A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5)

by Jillian Eaton

  Bridget regarded Tobias solemnly. “Hewwo.”

  “Hello,” he said gruffly. Crouching low, he gently tousled his niece’s curly brown locks. “I’m your Uncle Toby. I’m sorry I haven’t been here tae see you grow up. But that’s going to change, starting today. Ye have my word.” He looked up at Maggie. “Is Ma here?”

  Their father may have been the patriarch of the family, but he knew who he would have to ask for forgiveness. Tiny little Annie McDougal may have started as a shy scullery maid, but she’d gone on to become a strong, resilient woman who had raised six children in a house barely big enough for two.

  His sister gave a jerky nod. “She’s in the garden out back. But Toby…”

  “Aye?” he said.

  “She’s not going to be happy to see you.”

  He took a deep breath. “I know.”

  Tobias found his mother with her hands in the earth, gently thinning a row of seedlings. A wide brimmed hat covered her black hair and the threads of gray that ran through it. Her dress was simple, a pale yellow frock that had seen too many washings, but the set of her shoulders was proud, and when she sat back on her haunches and stared up at him her gaze was as formidable as any queen’s.

  “Hand me those,” she ordered, pointing a dirt-smudged finger at a pair of pruning shears cast off to the side of her neat, orderly garden, the only place in the entire household she never allowed her husband or children to enter.

  Tobias still remembered the beating she’d given his bottom when he and his three older brothers snuck into the garden late at night and gorged themselves on tomatoes. It had been the angriest he had ever seen her, but that anger paled in comparison to the quiet fury radiating through her entire body as she waited for him to give her the shears.

  He handed them over, and then watched, a knot tightening in his stomach, when she moved on to a dense thicket of parsley and began to prune it back with quick, ruthless cuts.

  “Ma,” he began, not knowing what he was going to say, only that he needed to say something. Something to fill five years’ worth of silence. “I don’t know where to–”

  “The carrots need to be planted,” she interrupted. “There’s a bag of seeds in the basket by the watering can. Space them apart, about the length of your thumb. Be careful not to pat the soil too hard, or they won’t be able to grow through it.”

  Tobias blinked in surprise. “Ye – ye want me tae plant the carrots?”

  To his knowledge, his mother had never allowed anyone – not even Maggie, who had inherited Annie’s green thumb – to touch a single piece of soil in her beloved garden.

  “You’re a grown man, Toby.” She continued to prune, elbows lifting and falling as the sharp edges of the shears cut through the unwanted parsley with ruthless precision. “Old enough to plant carrots.” Cut. “Old enough to leave home.” Cut. “Old enough to take a wife.” Cut. “Old enough to lose her.” The shears stilled. “I’m sorry about Hannah. She was a lovely woman, and a good wife to you.”

  “Aye.” His hand trembled ever-so-slightly as he started to lay out the seeds. “She was.”

  “Did staying away from your family, from your flesh and blood, bring her back?” Annie set down the shears and tipped back the brim of her hat to gaze upon the face of her youngest son. What she saw filled her with sorrow, and his pain was her pain as she reached out and stilled his arm. “You’re putting them too close together. They won’t be able to grow unless you allow them to spread apart. A difficult lesson for a gardener to learn, but one they must heed if they want their seeds to thrive.”

  Tobias corrected his planting, and Annie returned to her pruning. For a long while – long enough for the sun to sink low and the front door to bang numerous times as the rest of the family slowly trickled home for supper – they worked side by side. They didn’t speak, but then they didn’t need to. Love, the sort of love that only existed between a mother and her son, did not require words.

  And when the seeds were planted and the parsley was pruned, Annie wrapped her little boy (for he would always be her little boy, no matter how old large he grew or how old he became) in a familiar embrace.

