Historical Romance Boxed Set (39 page)

“What ‘appened to ‘im?” Rory whispered.

“This man is a friend of mine, Rory, and you were right. He’s hurt very badly. I need your help. We must get him away from here before your father returns with the duke.”

Nathaniel’s head fell forward, and Alexandra bent worriedly over him. “Nathaniel!”

“I’m here,” he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred.

Alexandra turned to the stable boy. “Rory, can you get me a mount? We need to get him on a horse and take him to a doctor.”

Rory gave him a skeptical look. “Don’t look like ‘e can stand.”

Alexandra steeled her nerves so she wouldn’t snap at the boy. “We don’t have any other choice. Will you get the horse?”

While Rory went to do her bidding, Alexandra clung to Nathaniel’s hand. “Hold on, Nathaniel. Please.”

To her surprise, a wry grin twisted his lips as the blue of his eyes lifted to her face. “I thought you hated me.”

“If you die, I will hate you. I’ll hate you forever,” she told him.

His eyes closed again and the smile disappeared as he leaned his head on the wooden planking.

“Hold on,” she whispered, smoothing his dark hair off his forehead.

Rory had a bridle on a horse in a matter of minutes but didn’t bother with a saddle. He led the chestnut gelding out of its stall, stopping a few feet away.

“Thank you. I owe you all the scones you can eat,” Alexandra said. “Now we must get Mr. Kent up and onto the horse.”

The boy’s brows rose as he looked at the huge man huddled at their feet. “‘Ow do ye suppose we do that?”

Alexandra stooped and pulled Nathaniel’s good arm around her shoulder. “Like this: Nathaniel!” She made her voice low and sharp, trying to cut through the cloud of his delirium.

Nathaniel lifted his head, but it fell back again almost immediately.

“Nathaniel!”

A groan was his only response.

“On the count of three, we’re going to help you up. You need to stand, do you hear? You’re too heavy for us to carry.”

“After what I’ve eaten, I should be as light as a woman,” he mumbled, and Alexandra had to smile. He was still there. He was still fighting.

“One, two, three—”

“Going somewhere?”

Alexandra nearly collapsed under Nathaniel’s weight as Lord Clifton strode into the light. She felt Nathaniel’s muscles tense and realized that he, too, recognized his half brother.

“My lord, please.” She set Nathaniel gently back down. “He’ll die if I don’t get him some help.”

The marquess laughed, pulling a gun from his belt. “And that’s supposed to move me? Throw that pistol away.” He motioned toward the gun tucked into Nathaniel’s breeches. “Over there,” he said, waving at the far wall.

“A dying man would garner sympathy from anyone who had a heart,” Alexandra replied as she took the pistol and tossed it a few feet. “Look at him. Haven’t you done enough already?”

Clifton kicked the weapon farther from the two of them. “What about me? What about this?” He waved his handless arm in her face. “I can scarcely ride or shoot. I’m no more accomplished than a three-year-old with a sword. And you’ve seen my writing. It’s hardly legible. But you don’t care about that, do you? You only care about him.”

“Jake—”

“It’s ‘my lord’ to you, remember?” He pointed the gun at her.

“No,” Rory cried, rushing forward.

Nathaniel tried to stand, but fell weakly back. “Leave her out of it. This is between us, remember?”

The marquess ignored him. Turning to Rory, he indicated the stable door. “Go. Get out of here. This man is a thief.”

Rory hesitated. “Shall I wake Mrs. Wright and have her send for a constable, then?”

“No. Go back to bed. I’ll handle this myself.”

The boy shuffled toward the door, hanging back.

“It’s all right, Rory. You go up to bed. Everything will be fine,” Alexandra said encouragingly, afraid of what Lord Clifton might do if the boy disobeyed.

Rory threw Alexandra one last furtive glance as he shut the door, his face revealing confusion. Alexandra hoped he would go for help, but deep inside she knew that Rory would never defy the marquess’s authority to that extent.

When the boy was gone, Clifton turned to Nathaniel. “Now, where are the rifles?”

Nathaniel staggered to his feet but swayed dangerously as though he might fall. He shook his head, his eyes on Clifton’s pistol. “I’ll never tell you.”

“Then I’ll find them on my own. Bristol is not so large a place.” Setting the barrel of the gun on his forearm, the marquess awkwardly attempted to aim it. By his own admittance, he couldn’t shoot well, but at such close range, Alexandra didn’t see how he could miss Nathaniel.

