Surrender Becomes Her (36 page)

In the act of mounting his horse, as the sound of the shot shattered the air, Marcus jerked around to stare in the direction of the stables. Fear such as he had never known bloomed in his chest and he kicked his horse into a mad gallop, swiftly covering the scant quarter mile between the house and stables.

Jerking the horse to a sliding stop, he leaped from the sad
dle, his heart jumping like a wild thing when he heard Isabel’s raised, frantic voice coming from the stable. Lanterns were already lit in the sleeping quarters of the stables and sleepy-eyed stable boys were tumbling outside. Heedless of the body lying inches from his snorting horse’s hooves, heedless of anything but Isabel, he raced past the first of the servants and charged down the aisle, following the siren song of his wife’s voice.

Finding the stall where she lay still bound, he flung open the door and in one long stride was by her side. Kneeling beside her, he pulled her into his arms and rained kisses across her face.

“Oh, my little love,” he cried brokenly. “I feared never to hold you again.”

It took him but a moment to cut her bonds and, with strands of rope dangling from her wrists and ankles, Isabel looped her arms around his neck and melted into his big, warm body. She was safe at last. Marcus had her. Her cheek resting against his shoulder, the fear and terrors of the day vanished. She was home. And Marcus
loved
her!

Cradling her next to him, Marcus rose to his feet, and oblivious to the gasps and startled glances of the curious servants he passed in the aisle, like a conquering hero he strode from the barn, his most precious treasure held securely in his arms.

W
alking outside into the cool night air, Marcus and Isabel were met with a barrage of astonished gasps. Worley, with young Ellard at his heels, came rushing up.

“Sir! What is going on?” Worley demanded anxiously. In the light of the lantern he held, his anxious gaze took in Isabel’s smudged, exhausted features, her creased and dirty riding habit, the pieces of rope dangling from her ankles and wrists, and the bits of straw clinging to the fine material and her hair, and he exclaimed, “Madame! Are you all right? What has happened to you?”

Nestled in her husband’s arms, Isabel smiled wanly and said, “I am fine, Worley. It has been an exciting day, but it ended well. Do not worry.”

Not convinced but knowing he would get no more than that, Worley turned his eyes to Marcus. “Sir,” he said with commendable aplomb, “there is a dead man lying over there.”

Unable to keep quiet a moment longer, forgetting both his place and his manners, Ellard said excitedly, “It’s the smuggler Collard, sir! He’s been shot dead.”

Marcus said nothing for a moment, then glancing down at Isabel he asked softly, “Could you identify him as one of your abductors?”

She shook her head. “No. I know that there were two men, but they attacked so swiftly, enveloping me in a blanket
or something, that I never saw either one of them. Before they removed the covering, one of them knocked me out, and when I awoke, I was blindfolded.” She sighed. “I could recognize their voices, but other than their voices and my impressions of them, I can tell you nothing.”

Every word hit Marcus like a blow and he fought to contain his rage against the two men that had laid rough hands on his wife, had dared to touch her at all. Dying had been too easy for Collard, he thought savagely. He hugged Isabel tighter to him. She was safe, he reminded himself. She was safe and that was all that mattered.

Pushing aside thoughts of vengeance, Marcus said to Worley, “Wrap the body in a blanket and get it out of sight. At first light send someone to notify the constable and the squire.” Looking at Ellard, he added, “I have a horse somewhere around here. Will you fetch it?”

“Yes, sir!”

A second later, Ellard returned with Marcus’s horse from where it had been contentedly cropping grass near one of the paddocks. Reluctantly, Marcus set Isabel down, just long enough to mount his horse. She came up easily into his arms and with her sitting in front of him, her arms once more looped around his neck, her cheek against his shoulder, they rode slowly home.

By now Sherbrook Hall was brilliantly lit and Thompson and a half dozen servants were anxiously milling around the front of the house, peering intently in the direction of the stables. As Marcus and Isabel appeared out of the darkness, almost as one they surged toward them.

“Master!” cried Thompson. “What has happened? We heard the sound of gunfire. Is everything all right?”

Similar sounds and questions came from the others around him. Peggy, her blue eyes worried, pushed herself to the front of the crowd. “Oh, my sweet mistress! What has been done to you?” she demanded, taking in Isabel’s bedraggled state.

Isabel forced a smile. “I have had a most exciting day,
Peggy, an adventure, but it ended well and now I simply long for a bath, and perhaps Cook or someone else could find me a few morsels to eat?”

It was precisely the right thing to say: Peggy drew herself up like a general preparing for battle and said briskly, “I shall see to it immediately.” Turning away, she pointed a finger at a couple of the younger maids. “Come with me, madame’s bath water must be heated.”

