The Wayward Son

by Warfield, Caroline

  He started to walk away, gave in to temptation, and scooped Lucy into his arms. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Fetching Khalija. I left him out front.”

  “Put me down! I need to help with—” Lucy tried to wiggle loose, but Rob held her in place, his jaw clamped in grim lines.

  “Abbott, Pomfret, and Vincent Thatcher are bringing the lieutenant round. You stay put,” Agnes called from behind.

  He carried her to the front of the manor and into the drawing room, where he dropped her on the settee. “Do not move. When I come back, I expect to find you right here, am I clear?” He took a deep breath and added weight. “You will not endanger this search any further than you already have. And Agnes needs your help.” He was groping by that last, but his need to have her safe outran his command of logic. “Do you understand me, Lucy?”

  She opened her mouth, and he braced himself for, “I’m not yours to command,” but it didn’t come. “Yes,” she said, so quietly, he wasn’t sure what he heard. “Yes!” she repeated, this time almost a shout.

  He left her there.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It took him twenty minutes to find the lamb and three hours of fruitless tracking to accept that Miller had crawled back into whatever hole he came out of.

  The wooly little creature appeared unhurt.

  “Looks content enough, sir,” Goodfellow said.

  It does, but… She’ll want the blasted thing.

  Rob dismounted with a curse, scooped the wiggling body onto his shoulder, and mounted Khalija, dumping the lamb in his lap. Either too terrified to move or exhausted, the beast snuggled down and closed its eyes. “Show me where Robbins died.”

  The remnants of blood stains and signs of a scuffle marked the clearing, but the rocky ground hid any sign of footprints. Between the three of them, they managed to follow a trail of broken branches and scuffed pebbles over the ridge only to lose it when it reached the bottom in a heavily wooded area of Caulfield Hall.

  Rob strained his memory for hiding places at this end of the estate. He led them to a spot where branches hid a comfortable clearing, a caretaker’s cottage long gone to ruin, and a shallow cave further down the ridge—all empty, none showing signs of recent occupation. They crisscrossed the woods until Gibbons spied a trail leading out into the fields just as dusk fell. It appeared recent and headed in the direction of tenant farms.

  “We need to question the farmers,” Gibbons said.

  Rob surveyed his companions, rough and dirty from searching and heavily armed, and considered Gibbons’s words. “We’re likely to terrify them.”

  “All the easier to get information,” Gibbons replied. “Unless you want to speak to the landowner first.”

  “The earl needs to know he’s sheltering a murderer, think on,” Goodfellow said, peering at Rob.

  “He does indeed,” Rob replied.

  He led them up the circular drive to the massive façade of Caulfield Hall, and Rob snatched the lamb from Khalija before it could slip to the ground.

  He strode up the steps with the lamb over his shoulder, flanked by his men, all three weary, and none in the mood for nonsense. He pounded on the door. Let that sniffy butler make something out of this.

  A look of horror, quickly suppressed, widened the butler’s eyes. He tried to close the door on them, but Rob brushed past him, and Gibbons pushed the door open. All three marched into the gilt and marble entranceway, and Rob didn’t bother with any neatly engraved calling card this time. “We need to see the earl. Now.”

  Rob spied a red-haired footman, his avid expression taking it all in, and thrust the lamb into the boy’s arms. “Take care of it and don’t lose it. I won’t be long,” he said, turning to glare at Higgins. “Well, man,” he told the stammering butler. “Get on with it. We need the earl now.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” The dowager countess swept in, the very picture of aristocratic outrage. “Higgins, have these gutter rats tossed out into the dirt where they belong.”

  Rob shot Higgins a look, daring him to try it, before turning a disdainful glance at the countess. “Good evening to you, too, your ladyship. I fear we cannot leave as you so eloquently propose. We have come to see the earl, not his underlings.”

  The woman turned a shade of red more often seen on the beets served in her stylish dining room. “How dare you. Does Viscount Rockford know how low bred his so-called chief of security is?”

