Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  Tonight. His voice, deep with meaning, sent a tremor rippling through her. Passing the reins to a groom, he lightly jumped to the gravel and came around to hand her down.

  She rose, ducking her head to avoid the hood and sticking her low bodice in his face in the process. His gaze lingered there for a moment, and she wondered whether he was staring at his cameo or her bosom. But her breasts tingled as though his eyes had touched her.

  A faint smile curved his lips before he grinned up at her and held out his hand. “You waited this time.”

  “I would wait forever for you, Tris.”

  “I can hardly wait for you,” he murmured, forgoing her hand to grasp her under her arms and swing her down. “Don’t tell anyone the news—I want to announce it together tonight, after everything is settled.”

  He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then finally settled on her mouth for a long, satisfying moment.

  Drawing back, he smoothed a stray curl from her face. “You must be exhausted, considering your injuries. Go inside and have a nap while I take care of getting Maude’s statement. I may even bring her back with me.”

  He pulled her close once more, running his hands down to her drawerless bottom as he claimed her mouth for another kiss.

  While her senses were still spinning, he reached back into the curricle for her silver basket and pushed it into her hands. “Go, will you? Before I’m tempted to go upstairs with you.”

  She watched him climb back up and drive away before she turned to go into the house, swinging her basket as she headed upstairs and into their bedroom.

  She was exhausted.

  Peggy seemed to be nowhere about, so she kicked off her shoes and burrowed, fully dressed, under the covers, where she dreamed of her wonderful new life while her husband secured their future.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  *

  ALEXANDRA WAS STILL SNUG in bed when she heard the door quietly close, followed by the clack of an engaging lock.

  She opened her eyes and yawned. Light streamed through the windows, and she hadn’t expected her husband home until dark. Everything must have gone well.

  “Tris?” she queried, rolling languidly to face the door. She couldn’t wait to see him.

  But instead she saw Peggy.

  Holding a gun.

  For a moment, that was all that registered: Peggy holding a gun. It was surreal, really. Why would Peggy be holding a gun?

  Then Alexandra’s sleep-fogged brain cleared a little, and she bolted upright in the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Peggy said, walking closer. She hadn’t aimed the gun; she just held it in her right hand. But the hand shook. She was nervous. Which made Alexandra more nervous than she already was, which was very nervous indeed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and threatening to climb out her throat.

  Her maid was walking toward her, holding a gun.

  And then Peggy raised it, and Alexandra was staring down the barrel of a gun. A gun pointed at her.

  It was, quite undoubtedly, the most frightening moment of her life.

  She stared down that barrel, thinking it the longest, darkest, most menacing thing she’d ever seen.

  But she couldn’t just sit there staring at it. She had to get her mouth to work. She had to say something. “Y-you cannot shoot that,” she stammered desperately, still wondering why Peggy had a gun. “It’ll be heard. You’ll be caught.”

  “But my mother won’t,” Peggy responded through clenched teeth. “And at this point, that’s all that matters.”

  “Your mother?” Alexandra squeaked, inching toward the edge of the bed. Peggy was too old to still have a mother. Or at least she’d never mentioned a mother. What in heaven’s name was she talking about, and why did she have a gun, and would that hand ever stop shaking?

  And then something clicked in her head, just as her feet hit the floor. “Maude is your mother?”

  “Yes,” Peggy gritted out, and she brought her second hand up to steady the first, and her shaking finger moved toward the trigger.

  Alexandra didn’t think anymore. She just sprang, one palm hitting the maid’s chest while her other hand grasped her wrists and forced them up toward the ceiling. A sharp bang rang out, the recoil making them both fall as plaster rained down on top of them.

  Peggy dropped the gun. Or rather, it skittered from her hands and went clear under the big bed.

  Relief sang through Alexandra’s veins. The bullet was spent. Peggy couldn’t shoot her anymore, at least not without reloading. And first she’d have to get the gun, which was under the bed. All Alexandra had to do was get out of the room. She’d run for help.

