Sam kept his face completely placid as Trent and Luke gave him expectant looks. Lying about Élise wouldn’t get him anywhere. Neither would revealing anything.
“Your brother and the lady were in league. They killed Viscount Dunthorpe, then ran away, to this cottage, in fact. When they learned we were after them, they swam away yet again, like frightened little gudgeons.” Gherkin made a fluttering motion with his fingers. “So you see, all we seek is justice. We’ll take your bastard brother and we’ll take Lady Dunthorpe. We’ll ensure justice is served; then the rest of you can be on your way.”
Luke gave a disbelieving snort. “If you think we’re going to leave Sam in your hands, you’re insane.”
But Trent gazed at Sam, a clear question in his eyes. Sam nodded slightly. Yes. Do it. Play along.
Trent laid a hand on Luke’s arm. “If we give you information, will you release our sister?”
“Not just information, Your Grace. You will need to procure Lady Dunthorpe. A viperous French bitch for a lovely, sweet, young Englishwoman. I have grown to know your sister these past few days—”
Luke gave a warning growl, and Gherkin shrugged. “Anyhow, it is more than a fair trade.”
A muscle in Trent’s jaw moved. “Release my sister, and I’ll tell you where you can locate Lady Dunthorpe.”
“I have a better idea. You bring the French whore to me, we’ll make the exchange, and that’ll be that.”
Trent’s eyes flickered toward Sam, and Sam moved his head slightly in the semblance of a nod.
Trent threw back his shoulders. “Very well.” Luke gaped at him, but Trent ignored him. “She’s down the road a piece.”
“Trent!” Luke spit out, shocked that Trent would agree to these terms and completely unaware of the byplay that had been happening between his two older brothers.
Trent ignored Luke’s protest.
Gherkin nodded. “Good. Let’s go.” He gestured to the man holding the gun on Trent and Luke. “Shoot them if they try anything.”
The man nodded grimly.
Sam was glad they’d be leaving the house. More space out on the grounds to fight. Not to mention Theo and Mark were certainly somewhere outside with weapons, and they’d be able to help.
Gherkin turned to the men holding Sam; then he met Sam’s gaze, giving that spine-chillingly bland grin. “You’ll stay here. No need for you to come, after all. Is there, Hawkins?”
Sam stepped toward him, a deep scowl forming on his face. “If you hurt her—” But one of the men held the tail of the rope wrapped around his wrists, and he jerked back hard. A spasm of pain shot through Sam’s shoulders. He fell backward, twisting his body as best as he could to break the fall. He leaned up on his shoulder just as the man holding the gun on Trent and Luke exited the room.
“No!” Sam shouted. But it was too late. They’d gone after Élise.
* * *
Élise had watched Trent and Luke “surrender” while Mark and Theo remained hidden in the shadows. After the guards had ushered the two older brothers inside, Mark and Theo had rushed across the clearing. She’d held back until they’d settled against the wall of the cottage; then she’d darted after them.
She’d turned the corner, and she must’ve been difficult to see with the way the dim morning light shone through the trees, haloing her body. But the gun barrel had glinted in the light of dawn as Theo had instinctively raised his arm to point it at her, and she’d heard the click as he’d cocked it. But Mark, bless him, had recognized her and nearly tackled his brother to the ground while hissing out, “It’s Lady Dunthorpe, you idiot!”
Since then, Mark had kept close by her side, seeming resigned to her presence. Of course, initiating an argument in their current position wouldn’t be wise.
Now she held her body flat against the outside wall of the cottage. Beside her, Mark stood stock-still. Neither of them wanted to draw the attention of the party emerging from the front door.
Throughout the entire exchange between Edmund Gherkin and the brothers, Élise had been crouching in the bushes, peeking into the salon window. From there, she could hear just about everything that was said, and she could see Edmund through the tiny crack in the curtains.
The sounds of footsteps retreated quickly as Edmund, his men, Esme, Trent, and Luke marched down the drive. Élise turned to Mark. “We need to get Sam,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Back door?”