  “Seeds require rain and sun for them to bloom.” Annie brushed a lock of hair out of his damp eyes. “You’ve had enough rain, my sweet Toby. Let’s see if we can’t find you a little sun. Will you stay for dinner? I know your da will want to see you.” A smile flitted across her face. “He’s going to yell and bluster, of course. But then he’ll ask you to pass the butter and that will be that. You know him.”

  Yes, Tobias did. And he had missed him – he’d missed all of his family – more than he realized.

  It hadn’t been a conscious decision to shut them out after Hannah died.

  At least not at first.

  At first he’d been too overwhelmed with grief to see anyone. And then the uncontrollable anger had come, and with it the fear that he might say or do something to hurt those he loved the most. So he’d stayed away. Just for a month, then two, then he blinked and an entire year had gone by.

  After that it was easier to avoid them than to confront the emotions he was battling to suppress. Easier to imagine they were better off without him. Easier to give them half his salary and pretend he was doing the right thing. The honorable thing. The only thing he could do, given the circumstances.

  But then Amelia had entered his life, and all those emotions he had been ignoring for five long years had rushed to forefront. And without even being cognizant of where he was going until he’d arrived, he had come home again.

  To face the family he’d abandoned…and the difficult knowledge that they might not want him back. That they preferred the man he’d been to the man he’d become. That his demons were a burden they did not want to bear.

  “I’m sorry, Ma.” Miserable with guilt and feeling all of twelve years old again with his mouth stained red from tomatoes, he stared at the ground, unable to meet his mother’s gaze. But Annie, a woman who abhorred self-pity of any kind, cupped his chin and forced him to look at her.

  “I dinna want your apology,” she said sternly. Then her countenance softened, and she patted his cheek. “I never did. I just wanted my boy back, and here you are. Your da wants the same. We’ve missed you, Toby. We’ve all missed you terribly. Now go wash up. I won’t have dirty hands at me table.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He kissed her brow and then loped into the house, his soul lighter than it had been in ages. His eldest brother Patrick, the very spitting image of their father complete with a thick red beard, met him at the back door with a hard cuff to the side of his head, then drew him in for an even harder embrace while Maureen watched from around the corner, blinking back tears.

  At dinner he couldn’t answer questions fast enough. Mostly about his life on Bow Street. His eight-year-old nephew in particular was fascinated by his job, and everyone chuckled when he announced he was going to grow up to be a Runner just like his Uncle Toby.

  As Annie had predicted her husband gave their wayward son a tongue lashing he wouldn’t soon forget, but then he asked for the butter, and all was well.

  That night, after he’d left his family with the promise he would soon return, Tobias reached for a book instead of a bottle. But instead of turning to the first page of Sense and Sensibility he flipped to the last.

  And he thought of Amelia.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amelia woke with a start. Disoriented and groggy from the wine she and her aunt had consumed after dinner, she didn’t know what had woken her. A bad dream, she reasoned, although she couldn’t remember what she had been dreaming about.

  Tobias, most likely.

  When she dreamed now it was always of Tobias, even though she hadn’t seen him for over a fortnight.

  The window-jumping blighter.

  Despite what Aunt Constance had said, she wasn’t falling in love with him. In lust, perhaps. Definitely in lust. One touch of his lips and her entire body felt as if it were engulfed in flame. Bu
t that didn’t mean she loved him. Or was going to love him. Or was even thinking about maybe one day loving him. Because that was almost as absurd as believing she’d ever had a chance at taming the beast within him. And heaven only knew how well that was going.

  Amelia may not have known what had happened in Tobias’ past to scar him so deeply, but of one thing she was certain: until he drew out the infection that festered beneath his wounds there was nothing she could do to help him. Nothing she could say to heal him. One person’s influence over another only extended so far, and she’d reached the end of her proverbial rope. If he wanted her, it was now his responsibility to claim her. She was done chasing shadows. Done pushing back against demons. Done waiting, heart in her hand, for something that may never come.

  No matter how badly she wished for it…or how often she dreamt of him.