  She scrambled up and dashed for the door, reaching for the key.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she heard just before hands clenched painfully on her shoulders, wrenched her back, then bodily tossed her on the bed.

  Whoever would have guessed Peggy was so strong? Alexandra twisted on the mattress to see her, then blinked, her heart racing even faster than before. This wasn’t Peggy, not the Peggy she knew. Or thought she knew. Peggy didn’t have such a deranged look in her eyes.

  And this deranged woman was coming after her.

  There was no way to get to the door without going through Peggy. Alexandra slid off the far side of the bed and went under it.

  It was dark, and she didn’t fit very well, but she wiggled and wiggled some more, forcing her way under the bed, straining to reach the gun. She didn’t think Peggy had supplies to reload, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Her heart beat so loudly it seemed to be thundering in her ears, ricocheting around the cramped space. If she couldn’t get the gun, maybe at least under here she’d be safe from Peggy, and Peggy’s crazy eyes, and Peggy’s strong, hard hands.

  A fist started pounding on the door. And then another, and another, all accompanied by wild, angry barking.

  “Lady Hawkridge!” Mrs. Oliver called. “Was that a shot?”

  “Are you all right?” one of the footmen asked.

  “Open up!” That was Vincent, followed by a vicious kick at the door.

  Alexandra had warned Peggy people would hear. But being right brought no satisfaction. The doors at Hawkridge were thick, and the hinges were heavy, and there was nothing Vincent or anyone else could do.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Alexandra heard, then felt Peggy tugging on her foot, dragging her backward. She yanked her ankle from the maid’s grasp and wiggled farther under the bed, trying to regain lost ground.

  The pounding on the door grew louder as more servants arrived, adding voices and fists to the commotion. Alexandra stretched toward the gun, almost touching it. Almost.

  Then a cackle echoed under the bed, and a hand reached out and snatched the gun from her grasp.

  Peggy. She’d scooted in from the other side.

  And now she was pointing the gun at Alexandra under the bed.

  It isn’t loaded , Alexandra told herself, reassuring herself, forcing herself to breathe. There was nothing to do but back out, wiggling in reverse as fast as she possibly could, which wasn’t nearly fast enough.

  “I’m going to get you,” Peggy said. “I am not going to let you take my mother.”

  Alexandra kept wiggling. Her heart was pounding, and her blood was pumping, and she was gulping spastically and trembling all over. But Peggy wasn’t trying to reload the gun. What the devil did she want with the blasted thing anyway, then?

  Rex’s barking seemed to be getting even louder. “Lady Hawkridge!” the servants shouted. “Let us in!”

  If only she could. She and Peggy rose from beneath the bed at the same time, on opposite sides, and as Peggy rounded the bed, coming toward Alexandra with her arm raised, it became clear what she was planning to do with the gun.

  Hit Alexandra with it. Very hard, if Alexandra could judge by the maniacal look in the woman’s eyes.

  Panic rising in her throat, Alexandra scrambled backward, frantically glancing around. A glint of silver caught her e
ye. As Peggy bore down on her, she snatched her sterling basket off the table and bashed it down on the woman’s dratted, curly head.

  The maid collapsed like a sack of flour.

  Alexandra rushed across the room to unlock the door, her trembling fingers slipping off the key. Again and again. Finally, she managed to turn it. But as she began to twist the knob, she heard a moan behind her and whirled.

  Peggy was rising up from the floor.

  The maid’s eyes—unreasoning green eyes—radiated pure hate. One too-strong hand flexed, as though she were preparing to clench it around Alexandra’s throat. Amazingly—petrifyingly—her other hand still held the gun.

  With an animal-like growl, she gained her feet and rushed headlong.

  At that moment, behind Alexandra—who indeed seemed petrified and powerless to do anything except gape in terror—the door burst open. And Rex bounded in, straight for Peggy.

  His huge paws came up and knocked the maid to the ground, and before she could as much as move, he’d draped his body full on top of her.

