by Anna Bradley
She bit her lip in an agony of indecision, but with Benedict’s life hanging in the balance, she had no other choice but to risk it. She kept one eye on Kenilworth as she crept closer to the fireplace, but before she could take another step, she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her other eye.
It was Clara Beauchamp.
Her gaze caught Georgiana’s, and she tipped her chin subtly toward the poker. Clara was standing right next to the fireplace, and Kenilworth seemed to have dismissed her as a threat, because he wasn’t paying any attention to her.
Georgiana held Clara’s gaze, and gave a tiny nod of her head. A moment of perfect understanding passed between them, and then…
Then it was happening.
Clara seized the poker, and with one mighty heave sent it flying across the floor toward Georgiana. It clattered to a stop at her feet and she snatched it up and whirled around, her heart racing, every bit of rage she possessed focused on Kenilworth.
She heard a shout, but she didn’t pause. With as much strength as she could muster, she raised the poker over her head, and smashed it across Kenilworth’s back.
Kenilworth made a strange sound—a grunt of pain and surprise—then he hit the floor with a deafening crash. If Georgiana could have managed a second blow even half as brutal as the first, she would have finished him, but her arms were shaking, so she fell to the floor beside him and without a moment’s hesitation began kicking him toward the broken window.
One shove, her feet braced against his back, two…dear God, he was heavy, so heavy, but the blow had stunned him, and he didn’t resist.
At first.
Another shove, another…closer, then closer still, slowly, painstakingly but inexorably closer to the edge…
Georgiana was so intent on shoving him out and putting an end to the nightmare that was the Duke of Kenilworth that she didn’t notice he’d grabbed Benedict by the ankle until Benedict began sliding across the glass-strewn floor toward the gaping window, clutched in Kenilworth’s grasp.
“Benedict!” The scream tore from Georgiana’s throat. She grabbed him by the arm, but the combined weight of Kenilworth and Benedict was too much for her. Benedict tried to kick loose from Kenilworth’s hold, but Kenilworth held him in the inhuman grip of a man who was destined for death, and determined to take his enemy with him.
There was a scramble of footsteps behind them, but Georgiana saw nothing, knew nothing other than Benedict. She held on with all her strength as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved.
She knew what he was going to do before he did it.
The only thing he could do to save her.
“No! Benedict!”
He tore his arm loose from her hold.
“No!” She scrambled for him, but it was already too late. Kenilworth’s lower body had slipped over the edge. He was clawing at Benedict, holding on with every last vestige of his strength, mere seconds from falling to his death. In that last instant, Benedict’s dark eyes met hers, and Georgiana saw a world of love shining in their depths.
There was a shout—Clara’s voice—and a flurry of activity beside Georgiana, and then Kenilworth was gone, tumbling over the edge with a terrified cry. Georgiana’s howl of anguish followed, torn from the very depths of her soul, and she squeezed her eyes closed, unable to watch, unable to bear seeing Benedict fall…
Except incredibly, Benedict’s arms were wrapped around her. Somehow, he was there beside her, on his back, tangled in a panel of the heavy silk drapery from Lord Draven’s canopy.
He gathered her against his chest, blood still gushing from his wounds, but alive—somehow, impossibly, he was alive and holding her close, his voice hoarse as he whispered in her ear.
It’s all right. I’ve got you. We’re safe. I love you…
He said those words over and over, his hands in her hair and his lips at her temple. At last the anguish, the unthinkable anguish of losing him faded, and Georgiana, overwhelmed with love and gratitude, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed.
* * * *
Clara Beauchamp was as accomplished a nurse as Mrs. Ellery had said she was.
The slash on Benedict’s arm still throbbed, the cut on his forehead still burned, and his knee ached like the very devil even after Clara’s ministrations, but he didn’t give a damn.
He didn’t give a damn about anything but Georgiana, who was safely pressed against him, her arm around his waist and his wrapped protectively around her shoulders. What he really wanted was to take her back to the gamekeeper’s cottage where they might have some privacy, but there were, er…a few details to be managed first.
