A Most Improper Rumor (17 page)

They melded into one, swept into the most intimate journey together, the tumult holding them both prisoner, and Angelina sensed he experienced the same exact thought when he held her in place, deeply penetrated, and breathed a single word. “Now.”

She was so on the brink, her body obeyed as if pushed over the edge by the order, the wash of rapture so profound the earth shattered. In the background she heard Christopher say her name in a hoarse evocation, and then she felt the pulse of his ejaculation inside her.

The first awareness she had the real world existed was the singing of a night bird somewhere, soft and melodic. Her head, she found, rested on Christopher’s shoulder, the scent of his skin spicy and masculine. She was in total disarray, her skirt up around her hips, her bodice wide open, her hair a loose mane to her waist.

Never had she felt so free. Never so much like a woman.

“Gardens are delightful places, are they not?” His hand smoothed down her back, the circle of his arms easily supporting the weight of her lax body. “This particular one will always hold a place in my heart.”

The most she could manage was a muffled laugh, her palm pressed against his muscular chest where his heart beat with a steady thud. “I admit to an enlightened perception of rose beds and yew hedges.”

“I think I led you down the proverbial garden path,” he said facetiously. One long finger traced her brow in a languid arc. “And I refuse to apologize for it.”

“If you did, I would not accept it.”

“Angelina . . . are your courses late?”

What did he just ask
?

She didn’t precisely stiffen, but she did go very still at that gentle question. “I don’t think so.”

A lie. She was several weeks past her usual time to bleed. At first she hadn’t thought much about it, but it had occurred to her just recently that she was late.

He shifted her in his arms so he could gaze at her face. “You haven’t denied me in almost two months.”

It was disconcerting to realize he’d been
counting
. Christopher continued quietly. “It isn’t surprising, is it? When a man and a woman are lovers—especially with any degree of frequency—a child is not necessarily the inevitable result, but certainly probable. I am wrong?”

She couldn’t have this conversation, not with him still inside her, not half sprawled across his lap with their clothing in disarray and her thoughts scattered to the winds by passion. Angelina eased free of his hold and stood, the warmth of his discharge on her thighs, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings on her rumpled gown. “I am sure of nothing. My courses are not always regular.”

“I see.” He sat there, watching her attempts to dress through heavy-lidded eyes, unself-conscious over his partial nudity, his breeches undone, his fair hair disordered by her fingers. “Forgive me if I am hopeful. I don’t suppose I realized until I met you that I wanted children. Not just my children, but
our
children.”

She did too. Far more than she ever dreamed once she’d become involved with him, but first, she had to be sure he was safe, and the thought of any danger to their child . . .

It turned her blood cold.

“I can’t hope for anything until all this is settled,” she blurted out, raw emotion in her voice. “Surely you feel the same.”

“You just agreed to marry me.”

She had. And she didn’t regret it, but it wasn’t quite that simple.

“You worry too much.” He got to his feet and swiftly did up his breeches, his eyes steady. “I would die to protect you, and if you already carry my babe, I—”

“Don’t say that,” she interrupted, her voice cutting the night air like sharp-edged glass. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

At least he understood. Not completely, of course; she doubted anyone did. And she utterly loathed the person who had exerted so much control over her life.

Hopefully her trust that Benjamin Wallace was just the man to bring the monster to his knees was warranted.

Even as she thought it, the wind whipped her hair, followed by a short crack of thunder.

Christopher jerked, stumbled sideways, and then dove toward her, both of them crashing to the path, the very breath knocked from her lungs as he landed on top of her. He muttered on a low growl, “Don’t move or I suspect we’ll both be dead.”

Had it not been for the slow wet seep of liquid soaking her gown, she might have obeyed him, but instead she began to struggle. “You’re shot.”

“Once is bad enough,” he answered grimly. “Lie still, Angelina. I’d rather not it be twice and whoever it is might just be reloading.”

Chapter 20

A
true puzzle required dedicated contemplation and Ben found that usually, once he’d reached that frustrated point where the answer eluded him, his mind cleared.

He needed to act.

The sound of a shot confirmed his suspicion, but it wasn’t really gratifying; rather the opposite.

Preemptive strike. Never a bad idea. It was expected but not welcome.

He moved silently in the shadows; Alicia and her companions had a half-day lead, but he had a swift horse and purpose, so he’d arrived some time ago. Once he’d discerned he and Janelle were not going to get any farther with their questioning, he’d left London with all due speed to join his wife.

Mrs. Hayden had no idea who initiated the accusation of theft that made the royal family disdain her as unfit to join their exalted ranks, and neither had the baronet’s sister any viable leads as to why someone would put about such a nasty rumor and insinuate she’d contracted a whore’s disease.

And all day long, his unease had grown.

The feeling wasn’t based on logic—he’d sent them away with an armed guard and in secret, but then again, three people departing different residences without being seen in some way was all but impossible, especially if the enemy had advance warning.

He edged into the back area of the garden and vaulted the gate. The sound of voices, muted but unmistakable, led him to the right, but he was cautious of the uncertain illumination as clouds shifted overhead, sending fickle shadows across the path.