“Yes.” She hoped it wasn’t locked.
They inched around to the back of the house, where Theo waited. “We’re going in to get Sam,” Mark told him in a low voice.
Theo nodded, but his brown eyes were large in the dimness. “How many men?”
“Two men guard him.” Élise was trembling all over, but a sort of peace had come over her, quelling the shaking to a manageable tremor. There was a time for fear, but now was the time for action. She could give in to the fear later.
She didn’t look at the brothers; instead she gazed down the bank and out over Lake Windermere, which sat placid and gray under the overcast sky. She let its calmness infuse her. “But there might be more men in other parts of the cottage. We will need to be very careful.”
Pressing his lips together, Theo nodded. He was just as frightened as she was. Perhaps more. She had been in a few terrifying situations recently … but had he? Probably not.
“Stay here,” Mark growled.
She blinked at him. “Really?” At this point, he had to be joking.
“Really. Sam will kill me himself if he discovers I brought you into such danger,” he said.
Élise pressed her lips together. Mark was right, and she didn’t want Sam to be angry with them. This was her choice, not theirs.
And maybe it was for the best if she remained right here for now. If whoever was in the cottage didn’t know of her proximity, that was to everyone’s benefit.
She sighed. “Very well. I will await you here; then we’ll go help Esme and the others.”
Mark gave a tight nod. Theo tried the handle, and the door opened easily. Dunthorpe and Gherkin had probably thought there was no need to guard the back door, since there was no real access to it unless you passed by the front of the cottage first.
As soon as Mark and Theo disappeared inside, closing the door quietly behind them, Élise tiptoed back around to the salon window. She wedged herself into the bushes, crouched down beneath it, then gripped the sill and pulled herself up just enough to see inside.
She could see a sliver of one of the guards, arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face.
There were several seconds of still silence; then the door banged open. The guard spun around, then lurched forward, as if someone had kicked his knees out from under him. It must have been Sam.
And then a gun fired. Élise’s entire body jolted. It was so loud, it seemed to explode within her head. She jerked to her feet, uncaring if anyone saw her. “Sam!” she cried softly. Had he been shot? Had the other guard killed him?
She hesitated for scant seconds, resisting the urge to punch through the glass pane with her fist, trying to parse out all the emotions and thoughts and fears flowing through her head and sort out what she needed to do—how she could help.
Theo rushed into her line of sight. He bent down and then rose, Sam coming up along with him. He stood tall while Theo undid his bonds.
He wasn’t injured. Praise God. Élise pressed her forehead against the glass pane, the relief washing over her weakening muscles.
“Hurry,” Sam told Theo. He looked over his shoulder. “Is that one down?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “He’s unconscious, at least.”
“This one’s dead,” Theo said, his voice strained. “I got him in the heart, didn’t I, Sam?”
Untied, Sam turned and put his hands on his youngest brother’s shoulders. “You did well, Theo. Do you have more ammunition?”
He crouched down, evidently searching for one of the fallen guard’s weapons. But Él
ise spun about at the sound of rapid footsteps approaching.
It was Trent, followed closely by Edmund, who was pressing a gun into the duke’s back. They were followed by Esme, with her hands tied in front of her, and the guard who had been with her all along, and Luke and another man, who held a gun trained on him.
They were coming to investigate the gunshot.
“Kill him!” a high voice screeched from inside the house. “Trent knows too much! You must kill him!”
Élise’s blood ran cold. She recognized that voice. Francis, mad with his own cowardice.
Edmund and Trent were just a few feet away from her. They hadn’t seen her yet, but she saw them clear as day. Her vision homed in on the weapon pressed to Trent’s back.
Edmund always followed orders. That was why her husband had trusted him. And he was going to follow orders now. Élise saw it in the thinning of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes, the slight movement of his fingers on the weapon—
“No!” she screamed. She lunged forward. Edmund turned, surprised, just as she leapt upon him. Thrown off balance, he crashed to the rocky path with Élise on top of him.
