by Meara Platt
Marcus withdrew a pistol from his boot and a knife from under his jacket. “Lara, get down on the floor.”
She promptly did as he asked. “What do you see?”
“Nothing yet. I don’t know. It may be innocent. But I don’t like it. Too much of a coincidence.” He removed a tiny pistol from his sleeve and handed it to her. “Hold onto it. Don’t be afraid to use it if you must.”
“How many weapons are you hiding on your person?”
“Lots. Stay down and be quiet.”
Her eyes were as round as two full moons. “What are you going to do, Marcus?”
“Hurt them before they hurt you.” He peered out the window, his trained eye taking in everyone within the crowd now gathering to view the accident that had brought an abrupt halt to the carts and carriages up ahead.
He kept his eye on those who were blending in with the crowd, focusing his gaze on those who appeared to be slowly closing in on his conveyance. “Lara, remember what I told you earlier. If we’re somehow separated, go to my club. Bedford Place. Don’t go anywhere else. They’ll be watching your home and mine. Just run. Make your way there and wait for me.”
He saw them then, two men with tanned, leathery faces edging toward the carriage, weapons in hand. These were weathered seamen, probably pirates sent by Montvey to keep an eye on the Le Brecque family. Likely, they had been given instructions to kill Lara and her father if things began to fall apart.
They split up so one could attack from the right and the other from the left. He counted only the two. There had to be more. Surely, a third man to serve as lookout, and several others to create the diversion. Ah, yes. He spotted the third man. “Travis, we have trouble.”
“I see ’em, m’lord.”
“Take care of the one on the left. I’ve got two approaching on the right. I’ll deal with them. I have them in my sight.”
As people pressed forward to watch the fight about to take place up ahead, Marcus flung his door open so that it smashed into the faces of the two assailants. One drew out a pistol, but Marcus easily kicked it out of the blackguard’s hand. From his vantage point on the carriage’s top step, Marcus was now able to throw another kick, this time hitting this assailant hard in the chest. He fell to the ground with a moan, his head hitting the street with enough force to leave him dazed.
Marcus used the door as a weapon again, smashing the other man in the face once more and bloodying his nose. He’d probably broken it, but Marcus aimed to do worse. These men would not stop coming at him until they were rendered unconscious.
He had no qualms about hurting them. These villains had spent the last few years destroying the Le Brecque family. It would be a pleasure for him to make them wish they’d never heard the Le Brecque name or ever stepped foot in England.
A third assailant approached.
Then a fourth.
He shot the man brandishing a knife, then smashed his fist in the face of the other.
He was on the street now, standing as close to the carriage as possible, for he could not allow any of these men to climb inside and hurt Lara.
A crowd was now forming a circle around him and his attackers, preferring this bit of excitement to the accident up ahead. They gave him and Montvey’s men wide berth to brawl. Of course, none of them would think to offer help.
Marcus cursed under his breath. “Summon the Royal Guard!”
He hoped one of these onlookers would heed his call, but none of them seemed to be moving away. Buckingham House was not so very far, and there would be guardsmen positioned at its gate.
Could these onlookers not see the Kinross crest emblazoned on his carriage?
Did they not understand these men were attacking an earl?
Perhaps they did.
Damn it to hell. Were these the people he’d spent years fighting to protect? They didn’t seem to give a rat’s arse about him.
He dared not look up at Travis to see how he was faring. The slightest distraction would allow these men to overpower him. More were pushing their way through the crowd to come at him.
Four more.
And those he’d knocked down were now getting back on their feet, except for the one he’d shot and the other he’d punched hard enough to leave him flat on his back on the cobblestones. He hoped Travis was holding his own, protecting the carriage’s left flank. The man had served under him in the army. Marcus knew he was a good fighter, but were there as many men coming at him?
Lara. He couldn’t allow harm to come to her.
These new arrivals approached him with knives drawn, menacingly swinging them at him and taunting him with laughs and sneers. Those in the crowd who were too close to him gasped and scurried back as the sharp blades almost caught them.
“Marcus!” Lara shouted from inside the carriage and fired her only shot.
A man to his left fell to his knees clutching his chest, the pistol he was about to discharge harmlessly clattering to the ground. Marcus realized the man had taken aim at his chest, but Lara got him before he was able to get off his shot.
Lara had probably saved his life, but he was still angry with her.
How was she to protect herself now? She’d used her pistol to protect him instead.
More shots suddenly rang out causing the spectators to scream and run for cover. His horses, a pair of high-stepping bays who were skittish by nature, bolted down the street. It had now been cleared of the obstruction, no doubt one faked to stop his carriage in order for Montvey’s men to ambush them.
His heart shot into his throat, for Lara was in the runaway carriage and helpless to stop the frightened team.
“M’lord! M’lord!” Travis shouted to him, sounding alarmed.
“I know.” With no one driving the carriage, it could tip over at any moment…or worse. Lord help them all. Had one of Montvey’s men climbed up and driven it away?
He needed to stop the carriage before Lara was hurt.
But how?
