Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

"Yes, your standards are so very high," mocked Hammerton. "Pray, don't waste such sentiments on me. I know you too well. And the plan does not involve putting a bullet into her. The weapons are merely a precaution against the unexpected. As you have noticed, I think ahead. That is why my plans succeed."

  "When are you going to tell me the plan?" he demanded in a sulky voice.

  The tip of the cigar came alight again as Hammerton drew in a mouthful of the pungent tobacco, then let it out in slowly, savoring the taste.

  "So you still haven't figured it out?" he asked, a touch of disdain in his voice. "I would have thought the letter I showed you would have made everything exceedingly easy to comprehend."

  Standish grunted something unintelligible.

  Hammerton heaved a mock sigh. "Ah, well, then let me explain it clearly. As you read, the letter reveals a despondent Miss Chilton, who, having been seduced and abandoned by Lord Branford, finds she can no longer live with her shame and the disgrace she will bring to her family."

  "But Branford has withdrawn from the bet," interrupted Standish. "How are you going to get her to..." He suddenly fell silent as his mind began to understand the implications of his cousin's words.

  "It is finally beginning to dawn on you, is it?"

  Standish muttered something through the thick material covering the front of his mouth.

  "It won't be dangerous at all. In fact it should be frighteningly simple. She will approach us. I will go to meet her, a single figure bent low, beckoning her to come closer to hear the information she so desperately seeks. You will come up behind her and knock her unconscious with your cosh — what could be easier?"

  "We'll put her in the carriage and drive along the river until we are close to the neighborhood where the ball took place, within easy walking distance for a young lady. Then the body goes into the water. And it's done. With no possible connection to us.

  A street urchin will be dispatched with the letter to her aunt's house. And I have taken care to have the hackney driver who will be waiting to pick her up later this evening ready to step forward and swear he saw her walking towards the river, agitated and alone — he will be able to describe her exactly."

  He smiled into the darkness. "Poor, dear departed Miss Chilton. Another victim of the Icy Earl. Think you that Society will have anything to do with him after that? He may even be forced to leave the country."

  Standish let out a low whistle of admiration. "By God, it is brilliant."

  "What did you expect, cousin?" said Hammerton in a self-satisfied tone as he tapped the ashes onto the floor. "What did you expect?"

  Standish's eyes mirrored the same smug expression. Then after a moment, they narrowed in concern. "What if she doesn't come?"

  Hammerton's eyes fell half-closed as he exhaled another cloud. "Oh, she will come. All we have to do is wait. Our little pigeon will fly straight to us."

  Damnation, swore Branford to himself. What the devil was she up to now? He had arrived late, but just in time for his sharp eye to catch the exchange between the waiter and Alex. Surely she wasn't planning anything as buffleheaded as an elopement with that pup Duckleigh. His teeth set on edge. Of all the idiotic....

  But then it struck him that her face had gone white and the look on it as she had slipped from the room was not one of girlish enrapture but rather of grave concern. He let out an exasperated sigh and left the room as well.

  She was not difficult to follow. Though she had thrown the hood of her cape up to shield her face, she looked back nary once as she hurried through the clusters of waiting carriages. Branford watched as she signaled to a hansom cab loitering on the street corner ahead, then turned and quickly made his way to where his own coach was drawn to a halt near the end of the line.

  "That hackney just pulling away from up there," he said in a low voice to his coachman, so that no inquisitive ears could overhear. "Follow it. Discreetly, but on no account are you to lose it."

  The man nodded alertly, his mouth set in a hard line that indicated he understood his master's tone. As soon as Branford had climbed in, he maneuvered the horses around the crush of other vehicles and set them off at a smart pace. It proved no problem to quickly fall in behind the lumbering vehicle.

  Branford grew crosser and crosser as the hackney passed through the elegant streets of Mayfair into the darkness of less fashionable neighborhoods. A swirling fog crept over the grimy buildings and a dampness in the air told him they were coming closer to the river. On more than one occasion, his man was forced to slow to a walk to avoid coming too close to the other carriage.

  An oath escaped his lips. What could the headstrong girl be up to in this neighborhood, at this hour....

  His carriage lurched to a sudden halt.

  "My lord," hissed his driver.

  Branford opened the trap with the tip of his cane.

  "The hackney has stopped ahead, sir, and the... person appears to be getting out."

  Branford moved quickly to open the door, pausing a moment to take the pistol hanging inside and place it in his greatcoat pocket. His boots hit the cobblestones with surprising lightness.

  "Wait around the corner," he ordered, then disappeared with a cat-like stealth into the swirling mist.

  Her figure ghosted in and out of the shadows, forcing him to draw nearer than he would have liked in order not to lose her down some narrow alley. But she headed not into the warren of passageways among the dilapidated warehouses but straight towards the embankment.

