“Thank you,” Crispin said.
Stanhurst offered him a hand up, and Crispin accepted his help.
“We heard a gunshot,” Seabrook said. “Did the addle pate not see you and Miss Darlington in the vicinity?”
“I expect not,” Crispin lied.
Sophia might not realize she had been the intended victim, and he didn’t wish to frighten her any more than she already had been. He would get her to safety as soon as possible.
“Probably one of those drunken fools from the tavern,” Lord Seabrook spat. “Young rabble-rousers have been causing all sorts of trouble lately. It is time to put a stop to this nonsense.”
Seabrook held his hand out to reclaim his rifle from the duke then stalked in the direction of the manor house, barking orders to a footman to find the magistrate and bring him to the house.
Stanhurst hung back with Crispin, who had earned a limp during the scuffle. “You lied to Seabrook,” the duke said. “I was watching from the lawn. The blackguard was aiming for Miss Darlington. Why would anyone wish to harm her?”
“I do not know, but I intend to find out.” Stiffly, he climbed the hill to retrieve Garrick’s firearm. Stanhurst jogged ahead, snagged it from the ground, and brought it to him.
“It is a pepperbox.” The duke sounded genuinely shocked as he handed the multi-barrel pistol to Crispin. “He truly intended to kill her.”
“I know,” Crispin ground out.
Once Sophia’s safety was insured, he would track down the bastard and make him pay. He headed toward the spot where he had discarded his own firearm.
“What manner of demon would harm an innocent young woman?” The duke had grown ashen. Perhaps he was imagining one of his sisters in a similar predicament. A twinge of sympathy dulled the edge of Crispin’s fury. It was a blow the first time one recognized men like Garrick existed, men with no honor or care for women, children, or beasts.
“It is beyond comprehension,” Crispin said.
He did not devote time to understanding how one became a damned soul, and focused instead on how to stop him.
Why would Farrin’s man make an attempt on Sophia’s life? She had mentioned a map the other day, a map Farrin had been desperate to retrieve. His personal guards followed his commands alone. Between the two of them, Wolfe and Garrick didn’t possess enough smarts to be anything more than guard dogs. The facts added up to one disturbing possibility.
Farrin is alive.
“The man’s name is Bert Garrick,” Crispin said as he located his pistol.
“It is good you recognized him. You must tell the magistrate when he arrives.”
“He will never find Garrick.” Unless Crispin’s shot had done more than graze him, and he suspected it hadn’t given the thug’s ability to fight to escape.
He glanced at the duke. Stanhurst’s color was improving. Crispin was no longer concerned he might faint, so he did not soften his words. “I would watch over my shoulder if I were in your position. Garrick is employed by the man who killed your father and brother.”
Stanhurst stopped in his tracks. Crispin kept walking, his limp easing up the more he moved.
“Why would I be marked as a target?” the duke asked. “I had no dealings with the blackguard.”
Crispin scoffed. “Do you believe Miss Darlington did?”
“Of course not.” Stanhurst caught up to him in a few long strides. “You obviously know more than I do. Explain yourself.” The duke’s haughty mask was firmly in place again.
“Your brother’s past dealings place you at risk. Lord Geoffrey was involved with dangerous men when he died, as is your cousin and her husband. From what I have gathered, Farrin was probably your brother’s partner. If your brother kept incriminating evidence—and it seems your cousin believes he did, since she has been angling to access his chambers—Farrin will find out, if he hasn’t already. He does not allow potential problems to exist.”
The duke’s eyes darkened. “I am aware.”
A young man, the fourth player from Sophia’s lawn bowls match, trotted out to intercept them, cutting short the conversation.
“Lord Margrave, on behalf of Miss Darlington, I’ve been charged with informing you that she wishes to return to her aunt. Lady Seabrook has ordered the carriage to be readied, and she will see Miss Darlington home presently.”
“Excuse me.” Crispin brushed past the messenger. Sophia was not leaving his side.
