The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) (32 page)

Damaris hesitated and the old lady gave her a push. “Get along with you, gel. You can worry about the boy just as well wet or dry.”

There was no answer to that. Damaris went off to have her bath.

The hot, fragrant bathwater had a soothing effect. Damaris soaped herself absently, turning Lady Beatrice’s words over in her mind.

If you don’t marry the boy, some ambitious female will snap him up for herself. Someone who doesn’t love him.

He needed to be loved, that man, that kind, honorable, proud man. And the little boy inside him who’d blamed himself so terribly for his brother’s accident and who’d been cut off from his family because of it. That little boy hadn’t known love since.

Love was the one thing Damaris had plenty of, the one thing she could offer him. Each time he looked at her, smiled at her, gave her that sleepy-eyed wicked come-to-bed look, she felt like she could burst from all the love that swelled inside her. And the longer she knew him, the more her love for him grew.

Lady Beatrice was right. It didn’t matter if Freddy Monkton-Coombes didn’t love her. He needed to be loved, and that was what mattered.

Believe in yourself.
She would try.

 • • • 

“Y
ou’ve got damned cheek, marching into my cabin on my ship,” Captain Sloane growled.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” Freddy said.

“Spit it out.”

“It’s about illegal cargo, something you didn’t list in the ship’s manifest.”

Sloane stiffened, and his gaze went to the door as if to check nobody could hear. “I don’t know what you mean.” The look on his face suggested otherwise.

“Slavery is illegal in England.”

The man’s brows shot up.
“Slavery?”
He snorted. “I’ve never kept a slave in my life. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bringing girls into England and selling them into brothels is slavery,” Freddy said silkily.

Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “Those girls knew what they were in for.”

Those girls?
So Damaris wasn’t the first.

“I’m talking about an English girl,” Freddy said with ice in each word. “A girl who you found stranded in China.”

“She made the same bargain as the others,” Sloane said dismissively. “Come here to talk about a whore, have you?”

At those words Freddy snapped. He launched himself across the cabin and punched Sloane with all his pent-up rage, a savage blow to the jaw that connected with a loud crack. The man staggered back. Freddy followed, going for his throat.

Sloane twisted away and shoved him back. He made as if to throw a punch at Freddy, but at the last instant Freddy saw the blade that gleamed in his fist.

He dodged but it was a close call; the blade slashed through the fabric of his shirt.

“Come unarmed, did you, pretty boy? Bad mistake.” Grinning nastily, Sloane feinted with the blade.

Snap!
Freddy kicked the knife out of Sloane’s hand. It went clattering across the cabin and slid under the table. Sloane snarled in wordless anger.

“I don’t need to be armed to kill you, Sloane,” Freddy said softly. He was more furious than he’d ever been in his life, but he was cold and he was focused.

Sloane sneered. “Think I’m scared of a
gentleman
?”

Freddy came at Sloane again. He hit him once, twice. Sloane returned each blow.

He punched Sloane in the eye. Sloane kicked him on the shin and followed it up with two sharp successive blows to the head.

His ears ringing, Freddy managed a short left hook to the man’s head followed by a hard blow to the belly. Sloane, gasping, fell back.

For a few seconds they stood, panting, eyeing each other, then Sloane rushed him, grabbing him in a headlock and raining punches to the side of his head.

They swayed, locked together. The man’s hot, fetid breath made Freddy want to gag. He got a hand free and landed a punch to the throat. At the same time Sloane kneed him savagely in the balls but Freddy was expecting it and, twisting, collected the blow on the hip instead.

They staggered apart. Sloane recovered first, with a heavy punch to the chest, followed by a blow to the face. Blood spurted from Freddy’s nose.

Freddy, gasping for breath and with blood streaming down his face, managed a sharp left to the man’s chin. His head snapped back and Freddy followed it with a punishing right into the solar plexus.

The man sagged. Freddy punched him hard in the face. Again, they staggered apart, reeling a little. Regrouping. Sloane swore, spat, and a blackened tooth rolled across the floor. His breath was coming in loud gasps. Freddy’s too was rasping out of his chest. He could taste his own blood.

“All right, I give up,” Sloane wheezed. He held out his hand, as if to shake on it.

Freddy frowned. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Sloane hadn’t been nearly punished enough. But the man was offering truce, blast him.

