A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (26 page)

He grabbed her legs, his grip painful as he carried her through the gate to a waiting carriage. Oh, no! She was dumped onto the floor of the carriage and stepped on as her abductors hurriedly climbed in. What did they intend to do with her?

The driver snapped the reins.

Laurel’s eyes welled with tears. How could she have fallen for such a stupid trick? In her own defense, the events of the day had heavily burdened her heart. She’d been so eager to seek Graelem’s comfort again that she had let down her guard.

“I’m raising my price,” said the gentleman she’d earlier brought to his knees. “The girl’s rich, so why must Dev have all of it? He can spare another thousand pounds for me.”

“Shut up, you fool! No names! Do you want to give us all away?”

These were definitely educated men, no doubt schooled at Oxford or Cambridge. They might have been taught Latin and philosophy, but had learned nothing of honor or character. She’d give them a good lesson. They’d be bruised and bloodied by the time she was through with these wretches.

She would be bruised as well, for the carriage bounced and clattered as it tore through Mayfair at a reckless speed, tossing her against the floor boards and rolling her under the boots of her abductors time and again.

She was about to give up hope of ever being rescued when the horses suddenly stopped their mad gallop and reared. The abrupt halt caused her to slam hard against the boards. “Crumpets!”

What was happening? She heard gasps and curses and then the door opened. More gasps and strangled oaths as it sounded like her captors were flung out of the carriage and tossed to the ground—except for one of those wretches who fell atop her with a grunt. She tried to shove him off her, but couldn’t. He was a crushing, motionless weight. “Help! Help me!”

Could anyone hear her above the scuffle?

She heard more thuds and grunts as fists connected to bodies.

Then all fell silent. In the next moment, she was lifted out from under the crushing weight and hauled out of the carriage to be set down gently on the grass. The confining sack was lifted off her. “Blessed Scottish saints, lass! You might have been hurt!”

Graelem! I’m in for it now.

She took a deep breath, coughing at the sudden surge of cool air against her cheeks and into her lungs as she inhaled. “Damn it, Laurel,” he said, his voice raspy with concern as he drew her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.

“I can explain.” Overwhelmed with relief, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him back just as fiercely, her heart pounding against his warm, solid chest.

“It’s all right, lass. What matters is that you’re safe.”

“No, you can’t think I ignored your warning. I was tricked. They delivered a forged note supposedly sent by you and were waiting for me as I stepped outside my door. Had I been thinking clearly, I wouldn’t have gone. But the note looked real and I thought you had summoned me.” Her voice was weak and she was shaking as she prattled. Still, she had to explain it all to him before he overcame his worry and became angry.

She took another deep breath, not yet recovered from the foul scent of the handkerchief, the odor stubbornly clinging to her nostrils. “The note was written on Eloise’s stationery and the handwriting resembled yours.”

She expected an outburst from Graelem, but he merely sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked over her shoulder and spoke to the barrel-chested man who was holding down one of the assailants. “Mr. Barrow, haul these fools to the nearest magistrate. My cousin will assist you.”

Laurel regarded Graelem quizzically. “Who precisely is Mr. Barrow?”

“He heads the team of Bow Street runners I engaged to follow Devlin and Jordan, although it seems I had no need to worry about Jordan, as it turns out.”

A big man with broad shoulders chose that moment to kneel beside them. “Is the lass all right?” She noted his brogue by the slight roll of his
r
.

Graelem nodded. “Laurel, the timing isn’t the best, but I’d like to properly introduce you to my cousin, Jordan Drummond.”

The wastrel popinjay? He didn’t appear to fit the description.

“Och, lass. Glad you’re safe.” Jordan shook his head and sighed. “That Kirwood fellow confided his plan to me and… seems I have a conscience after all. Graelem and I have never been close, but we’re family of a sort. So are you, now since you’re betrothed to the undeserving oaf.”

“He isn’t an oaf. He’s wonderful,” she insisted, scowling at the man, and feeling quite remorseful for ever referring to Graelem that way herself.

Jordan grinned at his cousin. “In any event, I can’t stomach a man who’d put a lady at risk. I had to warn Graelem.”

She rested her head against Graelem’s shoulder, still scowling at Jordan. “You knew his plan all along?”

