Dangerous Lords Boxed Set

by Andersen, Maggi

  She whipped the letters out from under her garter and tossed them into the air. The wind caught them, scattering paper among the shrubbery and into the trees.

  “Bitch!” Spittle formed at the corner of his mouth. Coombe reeled back and hit her hard across the face.

  The blow rattled her teeth and stung her cheek. White light flashed before her eyes. With a cry, she fell backward out of the curricle, her skirt catching with a loud ripping sound. She landed hard on the muddy soil fighting for breath.

  With a snarl, Coombe raced around, snatching at the letters within his reach. He gave up trying to collect the letters and swung back to her, murder in his eyes.

  Bruised and winded, she clambered to her feet, just evading his lunge. Her torn habit trailing, she skirted the trees and ran back to the road with him pounding after her.

  Sibella sensed Coombe gaining on her and desperately hoped for a carriage to come along, but the road was empty.

  Coombe’s hand closed on her arm, pulling her back. Desperate to keep her balance, she twisted in Coombe’s grip and broke free, then turned to escape as a two-wheeled wagon loaded with brewers’ barrels came fast around the corner.

  The wagon driver hauled on the reins. Barrels bounced over the road. One barrel struck Coombe a glancing blow, causing his feet to slip from under him.

  As Coombe fought to keep his feet, he snatched at the horse’s bridle. The frightened animal reared in panic. Unable to right himself, Coombe fell to his knees. A hoof struck him a glancing blow to the head, and his roar of protest abruptly ended.

  Surprise in his brown eyes, he toppled onto his back, his arms and legs at odd angles beneath him.

  As if watching a tableau, shocked, Sibella stood unable to move as the frightened horse plunged again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Little was said in the tense silence. Strathairn constantly searched ahead as the phaeton swayed along the country road. If he lost Sibella, he wasn’t sure he could endure it.

  Maria held on to her hat which threatened to fly off in the gusty breeze. “Wouldn’t we have met them by now if they came this way?”

  “Not necessarily. The storm would have delayed them.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded when the sense of urgency made his blood pound through his veins.

  She gave him a grateful glance.

  They rounded a corner and Maria cried out. “There’s Sibella!”

  The breeze ruffled Sibella’s torn skirt and bared her thigh. When she turned to them, her face was blank with shock.

  Strathairn drew the phaeton to a stop. He leapt down, horrified at the scene before him.

  *

  Sibella looked up as Strathairn strode toward her, pulling off his coat, Maria behind him.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured as he slipped his coat around her shoulders.

  “I am now.” She drew in a grateful breath of Strathairn’s male scent and pulled his coat across her chest.

  Held safe within Strathairn’s arms, Sibella stared down at Coombe whose body lay sprawled on the road, surrounded by barrels. Blood seeped from his head. “Is he dead?” she whispered.

  Strathairn gently turned her face away. “Don’t look.”

  “As dead as a mullet in the fishmonger’s window,” the drayman observed, having steadied his nervous horse and climbed down. He removed his hat and scratched his head. “What the devil was goin’ on here?” He eyed Sibella’s torn skirt and tattered petticoat, the quality of her garments unmistakable, and raised his eyes to hers with a flush of embarrassment. “Beg pardon, miss. Was the blighter attempting to abduct you?”

  “It’s a family matter,” Strathairn said in a tone which brooked no further discussion. “I am Lord Strathairn. Tell me your name, then I would like you to alert the constable at Chiddingston before you go about your business. I will ensure the authorities are made aware of the full story and that you are not to blame for the accident.”

  “Right you are, milord. Me name’s Popperwell.” He looked around at his barrels strewn over the road. “I’ll clear the road. We don’t want no vehicles coming helter-skelter around the corner and running into us, do we?”

  “I’m sorry to have caused you such trouble,” Sibella murmured. She sagged, relieved to have Strathairn take over, for her mind had gone completely blank, her throat tinder-dry.