  The gun thudded from Peggy’s fingers to the floor. Pinned by two hundred pounds of dog, she couldn’t budge. In fact, from the looks of it, she couldn’t even draw breath. Not that Alexandra particularly cared. As the servants poured in to surround her, she quietly sank to the floor and just sat there breathing.

  The staff erupted in excited babbles, Peggy regained the use of her lungs enough to howl, and Rex, staying put, was barking up a storm. But Alexandra just sat there and breathed.

  Until she heard a “Holy Christ” and glanced over, through many livery-clad legs, to see Tris standing in the doorway.

  He looked whiter than Juliana’s nightgown.

  “What happened here?” he husked out.

  “Peggy.” The liveried legs parted as Alexandra crawled through them, making her way toward her husband. “Maude is Peggy’s mother. She thought I wasn’t going to see Maude until tomorrow, and she was trying to stop me.”

  “With a gun?” Tris stared horrified at the pistol on the floor.

  “The bullet is already spent.” Peggy’s hands had seemed as much a weapon as the gun, anyway.

  He pulled Alexandra to stand and wrapped her tight in his arms. “Maude is Peggy’s mother?” he asked in a dazed tone, apparently just registering her words.

  “I am,” Maude said, stepping out from behind him.

  The room hushed as she walked slowly toward her daughter, her cane clicking as she went. Even Rex shut his big mouth and remained quiet.

  “I was but eighteen when I arrived here at Hawkridge,” Maude said in a flat voice, as though she had rehearsed this many times. The rhythmic clicks accompanied her resolute words. “I considered I’d landed in heaven when I was offered a position as nanny to the marquess’s son. But at twenty the head groom raped me, and I landed in hell instead.”

  The clicking stopped as she stood there, gazing down at her daughter pinned beneath the massive dog.

  “Had the master known I was with child,” she continued, “I would have been turned out without a reference. I was a mite plumper in those days, but at seven months I was forced to feign illness and return home. After birthing the child, I left her to my mam to raise. When she reached the age of fourteen, I found a position for her here, but we never told anyone we were related.” She heaved a great, shuddering sigh. “My Peggy, what have you done?”

  Maude’s eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed in a rather graceful heap.

  “I tried to scare her into leaving,” Peggy answered her mother’s still form, “but she just wouldn’t, the stubborn chit.”

  Ernest knelt down to feel Maude’s blue-veined wrist for a pulse. “She’s only fainted,” he reported.

  Everyone released a collective breath.

  “Excellent,” Tris said. “Please move her to the bed and then go fetch the sheriff. The man is earning his keep this day.”

  He was still holding Alexandra. While they waited for the authorities, he finally released her and took her hand instead, clutching tight as they told their rapt audience all about Maude and his uncle’s accidental poisoning.

  Maude woke from her faint, rolled over, and went to sleep. Rex remained sitting on Peggy until the sheriff arrived and hauled her away. It seemed hours before the servants finally drifted back to their jobs, leaving Alexandra and Tris alone in their room.

  Well, except for a slumbering Maude and a slobbering mastiff.

  Tris was still holding Alexandra’s hand. “Good dog,” he told Rex, then turned to her. “See, I told you he didn’t hate you.”

  “He saved my life,” she said in wonder.

  “There’s no need to give him quite that much credit. There were twenty-odd servants waiting to rescue you if he hadn’t. They all love you, Alexandra. And I love you, too.”

  “You…what?” Had he really said those words?

  He glanced again at Rex, then at Maude still in their bed. With a sigh, he drew Alexandra from the room and down the corridor. “I love you,” he repeated quite clearly.

  And with that, he pulled her into the Queen’s Bedchamber, used one booted foot to slam the door shut in Rex’s face, and backed her up against it, crushing his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was wildly possessive, a blatant statement of ownership that weakened her knees and stole her breath. And through all of it, she heard Tris’s words repeating in her head.

  I love you, I love you, I love you.

