As he loaded the bullets into the chamber, his hand shook. Not from fear of holding the cold metal, but from the fear of what might happen to Nina if he wasn’t quick enough to put a bullet in the man’s heart.
Exiting his bedchamber, he shoved the gun into the pocket of his robe and raced down the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. He dashed outside, and his warm breaths left white puffs in the frigid air as he raced to the stable.
One of the massive cross-bucked doors was pushed wide open. Without removing the gun from his pocket, he curled his fingers around the weapon’s handle and stepped inside the dark space. He could hear the horses shifting in their stalls, but it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim space.
“Nina?” he called out.
“Elliot!” Though he couldn’t see her, he could hear the fear in her voice, and his desire to kill the bastard holding her against her will grew stronger.
The kerosene lamp that hung on a hook up in the loft flickered to life.
Elliot’s gaze zeroed in on the man holding Nina in front of him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. His other hand holding the tool to Nina’s neck. The light highlighted the fellow’s face.
It took several seconds for Elliot to realize it was Langford’s nephew, Harry Connors.
“What is this about, Mr. Connors?” Elliot asked, trying to keep his voice from ratcheting up.
“Retribution.” The slight slurring of the word informed Elliot the man had been drinking.
“For?”
Connors barked out a humorless laugh. “You’re about to take what should be mine.”
“Yours?”
“Yes, Langford Teas!” Connors’s voice was almost shrill in its intensity. “An eye for an eye is only fair.”
Damnation. He didn’t have a clear shot. He needed to keep the man talking until he did. “That urn on the Hathaways’ roof didn’t just happen to fall, did it?”
The light from the lantern highlighted the twisting of the man’s lips. “If the old woman hadn’t screamed, that urn would have left you splattered all over the terrace. I tried that after I missed shooting you while you were out riding. And if you’d been traveling at a greater speed when you lost your carriage wheel, you’d be six feet under as well.”
Good Lord. The madman had loosened the bolts securing the wheel and come damn close to getting Nina injured while out riding.
Didn’t Langford’s nephew realize his uncle would just find another buyer? “And the attack outside my London town house? I presume that was you as well.”
“You’re like a cat, Lord Ralston, but even a cat runs out of lives. Or his wife does.” The man’s unpleasant smile broadened.
“Release my wife. This is between you and me.”
“No.” He jerked violently on Nina’s waist, causing her to cringe. “Why should I? Did you think of me when you offered to buy my uncle’s business? I should be the one getting Langford Teas, but you approached him with your fancy clothing and smooth words and stole it out from under me.”
“You want it. Let my wife go, and I shall back away from the deal.”
“Too late. You’ve turned my uncle against me.”
“I don’t think I did. You did that all on your own.”
Lips pinched tight, Harry Connors moved closer to the loft’s edge, where there was no railing.
Nina’s eyes grew wide with fear.
“No!” Elliot’s heart pumped faster, causing the swish, swish, swish of blood coursing through his veins to reach his ears.
“Pay attention, my lord. I want to watch your face as your wife falls to her death. I want to see your pain. I want you to know what I have felt.”
The man was mad. How could he equate a business with a human life? “I’ll trade my life for hers.”
“Would you do that?” Connors asked.
“Without hesitation.”
“How sweet. That pleases me. It makes me realize how devastating it will be for you when I toss her over the loft’s edge, and she lands broken and twisted at your feet.”
A bead of sweat dripped down Elliot’s spine. Though he still didn’t have a clear shot, he slipped his finger over the trigger’s cold metal, hoping he would get an opportunity before it was too late.
The man twisted Nina’s face toward the lantern. “See the fear in her face?”
He did and it made him want to rip the man’s heart out with his bare hands. Elliot withdrew the gun and aimed it at the man.
Connors laughed. “Go on and shoot me, but when I fall, I will take her with me.”
“If you release her, neither of you has to die.”
“You must think I’m a fool, Lord Ralston. Why should I trust you? As soon as I let her go, you’ll put a bullet in me.” The madman took another step closer to the loft’s edge.
“If you toss her over, I’ll shoot you for sure. Think of that, Connors.”
“I don’t care. I have nothing left. You’ve stolen my future.”
A rustle sounded at the door and Meg stepped into the barn. Seeing the man holding Nina, and Elliot pointing the gun, his sister screamed.
Then everything happened so fast. Nina twisted herself loose from the man’s grasp. The momentum of her thrusting away, caused Connors to stumble backward. His left hand lashed out and grasped the partial rail as he dangled over the edge. His legs swung in the air like a rag doll’s. As the man looked over his shoulder at the stable floor, twenty feet below him, terror filled his eyes.
The wood made a splintering noise as it broke loose from its mooring. Connors tumbled backward, arms flailing in the air, then landed with a thud.
Nina, visibly shaking, wrapped her arms about her waist as she viewed the man’s twisted, supine body. His legs bent at an odd angle. His chest made a rattling noise as he drew in his last breath.
Meg gasped and brought her fisted hand to her mouth to stifle her scream.