  A breeze from off the water blew away the fog. Branford pressed up close against a grimy brick wall to avoid being seen. Ahead of Alex, a figure was revealed near the steps leading down to the river. Then his trained eye caught the slight movement of another person, a short distance from the first, trying to remain hidden in the shadows. As the second one turned towards the sound of the approaching footsteps, a glint of steel flashed in the pale moonlight.

  "Alex! Get down!" Branford sprang from the wall, racing towards her with long, loping strides as he tore the pistol from his coat.

  Alex froze in confusion.

  A shot rang out and she crumpled to the ground.

  Branford reached her only seconds later. Another bullet whistled past his ear as he crouched over to shield her body with his own. The fog closed in once again, causing him to curse in frustration as he pointed his own weapon towards the impenetrable mist. The instincts of a soldier took over. They knew where he was — he must change that.

  He bent lower, gently turning her over to face him. Alex's eyes fluttered open, still a bit dazed.

  "Where are you hurt?" he demanded.

  "My shoulder. Feels like a bee sting..."

  His fingers probed at the torn fabric.

  "Ouch!"

  He grunted something unintelligible, then grasped her around the waist and half dragged her to the shelter of the buildings.

  "Can you manage to walk?" he asked, his eyes sweeping the darkness for any sign of movement.

  "Of course I can," she answered indignantly. "I'm not..."

  "Then do so. Quickly!"

  He set her out in front of him and hurried her out of the maze of alleys to where his carriage was waiting. None too gently, he thrust her inside. Then with a last, grim look around he climbed in after her and rapped a signal to his coachman. The horses set off at a gallop.

  Alex drew in several deep breaths and closed her eyes. Her mind was reeling with questions, but suddenly she felt very tired and her shoulder began to ache abominably. Unconsciously, she slumped sideways until she came in contact with something very solid and reassuringly warm. A slight shiver ran through her as she lay her head on Branford's shoulder. He shifted slightly and shrugged out of his greatcoat, then she felt the heavy wool enveloping her as he tucked it around her and pulled her close. With a small sigh, she relaxed against him, vaguely aware of an arm circling her waist. Then everything became very hazy.

  The next thing Alex was aware of, Branford was drawing his coat tighter
around her and guiding her down from the carriage and through a side door.

  "Where are... "

  He cut off her question by dropping the coat to the floor and sweeping her up into his arms. As he strode down the hallway they met his butler, who held a candle aloft in order to investigate the noise.

  "Hot water and bandages in my chamber. Immediately!" shouted Branford as he went up the massive carved stairs two at a time.

  Flinging open a heavy oaken door, he crossed the thick carpet, put her down on an immense four poster bed and turned to light a branch of candles.

  "My lord, you have brought me to..."

  "To my townhouse, Miss Chilton. I can hardly deposit you on your aunt's doorstep until I have ascertained the extent of your injury."

  Alex sat up rather abruptly. "I assure you sir, it is nothing more than a scratch. You needn't..."

  His fingers were already at the neck of her gown. She shivered slightly as he undid a few of the buttons and gently slid the material down to bare her shoulder. There was a discreet knock on the door.

  "Enter, Hopkins."

  The butler came in with a basin and a length of linen on a tray. Branford motioned towards a small table by the bed.

  "You may put it there. I shan't need you anymore tonight."

  If the man experienced any surprise at finding a young lady with a bullet wound in his master's bedchamber in the middle of the night, he betrayed no sign of it. He merely bowed slightly.

  "Good night, then, m'lord."

  Branford moistened a soft cloth and carefully sponged at the gash in her shoulder. She was amazed at how gentle his touch was, how deft the movements of his strong hands.

  "You are lucky, Miss Chilton," he murmured as he tore a long strip from the length of linen . "The wound is not deep and if you take care, there should be no need to consult a physician."

  "I am quite knowledgeable about herbs as well, sir, and know how to make a salve to aid healing. There is no need for concern."

  He finished bandaging her shoulder in silence. Then he grasped her other shoulder and turned her to face him.

  "No need for concern," he repeated in a low voice. Alex was so close to him she could almost feel the heat from his blazing eyes. "Then perhaps you can explain to me how a supposedly rational being could act in such an addlepated, cork brained, idiotic manner. Are you truly daft, Miss Chilton, or merely as foolish as the worst of your sex are wont to be?"

  Alex was taken aback by the real anger in his voice.

  "I received a note concerning Justin. I was following the instructions...." She faltered, realizing how lame it sounded, even to her own ears.

  "I see," he interrupted. "So it is your habit of blindly following even the most patently absurd directions, in your arrogant assumption that you can handle any situation that arises. I hadn't thought you so stupid."

  Alex's eyes flared with her own hot anger. "What would you have me do?" she demanded. "Stand by and see my brother murdered?" She was dangerously close to yelling.

  "He is no longer a child, Alex. Let him be a man and deal with it himself."

  In the heat of the argument neither of them seemed to notice his use of her given name.

