by Hatch, Donna
“Oh?”
“I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t kiss you until you were free to be mine.”
“Mmm. I suppose it’s not your fault I’m such a tempting morsel.” She lifted her head and smiled at him.
He cupped her cheek, kissed her brow, and pulled her against him again. “I might break my word again before the day is through.”
Grant returned. “The Marshalls are not there.”
Genevieve lifted her head from Christian’s shoulder. “Where are they?”
“According to the servants, your parents received a visitor—their son-in-law—and they left with him. I stationed two men there to watch the house in case there’s any motion.”
Christian lips twitched sardonically. “How many men do you have at your disposal?”
“A plethora. And yes, you’re paying dearly for them.”
Christian waved it off as if the money were meaningless. As a youngest son, he didn’t have the family wealth at his disposal, but in Bath he’d mentioned some investments he’d made. Perhaps those investments had paid off.
“How long ago did the Marshalls leave?” Christian asked.
“Early this morning.”
Genevieve pictured her parents at the mercy of Wickburgh. He was probably playing one of his cruel games with them. She leaped to his feet. “I must go. It’s the only way to learn where he’s holding them.”
Christian stood. “And deliver yourself to that madman? No.”
“She’s right,” Grant said. “We’ll have to play his game for now. But not by his rules.”
He and Christian exchanged a charged look. Christian nodded slowly. “He wants her to come alone. ‘Alone’ is a very relative term, don’t you think?”
“It’s too dangerous for a lady travel by horseback,” Grant agreed.
Christian nodded. “She’ll need to travel by coach. With a coachman and a footman.”
Genevieve caught their meaning. “And perhaps even an outrider or two?”
Grant’s brow raised and she had the impression she’d just passed some sort of test. “Precisely.”
Christian grinned darkly as if he were contemplating the worst sort of mayhem, which, really, seemed incongruous with the Christian she once knew. But the new Christian was more complex than the sweet dreamer she’d known before. Or maybe she hadn’t known him as well as she had first supposed. Still, she trusted him completely, perhaps even more so.
“Think any of the servants’ livery will fit us?” Christian asked Grant.
“There are some very strapping lads as footmen,” Grant said. “I’m sure we can find something.”
A dark gleam lit Christian’s eyes at the prospect of a coup, and his hand gripped a bulge in his coat roughly the size of a pistol. An even darker gleam lit Grant’s eyes. Genevieve almost smiled. She might not want to meet Grant in a dark alley, but he’d be a good man to have on their side as they faced the man who wanted her dead.
Christian grimly called out orders to the nearest guard, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. The guard dashed away to do his bidding. Christian glanced at her, and then his eyes darted around, narrowing as he looked toward the window. He grabbed her by the arm and moved her a few steps to her right. “Stay away from the window.”
She let him move her, her mind racing to her parents. She prayed Wickburgh would keep them alive and unharmed while he used them as bait. The moment they were of no use, he’d dispose of them.
CHAPTER 28
Wearing the coat and hat of a coachman, Christian stood next to the back door, pulled Genevieve into his arms, and tried not to crush her. Her soft body molded into his and his senses filled with her scent and her sweetness. Grant, dressed in the fine livery of footman, spoke quietly to one of the Runners.
If the situation weren’t so dangerous, Christian would rib Grant about his fancy attire. But Grant understood Christian needed the better disguise of the coachman or Wickburgh would recognize him if they were seen. The temptation to discard the plan and carry her off to France or Italy, somewhere she’d be safe—and where they could finally be together—sang through his veins. First, her insane husband had to be stopped. Otherwise, she would never be safe and neither would her parents. But for the moment, he’d enjoy this moment holding Genevieve.
“I’ll be right there with you,” he said huskily into her hair.
She buried her face into his shirtfront. “I know you will. I’m not afraid.”
Heaven help him, he loved this woman so much that it physically hurt. He drew back and held her at arm’s length. “Do you have your gun?”
