An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  “Son of—” St. Clair broke off the curse, unlike Carlisle who voiced his unmistakable opinion in some incomprehensible language.

  “Where is this house and how did you get here, Danielle?” Westcott could do nothing now to ease what had to be a painful bruise and time was fleeting.

  Steadier now, Danielle told them of her escape. “Anne said to come here and wait for you. The house is not far. There is another man with them. I don’t know who he is.” She clutched Westcott’s hands. “They want you, sir. I was to be exchanged for you.”

  “Were you.” He felt something settle, a cold calm gripping him, and knew the night would end in death, and not his own.

  “What say, gentlemen? Shall we give the man his wish?” If Westcott’s grin was as feral as those of his friends, he felt it well Danielle had turned her head. “Dev, see if Frank and Pete made it to the stables and bring them here.” St. Clair slipped away and Westcott put his hands on Danielle’s shoulders.

  “You’ve done well, Danielle, and I need you to be brave a little longer. I want you to stay with the men. You know them, and Bill Fenton and some other of Westhorp men will soon be here.” She looked ready to protest and he held up his hand. “I cannot do my job and get Anne if I need to worry about you. I promise to bring her here and we will all ride home together.”

  She locked her trembling lips and nodded.

  “Good girl.”

  St. Clair returned then, and there was no time for more. Westcott ordered the men to stand guard and alert the others, and leaving the shotgun for Frank, they headed out. It was no good for close work and he had his pistol. He had given St. Clair the other and Carlisle had that damn blade he carried everywhere, tucked into his boot. The Captain didn’t care for guns, said they were too dangerous, but Westcott had seen the man in action with his knife and deemed it, and him, just as dangerous.

  This house was not dark. Faint light shone through the two narrow windows on either side of the door. They circled around looking for another entrance, but the rear door was nailed shut. A set-back, and they drifted to the lean-to that held a pair of horses, presumably for the carriage standing beside it.

  “It would help to know where Anne is and if they know Danielle is gone. I don’t believe it to be the case, or someone would be out searching for her. What we need is a way to draw the third man out. Take care of him and get a feel for the interior when the door is opened,” Westcott said. Unfortunately he hadn’t a single idea. He looked at St. Clair. Dev was ingenious. Maybe he could come contrive some kind of plan.

  St. Clair held up the lantern. The lean-to contained little more than the manger, some dusty tack hanging from a peg, and thrown in a corner, a pitchfork. He picked it up and tapped the handle lightly on the wall. “This will do. Banged hard enough it will sound like a horse kicking.”

  “Better wallop it good if you expect them to hear it. I hope the whole damn shed doesn’t come down on your head,” Carlisle said, his expression implying the earl was out of his mind.

  “I’ll get their attention first,” St. Clair said, looking amused. “Give me one of those knives of yours, Jasp. You and Nick get in position. I’ll handle the driver.”

  “Devil take it. You’re going to stick that poor horse.” Carlisle grimaced, but obligingly reached in his pocket, brought out a pocketknife, and opened it.

  “If you have a better idea, let’s hear it.” St. Clair chose the livelier of the two horses and rubbed animal’s neck. “I swear to keep him in clover the rest of his life if it makes you feel better.”

  Westcott, half-listening to this familiar-from-boyhood banter, watched the house intently. The windowpanes were small and the glass dirty—impossible to see anything but a few shadows. He signed to Carlisle his intention to watch from the right. Then he moved forward. The idiots had no guard posted, but then again, they were expecting him to walk right into their hands.

  The horse’s scream filled the air like some kind of banshee. Poor fellow. They owed him. The repeated thunk of wood on wood was no less startling. The door flung open and a man barreled out.

  Westcott stayed flat against the wall, but the fellow looked neither right nor left, set on getting to his horses. Intent on seeing as much of the interior as possible, Westcott put him from his mind. St. Clair would see to him. But the door stayed open only long enough to reveal two men seated at a table. Where was Anne?

  ~* * *~

  Anne was hunched on a low stool beside the Major’s chair. It had not been long after Danielle’s escape that he had bellowed for her to come down, and she’d dared not protest or delay. If he or Meraux had come up… They had not, and still are unaware she is gone. Worry about how to warn Nicholas. There was no doubt in her mind that he would come after them.

