Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  Nora knew trouble when she saw it; right now she was looking at six feet of it. She’d better cut him down to size fast. He’d come to toy with her, not kill her, not yet.

  ‘So, it’s like that, is it?’ She quirked a saucy eyebrow at him, doing her best not to let him see how much she loathed the idea of being bared before him. ‘You’ve come to torture the prisoner. Certainly, you can’t call what you intend to do anything else.’ She started moving, swaying her hips as she made her own circling perusal.

  Nora gave a husky laugh as Witherspoon realised one can only be circled if one stops moving. No doubt he’d been too shocked by her lack of fear to catch on. Now, however, he was furious. His eyes narrowed, calculating, assessing her game.

  ‘Is this how you bargained with Stockport?’

  That was truly alarming. ‘What does Stockport have to do with any of this?’

  ‘You tell me. Why does a man bandage up the very enemy who would ruin his financial livelihood? If you ask me, you must know some pretty interesting tricks to please a man like Stockport to such a degree.’ He tapped his riding crop. ‘I find that I’d like to know what those tricks are, myself.’

  ‘You’re not half the man Stockport is. Anyone can tell that by the pathetic way you attempt to curry his favour.’

  ‘You’re nothing better than a thieving whore!’ he said, his voice rising dangerously with his temper. He started moving too until they were circling each other like prowling dogs.

  Nora ignored his comment and returned to her own line of conversation, doing her best to hide her tension. He would pounce, that much was inevitable. He would make a grab for her. She just wanted it to be at a time of her choosing.

  ‘Witherspoon, that’s an unusual name. Traditionally, English names describe something about a person or their family line. For instance, “Smith”, usually refers to smithy work, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, what have you. Wither means to wilt.’ She pursed her lips and tapped them with a finger. ‘Spoon. Hmm. I can’t say I’ve heard “it” called that before, but I suppose it is possible.’

  Despite himself, Witherspoon was drawn into her little monologue. ‘What, pray tell, is “it”?’ he said crossly, his eyes narrowing slightly, betraying his readiness to spring.

  Nora smiled and sprung the trap. Ingenuously, she widened her eyes, an innocent look at odds with the calculated sway of her hips. ‘Why, the male member of course. Witherspoon.’ She made a drooping gesture with one of her fingers and pointedly glanced down at his crotch.

  Witherspoon stopped circling, his cold face now infused with an angry red as he grasped the meaning of her by-play. ‘You little bitch!’

  He lunged. Nora was ready for him. The force of his attack took them both to the cot. Nora grunted as her shoulder rebelled against the fight, but she ignored it as best she could, sinking her teeth into the tender part of his cheek and drawing blood.

  Witherspoon reared back, yelping in surprised pain. Nora shoved at him, catching him off balance on the narrow cot, and toppled him to the ground. He grabbed for her and she kneed him in the groin, forcing him to let go of her.

  There was a commotion outside the doors and Nora raced up the stairs while Witherspoon writhed on the dirt floor. She started screaming, hoping the guards would remember she was a woman and forget she was prisoner and unlock the door. She didn’t want to face an angry, recovered Witherspoon.

  ‘Eleanor!’ a familiar voice called with urgency from the other side and Nora wanted to weep with relief.

  In moments, the bars were lifted and Brandon’s form filled the doorway. ‘What happened here?’

  It was all Nora could do not to run straight to his arms and beg protection, but that would do neither of them any good.

  ‘He attacked me, milord,’ Nora said, trying not to show how upsetting the incident had been.

  Brandon’s jaw tightened, the only sign of distress he allowed himself to show. ‘Guards, get Mr Witherspoon up and see that he is cared for, then see that he has no further admittance to see the prisoner,’ he barked.

  When Witherspoon had been removed, and the guards were busy tending to him, Nora motioned Brandon down to the rumpled cot. ‘I was afraid the guards wouldn’t care enough to open the door,’ she said in a low voice. The door was still ajar. Apparently, she’d inspired fear regarding the safety of male visitors.

  ‘I doubt they would have if I hadn’t been there.’

  His hands covered hers and Nora became conscious of them shaking inside his warm grasp. ‘I’m all right,’ she reassured him.