“I wasn’t in it from the start and never knew all of it, unfortunately. I’m sorry that I didn’t warn Graelem sooner, but it seems he already suspected a plot and took measures to protect you. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, of course.”

Laurel sensed Graelem’s tension and realized he was still troubled by something. “It isn’t over yet,” Graelem said. “Where’s Devlin? Jordan, you said he was supposed to join his friends, but they went ahead with the plan without him.”

Laurel looked at Devlin’s so-called friends, three well-dressed men moaning beside the carriage. “Who are they?”

“Wastrel lords. Heavy gamblers, no doubt cut off by their fathers and left desperate for funds.”

“Bribed by Devlin to abduct me?” She drew away and curled her hands into fists. “I can’t wait to get my hands on that cur. I’ll teach him. Do you know where he is, Mr. Drummond?”

“I dinna, lass.”

Graelem frowned and repeated the question to the burly Bow Street runner.

“Hiding from Miss Farthingale, no doubt,” Mr. Barrow said with a chuckle, eyeing her fists as he responded to the question. “But one of my men is following him. He’ll report back to me within the hour. I have another man waiting at the mews. We were about to set up watch there when these fancy coves drew up to your gate in their fine carriage. We knew they were coming for you, but they arrived early.”

Laurel noticed Graelem’s swollen hand. “Oh, dear. Did you break a bone?” She reached out to touch it delicately. His hand felt warm and deliciously rough, his long fingers winding with hers as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“No, love. It’s no more than a minor bruise.” He kissed her on the forehead to reassure her.

“What’s next?” she asked. “Do you really think Devlin had second thoughts about his plot and ran away?”

Graelem frowned. “No, and I don’t like that he isn’t yet accounted for. Jordan, help Mr. Barrow with these
gentlemen
. I’m going to the mews as soon as I deliver Laurel home. It’s almost midnight. Might as well make certain the vindictive ass isn’t planning to harm Brutus.”

“Oh, no. You’re not leaving me behind. I’m going with you.” She scrambled to her feet, but her knees suddenly buckled and she fell against Graelem. “Oh, dear.”

“Easy, sweetheart.” He swallowed her in his arms. “You need to go home and lie down.”

“But—”

“You can beat Devlin to a bloody pulp another time. I need to get you home. Mr. Barrow and Jordan need to get these three scoundrels to the authorities. It’s over, Laurel. Just a few loose ends to tie up. Devlin may be close by, but he’ll soon be running out of London as fast as he can with his tail between his legs. He’ll keep running because his friends have been caught and will surely betray him to spare their own hides.”

Laurel sighed. “Is there no honor among thieves?”

“No, love. There never is.” He grabbed his crutches, which had fallen to the ground during the short-lived brawl. “Let me help you home. Lean on me and walk slowly.”

She nodded and grabbed his arm, loving its massive strength. “I’m going to talk to Father right now,” she said as they made their way home and got out of his cousin’s hearing, “and insist upon an immediate wedding. I don’t care if he’s shocked or angry. You may have reconciled with Jordan, but I don’t trust him yet. And now Jordan thinks he’s about to come into the Moray wealth when he can’t possibly be more deserving than you. And did you notice the whiskey on his breath?”

“There’s whiskey on mine, too. We shared a bottle while discussing you.”

Laurel let out a soft
harrumph
. “He may have acted honorably in this instance, but who’s to say he isn’t a drunken wretch who will destroy all you’ve helped your Uncle Silas build? No, it’s safest if we marry right away… assuming you still want me.”

“Blessed Scottish saints, you have a strong opinion on the matter.” He smiled wryly and then began to chuckle. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to marry you, but I’ll not make such a demand on your father tonight. Still, I’m pleased by your suggestion. Never thought I’d hear you say you’re eager to marry me.”

“And I never thought I’d hear an
I love you
from your lips, so I guess that makes us even.” She felt drained, but at the same time exhilarated by what the future held for them. She understood that she and Graelem would not be married by tomorrow evening. At this point, it was a hopeless dream. Her father would never allow it, nor would Graelem ever ask it of him.

