Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  All right, he would make love to her on the desk in his study, before the family arrived. “Lenore, so help me—”

  “What is Sir Ross doing here?” she asked.

  In the foyer, the veteran spy flagged them, and Blake came alert as they descended to the main floor. “What is it? Have you captured Sheldon?”

  “He attempts to flee, and we are closing in on him and his anonymous accomplice, but they depart from St. Katharine Docks to destinations unknown.” Logan shuffled his feet. “As a consequence, I need the assistance of Her Grace to make a positive identification.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why, of course.”

  “Lenore.”

  “Blake.”

  “You are not to endanger yourself and chase villains.” Blake could kill Sir Ross for the mere suggestion. “Rather, you will remain here, until I return. Then we will travel to St. James’s for the ball.”

  “Unacceptable.” The firm set of her chin conveyed a wealth of meaning he understood too well. “I am the only person who can provide irrefutable testimony against Sheldon, and I would have done with the entire dreadful affair.”

  “Her Grace is correct,” Sir Ross asserted.

  “You are not helping.” Blake scowled at the head of the Corps. To his wife, he said, “Damn stubborn woman.”

  “You knew that when you married me,” quick as a wink, she replied.

  “Unfortunately, I did.” Thus it was an argument he would not win. “You will stay behind me, at all times, else I will give you a sound spanking.”

  “According to Caroline, there is much to recommend it.” She averted her stare. “And I shall accommodate you at your earliest convenience.”

  In the face of such logic, Blake could only laugh at the absurdity. “I yield, but you will stay in my wake, as I will not risk one hair on your precious head. And if you disobey, I will beat your bottom raw, and neither of us will enjoy it.”

  “Nonsense.” Lenore humphed. “You would never hurt me, but I will defer to your request.”

  “Ross, if anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible.” But Blake prayed it would not come to that, as Lenore was his world. “Now let us away.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The ride to St. Katharine Docks seemed endless, and tension invested her muscles, so as Blake handed her to the pavement, Lenore kept a tight grip on his arm. Various small boats and barges transported commercial goods, livestock, and travelers from the wharf to waiting ships at anchor, and the hustle and bustle made it difficult to conduct a thorough search for the villain, yet she persisted.

  “This is impossible.” With his brow a mass of furrows, Blake surveyed the immediate vicinity. “Amid all these people, how are we to find the villain?”

  “Let us stroll from one end to the other,” Sir Ross suggested. “I have enlisted the Marine Police, and they gave me a whistle to signal them. Your Grace, if you see anything suspicious, if even the minutest detail strikes you as familiar, just say so, and we will investigate.”

  “Yes, Sir Ross.” As the agent of the Crown led the way, Lenore peered left and then right, but naught seemed recognizable, and she searched each face for a sign, some clue to jar her memory. How ironic it was that she had tried so hard to put the past behind her, and now she grasped for bits of time and recollections—anything to resurrect the tragedy and solve the mystery.

  “I am right here, sweetheart.” Blake pulled her close to his side, and she gained strength from his mere presence, as they followed in Sir Ross’s wake. “And I will never leave you.”

  A well-dressed couple shared a passionate farewell, while a mother held her child and waved to an elderly man. Still another portly woman hugged a young man, as a passing vendor offered wrapped sandwiches for sale. It was an odd blend of sincere expressions and mercantile interests, the juxtaposition of which only heightened the tension investing Lenore’s spine.

  “Did I ever tell you that, during my captivity, I prayed every day that you would come for me?” An image of the scoundrel flashed before her, and she tripped on the uneven boards, but her husband kept her upright. “Each and every morning and night, I repeated a silent plea, and I envisioned you, as you stood proud on the decks of the Tristan, as a beacon of hope to call me home. Some times, when the situation seemed most bleak, I closed my eyes and pretended I was at Elliott House, taking a nap. And in the blackest moments, when I despaired I could take no more of his abuse, I indulged in woolgathering. In a world of make believe, you consoled me. You sustained me.”

