A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin)

by Anna Campbell

  “Rich… Christopher, we wondered where you’d got to.” Thank goodness Cam had caught himself before he let the cat out of the bag.

  Before he could answer, Mrs. Warren emerged from the dining room. “My fan wasn’t there. I hope Lord Neville won’t mind waiting while I check the drawing room again.”

  “You can come in the gig,” the vicar said. “Genevieve and Lord Neville have gone.”

  His words struck Richard like a blow from a shovel. Cold talons of dread scored his gut. From the first, he’d mistrusted Fairbrother. He’d seen how the toad looked at Genevieve. Now her bloody father delivered her into the devil’s clutches.

  “Ezekiel, that’s hardly proper,” Mrs. Warren protested.

  “It’s only down the driveway and his lordship’s an old family friend. You’d just be in the way, Lucy.” Clearly the vicar hadn’t yet relinquished hope of a match between his daughter and his patron.

  Damn, damn, damn. This sounded worse each minute. “How long ago?”

  “What’s the matter, Richard?” Sidonie forgot to call him Christopher.

  He hardly noticed. He already strode toward the open doors past the wide-eyed Hadley-Childe sisters. “I’ve got to stop them.”

  The vicar frowned. “Young fellow, his lordship has known Genevieve since childhood. There’s no impropriety in sending her home in his company.”

  “How long since they left?” Richard asked again.

  Jonas answered. “Only a few minutes.”

  Richard clapped him briefly on the shoulder as he rushed past. “Thanks. If I cross the park, I’ll catch them before they reach the road.”

  The footman with custody of his pistols advanced to present the weapons. Since the last break-in, Richard had taken to traveling armed. Although God forgive him, he’d never imagined an evening at Sedgemoor’s promised danger.

  “Why on earth do you want to catch them, Mr. Evans?” the vicar asked. “And what are those guns? I cannot like all this fuss. I cannot like it at all.”

  Mrs. Warren’s gaze focused on Richard with dawning concern. “Do you have reason to worry?”

  Given that escalating violence had marked each attempt to get the jewel, of course he had reason to worry. He lied to placate her. “I hope not.”

  But as he dashed across the drive, heels clipping sharply on the gravel, he couldn’t forget the fear in Genevieve’s eyes after the proposal. Nor could Richard ignore the fact that as he wasn’t behind the recent break-ins, that left Fairbrother as the most likely culprit. The man who had expressed an interest in not only the Harmsworth Jewel but the vicar’s virginal, beautiful, and perilously unworldly daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Without Aunt Lucy’s company, Genevieve would never have agreed to travel home with Lord Neville, however short the journey. Even with Aunt Lucy, she was reluctant, but her father had fretted so volubly when she demurred that eventually she’d conceded to save embarrassment.

  Stifling misgivings, she settled opposite his lordship inside the carriage. The footman shut the door and Lord Neville knocked the ceiling with his cane, signaling to Greengrass, who played coachman, to drive on.

  Startled Genevieve turned from staring out the window. “What about my aunt?”

  “She’ll come with your father.”

  Misgivings transformed into raw fear. “She’s just gone inside for her fan.”

  He raised one hand to display what he held. “This one?”

  In the lamps, Lord Neville’s smile was smug. Black terror jammed Genevieve’s throat. It didn’t matter that she’d known Lord Neville all her life. It didn’t matter that he had never hurt her. She needed to get out of this carriage. Now.

  “Stop,” she said breathlessly, snatching for the door handle. “I’d like to return to the vicarage with my father and aunt.”

  “Too late.” He snapped the fragile fan in two and tossed it to the floor.

  She started at the sharp crack. “We’ve hardly gone ten feet.”

  Not even the most optimistic listener could dismiss the menace in his soft chuckle. The carriage swayed as it gained speed. “Ten feet too far, my love.”

  “I’m not your love.” Her heart beat so fast, she felt dizzy.

  Hand trembling, she shoved the door and felt it give. She lurched to her feet, fighting for balance against the rocking vehicle. Jumping was risky, but right now she’d rather take her chances with Sedgemoor’s immaculate drive than his lordship.