  “Maria, take your sister over to that log and sit her down. She’s badly shocked.” Strathairn rolled a barrel toward the wagon.

  “Come dearest.” Maria, her face strained, placed an arm around her and urged her forward.

  Sibella sniffed back tears which hurt her throat. “I have to get the rest of the letters.”

  “We will get them, Sib, but rest for a while.”

  Unable to watch, Sibella wrapped herself in his coat and leaned against Maria. When she raised her head, Strathairn had moved Coombe’s mangled body to the side of the road. The drayman was busy setting the last barrel in place on his wagon. He climbed onto the seat, touched his hat, and drove away.

  Sibella tried to rouse herself to pull her gaze from the body.

  “Let’s get those letters.” Strathairn took her hand in his big reassuring one and they made their way back to Coombe’s curricle. The letters drifted over the ground like white butterflies, the horse still tethered to the vehicle, grazing on grass.

  “I’ll secure the horse to the phaeton, and one of the duke’s grooms can return it. The curricle can wait.” He placed a hand on Sibella’s arm. “Maria will gather up the letters, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll help.” It gave her something to do and she must have the evidence to show how Mary Jane suffered and met her terrible end. She bent to collect a page fluttering on the ground and held it out to Strathairn.

  “You must take good care of these,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “They are proof that poor Mary Jane’s death was not an accident. Coombe killed her. He admitted as much to me.”

  He gently pried the papers from her stiff fingers. “I’ll take very good care of them.” He glanced at the letters and shoved them into his pocket. “Did he hurt you?”

  Sibella shook her head.

  She shivered as the cool breeze touched her leg, suddenly aware that her skirt had been ripped almost to the waist and her petticoat was shredded, revealing her thigh up to her garter.

  Strathairn tied the horse and helped Sibella and Maria into the carriage. Squashed into the phaeton which was only meant for two, Maria slipped an arm around her shoulders while Strathairn took up the reins.

  “Lean against me,” he said. “We’ll have you home soon and get you warm.”

  Comforted by his solid, calm presence, she began to talk haltingly. Her voice died away after relating the horrifying account of how Coombe had admitted to killing his wife.

  Marie gasped.

  “Don’t cry, Maria,” Sibella said. “I’m all right. He can’t hurt me now.”

  “No more now,” Strathairn said. “You need a warm drink laced with spirits to counteract the shock. Then I must talk to the Chiddingston magistrate.”

  Sibella was ushered inside Lamplugh Abbey with Strathairn’s strong arm around her. An hour later, the frozen knot still lodged in her chest despite the hot tea and fresh clothing.

  She’d lost all sense of time. Was it an hour since Strathairn, Harry, and his father shut themselves in the library or a mere ten minutes? At some point, the duchess declared she needed to rest and left Maria alone with Sibella in the salon.

  When Strathairn’s tall figure appeared at the salon door, she’d wanted to launch herself at his chest and sob into his waistcoat. He had taken control of everything so easily it was tempting to lean on him, but she was determined not to.

  Maria tactfully excused herself and left the room.

  Without commenting on her appearance, Strathairn took a chair. His eyes had darkened like smoke. She could feel the anger coming off him in waves. “You won’t be too hard on
Chaloner, will you?”

  He leaned forward and took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Coombe is the only one I wanted to kill, and I’m frustrated not to have been able to do it.”

  Strathairn would have sent Coombe swiftly to Hades, Sibella had no doubt. She chewed her lip. His intent and unwavering gaze would unnerve most people, but only served to warm her. He made her feel safe. And in a few minutes, he would be gone again. She wished she could go with him. When she poured cups for them both, she spilled some in the saucer. She mopped it up with a napkin annoyed that her hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “Thank you.” He took the teacup and saucer from her with a worried look. As he held the cup in his big hand and sipped the drink, she remembered how he hated tea.

  She grimaced at the unpleasant taste of whiskey in the tea and replaced her cup in its saucer with a clatter of china.

