Rob blinked and cleared his throat. “This lady has generously offered him shelter.”
“Is it your father, Major?” The one who spoke appeared a bit younger than the others, younger than Lucy perhaps.
“Correct,” Rob said, the word almost inaudible. “As I said, the matter is urgent.”
“We came as soon as we could, Major. Robbins here had to get an extra man to stand watch at the Russian embassy. The grand duchess—” The speaker broke off, coloring.
“What did Natalia Alexandrova say?” Rob asked. The twitch in his lips belied the tone of the question.
The men shifted uneasily, and one or two glanced at Lucy.
Brynn Morgan answered for them. “Her Grace believes that she needs two men to make up for her Major Benson’s absence.” He shot a glance at Lucy. “In essence.” His cocky grin implied more had been said.
“Miss Whitaker, these are the gentlemen I mentioned to you. They are the cream of my security forces.” He introduced all but Morgan. Though dressed in civilian clothing, each one answered to a rank like the soldiers they appeared to be. They referred to the young one as Corporal Goody. From the look on his face, Lucy suspected them of teasing.
He said forces… “There are more?” The idea astounded her, but obviously not these men. Her question evoked universal laughter.
“There are twenty of us, ma’am.” The speaker, the one who spoke of the grand duchess, had been introduced as Lieutenant Gibbons.
“And what did Rockford say?” Rob’s question sounded strained. Lucy recalled the urgent message he carried the night of the accident.
Morgan looked around at the men. Gibbons spoke for the group. “We have two weeks. The viscount said, ‘consider it a temporary assignment, but I want you and Sir Robert back here in two weeks, or I’ll have to rethink the entire operation.’”
“Then we best get down to it. Miss Whitaker, they may need to occupy your barn and stables for a period. For now, may we impose on the hospitality of your home for an hour or so? We have assignments to sort, and I need to hear how our units are managing in London. The men—” he spun toward the new arrivals, “I presume you came directly here from London?” Nods.
“I’ll see to tea. Would sandwiches be welcome?” They looked at Rob, but their eager faces indicated just how welcome food would be. She didn’t wait for an answer.
As she left to speak with Agnes, Rob demanded reports, and Lucy paused outside the door, giving into the temptation to listen. When asked about the work they left behind, the men began to answer in turn, revealing a complex and well-managed network of people providing protection to visitors of importance to England, naming a staggering number of titled clients.
She walked softly down the hall. In London he protects princes. Here he’s serving ale and helping in a sick room. No wonder Rob longs to return. Ashmead—and us in it—are a sad substitute for his life in London.
*
A few days later, another visitor cut up Lucy’s peace.
“In the drawing room?” Lucy stared at Cilla, who stood at the door to her office. “He’s never to—”
“Oh, but Miss Whitaker, he’s dressed ever so fine, and he said it were a social call. Spoke like a gentleman.” Cilla, the feather brain, obviously allowed Spangler to bamboozle her with his superficial charm.
Lucy bit her lip. Emma had gone home for lunch. “Where is Agnes?”
“She’s off carrying soup to Gert Pomfret what is ailing.” Cilla wrung her hands. “You want me to tell him you aren’t in?”
“No. No, I can handle him.” Lucy stopped a few steps into the hall and glanced back at Cilla. “Do you know if Lieutenant Robbins or Corporal Goodfellow are stationed by the lane today?”
“Not Corporal Goody.” Cilla blushed beet red, confirming Lucy’s suspicion the girl had gone sweet on the young soldier. “Dunno about the Lootenint.”
“Would you check for me, please?”
Spangler stood at the mantle in Willowbrook’s formal drawing room, picking up vases and figurines one by and turning them over in his hands as if assessing the value of each. A deep frown marred his face, but as Lucy entered, he reordered his features into a wide smile. “How gracious of you to receive me,” he said, pomposity gushing from his mouth. He didn’t bow.
