Read His Mistletoe Bride Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
His Mistletoe Bride (39 page)
“You're lucky, Ned Weston,” said Mrs. Christmas. “A clean shot, through and through.”
“Doesn't feel lucky,” he ground out.
Dr. Blackmore hurried into the kitchen, frowning as he took in the commotion. “That doesn't look like a burn to me,” he said.
Phoebe ignored his dry comment. “Thank goodness. This is Mr. Weston, our local innkeeper. He has met with an, ah, accident.”
“Apparently. I will need someone to fetch my bag.”
“Here, sir,” gasped Maggie, breathless from her run up and down the back staircase.
The doctor went to work, efficiently cleaning and bandaging the wound. Everyone else stood in tense silence, occasionally throwing worried glances at Phoebe.
“That should do,” Dr. Blackmore finally said. “You'll need to get the bandage changed every day for the next week, and you'll also need a sling to keep the arm immobile.”
Phoebe exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doctor.” She glanced at the clock on a shelf by the pantry. “I must get back upstairs before I am missed.”
The doctor stood. “I'll take you up.” He smiled at Phoebe. “I assume you'll want me to keep this quiet.”
She hated to draw him into a fabrication, but her options were very limited. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Phoebe was murmuring additional thanks when an awful thought sucked the air from her lungs. “Mr. Weston,” she gasped. “Is there any chance the excise men might track you here?”
The publican wet his lips. “I . . . it's surely possible. They've done it before.”
“Yes, I remember that occasion,” she said in a hollow voice. If the officers found Mr. Weston at Mistletoe Manor, they would arrest him. Sam, too.
It took but a few seconds to reach a decision. “Mr. Christmas, find a fresh shirt and jacket for Mr. Weston. He and Sam must come up to the hall and act as if they have been here all evening.”
Dr. Blackmore stopped packing up his case to frown at her. “Do you think that wise, Lady Merritt? Obstructing the law is a tricky business.”
Sam clutched the back of his father's chair so hard his fingers blanched white. “Please, my lady. Don't let Pa be arrested. He's all I got!”
Phoebe gave him a reassuring smile. “I will not allow that to happen, Sam. Iâ”
The door to the kitchen swung open. Lucas stopped cold as he entered, his gaze taking in the scene before him. His eyes grew hard as flint as they settled on Phoebe.
“Well, what have we here?” he asked in a lethally soft voice.
Chapter 37
Phoebe's stomach lurched, and she had to resist the impulse to grab the nearest basin.
Lucas studied her for a moment before flicking his icy gaze to Mr. Weston, grim-faced and pale in his chair. “Is this little tableau the result of a smuggling run across my land, Weston?”
The man looked ready to faint, but managed to come to his feet. “Aye, my lord, and I apologize for it. But as I told your lady, tonight was to be my last run.” He swallowed hard. “I'm giving it up, I swear it.”
Sam moved to his father's side. “It's the truth, my lord. Honest. Pa promised me this would be the last.”
The quaver in the boy's voice closed a fist around Phoebe's heart. She started forward to comfort him, but Lucas shot a hand out. “Stay right where you are, Phoebe.”
“But, Lucasâ”
“And stay quiet,” he said through clenched teeth. “I need to think.”
His tone made her bristle, but the situation would not be improved by an argument.
“Weston,” Lucas said after a short but fraught silence, “did you stop to think that Harper would follow your trail to the manor?”
As Mr. Weston opened his mouth to reply, a loud banging sounded from the hall. Someone was pounding on the manor's front door.
Lucas rubbed his forehead. “Christ. Of course they'd end up here.”
The entire kitchen froze with apprehension, but Phoebe forced herself to break the silence. “Lucas, what are you going to do?”
He cast her a frustrated glare. “My home is about to be invaded by a group of gun-toting excise officers who are loathed by every person within twenty miles. What do you think I'm going to do?”
Mr. Weston stepped forward. “My lord, I deserve no mercy, and if it was just me I'd go freely enough.” He looked down at Sam, standing by his side and quietly sobbing. “I ask for mercy for my boy's sake. He's got naught to look after him but me.”
Lucas raked an impatient hand through his hair. “You should have thought of that before, Weston.” He glanced at Phoebe. “I've got to get up there to deal with Harper. Please make sure this mess gets cleaned up, and then take Weston and Sam up to the hall.”
He pivoted on his heel and strode to the door. When he looked back at them, everyone was still frozen in place. “Get moving,” he snapped, then disappeared through the swinging door.
