The Madcap Marriage (36 page)

Helen puffed out a relieved sigh.

“Good work,” Rafe managed.

“Where is Sir Steven?” asked Portland.

“He may have passed through Bath last evening. A carriage containing two men and a woman was spotted. The occupants spoke to no one, so I cannot prove they were Sir Steven’s party, but I dispatched word to London. The duke is pressing, which is why I came myself rather than sending the warrant.”

Portland raised a questioning brow.

Riley sighed. “The Duke of Oakwood is determined to apprehend Dudley St. James. I have a warrant for him, too.”

“Why?” asked Helen.

“Oakwood’s grandson was found in a ditch last week, badly mauled,” Riley began.

“Not Carley!” exclaimed Rafe. Lord Carley was his closest friend.

Riley nodded. “He’ll recover, though a night outdoors did him little good.”

Portland frowned. “Why did you say nothing when we last spoke?”

“I didn’t know it connected with this case, sir. Carley was delirious for days and unable to give a coherent statement until after you left.”

“So Dudley attacked him?”

“Carley was dicing in a hell on Jermyn Street the evening of the twenty-first. His winnings included five hundred in vowels from Dudley, who followed him outside, robbed him, then carried him to Hampstead Heath. After beating him nearly senseless – while cursing Carley’s dastardly friends – he left him in a ditch to die of exposure. It’s a marvel Carley survived. If not for two children out for a morning romp with their dog…”

“My fault,” choked Rafe. “That was the day he learned of our wedding.” He met Helen’s troubled gaze. Vandalizing her house hadn’t mitigated his fury. “He knew Carley and I have been close since school. I won his wife. My friend won his purse. It was too much.” When Helen laid a comforting hand on his arm, he covered it, drawing strength.

“The least insult sends him into a frenzy,” confirmed Riley. “I checked his service record, as you ordered,” he added to Portland.

“And?”

“There isn’t one.”

“But Steven said—”  Helen shut her mouth.

“Where has he been?” demanded Rafe.

“On the Peninsula, supposedly at hand to fill field vacancies – a common way to enter the officer corps without buying a commission,” he added to Helen. “But he soon discovered lucrative diversions.”

“Such as?”  Portland frowned.

“Providing military personnel with girls, food, and cattle – most of it stolen. Aiding deserters. Brawling with officers, some of whom swore he’d robbed them.”

Rafe shook his head. “So why is he desperate for money?”

“He shares his father’s weakness for gaming, as well as his poor luck,” said Helen. “In his month at Audley, he lost consistently.”

Portland pursed his lips. “Steven’s best course is to flee to Canada. Is it possible that he’s headed for Plymouth?”  The Devonshire port served many vessels plying the Atlantic.

“Perhaps.” Riley frowned.

“But stopping here to pad his purse is likely, whatever his destination,” said Rafe. “I doubt he has enough to cover his passage. He is hardly the sort to sign on as an indentured servant, so until we hear otherwise, we must expect him to show up with at least two men on his heels.”

“We have respectable numbers,” Portland reminded him.

“When we are all awake.” He turned to Riley. “Sleep. You can take the third watch.”

* * * *

Helen left the men arranging watch schedules. One look at Rafe had stopped her offer to help. He might tolerate many of her oddities, but he would not approve of her standing guard. – which did not deter her from making her own preparations.

In the gun room, she unlocked her father’s pistol cabinet and examined the contents. Her mother’s muff pistol would be best – small and easy to handle. It was inaccurate over any distance, but within the close confines of a room…  And its foldaway trigger made it safe under a pillow.

She snapped open the case. Her mother had left half a dozen balls. Loading it, she slipped it into her pocket. It was best that the servants not know she was armed.

* * * *

“You’re late.” Steven glared as his partner entered the schoolroom.

“I had to hire a horse in Taunton,” said Nalley sullenly. “The bitch turned me off.”

“Why?”

“You sent word to bar all callers. Easy enough to do – or should have been. But she has a knack for being in the hall whenever someone arrives. I didn’t notice her until it was too late.” He shrugged.

“Who called?”

“Lord Hillcrest.”

Hillcrest?  Steven smiled. Perfect. Just perfect.