  “You’ve been following my career. I’m flattered. His lordship knows everything he needs to know about my origins.” Rob narrowed his eyes. “He hired me to track criminals to their lair and to ferret out those who harbor them.” He pinned her with a look that would have shaken most people.

  The countess, as he well knew, was not most people. He wouldn’t have thought her color could get any darker, but it did, as she huffed, attempting to speak. A sound above their heads gave her an excuse to break eye contact.

  Rob peered up to see Viscount Ashmead leaning over the railing. As he watched, Marj joined the boy.

  The countess turned her outrage on them. “What are you doing out of the nursery? Higgins, return those children to their nursemaid immediately.”

  The butler took two steps before Rob barked. “Stay right where you are, Higgins. Kindly take us to the earl first.” The butler paled at his tone of voice. The little viscount, however, bit his lip to keep from laughing. Rob winked at him, and the boy winked back. Good lad!

  “Will someone kindly explain the commotion to me.” The earl himself emerged from a door Rob knew led to his study, still buttoning a hastily donned coat.

  “This ruffian has sullied our home and needs to be removed,” the countess shouted.

  If the earl’s resemblance to their commander startled Goody and Gibbons, they had the good sense not to show it.

  Clarion ignored his mother. He took in the men, their appearance, and the pale face of his butler. “Benson! We didn’t expect you. I take it this is a matter of some urgency?”

  “It is, indeed. Lucy has been attacked, and one of my men is dead. We tracked Miller to your estate.”

  The earl drew a deep breath. “Mother, you appear to be in distress. Go to your quarters and rest. Higgins, fetch the countess’s maid to attend her, while I have a word with my brother and his men.”

  The alarming color appeared to drain from the woman’s cheeks, perhaps due to her son claiming the bastard as his brother. Rob had little time and no concern for her emotional well-being. “Actually, Clarion, your mother may want to hear what we have to say. We will require assistance from your people.”

  The earl nodded.

  “Come into the breakfast room in that case. You look like you could use refreshment.” The earl glanced up at his children. “You lot, get back up to the nursery. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Will you come and read, Papa?” Marj called.

  Clarion’s eyes softened. “You know I will. Prepare for bed, but tell Miss Graham you have my permission to wait for me.” He didn’t wait to watch them scramble off. “Mother, you will join us.”

  “You will not speak to me in that tone, earl though you may be.”

  “I said, join us.” Ice and steel couldn’t be much colder or harder than the earl’s tone. He didn’t wait for her reply. He led them to the family quarters.

  Rob turned to the footman still holding the lamb and reminded him, “I won’t be long. Don’t move.”

  “But sir, if it soils…”

  “Clean it up.”

  The breakfast room boasted sturdier chairs than Rob feared, though he and his men, armed and still in their dirt, appeared utterly out of place there. Memory of the countess’s voice berating Maddy in this very room the day he left Ashmead flooded him. He watched the sour old woman parade through the door, and her persona shrunk in his mind. Did I ever see her as a dragon? She’s more like the troll under the bridge.

  “Brandy, gentlemen?” the earl asked. He raised a decan
ter.

  “Really, Clarion, you can’t pretend this is a social—”

  “Quiet, Mother. This is serious business, indeed, and you will treat it with the respect it deserves, or I’ll have you removed once you hear what Robbie wishes you to hear.”

  The fear lurking in her eyes startled Rob and stiffened his resolve. The old woman knows something. While the earl filled glasses, he said, “First, I should assure you that Lucy is well and uninjured, thanks to Corporal Goodfellow here.”

  “Where is she, and who is seeing to her safety now? If they tried once, they—whoever they are—may try again.” Clarion handed Rob a glass.

  Rob respected him for asking. He explained the arrangements he left at Willowbrook, and the earl appeared satisfied. “Goodfellow witnessed it. I’ll let him tell you what happened from the beginning.”

