The Wild Belle (St. John Series)

by Lora Thomas

  “Did you have any luck?” she asked, walking down the creaky steps.

  “No. The only room that has been in use is the study. It appears he was here alone.” Michael could see the disheartened look on Andi’s face. “Let’s go inspect the stables. Maybe we’ll have luck there.”

  Andi nodded her head, her heart sinking. They had to find Alyssa.

  The stables were just as pointless as the rest of the home. They hadn’t been used in years. Michael looked angrily around the stables and then to Andrea. Her head was hanging low, resembling a dying flower. “Come on. If we hurry, we can catch Peterson’s coach.”

  Andi perked up and they both hurried to their hidden mounts. The duo spurred their horses into a run to catch the coach that had a good thirty-minute head start. They rode for some time and still had not spotted the coach. They were about to give up when they rounded the bend and spied the coach sitting on the side of the road, its axle broken. The driver was nowhere in sight, but Peterson was leaning against the front of the coach.

  Michael gave Andi an evil sneer and kicked his horse into a run. He reached the coach in seconds. Before Andi could react, she watched her husband jump off the still moving horse and run to Peterson, pulling the man from the front of the coach. The sound of Michael’s fist connecting with Peterson’s jaw reached Andi and she cringed. She watched Peterson fall to the ground, holding his jaw.

  She walked her horse to the men. As she neared, she could hear the heated exchange. She stopped her mount just inches from Peterson.

  “Where is my sister?” she growled.

  “I don’t know,” he defended as he looked up at her.

  “Liar!” she yelled and jumped off her horse. She pulled her pistol out and pointed it towards Peterson’s abdomen. “Now, I ask you again . . . where is Alyssa?”

  Peterson gave a look of disbelief. “Are you really planning on shooting me?”

  Andi smiled sweetly. In a honeyed tone she answered, “Yes. Ya see a stomach shot is a very slow, painful way to die. It could take days, even weeks. You will either die of infection or go crazy from the feel of maggots eatin’ your flesh.”

  “You’re just as mad as your mother!” Peterson yelled as he stood.

  “My mother is not crazy!”

  Michael was growing tired of the exchange. He started to interrupt, but saw a sheriff approaching from the road to the side of the carriage. The carriage blocked Peterson’s view of the approaching rider. He had originally planned on killing Peterson after they found out the location of Alyssa, but seeing the authoritative figure, he had a change of plans. If he could get Peterson to confess, the humiliation would ruin him and his family.

  “Why did you do it?’ Michael calmly asked.

  An evil sneer crossed Peterson’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, come now,” Michael began and walked to the side of Peterson, making the man look his direction and away from the approaching figure. “You’re a businessman, Peterson. You have an agenda planned before you act.” Michael looked around in a nervous fashion. “Was it her body?”

  “What!” Andrea interjected.

  Michael held up his hand to stop his wife’s words. “Not now, my dear. She is very attractive, isn’t she? Alyssa, that is. She is refined, eloquent. She would be the perfect wife. Dainty, petite, not the least bit outspoken . . . a true lady.”

  “She is, isn’t she,” Peterson said in a low voice.

  Michael could see the pain in Andi’s eyes, but he continued. “Not like any of her sisters. And her dowry, that helped top off the wonderful package deal. A beautiful, refined, rich American wife. You would be the envy of every man.” Michael rubbed his chin, pretending to think. “You know, I think you had the right idea. Alyssa would be the perfect wife. She is demure, respectful, speaks only when spoken to, does not question any man’s actions. She would obey your every whim. Is that why you took her? She would meet your needs, not defy you, not question your decisions . . . unlike her sister?”

  “Yes,” Peterson said. “No . . . I—”

  “You needed her money, didn’t you?”

  “I—”

  “So you kidnapped her, forced her to marry you, and then what? You killed her, didn’t you? You killed a defenseless American woman!”

  “I did no such thing! That little bitch ran away just as soon as we docked.”

  “But you did take her!”