“You received the quarterly returns a week ago, Mr. Spangler. I have nothing more for you,” Lucy said, hoping to hurry him on his way.
Standing as she was with her back to it, she had no way to herd him toward the door, as she might have if he’d come to her study. He gave every appearance of a man in command, as though he were the homeowner and she the guest.
“My dear Miss Whitaker, money is such an unpleasant subject for a lovely young woman such as yourself,” he said with a jovial grin on his face. “I just called at Caulfield Hall. The young earl relies on my counsel, you know.”
He paused as if to give Lucy space to pronounce her awe at his powerful connections. As if I didn’t know exactly what David thinks of you, you worm.
When she failed to respond, he went on. “I couldn’t pass by your lane without stopping to pay my respects. ‘Howard,’ I said, ‘You best check in on Miss Whitaker, a woman alone like that.’”
Manners had no place in this for Lucy. “Why?” she demanded. “You never did before.”
Spangler folded his hands and assumed the aspect of a basset hound chastised for soiling the parlor. “To my regret, no, and look what happened. I heard about the horrible accident to that innkeeper. And you here unprotected! Just now driving up, I thought I spied a ruffian in the wood near the ruins of the bridge.”
Lieutenant Robbins, no doubt.
When he stepped closer, Lucy forced herself to stand her ground, determined not to show weakness. “You need protection, Miss Whitaker,” he said.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he rushed on. “I mean no offense. I hold you in the highest esteem.”
Lucy’s lip curled. Since when?
Spangler failed to notice. “In fact, I come with good news. Very good news indeed. I’m soon to be a man of property.”
What is he nattering on about? “Congratulations. Does that mean you will be leaving the county?” Lucy’s pride in keeping the hope from her voice died when he took two steps in her direction and took her hands before she could step back.
“Can’t you guess? I’ve offered for Willowbrook. We both know the baronet doesn’t want it. He’ll gladly free himself from the burden and be off to London. Do you see what this means?”
She did not, other than that Rob would leave as soon as he could, but she had always known that. It didn’t always make her heart ache the way it had begun to do. But sell to Spangler? Too stunned to move, she stared at his ostentatious waistcoat and didn’t yank her hands away.
“You’ll be able to stay at Willowbrook! You’ll have to give up this nonsense of doing a man’s work, but it will be your home.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?” She glared into his self-satisfied face. Spittle formed in the corner of his mouth and his eyes… She stepped back, but his hands clamped onto hers and tugged.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? You will marry me and be mistress of Willowbrook!” He attempted to pull her closer.
“Let go of my person, Mr. Spangler!” She stepped back, and her arms stretched tight when he held tight.
“May I be of assistance here, Miss Whitaker?” The sound of Robbins behind her sent relief flooding through Lucy. She tugged her hands again.
This time Spangler let go, but he shot a hateful look at the lieutenant. “You are interrupting a private matter, sirrah, whoever you are. Kindly leave at once.”
“Actually, our ‘matter’ is over. Mr. Spangler was just leaving, Lieutenant Robbins. Kindly show him on his way.” Lucy gathered her skirts and swept into the hall, standing aside so Spangler could pass.
The worm stomped out, spun around at the door, and, tossing a hateful glance at Robbins, turned to sweep hi
s gaze up Lucy from toes to hairline. “Tsk. Dressed as you are, I begin to rethink my generous offer. It won’t stand forever. You may want to reconsider lest you be forced to accept a less respectable one.” He clamped his hat on and, when Robbins took a step, ran out the door and down to his carriage.
Lucy put a hand on her protector’s sleeve. “No violence, please, Lieutenant.”
Robbins grinned. “Not even a broken bone or two?”
“No, please. Just make sure the palace guard knows he is not welcome back. Ever.”
At ‘palace guard,’ his grin widened. He swept a formal bow. “As you wish, princess.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I’ll heal sooner in my own bed.” Robert Benson glared at his daughter.
