The Reluctant Countess (36 page)

“Amelia, Patrick and I must go and find Myles,” Stephen said, entering the room seconds later. Moving forward, he placed a kiss on her head, then another because he needed to touch her again. “Come and lock the door, then climb into bed with Sophie until we return.”

“B-but, I think you should wait. At least until you have more men,” she said, reaching for his shirtfront and grabbing two fistfuls of the white cotton.

“This must be done now, sweetheart.” Stephen gently placed his hands over hers. “Myles cannot be allowed to escape; surely you can see that?” he added, looking down into her anxious face.

“I am scared for you,” Amelia whispered, still gripping his shirt. “I would be most displeased if anything should happen to you.”

“Dear lord!” Stephen looked shocked, although his eyes were filled with warmth. “Is this your way, Miss Pette, of telling me that you care?”

Amelia snorted, then sighed. “I may change my mind in the morning.”

“We must leave,” Patrick said, with a last look at Sophie.

“Yes, come and lock the door, Amelia.” Stephen pulled her hands free and led her across the room so she could do so.

“Be careful,” she said to both men as she closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock. As she slipped into bed beside Sophie, Amelia thought that the next few hours would be the longest of her life.

* * *

Dawn was just starting to cast its gray fingers over the land as Patrick and Stephen walked silently toward the house. Amelia’s directions had been accurate. Patrick quickly bound and gagged the man in the stables, who was still sleeping where Amelia had said he would be, then together he and Stephen walked toward the house.

Pushing open the door, Stephen indicated he would search the bottom floor while Patrick headed for the stairs.

Spode still lay where he had fallen, his eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Patrick looked around the room and saw the bed and the rope he had used to tie up Amelia, and knew his intent had been to rape Sophie and most probably Amelia. He wanted to bring the man back to life so he could kill him all over again.

“No life downstairs, Colt,” Stephen said softly, as he joined Patrick in the room.

“I wish he was still breathing,” Stephen said, looking at the lifeless body of Jack Spode, to which Patrick nodded, then turned on his heel and left the room.

“I want Myles,” he growled as they moved to the next room.

They found two more men sleeping, who put up a small resistance but were soon bound and gagged. When every room in the house had been searched and still there was no sign of Myles, Patrick indicated to Stephen that he was going to head downstairs and it was then that he saw him. The coward was tiptoeing toward the front door.

“Going somewhere, Myles?”

If he hadn’t been so bloody angry, Patrick would have laughed at the high-pitched squeal that came out of the man’s mouth. Then the little rodent ran to the front door and pulled it open. Stephen and Patrick were behind him as he made it outside.

“I am going to rip your head from your shoulders for what you did to my wife!” Patrick bellowed, finally finding an outlet for his rage.

Stephen watched Patrick plant his fist in Myles’s jaw, sending him flying through the air to land on his backside with a thud. Patrick then picked him up and repeated the action.

“I … it w-was Spode!” Myles squealed as Patrick lifted him to his feet once more, this time to shake him and hurl him through the air so he landed in the fountain, which was filled with rancid, dirty water.

“You lying little weasel!” Patrick roared so loudly Stephen was sure the windowpanes would shatter with the force. Stephen watched the man’s head snap backward as Patrick pummeled his face.

“No more, Colt,” Stephen said finally, reaching around him to pry Patrick’s fingers from Myles’s neck. “Besides, it is my turn,” Stephen said, delivering a solid punch to the man’s soft stomach and sending him flying backward again. “And that was for Miss Pette, you sniveling little rodent.”

Patrick drew two deep breaths to try and remove the red haze from his eyes; he was out of control. Had Stephen not stepped in, he would have killed the man with his bare hands, and enjoyed doing it. Sophie had done that to him—made him feel emotions he had previously kept locked inside. He now experienced rage and happiness, he was now cursed with the need to protect and love, all things that he had managed to keep locked deep inside himself until Sophie came into his life.

“Find a horse and tie him to it. We’ll get the magistrate to come for him,” Patrick added as Stephen pulled Myles once again to his feet. “Much as I want to finish him off, he would suffer more if we strip him of everything he loves most.”

“Excellent idea,” Stephen said, forcing Myles’s hands behind his back.

“I know that your wife was a servant, Coulter!” Myles cried.

“And I know that you harbored a criminal, Myles,” Patrick said, lowering his face to look at the man. “A dangerous man named Jack Spode who has killed, robbed, and maimed. Many have been trying to catch him, Myles, and if I hear one word of Sophie’s past whispered by anyone, then I will know that information has come from you,” Patrick added, watching Myles’s eyes cloud with terror. “I will not hesitate to give your name to the men he really harmed. Those who make their living by any means available, ruthless lawless men who I’m sure would be more than happy to seek revenge for what Spode put them through. If that doesn’t shut you up then I will come for you, and this time I will kill you.”

“Well,” Stephen said, dragging Myles toward the stables, “I think it would be in your best interest to keep your mouth shut. Don’t you, Myles?”

Within minutes, Patrick and Stephen were on their way back to the inn.

* * *

“I am sure it does not need cleaning again,” Sophie said, watching Patrick walk into the bathing room with a bottle of spirits, cloths, and a bowl of steaming water.

“We have been home three hours, my sweet Sophie, and in that time your arm has not been bathed, nor was it bathed at the inn,” Patrick said, lowering his burdens to the small table beside the bath.

“I washed at the inn!” Sophie said sounding indignant.

“Parts of you were washed,” Patrick said, taking off his clothes and joining her in the water.

