by Meara Platt
He did not like the look of menace in their smiles.
Did they plan to do something to Nicola?
He doubted Somersby would be so foolish as to order her punished in any way. Not when he and Jordan would see her this evening and immediately know if she’d been harmed. Nor would he dare return her to Lord and Lady Darnley with so much as a scratch on her delicate skin. No, he wouldn’t dare.
Still, John did not like to think of her alone with that oaf.
He climbed the stairs two at a time and entered Jordan’s quarters. “Get up. We have work to do.”
“Bollocks, stop shouting at me. My head’s about to explode.” Jordan slowly rolled to a sitting position and rubbed his hands across his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes and the fog from his brain. “What’s wrong? What did I miss?”
John frowned. “Nicola left with Somersby.”
That seemed to catch his friend’s attention. “And you let her go with that Sassenach horse’s arse?”
“I couldn’t interfere. She wanted to go.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
John checked the pistol in the hidden holster in his boot, donned his jacket, and grabbed his hunting rifle.
“Ye bloody fool! What are ye planning to do?” Jordan sprang from his bed with a rasping groan and crossed to the door to block him. “I thought you just said you weren’t going to interfere.”
They were both big men, Jordan a little bigger, but John was more determined. “I won’t, unless he stops the carriage and has his men…” He couldn’t finish the thought, for it was too gruesome to endure. As much as he detested Somersby, he knew the man would not show his true nature now. And who was to say he would ever harm Nicola? Most men were all bluster. In any event, Nicola was no meek sparrow. “All I wish to do is make certain she is safely returned to Somersby’s lodge. Lord Darnley will watch over her after that.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “Very well, give me a moment. We can cut across the foothills and take up a vantage point overlooking the lodge. Let’s just hope those smugglers don’t get away while we’re busy meddling in this marriage business that is none of our concern.”
John frowned. “We’re not going to meddle, just protect her. She’s my responsibility and I—”
“Since when is she yours to look after? Her uncle is the Earl of Darnley. He’s more than capable of attending to her care.” He grinned at John. “Although I doubt he’s fast enough to catch her if she runs away again.”
“Stop wasting time with jests. Somersby isn’t to be trusted with Nicola. If he lays a hand on her… if he orders his men to…” The words caught in his throat.
Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. “He won’t. So don’t you do anything rash. I don’t know what demons have you by the throat this morning, but you can’t let them overwhelm you. Besides, the girl can fight for herself.”
“Yes, of course.” He knew Jordan was right, but that did not stop the violent tug he felt to his heart. “I’ll keep my wits about me. You know I will.” He always did, except when it came to Nicola. The blocks of granite surrounding his heart chipped away whenever he was around her.
He didn’t like it one bit.
NICOLA’S GAZE WAS fixed on the scenery as Lord Somersby’s carriage rolled and bounced its way back to his hunting lodge. A pair of goshawks were on the hunt above the soaring crags, their massive wings outstretched and their heads down as they searched for an unsuspecting rabbit or two to fill their bellies. At the moment, she felt like that unsuspecting rabbit about to meet its untimely end.
Oh, she knew that Somersby had no intention of killing her. But he meant to cheat on her throughout their marriage. Which was why she could not marry him. There were plenty of women who would accept this sort of arrangement. Indeed, most would. He needed to find one of those biddable young ladies to pursue.
Never a coward, she turned to him. “Lord Somersby, we must speak about last night.”
The marquis was a handsome man with thick, dark hair and gray eyes that were often turbulent. She’d thought that brooding sort of stormy gray quite attractive, at first. But she now realized that this was all he was, a petulant and brooding marquis who was used to getting his own way in all things and could be cruel when he did not.
While some men took the good fortune of their stature to heart and gave back something in return for the bounty they’d been given, Somersby was not one of them.
“I suppose we must.” He nodded and leaned forward. “Your behavior last night was unacceptable.”
My behavior?
She blinked several times to make certain she was awake and not in the throes of a nightmare. “I beg your pardon? I was not the one caught with my pants down about my ankles.”
He did not have the decency to blush. “Has your aunt never spoken to you about… men?”
“Not at great length, but I am not a peahen. I understand quite well what you were doing to that woman… with that… her.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Good. Then we are clear.”
“On how things will be? Do you mean before or after the marriage? Because I find both possibilities repugnant.”
He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She expected his grip to be harsh, but he was surprisingly gentle. “You will be my wife, Lady Nicola. I mean to treat you with respect. But I am a man of hearty appetites. Do you understand what I am saying? I do not wish to satisfy my baser urges on you. I will visit your bed from time to time.” He cast her a wry smile. “In truth, I think I will enjoy your impertinent spirit in the bedchamber. But I cannot promise to visit no one else but you. I wish to be honest about it.”
She slipped her hand out of his and clenched it into a fist. “Then we are back to where we started. I will not tolerate other women in my husband’s bed. We marry for love in the Emory family. We believe in our wedding vows.”
He stared at her in bewilderment for an endlessly long moment before suddenly breaking into another smile. “Are you saying that you love me?”