She nodded. “It’s in my pocket.” She patted the front of her pelisse.
“And the dagger?”
She lifted her skirts to show her riding boots with the hilt peeping out from inside.
His blue gaze bathed her in intense light. “If anything goes wrong, run.”
She nodded.
He gripped her shoulders. “I mean, it, Genevieve; don’t stay and play heroine.”
“I know.” She looked up at him with trust shining in her eyes. She placed a cool, steady hand on his cheek. “All will be well.”
He wished he could share her optimism. With a man like Wickburgh, anything could happen. And their plan would probably go wrong at some point, so he’d have to make snap decisions. He clenched his fists. The idea of gambling with Genevieve’s life and the lives of her parents turned him to ice.
Grant glanced at him. “Our first priority is rescuing the hostages. If we lose Wickburgh, let him go. You can still challenge him another time.”
Genevieve’s mouth dropped open and disapproval lurked in her eyes. “Challenge? To a duel?”
Christian met her gaze without apology. “One way or another, this ends.” If things got rough and Wickburgh got shot, no one would mourn his passing.
She nodded slowly, eyeing him as if she’d never seen him before.
“What is it?” Christian asked.
“He probably deserves whatever he gets, but I don’t want you to become something that would ….” She trailed off.
He touched her arm. “Tell me.”
“I just never thought you ruthless enough to duel someone.”
He stiffened. “Ruthless? Dueling is a matter of honor and I will do whatever I must to protect you.”
“I know, it just seems so close to murder. And you aren’t cold blooded.”
“No, I assure you, my blood is very hot right now. But I vow to keep a cool head. We’ll apprehend him and bring him before the authorities, if possible.”
She nodded again, her forehead creasing. Then she lifted her chin and put a hand on his chest right over his heart. “I trust you, Christian. Be careful. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”
Pride and love swelled his chest and softened the hard edge forming around him. It reminded him of his true goal to protect Genevieve and rescue her parents—not kill Wickburgh. She was right; he wasn’t cold blooded enough to kill a man. They’d subdue Wickburgh and let the Runners take him to the magistrate where he’d face the law for his crimes. No punishment would be too harsh for that monster.
Voices boomed through the great hall from the front door. Christian’s ears perked. Those voices sounded like Cole and Jared. He paused, listening.
A second later, the eldest two Amesbury brothers strode in dressed in riding clothes, looking so much alike that many people mistook them for twins. Their flushed faces and glittering eyes reminded Christian of wolves on the hunt.
Cole grinned. “Chris!”
“Having an adventure without us?” Jared grinned gleefully.
Cole’s gazed flitted over Christian and Grant, no doubt taking in their odd state of dress. “If you are, I’m insulted.” He turned to Jared. “Are you insulted?”
Jared nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”
Cole made an imperious wave. “We’re insulted. We demand satisfaction.”
“But first, we’re going with you to defeat you
r foes,” Jared added helpfully. “Then we’ll demand satisfaction.”
Christian’s head spun at the way they fired off their ridiculous comments.
Jared’s eyes gleamed as he gazed at Genevieve and his grin broadened. “Belay that. You must introduce me to this ethereal goddess at once.”
The sudden urge to plant a fist in the middle of Jared’s fool mouth seized Christian. “You aren’t going with us. I thought you were still in France with your wife.”
Jared ignored him. Instead he took Genevieve’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Dear lady, I am Christian’s favorite brother, Jared Amesbury, at your service.” He kissed her hand again. “I cannot understand what you see in him—too perfect by half for all of us—but it’s certainly clear what he sees in you.”
Christian shouldered him aside and pried him off Genevieve’s hand. “Stop slobbering on her, you great oaf. Go away, both of you.” He made a shooing motion to Cole and Jared.
“And miss out on a lark?” Cole opened his mouth and eyes in mock horror, looking more like a fish than an earl.
“Not a chance,” Jared said.
“Then stop squawking like a couple of hens,” Grant snarled from the corner.
