Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (25 page)

“What of Mr. Croft?” he asked casually, although he was well aware Mrs. Warren’s gaze had not varied from where the man rested upon the ground. For a brief second, he wondered if she possessed some knowledge of the stranger. In reality, her intensity was more frightening than was their captive’s.

She did not move a muscle, but she said, “The coachman followed your orders to protect Lady Hellsman.”

He slowly circled the man’s body. Carter held no doubt she would empty the gun into the stranger if the man made a move to escape. Carter preferred not to be in the lady’s sight lines if that particular scenario occurred. “My orders said Mr. Croft was to protect you, as well as the future baroness.” He moved behind her and reached around her to take possession of the gun. It was a brilliant idea to secure the weapon, but it was a terrible one for his body to spoon hers. The intimacy called for him to linger. He nuzzled Mrs. Warren’s neck, leaving a brush of his lips on her skin to be rewarded with a quick hitch of her breath. It was a stimulating reality that his presence affected her. He felt an inexplicable rush to stake his claim to her.

He thought he could remain as such forever, but the sound of advancing hoof beats brought him to alert. He shoved her behind a twisted bush. “Perhaps our attacker has reinforcements,” he warned.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Warren did not panic.
Bloody hell! She was magnificent!
Instead, she whispered, “Tell me what you wish me to do.”

Spend the night in my bed
, his body screamed, but Carter’s Realm training spoke with more sensibility. “Stay here, while I have a look.” He started away, but paused. “This time, if something happens to me, you are not to interfere. You must save yourself. The boy’s future depends on it.”

Lucinda stared into the intenseness found in his eyes. They were the eyes, which had haunted her dreams. Since they had shared their kiss, Lucinda had wondered whether he was truly attracted to her. More than once, Sir Carter had called her “beautiful,” but she was certain that many times he found her extremely annoying. Yet, he had kissed the back of her neck, as if he had found her alluring.
Alluring
? she thought. Since her schoolroom days, she had never considered herself more than plainly acceptable, certainly not
beautiful
and definitely never approaching
alluring
. What confused her most was if the baronet truly found her handsome, why did Sir Carter accept his sister’s matchmaking schemes. Lady McLauren had thought Mr. Monroe a good prospect for a war widow, and Sir Carter had made no effort to turn Louisa Hutton’s head.

Little did the countess know of the thoughts and dreams, which flooded Lucinda’s mind, nor did Lady McLauren hold knowledge of the experiences, which had defined Lucinda as a woman. Had she known war’s hardships? Most definitely. Yet, was she a widow? Most assuredly not. She was a woman who understood the ferocity practiced by men, but had never known a man’s passion. To be a widow, a woman must have known her husband in the Biblical sense. No, Lucinda was a not the type of woman to know a man such as Dylan Monroe. Mr. Monroe was too “green.” He thought of her as something fragile and breakable, but “breakable” was not a word Lucinda associated with herself.

Neither was she the woman for Carter Lowery, at least, not in Lady McLauren’s opinion. Lucinda had overheard Lady McLauren and Arabella Lowery discussing Sir Carter’s aspirations. “Our Carter hopes to replace Aristotle Pennington,” Louisa Hutton had explained as the pair oversaw Lucinda’s fitting for the gown she would wear at Lady McLauren’s upcoming evening of entertainment.

“Lawrence believes Sir Carter’s youth could be detrimental. Although our brother has the most experience, the committee may pass him over for a man less worthy.”

Lady McLauren shook off the idea. “Ernest assures me for Carter to know success, our brother must choose a Society catch with deep connections. If he could court and win either Lady Cecilia Pickford or Lady Marquerite Nichols-David, his nomination would be easily confirmed. Both women hold multiple connections to those within the Home Office.”

Hearing so, Lucinda’s hopes had skittered to a stumbling halt. She held only a thin connection to the Earl of Charleton, and scandal covered every facet of her life. No, Sir Carter would never consider her a proper choice. He might dally with her, but she would never know him as her husband. The idea was too bizarre.

Lucinda forced herself to listen for any sign of danger. She had watched Sir Carter make his way silently toward where the coach had first met with disaster,
and she had filled her mind with the fluidity of the baronet’s movements. Of how he was designed to defend others. Of the perfect protection of his soul.

Staring intently at the opening in the shrubbery into which Sir Carter had disappeared, she waited impatiently for any sign of danger, but when a broken twig sounded behind her, Lucinda swung around to meet the intruder. With trembling hands, she raised the gun to greet the unknown. “Show yourself, or I shall shoot,” she threatened with the appearance of more confidence than she possessed.

“E
asy, Mrs. Warren,” a familiar voice called. “It is I, Lord Hellsman.” The future baron stepped into the opening.