Thompson looked at George, the footman, and said, “Go this instant and wake Cook. Tell her that madame has come home unexpectedly and has not eaten. She is to prepare a tray for her immediately.”

The servants vanished into the house as if by magic, leaving only Thompson, Isabel, and Marcus standing in front of the house. His features kind and concerned, Thompson said, “Madame, may I help you down?”

Isabel was gently lifted down, Thompson discreetly making no comment about the pieces of rope clinging to her wrists and feet. Marcus dismounted and, remembering Whitley’s greatcoat for the first time, untied it and threw it across his arm. The last of the crushing weight he had borne since the moment he had read the ransom note lifted. Isabel was safe and so was the memorandum. Right now, it didn’t even matter to him that one of the scoundrels had escaped. He smiled. He had beaten them. His gaze wandered to his wife. No, he thought jubilantly,
they
had beaten them.

But the greatcoat reminded him of pressing matters and, looking at Thompson, he said, “Tell George to prepare to leave for Holcombe within the next few minutes. He can ride my horse. Just as soon as Mrs. Sherbrook is settled, I’ll have a note for him to deliver to Lord Thorne.”

Thompson rushed away, leaving Marcus to escort his wife across the courtyard and into the house. Once inside, Marcus reluctantly handed Isabel over to Peggy’s eager hands and excused himself.

“I’ll be only a few minutes,” he murmured, his gaze ca
ressing Isabel’s features. “I must write that note for Jack and then I shall find you.”

“Madame needs to bathe and eat first,” said Peggy with the impunity of a longtime servant. “A half-hour would be better for her.”

Marcus bowed and said meekly, “Of course. Whatever is best for your mistress.”

Triumphantly, Peggy bore Isabel away.

Tiredness washed over Marcus, but his step was light as he headed for his office. Entering the room, he tossed Whitley’s greatcoat onto the nearest chair and sat down and scrawled a brief note to Jack, demanding his presence as soon as possible. Folding the note, he decided that it was going to be a very long night.

He rang for Thompson and, handing him the note, said, “This is for George. Tell him he does not have to wait for an answer. Oh, and tell Mrs. Brown to have a room prepared for Lord Thorne. I doubt Jack will be riding back to Holcombe tonight. I’ll be upstairs with my wife. When Jack arrives show him here and notify me.”

Despite the questions burning on his lips, Thompson bowed and departed. A moment later, the note was on its way to Holcombe and Jack.

Alone in the room again, Marcus poured himself a snifter of brandy and slowly leaned back in his chair and fully relaxed. It was over. Isabel was upstairs being fussed over by Peggy and soon enough he could turn the memorandum over to Jack and that would end his part in this whole affair. His mouth tightened. Collard’s death bothered him not a bit, but he wondered about Collard’s accomplice. Another smuggler? A Frenchman? Isabel might be able to answer those questions. And Whitley? Was he dead? Marcus strongly suspected so, but it didn’t matter to him; what mattered to him was that his wife was home, unharmed, and the memorandum had been found and was residing in his safe. Soon enough it
would be in Jack’s hands and headed for Roxbury and London.

Glancing at the clock and deciding that he had tarried long enough he set down his snifter and left his office. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the upper floor and hurried down the wide hall toward his wife’s rooms. He found her neatly tucked into bed, a bank of pillows at her back and a small tray across her lap. A larger tray, holding several covered dishes, sat on a nearby table. Of Peggy there was no sign.

Seeing him, Isabel set down her cup of tea and sent him a shy smile.

His heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of that smile and, heedless of anything but her, he sped across the distance that separated them. Knocking the tray askew, he jerked her into his arms and kissed her hard.

“I love you,” he said in a shaken voice. “You mean everything to me. If something had happened to you…” His voice died away and he kissed her again. “I love you.” With trembling fingers he brushed back a tendril of fiery hair. “I know ours was not a love match, but you must believe that I will do everything within my power to make you happy. I swear it.”

Pressing sweet little kisses across his mouth and cheeks, she exclaimed, “Oh, Marcus, I love you, too—I always have!”

Astonished, he pushed her away slightly. “You love me? Truly?” he asked hopefully.

She smiled tenderly at him. “I was in love with you even when you were my pigheaded guardian.”

He frowned. “If you loved me, why did you run away with Hugh?”

She sighed. “Because I was young and foolish and so miserable that I could think of nothing else to do. Things were so wretched at home, Aunt Agatha always pecking at me, and you…you only saw me as a troublesome ward and I so wanted you to see me as a woman.” She toyed with a button
on his jacket. “I was convinced you never would, that you’d always see me as a child and a brat at that! The afternoon after our fight over Tempest, I was sunk in the depths of despair and I just wanted to run away from everything. Hugh happened along at the wrong time.”