Rob struggled to contain his grin. If the old man is ready to give orders, he’s ready to come home. Rob caught sight of Lucy across the room, kindness and amusement in her expression, and smiled back, a moment of perfect accord. She let her grin break out into the open.
Emma didn’t notice. “But Da, the planks over the gulley are even rougher than the road. What if your stitches come loose or your leg is jarred?”
Rob glanced at Paul Farley, who ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Ever the patient’s lament, ‘sooner in my own bed.’”
Old Robert batted aside his daughter’s hands when she tried to tuck his coverlet around his shoulders. “I need to go home, Emma. You need to go home.”
Rob ignored his sister, still addressing the doctor. “Any truth to that?”
“Folks often heal better in their own beds. The bandages are fresh. The leg is as secure as I can make him. You’ll have to move him carefully, though.” Farley began packing up. “It might be best if you strap him to something, so his leg remains immobile.”
Lucy spoke up. “If he chooses to leave, I’m sure we can manage something for that.”
Rob glanced at the man on the bed. “Are you willing to be strapped down so we can move you?”
“Get me out of here, Robbie.” He couldn’t keep the pleading from his voice.
“That’s it then. Back to the Willow you go,” Rob said.
“Robbie, you can’t move him!” his sister shouted.
“Emma, calm yourself. You heard Farley. If we take care, we can move him safely,” Rob retorted.
“You don’t care about Da,” Emma spat. “You never did. You’re tired of looking after the Willow, and you want him back so you can leave—abandon us again.”
Silence, so thick Rob could almost feel it, descended on the room. Lucy’s horrified expression stabbed him in the gut. Farley stared at the floor.
“I won’t honor that with a reply,” Rob said at last. Still, his blood ran cold. Honesty forced him to admit the grain of truth in her accusations, but the right thing to do remained moving the old man.
“He is going home where he belongs,” Rob said. Any soldier in Rob’s command would be on his way to carry out the order immediately upon hearing that tone.
Emma sank into a chair in the corner, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, Robbie. But you can’t…”
Her words faded away, and Rob did his best to ignore her. He turned and shook Farley’s hand. “You’ll check in after we get him home?”
“I’ll be over in the morning. I’ll see myself out.” Farley left without a backward glance.
When Rob turned back toward the bed, he didn’t expect the patient’s deep frown. Before Rob could speak, the old man interrupted. “Ignore her, Robbie. Emma doesn’t usually talk like a damned fool, but she did that time.”
Old Robert glared at his daughter, who had the look of a woman summoning more arguments, before turning his gaze to Lucy. “You’re going to be glad to see my backside and well rid of the pack of ruffians I call a family.”
“Don’t even think it,” Lucy said, coming forward to take his hand. “It has been a joy to have you here in spite of the distressing circumstances.”
Rob’s next words came out as a growl, one he didn’t intend. “Emma, don’t distress your father. Pack up his things while Miss Whitaker and I make arrangements to move him.” Still raw from his sister’s thoughtless words, he didn’t attempt to make it sound like anything other than a curt command.
He waited for Lucy to follow, biting back resentment when she paused and leaned over Emma, her words too soft for him to hear.
“She didn’t mean it,” Lucy said, following him into the hall.
“She didn’t intend to say it out loud,” he replied, abruptly walking toward the stairs and speaking over his shoulder. “The post carriage Ellis sent is at the front. We’ll need a board to strap him down. Martin Abbott can help us prepare the carriage. He and one of my men can accompany us. I’ll send them both back.”
“There’s no need. We’ve had no problem. There will be two more of your palace guard here and—”
His lips twitched at her cheeky nickname for his men, but he couldn’t like her heedless attitude toward her safety. “There is every need, and you, Miss Whitaker, are less than truthful. Robbins tells me you’ve forbidden Spangler the door.”
He reached the bottom before he realized she hadn’t followed, turned, and saw her in the shadows of the landing where the stairway turned. He waited until she descended to stop feet from him.
“I haven’t lied to you,” she said, choosing words with care.