  ‘I hate that I cannot touch you, Nora. I want to draw you into my arms and comfort you.’ Brandon’s voice was raw with emotion. ‘The guards told me to wait, that Witherspoon was inside already. Then I heard you scream. A thousand fears ran through my head. I swear I would have rammed that door down myself if they hadn’t unlocked it.’

  ‘I know you would have,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You must have provoked him something fierce.’

  ‘He provoked me. I didn’t care for his suggestion that I was overdressed for our conversation.’

  Brandon tensed and Nora knew she’d better watch her words before Brandon ended up facing Witherspoon at thirty paces. ‘The bastard wanted you naked.’ He grimaced.

  ‘It didn’t happen,’ Nora said softly.

  ‘I have to get you out of here,’ Brandon said with frightening determination, casting a backwards glance up the staircase. ‘There’s going to be a trial. I came to tell you that the judge will be from Manchester, but the trial will be here. I am, in part, relieved that I won’t be the magistrate hearing the case. Yet, I’d hoped I might be able to find a loophole to declare a mistrial.’

  Nora shook her head violently. ‘Listen to me, Brandon, you cannot risk such a blatant ploy.’ She squeezed his hands to emphasise her point. ‘Witherspoon suspects we have some type of licentious arrangement. The only thing that stands between us and his suspicions, frankly, is this blonde wig.’

  ‘That’s why we have to get you out of here, fast. We can’t rely on that wig holding out for ever. I have an idea. Where do you get your sleeping powder? The one you used at St John’s?’

  Nora shook her head. ‘Brandon, you cannot help me in any way. Witherspoon will ruin you. It will give him the last bit of proof he needs.’

  ‘I will not be commanded in this, Nora. I will not let you hang while I can prevent it. You are my responsibility. You would not be here if you hadn’t misunderstood Jack’s remarks at the ball. I never meant for this to happen.’

  A guard coughed at the top of the stairs. ‘Milord, it’s been ten minutes.’

  ‘I’ll say when it’s been ten minutes,’ Brandon barked up the stairs. ‘I need five minutes more to question the prisoner.’

  ‘You cannot come again, Brandon. You owe me nothing. But I must tell you something,’ Nora whispered. ‘Witherspoon is deliberately sabotaging the mill for insurance fraud. I have the proof, stolen from his own safe. The papers are at the Grange beneath the squeaky step on the stairs. Get the papers.’

  ‘That’s why he wants to see you dead,’ Brandon said.

  Nora nodded. ‘If the worst happens, and I am exposed as your betrothed, you can use the papers to bargain with Witherspoon and protect yourself.’

  ‘I want to explain everything. I won’t have you believing I was going to betray you, that I used our association to set you up. I will come again. I will see you free,’ Brandon vowed.

  She slipped her hands from his, although it killed her to do it. He was all she had right now. Nora gave a wan smile. ‘No, you won’t.’ Then she screamed, ‘Get your hands off me! Guards! Twice in one day—I swear I am not safe from these lecherous gentlemen.’

  Brandon was saved. The papers were damning. She watched Brandon’s back as he moved towards the door at the top of the stairs. Then it shut and she was alone in the darkness to wait for the inevitable. At least now she could wait with a clear conscience. It was a weight off her mind to
know that the people she cared about most—Hattie and Alfred, and Brandon—were protected in case she couldn’t protect herself.

  Brandon was in a temper by the time he got home. He threw his stallion’s reins to a groom and stomped into the house, bellowing for Jack.

  ‘He’s in the drawing room with—’ the butler began, taking Brandon’s riding gloves.

  Brandon didn’t wait to hear the rest of it. He was already on the way to the drawing room. He was halfway across the room before he realised Jack was with someone.

  The woman turned and smiled, a misleadingly sweet smile if one knew her well enough to know. ‘Jack has been telling me that I am just in time for a jail break and perhaps a wedding,’ she said in pleasant tones.

  Brandon would recognise that voice and that countenance anywhere. It was like looking at himself in the mirror, only female. It was the first good thing that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. ‘Hello, Dulci. I am glad you could make it.’