  She’d known it, but she hadn’t known how much it would mean to hear it. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “You cannot cry now,” he admonished, his hands working the buttons on the back of her dress. “I cannot ravish a sobbing woman.” He kissed her chin and her throat, nibbling his way down toward her bosom. “I love you. Have I told you I love you? You may not have saved my life, but you rescued it from oblivion, you stubborn chit.”

  Wrestling his coat down his arms, she laughed. “I did it for myself as much as for you. I’m a selfish chit as well.”

  “You’re an irredeemable chit,” he said, tossing his cravat to floor. He started lowering her dress, then stopped and brushed at it. “How the devil did you get so dusty?”

  “I scooted under the bed to hide from Peggy.”

  “I love you,” he said and laughed, either finding it funny she’d scooted under the bed, or perhaps from nervous relief—she wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t really care. She felt free and easy with him for the first time ever, and that mattered so much more.

  “I shall have to have a talk with Mrs. Oliver,” she said, looking down at herself in disgust. “There is no excuse for such muck to be under the beds.”

  He laughed even harder. “I love you,” he said.

  “Where did Peggy get a gun?” she suddenly wondered.

  Tris shook his head. “She nearly killed you,” he murmured, still looking rather pale.

  “I guess she did.” Alexandra took a bracing breath. “Are you going to tell me you told me so?”

  He shook his head again, appearing dazed.

  “How can someone named Peggy have done so many terrible things?” she asked. “It’s such a sweet, innocuous name.”

  That seemed to jar him out of his stupor. “I love you,” he said, and this time the laugh rumbled in his chest as he held her close for a long moment. Then he pushed her dusty dress down and off, stepping back to view her in the sheer blush-toned chemise.

  It seemed like forever since she’d put it on before the “picnic.” So very much had happened since then.

  His voice went lower and husky. “That chemise would tempt a monk, my lady marchioness. Wherever did you get something so wicked?”

  She grinned as she unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Will it also tempt a marquess?”

  “Hmm. I think it just might.” He wrapped her in another hug, squeezing her so tight she groaned in protest. “Sorry,” he said. “I seem to keep forgetting you’re still bruised. But that’s because I love you. I think I will tell
you I love you every five minutes for the rest of our lives.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she told him with an amused smile. “But I’m glad you finally figured it out.”

  He sobered, skimming the backs of his fingers alongside her face. A hush seemed to fall over the room.

  He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze, capturing it in the intense silver of his own. “I couldn’t admit it before. Not even to myself. I was too afraid of losing you. I thought I would lose you when you chose to leave, but instead I almost lost you when Peg—”

  “Shh,” she said. “I know.”

  And they slowed down then, removing the rest of each other’s clothing with the reverence the moment demanded. There were times that called for wild passion, but this was a time that called for sweet, cherishing love. When Tris finally laid Alexandra on the bed and joined his body with hers, tears came to her eyes for the third time in a single day.

  “I love you,” they whispered together. And they soared together to a wonderland of their own making, a place they would make together time after time in the months and years to come.

  Sometime later, sprawled on his back with Alexandra lying on top of him, Tris looked up at the gaudy turquoise and gold canopy. “I think I like the Queen’s Bedchamber after all,” he said.

  Epilogue

  *

  CHOCOLATE PUFFS

  Beat the white part of a good-sized egg till very stiff and then add a handful of sugar. To this add finely grated chocolate and then put small spoonfuls on a flat buttered pan with an area between them. Bake in an oven not overly warm for an hour or until the puffs are very dry.

  Everyone loves chocolate, so these are perfect to take on a family picnic!

  —Anne, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1773

  TWO WEEKS LATER, ON the peaceful rise overlooking Griffin’s vineyard, in the last sweet days of summer, Tristan and Alexandra picnicked with her family once again on the red blanket. Her siblings and cousins gasped as she told the adventurous story of her quest for truth and justice.

  At least, she made it sound adventurous. Griffin suspected it had been rather more dangerous than she was letting on—and he wasn’t happy about that.