Fifteen
Crispin cut across the lawn, hurried up the terrace stairs, and stalked through the house. He located Sophia standing outside by the drive with her friend. Lady Octavia had her arm around Sophia’s shoulders, offering the comfort he desired to give.
Lord and Lady Seabrook had retreated to a spot several feet away. The marchioness was whispering furiously. “What should I tell her aunt? She entrusted me with the girl.”
“Tell her the truth,” her husband said.
“I do not know what the truth is.”
Crispin closed his ears to their argument and focused on Sophia. Her eyes were rimmed in pink as if she had been crying, but she offered a brave smile when he approached.
“Miss Darlington, may I see you home? I could speak with your aunt on your behalf.”
“Absolutely not,” Lady Seabrook snipped, her face pinched with disapproval. Her husband stood by in silence. “I must honor my duties as chaperone. It was a misstep to allow you and my charge to walk the meadow without me.”
She softened her tone and gazed at Sophia with much more affection. “You should have requested my permission, Miss Darlington. It can be viewed as unbecoming for a lady to disregard propriety. Others talk and reputations become tarnished. You must promise to be more cautious.”
Sophia blushed and lowered her gaze. “I promise.”
Annoyance tightened Crispin’s chest, even though he suspected the woman’s intent was not to embarrass Sophia. Nevertheless, she had, and he could not allow Sophia’s character to be questioned.
“I am at fault for what has occurred,” Crispin said. “I did not deem it necessary to request your blessing prior to escorting Miss Darlington to the meadow.”
Sophia peeked at him; her brows angled toward each other.
He smiled reassuringly. “Do you wish to tell Lady Seabrook, or should I?”
She shook her head as if trying to clear her mind. “I have no—”
“No preference? Yes, very well,” he said brightly. “I will be the bearer of good tidings.”
Lady Octavia dropped her arm from around Sophia’s shoulders and peered at her with narrowed eyes. “If there are good tidings, why am I only now hearing about it?”
Crispin answered on Sophia’s behalf. “We had agreed it was premature to make a formal announcement, since Miss Darlington’s guardian is out of the country. However, under the circumstances, it seems prudent to lift the veil of secrecy. Miss Darlington and I have an agreement. She has consented to become my wife.”
Sophia’s eyes flew open wide; her friend gasped.
“I am honored and humbled,” he added, holding Sophia’s gaze.
Lady Seabrook sniffed. “I would offer my best, but since you appear to not have the Earl of Wedmore’s blessing, I will refrain—unless of course, you do not believe you require his blessing either.”
“Uncle Charles will grant his permission,” Sophia murmured.
“Whether he does or not remains to be seen, young lady. You may not travel alone with Lord Margrave until you have his blessing.” The Seabrook’s carriage turned onto the drive and approached the front of the house. “However, it would be wise to travel in the company of a man, I think. Lord Seabrook must remain behind to speak with the magistrate. Would you make the journey in our carriage, my lord?”
“Of course. Allow me to speak with my driver, and I will return shortly.”
Crispin located his carriage and retrieved two flintlock pistols and holsters he kept in a compartment beneath one of the benches. His driver was un
der orders to return home and bring Kane to Wedmore House.
When Crispin returned, the ladies had boarded the carriage. The seat beside Lady Seabrook was vacant. He climbed inside and sat across from Sophia. Her gaze locked on the firearms strapped around his waist. She paled.
“I have armed myself as a precaution,” he said. “No need to fret. The danger has passed.”
Her smile was tremulous. “I am not worried.”
They were lying to each other, but it seemed the best course of action for now.
He would be honest about what they were facing once they had privacy. She deserved to know. If Farrin had ordered his men to eliminate her, neither would stop hunting her, which meant Crispin would have to find them first.
Lady Octavia chattered continuously on the bumpy road to London, while Sophia remained somber and kept her face turned to the window. His stomach began to churn with uncertainty when she seemed to sink deeper into introspection, no longer responding to her friend’s conversation.