For days he had wracked his brains for a way to kill Thomas without drawing suspicion – after initially embracing his courtesan tale, society had dismissed it, so he could not afford any connection to the death. The highwayman attack would have been perfect if the idiots hadn’t blundered. An accident was difficult to arrange, for Thomas left the house only with Helen.

He’d toyed with letting Smith attack – Dudley swore the man would do anything for money – but he feared Smith would double-cross him if Thomas offered more. Or Smith might kill them both. But the grieving widow must write a new will before dying, and that would take time. Stone still hadn’t reached Audley, though the man had promised to follow as soon as he identified Hicks’s agents.

Steven forced his thoughts back to business. Hillcrest’s arrival made eliminating Thomas simple. Everyone knew the viscount loathed his son. Jilting Miss Pauling had embarrassed him. Temper had sent him here to seek retribution. People would shake their heads when Thomas died in the resulting confrontation, but no one would be surprised.

“Are you sure Hillcrest remains here?” he asked Nalley.

“Reasonably. She ordered a room made up for him.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the room Thomas was using – they moved into the master suite.”

“They did?”  Steven frowned. “They must expect trouble.”

“I doubt it. Charlie and Vince swear Thomas is staking his claim to Audley.”

But Steven wasn’t so sure. “Did anyone see you return?”

“No. A groom was taking the air, but I was already in the rose garden when he passed.”

Taking the air?
  Thomas was setting outside guards who could swear that no one had approached during the night. So Hillcrest would bear the blame. The confusion when Thomas’s body was discovered would allow him to leave undetected.

“Maude and Dudley are in the governess’s room. Help her keep Dudley under control. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

As Nalley hurried away, Steven sank into thought. Slipping into the master suite would be easy enough. A knife was silent. It could be left in Hillcrest’s room to be found in the morning.

* * * *

Helen glanced up when Rafe opened the connecting door between their bedrooms. “Is the watch schedule set?”  She laid her brush on the dressing table and rose.

He nodded. “Portland and his man Tweed are on now, then Hillcrest and Crawford.” He paused. “Thank you for insisting I welcome him.”

“I take it you survived the evening?” she dared, joining him.

“We came to terms.”

“Wonderful!”  She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad, Rafe.”

He pulled her against him, nuzzling her hair. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Helen. You were right. We’d fallen into a ritual of hate and antagonism, but that’s over.”

“Are you friends, then?”

“Maybe. I still disagree with many of his ideas—”

“Hardly a surprise for a reformer,” she murmured into his ear.

“Right. But we’ve laid Mother to rest.” His hands pulled her closer.

She wanted to talk. But his manhood was prodding her stomach, so talk could wait. Turning her head to meet his lips, she slipped a hand between them to stroke.

He tensed, then crushed his mouth to hers and plundered. Her heart soared. His response was fiercer than ever.

Excitement and dizziness banished further thought, letting her mind float free on a wave of pure sensation. Not until he laid her on his bed did she realize he’d lifted her.

“Alone … at last.” He sprawled, half atop her, deep kisses punctuating his words. He untied the neck of her nightgown and pushed the fabric down.

“Yes!”  She tugged off his coat and waistcoat, then pulled his shirt over his head, sorry to lose contact with his talented hands for even a moment.

“Mine,” he murmured, drawing a nipple between his teeth.

“All yours,” she agreed. “Forever.”

He froze. Silver eyes bored into hers. “You mean that?  You don’t love Portland?”

“Of course not.”

Rafe pinned her hands over her head, reining in passion so he could think. “This is important, Helen. If you don’t love Portland, why did you insist on riding out with him this morning?  Tessa knows the grounds as well as you.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “I knew Tessa would be safe with you, Rafe. But Alex cares nothing for servants. I can’t trust him to respect a pretty maid.”

Rafe shook his head. Not once had he considered that explanation. “You really don’t care?”

She tugged a hand free to cup his scarred cheek. “You may look alike on the surface, but inside, Alex is arrogant, autocratic, and intolerant. You care about the world and the people in it – as individuals, not just as names attached to duties. I prefer people who care.”