  He searched her face, his eyes filled with concern. “The duke and I examined the letters. The man was a monster.”

  “Yes, a monster,” she repeated faintly as another shiver passed through her. The cup rattled in its saucer.

  She leaned back on the sofa cushions and allowed herself to watch his deft movements as he stirred more sugar into hers. “Try it now. Sugar is helpful after a shock.”

  She took another sip and nodded. “Better, thank you.”

  “Lady Coombe’s relatives will have to be informed.”

  She put a shaky hand to her throat. “The letters must be sent to them. Mary Jane deserves to have her story heard.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  Maria appeared at the door. She came to sit beside Sibella. “Are you all right, Sib?” Maria asked, stroking her arm.

  “I will be soon. I just want to go home.”

  He returned his cup to its saucer. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll drive you, if you wish.”

  “Yes, do go, Sib,” Maria said. “Harry will take me back later.”

  “Thank you.” Her whole body ached with exhaustion. She would lean on him. Just for a moment until she was herself again. “Will you explain what happened to the family? I don’t think I can speak of it again.”

  He made as if to move toward her, then abandoned the idea and sat back. “I’ll take care of everything. You mustn’t worry.”

  Maria stood. “I’ll go and ask Harry.”

  “I’m proud of you,” he said when they were alone again. “You were brave, Sibella. And mighty resourceful.” He left the wing chair and dropped down beside her. “Sibella, I’ve been a fool…”

  “Please don’t.” She dropped her gaze from his eyes filled with life, pain, and unquenchable warmth. She could not let him rescue her.

  He stood. “Very well.”

  The door opened and Maria returned on Harry’s arm. “Would you like to change for dinner, Sib?”

  “Yes, of course.” She was sure she would be dreadful company and could not eat a bite.

  “Will you stay to dine with us, Strathairn?” Harry asked.

  “Thank you, but no,” Strathairn said. “I must get this matter dealt with at Chiddingston. I’ll return in the morning to take Sibella home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After settling the matter with the Chiddingston magistrate, Strathairn spent the night at a rowdy inn where his sleep was constantly disturbed, but he wouldn’t have slept much, anyway. When he’d listened to Sibella haltingly explain what she had endured, his teeth had clamped to prevent the curses on his tongue. Filled with helpless rage, he wanted to sweep her into his arms, to take her away. Far away. To Yorkshire. No one would ever hurt her again.

  One thing he knew was that somehow, he and Sibella would marry. He no longer cared what Chaloner said. Once this business with the Frenchman was dealt with, he would leave this work to someone else.

  At cock’s crow, he was back on the road and arrived at Lamplugh Abbey after breakfast, finding Sibella waiting for him dressed in a blue pelisse robe that reminded him of spring and irises. During their drive back to Brandreth Park, he tried gently to introduce the possibility of their marrying sometime in the future. But she shook her head and refused to discuss it. It was the wrong time; he wasn’t usually so insensitive. He mustn’t put his own desires first. While aware that Sibella needed her home and family at this time, more than she needed him, he still fought the urge to pull up the horse and take her in his arms.

  She began to talk about Coombe. How she had doubted him from the first. Her voice was strained. She was so hurt, he could only guide his horses along the road and quietly listen.

  “I intend to remove myself from society after Maria’s wedding. I know Chaloner will agree. It’s the right thing to do.”

  While he didn’t agree, he realized it wasn’t the time to try to argue the point. That would come later. “For how long?” His voice sounded rough. With the reins in his right hand, he took hold of hers with his left, entwining her gloved fingers with his.

  “Until the whispers die down and I feel able to pick up the threads of my life again.”

  The pain in her voice made him close his lips on another plea. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting.”

  She huffed out a sigh and extracted her hand from his. “John, this doesn’t mean… That’s all behind us now. Please don’t feel you have to…”

  “Don’t get used to being a maiden aunt, Sibella. If you take too long, I’ll be coming for you.”