He hesitated, and in that moment Sloane rushed him, head down like a bull, and butted him hard in the stomach. Freddy went down, all breath knocked from his body.

Sloane started kicking him, going for the gut, the balls, the kidneys. Blows pounded into Freddy.

Twisting, writhing, trying to avoid each kick and gasping fruitlessly for breath, Freddy managed to catch a booted foot in two hands. He heaved and Sloane went crashing backward to the floor.

Freddy’s breath came back in a rush and, as Sloane scrambled to his feet, Freddy hit him, a huge, powerful blow that connected so hard, the man went flying backward across the cabin and hit the floor again.

Pain reverberated all down Freddy’s arm, but it was satisfying pain. Sloane would be hurting more.

He looked. Sloane, in fact, wasn’t moving. Was he dead?

At that moment the door flew open and Max burst in, followed by Flynn.

“You damned fool, you’ve killed him already!” Max exclaimed.

Flynn bent to examine the captain. “He’s still breathing.”

“I can fix that,” Freddy said.

“Stop right there!” Max ordered, adding, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather my oldest friend wasn’t tried for murder. Or have to flee abroad to escape the trial.”

Freddy glowered at the unconscious man, unrepentant. He itched to finish the job.

Max added, “And I’m sure Damaris would love life as an exile. Again.”

His words acted like a bucket of cold water dashed in Freddy’s face. This affair mustn’t touch her in the least. Freddy looked down at Sloane. The haze of fury cleared. His breathing slowed. It was finished.

“Bind his hands and feet.”

“He’s in no fit state to—” Max began.

“Bind them.” Freddy wasn’t afraid of more dirty tricks. Damaris had left this ship helpless, bound hand and foot. So would the captain.

Flynn found some rope and swiftly tied the man’s hands and feet. “What are you going to do with him?”

Freddy gave a careless shrug, ignoring the pain as he did so. “We have several choices, but the best is that he will hang for bringing girls into England and selling them to a brothel against their will.”

“Girls?” Max repeated.

Freddy nodded. “Turns out it wasn’t the first time he’d played that filthy trick.” He turned to Flynn. “I suspect you’ll find a dozen other crimes he’s committed—certainly his expression when I first confronted him suggested he was expecting quite different accusations. I’m certain he’s been cheating you, Flynn. Check the records, talk to the crew—you’ll find all the evidence we need to hang him, I’m sure. Pity you can’t hang a man more than once.”

“We could try,” Max growled.

“It might be entertaining,” Flynn said with a cold smile.

“It might,” Freddy agreed. “But I have it in mind to leave him to the tender mercies of British justice.”

Max nodded. “Imprisonment, trial and hanging.”

“Exactly.”

At that point the door flew open again. Freddy stared. Lady Beatrice’s giant footman? What the hell was he doing here? Two slightly smaller but still large footmen in livery followed him in. The cabin was getting decidedly crowded.

Max was the first to speak. “William? What is it?”

William bowed. “Lady Beatrice’s compliments, m’lord, but she thought Mr. Monkton-Coombes might need some help.”

“She what?” Freddy exclaimed. “How the devil could she possibly know that? She doesn’t even know I’m in London.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but Miss Damaris told her.”

“Miss
Damaris
? But she’s in Devon, at Davenham Hall.”

“I’m sorry to contradict you, sir, but her and Miss Abb—I mean, Lady Davenham”—he grinned at Max—“are with Lady Beatrice in Berkeley Square at this very moment.”

“Good God, she must have traveled all night,” Freddy exclaimed. “She’ll be sick as a dog.”

William continued, “Miss Damaris was in a devil of a state, sir, fretting about you being killed, but it looks like she needn’t have worr—”

But Freddy had gone, closely followed by Max.

William cast a knowledgeable eye over the unconscious Sloane. “Looks like we missed a first-rate mill,” he said wistfully. “Shame we arrived too late to help.”

“You can help now,” Flynn told him. “Take this piece of rubbish to Bow Street with the compliments of Mr. Mon—no, with the compliments of Lord Davenham and myself—and tell them to hold him pending charges. Capital charges.”

William grinned. “Very good, sir.”

 • • • 

“W
earing a hole in my parquetry floors won’t make him get here any sooner,” Lady Beatrice grumbled.

“William left here an hour ago,” Damaris said, continuing to pace. “Something’s gone wrong, I just know it has.”