“My lord.” She stepped cautiously toward him.

“Stay back. I’m going to kill the bastard, like we should have in the first place.”

“No, my lord, listen. I’ll give you anything you want if you’ll spare him. Anything. Do you understand? He’ll likely die anyway, from his injuries.”

Lord Clifton glanced at Alexandra, a lascivious smile curling his lips. “So this is what it takes to melt the ice maiden. Did you hear that, big brother? Your little doxy has just offered me a sample of her charms.”

Nathaniel tried to move toward him, but he succeeded only in pitching forward. “Stay away from her,” he groaned as he hit the dirt floor.

Clifton laughed. “I think not.” He waved the pistol at Alexandra. “Perhaps a little torture is in order for your lover. Take off your clothes.”

Alexandra swallowed and glanced at Nathaniel, sensing his awareness despite his semiconscious condition. She unbuttoned her white cotton nightdress until the curve of her breasts gleamed beneath the lamp.

“Now, that’s a beautiful sight,” the marquess breathed. He reached for her, bent her backward, and licked her face. “Damn, she tastes good. Nathaniel, you don’t know what you’re missing.” He grinned devilishly at his half brother. “Or perhaps you do.” His mouth moved down her neck, spreading sloppy, wet kisses along its path.

Alexandra bit her lip so she wouldn’t scream. Rory’s sleeping loft was just above them. Surely her cries would frighten the boy. She didn’t want Nathaniel to know how badly Clifton hurt her, either.

“Oh, this is nice,” he said, burying his head in her cleavage.

Alexandra’s mind raced as she tried to decide what to do. She’d only managed to buy them a little time, nothing more; she had no illusions that the marquess would spare Nathaniel because of her.

She glanced over Clifton’s head to see Nathaniel inching his way toward the rack of Harry’s whips, directly behind him.

Moaning as though she enjoyed Clifton’s caress, she pulled the marquess down to the ground with her, running her fingers though his hair and clinging to him so he couldn’t look up.

“Jake,” she breathed. “Jake.”

Clifton’s ardor increased at her response, but by then, Nathaniel had the whip. Alexandra watched as the pirate captain strained to reach his pistol with it, then slowly began pushing the gun toward her.

She moaned again and arched her back, reaching through the hay. The marquess covered her mouth with his, and stuck his tongue so deeply into her throat she nearly gagged.

One last circle with the handle of the whip brought the weapon within Alexandra’s reach. She could feel Clifton’s gun pressing into the flesh of her backside. He couldn’t angle it to shoot anyone now if he wanted to—but then, neither was she far enough away to fire Nathaniel’s pistol at him.

Instead she turned the smooth, ivory handle of Nathaniel’s gun and grasped the steel muzzle. Raising it behind Clifton, she used all of her strength to bring it crashing down upon his head.

Nathaniel’s half brother jerked. For a moment, Alexandra feared the blow hadn’t done its job. But then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed on top of her.

“Are you all right?” Nathaniel’s voice sounded raspy to her ears.

“I’m fine.” She shuddered as she struggled to escape from beneath the marquess’s heavy body.

“Give me the gun.” Nathaniel motioned weakly to her. He’d used the wall of the stable to help himself rise, and leaned heavily against it now. But his voice was steadier than it had been since Alexandra found him.

Eager to be rid of the weapon in her hand, Alexandra did as she was told, but her breath caught in her throat when Nathaniel raised the gun and leveled it at Lord Clifton’s prostrate form.

She stared at Nathaniel’s face. It was intense, focused. Horrified, she clasped her hands over her ears, expecting the blast to make them ring.

But the gun never exploded. Alexandra opened her eyes to see Nathaniel tucking it into his pants as he shuffled toward her.

“Let’s get out of here before I change my mind,” he said.

* * *

Nathaniel knew he wasn’t in the hospital ship. The air was too clean, and there were no groans from the other men. Perhaps he was at sea on the
Vengeance
then, his stay in the hulks only a terrible nightmare. But the ground was stable beneath him; it didn’t rock as a ship would. And the pain was most definitely real.

He opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through a crack in the draperies of a long dormitory like room, but his mind was too fuzzy and slow-moving to place his semi-familiar surroundings.

