The Incomparable Miss Compton (26 page)

“Drop the pistol,” Malcolm gritted out, feeling blood running down his cheek.

“Go to hell,” Wells replied. With a laugh of pure madness, he aimed the pistol at the ceiling and fired. Sarah cried out and was silent.

Malcolm felt as if it were his own life that had been snuffed out. “No!” he cried. Leaning to the left so far that he heard the audible snap of Well’s arm breaking, he wrenched the now useless pistol from the man’s right hand. Though he had to be in pain, Wells only laughed again.

“I still won, my lord,” he jeered. “If I aimed correctly, she is dead, the only person you had the courage to love. May you die along with her!”

“You first,” Malcolm replied, slamming his fist into the contorted face. Wells went limp.

Malcolm struggled to his feet. His numbed brain informed him that he was hurt. Glancing down at Wells, he noticed a puddle of blood pooling on the planking floor. Frowning, he touched his face. Had he broken a vein? His head protested the touch, but his fingers came back sticky with congealed blood. With eyes widening in horror, he realized the blood was dripping from the ceiling. He staggered for the stairs and heaved open the trapdoor.

She lay still on the floor. His heart broke at the sight. With a strangled cry, he scrambled across the low-ceilinged room to her side.

“Sarah,” he moaned, kneeling beside her and carefully rolling her over. A wooden sliver as long and sharp as a hunting knife protruded from her shoulder. Looking past her, he could see where the ball had splintered the dry wood. With hands that shook, he wrenched the spike from her shoulder, praying she would not feel the pain. Fresh blood gushed from the wound. He yanked off his cravat and used it to stem the flow. Her eyelids flickered and flew open. Malcolm caught his breath.

“Easy,” he cautioned, wanting only to hug her close in thanksgiving. “I’m here. Everything will be all right.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied, and laid a pale hand on his. As always, her touch was curiously comforting, especially when he had intended to be the comforter.

“Wells?” she murmured.

“Unconscious for the moment,” Malcolm explained. “I have his weapons. Rest a moment, and we’ll try to get you out of here.”

“Malcolm,” she whispered, and his name was surprisingly sweet on her lips, “Malcolm, whatever happens, I love you, and I will marry you if you still want me.”

“
If
I want you?” The question was so ridiculous that it wrung a laugh from him. “Madam, I could not think it possible for any man to want a woman more than I want you. Sarah, you are everything to me. I realized that as soon as I knew you might be in danger. You are my world, my life blood. If you want me to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will gladly do so. I love you.”

“We can discuss the rest of our lives later,” she murmured. “Right now all I care about are the next few minutes. Please, my lord, will you kiss me?”

He should deny her, tell her now was hardly the time, but his own heart demanded he do as she asked. He bent to kiss her gently on the mouth, savoring the sweet taste of her lips.

Sarah sighed. Her arm throbbed with pain, but it was nothing to the joy and delight spreading through her. He loved her! She could feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice. She could taste it in his kiss. His love whispered in the way he held her, sang in the way he murmured her name against her lips. He had said she was everything to him. She knew that he was her world as well.

Gradually she became aware of noises below. Malcolm raised his head.

“My God, it’s Wells,” came Lord Prestwick’s voice. “Malcolm? Miss Compton? Are you here?”

“Here!” Malcolm called. “In the loft. Miss Compton has been hurt. Have someone bind Wells, and none too gently. I’ll explain later.”

He gazed down at Sarah while voices and boots echoed below and up the stairs.

“Can you move, my love?” he asked.

“With you beside me, I can do anything,” she promised.

 * * * *

Sometime later, Sarah lay with a bandaged shoulder on a chaise lounge in the forward salon of Prestwick Park. The local physician had assured her that while she would be stiff and sore for some time, no permanent damage should be noticeable. That was simply one thing more for which to be thankful. She smiled at Malcolm, who sat beside her like a medieval knight guarding some fabled treasure. His smile in return was warm, but she could sense his weariness. Still, there were so many questions in her mind.

She was obviously not the only one.

“I cannot believe Lord Wells was such a deceiver,” Persephone was saying from the armchair one of Lord Prestwick’s servants had pulled up for her. “He was wicked beyond words.”

“He was mad,“ Malcolm put in, voice solemn. “I don’t know whether it was a gradual thing since his father died or caused by some event in his life. I wish I could have helped him.“

Sarah reached out and took his hand. “I’m sure you would have tried if you’d known,“ she comforted him. His mouth quirked in a smile for her, but there was no depth to it. She was certain he would be hurting from the events of today for some time. She only prayed she could help him through.

“But what I truly don’t understand,” he went on, turning to Lady Prestwick, who sat across from Sarah in an armchair matching Persephone‘s, “is how you knew he was up to something. I’ve come to respect your judgment, my dear, and your good sense. What did you see that the rest of us missed?“

“Not a great deal, actually,” she replied, eyes clouding. “I had a hint to his true character, but I had no idea he was as troubled as this.”

“You saw us that day,” Persephone guessed next to her. “When he met me in the garden here at Prestwick Park.”

Anne nodded. “I’m afraid so, my dear. As Lord Breckonridge learned, it’s difficult to keep anything secret. I saw Lord Wells with you. I regret to say I was close enough to hear how he attempted to compromise you. I was about ready to call for help when you run from him. You were quite right to slap him.”

“That was the day I caught you crying, I suppose,” Malcolm mused.

Persephone nodded, coloring. “He was so dashing. A love with him would have been forbidden, as he hadn’t a feather to fly with. I suppose I thought it was rather romantic sneaking around. But I guess I really wasn’t thinking at all. Of course, that was before I reformed. I swear I didn’t know he was such a dastard either, my lord.”

