“Murderer! Help! Fly Archie!” The parrot hopped towards the door and began pecking at it frantically.
The Dowager’s face went pale. “Archie, where is your mistress? How long has he been here?” She looked at Bergen.
“He arrived at the same time I did. Do you think this storm frightened him away from her ladyship?” Bergen held out his arm and the bird landed on it.
“My lord, you might be the only other person who could get him to do that.” The Dowager nodded her approval. “My daughter-in-law took him to the orangery this afternoon. I left her there when I returned for my afternoon rest. It was before the heavy rain came. I have not seen her since. Yet, Archie is here. Could something have happened to her?”
“Why do you say that, my lady? Is there anything Lady Weston mentioned which makes you uneasy? I too, find Archie’s presence disturbing.”
“Help! Fly home! Help!” An agitated Archie flew off his arm and circled the area in front of the door.
“I think he wants us to follow him,” Bergen said.
“Yes! I agree. Archie lead us to Hattie.” The Dowager grabbed her cloak from the patiently waiting butler, and setting off outside together, the two of them did the best they could to encourage the bird to lead them.
“We have been here at the stables for twenty minutes. It is too quiet. Something is wrong.” Edward spoke to the magistrate, Squire Sykes, who had arrived.
The portly man rubbed his chin before responding. I am inclined to agree. “From what you have explained of your plan, Lord Bergen should have been back by now, it seems. My lord, my mother always told me to listen to your inner self. It has saved my life on a number of occasions. If you think we should be somewhere else, let us proceed.”
Edward called to the head groom. “Kindly inform Lord Hampton that our plan did not come together as we had hoped. Squire Sykes and I are heading towards the manor, with some urgency. Please ask him to join us there.” With that, he nudged his mount into a canter and the two men sped across the park to the Bentley house.
As they reached the ridge of the hill, Edward saw the strangest sight. His mother was running behind Bergen, who was following his wife’s large, colorful bird. A chill went up his spine. “Hattie is in trouble. Come! We must catch up to them.”
“My lord, who is Hattie?”
“My wife.” Edward spurred his horse, and within seconds the two men had caught up with Archie. Edward slowed down. “Mother, what are you doing out here running after Archie?”
“Your wife is without her bird, Edward. She had taken him to the orangery. I have not seen her since. Go! Find her!” She stopped and grabbed her waist, doubling over to catch her breath.
“My lady. Are you quite well?”
“Go, Bergen! I fear I am not accustomed to such exercise. I have just made friends with my daughter-in-law and I fear for her safety. Go and find her, sir!”
“Mother, please return to the house and get help.” Edward and Sykes remained mounted, while Bergen remained on foot, all three chasing after the bird.
“Murderer! Fly Archie!” The popinjay headed towards the edge of the gardened area, with the three men following. They crossed the formal gardens and entered an enclosed garth where the gardener kept the nursery beds and his tools in a shed. Sounds of weeping could be heard as they approached the small building.
“Murderer! Murderer!” Archie crowed.
“Hattie!” Edward leaped off his horse. He tried the latch, but the door was stuck fast. Furiously, he pulled at it with his foot against the jam, in an effort to release it. The door swung open, slamming against the wall. Hattie sat next to a prone Philip Martin, holding a bloodied shovel in her hands.
“Hattie!” Pulling her to her feet, Edward held her against him. “What happened here?
“Is he alive, Edward?” She hiccuped. “He killed him. Mr. Martin murdered your brother and was going to kill Archie and me.” She held up her tool. “I accidentally hit him, and I think he may be dead. There is so much blood!”
Bergen walked over to the man lying on the rough floor in front of him. He nudged him with his boot. Martin groaned and tried to sit up.
“I will kill you,” Martin muttered as he raised his head and opened his eyes.
“You worthless piece of humanity,” Edward growled. “You murdered my brother and let everyone think he died in a duel. Now you dare to threaten my wife…” Releasing Hattie, Edward strode forward, grabbed Martin by the collar and pulled him up, holding him at eye level. The man hung slack in his arms.
“Wait, Weston. I will take it from here.” The magistrate pushed through to where Edward stood holding Martin. “My lady, I have no idea how you have accomplished this. You are a slight young woman. It is astonishing you were able to overpower this man on your own.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I shall take him to the gaol, where he will await the assizes.”
“I hope you hang for your misdeeds,” the Dowager intoned as she arrived, still gasping for air, and faced her son’s murderer.
Hampton made it to the shed just as the magistrate was ready to haul Philip Martin away.
Martin held up his head and sneered at Hampton. “You! I told you I would let the world know of your sorry existence.”
“Go ahead. It will be your word, your lies, against my word.” Hampton shook as he spoke. He turned to Edward. “I saw him shoot Robert. He threatened to kill me.” He turned to the magistrate. “I will testify against him.”
“As will I.” Hattie brushed off her skirt. “He confessed to me.”
“Liar! You will pay for this!” Martin continued belligerently.
Edward punched him in the mouth; Martin’s body fell limp against Sykes. “You will keep your threats to yourself, sir!”