He and Travis were now surrounded, the villains forming a circle around them and about to attack like a pack of hungry wolves. Eight men, the steel of their blades glinting in the fading rays of light, began to close in on him and Travis.
Just as they were about to pounce, two men he recognized as Bow Street runners approached, shouting loudly. “Put down your weapons and surrender to the Crown!”
They were followed closely by twenty of the queen’s guardsmen.
Suddenly, it was Montvey’s men who were surrounded. However, these men were not ready to give up. Two of them ran, quickly apprehended by the Bow Street runners. The others continued to fight as though their lives depended on it. No doubt, Montvey would have them killed if they ran. They were dead men, anyway, for the punishment for attacking an earl was hanging.
They were eventually subdued. Several lay dead, several more lay injured. The survivors, injured or not, would be taken to prison.
Marcus intended to spare only a brief word with the royal commander before taking off in search of Lara, but the man was one of those ‘by the book’ officers who took his time asking questions of Marcus and his driver, and making certain his attackers were thoroughly searched. Only once the commander gave the order to his guardsmen to place Montvey’s men securely behind iron bars did Marcus breathe a sigh of relief and attempt to leave. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lord Kinross.”
Muttering an acknowledgment, he and his Bow Street runners took off to find Lara.
He left Travis behind, trusting him to ensure Montvey’s men were indeed properly taken into custody and incarcerated.
A few helpful gentlemen pointed out the direction of the bolting carriage. They found it two streets down, the two horses snorting and prancing, but now stopped near busy Regent Street. Breathing hard and dreading what he might find, Marcus peered inside.
His heart sank, for it was empty.
Where was Lara?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“LARA! LARA!” MARCUS knew she would have c
ome out of hiding if she’d remained nearby. That left two possibilities. Either she’d gotten out safely and was now making her way to the Wicked Earls’ Club. Or one of Montvey’s men had her in his clutches.
Don’t let her be caught.
An old woman was peering out the upper floor window above a modiste’s shop, probably one of the seamstresses. “Where’s the girl? Did you see her get out of the carriage?” he shouted up at her and flashed a handful of coins.
The woman’s eyes bulged. “She ran off, m’lord.”
“Alone?” Vapors of cold air blew out from his lips as he spoke.
The woman nodded, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. “Aye, m’lord.”
He glanced up and silently gave thanks above. “Was she hurt?”
“No, m’lord. She looked spry enough to me.”
Yes, that was Lara, brave and quick-witted. “Was anyone chasing after her?”
“Only you,” she said, her gaze never wavering from the coins sparkling in his hand.
He handed the coins to one of the Bow Street runners and pointed up to the old woman. “Give her the reward.”
His heart pounded hard enough to bore a hole through his chest, but he took another moment to address the other Bow Street runner with as much calm as he could muster. “When your companion returns, I want the two of you to take the horses and carriage to my mews. Then go to Lady Miranda Grayfell’s home.” He gave the man her direction. “Let her know that Lady Lara and I are fine, but will be late for supper. You may tell her what happened, but make certain she knows we are uninjured. If she asks, just let her know we have…administrative matters to attend to that will delay us.”
“But m’lord, we don’t have Lady Lara. Shouldn’t we stay to help ye find her?”
“No, I know where she’s gone.”
“And if yer aunt asks where you are? What shall I tell her?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not certain. But we’re safe and will see her later this evening. That’s all she needs to know right now. That’s all anyone in my family needs to know.”
“But m’lord,” the man said as he was about to take off for the Wicked Earls’ Club. “Ye’re wounded. Look at yer arm.”
He didn’t care.
He was too numb with worry about Lara to think of himself now. He glanced down at his coat sleeve and saw the pool of blood seeping through it. One of the villains must have slashed him during the fight. He simply hadn’t noticed. Nor would he stop now to have it tended. He had to find Lara first.
He prayed she would be waiting for him at his club.
It felt like an eternity had passed, but could not have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes before he reached Bedford Place. The street was quiet, the neat row of townhouses seemingly undisturbed. Well, this street only came alive at night. Rarely in the day, for this was the haunt of the demi-monde. The parties started in the evening and went on until sunrise. Champagne flowed generously. Card games went on all night.
Other games went on all night as well.
While he prayed he would find Lara there, he also knew he could not leave her there. No one would think to look for her at the club because it was not a place one would ever take a decent young lady. But he had to get her away before the debauched lords and their cyprians, these elegant ladies with their loose morals and low cut gowns, arrived for an evening sport that took place with regularity among this fast crowd.
Lara was still an innocent and he meant to keep her that way.
Well, not for long.
He meant to marry her, if she’d have him.
Gad, he was getting lightheaded to be thinking of marriage at a time like this.
A footman opened the door to the club as soon as he reached it. “Upstairs,” was all the man got out. It was all he needed to say.
Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and tore up the stairs, taking them two at a time. It was only one flight up to the private rooms assigned to each earl who was a member. He peered down the elegant, wood-paneled hall, relieved no one else was about. Knowing he was quite alone, he tried the door to his bedchamber and frowned when he found it unlocked.
Lara ought to have…never mind. He was just glad she was here and unharmed. “Lara, blessed saints! You gave me a scare.”
