The Notorious Bridegroom

by Kit Donner

  “How could you let her leave?” he demanded, his voice deadly soft.

  Bryce heard fear in his butler’s voice. “I did try to persuade her not to go, but she paid no heed. I understood she was visiting a friend.” His words became stronger as Stone convinced himself he had done nothing wrong.

  Bryce worked his hands by his side, frowning, feeling his body tense, harnessing his power and senses, like a beast ready for the hunt. Only a day ago, someone had taken a shot at Patience in Hyde Park. “Miss Patience should not have left this house without me. You better pray no harm comes to her.” Bryce’s eyes scorched Stone all the way to Hell.

  “How much time is she ahead of me?” Bryce glanced at the longcase clock. Seven o’clock.

  “Perhaps thirty minutes, my lord,” Stone informed him while helping his lordship back into his discarded creased coat.

  Bryce swore under his breath. Time was of the essence. Every minute he was losing light. With the address memorized, he headed for the door.

  Stone cleared his throat. “I hope you can forgive me someday, my lord, for allowing Miss Patience to leave. Please bring her back safely.”

  Bryce stared in surprise at his ordinarily calm and collected servant. He had never seen Stone show such humility. Bryce nodded determinedly. “I shall.”

  No one would have doubted the look of resolve on his lordship’s face as Stone shut the door behind him. Certainly not his butler, who sank down on the nearest chair in the hallway, mopping his brow and whispering prayers for the safe return of his master and Miss Patience.

  “Where is this place?” Patience continually peered out the window of her carriage, searching for Puffins Lane. Unfortunately, her driver, being unfamiliar with this part of London, slowed his ancient horse, calling back to Patience that he was confident he would soon find it.

  She jerked back from the open window when a blacksooted face materialized in front of her with a toothless grin. Glancing at her locket watch, beads of perspiration dotted her brow. Quarter past seven. She was late. What if she did not reach Colette in time?

  She dabbed her face with her lucky pink handkerchief. Would Colette wait for her? What kind of trouble was she in? Perhaps she should have brought a weapon with her. Planning a course of action, she opened her reticule and pecked around, finding a change purse, powder, a comb, and walnuts.

  Walnuts? No wonder her reticule felt heavy. The bottom of it bulged with various sizes of nuts. Even her cloak pockets felt bumpy. Reaching her hand into a pocket, she discovered more nuts. She could not help but smile when she remembered that she had promised to take Sally to the park to feed the squirrels. The child had offered to gather the animals’ dinner and apparently decided to use Patience’s reticule and cloak for a satchel. She weighed one small walnut in her hand and wondered if she could pelt someone with it. No, it would definitely cause no damage. She sighed and leaned back against the carriage seat.

  “There it is, miss.” Patience nearly jumped off of her seat. “I knowed I would find it,” he shouted exultantly. Her hand shook as she reached for the door handle, her heart thumping out of control in her ears, her courage deserting her. Was it too late to return to the town house?

  Out the window, she saw a busy sidewalk filled with ragtag urchins pushing each other in the street, ladies of unknown reputation sauntering by twos, and several filthy men loitering about, eyeing her carriage suspiciously.

  She frowned at noting the sunset creeping toward night. Unsteadily, she climbed down from the coach, clutching her reticule tightly to her chest. She remembered feeling much braver earlier about this adventure.

  I must help Colette. She needs me, Patience thought over and over again, trying to draw courage from her empty well of confidence.

  The driver agreed to wait for her after she paid him an extra bob. Her eyes focused on the house in front of her, Patience studied the brick three-storied building. It looked like it had not been lived in for quite some time. Carriage wheels creaked down the cobbled streets while a putrid smell of heated garbage assailed her senses.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced around her before walking hurriedly up the stairs, leaving the unkind streets behind her. At the front door, she rang the doorbell, her hands clasped in front of her, wishing, wishing, wishing the door would open quickly. What could Colette be doing here? The sooner she found her and learned of her difficulties, the sooner she could help her friend and return home.