Lucinda released the breath she held. “Thank Goodness!” She felt her knees buckle just as Lord Hellsman’s hand caught her arm.

“Are you unwell?” he said with concern.

Lucinda shook her head in denial. “Just relieved,” she admitted. She glanced to Sir Carter’s brother–so alike, but so different. She pleaded, “Please tell me Lady Hellsman did not suffer from the return to Maryborne Park.”

Hellsman scowled. “No thanks to Mr. Croft’s actions. Arabella was thrown quite violently about the coach.”

“Was your lady injured?” She wondered whether to ask of the child she suspected Lady Hellsman carried, but no one had made an official announcement so Lucinda swallowed her words.

“Arabella is distraught over the fact you were left behind, and she worries for your safety.” He studied her carefully, and Lucinda fought the urge to fidget.

“I acted impulsively,” she admitted. “I simply could not fathom the possibility of Sir Carter knowing danger.”

Hellsman grinned widely. “In reality, I suspect Lady Hellsman is most upset because she did not react with equal resolve and equal timing. My wife is more than a bit adventurous.”

Lucinda chuckled lightly. “Yes, Lady Hellsman has shared the tale of her ride to save your favorite thoroughbred.” Hellsman rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Lucinda quickly added, “And you admire Lady Arabella for bringing her light to your life.”

“I could not survive without it,” he said as he led Lucinda toward the opening in the hedges. “Now, permit me to see to your and my brother’s safety.”

Carter had sent Lawrence to retrieve Mrs. Warren and his attacker while he tended to Hamby. In reality, he was not certain it was a good idea for him to be close to the lady again. Every time she was near, he had the desire to touch her– to feel her respond to his touch, which was most definitely a mistake. There was no future for them, and playing with her affections was not in Carter’s nature. She remained a temptation he did not require in his life. His world was crowded enough with duties and responsibilities. If Lucinda Warren had been an innocent debutant, Carter would be speaking his proposals.

As he bent to examine the footman’s injury, his mind and his body remained with the lady. Her scent clung to him, and the taste of her skin tantalized his memory. Forcing his concentration on the task at hand, Carter announced, “You are a fortunate man. The bullet went through the flesh just above your boots. I suspect the metal button deflected the impact. You must be aware of infection, but you will heal quickly.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Several of the servants lifted Hamby to the waiting wagon. Lawrence and McLauren had arrived first, followed by several groomsmen and a flat wagon. “McLauren, would you see to the loading of our prisoner. Remind your men our attacker has several broken ribs.”

The earl nodded his agreement. McLauren was the highest-ranking aristocrat in the area, and Ernest Hutton took his responsibilities seriously. “I have sent young Jemy for the surgeon.”

Carter looked up to see his brother escorting Mrs. Warren toward the wagon. Impulsively, Carter said, “I will take the lady up with me.” If he had possession of a thick stick, he would have smacked himself upon the head: He played with fire, and he was likely to see his fingers burned. But the pleasant tingling sensation from where his lips had skimmed her skin remained. He explained, “I would prefer not to expose Mrs. Warren to the likes of our stranger.”

“I could carry Mrs. Warren to the estate,” his brother offered, but Carter disliked the idea of the woman being from his sight.

“I believe you and McLauren can handle this situation. Suddenly, I am quite exhausted, and I wish to tend my wounds before the magistrate arrives with his questions.” He accepted a horse from one of the earl’s grooms.

Lawrence’s eyebrow rose skeptically, but he said, “As you wish. Please assure Arabella and Louisa that McLauren and I met no armed force.”

Carter grinned. “You were too late to play the hero, Law.” It felt good to taunt his older brother. It brought a sense of normalcy, something Carter had not experienced since the onset of his acquaintance with Mrs. Warren.

Lawrence scowled. “It is hard to achieve such recognition as younger brothers rarely learn to share.”

Carter easily swung up into the saddle before accepting Mrs. Warren from the waiting groom’s boost. He settled her upon his lap. “Next time, Law, you are to escort the ladies about the village.” With that, he dug his heels into the horse’s sides.

He had met with the local sheriff regarding the attack. With McLauren’s assistance, he had convinced Mr. Wendel to leave the stranger in his custody overnight, but the effort had proved fruitless. His assailant refused to provide his name or the reasons for the attack. What troubled Carter the most was he still held no idea whether he or Mrs. Warren had been the shooter’s target.

Actually, the lack of information was not his greatest worry: The remembrance of his stilted conversation with the lady upon their return to the estate peppered his conscience with regret. Evidently, his more recent liberties had offended Mrs. Warren. Although she had clung to him as he set the horse in motion, the woman had refused to meet his eyes. She asked of his injuries, of what he would do with the man he had caught, and if she was to guard her tongue before the sheriff and with his family.