Like the dead duke on the front drive of Draven House.
The magistrate was on his way, and would no doubt demand a detailed explanation as to why the Duke of Kenilworth was lying under a shattered window with a broken neck.
As for Benedict, try as he might, he couldn’t work up any regret on Kenilworth’s behalf. The man was a monster, and Benedict felt only relief knowing Jane and Freddy were free of him forever.
“More tea, Lord Haslemere?” Mrs. Ellery had been fluttering around them for the past hour, pressing cup after cup of tea on them and doing her best to stuff them with scones and cakes. “The best cure for a shock, my lord, is food.”
“More tea would be delightful, Mrs. Ellery. Thank you.” Benedict would have preferred a few stiff fingers of brandy, but Mrs. Ellery had suffered a shock of her own, and he couldn’t bear to refuse her.
She and Martha, the other housemaid, had been bound and gagged and shoved into a cupboard in the stillroom by Kenilworth after he’d attacked Peter in the stables. There’d been no one here to protect them, so he’d made quick enough work of the two women.
Benedict shuddered to think what might have happened to them—and to Clara and Draven—if he and Georgiana hadn’t come along when they did.
As it was, Peter had been sent home to rest and recover from his injuries. Martha had declared the country a “wicked, horrible place” and begged to return to London at once—a request Lord Draven had quickly granted.
As for Draven, he’d been ordered to bed by his fair-haired nurse, her dark wig now discarded, and he’d succumbed to her commands with the air of a man who’d be pleased to have her order him about for the rest of his life. Clara had disappeared to his bedchamber with him, but now she’d reappeared again, just in time to save Benedict from another cup of Mrs. Ellery’s tea.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ellery. Lord Draven would like to speak to Lord Haslemere and Miss Harley, if you can spare them.”
“Yes, yes. Go on, then.” Mrs. Ellery waved the tea cloth at them in a motherly gesture. “I’ll keep the tea hot for you, Lord Haslemere.”
“Er, that’s kind of you, Mrs. Ellery.” Benedict nodded his thanks, then he and Georgiana followed Clara up the stairs to see Lord Draven. The earl had been moved to another bedchamber, and was seated before the fire, waiting for them. He looked pale and exhausted and much too thin, but his lips curved in a smile when he saw Clara.
“Well Haslemere, Miss Harley.” He raised an eyebrow as Georgiana and Benedict sat on the settee across from him. Clara settled herself beside him and took his hand in hers. “I don’t know how you two got tangled up in this business, but I’m damned glad you did.”
Benedict looked at Georgiana, then back at Lord Draven. “It’s a long story, Draven. I’d be pleased to tell it to you sometime, but perhaps for now I’ll simply say we did it to help my sister, Jane, without having the least bloody idea what we were getting ourselves into.”
Lord Draven chuckled. “It’s a web with many threads, all of them hopelessly tangled. I’ve no idea how you managed to sort them all out, but we’ll always be tremendously grateful to you both.”
“We had our suspicions, my lord, but it was Kenilworth himself who untangled the final threads.” Geor
giana’s gaze drifted to Clara. “You were married to the Duke of Kenilworth, Miss Beauchamp, and you have a son together?”
“Yes. His name is Augustus. He’ll be seven years old in September.” Clara gave Benedict an uneasy glance. “I realize you have a nephew who—”
“It’s all right, Miss Beauchamp. I’m aware Freddy isn’t the heir to the dukedom. I care only that my sister, Jane, and Freddy are safe. The title and fortune are your son’s by right. You’ll get no trouble from my family.”
Clara sagged against Lord Draven, relieved. “Thank you, my lord. When you and Miss Harley came here yesterday, I thought…that is, I feared you were here at the behest of the duke, and I…I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”
“You heard of Lord Draven’s, er…unfortunate accident while you were at Lady Tilbury’s in London, Miss Beauchamp?” Georgiana asked.
