by Meara Platt
Abby’s insides were now twisted into Gordian knots. “No, he’s tricked us all.” She marched into the study and withdrew a pair of pistols. “But I know where he’s going and I–”
“Give me those.” Tynan crossed the room in two strides and came up behind her to grab the pistols out of her hands. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll go.”
“You?” She frowned at him, wishing she still had the pistols to use on him. “I don’t need your assistance. I know how much of an imposition I’ve been on you. He’s my brother. I’ll take care of it.”
He held the pistols out of her reach. “You will not. I’ll take care of it. You’re to stay here, safe and out of trouble. I’ll tie you up and lock you in your wardrobe if I have to.”
“Why? I’m absolving you of any duty you have toward me or my brother. Go away. Go play your lurid games with those tawdry beauties. Just leave me alone.”
“I can’t, damn it.” He set down the pistols and hauled her over his shoulder.
“What are you doing? Put me down!”
He strode into the entry hall where Sally and Jameson were staring wide eyed at him and the sight of her derriere on prominent display over his shoulder. “I need rope and a latchkey.”
Abby gasped. “I forbid you to obey him!”
Jameson ignored her. Sally shook her head and sighed. “He only means to protect you, Miss Abigail. You’ll be killed if you go after your brother.”
In her heart, she knew Sally was right. Worse, she knew that Tynan meant to risk his own life to save Peter. She struggled harder as he climbed the stairs with steadfast determination, then realized she was going about it all wrong and stopped struggling. By this time, he’d reached her bedchamber door. “Put me down, Tynan,” she said in a ragged plea, tugging lightly on his hair. “Neither of us will go. I can’t do this anymore.”
He opened the door and strode in as though he had every right to be in here with her.
“Tynan, listen to me.”
He shut the door behind him, closing them both in her chamber. She did not bother to point out the inappropriateness of his conduct. He was quite aware, but too angry to care. She sighed. “There’s no need to hold me against my will. I won’t risk my life to save him when he has no wish to be saved, and I certainly won’t allow you to risk your life. He’ll find his way home tomorrow morning. We’ll let Dr. Farthingale know what happened and ask him to start the treatments all over again.”
His own anger appeared to abate as he eased her off his shoulder. She slid down the hard length of him, trying desperately to quell her tingles as he gently set her down. His gaze was exquisitely tender, no sign of frustration or anger. Of course, he hadn’t really been angry with her, just this seemingly hopeless situation. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”
“I know.” She released a shuddering breath, sad that all her good intentions toward her brother had been for naught. But also sad because Tynan was still standing close and she loved him more than ever. She was still tingling and aching to be in his arms. “I owe you an apology for more than this episode with the pistols.”
He cupped her cheek in his warm hand. “No, Abby. You don’t. You have every right to be overset.”
“But I treated you unfairly at your mother’s musicale. You didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it was too right. You made me feel so special and loved… I simply didn’t know how to handle it. I know you don’t love me. I know you enjoy your freedom. But I’m no less in love with you because of it. You’ve been nothing but generous with me. I only wish our waltz on the balcony had meant as much to you as it had to me.”
She turned away from him because it hurt too much to know this wonderful man was going to walk out the door and she might never see him again. “Good night, Tynan. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She did not look back when she heard his retreating footsteps and then the creak of her door as he opened it and then softly shut it behind him.
It wasn’t a pretty ending to their time together, but it was better this way. Tomorrow would have been their last day together, so it mattered little if he did not come around in the morning. In truth, it was easier this way. A quick, abrupt end. She’d pack on her own tomorrow. I love you, Tynan. Enjoy the rest of your life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SINCE TYNAN HAD employed Bow Street runners to watch Peter’s movements, he knew Abby’s brother could not have slipped away unnoticed. The only question was whether his runners had stopped him on the street and were bringing him home now or were following him to his ultimate destination.
It mattered little, for Tynan knew where Peter was going.
Tynan had just turned the corner from the Whitpool townhouse when he spotted one of his Bow Street runners, Homer Barrow, hurrying toward him. “M’lord, I was just about to go in search of you. My associate, Mick, is following Lord Whitpool. A friend of his lordship’s came round earlier to pay him a visit. They must have planned his escape in the few minutes his friend was there, for there was a carriage standing right here on the corner, no doubt in wait for him, and he jumped in it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barrow.” He glanced toward his own carriage still in front of Abby’s house. “Come with me. We’ll try to cut them off before they reach Bedford Place.”
The man’s jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “And what will we do if he’s gone into that establishment already?”
Tynan ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I’ll gather some of the earls. Sunderland, Harrington, Sussex, Wainthorpe–”
“No, m’lord. I’ve no doubt you know how to handle yourself in a fight, but let me and Mick handle it. Bribery is just as effective and no blood shall be spilled. We’ll get him out quietly. All I ask is that you loan us your carriage to bring him home once we’ve accomplished the task.”
The desire to break into that opium den and tear it apart was strong. The desire to tear Peter apart, limb from limb, was even stronger, for he’d hurt Abby so badly. But reason won out. “Very well, Mr. Barrow. I’ll gather the earls and have them at the ready on the chance you encounter a problem. We aren’t afraid of a fight.”