If he called out, whoever had fired the shot in the first place would have a good inkling of his location and he wasn’t interested in being a target. What he
was
interested in was capturing the marksman. He hadn’t ridden his horse half to death to get here for nothing and it seemed his instincts were dead on.

Someone spoke again, a woman’s voice, instantly muffled.

Crouching behind a small narcotic-smelling bush, he said softly, “Lowe?”

“Lord Heathton?” It was the sound of Lady DeBrooke’s voice, with an edge of hysteria. On a sob, she added, “Thank God.”

She was observant if she could recognize his voice so easily.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, squinting in the darkness. They seemed to be to his left and he inched forward. “Where is Alicia?”

“Inside,” Christopher Durham said on a rasp. “Safe, or so I assume. I think the assailant is gone. I heard someone running toward the woods. I’m wounded, but it’s not bad, or it doesn’t seem to be, but you probably have more experience with these matters than I do.”

Damn all
. Ben had wondered if they might be followed but had not expected an actual attack. Another foot and he saw two indistinct forms, one sitting, the other kneeling on the shrouded path. The unmistakable curtain of shining dark hair could only belong to Angelina, though she appeared to be in a state of undress, her gown falling off her slender shoulders. Lowe also was only half dressed, his shirt undone, and if not for the dark stain spreading on the stark white linen of that garment, Ben would have just quietly retreated. If it had been a lover’s interlude, it was one no longer.

“Let me take a look.” He gently eased in between the hovering Lady DeBrooke and pulled aside the baron’s shirt. The wound was ugly but had gone high, into the fleshy part of the shoulder. “Painful but not fatal,” he said, hoping like hell he was right as he took out his handkerchief and pressed it against the well of blood. “But the ball will have to come out so it doesn’t fester. Where’s the man I sent with you as a guard?”

Lowe stared at him, his hand holding the cloth in place, his jaw set. “I’ve no idea.”

“The coachman who drove you. He’s a . . . Well, let’s call him an acquaintance of mine who can be quite useful in sticky situations. He agreed to keep an eye on all three of you.”

“Then I think you might need to worry about him.” The baron’s face was grim. “I have no idea what has happened to him. After dinner we took a stroll. I haven’t seen the man since we arrived.”

A stroll?
He thought it was rather more than that, but that part was hardly his concern.

Ben helped him to his feet. “That doesn’t bode well for his health. You are bleeding profusely. We need to send someone to the village for a physician. Let’s get you inside.”

Bad or not, the other man leaned on him heavily enough that Ben suspected maybe the nonchalance over the wound was for the benefit of the beautiful woman now looking at them both with a stricken expression. Angelina whispered, “What can I do?”

“Go to Alicia and tell her what has happened, but caution her to stay inside. I will take care of the arrangements. Hurry, my lady, if you please.”

After all, he’d just allowed Baron Lowe to take a ball in the shoulder and as far as he could tell, he was responsible. The attack hadn’t been unanticipated, just much faster than he’d thought possible.

This wasn’t war, where the game was understood.

As he watched Angelina dash off toward the house, Ben murmured, “I dislike it when the enemy changes tactics.”

Lowe exhaled, his arm draped over Ben’s shoulder. “I don’t think I like it much either, Heathton. I admit I thought you were being reactionary, but for Angelina’s sake, I went along with your plan. I owe you an apology for my doubts.”

“He’s murdered two men, and if the absence of my guard is any indication, three. I’ll see him dance on the gibbet if he has killed Sharpe. Not that killing that resourceful young man would be easy, so I’m hoping I’m wrong, but where the devil is he?”

Lowe said nothing, his pallor pronounced. The sound of their boots rasped along the path and if the marksman wanted an easy target, surely they qualified in the tearing light available from the moon behind the moving clouds.

The house was being lit up, Ben noticed, window by window, and as they gained the back terrace, Alicia, clad in only a nightdress, rushed out in direct defiance of his orders, her long hair spilling down her back.

In defiance of my orders,
he thought again with resignation. No surprise there, but if whoever had taken a shot at Lord Lowe was still lurking, he’d certainly had a chance to pick both him and the baron off as they were hardly moving quickly, so he suspected the assailant had run off.

“Good evening, my dear,” Ben said as calmly as possible. “I decided to join you after all. Tell me, is one of the footmen available?”

* * *

This time he would not get away with it.

Alicia saw the blood with an inward shiver, but she already knew from Angelina’s nearly hysterical recital that Ben wasn’t shot; Lord Lowe had been the target; yet still her heart seemed to have climbed up to somewhere that made it hard to breathe.

How dare her husband act as if he weren’t escorting a wounded man into the house.

“How could you?” she demanded, folding her arms under her breasts to keep her hands from trembling.

“Ask for a footman?” Ben helped the baron across the threshold into the hallway. “So I can send him to the village for the doctor, of course. Where is your dressing gown?”

What?
He escorted a man bleeding from a shot to his chest into the house that was supposedly much safer than London and he questioned her attire?

No. Wait
. Even as she gathered energy to retort furiously, she realized Ben was trying to distract her. She moved aside, the floor cold under her feet, and let the two men step past her, seeing with a sinking heart the scarlet droplets that trailed their passage.