  Hardly daring to breathe, afraid of what she might find, she grasped the doorknob and turned. The door opened to reveal a large vestibule, rather dusty and dirty.

  “Colette? Are you here?” Cautiously, she stepped inside onto the broken-tiled floor, careful to watch her step. Gray light through mottled windows checkered the black-and-white hallway.

  Strange, Colette must not be here, perhaps I have the wrong address. She felt in her pocket for the maid’s note but came away empty-handed. Contemplating leaving, she noticed the fragile-looking wooden staircase. If Colette was hurt, she would never forgive herself for at least making sure her friend was not in the house, even if her courage now rested at the bottom of her shoes.

  Wetting her lips and blinking three times for luck, she firmly grasped the handrail and pulled herself up, wary by wary step. At the top, she noticed two closed doors on each side of a short hallway. They looked to be old abandoned apartments, judging by her peek inside the doors to the right.

  The other doors led to rooms facing the back of the house. One bedchamber was completely empty. Wishing she had thought to bring a candle, Patience decided to check the last room and then bid a hasty retreat.

  The last room was not empty. She peeked in to find a wooden chair, a broken bed frame, torn mattresses, and a person sleeping. A person not moving. A person…dead?

  Chapter 26

  Patience could not make it down the stairs fast enough, nearly falling through a hole in the boards. At the bottom of the steps, she heard someone call her name.

  Bryce. She called him over to her as she neared the bottom of the stairs. When Patience saw his concerned face, she launched herself into his arms, clutching him tightly to her.

  He held her shaking form closely. “Are you hurt?” he asked her urgently.

  She shook her head into his chest and mumbled something about a body.

  He pulled her slightly away so that he could see her face. “What about a body?”

  Her eyes opened wide in terror. She pointed up the stairs and whispered in a quivering voice, “Up there. In the last bedroom, I saw a man. He’s not moving. He looks rather dead.” Her last words were barely discernible.

  Although Bryce’s main desire was to take Patience from this place and get her safely home, first he wanted to investigate to see if she had actually seen a body. Perhaps it was an inebriated sop sleeping off whiskey spirits, but it could be someone hurt and needing assistance.

  He gripped her shoulders firmly. “You stay here, do not move. I shall go see what has happened. I need to take the lantern but there is still light from the vestibule foyer. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Patience reluctantly parted with his greatcoat beneath her nails and watched as he climbed two steps before starting after him. She wasn’t staying alone in the dark and wasn’t afraid to show her cowardly side.

  Following him up the stairs and down the hall, their steps echoed in the stillness. When they reached the room with the body, Patience remained outside the door when Bryce entered. He crossed the room and looked down at the prone figure that had gone to his maker and shook his head. He began to turn around when he noticed something shiny on the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he turned on his heel and left the room, grabbing Patience’s arm as he walked by and ushering her down the hallway and stairs. His lantern swung wildly with the effort of stepping over broken boards.

  Confronted with his back, she asked, “Is he very dead?” Her voice was not as strong as she thought.

  When Bryce stopped to answer her, she plowed into
the back of him, holding on to his waist. He held her hands as he turned to face her, concerned what the news would bring. “Exceedingly so. It is, or was, Sansouche.”

  Her jaw dropped as she suppressed a shiver. “So this is where they put the body. I told you they killed him.”

  He stared past her head. “Someone certainly did kill him, but not at the Gardens. The blood leaking on the floor is fresh, indicating he has not been dead for long.” The terrified look on her face showed him that this had not been a good time to mention the fact.

  Patience began quaking. “You mean his killer may still be here?” Every word an effort.

  He rubbed her back and led her down the rest of the stairs to the front door, ignoring her question. “We need to get you home.”

  They both heard the shouts at the same time.

  And the footsteps. He efficiently doused the lantern, looking about quickly for an exit. From a nearby window, he thought he recognized the scarlet waistcoats of the Bow Street Runners. Soon, loud voices and boots pounding on the steps cut their goal short.