Well, no. She hadn’t meant it to sound that way. Indeed, she was going to refuse his marriage offer because she now understood that she would never grow to love him. But he sounded quite gentle and could not be faulted for his attitude when most of Society felt as he did.
She did not wish to hurt him more than necessary when she rejected him. “My lord, we have not been acquainted long enough to be certain of our feelings for one another. But you seem determined to carry on with your… entanglements… much as you do now, and I am saying that our marriage will not stand a chance of surviving if that is your decision. I want a man who is faithful and who values me. I am not going to be anyone’s broodmare, no matter how fine the stable in which I’m kept might be or how plentiful and tempting the carrots tossed my way as placating treats may seem.”
“I see.” He took his pearl-handled walking cane and thumped it against the roof of the carriage.
Nicola frowned when he did not follow up with a command. Instead, he settled back against the fine leather squabs and folded his arms across his chest. His smile was no longer charming but cold, and it held the unsettling hint of malice.
Her heart began to beat a little faster. “Why did you bang on the carriage roof just now?”
“No reason. Must I explain my every action to you?”
“No, but it did not appear to make any sense to me.”
“It is my signal to my driver to take more care. We seemed to be hitting more ruts in the road than necessary. I would not like you returned to Lord Darnley with bruises all over your body. He might believe I placed them there.”
Was she reading too much into his words? Was this a shielded threat that he would beat her if she questioned him after they were married? She shook her head and sighed. “Very thoughtful of you, my lord.”
There was no point in pursuing the discussion since she’d made up her mind about him and needed to develop a workable plan to get herself and her aunt and uncle away from h
is hunting lodge with as little fuss as possible.
He leaned forward and took her hand again. “Somersby Hall is not such a terrible stable, and the jewels I shall gift to you as my wife are quite pretty carrots. You shall have everything your heart desires as my marchioness. Give me fine, strong sons, and daughters as beautiful as their mother, and you shall have my respect, my discretion. My generosity.”
“But never your love.” She nodded. “So why choose me? I can be replaced with any of a dozen other young women with dowries as fine as or finer than mine who will not question or challenge you.”
“No. There is only one of you, my dear. It must be you and you alone. No one else will do for my purposes.” His lips twitched as they turned slightly upward at the corners. His eyes had a turbulent, but unreadable look to them.
My purposes. This was no confession of love. What was he going on about then?
Her stomach sank into her toes. Mother in heaven. He was using her to hurt someone.
Her brother? Her uncle? She had to find out what he meant to do.
CHAPTER 3
JOHN DECIDED NOT to wait for his companion, who was taking too long to ready himself. They weren’t dressing for a bloody London ball or Covent Garden theater, but merely intending to race up a few hills to keep an eye on Somersby’s carriage until Nicola was returned to the arms of Lord and Lady Darnley.
Impatient to be on his way, John went to the tavern’s stable to retrieve his mount, Valor. He called for one of the grooms to saddle his horse, a new purchase from Jordan’s prime stock, for Jordan was a breeder of renown and Drummond Stables had an excellent reputation throughout Scotland, England, and even Ireland where horse breeding was serious business.
Although John had only recently purchased Valor, he’d already trained the horse to respond to him and even taught him a few useful tricks. Indeed, all of John’s plans had been going well until last night. Foil a rebel plot, catch a few smugglers, and acquire a prime horse. Perhaps bag a few grouse in the bargain. Not bad for a few weeks’ work.
It would have been all good if not for Nicola storming back into his life.
He crossed to the stall and patted Valor’s nose. “Ready for a little exercise, my restless fellow?”
The black gelding was built for power and endurance, much like the chargers bred for battle in medieval times. Valor was a beautiful beast and John looked forward to teaching him more tricks, especially those to use if they were ever in a scrape and had to make a fast getaway.
He had yet to train Valor to use his hooves as weapons, but that would come next. The beast had an impatient nature and was already stamping and kicking, eager to be led out of his stall and taken for a long run.
“Larkins? Bigwell? Anybody in here?” When neither groom responded, John shrugged it off. They’d probably gone off with the group of hunters who’d gathered around him and Somersby a short while ago. He set his rifle against Valor’s stall and crossed to the tack room to fetch the saddle himself.
He was about to grab it when he heard several men enter the stable. Something about them put him instantly on alert. They moved silently, something no group of hunters would do, for they’d all be chattering away, boasting of the grouse they were sure to bag this morning. Their hunting dogs would be barking beside them in noisy anticipation.
No dogs.
No excited barks.
No jovial boasting.
John removed his spectacles, tucked them into the pocket of his jacket, and then slipped behind one of the rear stalls. It offered him a good vantage point while waiting for these strangers to come into view. But instead of moving toward him, they closed the stable doors, effectively shutting him in with them and keeping everyone else out.
Very little sunlight had spilled in when the door had been open. Now, the entire stable was wrapped in darkness.
No matter, it gave him the advantage.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light.
