Testing Miss Toogood

by Stella Cameron

  “The letter has gone to her family,” Gussy said, her voice shaky. “We worked everything out. They will find out too late to do anything, too late to reach the Elliots and ask for help. It will all be perfect.”

  Dominic positioned himself to see Noel as clearly as possible. Fleur was in the clear, but if he fired now, the chances were high that he’d hit Gussy or Harry. Loathsome creature that she was, he had no desire to kill Gussy and the lad deserved a chance.

  He saw the slightest movement and stared at Fleur. He could see her face and her eyes were closed, but beneath the cloak something shifted. Don’t move. Don’t try to do anything, my darling.

  No sooner had the thought gripped him when she rolled toward Noel where he crouched beside Gussy. Dominic realized Fleur’s ankles were tied but she lunged at Noel’s back and hung on to him, hit him with hands that moved in slow motion. Noel stood up with her clinging to him.

  “Kill her,” Gussy cried. “Kill her now. I told you she was trouble. Take me with you instead—you know how good we are together.”

  Dominic had no choice but to reveal himself. He slithered from his hiding point and threw himself at Noel and Fleur. Noel swung around in time to see Dominic. The man reached back to grab a handful of Fleur’s hair with one hand while he raised a pistol and stuck it into her neck with the other.

  Harry yelled, “No, don’t hurt her.”

  Noel looked at Dominic’s pistol and said, “One inch closer and you know what I’ll do.”

  “You can’t get away,” Dominic told him. “Put Fleur down and we’ll talk.”

  Noel’s face twisted. “The likes of you don’t want to talk to the likes of me. You tolerate me because of my family but you know I’ve been cast out. I wanted to show them how well I could succeed. I still will in my own way, only this time I’ll make sure they aren’t welcome in any polite company afterward—in Town or elsewhere.”

  A shot rang out.

  Dominic turned his head in time to see Franklin fling himself to the gallery floor.

  Noel swung Fleur around him and held her like a shield while he lined up his pistol, aiming straight for Franklin.

  In the second left to him, Dominic leaped on top of both Fleur and Noel, knowing how he would hurt her but wanting only to save her life, and Franklin’s.

  Noel’s shot went wild. He snapped his fingers at Harry and said, “My other pistol,” in a panicked voice, but Dominic thrust Fleur aside and pinned both of Noel’s arms to the floor and sat astride the man’s hips.

  Franklin slithered and slipped down the curving steps and Dominic saw a bloodstain spreading on his right shoulder. He had been hit after all.

  “Stay where you are, man,” Dominic told him. “Put your left fist into the wound and press to help stop the bleeding.”

  Franklin sat on a stair and did as he was told.

  “Dominic,” Fleur said and he gave her his full attention, hating to see how she had been hurt by these people. “The boy tried to help me. Be kind to him.” She sounded weak.

  Dominic stared into DeBeaufort’s frightened eyes and considered beating him to a bloody pulp. He restrained himself, brought the butt of his pistol down on Noel’s nose and took pleasure in hearing the man’s cry, and watching blood spurt.

  “Sir?” Harry stood in front of Dominic, “It’s all over now, isn’t it?”

  Dominic nodded, although he wished he had one more able-bodied man to help him get Noel DeBeaufort into the hands of the law, sorry as those hands were.

  “Sir,” Harry said. “I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t kill my father. My mother died when I was a babe, but she would want me to ask you to spare him.”

  Noel’s son. Who would have thought such a thing?

  “He’s not mine,” Noel said. “His mother was a maid. I did her a favor by taking him in.”

  The likeness between the man and boy was unmistakable but Dominic didn’t say anything. “Harry, would you undo Fleur’s ankles?”

  “Don’t you dare, you snot,” Gussy snapped, then she met Dominic’s eyes. “It’s not the way it looks. He made me help him.”

  The sound of the warehouse door opening came to Dominic again. He held his breath and prayed to see friend not foe.

  With both hands Franklin trained his pistol on the door and Dominic did the same.