  A baby cried, and a father tended the infant, as the mother rummaged through a bag, lamenting a futile search for a rattle. A horse whinnied and resisted its handler’s efforts to load it on a barge, and in much the same fashion Lenore wanted to scream her frustration.

  “How alike we are, love,” he replied, in a low voice, and he tensed, as a trio of men burst into mirth. “As there were afternoons when I lingered in your old room, just staring at your things. Often I imagined you were at tea, with my sister, and you would return for dinner.” Blake slid a finger beneath her glove and teased her damp palm. “But every evening, as I sat at the table, your empty seat shattered the illusion, and I have never felt so alone or helpless as I did then. When Ross located you, I vowed to pay a king’s ransom for your safe return, but he suggested that might place you in greater danger, so we let the auction run its course.” In that instant, Blake met and held her gaze. “There was never any chance I would not get you back.” To her delight, he mouthed, I love you, to which she responded, in kind.

  Two tradesman argued the price of a sack of flour, while a sea captain reprimanded a crew member.

  “Blake, I want you to know why I did not initially accept your offer of marriage, given I have never really discussed it with you, and you have never asked.” A worker dropped a crate filled with clay pots, the resulting crash startled her, and she jumped. “The truth is I thought you deserved better. I believed a gentleman’s daughter would make a far more successful duchess, so I delayed. But the most important reason is I was already in love with you, and I wanted you to have what I deemed best. It never occurred to me that you would consider me qualified or that I could fill the role.”

  “Darling, as you own my heart, you are the only woman qualified to hold the title.” Now he wrapped an arm about her waist. “I would have no other.”

  “Oh, Blake, where is the blackguard?” She clutched her throat and struggled to breathe. “I know not how much more suspense I can withstand, but I want him caught.”

  “Let us drop back, just a tad.” Her husband slowed his gait and increased the distance between them and Sir Ross. “Now, have you any idea how I ache to kiss you? What I would give to take you back to our coach, spread your legs, and devour the delicious confection between your thighs?” He hummed against her ear, and her knees buckled as the hunger blossomed. “And I should pay a fortune to savor the sight of your crimson lips fastened about my preferred protuberance, as you possess a talent that is second to none in that arena, and I am your devoted slave.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” She made to protest, until she gleaned his intent. “Impossible man.” Lenore tittered and rolled her shoulders, and it felt so good. “You distract me, as you did when we cast off from Brussels and when we took the skiff to Ritzebüttel.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Yet he looked not the least repentant, as he grinned. “Did it work?”

  “Indeed.” No longer did she take exception to his bawdy advances, as she quite relished them. “But you inspired an altogether different craving, which you will satisfy when we return to Elliott House, tonight.” To impress upon him the urgency of her yearning, she averted her stare and bit her bottom lip. “Whereupon I should recompense you by suckling my favorite treat to appease the beast I married.”

  “That does it.” Blake sobered. “I cannot resist my duchess when she flirts with me, so I am taking you in the coach, en route to St. James’s.
We shall divert around the park, as the cannon in my breeches is loaded, and it will not take long to fire.”

  In that moment, Lenore giggled and glanced about the area.

  A particular profile snared her attention, and she flinched. The grim grasp of fear clawed at her senses, and she whimpered.

  “Lenore, what is it?” Blake cupped her chin. “Do you see him?”

  Incapable of speech, she shook violently. When the villain spied her, a jolt of recognition traipsed her spine, and she pointed.

  “Ross.” Her husband signaled the agent, who came alert. “Which one, sweetheart? Describe him to me.”

  “He is in uniform.” It galled her that the scoundrel, hiding in plain sight, dishonored the regimentals her father once boasted. “The man by the barrel.”

  When he realized he had been spotted, the fugitive took off in the opposite direction, and Sir Ross, whistling for the Marine Police, gave chase.

  “Darling, you will stay here, or perhaps you should return to our coach.” And then Blake joined the hunt.

  Just as Lenore promised, she remained where her husband left her, safe from the fray.

  #

  As a well-trained hound, Blake kept Sheldon in his sights, racing through a maze of luggage, cargo, and passengers. At some point during the chase, a Bow Street Runner raised the alarm, and two officers from the Marine Police entered the pursuit.