  She darted a glance at him. “What would you do if you did?”

  He grinned. “Throw you over my shoulder and run off with you?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “You are not to give up your work because of me. You would only come to resent me for it. And you won’t leave it, will you?”

  Pleased that he’d made her laugh, he turned to look at her. “I plan to. But not yet, Sibella. Remember this while you wander the gardens of Brandreth Park, I have never doubted my feelings for you.”

  Much as he wanted to hold her and comfort her, he concentrated on the road. Chaloner must be made to understand how close she came to death at Coombe’s hands. What a tragedy it would have been had she’d married the man.

  He was prepared to fight Chaloner if it was he she was trying to placate by burying herself in the country.

  They approached Brandreth Park as the sun slanted long shadows over the lawn and warmed the fine old redbrick and sandstone house with its tapestry of ivy on the walls. The family was shocked at the news, the women rallying around Sibella. Her mother and sisters whisked her away, leaving him alone with Chaloner in his study.

  Strathairn eyed Chaloner over his paper-strewn desk, and his anger removed any desire for tact. He was brutal and unsparing when he related what had happened.

  Chaloner blanched and appeared shamefaced as well he might. “After the wedding, Sibella says she will retire to the country until this dies down.”

  “I think Coombe’s devilry should be shouted from the rooftops!” Strathairn thundered.

  “Well…it’s not how I wish to handle it,” Chaloner replied. “Sibella is sensible, I’m sure she will agree. Let Lady Coombe’s relatives take up her cause.”

  Strathairn ground his teeth. Sensible Sibella had agreed to marry a man she disliked, a veritable monster, to satisfy the demands of her family and society. He stared at the marquess and his anger, also directed at himself, exploded, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He thumped the desk, causing the silver inkpot to dance and two quills to roll over the surface. “Surely you still don’t believe you know what’s right for your sister!”

  Chaloner leaned back, surprised by his onslaught.

  “You more or less forced her to become engaged to Coombe,” Strathairn continued ruthlessly. “And obviously, did not investigate the character of the man thoroughly enough.”

  Chaloner shifted in his seat, a flush staining his cheeks. “Should I have encouraged a marriage between you two? You, who showed little inclination to marry? You, who preferred the society of a tavern to the ton, John
? You, who commits shady acts on behalf of the government? God knows what that entails? Best we don’t go into that!”

  Strathairn eyed him coolly. “A single man lives as he chooses.”

  Chaloner cast an accusatory look at him. “I have never imbibed or lost money at the gambling tables.”

  Strathairn, thinking Chaloner might have handled Vaughn better if he’d lived a little before he married, arched an eyebrow. “No, you never did.”

  “I wished for a happy life for Sibella. She spent too long daydreaming about a man who wouldn’t marry her. Would you not have done the same in my place?”

  Strathairn refused to acknowledge the truth of Chaloner’s words. He had been very poor husband material after the war, and before it, if he was honest. That wasn’t who he was now. “I would have let her choose her husband. And never considered a man she hadn’t warmed to. You should have valued Sibella’s intelligence.”

  “She made up her own mind in the end. And on the face of it, Coombe was eminently respectable being an heir to a title with a tidy fortune. It would have been nigh impossible to discover what lay beneath the persona he presented to the world.”

  What made Coombe attractive to Chaloner was best left unsaid. Strathairn had to agree that he’d failed her, too. But he wouldn’t let guilt cause him to lose his focus. He intended to be there when her lovely eyes shone with the pure joy of living, no longer inhibited by family obligations. He folded his arms. “So now you’re happy for Sibella to waste her life hiding away at Brandreth Park?”

  Chaloner sighed. “I’ve never wanted that kind of life for her. That’s why I urged her to marry. But I will admit, I did get that badly wrong.”

  “You’ll get your wish. I intend to marry her if she’ll have me. I don’t much care whether you approve or not.”

  Chaloner paused, concerned eyes searching his. “John, you could be dead and gone any day. We both know that.”