He did not need to see these men to know they were Somersby’s hired scum. Nor was it hard to guess their intent. They had purposely trapped him in here to beat him senseless. Perhaps they meant to kill him. Bollocks. He ought to have taken Nicola at her word. Was she safe? Would Somersby dare harm her?
He should never have allowed her to return to that villain’s lair.
“Lord Bainbridge,” one of the ruffians who’d accompanied Somersby this morning called out with gloating malice. He lit a lantern and set it atop a dusty worktable. “Come out, my lord. We need to have a little talk.”
John did not respond, but the man must have seen his shadow cast in the lantern’s dim, orange glow. He gave a bark of laughter and slowly began to walk toward John, his footsteps cautious as they crunched on the straw that littered the floor.
The man’s confederates shuffled behind him, and as they approached John, their leader motioned for them to surround him. Despite having him outnumbered five to one and the stable doors securely shut, their movements were hesitant and halting.
Good. They were afraid of him, as they ought to be.
Their boots scuffed along the dirt floor and he heard one of them curse when he tripped over a loose floorboard.
Had they harmed Larkins and Bigwell? No wonder those grooms hadn’t responded to his call. “And what are we to talk about, gentlemen?”
One of the men now stood between him and his rifle that was resting against the wooden slats of Valor’s stall. The man was apparently unaware that he’d set down his weapon. Still, it was out of reach and of no use to John at the moment. But he still had the pistol hidden in his boot if it proved necessary to shoot his way out. The odds would turn in his favor if Jordan ever got himself down here.
Five assailants in all. He could take down two. Jordan could take down two. And there was always one coward in the group who would hang back and then run off to report their failure to Somersby.
But Jordan wasn’t here yet.
Bollocks.
As the boldest assailant took a step toward him, John noticed the blacksmith shovel clenched in his gnarled fingers. “Our master was concerned that ye hadn’t heard his warning.”
“I heard it loud and clear,” he said, watching each man as they completed a circle around him. No doubt, they believed they had him trapped.
“Very good, m’lord. But we just want to make certain ye never forget it.” He raised the shovel and swung it hard, managing to strike John on the shoulder with a glancing blow. He’d been aiming for John’s head, but John had parried to avoid it.
John grabbed one of the other assailants and hurled his scrawny body into the man with the shovel, grunting in satisfaction when the two fell in a heap at his feet. But they’d be up in a moment, and two others were coming at him, attempting to grab his arms to hold him down.
Where was Jordan?
He could do with his help about now, for these were big fellows, even for hired muscle.
He kicked one hard in the groin, then grabbed a bridle that was dangling on a nearby beam and slammed it into the other man’s face. The man cried out in pain and grabbed his nose as blood began to spurt from it. But their leader and his scrawny companion were back on their feet and charging at him, so he had no time to enjoy his small victory.
As John reached out to grab the scrawny one and toss him again, the fifth man suddenly found his courage and heaved a barrel at him, managing to catch him on the hip. That threw John off balance long enough for the assailant with the shovel to land another glancing blow, this time to his ribs.
John was not a man of violence, but neither did he believe in meekly accepting his fate. He kicked the fellow hard in the gut and then wrestled the shovel out of his hands, easily accomplished as the air rushed out of his assailant and left the man unable to breathe. He then struck his scrawny companion under the chin with the shovel, satisfied when the man keeled over with a whimper.
Breathing hard himself, John glanced around in satisfaction. He’d put all but one of them ou
t of commission. Shovel man was on his knees still trying to catch his breath. The scrawny one was writhing on the ground and holding his possibly broken jaw. Of the first men he’d taken down, one was still clutching his inflamed balls and the other still crying over his broken nose.
The coward who’d tossed the barrel at him was nowhere in sight, but the stable door was now flung open, allowing sunlight to stream in. John knew the whimpering scum had run back to Somersby.
He turned back to the leader of this rabble, who did not seem quite as brave as he had been a moment earlier when he’d held the iron shovel. John now had it. “Tell Somersby if he sends you idiots after me again, I’ll have his guts for garters.”
“Ye’ll be dead,” the man growled and withdrew a pistol hidden beneath his jacket.
John groaned. “Put it down before I kill you.”
“Ye have it the other way around, m’lord. I’m going to—”
John swung the shovel down on the man’s hand with enough force to break it, and probably had broken it judging by his shriek of pain. The pistol discharged, its shot landing harmlessly in the floorboards.
Jordan strode in just then, carrying the unconscious fifth man over his shoulder. He dumped him on the ground beside his writhing companions. “What’s going on?”
“Took you long enough,” John grumbled.
His friend shrugged. “You did all right for yourself. What shall we do with these gents?”
“Tie them up for now. I’m in no hurry to return them to his lordship. They rode in behind Somersby’s carriage, so their horses must be tethered somewhere nearby. Let’s collect them, too.”
“You aren’t seriously considering returning the men and their horses to Somersby, are you?” Jordan arched an eyebrow. “Because I have a better idea. I’m known in these parts. Just say the word and the magistrate will lock them away for as long as you wish.”