After the magistrate had taken statements from everyone and hauled Martin away to the gaol, they sat in the drawing room, conversing and attempting to replay the events for those who missed the excitement.
“I do believe Archie saved the day,” Bergen mused as the parrot continued to show his preference for the man by sitting on his shoulder and rubbing his head against his neck.
“Indeed he did,” the Dowager agreed. “Who knows how long it would have been before we found Hattie if it were not for Archie.”
“Do you hear that, Archie? You are a hero!” Hattie exclaimed.
“Hero! Hero!” he mimicked to the laughter of all of those congregated, except for Louisa, Hattie noticed. She did wonder what was going through Louisa’s mind after seeing her brother arrested for murder and whether or not her own sins would be exposed. Hattie decided she would leave it to her to tell or not. At least Richard was not implicated in the crimes—not that Hattie ever suspected as much.
“Oh!” Hattie exclaimed.
“What is it, dear?” Edward asked with concern.
“My new spectacles! They flew off during the struggle and in all of the fuss, I forgot to retrieve them.” She stood frantically to go find them.
“We can send a footman for them now that the rain has stopped, Hattie,” Richard suggested.
“But these were a very special gift,” she said, worrying that these would have been crushed, too. “I think I know where they are.”
“I will go with you.” Edward rose and took her hand to accompany her.
“What a considerate husband he is,” Hattie heard the Dowager remark proudly. There would be a better relationship for Edward and his mother going forward—she would make it her mission. They followed the path from the conservatory across the terrace and towards the lake as she had before, and began to search for the missing spectacles that symbolized everything she hoped for in a marriage: sight, thoughtfulness, kindness, and perhaps the promise of love. Edward bent down to retrieve the errant specs and, after he’d dried them off, slipped them back onto her face with a tender peck on the nose. They were unbroken, much to her relief.
“Now that the mystery is solved, where would you like to take a wedding trip?” Edward asked a
s they strolled hand in hand.
“It is not necessary to do such a thing, my Lord,” Hattie replied meekly.
“But it is, dear wife. We need a fresh start away from our well-intentioned family.”
“And some not-so-well-intentioned,” she added dryly.
“Just so. Is there nowhere you have longed to visit?”
“Well,” she wrinkled her brow with thought. “I have never been to London.”
“London will be one of our homes. Anywhere else? Paris? Venice?”
“I could not leave Archie for so long!”
“He enjoys Bergen’s company.” His eyes twinkled down at her mischievously.
She thwacked his arm. “Do be serious, my lord.”
“We might have started off on the wrong foot, and neither of us might have chosen the other, but Fate chose us. And I would very much like to have a good marriage.”
“As would I. You are not at all what I judged you to be when I first saw you.”
“Nor are you, thank the Lord above.”
She angled an eyebrow at him for his use of the Lord’s name.
“We seem to have started properly in one area,” he looked at her from beneath hooded eyelids—the way he had looked at her in their bedroom after their first union. A warm tingle began to spread through her body to her womb. She was coming to recognize the signs of desire. He must have noticed the change in her—wanton behavior indeed! No wonder young ladies were kept under strict chaperonage until marriage.
“What did you expect?” Hattie managed to ask.
“I am sure I should not answer that. I will say I am most pleased with you.” Edward stepped closer to her with a predatory look in his eye.
“We are expected for dinner,” she said unconvincingly, as her voice cracked with pleasure.
“I certainly am hungry,” he said as he took a taste of her neck with his tongue. Her entire body shivered in response. Rational thoughts fluttered out the window.
“I suddenly am not,” she whispered breathlessly as he began to unhook her bodice.
“I did not mean for food, dear wife,” he said with a wicked glance up at her while bringing pleasure to one of her breasts.
Hattie’s knees weakened. “But will they not come looking for us if we are absent?”
“I am fairly certain they will understand.”
She shrieked as he drew her behind a neatly maintained row of yew trees and divested her of the remains of her clothing, and then proceeded to divest himself of his.
“But they will know what we are doing!”
“Hattie?”
“Yes?”
“We are husband and wife, ordained by Holy Matrimony. Stop thinking. Stop talking. Make love to me.”
He continued his machinations doing deliciously naughty things to her body.
Perhaps marrying a wicked earl was not the worst thing that could have happened to her, she reflected. Then he entered her and shocks of pleasure waved through her body.
No, Hattie never would have chosen a rake or a rogue for her lawfully wedded husband, but she did believe in Divine Intervention, and who was she to argue?
Preview Earl of Davenport
By Maggie Dallen
The sound of a carriage coming up the drive had Anne and her chaperone hurrying toward the drawing room window in a manner that was entirely unbecoming for two proper young ladies. Although, it seemed to Anne that being late to one’s scheduled meeting with two proper young ladies was equally unbecoming, so perhaps it could be overlooked.
Her chaperone, Betsy, went so far as to peek through the curtains, while Anne contented herself by leaning a tad to the left so she could see through one of the cracks where the curtain fell away from the wall.
“Here comes the devil himself,” Betsy murmured.
Typically, Anne would have scolded her former governess for the breach in etiquette. The man was an earl, for heaven’s sake, he should be referred to by his title. But she kept her mouth shut. The entire country knew him as the Devil of Davenport. Scolding Betsy wouldn’t change that.
