Her Officer and Gentleman

by Karen Hawkins

  He threw her from him and raced on, covering the ground in great strides, branches whipping at him, cutting his cheeks and neck, though he felt nothing. All he knew was that Beth was within reach.

  He stopped when he reached the ruin. The thin line of smoke had thickened now, great puffs billowing up to fill the sky.

  “Bloody hell!” He ran to the back of the ruin and came to a halt. Before him was a steep incline rimmed by a set of stone stairs—a cellar of some sort. Down the stairs was a pile of brush higher than his head. The brush smoldered and crackled, fire licking higher and higher.

  “Beth!” he called.

  No answer came. He tried to fight his way closer, but the now-thick smoke began to curl at him. Coughing, he took off his coat and turned, running to the lake. He soaked it, then ran back to the cellar. Wrapping his arm in the coat, he began knocking the large pieces of burning wood from the door.

  “My lord?”

  He turned to find Jameson and the footman, Charles, their faces flushed from running.

  “More water! Now!”

  Jameson nodded, turning to run toward the lake, peeling off his coat as he went; Charles followed behind him. Christian’s coat was drying now, the heat from the burning wood searing his hands.

  “Beth!” he called desperately, his arms aching with the effort.

  As if from far away, he thought he heard an answer. He paused, then yelled again, but no other answer was forthcoming. Christian clenched his teeth and looped his coat over a burning log and tugged it, yanking it from the pile and out of the way. As he did so, he noticed a boot at the bottom of the stack of wood. His heart sank. It was a man’s boot. Bennington.

  Christian grabbed the foot and tugged. Two smaller branches rolled out of the fire, showering the grass with ashes and sparks. Bennington lay pale and unmoving, a deep gash on his forehead, blood covering his coat.

  Damn it all! Christian hurriedly unwound his cravat and tied it about the man’s head, then rushed back to the burning pile. The door itself was now burning; he could see it through the remaining brush. The smoke soaked his lungs and burned his eyes, but he kept going. He had to reach her. He loved her more than anything. More than life. More than vengeance. “Beth!”

  This time, an answer echoed, choked and desperate. No sweeter sound had ever been heard. “Christian!”

  Jameson returned. “Here!” He thrust his deliciously cold and wet coat into Christian’s burned hands. Christian wrapped the coat over his face and picked up a large piece of wood that was not burning. “See to Bennington. He is badly injured.”

  The butler nodded and left.

  Christian turned to the burning pile of wood. He hefted the log to his shoulder and, using it, rammed the door.

  The footman, Charles, was beside him in an instant, covered by his own dripping coat.

  “Together!” Christian ordered.

  They positioned themselves with the limb as a battering ram. The fire licked about them, the smoke obscuring everything.

  They coughed and choked, but did not let go of the log.

  “Now!” Christian yelled.

  The log smashed into the door. With a resounding splintering, it broke neatly in two, a billow of smoke emerging to completely engulf Charles.

  Christian pulled the wet coat closer as Charles staggered off, searching for fresh air. Into the black hole, Christian went. For an instant, he could see nothing in the smoke-filled room. Then, on the floor, he caught a glimmer of white. Beth lay, arms outstretched, as if she’d tried to reach the door, but couldn’t.

  His heart thudded. He stooped and picked her up, pausing only to wrap the wet coat over her head, then, shoulder first, he raced out of the building.

  The duke’s carriage pulled up. The groom dismounted, and with him, the duke.

  Jameson was at Christian’s side. “Place her on the ground, my lord!”

  Christian did so, barely able to remain upright himself. He coughed and choked, bending over as smoke-tears rolled down his face.

  “Come, my boy!” the duke said, pulling him to one side. “Jameson can—”

  “No!” Christian said, finally catching his breath. He pulled himself to where Beth lay and collapsed beside her. Lifting on one elbow, he looked down into her face.