  She no longer had her pistol, which she deeply regretted. With no excuse to wear her cloak, and feeling it too dangerous to keep in the pocket of her gown, she had left it upstairs. Reynard would have noticed it—his hands were all over her as she backed down the ladder. Fury bubbled inside her at the memory, and she wanted badly to take her little knife and attack him. Do nothing to draw his attention, Anne. Nicholas is coming. Be ready.

  Meraux was foxed. The Major had cut him off some time ago. He was slouched in a chair, rambling on about “his Danielle” until she wanted to scream. Reynard was not drunk, unfortunately, and he was getting more and more restless, pacing around the room, cursing Westcott, her, the army—he was truly insane and the knowledge was an icy ball of fear inside her.

  Reynard had finally sat down and commenced winding her hair around his hand, pulling it just randomly enough to catch her unprepared each time—an activity he seemed to relish. She was braced to bear it as stoically as possible, when a horse’s scream split the air. Chills ran over her, and Anne held very still, willing the hand on her head to disappear. Nicholas. It had to be Nicholas responsible and if meant to be a distraction, it was effective. The driver leapt to his feet and raced out of the building.

  Reynard released her with a shove that tossed her to the floor and stormed over to the door. “What the hell was that?

  Anne saw her chance. She scrambled to her feet, scurried up the ladder, and let out a scream almost equal to the horse’s.

  “You bitch. When I get my hands on you…” Reynard dashed across the room, lunged for his weapon, and put his foot on the first rung.

  Anne grabbed the pistol and cocked it. “If you take one more step I swear I will shoot you.”

  “Stupid woman. I can shoot it out of your hand before you can pull the trigger—if you even have nerve enough to do it.”

  “She does. Count on it. Put down your weapon, Reynard.” Westcott eased through the doorway, his gun steady and aimed for the Major, Carlisle just behind him and moving to pull the dumb-founded, whey-faced Frenchman upright and propel him forward.

  Reynard swung around to face the intruders. “The hell I will!” He seemed to gauge the distance between himself and Westcott and his face twisted in an ugly snarl. “I told that lying bitch I’d get you, and this time I can’t miss,” he shouted and pulled the trigger.

  Westcott dodged to one side and fired simultaneously, Reynard’s bullet missing him by inches. His shot fared better. Reynard staggered, and crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from his neck.

  “Seems you are wrong, you bastard. You can miss.” But he was speaking to a dead man.

  “Is he…?” Anne had the presence of mind to lay the pistol down but her feet felt frozen to the floor and she wondered if she was going to faint. All she could see in her head was the gun pointed at Nicholas. He could have died—because of her.

  “Anne, my darling girl.”

  He was up the ladder then, arms tight around her in a desperate grip, and she clung to him. “You are not hurt?”

  He shook his head and touched the welt on her cheek. “But you are. Did he…?”

  “No, a few blows. It’s nothing.” She felt him shudder, his expression so grim and bleak she
gasped and raised trembling hands to cup his face. “Nicholas. I am fine. It’s over. I am safe—we are safe.”

  “Oh, God.” His kiss was wild, fevered, born of the despair he’d felt, the fear. Anne returned it with the fire of her own terrors, burning away the horror of the past few hours.

  “Nicholas, Nicholas, don’t, my love.” Anne touched his hair, his eyes and lips, anything to erase his anguished look. “All is well.”

  He caught her hands in his and placed a kiss in her palm. “No, it is not, but perhaps the top of a ladder is not the best place to discuss it.”

  “Nick? I hate to interrupt, but there are a few things needing your attention.” Carlisle leaned casually at the bottom of the ladder and gazed up at them with a quizzical expression. “I can take it Anne is safe and well, I suppose.”

  “Very much so, and yes, we are coming down.”

  His smile was faint when he looked questioningly at her, but it was a smile nevertheless, and Anne’s heart eased.

  “Ready?”

  Anne nodded, not trusting her voice. She did not want to traverse the ladder again—or any ladder, ever, but she had only to go halfway and Nicholas there to lift her to the floor, the reassuring feel of his hard, solid body driving more of the chill from her heart.