  Nathan was the first to appear, his green eyes narrowed to furious slits. To Dominic’s amazement, behind him came their brother John, Marquis of Granville. His handsome face bore deep, weary lines and he’d obviously been traveling, but he surveyed the scene rapidly.

  “I’ll tell you the whole story later,” Dominic said.

  “Nathan already did.” John went immediately to haul De-Beaufort to his feet, spin him around and pull his arms up behind his back. “Take care of your lady.” John was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

  Dominic was too exhausted to argue.

  Nathan untied Gussy’s ankles and pulled her to her feet.

  “She’s his partner,” Dominic said, indicating Noel. “She must be punished. The boy is Noel’s son. He’s suffered enough. He’ll come back to Heatherly with us for now.”

  He lifted up Fleur and went to Franklin. “Put your good arm around my shoulders and let’s get out of here.”

  “Take Franklin first,” Fleur said in a hoarse voice.

  “I’ll take you both,” Dominic said, and there, in front of all assembled, he said, “I love you, Fleur. Will you be my wife?”

  John showed signs of laughing and Dominic shot him a look promising punishment if he did. John straightened his face. “She’s a very brave girl,” he said. “Nathan told me about her.”

  “I’m sure Nathan told you about everything,” Dominic said. What had possessed him to ask for Fleur’s hand here?

  “You need time to think,” she said through swollen lips. “Your emotions can’t be trusted at such a time.”

  Dominic’s temper began to simmer. “I asked if you would be my wife and I’ve never been more sure of my emotions in my life. Answer me properly or I’ll leave you here.”

  John, Nathan and Franklin sputtered and Fleur bowed her head, to hide a smile, Dominic suspected.

  “Fleur?”

  “Well,” she said in a small voice. “I certainly don’t want to be left here.”

  33

  “You are sure Fleur meant to accept you?” John Elliot Marquis of Granville asked. One corner of his mouth jerked down and ruined the serious effect.

  Slumped deeply in one of the study chairs at Heatherly, Dominic waited for news from the sawbones who had been called in to attend both Fleur and Franklin. Franklin, who was determined his wound would not be serious, had asked to be patched up before returning to his parents’ home.

  “John asked you something, old man,” Nathan said. “You seem to think Fleur accepted your pathetic proposal. Wouldn’t be at all sure if I were you.”

  Dominic studied first one, then the other and gave a self-satisfied grin. “I might have expected jealousy from you, Nathan. But you’re a married man, John.”

  “Miss Toogood is a lovely girl,” John said. His black, curly hair showed signs of the rough night he’d had. “However, as you’ve noted, I’m a married man and in case you’ve forgotten, my wife is Hattie. I assure you I shall never have need to look elsewhere.”

  The Dowager came into the study. She paused a few moments to examine her brood and her pleasure radiated. “John,” she said, holding out her arms. “I didn’t have time to greet you properly when you arrived. Welcome home. How was Vienna?”

  “Productive,” John said with his customary brevity on the subject of the diplomatic work he did for the Crown. “We are seeing the world change before our eyes.”

  John hugged his mother and Dominic felt that his life was complete for the first time in weeks. Almost complete.

  “Hattie had just gone up to take a rest before you arrived,” the Dowager said to John, taking the chair Nathan held for her. “I’m t
old she fell asleep and I decided not to awaken her. You’ll be able to surprise her all on your own.” Her eyes twinkled.

  John breathed in slowly through his nose, giving Dominic the feeling his brother was more than ready to “surprise” his wife. “And Chloe?” John asked.

  “She entertains us all and she’s in the best of health,” the Dowager said. “We dote on her.” She turned to Dominic. “I am so grateful you found Fleur in time. What a terrible experience, for her and for you. She tells me you are to be married.”

  Dominic took a moment to collect himself. “She did?” He grinned. “And she’s quite right, too.”

  “You haven’t spoken with her father yet,” Nathan said, but he slapped Dominic on the back and said, “Bravo. Congratulations.”