At that moment the front doorbell rang. Damaris flew down the stairs and reached the last step as Freddy stepped inside.

And, oh, the state of him. His face was covered in rising bruises, scrapes and cuts; his nose looked crooked, with dried blood still crusting it; and one eye was purple and so swollen that it was the barest slit.

He took a few limping steps forward, gave her a lopsided grin and opened his arms.

She flew into his embrace. “Oh, Freddy, Freddy, I’ve been so worried. I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. You shouldn’t have gone after him, and, oh, look how he’s hurt you. Are you very badly injured? Should we get a doctor?” She examined his injuries worriedly. “Oh, your eye, it looks so painful. What can I do? Oh, you foolish, foolish man, going after him. I tried to find you, to stop you, but I couldn’t find the docks. I’ve been almost out of my mind with worry. I thought he’d kill you! I was certain of it. I thought I’d lost you forever.” And she burst into tears.

“Hush, hush, my poor girl, I’m perfectly all right, as you can see.” He bent to kiss her then pulled back as his split lip started to bleed again. “Oops, sorry.”

“Your poor, poor face.” She blotted the blood gently with a handkerchief. “Does it hurt dreadfully?”

“Have I lost my good looks, then?” He tried to grin and winced instead.

“It’s nothing to joke about,” she told him severely. “You could have been killed.” She felt sick just thinking about it.

She wanted to hug him and smother him with kisses. She also wanted to strangle him, standing there with that foolish crooked grin, so battered and so cocky. And so beautiful and dear.

“Freddy Monkton-Coombes, while I’m delighted to see you in one piece—or as near as—if you’re going to bleed, you can do it in private and not all over my front hall,” Lady Beatrice said dryly. “Featherby, put our battered friend in the green bedchamber; provide my niece with hot water, bandages, unguents and whatever else she requires and then leave them alone to get on with it.”

“You could have phrased that better, Aunt Bea,” said Max, who had entered more quietly, but to no less of a welcome from Abby. “Get
on
with it?”

“Good day to you, Max. I am glad to see you at least don’t look like an escapee from the morgue. As for
getting on with it
,” she added with a mischievous gleam, “I phrase things as I see them. Now, come up here and tell me about your honeymoon. Featherby, bring champagne to the drawing room.” She glanced again at Freddy, limping slowly up the stairs with Damaris wedged under his armpit, helping him. “Mr. Monkton-Coombes will have brandy.”

“Thank you, Lady Beatrice,” Freddy murmured as he passed her on the stairs. He winked at the old lady and she gave him a brisk, approving nod in return.

 • • • 

T
he bed in the green bedchamber was wide and soft. Damaris helped Freddy to it. He gave a little sigh of relief as he sank onto it. Damaris sat with him. She couldn’t seem to stop touching him, to assure herself he was alive. Safe. Battered, but safe.

Featherby supervised as a series of maids brought hot water, bowls, cloths, bandages and every kind of plaster known to man. He poured them each a brandy, leaving the decanter on a tray beside the bed. Freddy sipped it gingerly, wincing slightly as the liquor stung his cut lip.

“Will that be all, miss?”

“Thank you, Featherby,” Damaris said, and the butler left, closing the door carefully behind him.

“Thank God,” Freddy said, and with a groan he sank sideways on the bed, taking Damaris down with him.

“Are your injuries very bad? Should I fetch a doctor?”

“No, I just need some tender loving care.” He slipped a hand behind her neck and very carefully kissed her. “Mmm, you taste of ginger.”

She eased back. “Sorry, I chewed rather a lot of it on the way here.” She wanted to rain kisses all over him, but she feared hurting him.

“So it’s true? You came in Max’s traveling carriage?” She nodded and his arm tightened around her. “You foolish girl, whatever possessed you to come all that way in a closed carriage? You must have felt wretched.”

“I felt wretched because I was worried sick about
you
,” she retorted. “What madness possessed you to go after Sloane, Freddy?”

“He needed to be dealt with.”

“Yes, but not by you. Not like this.” She fetched the hot water, dipped a cloth in it and very gently started tending his injuries. He lay supine, watching her face as she fussed over him.

“I beat him, you know,” he said after a while. “Beat him in a fair fight—as fair as a swine like that could understand. Gave him the thrashing he deserved.” He closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face.