  "Oh, you think me a managing female, " she sputtered. "How dare you, sir! You know nothing — besides, he refuses to acknowledge any danger. He thinks I am imagining it. Well, do you think tonight is a bad dream?"

  "Indeed I do," he muttered through clenched teeth. In a louder voice he added, "Then you might have come to me."

  Her chin drew up imperceptibly. For some inexplicable reason, an image of Lady Cameron floated across her mind. Blond. Beautiful. Beckoning. "Don't be ridiculous," she said roughly. "What possible reason have you to care about me and my family?"

  It was his turn to feel stung by her words. "I have little choice when I observe a lone female of my acquaintance skulking off in the dead of night. Though you may not countenance it, I have some sense of honor!"

  His hand was still gripping her good shoulder and as he spoke, the other one came up to bandaged one. Without thinking, he began shaking her. "If you ever do anything so idiotic again, I swear I shall..."

  Alex snapped. He was hurting her, both with his grip and the truth of his words. Her hand shot out and delivered a resounding slap across his face.

  Both of them were rendered speechless for a moment. Alex's mouth dropped in belated shock at what she had done. An unreadable emotion flashed in Branford's eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

  Instead, his lips came down on hers, not tentatively, but hard and demanding. Alex stiffened in utter surprise, then found herself responding with equal passion. Her arms flung up around his neck, her fingers reveling in the silky feel of the long, dark locks that curled against his collar. She felt herself crushed to his chest, felt the heat of his skin, the pounding of his pulse which echoed her own racing heart.

  She had never imagined a kiss could be like this. On one or two other occasions in the past she had allowed a gentleman's lips to brush hers. But this was so much more — intimate. His tongue urged her mouth to part and the feel of him touching her in such a way sent a surge of fire rushing through her body. Hesitantly her own tongue met his and she gave a low moan as she tasted the exotic spiciness of his mouth.

  At the sound, he deepened the kiss with an intensity that took her breath away. Then he broke it off to run his lips with gossamer lightness over her cheekbones, then down the inside curve of her throat.

  "Don't ever scare me again like that, Alex," he murmured between caresses.

  All at once, all the reason, all the common sense, all the practicality that had dominated her life to that point deserted her. She knew, beyond all doubt, that regardless of the consequences she must seize the moment.

  "Sebastian," she whispered. "Make love to me."

  His eyes glittered a deeper blue that she had ever seen as they searched her face. "My little one, are you..."

  "Please." Perhaps it was very wrong, but she couldn't help herself. The need for him was overwhelming. Her hand slipped tentatively inside his shirt, her fingers seeking out the bare skin.

  With a deep groan he wrenched at the folds of his neckcloth, tearing it off and throwing the length of linen to the floor. Then he yanked at the fastenings of his shirt, sending the buttons flying and exposing himself to the waist. Alex ran her palms over the taut muscles and flat planes of his torso, her eyes wide with wonderment.

  "You are beautiful beyond imagination, "she whispered as she brushed the dark curls on his chest. Looking up at him, a shy smile came to her lips.

  The rigid control that usually governed his features was suddenly gone, replaced by a look of need as urgent as her own. He slipped the bodice of her dress down to her waist, then eased her chemise off her shoulders as well. His hands cupped her firm, rounded breasts, the thumbs gently coaxing the nipples to immediate response.

  "You are as lovely, as luminous as one of your exquisite paintings," he said softly.

  Whatever words she was about to say caught in her throat as he lowered his head and took the delicate flesh in his mouth.

  She cried out in amazed pleasure.

  Branford made a low sound from deep in his throat as he threw back the covers of the bed. He rapidly removed the rest of her garments until she lay totally unclothed on the snowy sheets. His ruined shirt was tossed over a chair, then his boots came off one by one and clattered to the floor. He turned away from her to unfasten the buttons on his breeches and stripped them off over his powerful thighs. When he faced her in the flickering candlelight he, too, was naked, and fully aroused.

  She stared at him in wonder. He radiated strength and a rampant masculinity. Having lived all her life in the country, she knew something of the physical act, but looking at his manhood jutting forward from the dark curls she gave a nervous swallow.

  "I am aware of what is about to happen next, but I think, that is, I fear — we may not fit."

  Branford
gave a husky chuckle as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her willowy form. "You may trust me, little one. We shall fit quite nicely." His expression turned serious. "If you are afraid, or are having second thoughts you have only to say so." His mouth quirked at the corners. "It may be the death of me, but God help me, I shall take you home..."

  She reached up and pulled his head down to hers.

  The kiss was gentler this time, unrushed but no less passionate. As their lips played together, his knee came between her thighs, slowly easing them open. His fingers trailed down over her stomach, then brushed through her own downy curls and touched her most intimately.

  Alex gave another soft cry at the exquisite jolt of fire that his touch sent through her body. She arched up to meet his hand, wondering at the novel sensation of dampness between her legs.