  “She’s giving the doctor a terrible time,” the Dowager said. “Insists there’s nothing wrong with her but a few bruises. She admits to painful wrists and ankles. But she told him that since she has no broken bones she need not be in bed. Snowdrop is all but sitting on her to make her stay there.”

  “That’s Fleur,” Dominic said.

  “She is exhausted, though,” the Dowager said. “You’ll have to insist she take life easy for a bit. At least until the wedding—which I understand will be soon.”

  “Me?” Dominic looked around. “You want me to insist Fleur does something?”

  Nathan started passing drinks. When he gave one to Dominic he said, “You’re going to marry her. You’d better find a way to control her—at least some of the time.”

  Dominic frowned. He did not intend to lose sleep over Fleur’s high spirits—and he already had an idea for making sure they understood one another’s needs well. “How is Franklin?” he asked his mother.

  “Asleep,” she said. “More from shock than the wound, I think, although he lost some blood. The doctor says it’s a lucky wound, whatever that means.”

  “Did Nathan tell you the aunts are here?” Dominic asked John. “And they haven’t changed, unfortunately.”

  “He mentioned something about it. I’ve told you that all you have to do with them is be patronizing. They love it.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “They may accomplish something we’ve all wanted,” Nathan said. “If they get their way we’ll see Mama’s paintings.”

  “Really?” John said. “I don’t know why you’re so humble, Mother. It’s about time you shared your work with us.”

  “So that you can laugh at me?” the Dowager said. “Most unlikely.”

  “You are too shy, Mother,” Nathan said. “You always have been.”

  “Perhaps,” the Dowager said, sobering. “McGee is finding Harry a place to sleep. He’ll have a bath and get some new clothes. But we shall have to decide what is to become of him. I wonder if he’d enjoy a place in the country.”

  Dominic spread his fingertips on top of his desk. “It won’t be an easy task, but I think we should inform the DeBeauforts. They may choose to ignore the boy, but there’s no doubt he’s their grandson. Just look at him.”

  The Dowager said, “A little sherry, please, Nathan.” She sighed hugely. “Things will go badly for Noel.”

  “Yes,” Dominic put down his own glass. “And for Gussy. But all that will be up to the law.”

  “There will be plenty of people to bring charges,” Nathan said.

  They didn’t meet one another’s eyes.

  John left the salon and barely stopped himself from running to the wing beyond the orangeries, up two long flights of stairs, and storming the extensive suite of rooms he and Hattie shared when they were at Heatherly.

  Instead, when he got to the suite he let himself quietly into the anteroom, walked through the sitting room and Hattie’s softly lit boudoir, and lightly pushed on the door to the bedchamber. A wedge of yellow light slowly widened into the room and he saw the big, red lacquer chinoiserie bed his wife prized. As usual, Hattie slept in a ball with the covers pulled over her head.

  Deep warmth, edged with arousal, came as a familiar—and urgent—friend. John no longer tried to soften his footsteps, rather he walked purposefully, knowing his habit of scuffing his heels would wake up Hattie and she would smile and reach for him.

  He got all the way to the side of the bed before the bump under the covers moved. A hand appeared, and another, and two softly rounded white arms stretched.

  “Mmm,” came from a muffled place before Hattie caught the sheet between a finger and thumb on each hand and edged it down until her gold hair, then her sleepy gray eyes came into view.

  “John?” she said, squinting. Then, “John, oh, John,” and she scrambled out to throw herself at him.

  He laughed and took a steadying step backward. “I hope that’s not, “Oh, No, John, No, John, No-o, John, Nooo!” He sang the line from a raucous old ditty he and his brothers had been known to use when they wanted to be annoying.

  Hattie giggled, at least, he thought she did. Kissing every inch of him that she could reach made other activities all but impossible.

  “Allow me to carry you with me while I lock the doors, madam. We need privacy so that we can discuss important matters.”

  “Hah. John Elliot, you are a buffoon. But you’d better lock the doors anyway since we don’t want to be caught doing nothing but…well…” She buried her face in his neck and clung to him while he secured the suite.