“It was no accident, Miss Harley. I was set upon by half a dozen of Kenilworth’s ruffians. I don’t remember much, but I have no doubt they intended to kill me. Kenilworth came here today to finish the job, and drag Clara away again.” Lord Draven’s face was tight as he gripped Clara’s hand. “I shudder to think what he would have done to her.”
Georgiana let out a deep sigh. “The Duke of Kenilworth is not at all what he appeared to be, is he?”
“I’m afraid not,” Clara said on a sigh. “But to answer your question, Miss Harley, I was in London with Lady Tilbury when Lord Draven was attacked, yes. I hadn’t set foot outside of Herefordshire in six years, but Augustus was ill, and I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight, so her ladyship reluctantly agreed to let me come with her as long as I took care to stay in the townhouse.”
Lord Draven raised Clara’s hand to his lips. “It’s a miracle Jane saw her at all. She came straight to me that night to tell me she believed Clara was still alive. Jane didn’t know a thing about Clara and Kenilworth until then. She came because she knew how devastated I was over Clara’s disappearance, and for no other reason. Your sister has been a good friend to me, Haslemere.”
Benedict’s mouth twisted. “If Jane had suspected what a scoundrel Kenilworth was, she never would have married him. There’s no excuse for my not knowing, however. I should have protected her.”
Clara’s blue eyes softened. “You must understand, Lord Haslemere, what a deep secret it was. Only myself, my mother, and Kenilworth knew about the marriage. Neither my mother nor I breathed a word about it because Kenilworth claimed his uncle, the duke, would disinherit him if he found out the truth.”
Lord Draven nodded. “It’s true, Haslemere. Even I didn’t find out about the marriage until much later, after Clara disappeared. I believed her to be dead by then, and so never suspected Kenilworth of bigamy.”
Benedict stiffened at the reminder, and Georgiana reached for his hand. “Such an odd coincidence, that Jane happened to be driving by at the precise time Miss Beauchamp was in the carriage.”
“Yes. It makes me believe in fate.” Lord Draven smiled. “As you’ve probably determined, Clara never made it back to Herefordshire once she left Lady Tilbury’s. She coaxed Mrs. Bury into hiring her as a housemaid, and came with me here, to Draven House. Perhaps I’m a selfish man, Miss Harley, but I’m very glad she did.”
“So, you’ve been hiding in Herefordshire for the past six years?” Benedict could hardly believe it. “It must have been awful, living every day in fear Kenilworth would discover you.”
“It was worrying, yes. I was more fearful on Augustus’s account than my own, however. Lady Tilbury took good care of Augustus and me. She’s a dear friend.”
“Dear enough to lie right to my face for you.” Georgiana smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Though I don’t see that she had much choice.”
“None at all,” Lord Draven said, his voice grim. “I wish I’d ended Kenilworth six years ago, the night Clara disappeared. When I think of the heartache that followed not just for me, but for Clara and Jane…”
“The duel, you mean?” Benedict leaned forward. “I confess to some curiosity about that.”
“My father put a stop to it the night of the Christmas party, but I followed Kenilworth to London, and challenged him again there. I assure you, I was in deadly earnest, Haslemere. If I’d had my way, Kenilworth would have died that night.”
“I’ve no doubt. You thought at first Kenilworth had ruined Miss Beauchamp?”
“Yes. At the ball that night I saw Kenilworth force Clara from the ballroom. I suspected something was amiss, so I followed them to the library. From what I overheard, I assumed Kenilworth had seduced her. I didn’t find out until much later he’d married her a year earlier, then run off to London to spend her fortune.”
“I was entirely deceived in Kenilworth’s character.” A spasm of pain crossed Miss Beauchamp’s face. “I fancied myself in love with him, but it was a short-lived delusion. By the time he returned to Draven House for the ball, he’d inherited the dukedom, and wanted nothing more to do with his common bride. He’d set his sights on your sister by then, Lord Haslemere, leaving me with nothing but an empty purse, and…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “A child in my belly.”
Georgiana gasped. “Oh, no. How dreadful.”