He bucked, throwing her off. She landed on the grass with such force the breath was knocked from her lungs. When she looked up, dazed, she saw that the duke had pinned Edmund to the ground. Everyone was shouting. Screaming. Grunts and the dull smack of flesh on flesh as punches were thrown. Sam, Mark, and Theo burst out of the cottage and joined the melee.
She heard Francis’s reedy scream and scrambling footsteps inside the cottage. Was he trying to escape? But there was nowhere for him to go.
And then, above all the other noises, there was an ominous click.
Everyone paused, turning toward the sound. The man standing with Esme gripped her arm tight. He held a gun to her temple. She stood frozen, literally scared stiff, her face an unearthly white—even her lips were pale. Her eyes were huge, dark pools in her face.
“Jack!” Sam snapped. He’d run past Trent, who had subdued Edmund, and stood on the path halfway to Esme. “Let her go. She’s done nothing to you.”
“Aye, but ye have, guv.” He rubbed at a spot above his forehead.
“I was only trying to help my sister. Do you have a sister, Jack?” Sam took a slow step toward them, his voice calm and level.
“What’s it matter?” Jack bit out.
“You love your sister, don’t you? Just like I love mine.”
Jack spat on the path.
“Kill her, and you’re taking my only sister from me,” Sam said quietly. “You know I will never let you survive.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably.
“It won’t be an easy death,” Sam continued in that low, deadly voice. “I’d make you suffer. I’d extend your hell on earth for as long as possible before you die.”
Jack’s light blue gaze shifted between Sam and Edmund, who lay motionless on his back. Trent’s knee was dug into his solar plexus and a thin line of blood streamed from his mouth.
“And if I don’t kill ’er?”
“Your fate will be much more tolerable,” Sam said simply.
Keeping his eyes on Sam, Jack began to lower the gun. But Sam moved so fast, he was a blur. Esme stumbled back, and Sam and Jack slammed to the ground. It took no more than a second for Sam to wrestle the gun from the other man. And then the butt of it crashed against Jack’s head, in the same location he’d rubbed seconds ago. Immediately, he went limp. Sam leapt to his feet, still holding the gun.
His gaze assessed the situation quickly. Mark had done something to the guard who’d had the gun on him—he was holding his stomach and groaning. Jack was unconscious. Edmund was alive but pinned flat on his back by Trent.
And none of the Hawkinses had been hurt. Élise nearly sobbed with relief. The bon Dieu had been on their side this day.
Esme stood on the grass near Élise, sobbing quietly into her bound hands. On shaky legs, Élise rose and went to her, first undoing her bonds with trembling fingers, then taking the taller woman into her arms and patting her back, murmuring, “There, there. It’s over now, my lady.”
But it wasn’t. Francis, the new Lord Dunthorpe, was still inside.
Sam realized this at the same time she did, it seemed. His gaze arrowed in on the cottage’s doorway even as he strode toward it. Without another word, he disappeared inside.
Theo looked at Trent with questioning eyes, and Trent nodded. “Go. He might need your help.”
Theo disappeared next, and the rest of them waited. Élise couldn’t take her eyes off the door. Her heart was starting to pound, fear overtaking the mask of calmness that had settled over it earlier. What if Francis was lying in wait for Sam? What if …?
Boom!
The shot rattled the eaves of the cottage, and nearby, a flock of sandpipers soared into the air, startled from the water’s edge and screeching their displeasure.
And then all was silent once more.
* * *
Sam emerged from the cottage’s front door, Theo at his heels. His gaze scanned the people scattered about on the lawn, searching for Élise.
She stood beside Esme. As soon as their eyes met, her legs seemed to give out from under her. She sank to her knees, her shoulders heaving.
Sam sprinted to her. Kneeling down, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. “Shh, my love. All is well. All is well … Shh.”