  The villain leaped atop a barrel, kicked another cask on its side, and a river of potatoes tripped Sir Ross, but Blake evaded the errant vegetables and charged forth. “Someone stop that man.”

  “I know not what that bitch said, but she is a liar.” Next, Sheldon toppled a couple of makeshift cages filled with chickens, and Blake darted amid the feathered fowl. “I am innocent.”

  “Then why do you flee?” Blake launched a fisherman’s net into the air, which entangled Sheldon and slowed him down. “If there has been a misunderstanding, then let us settle it as gentlemen.” Of course, not for a minute would he honor that request, as Blake wanted blood.

  They snaked about the docks, dodging unfortunate passersby and various objects the bastard lobbed at them, but Blake would not be deterred. Eventually, Sheldon hid amid a mountain of freight and doubled back. And they retraced their earlier path. At last, the blackguard reached the end of the wharf, and he turned to confront the party.

  “Get back.” Brandishing a pistol, Sheldon shot and wounded the Runner and leveled the weapon on Sir Ross. “Else I will kill you.”

  “You will not escape, Sheldon.” Sir Ross drew a gun from his coat pocket. “We know you took the Tevershams.”

  “You know nothing.” Like a trapped animal, Sheldon twitched. “And how dare you cast spurious aspersions on my good name.” Then, to Blake’s confusion, the miscreant assumed a confident stance.

  Trailing Sheldon’s gaze, Blake discovered the source of the offender’s mettle.

  Everything inside Blake railed at once, his gut clenched, his ears pealed, and uncontrollable rage ignited beneath his flesh. Had he thought himself angry? Faced with his gravest nightmare, and his most intense fear, he shuddered.

  Standing to the side, bedecked in the sapphire silk satin gown and the priceless parure, Lenore presented the perfect picture of grace and elegance—if not for the tears streaming her cheeks, the bruise already forming at the outside corner of her left eye, or the knife-wielding assailant holding her prisoner, with the blade pressed to her throat.

  “Let my friend go free, and I will not harm the lady.” The stranger leered. “Once we board our ship, I will have her rowed back to shore, none the worse for wear.”

  “That is not going to happen.” Blake took a step in his wife’s direction. “Release her, now, else I will dispatch you to your maker. If she is injured further, I will make you suffer, but the result will be the same.”

  “Why the fuss over a soldier’s daughter?” Prowling along the water’s edge, Sheldon scowled. “She is a nobody, and I am the son of a nobleman.”

  “You are mistaken.” As Sir Ross drew Sheldon’s attention, Blake focused on the accomplice. “The lady is, in fact, Her Grace, the Duchess of Rylan, and you will dance at Beilby’s ball, if you assault a high-ranking member of the peerage.” The secret agent snickered. “You will never leave the docks with her, and His Majesty will exhaust all resources to prosecute you, unless you cooperate, and then I might make you a bargain.”

  For a few tense minutes, the activity came to a halt.

  Blake met Lenore’s gaze, and her terror wrenched and tore at his soul. Wound tight as a clock spring, he conjured the mystical connection, the invisible but impenetrable bond impervious to mortal constraints that distinguished and blessed their relationship, and he said with his eyes what he would declare with his body, later, in their coach, as he needed her. Familiar and welcomed heat soothed his taut nerves and subdued the strain in his muscles, and he willed the same comfort to his bride. Slow and steady, the lines of stress marring her beautiful countenance faded, her hands dropped to her sides, and her baby blues proclaimed a cherished refrain, the meaning of which he could never mistake.

  “It was Sheldon’s idea, and I just assisted in his scheme.” The partner in crime fidgeted, signaling his panic, especially as the Marine Police created a perimeter of defense, which included a skiff in the port. “I knew not of her rank.”

  “Shut up.” Sheldon turned the weapon on his collaborator in nefarious enterprises, and Blake uttered a prayer, as Lenore stood directly in the line of fire. “Else I will kill you, myself.”