“I’m afraid it was. Kenilworth was afraid the child would be a boy. A son with common bloodlines wasn’t good enough to be the Duke of Kenilworth’s heir, so he packed me up into his carriage, took me to Southampton, and loaded me onto a ship bound for North America. I suppose he thought I’d die on the journey.”
“But you didn’t, Miss Beauchamp,” Georgiana said fiercely. “You survived, and here you are.”
“Yes, thanks to Lady Tilbury.” Miss Beauchamp dashed a tear from her cheek. “Once Kenilworth was gone, I sneaked off the ship and made my way to her in Herefordshire with the little bit of money Kenilworth had given me. With her help, I survived.” Clara turned to gaze at Lord Draven, love glowing in her blue eyes. “Now I will reap my reward, undeserved though it might be.”
“Not undeserved, love.” Lord Draven cast her an adoring look. “Never that.”
Georgiana turned to Benedict, a tremulous smile on her lips. “You saved Bene—that is, you saved Lord Haslemere’s life, Miss Beauchamp. As far as I’m concerned, you deserve everything good that befalls you.”
A lump rose in Benedict’s throat at Georgiana’s words, and he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand. “Fate, indeed. She’s smiled on us both, Draven, and I, for one, intend to make the most of it.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Mill Street, London
Ten days later
“You mean to tell me, Georgiana, that Miss Beauchamp saved Lord Haslemere’s life with a bedcurtain?”
“Well, there was a bit more to it than that, but yes. Lord Haslemere was mere seconds from toppling out the window when Miss Beauchamp tossed him one of the bed hangings, and he crawled back in.”
Emma plopped down on the window seat beside Georgiana. “That must have been an extraordinary bed hanging.”
“It was. Heavy silk, attached to a monstrous oak canopy. Lord Draven is an earl, after all. Don’t all earls have grand beds with silken bed hangings?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what earls have.” Emma glanced at Georgiana out of the corner of her eye. “I think you’re more qualified to answer that question than I am, dearest.”
It was the fourth time Emma had offered Georgiana a not terribly subtle invitation to confide her adventures with Lord Haslemere, and the fourth time Georgiana had failed to do so.
There was a part of her that longed to rest her head on Emma’s shoulder and release the unbearable tension that had been building inside her these past ten days—all her worries and misgivings, her hopes and dreams—but she hadn’t any idea where to start.
With the murderous Duke of Kenilworth? With Cla
ra Beauchamp and Lord Draven, and the love story that had risen from the ashes of a tragedy six years ago? With the newly widowed Duchess of Kenilworth, who’d gained her freedom on the same day her son had lost his title and inheritance?
Or did she start with Benedict, the charming rake who wasn’t truly a rake at all, but a wonderful, honorable man who’d somehow managed to burrow so deeply into her heart she couldn’t draw a breath without thinking of him?
It was all so complicated, and touching, and wretchedly emotional she was sure to end up dissolving into a sniveling puddle of tears right here. Emma would be shocked, and a scene was sure to follow.
Georgiana detested scenes, and so she said nothing at all about any of it, but gestured instead to the garden outside the window, hoping to distract Emma. “I mean to put the eldest girls on tidying up that garden at once. It’ll be a lovely place for us to walk in the spring and summer, won’t it?”
“Hmmm. Lovely, yes.”
Georgiana waited, but Emma didn’t elaborate. “These window seats are perfect, aren’t they? So many handsome bow windows in one house, and each with its own window seat. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Hmmm. Lovely, yes.”
“So spacious, as well!” Georgiana went on, growing desperate. “Just think, Emma! Five large bedrooms on both the second and third floors, and all the common rooms on the ground floor besides. The attics will make a lovely schoolroom for the younger pupils, won’t it?”
“Hmmm. Lovely, yes.”
“For pity’s sake, Emma!” Georgiana threw her hands up in exasperation. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Oh, did you want me to say something more, Georgiana? Very well, then. I’ll say this. I’m extremely cross with you.”
“Me? Why, what did I do?” Georgiana tried to summon some dignified outrage, but her voice lacked conviction. She knew what she’d done, and if she’d been in her right mind, she’d have known Emma would never let her get away with it.
