by Wendy Vella
He heard rustling and then the relief in her voice.
“Jacob?”
His knees felt weak as he stumbled to the door and looked through the small opening. Her face appeared seconds later. Pale, with dark smudges beneath her eyes, she looked more beautiful to Jacob than he had ever seen her.
“Thank God,” he rasped, reaching a hand through the bars to touch her. Her skin was chilled and she shivered.
“J-Jacob.”
He grabbed the hand she groped to reach his.
“It's all right, love, I am here now. Tell me, are you hurt?”
“H-how did you find me?”
“I will always find you,” he vowed.
Her top teeth sank into her bottom lip as she fought for control. “P-please, Jacob, g-get me out of here.”
Her fear hit him hard in the stomach. Looking down, he saw a lock but no key.
“Let me look around, Poppy.”
“Don't leave me!” Her fingers gripped his hard.
“I won't, sweetheart. I haven't given you much reason to trust me, but beg you to do so now.”
“I-I do trust you.” Her words were small and fearful, and made his heart sing. “B-but I fear the last few d-days have tested me.”
“Such a strong girl,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I promise to get you out of here soon, sweetheart. Just a little longer.”
He looked around him, searching for a key, anything to get her out of the room, but found nothing. Stomach sinking, he knew what must be done.
“Poppy.”
“Don't leave me, Jacob!”
He pushed a hand through the bars again and cupped the back of her head, stroking his fingers over her hair, letting her feel him, feel his support.
“I need to get the key, love. But you know me, Poppy, and trust me. You know I will come back for you, don't you?”
He heard her loud sniff, and she nodded. He moved his hand to the bars, wrapping them around the ones she had clenched there.
“I-I know you will c-come back for me.”
“Did he hurt you, Poppy?” He had to know. Had to know how broken she was. Not that it mattered to him. Jacob would care for and love her for as long as she let him.
“He... he tried, but I hit him with the chair I'm standing on and then scratched his face. He left in anger, and planned to st-starve me into submission.”
“I'll kill him,” Jacob growled. He could not let the man get away with hurting this woman. Would not allow it.
“No!” Her fingers gripped his. “I-I do not want that. Please, Jacob, just get me out of h-here.”
Leaving her was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He wanted to tell her what was in his heart, but now was not the time. That would be done while he was holding her.
“I will come back for you soon, Poppy. Remember that you trust me, love.”
She sniffed again but said nothing further. Climbing the stairs, he closed the bookshelf and made his way to the door. The footman still stood outside.
“Let no one in here until I return. I will pay you handsomely, and if your master realizes you aided me, I will find you a place in my household.”
“Be an honor to serve you, my lord. Lord Kinsale is not an easy man to work for.”
Jacob nodded, and then ran back up the stairs. He heard the hum of voices as he approached the room his friends and Kinsale were in. Opening the door so fast that it hit the wall hard, he walked inside with, he was sure, murder in his eyes.
“You are feeling better, Hatherton?” Kinsale's cheeks were rosy, telling Jacob he had had several more glasses of brandy since he'd left.
Jacob didn't answer; instead, he opened his jacket and pulled out his gun.
He heard Leo curse then his friend was at his side. “No shooting, Jacob.”
“What is this!” Kinsale roared.
Marcus and Nick moved closer.
“I found Miss March locked in a room beneath your study, Kinsale. I want the key, now!”
“You have no right to search my house! How dare you! Miss March is—”
“I will shoot you if you do not hand me the key to release her at once.”
“She is nothing... a no one... a whore. Why do you care what happens to her?” Kinsale's eyes were scared now.
“She's the woman I love, you bastard! Call her a whore again and you sign your death warrant. In fact….” Jacob handed his gun to Leo, then punched Kinsale hard in the jaw, sending the man reeling backward and into his chair.
Jacob was pleased to see the side of his jaw already starting to swell.
“Sh— How can you love her? A-a nobody?”
“Be very careful how you speak about my future wife, Kinsale,” Jacob snarled.
“Ask him about Rachel, Jacob.”
“Only Poppy matters at this time, Marcus. She is scared, cold, and alone down in that cell. I want her out, and I want it now.” The snap of the last word had Kinsale flinching. “I will leave the questioning to you three,” he said to his friends.
When Kinsale said nothing, instead slumping deep into his chair, Jacob took a step closer.
“Key, now,” he said softly. “Or I shoot you.”
“St-study, it is th-there.” Kinsale whimpered as Jacob dragged him from the chair.
“Lead the way.” Marcus pushed him forward.
They reached the study, and the footman still stood guard.
“You!” Kinsale tried to grab the man, but Jacob hauled him back.
“Do not touch my new footman.”
Jacob went straight to the bookshelves.
“Key, now,” Leo said, nudging Kinsale. Seconds later it was in his hand, the cold metal biting into his flesh as he clenched his fingers around it. Jacob took the stairs two at a time.
“Poppy, I have the key!”