  “Now,” he said, returning to the bedroom and managing to remove at least his neckcloth at the same time. “Stand there and prepare to be adored.” He stood her on the bed and took hold of the hem of her nightrail.

  In a moment it came off over her head and she plopped to sit down—and covered her breasts with her folded arms.

  John didn’t allow himself to frown but it wasn’t like Hattie to be bashful at moments like this. He stripped quickly, dropping his clothes and kicking aside his boots.

  “John,” Hattie whispered. “Just to see your face is to want you. To see you naked is a raging need in me.”

  Beside her on the bed, he took her in his arms and stroked her hair. “You know I’m a man who relishes the work he does, and the travel. But I can hardly bear to be away from you.”

  Hattie placed both hands on his chest and pushed him back, but only a little. “I’ve changed,” she said and her blush was like fire. “Surely you can see?”

  He could feel the tightening in his throat and the fear that crept around his heart. “What do you mean?”

  She touched his lips and smiled. “Look at me, all of me.”

  “With pleasure.” What he saw was the same woman he saw in his dreams when they were apart. Perhaps she was even more beautiful. He smoothed her breasts with the pads of his fingers and leaned to kiss her deeply. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “Look, John,” she said, and her lower lip trembled.

  Puzzled, he did as she asked and concentrated. He glanced from her breasts to her belly and back again, and traced the blue veins on one breast. He weighed it, then spread his hand over her faintly but definitely swelling belly.

  “A baby?” he said, barely able to find a breath.

  Hattie spread herself on her back and pulled his face to her tummy. “A baby,” she told him.

  The household slept, apart from the servants and the Dowager Marchioness of Granville. The hour was noon and she had been busy since nine. She could not have tried to sleep longer when there was so much to do and it could be done much more quickly without help from her family.

  Already a rider was well on his way to Sodbury Martyr to see Reverend and Mrs. Toogood. Another had been dispatched to Squire Pool at the manor house in the same village. Both riders would deliver detailed letters of explanation, quite different in content, and the Toogoods would be urged to travel to London as soon as possible. The Dowager had little doubt that the letter she had written to the squire would turn the manor house upside down in no time.

  But now she awaited visitors and already she heard the wheels of a carriage crunching over the
gravel driveway she could see from the garden room.

  McGee had waited with her throughout her vigil, as had Mrs. Lymer.

  “I think that will be your visitors, milady,” McGee said. “Will you receive them in the salon?”

  “Here will do,” she said. “This is a beautiful room. Very welcoming. You know what to do, Lymer.”

  McGee went quickly into the hall and opened the front door, while Lymer left the garden room by going through the shell room.

  The carriage that rolled sedately up the drive spoke of wealth and good taste. Black, impeccable, and the horses perfectly matched. The coachman also wore black but with a crimson cape over the shoulders of his greatcoat.

  McGee ran down the steps and waited until the coachman ushered his master and mistress to the ground. The gentleman spoke briefly to McGee while his wife looked up at Heatherly with her arms tightly crossed.

  The DeBeauforts had arrived from Buckingham Street to see the boy they’d been told was their grandson.

  The Dowager stood in readiness to greet her guests and she wouldn’t have admitted it to a soul, but her stomach rolled dreadfully.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Werther DeBeaufort,” McGee announced, standing back to let the couple enter the garden room.

  Bowing, DeBeaufort led his wife forward and said, “We’re grateful you sent for us, my lady.”

  His wife’s eyes were red from crying and her pale skin blotched, but Mrs. DeBeaufort had the same naturally curly blond hair as her son—and her grandson—and despite the damage done by tears she was an elegant-looking woman.

  “I’m sorry,” the Dowager said. “There’s nothing more I can say to help with what you’re going through.”

  “Noel has always been difficult,” Mr. DeBeaufort said. “We never considered he might be a criminal. But that’s not why we’re here.”

  “Where is the boy?” his wife asked.

  The Dowager detested the pain these people must suffer. Perhaps in time she could help them, but a great deal must be resolved first.