“I must not leave Timmy for overlong, as he was most distressed by my disappearance,” Sophie said desperately, watching her husband’s long lithe form move toward her. She could feel her insides turning to liquid as he drew near, every nerve twitched in expectation, and her heartbeat fluttered in her chest.

“Timmy is in bed taking an afternoon nap, as is everyone else.”

“Oh.”

Kneeling before Sophie, Patrick cupped her face and gently traced the swelling on her jaw, and then took long seconds just looking at her.

“Had anything happened to you, Sophie,”—Patrick shuddered and took a deep breath as he remembered the terror he had felt at her abduction—“I could not have borne the pain. I love you so very much.”

“I am here, my love, safe with you as I will always be,” Sophie whispered as she moved closer to kiss his lips, a soft aching kiss that was filled with tenderness.

“Yes,” Patrick said, lifting her into his arms and sinking beneath the hot water. “Always,” he whispered.

“My mother has arrived!”

Sophie lowered the biscuit she was feeding Timmy, who was sitting on her knee, as Amelia burst into the room. Her eyes were wide and she was panting, which suggested she had run to find Sophie.

“Your mother is here at Plentiful?”

“Yes!” Amelia squealed. “And she is in your pretty blue parlor with Stephen and Letty.”

“Dear lord!” Sophie said, lifting Timmy with her good arm as she quickly gained her feet.

“That cannot be good, can it?” Amelia whispered, looking terrified.

“I … I … ah.” Sophie was unable to form a word, faced with such an unexpected turn of events.

“And what has you stuttering, my love?” Patrick said, walking into the room to take Timmy from her, then leaning down to nuzzle her neck.

“Patrick!” Sophie remonstrated, as color flooded her cheeks.

“Sophie,” Patrick mimicked, then kissed her soundly.

“Amelia has seen me do this enough times to not be offended, is that not right, Miss Pette?”

“Y-yes.”

Amelia stuttered, much to Patrick’s amazement; he had never heard Amelia stutter. He looked at both women then and noted their identical expressions. They appeared to be stunned.

“What has you two in such a flutter?” he asked, taking Sophie’s hand in his as he moved Timmy to perch against his shoulder.

“My mother has arrived, Patrick. She is in Sophie’s favorite parlor with Stephen and Letty, and the door is locked,” Amelia rushed to say.

“Excellent,” Patrick said, then he smiled.

“But, Patrick!” Sophie gasped. “Surely you can see the recipe for disaster in such a gathering?”

Patrick lifted her chin, his eyes inspecting the fading bruise; it was now the color of an overripe peach.

“Disaster? I think it is a recipe for success,” he added, kissing her chin.

“Do you really believe so, Patrick?” Amelia whispered.

“Stop wringing your hands, Amelia,” Patrick ordered. “Come, we will see what is going on,” he added as he started to walk from the room. “My money is on Letty and Stephen, and although you mother’s behavior has not always been in your best interest, my dear Miss Pette, she still loves you.”

“It terrifies me to think of Stephen in the same room as my mother,” Amelia said, in a wobbly voice. Clutching Sophie’s spare hand, she followed Patrick as he led the small procession down the stairs.

“You have not been introduced to Stephen’s family have you, Amelia?”

Sophie giggled at Patrick’s drawled words; she had met the Sumner Fillies and knew what a handful they could be.

“No,” Amelia said, then froze on the bottom step as she heard voices.

“Timmy, desist in running your sticky fingers through my hair,” Patrick said, as he urged both ladies down the final step and moved to intercept whoever was approaching.

Sophie giggled again as Timmy responded with several garbled words and proceeded to tug on Patrick’s locks. He in turn ignored the small boy and gave Sophie a wink. Lord, how she loved this man.

Stephen appeared first. He moved instantly to Amelia’s side, and his handsome face wore a soft smile as he noted her anxious expression.

“It is all right, my sweet. Lady Carstairs and I have had a long talk with your mother and she has consented to our betrothal.”

“She did?” Amelia gasped.

“Aye, she did, and I have come to take you to her,” Stephen said, slipping a hand around her waist and leading her from the room.

“But is she angry, Stephen?” Amelia asked, and he could hear the fear in her voice.

“No love, she is changed,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

Sophie watched as Stephen and Amelia walked away. With a sigh, she leaned into her husband.

“Are you tired, Sophie?” Patrick said into her hair.

“No,” she whispered, tickling Timmy’s chin and breathing in the very male scent of her husband. “My mother once said to me that all she wanted, for Timmy and me, was a few sunny days and a small measure of happiness, but she held out little hope that we could achieve more. But Patrick …”

“Yes, love.”

“Because of you we have achieved so much more,” Sophie said, then tilted her head back to receive his kiss.

“No love,” Patrick said against her mouth. “It is I who have so much more.”

Photo: Natalie McPherson

Wendy Vella is a lover of all things romantic. She started reading her first Georgette Heyer book at a young age and instantly fell in love with the Regency era. Writing is something she has always found time for; she penned her first novel at eighteen, though she says it will never make an appearance outside the closet in which it currently resides.

After having her two children, Wendy joined RWNZ and started honing her chosen craft by entering competitions with some success and attending conferences.

She has an addiction to reading, and loves a wide range of romance genres, but her first love will always be historical. She relishes novels steeped in romance and excitement, with feisty heroines and delicious heroes, especially when they are set amongst the treacherous waters of London society.

Wendy is a sucker for a happy ending, having secured her own. She has been married to her dark brooding hero for twenty-eight years, and shares her home with two wonderful children, two dogs, and anyone else who happens to be visiting at the time. Born and raised in a rural area on the North Island of New Zealand, Wendy loves the beaches and lush green rolling hills of her homeland, and is proud to call herself a very patriotic Kiwi!

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