He heard her sob as he unlocked the door and threw it wide. Seconds later she was in his arms. Jacob closed them around her and held her close. He never wanted to let her go.
“Ssh, now, Poppy. You are safe.”
She was crying, deep, wracking sobs.
“I have you and no one will hurt you again.”
“I-I thought I would die in there.”
She looked up at him, tears drenching her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his house and lock the door.
“Come, Poppy, let me take you home.”
“Yes,” she whispered into his chest. “Yes pl-please.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Poppy had woken to darkness. She knew she was in Jacob's house and remembered how kind and gentle he had been with her. He had held her close on the carriage trip, and allowed her to weep on his chest without comment. He had then handed her to Lady Needly when they arrived at his house.
She loved him desperately, and that would not do. She had no rights to that man, and he would not appreciate her showing how she felt. He was kind, and no doubt regretted what they had done in his carriage and how he had handled it after. But he had found her when she feared no one would, and she would forever be grateful for that. Yes, he had called her love and sweetheart, but those had been in the heat of the moment, words to soothe and ease her fears, and nothing more could be construed from them.
Pushing aside the covers, she walked to the window and opened the curtains to let in a shaft of weak moonlight. Using this, she located her clothes, now neatly folded, on a chair.
She tried not to think of what she and Jacob had shared. Tried not to think of the fantasies she had woven around him in that cold cell she had been trapped in. Silly, childish dreams of a future filled with him.
“You are a realist, Poppy, and you know it is time to go home.”
She did not want to think about how Jacob would react when he woke to find her gone, but this was for the best. He was a good man, and would urge her to stay here until she had regained her strength. But Poppy did not need to lean on anyone; she was strong, and had looked after herself since arriving in London. Besides, i
f she stayed here, she would very likely end up begging him to take her as a mistress, and that would not do either.
She hated that her fingers shook as she buttoned up the front of her dress. Hated the weakness that horrid man, Lord Kinsale, had put inside her. He’d stripped her strength, made her cold and fearful.
Poppy heard the handle rattle on the door, and then it was opening. The candle appeared first, followed by Jacob. He wore a shirt and breeches. His hair was tousled and his feet bare. His eyes swung from the bed to where she stood.
“’Tis very cold to be walking about thus,” she said, and then felt extremely foolish. The man was a viscount. If he wanted to walk about naked, then that of course was his choice. Poppy did not want to think about that large, muscled body naked, as it made her limbs feel weak.
“Why are you getting dressed?” He used the same tone as he would to order tea, but she could see a glimmer of something in his eyes. After lowering the candle to the bedside table, he moved closer, and Poppy realized it was anger.
“I—ah, I had thought to go home.”
“At three in the morning?”
Poppy nodded, because now he'd told her the time, she felt silly.
“And how were you to get there?” he said in that polite tone that had her toes curling into the rug beneath her feet. As yet she had not found her boots.
“I like to walk.”
“You're exhausted and have been through a traumatic ordeal, and you decided you would like to leave me and walk to your lodgings, which are some distance away, in conditions that at best could be termed freezing?”
Poppy had no answer for that, because when he outlined it in that way, it did sound foolish. She nodded.
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“You're not leaving me.”
Poppy thought about his choice of words while she grappled to stop her heart thudding so hard in her chest that it hurt.
“I need to return to my lodgings, my lord, and then I have decided I will return home to my family.”
“And you were to leave here tonight without telling me?” He prowled closer, so close she could see the hair on his chest through the open V of his shirt. “Did you not think I would wake and be worried to find you gone?”
“I would have left word,” Poppy defended herself.
“With whom?”
“Umm, well I…. Maybe a note then?”
“Don't leave me.”
Poppy blinked, unsure she had heard those words correctly. Looking into his face, she felt the breath lodge in her throat.
“I have given you no reason to trust me. No reason to see me as a gentleman that you could have a future with, but I need you to try, Poppy. I love you.” He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek. “Forgive me for my treatment of you in my carriage after we had made love. My only defense is that I was shocked, scared, and unable to grasp the feelings that our union had created inside me.”
“I don't understand, Jacob. Surely you cannot love me... I am so far beneath you.” Poppy ruthlessly stomped on the hope welling up inside her at his words. “I will be no man's mistress, as I have already told you.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “You must forgive me for that also.”
“We can never have more, Jacob.”
“We can and will. Marry me, Poppy. I need you to make me feel alive. Only when you are near do I become the man I want to be. You challenge me, you make me laugh, but more importantly you are you, my love. Maddeningly honest, vibrant, and heartbreakingly beautiful. I have never met anyone like you, Miss March. Let me spend a lifetime showing you how much I need you.”
She hadn't realized she was crying until he brushed her tears aside with his thumbs.
“Surely we can't,” she whispered as the longing and hope rose inside her. “Surely I am not free to love you back?”
“Do you love me?” He pulled her closer, his face now inches from hers.
“Oh yes, so very much. But—”
He kissed the words from her mouth.