  The corporal began, but the three men took turns telling the tale until they reached the place where they left the woods, and the trail disappeared. Neither the earl nor his mother interrupted them, though the countess’s mouth pinched tighter with every word.

  “Our next step, as my lieutenant observed, should be to question your tenants. I thought it best to come here instead of terrifying them in the night. You have a murderer in your midst, Clarion.”

  “Nonsense!” The countess’s chin shook. “Whoever did this thing is undoubtedly long gone. How dare you accuse Clarion of harboring him.”

  “Did I? I merely alerted the earl to a criminal in his midst.” This time she looked away first.

  “And I’m grateful. You already checked obvious hiding places, so I agree, we need to talk to Caulfield tenants. Willowbrook people appear to already be involved. Do you think the questioning will keep for first light? My people can handle it, though you may want one of your men to join us.”

  Rob agreed. Clarion outlined the number of farms and the likeliest candidates on the outlying edges of his land. “I’ll have Spangler brought here tomorrow, too, so I can question him about it, but we’ll still do the rounds of the tenants.”

  “Spangler?” The countess shrieked, drawing the men’s attention. “I never trusted that man. He coerced your father into signing that will, leaving everything to scum and bastards. He would never have done it if Spangler hadn’t gotten him drunk.”

  Clarion grimaced. “No one had to help my father drink himself into stupidity.”

  “That creature will lie. You won’t be able to believe a word he says,” the woman went on.

  Clarion studied his mother slowly before answering. “Perhaps. Perhaps not, but it will be interesting to hear what he has to say.”

  “If you are quite done with this nonsense, I need to rest. This is all very upsetting.” This time, she left on her own, and they didn’t stop her.

  Rob peered at Clarion, but neither man spoke. If the countess and Spangler conspired, perhaps a little pressure might unravel something.

  “Lieutenant Gibbons can fetch our miserable solicitor friend for you,” Rob said at last. “He and Goodfellow will stay here so they can join you at first light.”

  “What will you be doing, Benson?”

  “I’m staying at Willowbrook.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  While hours went by and the men did not return, Lucy and Abbott lit the torches on either side of the entryway to shine a narrow circle of light on the pavement in front of the manor, but the feeble flares failed to penetrate the darkness beyond.

  “Mayhap they went on to The Willow and the Rose, if they chased the villain over that ridge and down to the river,” Agnes said, lighting another brace of candles. “Only a fool would ride any farther than he had to on a night this dark.”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. Still, Lucy stood at the window, mourning Robbins, laid out in the cellars of Willowbrook. Safe in the well-guarded confines of the manor, she feared no harm from her attacker; something more vital ate at her. She feared for the safety of the men who had gone to search. She feared—

  Hours passed, and the ticking of the clock stripped layers of pretense from that thought until she could no longer hide from her real concern. I need Rob. I need to see him safe. I need… He must know I fear for him. He wouldn’t leave me here worrying.

  Lucy checked on the men guarding the rear of Willowbrook, carried them blankets, and refreshed their coffee. Abbott, guarding the front, declined assistance. She sent Agnes to bed. Standing in the silent house, she tried to convince herself to douse the lights in the drawing room and go on up to bed herself, though, nerves stretched taut, she doubted she could sleep.

  Pulling the curtain from the window, she peered into the darkness, expecting nothing. Just as she started to let the curtain fall, the flicker of a light caught her attention. She watched the glow reveal itself as a lantern carried by a man riding up the lane at a walk. Her heart began a rhythm that accelerated as he approached.

  Rob almost disappeared into the shadows when he doused the lantern, handing it to Abbott. She reached the door before he did, flung it open, and devoured the sight of him standing in the torchlight, wrinkled and weary, a day’s growth of beard on his cheeks, a bundle in his arms, and sorrow deepening the lines in the corners of his eyes. She swallowed twice to clear her throat and calm the heartbeat pounding there. “You came back,” she breathed.