He climbed into his carriage, motioned for the Bow Street runner to climb in after him, and then instructed his coachman to make all speed to the Wicked Earls’ Club. As the carriage clattered down the familiar streets, he and Homer went over their plan.
The purpose was to remove Abby’s brother with minimal attention. No fights, although Tynan half hoped there would be one. He was angry and frustrated, and did not care how flimsy his excuse was to disrupt whatever went on in there. Coventry had quietly approached his royal connections and insisted something be done about this casual use of opium long ago. But neither the royal family nor the Privy Council considered it important enough to merit their immediate attention. Too many people still considered it a fashionable amusement, a way to expand one’s mind and creative talents.
Peter was not uniquely affected by the dark side of this elegant indulgence. Spasms, convulsions, and worse were common among this fast crowd.
Tynan rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “This is a bloody mess.”
He still itched for a fight, but knew better than to start one. He and his fellow earls could have gone in and extracted Abby’s brother with little resistance, but to do so would put all of them at risk. The artists and poets were not dangerous, but their opium suppliers were. These scoundrels were not the sort to follow rules of engagement. They’d wait to catch him or any of the other earls by surprise, stick a knife between their ribs, and leave them to bleed out upon the cobblestones.
He reached into his coat pocket as the carriage turned onto Bedford Place. “How much blunt do you need?”
Bribery was the safest way to go. Still, he made quick work of gathering the few earls present at the club. Wainthorpe was never one to back down from a battle. He even had a dark and dangerous look about him. Sunderland was just as eager to help. Perhaps they’d all grown restless and were lo
oking for something more out of life. He could only speak for himself, but these hollow, nightly pleasures were growing quite dull.
While Homer and Mick spoke to the guards at the neighbor’s door, Tynan waited in the shadows, standing close enough to hear either of the runners call out for help if something went wrong. The other earls stood not far behind, and Tynan could sense everyone’s tension in the thick, misty air. The wind was blowing off the Thames. The scent of fish and bilge water carried on the intermittent gusts.
Within moments, Homer and Mick returned carrying Abby’s brother between them. “They wanted him out of there as badly as we did, m’lord. Handed him to us before I’d reached into m’pocket to offer them a bribe. A dead body ain’t good for business, you see. And Miss Croft’s brother is as close to dead as a man can be and still be breathing.”
“I’ll have my carriage brought around to take him home.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord. He ain’t in no shape to be sent home,” Mick said. “Is there somewhere we can set him down in the club? He’s a filthy mess. Been casting up his accounts, heaving so hard, there’s nothin’ left to come up but his own blood.”
Tynan nodded. “There’s a small room off the kitchen. Settle him in there for now. I’ll send in two of the maids to clean him up.”
Wainthorpe, who had come to stand beside him the moment the runners came out of the house, cast him a concerned glance. “I’ll have one of the footmen summon a doctor.”
Tynan nodded. “Dr. Farthingale’s been treating him.”
“What’s to be done about Miss Croft?” Homer asked. “Shall I let her know that her brother will remain here for the night?”
Tynan nodded again. “Yes, at once. She’ll be awake and worriedly pacing. I’ll stay with her brother until the doctor arrives. Tell her that I’ll bring her brother home in the morning.” He didn’t bother to add what all of them were thinking, that he’d likely be bringing her brother home in a wooden box.
He glanced around as the other earls came forward, their expressions equally grim. “Hell,” Tynan said quietly, “Mr. Barrow, you’d better bring Miss Croft here. I’ll sit with her brother until she arrives.”
He wanted so badly to be the one to go to Abby and tell her what happened. He knew she’d be devastated and in need of support. He wanted to be the one to take her in his arms and assure her that she would not be alone through this ordeal. But he dared not leave her brother just yet. If something were to happen to the worthless bounder, he knew it would be easier for Abby to endure her grief knowing that someone was by her brother’s side to the very end.
Perhaps it was foolish on his part to think so, but in his heart, he truly believed it would help her come to terms with his… he did not wish to think it.
Once Abby’s brother was cleaned up and settled, and the Bow Street runners had gone off to report to Abby, Tynan grabbed a chair and sat by his side to await Dr. Farthingale. It wasn’t long before Abby’s brother was moaning and restlessly turning from side to side. “Where am I? What are you doing here?”
Tynan shifted forward, his body aching slightly from sitting in the small, uncomfortable chair. Was Peter delirious or actually talking to him? “You abandoned Abby, you bastard. When are you going to think of her instead of yourself?”
Not the words of kindness and healing that Abby would have spoken, but Tynan was too angry to care.
Peter’s eyes drifted open. “Abby?” He began to cry. “Abby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my dearest. I love you, Abby. Forgive me. I never meant to fail you.”
Tynan curled his hands into fists, wanting to pummel her brother even as his heart ached. He wanted so badly to give Abby back her happy family. She deserved better than the life she had been given.
Her brother continued to ramble in his delirium. “Abby, you’re the strong one. You always have been. You’re my rock. My anchor. I love you.”