“I shouldn‘t have left you so much alone,” Sarah lamented. “If anything had happened to you, Persy, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Persy’s lower lip trembled. “I feel the same way about you, cousin. I’m just glad nothing worse happened.”

“He took us all in,” Chas said from where he perched on the arm of Anne’s chair. “You’re lucky to be alive, Malcolm.”

“I’m lucky, all right,” Malcolm agreed, giving Sarah’s hand a squeeze.

Although she relished the touch, Sarah was still confused. “But where was the gamekeeper?” she asked. “From what we saw, it appeared as if Lord Wells had been hiding in his cabin from nearly the start of our visit. Please don’t tell me he did the poor fellow in.”

Chas snorted. “Not Robbles. He’s the size of a bear and nearly as friendly. His father, who lives in Barnsley, has been ill for some time. He had my permission to visit. Wells had originally intended to camp in the woods if he had to; he confessed as much to the magistrate when he was led off. Robbles’ leaving was simply luck.”

“Either way I’m certainly glad you took Lord Breckonridge’s advice to search the wood, my love,” Anne put in.

“Truth be told,” Chas replied, “I didn’t think about Robbles’ cottage. We were actually some ways away when we heard Miss Compton screaming. You have quite a voice, my dear.”

Sarah blushed. “As I’ve said, I can make my opinion known when need be, my lord.”

“And so you can.” Chas nudged his wife. “In fact, I’d say Miss Compton is fairly close to perfect, according to the demands of a certain gentlemen. Let me see, what were those characteristics again? Can you manage a home efficiently, Miss Compton?”

“Prestwick,” Malcolm growled in warning. Sarah felt a smile forming.

“She manages our home,” Persephone put in. “Our servants adore her.”

“Oh really,” Sarah said, while Malcolm muttered, “so I’ve heard.”

“Thank you, Miss Persephone,” Chas said as if they had not spoken. “I believe we can take that on good authority.” He turned to Anne. “What else was there, my dear?”

“Can she listen to Lord Breckonridge’s position and find the flaw in his logic?” Anne replied. “I can answer that. She found a decided flaw, one I believe Lord Breckonridge is at last quite willing to acknowledge.”

“Agreed,” Malcolm snapped, as Sarah’s smile widened. “Now, perhaps we can stop this nonsense?”

“Ah, but can she correct his turn of phrase?” Chas persisted, that unholy twinkle in his emerald green eyes. “Can she warn him when he is about to make an ass of himself?”

Malcolm surged to his feet. Sarah caught his arm with her good hand. “Malcolm,” she said quietly, “you are about to make an ass of yourself.”

Chas threw back his head and laughed. Sheepishly, Malcolm returned to his seat.

“Very well,” he grumbled, although Sarah could hear the laughter behind his gruff tone. “If you insist on checking off each item on the list, allow me to finish it for you. I quite agree that Miss Compton is neat and dresses simply. She is also generally sensible, although I wonder that she is willing to be found in present company.”

Chas chuckled even as Persephone squeaked a joking protest. “I think, then,” his friend said, “that you are well and truly caught, my good man.”

“You have your bride, do you not, my lord?” Anne added.

Malcolm’s gaze met Sarah’s. In it, he saw the answer to his hopes, his dreams, and his prayers. “I believe I have, Lady Prestwick.”

 “Even if all London thought you were courting the Incomparable Miss Compton,” Chas teased.

Persephone blushed.

“I
was
courting the Incomparable Miss Compton,” Malcolm replied, returning his hand to Sarah’s. His touch was so warm and tender Sarah she felt it to the tips of her toes. “The Incomparable Miss
Sarah
Compton. You once said, my dear, that you would only marry a fellow if he were so in love with you that nothing else mattered. I am ready to declare myself that fellow. Before this company I ask you, will you marry me, Sarah?”

Gazing into his eyes, she could see herself the way he saw her -- beautiful, competent, and thoroughly loved. When he was near her, she felt that way. He had broken through the wall she had built around her heart, and she knew she would never want to rebuild it. His love was all she would need.

“Oh, yes, I’ll marry you, Malcolm,” she declared. “For I feel the same way about you.”

As Chas cheered, Anne smiled, and Persephone clapped her hands with glee, Malcolm bent to seal the agreement with a kiss. It needed no act of Parliament, but merely the quiet certainty of their own hearts to tell them they had come home at last.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed the story of Malcolm and Sarah. I like to think we are all Incomparables in our own ways. Certainly we each deserve to be loved for who we are.

You may have noticed a cameo appearance in this book by characters from my other stories. Lord and Lady Prestwick had their scandalous courtship in
The Unflappable Miss Fairchild
.
And Lady Brentwood was the art teacher who so inspired Lady Emily Southwell, the heroine of my upcoming book,
La Petite Four
.

By the by, Malcolm’s desire for reform had to be tempered for some time. That November, as a result of the massacre in Manchester, Lord Sidmouth introduced The Six Acts. These measures severely limited free speech and freedom of the press, rights Americans take for granted. But reformers did prevail, leading to the ultimate change in British government that increased the power of the House of Commons to what it holds today.

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my web sites at
www.reginascott.com
and
www.lapetitefour.com
or e-mail me at [email protected].

Happy reading!

Regina Scott

To the Incomparable Miss Kristin Manke,

for her friendship, her advice, and her professionalism

And to the intelligent and fortunate Dr. Richard May,

who had the good sense to recognize an Incomparable when he saw one

Copyright © 2001 by Regina Lundgren

Originally published by Zebra (082176119X)

Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more

information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

http://www.RegencyReads.com

Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.