  “Yes, I did, because you took what rightfully belonged to me! I deserved to marry Andrea! She was to be mine until you had to ruin it for me. If you hadn’t bedded her, I would be married to that feisty bitch, beating her into submission, and when her money was spent, I’d dispose of her just like the others.”

  Peterson watched as a pleased smile crossed Michael’s face. “Did you hear all of that in its entirety, Sheriff?”

  “What?” Peterson said, turning around. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw the sheriff standing behind Andrea. “Damn you, St. John, you planned this!”

  “Actually, I just happened to be on my way to visit my sister,” the sheriff said and walked in Peterson’s direction. “How was I supposed to know I would hear a kidnapping and murder confession on my way there?”

  “You cannot arrest me. I am an Earl.”

  The sheriff held out a pair of shackles. “I don’t give a damn who you are.”

  The clicking sound of the shackles on Peterson’s wrists caused a vindictive smile to cross his face. “You think you St. Johns have seen the last of me? I will have my revenge!”

  “Enjoy prison,” Michael said as he watched the sheriff drag Peterson to his horse.

  The sheriff tied a rope to the shackles and then mounted his horse. He tipped his hat at Andrea and nodded his head at Michael.

  “You can’t expect me to walk to London? I am the Earl of Rydover!”

  The Sheriff nudged his horse to a slow trot. He ignored Peterson’s protests. “And I’m King George. I suggest you get used to the idea of walking, unless you would prefer me to drag you?”

  Michael watched as the sheriff and Peterson departed. He looked to Andrea and approached her. The pain in her eyes broke his heart. He took her into his arms. “Andrea?”

  She looked up at him in tears. “She’s gone. How will we find her?” Then her expression changed. “You think I’m an awful wife!”

  Michael smiled at his wife. “No, I think you are the perfect wife . . . for me. But to your first question, we will find her. Come on, it’s still a long ride to London.”

  Andrea nodded her head and mounted her horse. Peterson was going to jail. He would never harm her sisters. But Alyssa was still missing around the docks of London. How would she survive? She wasn’t as resourceful as Andrea. She knew how to defend herself from Ashton, but not from the ruffians around the docks. She sent up a little prayer hoping that Alyssa found a respectable person to watch over her, keep her safe until she returned.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Michael and Andrea rode for the remainder of the afternoon, just behind the sheriff and Peterson. The countryside they traveled through was beautiful. The smooth rolling hills were covered in soft green grass. Red and purple flowers surrounded large oak trees that shaded the roadway. A small stream babbled and trout could be seen occasionally jumping from the waters. If it had been under other circumstances, Andrea would have enjoyed the scenery, but her thoughts kept returning to her sister.

  Michael noticed Andi’s unusually quiet demeanor. Her concern over Alyssa was apparent. She had allowed her horse to stop and nibble at the crisp grass growing along the side of the road too many times to count. Michael had to turn around twice to get Andrea back on track. He noticed a small inn up ahead. He had stayed there many years ago with his father and older brothers. The owners were a quaint elderly couple. The beds were soft and the food was decent. It was far from being a refined boarding house, but it was not nearly the pesthouse quality of some of the dockside taverns he had stayed
at in the past. He guided their horses towards the inn and helped Andi dismount. Instructing her to wait on the small porch, he walked the horses to the stables. Once the horses were bedded for the night, he escorted Andi into the inn.

  The portly innkeeper gave a warm smile when he noticed the couple entering his establishment. “How may I help you this evening, sir?”

  “My wife and I are in need of a room for the evening. Do you have any available?”

  The man’s smile widened. His eyes turned to Andi and he gave her a quizzical look upon noticing her attire. “You and your wife, you say?”

  “Yes,” Michael said in a voice that told the man he did not like the insinuation. “My wife.”

  “Very well, sir. Just sign the register and I will show you to your room.”

  Michael signed the book and slid it back towards the innkeeper.

  The innkeeper looked at the signature and his eyes widened. “Lord St. John. Excuse me for my rudeness. I did not recognize you. It has been years since we last met.”