Tynan rose and began to pace across the tiny room, suddenly feeling as though the walls were closing in on him. The space was about the size of a butler’s pantry and primarily used to store overflow supplies, for Coventry held grand parties at the club every once in a while… nothing respectable. These were nights of bacchanal. No spouses were ever invited.
Yet Coventry never participated.
He and Lady Coventry were a love match.
So why had he formed this Wicked Earls’ Club and invited a select few earls to join? All bachelors, and all… perhaps all were as restless and off course as he was. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one needing something more in his life and not knowing where to find it.
There was no window in the room, but there were two doors. One led into the kitchen and the other opened onto the back of the house. Both doors were closed at the moment. Tynan was finding it hard to breathe in the confined space. Since Peter was well enough tucked under his covers to manage a bit of cool air, Tynan opened the door and stepped outside a moment.
He breathed in the cold, damp air.
The scent of impending rain penetrated his nostrils and turned his skin clammy.
He glanced up. The clouds had thickened considerably, obliterating the silver moon and any hint of stars. He’d been standing outdoors for less than a minute before he heard a slight commotion by the kitchen door.
His heart began to beat like thunder in his chest.
Abby had arrived.
He stepped back inside to greet her and tell her all that had happened, but she ran into his arms before he managed a word and hugged him with all her might. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her trembling body and held her tightly. He felt the strong the beat of her heart against his chest, the beats as rapid as those of a frightened rabbit.
That’s what she was, his little rabbit.
Soft, gentle, and defenseless from those who would hunt and destroy her.
“You stayed with him,” she said in a shattered whisper, recognizing what he’d done. “Thank you.”
It hadn’t been a foolish thought to remain by his side, after all. “I did it for you, Abby.”
In truth, the notion that he would do anything and everything for this girl seemed so natural and right. The intensity of his feelings caught him by surprise. But he would not deny them. He’d jump into the Thames if she asked him to. He’d walk through fire to save her.
He’d protect her forever.
“Abby. Abby, my dearest. Is that you?” Peter was calling to her, so she slipped out of Tynan’s arms and hurried to her brother’s side. The undeserving bastard. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
Tynan’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t help it. If the bounder had ever spared a thought for his sister, he wouldn’t have put her through this punishment. He would have understood his duty to her and fought to heal himself. He was capable of it. The man wasn’t a coward. He’d commanded a regiment and acquitted himself bravely. So where had all that courage fled?
Dr. Farthingale arrived as Peter was about to spout more hollow words of affection to Abby, sparing them all from having to listen to him. Abby flinched every time her brother said ‘I love you’ to her, as though her brother had slapped her instead of provided comfort.
“Sorry to disrupt your evening, Dr. Farthingale,” Abby said, her voice strained and her gaze despairing. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
The doctor’s expression was unmistakably grim. “Miss Croft, you look all done in. Why don’t you allow Lord Westcliff to take you into the kitchen for a cup of tea? I’ll call you once I’ve finished examining your brother.”
She resisted. “I’m not thirsty. I had better stay. I want to be here if…” She squared her shoulders and tipped her chin up. “If he takes his last breath.”
The doctor gave a curt nod. “Very well.”
Tynan drew Abby up against him so that her back was leaning against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, relieved when she nestled in them without protest and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hands were cold so he covered them
with his and rubbed his thumbs along the tips of her fingers to warm them.
She nuzzled his shoulder, silently conveying her gratitude.
He tried not to think how perfectly she fit against him, how perfectly their bodies seemed to cleave to one another. Everything about Abby seemed to fit him right. Her sweetness that was a perfect counter to his aloofness. Her quiet strength that was a match for his arrogance. Her innocence that was more potent than the sexual arts practiced by the sophisticated courtesans of his acquaintance.
Abby’s tension seemed to ease at his touch, but her attention was not on him. It remained fixed on her brother, and the bounder was putting her through every high and low imaginable. Tynan’s arms stayed firmly around her, even as she watched in horror as her brother coughed up blood and then fell into convulsions.
“Tynan, I can’t bear it.”
He turned her in his arms so that she now faced him. “Let me take you into the kitchen.”
“No, I need to be here.” But she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. Her hands gripped his shoulders so tightly, and he knew that what she really wanted to do was put her hands to her ears to muffle her brother’s cries.
“I have you, Abby. I won’t let go of you.” Tynan was certain this was the end, but after a few agonizingly tense moments, Dr. Farthingale managed to bring Abby’s brother back. As he revived, he once again began to spout ‘I love you’ to Abby, his words merely serving to tear her heart to shreds.
Tynan could no longer bear to watch Abby suffer over the fading shadow that was her brother. “He’s in the doctor’s care. You need to take care of yourself now.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the back stairs of the club to his private chamber.
Tynan had expected her to protest, but she circled her arms around his neck instead and cried silent tears.
He opened the door to his chamber and settled her on the bed. He wanted her to lie down and try to get some rest, for she’d been up all night. So had he, but he was too angry to sleep. Besides, he couldn’t very well fall into bed with her, much as he would have wanted to under other circumstances. “Close your eyes for an hour,” he said, bending on one knee to remove her shoes. “I’ll wake you if something happens sooner.”
