Thea's Marquis (23 page)

For the moment he ignored her, interested as he was in the purse and case the first man dropped on the table in front of him. He pushed aside his bottle, glass, and inkstand. “What’s she brought, cully?”

With greedy fingers he opened the case while his henchman emptied the purse. The man behind Thea rushed forward to catch a gleaming guinea that rolled onto the floor.

Vaughn’s dirty fingers pawed through Penny’s jewels. “Nice,” he sneered, looking up, “but these ain’t worth five thousand. What else have you got for me?”

“Nothing,” Thea said in a low voice. “That is the best I could do tonight. Surely it is sufficient. Let us go.”

“Let you go?” His laugh was drunkenly malicious. “You must be roasting me, Niece. You and hubby here have forced me to go to a lot of trouble, and I’m going to make you sorry for it.”

At last Thea raised her head. “But I am not...” She gasped as she saw Jason in the corner beyond him. Tied to a chair, as Will had said. From the corner of his mouth, gagged with a dirty rag, blood trickled down his chin, and another trickle descended his temple from a damp, matted patch of dark hair. One eye was swollen shut; the other regarded her with an urgent message she could not read. “I am not your niece, Mr. Vaughn,” Thea finished firmly. “I am Lord Kilmore’s sister.”

From the open door behind her came a roar of rage. A huge, wild figure in dilapidated evening dress stormed past her, shoving her aside. The large and furious gentleman cracked together the heads of two surprised villains. As they sank, dazed, to the floor, he sent Mr. Vaughn flying from his chair with a superb uppercut to the jaw. And then he rounded on Thea.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing,” he shouted, advancing on her, his face flushed with wrath, “throwing yourself in danger’s way like the veriest feather-brained ninnyhammer? How dare you interfere! Damn it, have you no faith in me? I’ve a deuced good mind to—”

What he had a good mind to do, Thea never discovered. Another discovery intervened. Roderick DeVine, Marquis of Hazlewood, the coolest, calmest, most unexcitable gentleman of the
beau monde
, had lost his temper—had lost his temper at
her.
She could think of only one possible reason.

And so she silenced his tirade with a kiss, a shameless, brazen, arms-around-the-neck-and-hold-on-tight kiss...a kiss that continued, though the small room suddenly filled with people.

A kiss that continued though Thea suddenly came to her senses and realized her shockingly improper behaviour. By then, Roderick’s arms were around her, and she couldn’t have escaped if she had wanted to, which she did not.

“Well, I must say,” Meg declared, “I do think
you
might have kissed
me
like that, Will.”

“I shall,” he promised, “but not just now. You didn’t leave us much to do, coz.”

He looked round with pardonable satisfaction. Pokers poised, George, Geoffrey, and Billy had each taken a seat on a recumbent ruffian. Little Peter was playing lookout at the door. Meg was ministering to her brother with spit and a miniscule lace-edged handkerchief. Will lowered his horse-pistol.

Roderick released Thea just enough for her to catch her breath. Gazing down at her with a bemused expression, he said, “There are far too many people about.”

“I’d be delighted to depart,” Jason, finally able to speak again, said drily. “Penny must be in high fidgets.”

One arm still holding Thea close. Rod reached in his pocket and tossed a penknife to his cousin. Meg took a pair of tiny embroidery scissors from her reticule. She and Will attacked Jason’s bonds.

The marquis frowned. “Far too slow,” he observed. Taking Thea’s hand, he led her from the room.

They found a seat of sorts on the lower steps of a narrow staircase. Locked in her beloved’s arms, Thea would not have exchanged those stairs for a queen’s throne. His strength, his gentleness, his understanding enveloped her, and a tender yet ardent passion astonishing in so self-controlled a gentleman. Now they had no need for words.

All too soon the sweet embrace was interrupted. Will appeared before them waving a sheet of paper and a quill.

“Sign this, will you, coz. Your tiger won’t go near Bow Street without your name to it.”

Reluctantly, Roderick let go of Thea, signed the paper, and handed it back. Will beckoned Peter over and sent him off.

“The footmen will take care of those miscreants until the constables arrive. I must take Meg home—her mother will be in a tweak. You may congratulate me, Rod. She’s accepted me. Meg, that is, not the dowager.”

“Congratulations,” the marquis muttered, burying his face in Thea’s hair, one hand stroking the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

“I take it you don’t want to come? Someone ought to stay till Vaughn and the others are safely under lock and key, but if Miss Kilmore wishes—”

“Devil take it, go away!” bellowed Lord Hazlewood, sorely tried.

Will’s grin flashed white in the shadows. “I’ll send the carriage back,” he promised.

At that moment Meg supported her limping brother into the hall. “By the way, Hazlewood,” said Jason sardonically, “you have my permission to address my sister.” The three departed into the night.

Roderick nibbled thoughtfully on Thea’s ear. “I could go down on my knees,” he offered, “but I should have to remove you from them first.”

“Pray don’t.” She snuggled closer, or would have had it been possible.

“I could make a speech,” he offered, “but it would be a shocking waste of time.”

“Pray don’t.” After tonight, they would have to behave with propriety and circumspection until...until—

“Will you marry me?”

“Oh yes, Rod.” She sighed contentedly. “I should like it of all things.”

The constables, bursting in half an hour later, were positively scandalized at the goings-on among the nobs.

Copyright © 1993 by Carola Dunn

Originally published by Harlequin

Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.