  The candle on her bedside table gave out one last feeble flicker of light before it extinguished, plunging her bedchamber into darkness and causing a shiver of unknown origin to race down her spine. Pulling her coverlet up to her chin, she burrowed back down into her warm sheets, toes curling inwards as she muffled a yawn. Forcibly extracting Tobias from her thoughts, she started to close her eyes…only to jolt upwards in alarm when she thought she heard an unnatural whisper of unknown origin.

  For a moment there was only the rasping of her own breath. And then, as if born from one of her Gothic novels, a shadow peeled away from the wall and stalked towards her with all the eerie rippling silence of a ghost.

  Clutching her pillow, Amelia might have thought she really was seeing an apparition if not for the very real knife the shadow wielded in its right hand. A stifled shriek burst past her lips when the knife suddenly sliced at her throat with deadly intent. Acting purely on instinct she threw the pillow as hard as she could. Her dark assailant hissed a vicious curse when the blade tore through soft fabric instead of yielding flesh.

  Feathers exploded in a shower of white, temporarily shielding Amelia from view as she rolled off the edge of the bed, striking the side of her temple on the wooden headrest before she landed hard on her hands and knees.

  She touched her temple and paled when her fingers came away slick with blood. Reeling back against the wall, she used it to shove herself to her feet. Eyes wide with shock, heart pounding with fear, she screamed again when her unknown assailant rounded the side of the bed.

  Moonlight reflected off the knife as it whistled through the air. Amelia threw up her hands to protect her face and the edge of the curved blade glanced off her forearm, delivering a shallow cut that immediately welled with blood.

  She cried out in pain, clutching her arm as she staggered back into the corner, inadvertently pinning herself between the wall and a heavy armoire. Her gaze darted, searching for a way out. Had someone heard her? Surely someone had heard her. A maid. A footman. Her mother or father, although her parent’s private chambers were in a separate wing of the house.

  Help was coming. Help had to come.

  She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  “Stop!” she gasped when the knife lifted again. “Why – why are you doing this? If it’s jewelry or coin that you want, take what you like. Just let me go!”

  The man – at least she thought it was a man; the room was too dark to know for certain – didn’t answer her pleas. He didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken, just continued to walk slowly and deliberately towards her, as if relishing the gleam of terror in her eyes.

  Blood – her blood, Amelia realized as her stomach rolled – dripped down the knife’s sharp blade. More blood ran between her fingers and stained the front of her bodice when she brought her arm up to her chest. The initial sting of the cut had subsided to a deep throb, but there was so much adrenaline pumping through her veins she hardly noticed it.

  “Feckless whore,” her assailant spat in a deep, raspy voice as he raised the knife high above her head. Dark, empty eyes gleamed out from the oversized hood he wore. “You’re just like all the rest.”

  Her face drained of all color, Amelia drew in a terrified breath. Time seemed to slow as the man lifted the knife higher…and higher…then all at once it sped up again right before he brought the blade slashing down.

  She lunged out of the way, half scrambling, half sliding across the mattress on her belly. The coverlet tangled around her waist as she landed hard on her hip on the other side of the bed. She fought to untangle herself, shoving frantically at the twisted blankets. A looming shadow was the only warning her attacker was right behind her and she screamed when she felt his hand wrap around her ankle, his sharp nails digging into her skin.

  Like a wounded animal that would do anything to escape the hungry jaws of a predator, she kicked out and by some small miracle managed to catch him in the chin with the heel of her foot. He released her as his head snapped back. Sobbing, gasping, Amelia crawled across the floor, dragging the damned coverlet with her. She’d nearly made it to the door when it opened unexpectedly to reveal Tommens, the butler, wearing a long nightdress and an expression of astonishment as he shined the candle he carried down at Amelia.

  “My lady! I thought I heard you yell when I was doing my rounds. What – what has happened?”

  “Oh, thank God,” she wept. Clinging to the hand he offered as if it were a lifeline and she a sailor lost in tumultuous waters, Amelia allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “We have to run! There’s a man with a knife. He’s – he’s trying to kill me!”