It took some time, but finally he managed to soothe her enough that she pulled back. Her beautiful face was tear streaked. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
He’d seen what she’d done. She’d tackled Gherkin to save Trent. That took no small measure of bravery. Pride and love surged through him, and right there, in front of all his siblings, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
“Wha—what happened?” she whispered. “Where is Francis?”
“He was upstairs. When he knew there would be no escape, he killed himself. Shot himself in the head.”
“Mon Dieu,” she whispered. She slumped against him, her body shuddering violently.
He held her and comforted her as his brothers moved around them, securing the four of Dunthorpe’s men who still lived. Theo comforted Esme, who was crying quietly. Mark fetched the carriage and Sam’s mount while Luke went to the stables, where he found another carriage and two more horses.
A few hours later, they arrived back in Kendal. Sam and Theo spent another good hour speaking with the constables while their brothers, eager to reunite with their mother, took Esme and Élise to Steven Lowell’s camp. By midafternoon, Dunthorpe’s men were secured in the Kendal Borough Jail.
God only knew if Dunthorpe had positioned more men around Kendal and the environs. If he had, they had scattered to the four winds by now. But Sam was satisfied. Neither Dunthorpe nor Gherkin would be a threat to Élise ever again.
After they finished their business in town, Sam and Theo walked to Lowell’s camp. When they arrived, everyone turned to face them, and one by one, Sam looked into the exhausted but hopeful faces of each member of his family: Trent, Luke, Mark, Theo, Esme, his mother, his father, and Élise.
All that was missing were Trent’s and Luke’s wives and Trent’s infant son. But they were safe at Ironwood Park, and they’d all be together soon.
He went straight to Élise and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled against him, fitting there as perfectly as ever.
They ate a dinner of a hearty stew their mother had prepared in anticipation of their arrival, and then everyone retired for the evening. Trent, Luke, Theo, Mark, and Esme returned to the inn, but Sam and Élise chose to remain in the camp with his parents.
Élise lay tucked up against him in the bed they had made on a soft pile of leaves surrounded by tall bushes and trees to give them privacy. The clouds had cleared, and millions of stars lit the night sky overhead, but Sam couldn’t take his eyes from the woman beside him.
There was still the danger from Adams, but maybe Élise was right. Maybe if they were together,
they’d find a way.
There, as the stars shined down on them, he allowed the dam to break. He stopped fighting the fear of being too close to her. The fear that there would be no future for her if she was with him. The fear that he’d lose her. It was a conscious decision, allowing those fissures to spread and then crack and burst free. A rush of hope crashed through him.
They’d find a way.
He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, the softness of her cheek, her jaw, her slender, elegant neck, the firm mounds of her breasts. He showed her his feelings for her in each tender kiss, in each reverent touch.
“You’ve given me such a gift, Élise,” he told her between kisses.
“What’s that, my Sam?” she whispered, arching her body into his, her hands stroking up and down his back.
“Life,” he said. Because she had. Before Élise, he’d been an automaton, existing on food and drink but not living. There had been no enjoyment, no vitality, only his duty, and even that had been chipping away at his barren existence.
She’d given him hope and love and a reason to continue to exist. Life.
Sam moved between her legs. His fingers curled over the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up over her legs, then her hips. He swiped his fingers over her hip, then over her mound and between her legs. She was already slick with desire for him. He stroked her for long minutes, until she was gasping and complaining that she needed him now.
Smiling, he withdrew his hand and settled his body over her. He pushed his cock into her in one firm, heavy stroke, bending down at the same time to draw her sweet gasp into his mouth. He kissed her deeply, his tongue claiming her mouth as they became one, joining in the most basic yet most meaningful of ways.
This woman—this beautiful, vivacious woman—had become part of him. Integral to his existence. Fundamental to his next breath.
She kissed him back, and when he moved slightly to nibble the edges of her lips, she wrapped her arms around him, arched her hips to meet his next thrust, and murmured, “I love you, Sam. I’m never letting you go.”
Thank God, he wanted to say. But his eyes sank shut, and sensation overwhelmed him. Pleasure coursed under his skin, through his veins, and infused his heart.
The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 29