He shut the door behind him and strode to her, his only thought to swallow her up in his arms and never let her out of them.
She was safe, nothing else mattered.
Her hair was disheveled, a few curls falling over her forehead and the rest of her golden mane falling in a splendid cascade down her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink and she appeared breathless. But her eyes held a tawny sparkle and her smile was like a sunbeam lighting up his room. He was pleased to note the footmen had taken care to light a fire in the hearth and provide some light refreshments for her, a pot of tea, some cheese and apples.
She looked beautiful.
“Marcus!” She was seated on his bed, her hands clasped together and resting on her lap. But she shot up and raced into his open arms. Before he had the chance to speak another word, she began lavishing kisses on him. “I was so afraid they’d hurt you.” She rose on tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed his jaw, his cheek. She kissed his neck.
He flinched when she placed her hand on his injured arm. “Oh, they did hurt you! Let me see how badly.”
“No. It doesn’t matter.” All he wanted to do was kiss her, bury his hands in her flowing hair and lose himself in the sight and scent of this beautiful girl.
His mouth closed over hers, pressing gently and trying not to laugh as she continued to chatter even though they’d locked lips and nothing of what she’d mumbled made any sense to him. He didn’t care, her lips were warm and vibrant. Her body was squirming and burrowing against his. She responded urgently and eagerly to the pressure of his mouth on hers and the touch of his hands roaming everywhere on her body. She matched his ardor, both of them needing to pour all their relief and all their hearts into this one kiss.
He was determined to tell Lara how he felt about her as soon as they both came up for air…although it did not seem as though either of them was going to do this any time soon.
Her body continued to wriggle against his, inflaming him. His blood was now on fire, the flames coursing through his veins like a wildfire burning out of control. He thrummed with desire, all of him hot and wanting, unable to get enough of Lara.
He’d never have enough of this beautiful girl.
He breathed in the sweet warmth of her skin, tasted its silkiness on his lips. He nudged her lips apart to probe the velvet softness of her mouth. Her tongue darted out to mingle with his, dance with his. She squealed in delighted surprise when he sucked it lightly.
Whatever he demanded, she obliged.
When she drew her lips from his, she gazed up at him and tears began to well in her eyes. He worried he’d moved too fast for her. His need was that strong and she was inexperienced. But she smiled at him. “Oh, Marcus. I love you. I love you so much. I didn’t want to tell you yet, but the possibility of losing you when those fiends attacked us, simply overwhelmed me. Don’t be angry, I cannot help the way I feel. I’m not asking you to love me in return, but I had to tell you. I cannot conceive of my life without you.”
“Sweet heaven, Lara.” He lowered his mouth to hers again as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He needed to feel her under him, needed to touch her as he lay beside her. He was wild with wanting her, could not imagine himself going through life without her either. When he lowered her onto the bed, he cradled her head in one hand and slid his other hand up to cup the fullness of her breast, running his thumb over its taut, straining bud.
He wanted to undo the laces of her gown and slip it off her so there was nothing between his lips and her soft mounds. But he stopped suddenly and sat up, not so much to cool his ardor – which wasn’t likely to ever to cool while she was in his bed looking like a sultry angel – but to tell
Lara how he felt about her. Could he do any less when she’d been so honest with him?
“Marcus, what’s wrong? Why did you suddenly draw away from me?”
She sounded hurt and confused.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to tell her how he felt. He was used to planning battle campaigns, barking orders and taking action. He wasn’t used to speaking from his heart. “You’re not just anyone, Lara. I drew away because you’ve just told me that you love me and don’t expect anything in return.”
She sat up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Marcus. Truly, it is. I don’t expect you to feel the same way. How could you possibly? But if something should happen to either of us, I wanted you to know how grateful I am for you and how much I do love you.”
He shook his head and laughed wryly.
She frowned. “It is unkind of you to mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you. I’m laughing at myself. Your words, Lara. Do you think they don’t affect me?”
“What are you trying to say?” She regarded him, obviously confused.
“Marry me.”
Now she began to laugh. “You’re jesting, you must be. My family is still in disgrace. How can I marry you?”
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her thoroughly, hoping to show her how he felt with this kiss. But she mistook it for the resumption of seduction because his hands strayed over her incredible body, her breasts again, her long, shapely legs, and her bottom when she wriggled it on his lap, rubbing against his…he nearly toppled over the edge right then and there.
She wanted him to forget he’d just proposed to her, but it remained foremost on his mind. After all she’d been through, he was not going to add another disgrace to her name. What if they coupled and he got her with child?
There was no doubt in his mind that they would, for he’d already surrendered to the inevitable. “Marry me, Lara,” he repeated. “Your father will be a free man soon. In a few more weeks, Hugh will be exonerated.”
He unloosened the ties of her gown, needing to get under her clothes to feel the softness of her skin against his rough palm. She voiced no objection, shifting to allow him easier access and tugging at his clothes so that she might do the same. “Fine, I’ll marry you when he is exonerated. If he is exonerated. I’ll believe it when it is done. Of all people, I would not foist my family’s ruin on you.”