  The door opened a few inches before Lord Neville grabbed the edge and slammed it shut. “No, no, no, Genevieve.” He caught her wrist in a brutal grip. “I have plans for tonight, and you breaking your neck in some melodramatic fit isn’t on the agenda.”

  Gasping, she struggled to pull free. “My lord, you’re scaring me.”

  He laughed again. She wished he wouldn’t. “You’ve led me a pretty dance, but you must have known you’d end up marrying me.”

  Ignoring her resistance, he bundled her back into her seat, then squeezed beside her. His bulk crushed her, bruising her.

  “I don’t want to marry anyone.”

  He captured her other hand. “Of course you do.”

  She strove to sound calm, reasonable. To appeal to whatever goodness lurked in his heart. Although right now, she had a sick feeling that Christopher had been right all along about Lord Neville.

  “Stop this nonsense.” Injecting iron into her demand was difficult when her heart fluttered against her ribs like a frantic bird. “You’ve had your little joke.”

  “There’s no joke, my dear. Tonight I’ll have your maidenhead. Tomorrow we’ll post the banns.”

  Choking horror made speaking painful. “Do what you like, I won’t marry you.”

  “A ruined vicar’s daughter in a small village faces a bleak future. Especially when the man in question is eager to redeem her sin with marriage.”

  “Marriage to you means a bleak future.”

  Of course he didn’t listen. He never listened. “You were born for me.”

  Her false composure crumbled under an avalanche of terror. She tried to kick him, but her legs twisted to the side and she couldn’t gain any purchase. “No, I wasn’t.”

  She lunged for the door, but he caught her and hauled her across his knees. When she tried to strike him, he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her against his barrel-like chest. She’d never felt so physically overwhelmed. His musky odor suffocated her. She opened her mouth and screamed.

  “None of that,” Lord Neville said negligently and slapped her face.

  Agony exploded through her head. “How dare you?”

  “And how dare you?” Past the ringing in her ears, she heard him inhale. “How dare you cavort with that bastard Evans? How dare you flutter your eyelashes and push up your bosom and whisper with him in corners?”

  His seething anger made her belly cramp with dread. “I didn’t.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her so hard that her head whacked the wall. “Has he had you?”

  “Let me go.” Her fists battered his chest, but it was like trying to dislodge a mountain. She raked her nails down his cheek.

  “Bloody hell! You cat!” He seized her flailing hands and used his weight to force her into the corner, driving the air from her lungs. Fighting blackness, she screamed until he crashed his mouth into hers.

  He was hot and immovable as a stone wall. His mouth was wet and he tasted unpleasantly of stale food. His tongue felt like a slug. Wanting to vomit, she struggled, but the sloppy lips kept sucking.

  Through fury and revulsion, she felt the wheels’ rhythm change. The carriage left the driveway and bumped over grass. Grim despair clawed at her. At least on the drive, there was hope of rescue.

  Panting with lust and excitement, he raised his head. “If you’re no virgin, the marriage is off. Damaged goods have no place in my collection.”

  “I’m devastated to hear that,” she snarled.

  His hold on her wrists tightened, twi
sting the fragile bones together. He hauled her forward until she lay across the seat. His body squashed her legs and pelvis into immobility.

  “You know,” he said almost idly. “I’ll enjoy teaching you obedience.”

  When his swollen rod prodded her stomach, she yowled with disgust and jerked helplessly. Her fear attained such a pitch that she abandoned all pride. “Please don’t do this. For the love of God, have pity.”

  His silent laugh vibrated against her. “Capital. Already you’re learning.”

  Inexorably he flattened her onto the seat and kneeled over her, a figure from a nightmare. She kicked uselessly and screamed again, although nobody would hear except this spawn of Satan.

  “I hate you,” she spat, wrenching her head aside when Lord Neville slobbered over her neck.

  As the carriage juddered to a stop, he pawed at her skirts. Loathing Lord Neville as she’d never loathed anyone, she bit her lip and prayed. Although surely even God couldn’t save her now.