The kitchen erupted into a flurry of action. Within two minutes, the maids had swept the table clean and Mr. Weston was clothed in garb provided by the footmen. As Phoebe took a deep breath, preparing to follow her husband, she felt Sam's hand slip into hers.
“Please, my lady,” seemed all he was able to choke out.
She bent down to look him straight in the eye. “Do not worry, Sam. His lordship and I will not abandon you. But you must be brave and come with me to the hall.”
The little boy squared his shoulders. “I ain't frightened, my lady.”
“Good.” A swift glance reassured her that everything was as it should be. “Mr. Weston, Sam, please follow me.”
She hurried through to the corridor, then slowed her pace. It would do no good to arrive breathless. She must appear serene and confident, a truly laughable idea given that her nerves were stretched on a rack of anxiety. Despite her brave words to Sam, she had no idea what Lucas would do. She only knew that if he turned Mr. Weston over to the law she might never be able to forgive him.
And if more blood ended up being shed in the manor tonight, she might never forgive herself. Not for the first time, she flayed herself for making such a hash of things.
She slipped into the hall, glancing behind to see Mr. Weston and Sam melt into the crowd. An unnatural silence had fallen over the packed room, broken only by tense whispers and a low thrum of hostile murmuring.
Swiftly, Phoebe made her way to the front of the room, where Lucas confronted Mr. Harper and his men. She counted at least ten in his small force, all armed and all casting nervous, suspicious glances at the guests. The threat of violence hung in the air like a malevolent fog.
She dodged her way through the crowd, coming to stand beside Lucas. At the same time, Silverton stepped forward, moving to flank Lucas on the other side. Meredith and Bathsheba followed, both staring haughtily down their noses at the excise men. As a strategy of intimidation, one could hardly ask for better than four imperious and clearly annoyed aristocrats.
Lucas glanced at Phoebe and smiled. “Ah, there you are, my love. I trust you have solved whatever little domestic crisis was occurring below stairs?”
She blinked, surprised by his light tone and easy confidence. One of his dark brows lifted, amused and faintly questioning.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “One of the kitchen maids dropped an entire platter of mince pies. The girl fell into hysterics and Cook was quite put out, but I do believe disaster has been averted.”
She sounded amazingly calm to her own ears. Perhaps she was a better liar than she gave herself credit for. Not a very consoling thought, but certainly useful in certain circumstances.
“Thank God for small mercies,” Lucas said. “As you can see, we have some unexpected guests. Mr. Harper and his men are on the hunt for smugglers. Naturally, he thought a party at Mistletoe Manor the perfect place to find them.”
Mr. Harper starched up. “My lord, I have no desire to disturb you, but the blood trail we found in the woods pointed to the manor. I must insist you let us conduct a search.”
“You insist?” Lucas replied in a bored but haughty voice. “How extraordinary. One would think the last place a smuggler would run to is a house full of merry people, especially when that house is owned by one who has made it clear he does not countenance illegal activity.”
Mr. Harper's suspicious gaze fell on Phoebe. “Mayhap you don't countenance it, my lord, but rumor has it other members of your household do.”
Phoebe bit back a gasp as an angry murmur rose from the crowd.
“I would suggest,” Lucas said in a voice cold enough to freeze hellfire, “that a sensible man would do well to ignore baseless rumors, Harper. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, my lord. But as an officer of the law, I must insist you allow me to carry out my duties and conduct my search.”
“You do realize, Mr. Harper,” interjected Cousin Stephen, “that as Marquess of Silverton I am a local magistrate. If I feel there is no need to conduct a search, should that not satisfy you?”
“No disrespect intended, my lord,” Harper snapped, “but no. It doesn't.”
The crowd's muttering grew louder, and the excise men shifted nervously, keeping their pistols at the ready. Phoebe had an awful feeling that disaster might be only seconds away.
Lucas let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. Conduct your search if you must, Harper. I'm sure you will find your smugglers hiding in the larder, behind the cheese or the pickles.”
Mr. Harper's face turned positively red. “I do not appreciate the jest, Lord Merritt. And be sure I
will
conduct a thorough search”
will
conduct a thorough search”
“Go right ahead. Christmas,” Lucas said to the butler, “please accompany Mr. Harper's men to the kitchen and cellars. And see they don't disturb Cook.”
Mr. Harper and his men fanned out, some going below stairs and others pushing their way through the hall. When Phoebe saw an officer head toward Mr. Weston, she drew in a sharp breath. Fortunately, Mr. Knaggs bumbled into the man's path, apologizing profusely as he adroitly steered the officer in another direction.