Sophia had always been the girl who detected the promise of sunshine behind every rain cloud, sought out rainbows, and unearthed the lesson in every setback. Her silence was uncharacteristic and worrisome.
He shifted on the bench, restless and longing to reach across the carriage to take her hand, to provide her with real comfort—to promise he would protect her, for he could not bear life without her. He needed her to remind him there was goodness and joy on the other side of darkness.
Perhaps she sensed him watching her, because she turned her head. She inhaled sharply. “Are you bleeding?”
“Oh?” He inspected his sleeve and noted a darker blotch surrounding the rip in his jacket. The dull ache in his forearm had been forgotten in his concern for Sophia. “It is a flesh wound. It does not bother me.”
Lady Seabrook huffed and dug into her reticule. She produced a handkerchief. “You should have spoken up, Lord Margrave. I hope you do not continue this bad habit once you marry. A wife must be kept abreast of all developments. How else is Miss Darlington to take good care of you?”
He accepted the handkerchief, although he felt he had no choice with her shoving it into his hand.
Sophia’s full pink lips turned up slightly. It was the first hint his girl was still in there.
When they arrived at Wedmore House and the butler informed Lady Seabrook that Sophia’s aunt was unavailable, the marchioness issued a breathless chuckle. She seemed pleased to be relieved of the task of reporting on the day’s events.
“Please make certain Miss Allred understands I did not take my duties lightly,” she said to Crispin.
“I will explain you had nothing to do with today.”
Once the door closed behind them, Sophia removed her gloves and bonnet to surrender to the butler. Crispin followed suit. A slight tic of the man’s eyebrow was the only sign the state of Crispin’s crushed hat caught him by surprise.
Sophia gestured for Crispin to follow her. “Mr. Tillman, please have a basin and supplies to dress a wound brought to the sunny drawing room. Lord Margrave has cut himself.”
“I will see to it at once.”
As he turned to do her bidding, Sophia added, “We will need the salve Joy mixes, too.”
“Yes, miss.”
She led Crispin toward the small family drawing room where guests were rarely invited.
“You mustn’t say anything to Aunt Beatrice about what happened today.” She spoke quietly, confidentially. “Dr. Portier reports her heart remains strong, but at her advanced age, he advises my sisters and I avoid giving her any frights.”
“He dispenses that advice to everyone. I believe some parents even bribe him for the speech to keep their offspring out of trouble.”
Sophia drew back. “Does he? That cannot be true.”
“It is. I heard it when I was a youngster.”
In Crispin’s case, however, the advice had been appropriate. An abnormality with his father’s heart at birth had bothered him all his life. A fright could have easily sent his father’s heart racing too fast or stopped it beating all together. The good doctor had made a point of drawing Crispin aside when his father was dying to reassure him that his father’s condition was not Crispin’s doing. The doctor’s reassurance had been unnecessary. Crispin hadn’t blamed himself. He had been a good son and accomplished every goal his father had set for him.
“Sit by the window,” Sophia said. “We need light to dress your wound properly.”
Crispin obeyed and sat in the gold brocade chair by the large floor to ceiling window. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the exotic mural covering every wall. A peacock roosted above the doorframe, monkeys created mischief swinging from vines, and a majestic tiger with a satisfied smile sprawled across a large rock, bathing in the sun. The room was whimsical and bright, as if it had been decorated with Sophia in mind.
She busied herself with clearing the small table next to the chair of a treasure Wedmore had brought back from one of his journeys. While Sophia’s uncle was a Regent’s Consul man, his status as an antiquarian allowed him to spy without rousing too much suspicion. Wedmore was consumed with digging for old bones and broken pots. Crispin did not share his godfather’s passion.
“Your aunt will need to be informed of what happened today,” he said.
“I know she will hear about it eventually. I am sure Lady Seabrook’s garden party will be the topic of conversation for several days. We have a quiet evening at home planned. I will tell her tonight, or perhaps over breakfast tomorrow.” She came to stand in front of him and sighed. “May I ask you to remove your jacket?”