Cole cocked a brow at Christian. “Yes, quite. What is your plan?”
Christian sighed. Secretly, he appreciated their offer to come to his aid. But he hated the idea that they thought he couldn’t handle himself. Still, with a madman like Wickburgh, and Genevieve’s life on the line, he’d be foolish to turn them away. “Very well. You can take the place of our outriders.”
“How soon do we leave?” Cole asked.
“Immediately.” Christian glanced at Genevieve. “She’s expected for tea and it’s about a two-hour drive from here.”
Rachel arrived. “Cole! Jared!” She threw her arms around them and kissed them both soundly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Christian turned to her. “We’re leaving one of Grant’s men here to protect you.”
Rachel pointed to a gun tucked into a belt around her waist. “Maybe I’ll protect myself.”
“Don’t get overly confident.”
She put her arms around his neck. “Don’t worry about me. You be careful. And come back whole.”
“That’s the idea.” He hugged his sister and released her quickly.
Grant handed Christian a bag grimly. “Real men’s clothes. I plan to change, if possible, after we learn where Wickburgh is keeping the Marshalls.”
Perhaps it was Cole and Jared’s presence, but despite the tension, Christian snorted in suppressed laughter. “Really, Grant, worried about your apparel? I’m surprised at your vanity.”
Grant glowered. “I have a reputation for not looking like a peacock, unlike you dandies.”
Cole and Jared guffawed like a couple of village brats. But since Grant was the object of their laughter, Christian allowed himself a smug smile. Despite the grimness of their mission, even Genevieve chuckled. With their nerves so tightly strung, emotions ran high—even humor.
Christian slung Grant’s bag over his shoulder. “After I stow your bag inside, I’ll bring the coach around front.”
Grant headed for the foyer, quiet as a whisper. Hopefully Grant would have the sense to stop moving like an infernal assassin and start walking with the heavier steps of a footman. Otherwise, Wickburgh’s henchmen watching the house would see through their ruse.
Genevieve stood by quietly, as serene as a painting, but her cheeks were flushed, the only indication to her nervousness. No doubt she feared for her parents. It was so like her to worry for them more than for herself. Christian gave Genevieve’s hand a quick squeeze, tugged his hat low over his face, and headed for the servant’s entrance, fingering his hidden weapons.
Outside, Christian’s nerves tingled on high alert. While trying to appear casual, he scanned the streets, searching for sign of threat to Genevieve. Every call of the pieman or flower girl, every cart that rattled by, and every horse that snorted took on sinister intentions but he found no imminent threat. The weight of his pistols helped, but seemed too far away. He headed for the mews, helped the stable boy hitch the horses to the coach, and snapped the reins. Moments later, coach wheels clattered on the cobbled street as he drove to the front door.
Cole and Jared waited in the street in front of the house, already mounted, their faces sober but their eyes alight at the prospect of adventure. With just the right amount of subservient confidence of a footman, Grant trailed Genevieve as she descended the steps. Christian hunched over on the driver’s seat and relaxed his gloved hands on the reins. He tried not to look too interested. Or too frantic. Grant handed Genevieve into the coach, stowed the carriage step, and swung onto the back for the ride.
On horseback, Cole and Jared led the way as they left London behind and followed the road through Hamstead Heath. The rambling grassy ridge offered a lovely view of London, but Christian kept his eyes trained ahead, barely glancing at the ponds and ancient woodlands nestled in the popular public area. No signs of danger. Yet. Christian remained alert, his senses straining for signs of danger. Cole’s Arabian cantered ahead while Jared’s blue roan flanked the coach. Both experienced military men, they would keep a sharp eye out.
Jared glanced up at Christian and grinned. Daft fool was enjoying himself far too much. But Christian allowed himself a smile in return. His brothers were here. In spite of the differences, they’d come to help him. Together, they would not fail. A comfortable familiarity settled into Christian and the knots in his shoulders relaxed.