“I’ll do it,” she said, hoping she sounded concise but afraid her voice wavered anyway. “I assume it is most urgent. I would tend his lordship, but I don’t know how. Let me send for help.”

“An excellent idea.” Ben nodded, his gaze approving as it briefly touched on her. “We will need hot water in the meantime, and cloth for bandages, so wake the cook as well.”

“I’ll do both.”

“And don your dressing gown. I find you distracting when you are only partially clothed.”

Lord Lowe must not have been too seriously injured, for he gave a choked laugh. At that point she realized the man was only partially dressed as well, his shirt hanging free, his thick hair disheveled, and certainly Angelina had been fastening her gown with shaking fingers when she’d roused Alicia from a semi-slumber.

Outside?
In the garden?

An intriguing—and scandalous—thought, but before she contemplated it, she needed to make sure she fulfilled her promises. Alicia rang the bell in the dining room off the terrace, aware of the limited staff, but almost instantly rewarded by the young man who had served them dinner appearing in the doorway. “My lady? There seems to be a commotion.”

Perhaps Benjamin was right about her dressing gown. Her face warmed as the breeze moved the folds of her thin nightdress against her bare skin, even though the footman’s gaze was politely trained on her face. She said decisively, “There’s been a mishap of sorts. We need the village doctor, and if the kitchen staff could heat water and provide linens for bandages, that would be appreciated.”

“Right away, milady.”

As he hurried off, she moved to follow, arrested when Angelina appeared in the doorway. She hadn’t yet changed her bloodstained gown, but at least it was buttoned properly, and she’d smoothed her hair and tied it back with a simple ribbon.

“The doctor is coming?”

“He has been sent for.” Alicia ached for her friend’s devastated expression. “Angelina—”

“I don’t know what to do. For someone so ostracized by society once and left on her own, I am still infuriatingly
helpless
to prevent it from happening again.” The infamous Lady DeBrooke stood there, her face pale, her serene demeanor shattered. “If he dies, it is because of me.”

Those simple words fell quietly.

“I confess to not being any more skilled than you are as a nurse, but it hardly seemed to me the situation was that dire.” Alicia moved to take her cold hand. “He won’t die. Ben will know how to handle it until the physician arrives. He didn’t seem overly alarmed.”

Not that he ever seemed overly alarmed, but then again, Alicia had seen him display a great deal more emotion lately. It was heartening to watch his control slip now and again and reveal the man beneath.

“It could have been fatal.” Angelina’s face was stone cold and emotionless. “I think I might just go away. I have money . . . It is entirely my own, left to me at William’s death. No one knows but my solicitor, who helped me deposit the funds in such a way no one else could have access to them. I suppose when I first made the decision to keep and invest the money, I had a premonition I would one day need it. That my father was going to force me to marry again wasn’t in question, so I hid the inheritance. I could live quite comfortably on the Continent.”

“And leave Lord Lowe?” Alicia could not help but catch her breath. “No! He would be heartbroken. I have seen him . . . He very much adores you. You
can’t
.”

The other woman’s smile was humorless. “To save his life? I love him. The sacrifice would be worth it even if it means forfeiting my own happiness.”

This was entirely spiraling out of control. Alicia tugged her toward a pair of chairs by the window. Angelina sank down as if her legs had ceased to hold her, her wan face washed by the autumn moonlight coming in the long windows.

Earnestly—and honestly—she said, “I would help you in anything, but not in leaving him. More for your sake, for this would be the mistake of a lifetime.”

“Alicia—”

She interrupted the weary words. “It is much more a time to stand and fight, don’t you think? I know I do. We have all been attacked in one way or another. Ben’s study, our home set on fire, and now this. Surely the four of us should be able to best whoever intends us harm, or I should hope so.”

“I thought your husband might be able to help me, but it seems all I did was put you in danger also. I knew I was risking Christopher’s life by accepting his interest. I feel not only guilty, but selfish.”

“Nonsense. You’ve done nothing wrong. Someone else carries the blame. Come now, you should go to him. Whether or not you can tend his wound, you can certainly hold his hand and I am sure that having you by his side will ease the pain. He doesn’t need to worry about you along with the rest of it. Besides, I doubt Ben is the nurse he prefers. You are far more to his lordship’s tastes.”

It took a moment, but Angelina finally rose and nodded. “You are right. I should be with him. Thank you.” The other woman’s smile was tremulous but far better than her frozen expression of a few moments ago. “Other than Eve, who has been such a stalwart supporter, I have so few friends; it is wonderful to make a new one. You have a very genuine warmth, Countess, and I can see why your husband is so deeply enamored. He chose well.”

Enamored might be an exaggeration, but it was a lovely compliment. “I also think a new friend is a treasure, so the sentiment is reciprocated.” Alicia stood. “I will go with you. Ben might have some other task for me and I would at least like to feel useful.”

Besides, she needed a word with him.

The vague theory she had was starting to solidify, but she needed to ask him if it was as far-fetched as she feared it might be.

After the course of the evening’s events, maybe it was time she told him, even if he discounted it altogether.