  “Hurry, in here.” Although he hadn’t deciphered what exactly was going on, he didn’t want to be in the position of the Runners finding him and Patience in an empty house with the dead body of a French spy. There would be too many questions.

  He pushed her down the hallway on the first floor and into a dark back parlor where the closed curtains hid the light. Her hand grasped in his, he crept along the back wall near the darkened windows looking for a way out. They didn’t have much time. She could only follow his lead, not able to breathe in the dusty stuffiness and because fear had crawled into her throat.

  Finally, behind a long black curtain, Bryce felt a window without its glass. He stopped to listen outside to see if the Runners had rounded the house but only heard steps on the stairs.

  For what purpose had someone led Patience here? Were the Runners to have found two bodies? Sansouche’s and Patience’s? He nearly choked on the thought. What if he had not been here in time? Or was the plan to find Patience alone with the murdered man? Would she not have been accused of the deed? He would get to the bottom of this.

  With agility and strength, he quickly but carefully lowered Patience out of the window before following suit. Not giving her a chance to catch her breath, he snatched her hand and started running down the alleyway. Lucky and the waiting carriage were only a few blocks away.

  “Stop, you there!”

  The loud command only made them run faster. Thinking quickly, Patience opened her reticule, and while still running behind Bryce, turned it upside down, dropping the contents behind her, and throwing more walnuts out of her pockets. Several paces away, she was pleased to hear a thump and a groan. Those walnuts had proven useful afterall.

  They finally reached Lucky, and, jumping into the carriage, the coachman struck the horses and made their escape. Surely the darkness would hide their identities and the carriage’s coat of arms.

  Melenroy, Sally, Lem, Martha, Stone, and the other servants waited eagerly at the door for their master’s return. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when his lordship finally escorted a dazed and dusty Patience through the door.

  Cobwebs hung from Patience’s bonnet, dust covered her chin, and her lace petticoat that had torn on the window trailed miserably after her. Bryce was not in much better shape. Filmy black soot covered him from head to toe, and his coat was torn at the shoulders where Patience had grabbed him.

  After convincing everyone that they were safe and no harm had befallen them, Bryce swept Patience up into his arms. He could tell she had not much strength to go farther. Her head resting on his mussed once-white shirt and with her arms wrapped around his chest, he carefully climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, his look never leaving her sleepy countenance. Melenroy and Stone hurried into the kitchen seeking hot water and spirits. Martha and Verna followed Bryce, and after he left her room, Verna helped Patience undress, bathe, and prepare for bed.

  Several hours later, Bryce came to Patience’s bedchamber, telling himself it was only because he was concerned over her near hysteria earlier. But truthfully, he wanted to hold her in his arms, to protect any future danger.

  Certainly Sansouche could never hurt her again. Bryce’s eyes narrowed in anger when he remembered the other night. He would be unable to avenge Patience.

  His fury swiftly evaporated when he slipped into her bedchamber as quiet as the moonlight showering through her opened window. He stood staring at her for a long while. He liked the way her full lips were slightly parted, and the way her dark brown hair flowed in a silky pattern down her back. He liked her thick winged brown eyebrows on the lovely canvas of her face. And he liked the way she curled her legs up to her chest. Hell’s teeth, he liked everything about her. Her way with children. Her smile that lit a darkened room. Her loyalty to her brother. Her dangerous trip to save her friend tonight. The way she needed him, which bespoke of an indefinable power he had never experienced before.

  She brought out his protective side, and he understood more than anyone that Patience needed someone to look after her. And Bryce had assigned himself the task. For life. He whispered a finger down her soft cheek and heard her moan softly. Hell, he loved her. He was caught more securely in her trap than a fly in a spider’s web. He smiled. Exactly where he wanted to be.

  He discarded his robe on the floor, anxious to feel her warm body close to him, and crawled in beside her. She instinctively rolled toward him.