  Her breathing was labored. Jameson was wiping her face with a wet cloth. Christian took the cloth from the butler and gently rubbed it over her chin and forehead.

  Dirt streaked one cheek. Her gown was ripped and filthy beyond measure. But never had Christian seen anything so beautiful. “Beth—” The word sent him into a fit of coughing.

  Finally, when he could breathe again, he lifted back on his arm and looked down at Beth. She lay so still. So quiet. He traced a finger over her cheek where a welt was rising. “Beth. Please—” He could not continue, though not because of his coughing. This time, a wealth of tears clogged his throat. He would not let her die. He would not.

  He reached for her, lifting her into his arms, into his lap. He placed his cheek to hers. “Beth,” he whispered. For the first time since he’d been a boy of ten, left to fend for himself after his mother’s death, Christian Llevanth prayed. “Please, God!”

  Beth coughed, her entire body curling up. Christian tightened his hold, smoothing back her hair as blessed fresh air revived Beth.

  Her eyes opened, red-rimmed and watery and completely beautiful. She coughed even more and he lifted her a bit to help her fight the spasms. “Just relax,” he murmured. “It’s the smoke. You are just getting it out of your lungs.”

  She nodded, coughing even more and gasping now and then, her eyes clenched closed.

  He held her to him, speaking foolish words, little endearments, and silly chastisements. He loved her so much…more than life itself.

  Finally, she managed to draw an even breath. Her eyes opened again, traveling across his face. And she smiled. “I knew you would come.”

  He hugged her, burying his face in her hair.

  “Are you done?” The duke’s cranky voice rose over the crackle of the fire.

  Christian lifted his head to meet the duke’s gaze. Though the old man’s words had been harsh, there were very real tears in his eyes. “No, my lord. I am afraid I am never going to be done holding your granddaughter. Not now. Not next year. Nor the year after that.” He looked down at her and lifted a hand to her cheek. “She is everything to me.”

  “Christian!” Beth caught at his wrists. “Your hands!”

  He looked at the blisters and burns. “A little scratch, my love.”

  “A little—” She struggled to sit up, but he refused to allow it. “Christian! The necklace! It is in the shed and—”

  “Forget about it.”

  “But—”

  “Beth, I don’t care.”

  She blinked at him, uncertainty in her gaze.

  He lifted the wet cloth to her cheek to brush away another streak of soot.

  She caught his wrist again. “Christian, you must get some salve for your hands! They must hurt dreadfully.”

  “I have all the salve I need, right here.” He wrapped himself about her once more and held her close. “Beth, when I saw you lying on the ground, I thought—”

  She pushed him away. “Christian, I have to tell you. Charlotte is the one who—”

  “I know.”

  “We must stop her!”

  “Don’t worry about Charlotte,” Grandfather said. “She was attempting to take Bennington’s horse. I had an undergroom lock her in the tack room on orders of a flogging if he dared allow her to escape.”

  “Lord Bennington!” Christian exclaimed. He looked at Jameson.

  The butler wiped his hands on a piece of ripped cloth, blood staining the material. “I believe the bleeding is stopped. I sent Charles for the doctor.” Jameson glanced at the duke. “My lord, I fear the constable will also have to be notified. There will be an inquiry.”

  Grandfather winced. “Surely we can just—”

  �
�Massingale,” Christian said quietly. “There will be an inquiry.”

  The duke scowled, the old man’s gaze slipping to find his granddaughter, lying so quietly in Christian’s arms. Something in the old duke’s gaze softened and, after a long moment, he nodded slowly. “It is time for everything to be brought into the open. I will welcome an inquiry.”

  “What will happen to Charlotte?” Beth asked, turning to look at her grandfather.

  “If we are permitted, I will ask that she be sent away where she cannot hurt anyone again.” The duke’s expression crumbled. “Beth, I’m so sorry—it’s my damnable pride. I wanted to protect our name. In the end, I didn’t protect anyone.”