  Breathless, Richard broke from the trees and dashed across the driveway to pound on the gatehouse door. “Open up, for God’s sake! It’s an emergency!”

  The gatekeeper’s grizzled head appeared from an upstairs window. “Has there been an accident?”

  “Did Lord Neville Fairbrother’s carriage pass?”

  The man, thank heaven, didn’t waste time asking questions. “Nobody’s gone yet.”

  “Thank you!” Richard shouted as he sprinted back up the drive.

  He almost missed the break in the shrubbery where the carriage had turned off. And that distant, muffled sound could be a bird’s cry. Except that he was so attuned to Genevieve that he immediately recognized the scream as hers.

  That fucking, sodding, hell-ridden mongrel Fairbrother. Richard crashed through the rhododendrons.

  “Get down or I’ll blow your skull to dust,” Richard snarled to Greengrass. When the thug didn’t immediately abandon the driver’s box, Richard raised his pistols until the metal barrels glinted in the carriage lamps. “If you imagine I’ll show the slightest hesitation, you underestimate quite how much your spying has irritated me.”

  “Hold your fire, damn you.” Greengrass scrambled to the ground.

  “Stand over there and don’t move.”

  Richard waited until the man lumbered clear of the coach. The silence was ominous. Why the hell wasn’t Genevieve shrieking her head off? Keeping an eye on Greengrass, Richard stepped up to the vehicle and flung open the door.

  It banged against the carriage’s body like a cannon shot. Inside, lamps illuminated a scene that Richard would never forget, no matter how long he lived. His blood froze to icy sludge and his belly lurched in sick rage.

  Fairbrother’s massive form forced Genevieve into the bench. All Richard could see of her was the pale tumble of skirts to the floor and the cascade of golden hair against dark leather.

  Fairbrother jerked sideways. “What the fuck are you doing, Greengrass?”

  Unbelievably, the cur had been too busy subduing his victim to notice Richard’s arrival. Richard’s anger flared to white heat when he saw one beefy hand plastered across Genevieve’s mouth. Above Fairbrother’s paw, her eyes were wide and shining with tears.

  “Get off her.” He didn’t recognize the voice as his.

  “Evans?” Fairbrother sounded shocked rather than afraid.

  “Move before I put a bullet in your stinking hide.” Richard bit off each word.

  “This is unconscionable!” Fairbrother staggered upright to block the doorway. The fact that his trousers were still fastened did nothing to calm Richard’s rage.

  Fairbrother’s bulk prevented Richard getting a good look at Genevieve. Why hadn’t she spoken? What had this pig done to her?

  “Genevieve, are you all right?”

  Fairbrother puffed up. “Refrain from addressing my intended bride.”

  “That’s a damned lie.” Richard gestured with one gun. “Step down or take the consequences.”

  Fairbrother’s lips curled in a gloating smile. “I’m unarmed.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse.”

  Richard was almost sorry when Fairbrother descended to shuffle toward Greengrass.

  He heard a rustle from inside the carriage. Then Genevieve stood swaying on the step. Anguish speared Richard’s gut. She looked as though every hope had been stripped away. Her glorious hair flowed about her shoulders. Shaking hands clutched her torn bodice. Abrasions marked her shoulders and neck. When her stricken gaze sought Richard, he almost forgot the danger and swept her into his arms. She hunched against his stare. He was appalled to read shame in her beautiful face.

  Richard made himself smile, although his soul bayed for Fairbrother’s liver. It took every ounce of will to sound reassuring. “Let me take you home, Miss Barrett.”

  Slowly she straightened and raised her chin. Richard’s heart swelled with love as he watched her gather tattered courage. Staggering slightly and catching at the doorframe, she stepped from the carriage.

  Richard wound his arm around her waist. She trembled as reaction set in. Much as Richard burned to make Fairbrother suffer, he needed to get her away. In this light, he couldn’t see how badly she was hurt. Any injury at all made him feel like he’d swallowed a volcano.