Still, a tingle of anticipation shot through her, for marriage had been foremost on her mind these past weeks, and she couldn’t imagine anyone else but Graelem standing beside her at the altar. By the smoldering glances he tossed her way, it appeared that he wanted the ceremony to take place as much as she did. It would, perhaps a quiet ceremony sometime next month.

Oh, goodness! Could she keep her hands off Graelem for that long?

They walked through the gate toward the front door, which was now closed. She was about to reach for the knob, hoping it had not yet been locked, when the door flew open and her father was standing there raking a hand through his hair. “Thank goodness! You girls scared the life out of me. Where did you disappear to?”

“It’s a long story, but Graelem can explain everything.” She felt herself begin to swoon and once again leaned her head against Graelem’s shoulder. “I had better sit down.”

“Girls?” Graelem asked as they started to walk into the parlor. “What do you mean, sir? Who else is missing?”

George had now joined them. “You mean to say that Daisy isn’t with you?”

“What?” Laurel’s heart shot into her throat. “Oh, Graelem! She’s gone to Devlin!”

He tore out of the house toward the mews at a hobbling run that had to be excruciatingly painful. She hurried after him and heard the heavier footsteps of her father and uncle trailing behind her. “Laurel, what’s going on?” her father demanded to know. He caught up to her in three long strides and took her by the arm to hold her back.

“I’m not sure. I hope I’m wrong.” Her heart was wildly leaping within her chest as she shook out of his grasp, but her father took hold of her arm again.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

Graelem had hopped the high fence to save himself the trouble of running down the street and around the corner, but she was too short to follow him and doubted that her father and uncle could either, although they were remarkably fit for men of their age. They were wasting precious time standing here talking while Graelem ran headlong into who knew what danger.

“I think Dev means to elope with Daisy to Gretna Green.” The words took a while to get out because she was out of breath and dizzy once again, not quite recovered from her own near abduction. “I refused him, so he shifted his attention and planned to—”

“Marry Daisy? The cur! She’s young and impressionable, not even out in society yet. I’ll kill him if he’s taken advantage.”

She’d never seen her father angrier or more determined.

They reached the mews and saw that the doors to the stable were open. She could hear Brutus snorting and nervously pawing the ground. Devlin was here. Who else was with him? “Laurel, stay back,” she heard Graelem urgently caution her, but she’d already drawn up beside him.

He shoved her behind him.

“She’s my sister. If anyone is to—”

George grabbed her and dragged her behind one of the stalls. “Stay put, you’re only distracting Graelem. Don’t you realize the danger?”

Danger?

She peered over the stall and saw Devlin with his arm firmly around Daisy, pinning her to his side. He held a pistol in his other hand aimed directly at Graelem’s chest. Daisy was in tears. “Please, just step away and let us go,” she pleaded with Graelem. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Else? Oh, heavens! She noticed a man lying unconscious beside one of the stalls, no doubt one of the Bow Street runners. Devlin’s pistol was cocked and his hand was shaking. Had he killed the man? No, they would have heard the shot or noticed blood. He wouldn’t dare fire, would he?

Laurel slipped away from her uncle, who was too busy staring at Devlin to notice her disappearance. Her father was doing the same. She hurried to the carriage house and grabbed one of the horse whips, not yet certain if it had a use, but she needed a weapon and this would do quite nicely. She crept back in, intending to get closer to Devlin for a chance to crack the whip over his wrist and yank the pistol out of his hands the moment it was no longer trained on Graelem.

Her father had other ideas. “Give me that thing,” he said in an angry whisper, grabbing it out of her hand and setting it aside. “Are you mad? Let George and Graelem handle this. I don’t want you anywhere near that frightened idiot,” he said, motioning to Devlin. “George will calm him down.”

But what if her uncle couldn’t calm him? There was nothing to stop Devlin from shooting Graelem unless she stopped him. But how? The whip might not have been the brightest idea, but Daisy and Graelem were in danger because of her, and she had to do something to protect them.

Devlin began to sidle out of the stable with Daisy still trapped in his grasp and that pistol still trained on the man she loved. All she needed was a moment to grab Devlin’s arm and draw it upward so that if a shot went off, it would harmlessly strike the hayloft above them. But she couldn’t risk it while Graelem and now her uncle were still in his line of fire.