“No buts. You are my future as I am yours.”
“But I am a vicar’s daughter.”
“Believe me, the Lords of Night Street marry for love, not position, my sweet. Let me make you happy, Poppy. I want to argue with you, make love with you, and wake each day with you in my arms.”
Her knees grew weak at his words, and suddenly she gave up the fight. There would be doubts tomorrow, and perhaps the next day, and she would likely voice them. But one thing she also knew was that she loved this man, as he did her, and they would have a future together that dawned bright and clear. Together they would face whatever it held.
THE END
THANK YOU!
Thanks so much for reading Lord Valorous, book #3 in The Lords of Night Street series.
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• For a sneak peek of Sensing Danger, book #1 in the Sinclair and Raven series please read on.
SENSING DANGER
By Wendy Vella
She was exquisitely beautiful, and he knew it was her, his angel.
James watched Sinclair hold out his hand and the woman walk to his side. Not overly tall, she would reach his chin. A long dark braid hung over one shoulder and feathered brows arched over dove-gray eyes. Tilted slightly at the corners, they were framed with long curling lashes. Her teeth trapped her lower lip.
The jolt of awareness he felt looking at her made his fingers curl around the bedding. It was merely a reaction to what they had experienced and nothing more, James reasoned.
It was unfathomable that someone so small and delicate could have saved him. Dressed in that worn blue dressing gown, she did not look old enough nor strong enough to have saved him in the manner she had.
“Raven, this is my sister, Miss Eden Sinclair. It was she who rescued you.”
Lord Sinclair wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders and held her to his side, and James could see the close bond they obviously shared. His family had been cold and distant; in fact, he had never been close to anyone, although he would try for his little sister's sake.
“I am forever in your debt, Miss Sinclair. I will never be able to repay you for the risks you took on my behalf this night, but please allow me to try.”
“I did what needed to be done, Duke, and as I have recently learned it is something of a family tradition, there is no need to feel indebted.”
“I have just informed my siblings of what lies between our families, Raven,” Sinclair said. “They were understandably unsettled by the revelations.”
“I have known since my youth.”
“Yet, until today you did not believe it?” Her beauty was disturbing in its power, James thought as Eden Sinclair spoke. He could not stop looking at her; such was her allure. He wondered how many weak men she had ensnared with just a glance.
“The evidence is certainly proving hard to ignore.”
“Yet, like us, I am sure you wish to.” James nodded. He had dismissed his grandfather's words, but then he had been six when he heard them.
“Are you sure you are unhurt, Miss Sinclair?” James said as he watched her yawn.
“Yes, thank you. The only aftereffect from the night's activities is tiredness. I shall feel more the thing in the morning.”
James wondered how she could sound so dismissive when her actions could have resulted in her death this night. To have risked that for him was humbling, and extremely unsettling. He'd never had someone risk so much for him before. Well, that was not entirely true; her brother had done it also.
“Diving into a freezing ocean to save me is not something I can dismiss easily. Without you, I would now be dead.”
“Yet I have told you to do so, Duke, so please do not give i
t another thought.”
Her smile was small and tired, and James had the urge to pull Eden down on top of him and let her rest, which was ridiculous because James rarely had irresponsible urges; dukes could ill afford them.
“You cannot be serious? It is the only thing I will be able to think about for days to come, Miss Sinclair.”
“I believe I am.”
“I do not like to be beholden to people, and most especially because of something that happened hundreds of years ago, Miss Sinclair.”
“Perhaps you could endeavor to stay out of danger then, Duke. It would certainly make both our lives easier,” she said, still smiling.
“I don't believe it is a laughing matter, Miss Sinclair.”
“You will forgive my sister, Raven,” her brother said. “We Sinclairs tend to find humor in situations that others do not.”
James had one six-year-old sister, and they did not tease or laugh with each other; in fact, they were barely acquainted, so the Sinclair siblings' obvious closeness was entirely out of his realm of understanding.
“We are not so rare, Dev.” Eden Sinclair smiled up at her brother. “I'm sure the duke knows how to laugh.”
“No, I don't,” James said before he could stop himself, and instantly felt like a fool. He fell back on what he did best: being a duke. “Furthermore, I have no time to lie here bandying words. My sister will wonder at my absence,” he lied. In fact, his sister wished him to Hades.
“Are we bandying?” Eden looked from James up to her brother.
“We were, however, now we are about to explain to the duke why he cannot leave alone, unprotected, in his current condition.”
“Is he all right?”
James looked to the door once more.
“And here are two more Sinclairs for you to become acquainted with, Raven. Both, I'm afraid, are given to bandying words and sudden bouts of unexplainable laughter also. With your permission, as there are many of us and we rarely stand on ceremony, I shall introduce you to them using their Christian names.”
It was informal, but as he was lying on a bed in their house and couldn't bow or do more than nod, James agreed and reluctantly added, “My name is James.” Who was he to stand on ceremony when he couldn't even stand?