Someone’s head lay next to him on the bed—a woman, from what he could tell. No one else was in the room.

“Alexandra?”

Alexandra’s head snapped up. She was wearing a simple calico dress that looked a bit large around the neck. Her hair was disheveled and her face marked from lying on her arms, but her voice was filled with relief. “Nathaniel!”

He had never thought her more beautiful. The fantasies that had entertained him in the hulks rose unbidden to his mind, causing a physical reaction in his body, despite the throbbing of his head. “I can’t believe I found you. That you’re here, with me. Part of me thinks it must be a dream. Have I lost my mind after all?”

She smiled, took his hand, and kissed his palm. “No, but I thought I’d die when I saw the prison guard hit you with that club. It felt as though he was striking me.” Her voice broke. Swallowing, she glanced away.

Nathaniel turned her face back toward him, so he could see her eyes again. “My brave Alexandra. Why did you go to the duke’s? Don’t you know what he is capable of doing?”

“What else could I do? We had to find you.” She nuzzled against his hand, and he longed to pull her to him. If only he were stronger.

“Thank God you did.” His gaze fell to her lips.

She must have known what he wanted because she leaned toward him until their mouths met. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and tasted better than he’d dreamed. “Where are we?” he asked, surveying the room again when she pulled away.

“We’re at Dr. Watts’s—”

“Oh hell!” He sobered instantly. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“What?” Alexandra jumped to her feet. “We can’t leave. You need to rest—”

Nathaniel’s head swam when he tried to sit up, but he dared not lie back. “My father knows of this place.”

“How?”

“Rat—” He leaned over, hoping the dizziness would soon pass.

“But you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

“My father will come here.” He managed to find his feet while Alexandra hurried around the bed to support him. “This time he’ll take you, too. We’ll not get a second chance to escape.”

Alexandra looked up into his face and saw something there that convinced her. “You sit here, then,” she said. “I’ll check the back and make sure it’s clear. At least your wound has been cleaned and bandaged, and we’ve got some decent clothes.”

Decent clothes! Nathaniel looked down at the pants he wore. They had obviously belonged to someone several inches shorter than he, and the shirt must have been a castoff from someone much wider. Only the shoulders fit. At least he was rid of his prison garb, though.

“Where’s the gun?” he asked before she could leave.

Alexandra shook her head. “I don’t know. Dr. Watts took it somewhere before he left.”

“Where did he go?”

She shrugged. “Probably out on a call.”

“How did you explain all this?”

“I didn’t. When he saw your back, he thought it might be better if he didn’t know.”

Nathaniel considered this. “And the horse?”

“I let it go. I didn’t want to be caught with it.”

He nodded. “Go, then, but be careful… and hurry,” he admonished as she darted away.

Supporting himself by leaning on the furniture in the room—the bed, the washstand, the wardrobe—Nathaniel moved into the doctor’s office next to the dormitory. He could hear someone upstairs banging around in the kitchen as the enticing smell of bacon wafted through the house. So it was morning yet, he thought, grateful that not too much time had passed.

Digging through the drawers of the doctor’s desk, Nathaniel searched for the gun. Where would Watts have put it?

When his search yielded nothing, he moved to the examination room.

The front door opened, and Nathaniel heard the doctor speaking to someone he brought in with him. “I didn’t know what to make of it, but I thought it should be brought to the attention of the constabulary.”

“The Duke of Greystone came to Whitehall just this morning with a description of the same man,” a voice replied. “He said Mr. Kent hit his son on the head and stole a horse from his stables.”

Nathaniel’s heart began to pound as he peered out of the room. A constable followed Dr. Watts back toward the dormitory. Dressed in duck trousers, a blue swallowtail coat, and a top hat, the man carried a pistol, which meant he was more than a mere constable. Only inspectors carried guns.

“You will investigate the entire story before pressing charges against this man, am I right?” Watts asked. “He certainly doesn’t seem like a criminal. And it appears that he’s been quite abused—”

“If this is the man I think he is, he deserves more than a mere flogging. He deserves a noose around his neck.”

The doctor stopped and turned back. “Certainly there are two sides to every story.”

“Dr. Watts, a man escaped from the hulks last night, a very dangerous man. And the duke has witnesses to say that this same person tried to kill his son, and stole one of his horses. If Mr. Kent is the one, we’re going to string him up from the gallows. Now, where is he?”