  Michael raised a dark brow at the innkeeper. He gave the man a curt nod, but did not correct him. Michael was not a Lord. His title was Honorable. His father and brother, Eli, held the Lord title, but he did not want to get into a long discussion with the innkeeper about his lineage.

  “My room?”

  “Oh, yes,” the innkeeper said, motioning towards the stairs. “Right this way.”

  Andrea and Michael followed the man to the room. Once inside Michael requested a bath and hot meal be brought up posthaste. The innkeeper happily agreed and before Michael could close the door, he heard the man yell for a bath to be brought up immediately.

  The innkeeper’s wife brought up a tray of hot food. Andrea and Michael ate in silence while the servants filled the large wooden tub. Once finished with their meal, the innkeeper’s wife took the tray and told the couple to notify her immediately should they need anything. Michael dismissed the woman and then turned towards Andi.

  “You go ahead and bathe. The heat will help relax you.”

  Andi looked up at her husband and nodded. She headed towards the tub, but noticed he was not leaving. “Where are you going?” she asked, hoping for some privacy.

  “Nowhere,” he replied, standing. He walked over to the bed, sat down and began removing his boots.

  “You can’t stay in here while I bathe.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . well, it’s just not done.”

  A mischievous smile crossed his handsome face. “Like that has ever stopped you before.”

  “Well, it’s improper.”

  “So is spying on a total stranger swimming.”

  Color flooded Andi’s cheeks at the memory of their first encounter. “It was highly improper for me to have done that.” Her tone fluctuated while she spoke. “I was trying to make myself as unappealing as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Well . . . I thought you were Peterson. I figured if I made myself undesirable, then you would call off the engagement.”

  “It’s a good thing it didn’t work. I find your outgoing, brazen nature refreshing.” His response was answered by a towel hitting his chest. “Better bathe before the water gets cold.”

  She swallowed nervously. “Fine.”

  Michael lay back on the bed and pretended to sleep. Andrea quickly took off her clothing and entered the tub. The water was hot. She hissed as she eased her body into the steamy liquid. Once submerged, she leaned back and allowed the heat to ease her tense muscles. As she lay with her eyes closed, she heard Michael stand. She heard him cross the room to her, then could feel his hands on her shoulders.

  “Lean forward,” he whispered into her ear.

  She did as asked and felt his strong hands begin to gently message her tense muscles. She brought her knees to her and rested her forearms on them. She placed her chin on her crossed arms as Michael rubbed her back. His touch was so soft, so gentle. He gently caressed her shoulders and then made his way to her lower back. Her eyes grew heavy as he rubbed her body.

  Michael watched Andi’s head bob, fighting sleep. He knew she was exhausted. Her head flopped forward. Before he could catch it, her face hit the water. She sat upright, sputtering.

  “I’m awake,” she mumbled.

  Michael picked her up. Her body tensed.

  “Relax,” he whispered. He carried her over to the bed and laid her down on her stomach. She attempted to rise off the bed. “Relax,” he repeated.

  Relax? How could she when he drove her crazy with just the simplest touch? She felt his hand make its way down to her back and then his fingers entered her. She moaned again as she felt his fingers move inside her. Before she knew what was happening, he rolled her over. He gently kissed her lips. He made love to her several times that night, gently massaging her body in the process. She fell asleep curled up with her back to him with his arms wrapped protectively around her.

  They left early the next morning. He knew she was anxious to get back to London to search for her sister. They arrived at Matthew’s townhouse around three the next afternoon. As they were walking up the front steps, they could hear yelling coming from inside. Michael raced up the remainder of the steps. When he opened the door, Matthew’s butler, Mr. Henry, nearly clouted him in the head with a cane.

  “Mr. St. John?!” Mr. Henry stated in surprise. “Pardon me, I thought you were another one of these hooligans.”

  “Hooligans?” Michael asked, walking into the home.

  “Get yer bleedin’ ‘ands off’n me,” came a voice from the study.

  Michael gave a concerned look to Mr. Henry. “He refuses to leave. I have sent for the authorities.”

  Michael said nothing as he walked into the study with Andi on his heels.