  He turned to Fairbrother. “If you touch her again, I’ll kill you. Nothing, not pity, not the law of the land, will save you. And if you or your henchman utters one word about what happened tonight, I’ll hunt you down and end your miserable lives. Do you understand?”

  Fairbrother regarded Richard with virulent hatred. “Roast in hell, you bastard. Nobody makes a fool of Neville Fairbrother, let alone some trumped-up cit who thinks the gold in his pocket compensates for breeding.”

  All his life, people had called Richard bastard and mongrel. He waited for the familiar anger. Instead he found he couldn’t care what this evil, selfish old man thought of him. All that mattered was to get Genevieve to safety and place himself at her service.

  “Can you walk?” he asked softly, backing her into the shadows and keeping his guns trained on Greengrass and Fairbrother.

  “Yes,” she whispered, although he felt her unsteadiness as she moved.

  His hold firmed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Once they were well clear of the carriage and Genevieve had stopped mistaking every noise for pursuit, she wriggled free. She dearly needed to bolster her pride, although Christopher’s embrace offered the only sanity in a world gone mad. “Where are we going?”

  He stepped back, granting her distance as he pocketed his pistol. “To Leighton Court. Your father and aunt are there.”

  Terror had lodged behind her tonsils. “I want to go home.”

  She waited for an argument, but didn’t get one. “Very well. But you can’t be alone.”

  Still that annoying lump wouldn’t vacate her throat. “Dorcas is there.”

  “Dorcas can’t look after you.”

  “I don’t need looking after.” Even as her soul cried out for him to wrap his arms around her forever.

  The compassion in Christopher’s face brought her closer to crying than Lord Neville’s assault had. He touched the hands she twined together at her waist. Her belly, only just settling, lurched in reaction. His hand, there against her solar plexus, felt breathtakingly intimate.

  “Just tell me if you’re hurt,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

  She closed her eyes, reliving those hideous moments before the door opened and the man she believed was a scoundrel transformed into a hero. “You don’t want to know what happened?”

  His fingers curled around hers. He’d touched her so often, but this was different. Calm. Reassuring. Comforting. No trace of seduction. “I want what you want.”

  That wasn’t true. That wasn’t true about any man. When one came down to it, they were all selfish monsters. They hid their agenda under ineffectuality like her father or, l
ike Lord Neville, they blatantly expected the world to bow down in worship. She opened her eyes and tried to summon a defiant answer, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “You’re cold.” He released her to shrug off his coat and drape it around her shoulders. His tenderness made her eyes prickle with tears. Strange that she’d stayed strong resisting violence, but gentleness split her in two.

  “You’ve made a powerful enemy,” she said hoarsely, huddling into the coat. His scent enveloped her. Clean male. Lemon verbena.

  Christopher shrugged. “I can live with that.”

  She loved his careless courage. “He was jealous that my father favored you.”

  “Don’t be a goose, Genevieve. He was jealous because you liked me.”

  “You risk making a fool of yourself, saying such things.” She tried to dampen his presumption, but for once, her heart wasn’t in it.

  His brilliant smile always made her witless with longing, even when she’d believed him an unrepentant miscreant. “I made a fool of myself over you long ago. But of course you know that, don’t you?”

  Did she? She knew he wanted her. She had no idea what else he felt. Except that tonight he acted like he cared. She was too tired and heartsick to talk herself out of the idea that perhaps he did. In his fashion.

  “You were clever to scream,” he said.

  “I wasn’t clever. I was terrified.” She pressed an unsteady hand to her aching throat. “He… he choked me to keep me quiet.”

  “Hell, I should have shot the bugger.”

  Once more he took her hand. She returned his clasp, preternaturally conscious of the strong bones and long, sensitive fingers. His warmth made those horrid moments with Lord Neville seem distant and unimportant. “Shooting’s too good for him.”

  “I could lock him in a room with your father and an alternative theory for the demise of the princes.”

  Surprisingly she laughed. It was strained and short-lived, but nonetheless it was a laugh. Tonight she’d thought laughter lost to her.

  Something rustled behind them and her amusement evaporated. Panicked, she cringed closer to Christopher, who raised his pistol.