  “We all fight pride,” Christian said. “I fear very little else has been driving me.” He brushed a tear from Beth’s cheek. “I am sorry about Lord Bennington.”

  “He is fortunate to be alive. He was a fool to think Charlotte would ever be well enough to return his regard.”

  Beth sighed. “He really did love her, didn’t he?”

  “Too well,” Grandfather said.

  Christian brushed the hair back from her forehead. “Beth, I am sorry.”

  Her brown eyes fixed on him. “For what?”

  “I have been a fool. I thought the most important thing in my life was finding who was responsible for my mother’s death. Now, I realize what is really important is you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Beth blinked up into the face of the man she loved more than life itself. “You love me.”

  “Desperately. Madly. To distraction and back. And when we are wed, I will love you even more.”

  “But…your mother—”

  He sighed. “I know what happened to my mother. Sadly, it does not change her fate. But what I do know changes mine. I am through with the past. You are my future. You and the love we share and the children we will have. That is all I want now. All I’ll ever want.”

  Beth couldn’t say a word. She simply reached up and drew him to her, gulping a sob into the crook of his neck as she held him tightly.

  Behind them, Grandfather sniffed loudly.

  “They make a lovely couple, my lord,” Jameson said, fishing in his pocket for a clean handkerchief. He found one and handed it to the duke.

  “Indeed they do,” the duke said, blowing his nose rather loudly. “They will be even lovelier once they’re properly married!”

  Beth caught her breath and peeped up at Christian, wiping her eyes with a ragged sleeve. “I need a bath.”

  He chuckled. “You smell of smoke, as do I.”

  The duke turned, leaning heavily on his cane. “Jameson, open the carriage door. We shall return to the house.”

  Beth smiled up at Christian. “Shall we adjourn to the house to get some ointment for your hands and a bath, my love?”

  His eyes lit. “A bath?”

  Grandfather snorted. “Someone send to London for a special license! Now.” He allowed the butler to assist him into the coach and sent everyone scurrying to find a blanket for Lady Elizabeth.

  “Indeed,” Christian said. “I would like to marry tomorrow morning, if possible.”

  Beth blinked. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Is that too soon? How about tomorrow afternoon, then? I shall send to London and have Reeves bring the necessary clothing.” He twinkled down at her. “I really must introduce you to Reeves.”

  She paused. “Your butler?”

  “The one and only.” Christian stood, then reached down and lifted his lady love in his arms, silencing her protests with a hard kiss. “My father sent him out to civilize the lost sons he’d neglected, but damn me if all I’ve seen him do is marry us off.”

  “Oh dear, how dreadful!”

  Christian smiled down into Beth’s eyes as he carried her to the waiting carriage. “If this is dreadful, then I want more of it.” He gently set her on the seat of the carriage. “Much, much more!”

  Epilogue

  Ah, the joys of wash day! When all the dirt and horror of the previous week is set to rights, all with a tub of water and the fresh scent of soap!

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  “You requested more brandy, my lord?”

  Christian turned from the desk. “Yes. The decanter is dry.”

  Reeves brought a new decanter and set it on the table. “That is my fault, my lord. You don’t empty it as often as you used to and I am off schedule.”

  Christian laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Well, Reeves. It has been an adventure, has it not?”

  “Quite, my lord. Are you satisfied with the outcome of events?”

  Christian grinned. “I am wed to the most beautiful of women. What could I regret?”

  “What will happen to Lady Charlotte now?”

  “She has been assigned to Bedlam. The duke is paying a fortune to keep her in comfort there, but she is secure. She will harm no others.”

  “I am sorry your adventure was such a painful experience.”

  “Me, too. But sometimes one must travel the rough road to reach one’s ultimate destination. I found my mother’s killer and brought her to justice of a sort. But more importantly, I learned that my future—and Beth—are more important than any past I might have had.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Reeves said. “That is a very important lesson, indeed.” He picked up the old decanter and placed it on the tray. “Will there be anything else?”