  “You heard him threaten me. You are my witnesses.” The coward maintained his grip on Lenore, as a shield. “And he is a murderer.”

  “Silence.” Sheldon took aim, and Blake waited for the opportunity to strike.

  “I will testify that he poisoned General Teversham with arsenic, after bayoneting Snowley at Barrouillet.” The as yet nameless associate dragged Lenore toward a stack of boxes. “He has debts, he sired a bastard, his father disowned Sheldon, and he decided to steal the Teversham estate.”

  “And who are you?” Sir Ross inquired.

  “I am John Harris.” The rogue glared at Sheldon. “A lowly foot soldier, a by-blow of the Earl of Waddlington, and a half-brother to the illustrious Lord Sheldon.”

  In that instant, Sheldon fired the pistol, and Harris and Lenore dropped to the ground.

  For Blake, his world collapsed, and everything went black.

  Acting on instinct, he dove for Sheldon. With one hand, Blake seized the criminal by the neck and pinned him to the dock. Fueled by fury that scorched every fiber of his being, time suspended, as crimson shaded his vision, blinding him to reality. The raw emotion roiling inside him merged, coalescing into a single powerful torrent, which drove him to the brink of insanity. In search of an outlet, the seething wrath undulated through his arm, and he damn near strangled Sheldon.

  As usual, Blake’s saving grace was Lenore.

  “Blake, can you hear me?” At first, her voice traveled to him as if from afar, echoing in his brain, but it worked on him as the finest brandy, unraveling the rage, and cooling the internal blaze that threatened to consume him. “Blake, it is Lenore. Let him go, my love.” Little by little, her lilting tone eased the torrent wreaking havoc on his insides. “Blake, please, come back to me. I am scared and cold, and I need you.”

  The simple plea comprised of three simple words, pedestrian in independent meaning, but taken together as a whole manifested his purpose in life. He jolted to the present, released Sheldon, stood, pulled Lenore into his arms, and kissed her in front of everyone. “Are you truly all right?”

  “I am now that you are with me.” She favored him with a lopsided grin. “Do not be vexed with me, as did as you bade, but he caught me as I walked to the coach.” She sniffed. “The instant he spoke to me, I recognized him as the man who helped Sheldon move Lucy and I from the inn.”

  “Sweetheart, I could never be vexed with you.” Then he assessed her bruised
flesh. “I am so sorry he marked you, but at long last, it is over.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tucked in the luxuriously appointed ducal coach, which made the circuit in the park, and straddling Blake’s lap, Lenore relished an amazingly thorough kiss from her husband and then rested against his chest, as he fondled her bare bottom. Never would she complain about her sea captain’s salacious hunger, when she reaped the rewards of his voluptuous talents, but his lovemaking had become possessive in the wake of the day’s unpleasant events, and she was more than happy to assuage his baser appetites.

  “We are late for the ball.” Blake pounded on the side of the cabin, and the equipage lurched forward and gained speed. “Yet we are not far from St. James’s, and the presentation line is usually long, so we should sneak in without notice.”

  “Must we attend?” The rig struck a rut in the road, which rocked Lenore in more ways than one, given their bodies remained joined, and she tensed. “I would much rather go home, lock ourselves in our suite, and make love until dawn.”

  “Sweetheart, you make me forget my duty.” He hummed, as she suckled his ear lobe. “Yet I am a servant of the Crown, and I cannot ignore a royal summons.”

  “Are you sure I cannot persuade you otherwise?” She thrust her hips, and he hissed. “I will play the Dussek.”

  “As always, my duchess tempts me.” To her dismay, he lifted her to the squabs and secured the fall of his breeches. “But this is your night, the Prince Regent requests your presence, and all of society awaits your entrance, so we will persevere.”

  After a brief ride, the coach came to a halt, and the footman opened the door. Adopting an air of refinement, well, as refined as possible while sporting a rapidly blackening eye, she lifted her chin and descended to the pavement. At an arched doorway, the Royal Guard stood at attention. Blake retrieved his credentials from his elegant coat and displayed the documents to the agent, who nodded.