  “Lady Westcott. It is good to see you unharmed—mostly.” Carlisle’s eyes narrowed at the mark on her cheek, but he smiled warmly and took her hand.

  “Anne, please. Thank you for your part in this. I did not expect you but am very glad you were here to help.” She turned to Westcott. “Do I hear St. Clair outside? And Danielle? Where is Danielle? I was so afraid….”

  “She is safe with Bill Fenton. St. Clair can answer for himself.”

  St. Clair strolled in looking as if rescuing maidens was an everyday affair, took her hands in his and smiled down at her. “Anne. You are looking remarkably well for your ordeal. I told Jasper you were a very resourceful woman.”

  “Devlin. I am so grateful for your assistance.” Anne pressed his hand, but fatigue washed over her, and she slumped against Westcott.

  “You are exhausted and I’ve need to ask more of you.” Westcott brushed the hair from her face. “Will you allow Jasper to take you up to the manor and wait for me? There are some things here I need to attend to.” He pointedly did not look towards the body sprawled behind them.

  “Of course.” She touched his cheek. “Come when you can.” She gave a fleeting thought as to Meraux and the driver, but was too weary to ask what would become of them.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Captain.” Anne placed her hand in his, glad for the support.

  “Now, how is it that Dev is favored by your use of his name and I, a poor sailor, am left out in the cold?”

  “Jasper, then.” She actually smiled at his nonsense.

  ~* * *~

  Somehow Anne found the strength to greet Danielle with some semblance of calm, stay upright on the long ride back to Westhorp, and reassure a sleepy Sarah of their well-being. Danielle was placed in Mary Caxton’s competent and sympathetic hands, and after a cup of hot tea to revive her, Anne went to bathe. She had to wash away the smell and feel of the Major—and not a little grime, she realized, seeing her reflection.

  The first streaks of dawn showed gray when she finally crawled into bed, her body aching and so exhausted she doubted she could sleep. She wanted Nicholas, wanted his person, warm and comforting beside her, and she wiped away the tears seeping from behind her eyelids. He and his friends had likely dealt with the men and disposed of the body by now. She would not ask how and did not care, so long as she never saw them again.

  “Anne.”

  Was it his voice? Nicholas? At first she feared it her imagination, until she breathed in the scent of him and felt the light caress of his hand on her hair. Anne opened her eyes to see him standing by the bed, an uncertain expression on his face, and she held up her arms. “Nicholas.”

  “I wasn’t sure of my welcome,” he said, sitting beside her. “I’ve treated you so badly. You have every reason to send me to perdition.” He touched her forehead with his and placed a brief, gentle kiss on her lips. “I’ve been such a fool, not knowing what I had until I almost lost it. After Camille died, I wanted never to care for anyone, excepting Sarah.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You have taught me how to live again. I love you, Anne. I think I have from the first and was too stubborn to see it. You are sunshine and joy and happiness, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and the family you’ve made for us.”

  Anne smiled and sat up enough to coax the robe from his shoulders. “You must know I love you, just as deeply. My heart’s desire is to be with you and be part of this family we have made together. Come to me, Nicholas.” He kissed her then, kisses fervently returned, until they were swept into a sea of passion.

  “We might even try to expand that family,” Anne said somewhat later, nestled warmly in his arms. “Whenever you feel it convenient, of course.”

  She felt his smile against her neck.

  “An excellent idea, wife. I assure you I will give it my best efforts.” He turned her to face him. “In truth, I find it convenient at this very moment.” He settled his mouth on hers for a long, lingering kiss, then raised his head and gave her a wicked smile. “Most convenient.” And his laughter echoing hers, he proceeded to demonstrate the truth of his words.

  About the Author

  Constance Hussey is a transplanted ‘Jersey girl’ currently residing in North Carolina who has been an avid reader of romantic historical fiction for many years. The cast of characters rambling around in her head, clamoring for their own stories, started her on the author’s path. Constance enjoys gardening, cooking, and relaxing on the back porch.

  Website: http://www.constancehussey.com

  Don’t miss out on the work she wrote as part of the duo, Diana Hussey. Their website can be found at: http://www.dianahussey.com

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