  “Don’t you dare touch that!” Mrs. Jamison, the housekeeper, scolded. “It’s a priceless antique, you dolt!”

  “Ow!” the man yelled as Mrs. Jamison hit him with her broom.

  “Enough!” Michael yelled as he walked into the room.

  “Mr. St. John!” Mrs. Jamison cried with relief at the same time the man yelled “Mikey!”

  “What are you doing here, Mouse?”

  “You know this . . . this . . . vagrant, sir?”

  “Yes. Now please leave us, Mrs. Jamison.”

  “Yes, sir,” the housekeeper replied reluctantly and left.

  “It’s about bleedin’ time ye got bac—‘ello, there,” Mouse’s demeanor quickly changed as he spied Andrea. He began smoothing his rumpled blond hair down. His clothing hung from his thin frame like an old sack. He slid his hands down the front of his oversized coat and then dusted off his trousers.

  “That is my wife, Mouse. So unless you would like to find yourself tossed out on your arse, I suggest you focus your attention back to me.”

  Mouse looked back towards Michael in disbelief. “Blimey, ya St. Johns sure da get da purty women.”

  “Why are you here?” Michael asked, exasperated.

  “Oh! I ‘ave some infermation fer ye. I wuz down at da docks ‘n wuz talkin’ ta ole Pete. Ya member ‘im, doncha? ‘E’s da bloke wit da wooden eye. Funny story ‘ow ‘e got it—”

  “Mouse!” Michael warned.

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyways ‘e says ‘e saw some ‘Merican girl dressed as a bloke. ‘E said ‘e tot she wuz tryin’ ta steal from ‘im sa ‘e grabbed ‘er. She kicked ‘em and got away.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Did she look like me?” Andi asked, stepping closer.

  Mouse’s eyes grew wide. He knew she was pretty, but when he got a better view of her, she was stunning. His mouth opened and closed several times. He swallowed and said, “I dun’t rightly know, Miss. I wuzn’t da one ta sees her. But Pete said she wuz awfully purty wit reddish ‘air.”

  “That’s Alyssa!” Andrea exclaimed and crossed the room to Mouse. “Where is she now?”

  Mouse just stared at Andrea, unable to speak. He was brought
back to his senses by a rough smack to the back of the head by Michael.

  “Ow!” Mouse complained, rubbing his head.

  “The authorities are on their way, you do know that?”

  “Dat bloke called da cops on me?”

  “Mouse, I’m losing my patience with you.” Michael grabbed the little man by the back of his shirt collar.

  “Please,” Andrea stated as she placed a hand on Michael’s hand. She then turned her eyes to Mouse. “Where is the girl now?”

  “Ol’ Pete says she gots on ta one of yer ships.”

  Michael perked up. “One of my ships? Which one?”

  “’E didn’t know. Ye know all ye St. John’s look da same from a distance.”

  “When did they sail?” Andrea asked.

  “’E said it wuz a little over a week ago.”

  Michael and Andrea looked at each other, then started towards the door. “Mouse, have ole Pete come to Matthew’s office immediately.”

  “Wot fer, Mikey?”

  “We need to make sure it was Alyssa he spotted and since my wife and her sister look similar . . .”

  “Ah, I see wot yer goin’ fer,” Mouse replied, following the couple out of the study.

  “Mr. Henry, when the authorities arrive, kindly inform them I have handled the situation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is my brother?”

  “At Holland’s, I believe.”

  “Have a coach take Mouse to the docks.”

  “Sir?” Mr. Henry questioned.

  “You heard me.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “Come on, Andi,” Michael ordered as he left.

  Mouse turned and looked at the butler. “I’ll neva understand dem rich blokes.”

  “Neither will I,” Mr. Henry acknowledged, knocking Mouse’s tattered coat sleeve off the doorframe. In a supercilious tone he said, “Your coach will be awaiting you behind the house.”

  Mouse smiled at the butler. “I never dreamed of da day when I gots ta ride in one of dem fancy coaches.” He headed towards the rear of the house with the smile still on his face. Yes, sir, being a spy for the rich sure did have its advantages.