Elliot tucked the gun back into the pocket of his robe and started up the ladder. “It’s safe, Nina. Come down.”
“I killed him.” Tears trailed down her cheeks.
“No, he lost his balance. He was drunk, and liquor will do that to a man.”
“But I pushed him.”
Elliot was damn glad she had. Better the bastard was dead than her.
“No. He was already losing his balance.” The thought that he might have lost her made him want to wretch like a drunkard after downing a whole bottle of gin.
She gave him a disbelieving look as she took his hand and climbed down the ladder. Once they reached the ground, Elliot noticed the uncontrollable shivers that racked Nina’s body. He pulled her into his embrace and rubbed his hands over her upper arms and back, trying to stop her shaking.
“Who is he?” Meg asked, her voice barely an audible whisper.
“The nephew of the proprietor of Langford Teas.”
“I don’t understand,” his sister said.
Nina’s teeth chattered.
“I’ll explain once we get inside. Nina needs to get warmed up, and I need to send Mr. McWilliams into town to get the local constable.”
* * *
An hour after the constable left, Nina sat in the drawing room with a warm cup of tea cradled between her hands. Though the porcelain held the heat of the hot brew, her fingers still felt chilled to the bone. Her body, along with her brain, felt numb—as if she were floating above and looking down at a horrid dream, instead of being an active participant in everything that had transpired.
Next to her, Nina felt the cushion on the sofa dip. She glanced sideways to see Elliot sitting next to her.
“You look cold. Let me put this more firmly on you.” He pulled the heavy woolen blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“Thank you. Where is Meg?” she asked, suddenly realizing her sister-in-law was no longer in the room.
“I told her she should go to bed.”
Yes. She remembered that now.
The housekeeper stepped into t
he room. “Do you wish for more tea, my lady?”
“No, I am fine, Mrs. Newcomb. There is no need for you to remain up.”
The woman looked unsure, as if she thought any minute Nina would need some medicinal tonic to calm her fraying nerves.
“No need to worry. I’ll take care of my wife, Mrs. Newcomb.”
The housekeeper nodded and left the room.
The door had no sooner closed behind her when Elliot took the teacup from her hands and set it on the table. He rubbed her fingers between his warm palms. “Are you sure you do not want Mr. McWilliams to fetch the village doctor?”
She shook her head. He’d asked her that more than once. Physically, she wasn’t injured. Mentally was another question. She was sure this incident would linger in her mind for a great length of time. It was not every day a madman wished to kill you, and it surely wasn’t every day you pushed him to his death.
“It wasn’t your fault, Nina.” Elliot tipped her chin up and held her gaze.
Odd. Even when she was trying to gather her frayed thoughts into a semblance of cohesion, Elliot realized what she was thinking.
She nodded.
“I wish I had possessed a clear shot. I would have felt little guilt in sending Connors to the devil. Not after I’d witnessed the fear on your face.”
Even though she knew he’d not touched a gun since he’d injured his sister, she remembered how steady he’d held the weapon. She didn’t doubt he would have shot the man. But it would have affected him—brought back memories that would be hard to quash.
“I guess I should go upstairs as well.” She stood and strode toward the door. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted the man she loved to hold her. When she’d been standing in the loft with that madman, she’d feared she might die without telling Elliot that even though he’d set out to deceive her, she knew he loved her. She knew it by the way he touched her. The way he looked at her. I’ll trade my life for hers. His words repeated in her head.
She turned around. “Are you coming?”
As if startled, he stared at her for a long moment. “If you wish me to. I would like that more than anything else in the world.”
She held out her hand, and they climbed the steps together.
In bed, she set her head on Elliot’s chest and listened to the strong beat of his heart. His large hand swayed up and down her back as if he wished to comfort her. And his touch did. She had a feeling it always would. That in times of trouble, she would seek solace in his arms, and Elliot would seek it in hers because that is what those who loved each other did.
And they did love each other. She’d never been surer of anything in her life.
Epilogue
Ralston House, Hampshire
August 1881
The contentment within Nina made her smile as she and Elliot stepped into their bedchamber. She’d hoped the first family gathering at Ralston House would be a success, and so far, it was going splendidly. Grandmother was behaving. Elliot and her brother James were getting on marvelously. Well, perhaps marvelously was an overstatement, but they’d not snarled at each other once, and a few times she’d noticed them smiling while engaged in conversation.
James was still playing the role of the overprotective brother, but he’d told her only yesterday how he admired Elliot’s hard work and commitment to running Langford Teas.
Sometimes, she wasn’t as pleased, since Elliot worked long hours, but she knew her husband was right—this business would not only be their future but their children’s future as well. And in a few months’ time, he believed the profit would be substantial enough to hire a sales manager who would take over the task of garnering new accounts. He still refused to use the money from her dowry, stating it was hers and their future children’s.
Her job as illustrator for the London Reformer kept her busy as well, but she would not trade it for the world. It gave her immense pleasure to see both her illustrations and caricatures published. She and Elliot were part a new breed of nobility who didn’t hide the fact they took pleasure from working in trade. Whether Grandmother liked it or not, the status quo was changing.