Lucas settled a hand on her back. “Courage, my love,” he murmured. “Harper knows he won't find anything. He's just trying to make a point.”
He was right. In a few minutes, Mr. Harper's men returned to the front of the hall, assembling behind their disgruntled chief.
“Find anything?” Lucas asked politely.
“No, my lord, which I suspect does not surprise you. But I swear this won't be the end of it. I intend to track down that gang and bring every last man to account.”
“I commend your dedication. Now, sir, I suggest you either put away your pistols and join our celebrations, or be on your way. The ladies cannot be easy as long as your weapons are drawn.”
“Thank you, but no,” said Harper with offended dignity. “We'll not trouble you any longer.”
Mr. Christmas ushered the men out and shut the doors behind them. For a full ten seconds, silence prevailed, then the room erupted into loud cheers. Silverton clapped Lucas on the back, and the men of the village surrounded him, vigorously pumping his hand and thanking him. The women hugged each other, and little Sam threw his arms around his father's waist and burst into tears.
“Well,” said Meredith, hugging Phoebe, “you and Lucas certainly know how to throw an interesting party. This is so much more entertaining than fisticuffs over Easter dinner.”
“And how lucky you are to have a doctor on hand to treat the wounded,” Bathsheba chimed in. “Although I do hope you don't fall into the habit of inviting armed militias to your parties. They tend to make such a mess of the carpets.”
Phoebe's head swam and her limbs felt weak with relief. Bathsheba pushed her into a chair. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Meredith knelt beside her. “You needn't have worried, Phoebe. Lucas is a good man. He will always do the right thing, even if it's not entirely lawful.”
Phoebe stared at her husband, who was now the object of toasts from Mr. Knaggs and some of the other men. He calmly accepted their cheers and then looked at Phoebe. Slowly, his gazed heated.
“I certainly recognize
that
look,” Bathsheba said.
that
look,” Bathsheba said.
“Yes.” Meredith sighed happily. “It's so romantic.”
“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Phoebe lied, blushing.
“If you don't, you're about to find out,” Bathsheba replied. “Here comes your husband.”
Lucas strode up to them. “Ladies, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak with my wife.”
“Go right ahead,” said Bathsheba as Lucas lifted Phoebe out of her chair. “I suggest you take her to your study, and make sure to lock the door behind you.”
Phoebe glared over her shoulder at Bathsheba and Meredith. Both were snickering as Lucas towed her into his study. Holly, safely ensconced in his basket by the fire, lifted his head and gave them a sleepy yawn by way of greeting. When they ignored him, he grumbled, dug his nose under his paws, and went back to sleep.
Lucas firmly shut the door and locked it.
“You cannot be serious,” Phoebe said in disbelief. “We have a houseful of guests!”
“I'll show you serious, Madam Wife.”
The grim note had returned to his voice, and her heart sank.
“Lucas, I realize you must be unhappy with meâ”
“That's not the word I would use,” he growled, pulling her over to one of the ancient leather armchairs by the fire.
Oh, dear.
“Ah, what word would thee like to use?” She winced when her slip of the tongue betrayed her jangling nerves.
“Ah, what word would thee like to use?” She winced when her slip of the tongue betrayed her jangling nerves.
He sat, then tugged her into his lap. As she tumbled across him, the chair creaked ominously under their combined weights. Her husband sighed. “I suppose we need new furniture in here, too.”
“That might be wise.”
Despite his gentle touch, she could not yet bring herself to look at him. Perhaps he was not that angry about the smuggling situationâand the interesting ridge nudging her bottom suggested thatâbut she could not forget how he had reacted earlier this evening to the news she was breeding.
“Phoebe, look at me.”
She forced herself to look into his eyes, only to lose her breath at the shadowed intensity of his gaze.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he stroked her chin.
A chin that quivered at his touch. “I am not entirely certain. It has been a most unusual evening.”
“That's one way of putting it.”
She winced at his sarcastic tone. “Lucas, I am so very sorry about what happened tonight. I regret I had to place you in a difficult position, and I want to thank you for what you did.”
“You didn't think I would protect him, did you?”
She hesitated, wanting to spare his feelings, but she was done with lying to him. “Truthfully, I was not sure what you would do.”
His mouth twisted. “All right. I deserve that. It's not like I've done a very good job of winning anyone's trustâeither yours or the people of the manor or village.”
She placed a quick hand on his chest. “No, I have always trusted you, but we do not always agree on the best way to resolve a problem.”
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