Besides, Betsy didn’t know the earl the way that Anne did. As far as Anne was aware, she was the only one who knew Davenport’s well-kept secret.
He wasn’t a devil, not really. Not at all.
In fact, he was every bit a gentleman.
She watched the gentleman in question stride into the house with a few muffled orders to the footman who’d met him at the carriage door. Anne could only wonder if he would make them wait much longer.
Now that he was here, the butterflies in her stomach went into a flurry of activity. Drawing a deep breath, she reached for the back of a nearby chair to try and calm her nerves.
There was no need to be nervous. This was Davenport, not some beastly rake as the scandal sheets would have one believe. As the owner of the land neighboring her family’s, she’d known him since forever, it seemed. If anyone could help them, it was him. And surely he would help. He had to.
He was their last hope.
“I cannot imagine what you were thinking coming here this morning, Anne,” Betsy said, interrupting her thoughts, her voice filled with disapproval.
Anne bit back a sigh. Her friend was not helping to fortify her courage.
“You have done a great deal of silly things in your day, miss, but this is the most ludicrous of them all.”
Anne pressed her lips together and stared with determination at the door where he would enter. She should not have brought Betsy. She wished she hadn’t. But of course, she’d had to. Who else would have come? As a young, unmarried woman it would be unseemly to visit any gentleman alone, but to visit the so-called devil himself?
That kind of ruination could never be undone.
Anne might not have had much of a reputation in society to begin with, thanks to the rumors about her family, but she refused to provide additional fodder for the gossips. “Betsy, do try to understand—” Her plea was interrupted when the door to the hallway swung open with undo force.
Anne’s breath left her in a whoosh, the way it always did upon seeing him. No one could deny that Frederick William Belford, the Earl of Davenport, was a striking man. And now, standing here in the doorway—posing, really, as he leaned against the doorframe and openly assessed his visitors—Anne decided that striking didn’t begin to describe him.
He was beautiful.
No, perhaps beautiful wasn’t quite right either. That sounded far too feminine and delicate. And handsome seemed far too mundane. Definitely not pretty, that did not describe him at all. His features were too sharp for that, his shoulders too broad.
But he had an air about him that reminded her of one of the Arabian stallions her brother, Jed, liked to race. All sleek lines and barely restrained power. He moved with an easy grace and his strong jaw and firm mouth seemed to always be set in a way that spoke of strength and power.
There was an elegance about him, despite the fact that he didn’t seem to heed the latest trends. Like now, for instance. His black hair was just a tad too long and the jaw she so admired was clearly in need of a shave. Despite his haughty expression, his clothes were ruffled and mussed. Almost like he’d slept in them, or….
Her throat grew dry as it became very clear why he was late to an early morning appointment at his own home.
He hadn’t slept there.
The earl was just now arriving home, and it appeared he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. By the smug look on his face, he didn’t seem to care who knew. In fact, his smirk made her think he enjoyed the discomfort it caused.
Cheeky devil. No, not devil. She refused to use that awful nickname even in her thoughts. But just because she knew he was not the heathen the ton claimed him to be, that didn’t mean he was a saint, either.
The Earl of Davenport was merely a man.
She licked her lips and took a steadying breath as she repeated that to herself. He was merely a man. But then he shifted and his shirt strained across the hard muscles
of his chest, his breeches molding to his thighs as he moved. She tried to swallow. He was a man all right, but there was no merely about it.
His eyes moved over her just as studiously as she’d eyed him, but what he found did not seem to leave an impression. His gaze roamed over her bright red hair, her pale gray morning gown, all the way down to her slippers. She stood there stoically, as if awaiting some sort of judgement. But when his eyes met hers, there was nothing there. No verdict, no emotion… and no sign of recognition.
“Ah, my morning visitors,” he said as he pushed himself away from the doorway and entered the room. His pace was slow and his tone held more than a hint of mockery. “How could I have forgotten the urgent summons from Miss….”
He reached the settee and fell onto it, his questioning gaze once more returning to Anne. Her eyes narrowed on him. What was he about? Of course he knew who she was. He was acting obtuse just to be a boor. Why he insisted on acting like a fiend when she clearly knew the truth about him, she would never understand.
“Miss Anne Cleveland,” she finished. “And this is my dear friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Bawdry.”
She’d very nearly pointed out that he knew exactly who she was—her family had been living on the property adjacent to his their entire lives, but she refrained on Betsy’s account. The woman had suffered enough by coming along with her this morning. Despite her protests, Betsy was being a good sport. So, rather than risk being rude and causing Betsy more discomfort, she’d answered the unspoken question politely.
Davenport gave her friend a peremptory nod before turning back to her. His arm was slung over the back of the settee as he lounged there, looking for all the world like a sultan with his harem.
Her heart thumped erratically. Now where had that thought come from? Her admittedly overactive imagination hurried to provide her with an image to accompany the wayward thought. A shirtless Davenport lounging on a bed of pillows. Those dark gray eyes watching her as she undressed for him….
Earl of Weston_Wicked Regency Romance Page 11