  As he lay on his back, Patience, sweet-smelling and fresh, curled into him welcoming the feel of his hard form. After a few minutes he looked at the ceiling. Hmmm, this might be a challenge. Just smelling her unique fragrance of lavender and peppermint incited his thirst for her and other parts of her sweet body. Surely it was a small price to pay for the pleasure of being with the woman he loved. He felt her hand sweep lightly across his chest, and he bit back a moan. This was proving more difficult that he had originally thought.

  She was exhausted and needed her rest after this latest episode. Her silken strands between their connecting bodies teased his skin and set his senses on fire. A sweat broke upon his brow. If only she would stop moving, he could control his desire and go to sleep.

  When she nudged her face into his chest, he smoothed her tangled hair from her pale cheek and kissed her softly on her brow. Looking down at her sleeping countenance, he sighed. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he would simply have to wait, and take every opportunity to show her when she was awake. Drawing her closer, knowing she was safe, Bryce finally nodded off into a deep slumber.

  Chapter 27

  Captain Keegan Kilkennen relaxed against the carriage seat, the torn leather padding and bumpy ride not disturbing his concentration. So much had happened in the fortnight while he was at sea. His ship had nearly been sunk off Bologne, hence their return to Winchelsea Harbor for more repairs. His eyes narrowed angrily. Someone had known of their plans, for the French had been waiting for them. Only Keegan and Admiral Nelson had known the Valiant’s mission.

  Several men had been lost or wounded from gunfire, the Valiant barely managing to limp home. Keegan stared grimly down at his tightly bandaged left hand, missing two fingers from cannon blast. He had spent the last week recuperating from the attack. At St. Josephine’s Hospital outside of Bristol doctors tended to his wounds along with those of other injured members of his crew.

  Keegan also reflected grimly on his upcoming reunion with Londringham tomorrow morning. It would go hard on Londringham, the news he had to share, but he would be there to support his friend.

  As the carriage jounced on, he was surprised to still feel pain in his missing fingers. He knew Colette would be shocked to see him, but he couldn’t wait any longer to see her. He had to hold her in his arms again. Keegan finally smiled. That French girl could certainly tie a man in knots and make him hard as a cannon ready to shoot.

  By the time he arrived in Charing Cross night had fallen. The count
ess had taken a small town house painted black with blue shutters, a rather unremarkable dwelling off the main thoroughfare. Colette had written him with the address but told him that the countess and she soon would be departing for France.

  Keegan climbed carefully down from the carriage, paid the driver, and sent him on his way. Feeling like a shy young man paying court for the first time to his sweetheart, he held his cocked hat in his injured hand and wished he had some small token of affection to present to Colette.

  His tap on the front door brought a sullen, frail-looking housekeeper with black eyes peering through the crack. Before he could introduce himself, the servant informed him in a nasty tone that the countess already had a gentleman caller and please to leave.

  This announcement did not faze Keegan, since his interest was in the countess’s lady’s maid.

  He hurriedly put a foot through the door opening. “Madam, I am here to see Colette. I believe she is her ladyship’s maid?”

  The cautious black eyes blinked at him with distrust, giving Keegan time to worry, until she finally took pity on him, seeing his bandaged hand, and opened the door.

  “Thank you for permitting me to enter. I know it is rather late, but it is urgent that I speak to Colette. Is she home?”

  The housekeeper still eyed him with suspicion, then turned away to creep down the hallway, her thin back hunched in protection. He thought he heard her mutter, “Like mistress, like servant.”

  After twenty minutes of standing in the hall, Keegan decided to have a look around the countess’s rented town house. The door to his right opened to a small front parlor, which, by the looks of its dusty contents, and furniture coverings, was rarely used. Sauntering down the corridor, his patience wearing thin, he entered the library. Mahogany bookcases stretched floor to ceiling on all four walls as moonlight streamed silvery rivers on the gaudy Oriental rug through openings in the drawn curtains of the bay window across the room. Thinking the moonbeams lovely but miserly, Keegan lit a lamp that he found on the sideboard.