Two hours later, they reached the hamlet where Genevieve had grown up. The closer they drew to her childhood manor where Wickburgh would lay the first piece in his trap for Genevieve, the more Christian’s gut tightened until the knots folded in on themselves. He straightened and fortified his courage. He would not fail her.
He turned the coach and began a slight climb through a country road lined with shrubbery turning golden at the beginning of autumn. Wind gusted through the hedgerows, making them whisper as if passing along news of their arrival, and sending a chill down Christian’s spine.
After turning down a narrow lane, the coach arrived in front of the Marshall’s manor, an ivy-covered brick house from the Tudor age. Though he’d almost married her, he’d only visited the house the Marshalls had let for the summer in Bath, and had never seen her family country home. The comfortable manor suited the Marshalls. He couldn’t reconcile the proper gentleman he’d seen in Captain Marshall with a man who’d commit mutiny. There had to be more to his story.
Christian slowed the carriage in front of the house, his nerve endings sparking. As the wheels came to a rolling stop, Grant leaped from the back of the coach, placed the step, and opened the door, bearing the appropriately servitude manner of a footman. Christian kept his gaze forward as the carriage subtly shifted underneath him while Genevieve climbed out. Careful not to look at her, he waited as she mounted the stairs to the front door of the manor. Before she reached it, the door opened.
“Welcome, my lady. You are expected,” a man said calmly in the cultured tones of a gentleman.
It was Connor Jackson. Christian went utterly still and hoped his expression hadn’t registered any recognition in likely event that other eyes watched him. Christian glanced at the Runner casually.
Jackson’s face was as impassive as a statue as he opened the door and ushered her in. Turning, he made a shooing motion at Christian and Grant. “You’ve delivered your charge, now return to your master. No need to wait. My lord will see her home.”
Christian ground his teeth. Though he was clearly following orders to continue the ruse, Jackson’s words still rankled. The idea of letting another man protect Genevieve while he turned away made him want to burst into the house, weapons drawn, and confront Wickburgh immediately. But that would endanger Genevieve’s parents, wherever they were being held. Besides, Wickburgh would be at a different location. Christian would have to see this game through a
nd let Wickburgh’s lapdogs lead the rescuers to their master. Grant inclined his head to Jackson, turned on his heel, and leaped onto the coach as if he hadn’t any concern.
Cole and Jared turned their horses around, Cole taking the lead as an outrider with Jared following the carriage. The moment they rounded a bend in the road and were no longer in view of the house, Christian slowed the team to a stop. Cole continued on ahead.
“Jared!” Christian leaped down from the driver’s seat as his brother cantered to him. “Give me your horse. I’m going to follow them. You, Cole, and Grant take the coach to the posting inn and get the other horses we sent ahead.”
Jared shook his head. “Not a chance. I’ll go with you. When we find out where they’ve gone, you can stay and keep an eye on things while I come back and guide the others to where they’ve taken the Marshalls.”
Cole galloped back to them, too far ahead to have heard their discussion. “We’re going back, yes?”
“I should go instead of Chris.” Grant swung down from the carriage.
Christian’s stomach tightened and heat flushed his face. “I am not leaving her there!”
Grant sneered. “Yes, you and your cool head will help her really well right now, not to mention your utter lack of experience tracking dangerous criminals.”
Christian marched up to Grant and stood nose to nose with him. “I am not the little brother you left behind when you went away to war. Get out of my way.” He whirled around and grabbed the reins from Jared, who stared at him as if he’d just turned bright purple.
“You’ll get yourself killed, idiot,” Grant hissed through his teeth.
Cole raised a brow and his mouth twitched on one corner. “The three of you go together. I’ll take the coach back and pick up the horses. Leave me a trail so I can find you, or send one of your men.” He tossed his horse’s reins to Grant and swung up on the driver’s box.
It was Christian’s turn to stare. Cole, the self-appointed leader of the brothers, was letting someone else take the lead? He shot his brother a look of gratitude. “Good. Let’s go.” He swung up onto the saddle of Jared’s roan.