Marcus settled himself on her bed: Isabel half sprawled across him. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing: I was very much aware of what an enticing little chit you were growing into.”

She sat upright, her eyes big. “You never gave any sign!” she accused.

He sighed. “Sweetheart, how could I? I was your guardian. It would have been dishonorable of me to have given you any idea of my feelings.”

She scowled at him. “Well, I think you should have given me a hint. If I’d had the least—do you realize how much time we wasted? If only I’d known!”

“I was waiting for the guardianship to end,” he explained patiently. “I had every intention of courting you once I no longer had any responsibility for you.”

“Suppose someone else would have caught my eye while you waited?”

Marcus smiled like a tiger, thinking of Whitley’s near drowning at his hands. “I’m sure I’d have thought of a way to discourage anyone fool enough to come courting the woman I had marked as my own.”

“Oh, Marcus!” she breathed. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He pulled her up against him and kissed her until her eyes were starry and she was breathless. “For the rest of our lives together,” he said huskily, “I have every intention of saying and doing the most romantic things imaginable.”

“The time we’ve wasted,” mourned Isabel, rubbing her head across his chest like a kitten.

“Well, you weren’t exactly encouraging after you came back from India,” he said dryly.

She looked up at him. “How could I be? You know why I couldn’t marry anyone.” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, you never once gave any indication you felt anything for me but irritation and annoyance.”

He grimaced. “What did you expect? You’d broken my heart. I was hardly going to lay it at your feet and take the chance you’d trample it again.”

“What fools we’ve been,” she said softly.

“That’s in the past,” he murmured, “we have the future to share and memories to make.” He kissed her. “I love you, Isabel. Never doubt that. I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you—a squalling infant in the arms of your nurse.”

She looked delighted. “Oh, Marcus! Really?”

“Oh, Isabel!” he teased, the gray eyes warm and caressing. “Yes, really.”

It was a joyous time in a day that had been so traumatic and fraught with danger and they reveled in the knowledge that they loved and were loved in return. Passion simmered between them and inevitably they made love, their coming together all the sweeter, all the more meaningful with love guiding every caress, every touch.

Mindful that Jack would be arriving soon, Marcus eventually rose from the bed and sought out his own room to prepare to meet him. When he was presentable again, lured by his wife’s presence, he came back to her and, scooping her up in his arms, he settled in a comfortable chair near the bed. Nestled together, they talked of the things that lovers do until all too soon the knock on the door came and Thompson informed Marcus that Lord Thorne awaited him in his office.

Reluctantly, Marcus carried Isabel back to bed. “I have to talk to Jack. It’s important.”

Her eyes searched his. “Is it what you and Jack and Garrett were meeting about the other night and you couldn’t tell me?”

He nodded curtly.

She caught his hand. “I’m involved, too. You can’t tell me that my abduction today, yesterday, doesn’t have some bearing on it. I want to be there.”

He hesitated. “Are you up to it?” he asked. “There are questions I’d like to ask, but I didn’t want to put you under any more strain tonight.”

She grinned at him. “I’d be under more strain wondering what you and Jack were talking about than answering questions.”

“Very well,” he said with a faint smile. “Join us in my office when you are dressed.”

Marcus found Jack pacing the floor when he arrived. Jack declined the offer of refreshments and demanded, “What the devil happened that is so important that I am dragged from my bed at this hour of the morning?”

Marcus said simply, “I have the memorandum.”

“What?”
Jack ejaculated, goggle-eyed.

Marcus nodded. “Yes, I know, astounding, isn’t it? Whitley had the memorandum with him all the time—hidden in his greatcoat.” He waved in the direction of the greatcoat, lying where he had flung it earlier. “If you’ll examine it, you’ll see where he hid it.”

In one long stride, Jack crossed to the greatcoat and plucked it up and found the seam Marcus had opened. He pulled out the oilcloth-wrapped packet and, looking back at Marcus, exclaimed, “By Jove! This is wonderful! Wellesley’s plans can stand as they are. I’ll leave immediately for London. Roxbury will be happy to have this in his hand I can tell you!”

Marcus pulled on his ear. “Ah, not that memorandum. It is a long story, but what you hold in your hand is a fake that I concocted. The original is over here in my safe.” Smiling, Marcus turned to indicate the location against the far wall and froze.

The safe and its concealing gilt-framed portrait had not been in his line of sight when he had entered the room and,
focused on Jack and his reaction, Marcus had not even looked in that direction. But now, he was staring in frozen disbelief at the sight that met his horrified gaze.