“Has Spangler imposed himself on you?”
*
Lucy couldn’t dissemble in the face of Rob’s intense study. His eyes seemed to penetrate her most secret places, shaking her worse than Spangler had. Neither could she tell him the truth, admitting she had come to rely on his protection. Her independence and pride got in the way. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his sharp green eyes. “What has Robbins told you?”
“He witnessed you backing away from the approach of the county’s most untrustworthy solicitor. You looked as if you prepared to bolt.”
She took a shuddering breath and looked away. “Never bolt, but I might have been forced to resort to an unladylike assault on his privates.” She wasn’t prepared to tell him more.
His robust laughter cast her confused feelings to the wind. “I would like to have seen that,” he said, getting himself under control.
“You think I can manage him.” She didn’t make it a question.
His gaze intensified, and Lucy waited for him to say what she already knew, that she might manage Spangler if she caught him off guard, but not if he launched a determined assault, not if he tried to force her in order to coerce her into marriage. She shuddered at the memory of a particularly vivid nightmare. “I can manage him,” she repeated, as much to reassure herself as Rob.
“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied. “You don’t have to. You have protection.”
An unfamiliar sensation of safety, of security, of shelter in the care of Rob Benson flooded her, a sensation she’d never known before, one she couldn’t trust. He’ll be gone soon enough, and I’ll have only myself to rely upon. Utter capitulation was out of the question.
“True,” she said, “but don’t you think three is more than I need?”
“No, I do not. We don’t know for certain who’s behind the sabotage, how lethal their intent, or the direction from which the next attack might come. Until we do, we won’t relax our vigilance.”
Fear shot through her, driving her heart to gallop. “Attack? Surely that is an exaggeration.”
“Are you sure about that?” He studied her carefully. “No? I thought not. Until we have better information, they stay. Besides, I don’t think your ‘palace guard’ would leave even if I ordered them to stand down. They don’t like to leave a job undone, and they’ve become mighty protective where you are concerned.”
Something in his warm gaze stopped her breath in her lungs. “Me, too,” he said, his voice a deep rasp, his eyes never leaving her face.
She opened her mouth, only to shut it abruptly when she
watched his gaze trace her lips. She dropped her eyes to stare at the floor but, feeling like a ninny, lifted them again, filled with questions, to face his.
He stepped back. “There’s something else you need to know. I’ve had two offers for Willowbrook.”
Her heart sank. “Of course,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “That is to be expected.”
He nodded but didn’t look as happy as she might have expected offers to make him.
“The first came from Spangler,” he said.
“He wants it and expects to win. He told me so. The toad thinks I want to stay here so badly I’ll marry him—or worse, live with him without benefit of marriage—to get it.” The truth came out unbidden, and a sour taste filled her mouth.
Rob’s colorful curses had some familiar words, and several she didn’t know but suspected were worse than the ones she did. Lucy felt a hot flush envelop her chest and neck.
“My apologies, Miss Whitaker. That toad, as you call him, has no business approaching you. If I catch him near you, I’ll happily break his legs myself.” His ferocity, the countenance of a marauding Viking, might have frightened her, except he unleashed it on her behalf.
“I think Lieutenant Gibbons and the palace guard can keep him away,” she said primly. A memory struck her. “He does come quarterly to collect the rents, but—”
“I will inform him to deal with me and only me in future.” The commanding major had replaced the marauding Viking.
Lucy rather missed the fierce warrior. “Willowbrook will likely sell before next quarter day. You did say you had two offers.”
“Spangler may have showed his hand sooner than he planned. We have had another offer and for rather more money than Spangler’s.”
Lucy forced a smile past her sadness. “Then your business will conclude soon.”
“The London estate agent Morgan hired arrived with the offer last evening. Attractive? Yes, but problematic. Attractive as it is, I suspect it is excessively high, and he claims the buyer wishes to remain anonymous.”
“High is good. How can that be a problem?”
The Wayward Son Page 16