  Christian sighed. “You aren’t going to say anything, are you?”

  “My lord?”

  Christian stood and held his arms out to his sides. “My clothes.”

  Reeves looked Christian up and down. “Something is wrong, my lord.”

  “Wrong?”

  “You aren’t wearing black.”

  Christian grinned. He had donned a brightly white cravat and shirt. His waistcoat was of deep red damask. “Do you like it? I am wearing it for my meeting with the trustees. They are to sign over the fortune today.”

  “You look dapper, my lord. I must immediately congratulate the viscountess on her excellent taste in waistcoats. You are indeed a fortunate man. Not only is she a lovely woman, with an amiable disposition and an exceptional share of intelligence, but she dresses you far better than you ever dressed yourself.”

  Christian sighed. “Must you do that? Steal all the glory from my days?”

  “Not for long, my lord,” Reeves said, smiling. “I regret to inform you that I must be leaving soon.”

  Christian’s smile faded. “But…why?”

  “Between starching your cravats and assisting you in discovering the errors of your ways, I have been writing a book.”

  “A book? On what?”

  “How to be a proper butler.”

  Christian sighed. “I was just a research project to you, wasn’t I?”

  Reeves’s lips twitched. “I shall dedicate the book to you and your brother, my lord. I must say, I have never served two more worthy men.”

  “Thank you. I am certain my brother will thank you even more than I.”

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself, my lord?”

  Christian paused. “Tristan? He’s—”

  “The earl and countess are in the sitting room. I saw their carriage as I was bringing you the decanter.”

  Christian was halfway out the door.

  “My lord?” Reeves called after him. “Your coat—”

  But Christian didn’t slow down a step. He raced down the steps and burst into the sitting room. Tristan stood leaning against the mantelpiece, a cane in one hand. Tall and broad shouldered, as blond as Christian was dark, Tristan’s face bore the imprint of the sea upon his tanned face.

  His lovely wife, Prudence, sat beside Beth on a settee.

  Beth stood as Christian came to a halt in the middle of the room. “There you are!” she said, coming toward him. “I was just meeting your brother and his countes
s!”

  Christian slipped his arm about Beth. Dressed in a lovely gown of wine red silk, her blonde hair luminescent in the sunlight streaming from the window, the sight of her warmed him head to toe. “I didn’t know we had visitors.”

  “Which must be why you arrived half dressed,” his brother said. His deep voice, used to shouting orders from the deck of a ship over the roar of the ocean, rumbled noisily. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d outdress you, but here it is.”

  Christian grinned. “Here it is! What brings you here, you old hellion?”

  Tristan drew himself up to his full height. He was far broader across the shoulders than Christian, of a heavier frame. “Chris, Prudence and I came to visit for two reasons.”

  A delightful color brushed Prudence’s cheeks. “Mainly we came to meet your new bride.”

  “Yes,” Tristan said, pride glowing on his face. “We also came to inform you that you are about to gain a new title. That of ‘uncle.’”

  “An uncle?” Christian looked from his brother, to his sister-in-law. “But…how?”

  Prudence laughed, Beth chiming in.

  Tristan shook his head ruefully. “I will explain it to you later.”

  “No, no! I didn’t mean that! I just—when did this happen? How long have you known?”

  “We just discovered it,” Prudence said. She sent a loving glance at her husband. “I hope it is the first of many.”

  Tristan reached over and took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We shall have an entire ship full, should it please you, my love.”

  “One crew member at a time, please,” Prudence said archly, her soft brown eyes twinkling up at her husband.

  Christian released Beth long enough to cross to his brother and envelop the scoundrel in a hearty hug. “What a wonderful thing!”

  Tristan hugged him back, pounding his back solidly. “You have been married a week or two now. When will you and your lovely viscountess grace us with the same news?”

  Children? Christian turned to look at Beth. “One day, perhaps. But for now, I want my wife all to myself.”