  Dulcinea Wycroft patted the seat beside her. ‘I know you wrote three weeks ago, but I had loose ends to clear up and you know how the roads are this time of year, all ruts and puddles.’

  Brandon grinned at his sister. He didn’t want to ask exactly what qualified as a ‘loose end’ these days. The last time it had been Viscount Gladstone’s marriage proposal, which she had rejected in short order. Dulcinea might look like a living, genteel rendition of Snow White, but she did not act like it. Dulcinea meant soft, calm. His sister was anything but placid. Excepting Jack, there was no one he’d rather have with him.

  Dulci tossed her raven-black hair and reached for a tea cup. ‘Jack tells me a notorious cat burglar is masquerading as your intended. At your behest, I should add.’

  ‘Jack talks too much.’ Brandon threw Jack a scolding glance. ‘He should be helping me think of a way to get her out. Witherspoon nearly had his way with her today.’

  ‘What stopped him?’ Jack inquired.

  ‘Her knee.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Jack, crossing his legs uncomfortably.

  ‘I like her already,’ said Dulcinea, looking pointedly at Jack, daring him to respond.

  Brandon intervened quickly. Dulci and Jack were known for their legendary battles of wit. ‘I don’t have time to play spectator to your demonstrations of verbal prowess. We need to think about Nora.’ He nodded to Jack.

  ‘You were right, Witherspoon is setting up an insurance scam with the mill. Nora told me where to find the papers. She says I can use them for protection against Witherspoon if necessary. It’s no wonder he was so eager to beg for my favour. He was betting on my reputation squelching any potential scandal. No one would dare say an Earl committed such a heinous act.’

  Brandon sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘She doesn’t think she’ll get out. I could tell. She’s taken care of everyone, doing “last things” in her own way.’

  He heard Nora’s own desperation in his voice. He tamped it down and forged ahead. He didn’t need Dulci and Jack’s pity. He needed their strength. ‘Witherspoon won’t allow her to stand trial. We can’t give him a chance to go back there and finish the job. I have a plan.’

  To their credit, Jack and Dulci both turned their attention on him and Brandon proceeded. ‘We can slip sleeping powder into the guards’ dinner and free her when they fall asleep.’

  ‘And?’ Jack asked.

  ‘That’s it,’ Brandon said, feeling suddenly sheepish.

  ‘That’s it? If it were that easy, there would be no one in prison. Everyone would slip powders to the guards.’ Jack began to enumerate his concerns. ‘First, we have to get the powder without raising suspicions. Second, you, Brandon, cannot go anywhere near her or an apothecary’s. Witherspoon smells blood. You’ve got to lay low.’

  ‘Fair enough. If you’re such a genius, what do we do?’ Dulci put in, taking an opportunity to rib Jack.

  ‘We use her network,’ Jack said simply.

  ‘And I know how,’ Brandon said with a smug smile, taking a leaf out of The Cat’s book of tricks. ‘She once ran me ragged when I followed her on her shopping rounds in Manchester and all the while she was conducting business under my nose.’

  In the end, Witherspoon was indeed far too suspicious. Brandon could not leave the house without attracting attention. While the plotting had been his idea, the execution of it was left up to others out of necessity for its success. After putting the plan into motion, Brandon could do nothing more than sit back and rely on others, a role he was not used to.

  It was up to Dulci to pass a small note to Mary Malone when she visited the crofters’ cottages. It was Mary Malone’s son who carried the note to the apothecary’s when he went to visit a friend in the old neighbourhood. He carried the prescription for a large supply of sleeping powder when he came home.

  It was Dulci who wooed the cook’s assistant out of the tray he carried nightly to the guards on duty and dumped the powder in the meals. She sat with the two burly guards and poured them wine and regaled them with bawdy stories until they fell over.

  It was Dulci who lifted the heavy bars from the door and raced down the steps towards Nora, who already stood alert at the sound of the door opening at an odd time of night.

  ‘There’s no time to explain, but you’re free,’ Dulci gushed upon reaching Nora. Dulci whipped off her cloak and swung it around Nora’s shoulders. ‘Brandon was right, we are of the same size.’