“I think this gathering is going quite well,” Elliot said, pulling her from her thoughts and repeating her own sentiment. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms about her waist, and nuzzled her neck. “So far, James and I haven’t come to blows once.”
“Don’t be shocked, but I believe James is coming to like you.”
“Really? Well, that would be a nice change.” He released her, strode to the bedroom door, and poked his head out.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to make sure the coast is clear, and your family and my sister are all snuggled into their beds.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Why?”
“Come with me.” He took her hand in his and led her out of the room and down the corridor.
“Where are we going?”
He pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh. We don’t want to wake anyone up. They aren’t invited to this party.”
She grinned, knowing exactly where they were headed, and a bubble of excitement burst in her stomach as Elliot opened the door to the roof. As soon as they stepped onto the flat structure, Nina spotted a pallet loaded with blankets and pillows at the center of the roof, far away from the edges, but tonight there was no telescope set up.
“Where is the telescope?”
“I thought tonight, instead of stargazing, we could make love under the stars.”
Anticipation curled in her stomach. She set her hand on Elliot’s chest. “Have I told you I like the way your mind works?”
Chuckling, Elliot embraced her and brushed his lips against hers. The kiss turned hungry. His tongue stroked hers.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and, wanting more contact, arched against him. She almost purred as one of Elliot’s hands slid up to mold itself to the soft flesh of her breast.
With a growl-like noise, he scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the blankets and gave Nina her first lesson on making love under the stars, but she was sure it wouldn’t be her last.
Can’t get enough of the Infamous Lords?
Keep an eye out for more in the series!
And don’t miss the first three books:
NEVER DARE A WICKED EARL
NEVER DECEIVE A VISCOUNT
NEVER KISS A NOTORIOUS MARQUESS
Available now from
Zebra Books
wherever books are sold!
photo credit: Renee Ann Miller
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RENEE ANN MILLER writes sexy historical romances. She’s a 2015 and 2016 finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart Contest® from Romance Writers of America®. Renee loves romantic stories, excessive amounts of chocolate, and gardening. She lives in the Northeast with her wonderful husband. You can find out more about Renee and the stories she’s working on at www.ReneeAnnMiller.com and connect with her at twitter @reneeannmiller.
NEVER DARE A WICKED EARL
They are the infamous lords, unrepentant rogues whose bad behavior makes for good gossip among the ton. But these sexy scoundrels have stories no one knows. And it takes a special touch to reveal the true hearts behind their devilish disguises . . .
Known as a brazen philanderer, Hayden Milton, Earl of Westfield, is almost done in by a vengeful mistress who aims a gun at a rather essential part of his anatomy—but ends up wounding his thigh instead. Recuperating in his London town house, Hayden is confronted by his new medical attendant. Sophia Camden intrigues him, for behind her starched uniform is an enticing beauty better suited for bedding than dispensing salves and changing bandages.
Unshaken by his arrogance, not to mention impropriety, Sophia offers Hayden a dare: allow her ten days to prove her competency. If she resigns in exasperation like her two predecessors, she will be beholden to this wicked seducer. As a battle of wills begins, Sophia finds herself distracted by the earl’s muscular physique . . .
and discovers that the man within longs only for a second chance to love.
NEVER DECEIVE A VISCOUNT
They are the infamous lords, notorious noblemen who indulge their irreverence in public, but keep their personal struggles private. For a portrait artist, capturing the true soul of a high-born hellion is a daring proposition . . .
Clearly, Emma Trafford’s new neighbor is a lady killer—but is the scoundrel with the scar capable of murder? Emma can barely contain her precocious younger sister, Lily—the child swears she spied their neighbor engaged in foul play in his Bloomsbury love nest. But when Lily goes too far searching for “evidence,” Emma must save the imp by distracting Simon—with an all-consuming kiss rife with danger and desire . . .
Simon Marlton, Viscount Adler doesn’t know which is more infuriating: that an anonymous intruder set his soul on fire and left a deep longing in her wake . . . or that during their encounter his signet ring, a token of his painful past, went missing. With the memory of a faint scent of paint spirits and the knowledge that his neighbor Emma is a portraitist, Simon sets out to capture his thief. He draws Emma into a flirtatious game, commissioning the talented lass to paint him—and enticing them both to reveal their whispered suspicions and deepest secrets . . .
NEVER KISS A NOTORIOUS MARQUESS
They are the infamous lords, whose scandalous ways keep tongues wagging. But when darker whispers take hold, a spirited writer’s encounter with a dangerously desirable nobleman may uncover the whole story . . .
For James Trent, Lord Huntington, there’s no escaping the question that labeled him The Murdering Marquess: was his wife’s death a tragic accident or a cold-blooded crime? He’s avoided London’s gossipmongers since that terrible night, as guardian to his younger siblings on his Essex estate. But trouble finds him when a veiled temptress with secrets of her own falls—quite literally—into his arms.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 27