His heart swelled with joy. “I need you, Helen.” Kicking off his shoes, he tugged off his pantaloons, delighted that she took advantage of her freed hands to help. This time there would be no interruptions. Guards, locks, and bolts kept the world at bay. Free of clothes, he pinned her to the bed. “I haven’t slept for days for wanting you … going mad … unable to think…”

Helen’s bones turned to water as he poured out his need in desperate snatches between bone-melting kisses. His hands were everywhere, filling her soul and sating hunger she’d not recognized. Alex had needed an excuse to slip away. Her father had needed someone to take over his affairs. Her mother had needed a nurse. Only Rafe had ever needed
her
.

She moaned, rolling so she could explore his body. Touching him banished her loneliness. His passion promised more joy than she had ever dreamed possible.

Rafe trembled, gasping as Helen’s caresses sent fire through his veins. Her fingers explored every inch of his skin, filling his head with color and light and sound until it nearly burst.

He returned the favor, reveling in her passion and in the knowledge that she was his alone. He couldn’t get enough of her, feasting until he was incoherent. His pounding heart left him dizzy, but nothing could stop him from feeding his all-consuming need.

He’d feared that urgency would force a frenzied coupling, but as she matched him stroke for stroke, he discovered a newer, greater need to savor, to explore, to share the joy overflowing his heart. She savored in turn, licking and biting until sparks blinded him and tremors shook him from head to toe.

“Need—”  He groaned, positioning her under him.

“Now!” she panted, eyes blurring as she gripped his hips with her legs.

He eased past her barrier, then plunged.

She was perfect. So tight, so hot, so passionate that if Steven burst in with a band of armed ruffians, he would not notice.

All control splintered. Nails scored his back as he pounded into her, no longer able to wait. Not that it mattered. She was as desperate as he, bucking and moaning as she fought for release, her hair a blazing halo framing her face.

“Rafe!  Aaahh!”

They exploded together in glorious ecstasy.

“Heavens,” she murmured when her breathing finally steadied. “I’d no idea.”

Nor had he. Lovemaking had never been as powerful. He tried to speak, to say something witty or seductive or even thankful, but a week of frustration and night watches left him too limp. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he finally managed, pulling her against him.

“In a minute.” When his arm tightened, she added. “I need to use the commode.”

“Ah.” He kissed her ear, then sank into oblivion.

* * * *

Rafe jerked awake as the door squeaked open, then relaxed. Helen was returning. He started shifting to make room for her on the bed, but suddenly froze.

Helen’s door didn’t squeak
. None of the master suite doors squeaked.

Wide awake, he stealthily scanned the room. He’d not lit lamps, so it was too dark to make out more than vague shapes, but one of them was moving. A second shadow separated from the deeper shadow beyond the fireplace.

An eternity passed before his brain identified his peril.

“Help!” he shouted as the shadows rushed toward the bed. “Portland!  Tweed!  Attack!”

He scrambled toward the table where he’d left a pistol, but the tangled covers pulled him up short.

A blow landed on his hip.

“Bastard!” he choked, smashing a fist into the man’s head.

Steven grunted.

“Die, Thomas!”  Dudley’s knife slashed downward, missing Rafe by an inch.

He had a better chance with Steven. His lunge ripped the sheet and plowed his jaw into a fist. Shaking away the pain, he slammed his own fist into Steven’s body.

“Ooomph!” 

A second blow struck Steven’s thigh, but the man remained standing. Instead of striking back, he shoved Rafe toward Dudley.

Rafe’s foot lashed out, knocking something to the floor. Before he could follow through, Steven pinned him to the bed.

Dudley’s teeth flashed as the knife descended.

* * * *

Helen had just fastened her dressing gown and snuffed the last candle in her room when a squeak echoed through the open connecting door. Rafe’s bed?  She’d not noticed it earlier, but passion could deafen her to a trumpeter in full fanfare. Making a mental note to have the estate carpenter check the frame, she collected the pistol from her dressing table and—

“Help!  Portland!  Tweed!  Attack!”

“Rafe!”  Helen raced to his room as a series of dull thuds erupted. Moonlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, creating faint shadows. Figures grappled on the bed. The far one swung a dagger.

She fired.

Rafe screamed in pain.