miss Woodcourt.”