  “My lady…” Tommens said uncertainly as he held up the candle and flooded the bedchamber with light. “There’s no one there.”

  “What? N-no, that can’t be right.” Amelia whirled around. “He was just…he was just right here,” she said, eyebrows arching in disbelief. “Where did he go?”

  Her room looked as if a herd of wild horses had trampled through it. Feathers were everywhere. A chair was knocked over. The mattress had been pushed askew and all of the pillows and blankets were scattered across the floor.

  But there was no sign of a deadly stranger wielding a knife.

  He was simply…gone.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “I’ll send for your mother.” Picking up the coverlet, Tommens gave it a shake before draping it over her shoulders. “And Dr. Atwood,” he added, noting her arm. “Why don’t you come down to the parlor, my lady. I’ll wake one of the maids and have hot tea brought in.”

  “And Tobias,” she said softly.

  “I am sorry, my lady, but I did not quite catch that.”

  Amelia lifted her head. “Someone tried to murder me, Tommens. I want the Bow Street Runners brought to the house.” She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to quell a tremble that threatened to shake her entire body. “And I want Tobias Kent.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amelia was no longer trembling by the time Tobias arrived, accompanied by Lord Grant Hargrave. Instead she was in the parlor sipping tea as if nothing was amiss, her countenance perfectly composed, her hair freshly combed, her arm cleaned and bandaged. Dr. Atwood had declared the cut a shallow one, and had instructed her to clean it thrice daily for the next seven days and to inform him immediately if it became discolored or began to bleed.

  The Duchess of Webley, on the other hand, was absolutely beside herself and had not sat down (or stopped hopping about with her hands in the air like some sort of deranged bird looking for a place to land) since she was informed of what had happened.

  “A man with a knife?” she’d shrieked, her voice easily twice the volume Amelia’s had been when she was fighting for her life. “In my daughter’s bedchamber? Take me to her at once!”

  The entire time Dr. Atwood had been attending Amelia she’d hovered directly over her daughter, alternately looking as though she was either going to faint or erupt into spontaneous flight.

  Finally the good doctor had kindly asked the duchess to sit as, in his own words, “I’d prefer one patient instead of two, if you please” but Va
nessa hadn’t heeded the gentle prompting. Knuckles leached of all color, she’d clung to the back of Amelia’s chair until the wound was completely covered with clean white linen before pouncing on the unsuspecting Runners the moment they arrived.

  “It’s about time!” she said shrilly, blue eyes flashing. “What took you this long? My daughter was nearly murdered in her own bed, for heaven’s sake! This is no time for dawdling. I want the culprit found at once. Do you hear me? At once!”

  “I shall see myself out,” said Dr. Atwood, whisking up his black leather bag and hurrying towards the door as fast as his portly legs could carry him. Tobias’ dark gaze cut immediately to Amelia.

  “Are you all right?” he asked roughly, the concern in his voice causing a dull flush to creep up the back of her neck. After the way things had ended between them in the bookshop she hadn’t been certain he would even come. Yet here he was, standing in the middle of her parlor at half past two in the morning, his stare fiercely possessive as it swept across every inch of her body.

  You do care for me you bounder, she thought with no small amount of smugness. You just can’t admit it. At least not yet.

  But you will.

  “Yes, Tob – er, Mr. Kent, I’m fine.” She looked quickly at her mother, but Vanessa was too distraught to have noticed the slip. “I did not suffer any injury of consequence.” She glanced down at her bandage peeking out from beneath the green muslin wrapper she’d put over her nightdress to hide the bloodstains. “Just a small nick.”

  Tobias’ eyes turned black. “The bastard cut ye?” he snarled, and would have gone to her side if Lord Hargrave hadn’t kept a firm grip on his arm. The other Runner murmured something in his ear. Amelia couldn’t hear what was said, but it was enough to ease the tension in Tobias’ shoulders, albeit only slightly.