“Any time you like.” He smiled and shrugged off the ruined article of clothing.
A pretty blush dusted her cheeks as she reached for the silver lion cufflink at his wrist. She peeked at him from beneath wispy lashes. “You led Lady Seabrook to believe we are betrothed.”
“Has a misunderstanding occurred? Did we not discuss marriage when we departed the theatre?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and wiggled the cufflink free. “We did not reach an agreement. As I recall, you were resistant. You suggested I should find another husband.”
When she attempted to pull away, he captured the tips of her fingers. Her skin was as luxurious as the finest silk. “Sophia.” Her name was a sigh of longing from his lips. “My resistance has never been to you.”
“Your letter insinuated otherwise.”
She pulled her hand from his light touch and moved to stand before the window. His pulse surged in alarm. She made herself an easy target without realizing. He came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and drew her away where she would be safe from view.
He kissed the soft spot behind her ear, unable to resist the alluring scent of her fragrant skin. Her perfume had been haunting his dreams. He would catch the scent on a breeze, following it with anticipation of finding Sophia. He always woke before he reached her.
“Not the letter I never sent,” he whispered.
She grew pliable in his arms and sank against his chest. “You receive no credit for a letter I never read.”
He nuzzled her cheek. “But I poured out my heart.”
“It must have been a very short letter.”
He laughed and placed a smacking kiss on her cheek.
“Ahem.”
Crispin and Sophia sprang apart at the masculine sound of a throat clearing. Two footmen stood at the threshold with the supplies she had requested. If she was embarrassed to be caught in an embrace, she hid it well.
“You may place everything on the table and leave us.”
The servants set themselves to the task then slipped from the room. Crispin returned to the chair and rolled up his sleeve. “I can clean my wound. It is not a sight for a lady.”
Sophia snatched the cloth from the table and dropped it in the basin, then saturated it with water from the matching pitcher. “You do realize Aunt Beatrice cannot see a thing anymore and refuses to
acknowledge it. I have tended many bumps, scratches, and minor burns. I am not squeamish.”
“How silly of me.” He smiled and reclined in the chair. A gentleman would request the assistance of a servant, but said gentleman would then miss the pleasure of Sophia’s gentle ministrations. “I submit to your capable care.”
Fortunately, the knife had only left a shallow slice in his forearm, and the bleeding had stopped a while ago. Sophia created a lather with a brick of lye soap then gently scrubbed away the dried blood. When she seemed satisfied, she returned the cloth to the basin.
“Joy’s salve will heal the wound, but I am afraid it smells awful.” She pried the lid from a small jar and a wave of garlic assaulted his nose. “She swears the wild garlic is necessary for healing, but I think she likes that no one wearing it can sneak up behind her and catch her napping.”
“You are jesting, I hope.”
She smiled. “I am, although I would not begrudge her a rest if it would not upset the other servants. She was the only above stairs maid for many years. Joy has earned her position as lady’s maid, in my opinion, and the advantages the job entails.”
After she covered his cut with the smelly concoction, she wound a cloth bandage around his arm three times and tied the ends together.
“You may remove the bandage tomorrow. If you would like me to apply more salve, you may call in the afternoon. Aunt Beatrice and I have plans to visit the lending library in the morning.” She stood upright; her hands landed on her hips. With a decisive nod, she said, “That should stay in place if you refrain from tackling any more ladies today.”
In her own surroundings, she seemed like her usual self. He hated to disrupt the sense of order that had been restored, but he must. He stood, pulled his sleeve over his bandage, and urged her to sit in the chair. “Do you have injuries? I could summon your lady’s maid if any require tending.”
“I am all right.” She brushed her hands over the dried mud and grass stains on her skirts and frowned. “My gown suffered worse. I hope it can be salvaged.”
“I am relieved you were unharmed.” He lowered to one knee, so he was eye to eye with her. Her lips parted. “We should talk about the shooter.”
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4) Page 15