  ‘What is going on?’ Nora queried.

  ‘Brandon has engineered your jail break,’ Dulci said gaily, as if this were all grand fun instead of a felonious crime. ‘I am to stay here, so they’ll think it’s you asleep in the morning when they come with your breakfast. It will buy you a few more hours to get further away. Then I’ll tell them I came to collect the dishes last night and you hit me on the head.’ With that, Dulci grabbed up the ewer and smashed it into pieces.

  ‘Brandon’s not here, is he?’

  There was panic in the other woman’s voice and Dulci was glad to hear it. Like Jack, she was curious and doubtful about the nature of Brandon’s association with the woman.

  ‘No, Witherspoon could not be shaken.’

  ‘Then how?’ Nora gestured helplessly. ‘How did he arrange all this?’

  Dulci smiled conspiratorially. ‘He used your network. He told me you led him on a wild goose chase all over Manchester. We did the same to Witherspoon and his men. There were three decoys and one real message. Mary Malone’s boy it carried to the apothecary’s for the powder.’

  ‘She should not have risked it,’ Nora scolded.

  Dulci was moved by the tone of the other woman’s voice. ‘Everyone wanted to help when they heard. You are well loved and not in the least by my brother.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that. He has a care for his own hide now that the game has gotten so perilous and he has become implicated so completely,’ Nora protested.

  Dulci looked at the woman speculatively. ‘Well, there’s no time to argue that out now. You need to be off. Brandon waits for you and you can sort it all out together. Now, go. Ride to Mary’s cottage. Brandon is there. Hurry.’ Dulci winked.

  Brandon was the only thought crossing Nora’s mind as she sped through the night on the horse Dulci had left outside. She had to see Brandon one last time, to thank him, to tell him all debts had been paid, the scales between The Cat and the earl were even.

  She’d been wrong, at least in part, about what she’d overheard at the ball. Whatever manipulations she’d held Brandon accountable for, not all could be laid at his doorstep. He’d done his best for her the night of her capture and now he’d engineered her rescue again. These were not the actions of a man who wanted to see her betrayed.

  There was still the issue of his motives for complicity. All this effort might simply be for the benefit of clearing his name. Once The Cat left Stockport-on-the-Medlock, he would be out from under suspicion. Still, it seemed to her that an Earl of his magnitude could have found other, easier ways t
o clear his name should it come to that besides assisting in her escape. It would be easy enough to simply turn against her or concoct some tale at having been elaborately duped by the said betrothed. Perhaps a whirlwind affair that addled his brains? Ha, Brandon Wycroft was the least likely of men to have his mind turned to mush over a woman. Still, he had the papers and could quietly turn those to his advantage. Oh, yes, he had plenty of options. He hadn’t needed to free her. And yet he had…It bore thinking about. The impossible suddenly looked more probable once again. Brandon made it easy to believe.

  If her mind had been less absorbed with Brandon and the conundrum of their relationship, she might have noticed the two mounted horseman dressed darkly and discreetly following behind. As it was, she was oblivious to all but reaching Brandon and getting through what would have to be their final meeting.

  A single candle burned in Mary’s window, the usual sign that all was safe for The Cat’s approach. Nora swung off the horse and ran to the door. It opened before she could knock and Brandon swept her into his arms, smothering her mouth with a kiss.

  ‘Nora, you’re here. You’re safe.’ Brandon tugged her inside, reluctant to let her go.

  The cottage was warm and cosy. Mary was conveniently absent, but Jack was there along with a man Nora didn’t recognise. Nora stiffened at the sight of the stranger by the fire. Instinctively, she pulled back against Brandon’s hand. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘My vicar.’ Brandon gestured to the tall, balding man who rose. ‘He came to the village the same time Eleanor did.’

  Nora relaxed slightly. Upon closer inspection, she did recall the man. He and the Squire had paid a call on Eleanor. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  The man smiled politely. ‘My child, I am here to perform your nuptials.’

  Nora turned to Brandon. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Did he think to marry her to Jack? The thought was horrifying.

  ‘He will marry us, tonight. You will be my Countess and beyond the reach of Witherspoon or anyone else who hunts you.’