  A grin, lopsided and dear, lit his face. “You waited.”

  She scrambled back so he could enter, embarrassed by her foolish words, and noticed for the first time that the bundle he carried had begun to squirm.

  He saw the direction of her gaze, and his grin widened. He offered her the bundle, its movement becoming frantic. A wooly head peeked out the opening, and her heart swelled.

  “You found it!” She took the lamb from him, but the creature struggled until she put it down, and it wandered into the darkened dining room. “Agnes will have a fit if she finds that animal in the house. We best give it to Vincent. He can see that it gets to his mother in the morning.”

  He caught her arm when she started after the animal and pulled her back. Whatever he meant to say stuck in his throat. His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder, and his heated gaze stole her breath.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” he murmured as his mouth found hers, and his arm snaked around her to pull her close.

  When he loosened his grip to allow her to move away, she clung to his shoulders to pull him back, and he kissed her again, caressing her mouth with his, seeking and finding entrance to deepen it. She lost herself in the embrace. Only when he pulled away to breathe, his breath hot against her mouth, and began to slide gentle kisses in the corner of it and down her chin did she realize how she clutched his neck with one arm while her other hand had tangled in his hair, feathering it between her fingers.

  “Oh God, Rob, what—”

  “What indeed,” he whispered against her mouth, kissing her again and driving out reason.

  When he moved to explore her ear, his tongue sending shivers down her spine, she moaned and tried to pull him closer. “I was so afraid. You’re safe. You’re safe,” she said between kisses to the side of his face.

  At her words, he pulled back. “Safe? I think not. Not here, not now.” He dropped a swift kiss to her nose and loosened his hold.

  She dropped from her toes, her body sliding down his, rested both hands on his chest, and leaned her forehead against him to hide her heated cheeks.

  “A gentleman would apologize. I won’t. I wanted that too badly. A gentleman would—”

  Her head still on his chest, she raised her hand to his lips to silence him. “Don’t. Don’t go all honorable now.” He stilled, and she pulled away. “Tell me about Miller.” Her piercing gaze dared him to finish the speech he had begun.

  “He got away. Clarion and Gibbons will question the Caulfield tenants tomorrow. The earl plans to send for Spangler, too. Happy?”

  She shook her head. “Not if he got away.”

  Rob put one knuckle under her chin and drew her face up to look at h
im. “We need to talk about this.” He didn’t have to clarify “this.” He didn’t mean Miller. They stood like that for several breaths. He tried to hold her eyes, but his gaze dropped to her mouth, and she swallowed convulsively. When he bent to kiss her again, she rose to meet him. His restless hands began to explore her neck, her shoulders, her back—when they reached her derriere, he stilled.

  He gripped her shoulders with both hands and set her a few inches away. “We have to stop. We can talk in the morning. Things are clearer in the light.” He dropped one last kiss to the top of her head and stepped back. “I’ll check on the guards and sleep down here.”

  She fought the urge to pull his arms around her. “The guest room is ready,” she said. Or mine… The hoarse sound of her voice shocked her.

  “Perhaps. Later. Go now.”

  She did, driven by the thought that, if they stayed as they were, Rob Benson might feel obliged by honor to offer her marriage. She wouldn’t trap him like that, no matter how badly she wanted him, and Lucy no longer had any doubt that she wanted him.

  *

  Only a coward would keep to her bed to avoid facing a man the morning after—What? Lucy had no name for the encounter. An emotional firestorm? Relief after fear? Let down after trauma? She laughed at her clumsy attempts to batter her raging feelings into something rational with words. She swung her feet to the floor and began to lay out clothing for the day, grateful she didn’t have the intrusive presence of a lady’s maid this particular morning.

  The kiss and the feel of his hands on her person—Oh, dear God, his hands!—had been a shattering, life-changing experience. Her hands stilled on the frock pulled from the wardrobe. I will never be the same.