by Allison Lane
He’d toyed with letting Smith attack – Dudley swore the man would do anything for money – but he feared Smith would double-cross him if Thomas offered more. Or Smith might kill them both. But the grieving widow must write a new will before dying, and that would take time. Stone still hadn’t reached Audley, though the man had promised to follow as soon as he identified Hicks’s agents.
Steven forced his thoughts back to business. Hillcrest’s arrival made eliminating Thomas simple. Everyone knew the viscount loathed his son. Jilting Miss Pauling had embarrassed him. Temper had sent him here to seek retribution. People would shake their heads when Thomas died in the resulting confrontation, but no one would be surprised.
“Are you sure Hillcrest remains here?” he asked Nalley.
“Reasonably. She ordered a room made up for him.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the room Thomas was using – they moved into the master suite.”
“They did?” Steven frowned. “They must expect trouble.”
“I doubt it. Charlie and Vince swear Thomas is staking his claim to Audley.”
But Steven wasn’t so sure. “Did anyone see you return?”
“No. A groom was taking the air, but I was already in the rose garden when he passed.”
Taking the air? Thomas was setting outside guards who could swear that no one had approached during the night. So Hillcrest would bear the blame. The confusion when Thomas’s body was discovered would allow him to leave undetected.
“Maude and Dudley are in the governess’s room. Help her keep Dudley under control. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
As Nalley hurried away, Steven sank into thought. Slipping into the master suite would be easy enough. A knife was silent. It could be left in Hillcrest’s room to be found in the morning.
* * * *
Helen glanced up when Rafe opened the connecting door between their bedrooms. “Is the watch schedule set?” She laid her brush on the dressing table and rose.
He nodded. “Portland and his man Tweed are on now, then Hillcrest and Crawford.” He paused. “Thank you for insisting I welcome him.”
“I take it you survived the evening?” she dared, joining him.
“We came to terms.”
“Wonderful!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad, Rafe.”
He pulled her against him, nuzzling her hair. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Helen. You were right. We’d fallen into a ritual of hate and antagonism, but that’s over.”
“Are you friends, then?”
“Maybe. I still disagree with many of his ideas—”
“Hardly a surprise for a reformer,” she murmured into his ear.
“Right. But we’ve laid Mother to rest.” His hands pulled her closer.
She wanted to talk. But his manhood was prodding her stomach, so talk could wait. Turning her head to meet his lips, she slipped a hand between them to stroke.
He tensed, then crushed his mouth to hers and plundered. Her heart soared. His response was fiercer than ever.
Excitement and dizziness banished further thought, letting her mind float free on a wave of pure sensation. Not until he laid her on his bed did she realize he’d lifted her.
“Alone … at last.” He sprawled, half atop her, deep kisses punctuating his words. He untied the neck of her nightgown and pushed the fabric down.
“Yes!” She tugged off his coat and waistcoat, then pulled his shirt over his head, sorry to lose contact with his talented hands for even a moment.
“Mine,” he murmured, drawing a nipple between his teeth.
“All yours,” she agreed. “Forever.”
He froze. Silver eyes bored into hers. “You mean that? You don’t love Portland?”
“Of course not.”
Rafe pinned her hands over her head, reining in passion so he could think. “This is important, Helen. If you don’t love Portland, why did you insist on riding out with him this morning? Tessa knows the grounds as well as you.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “I knew Tessa would be safe with you, Rafe. But Alex cares nothing for servants. I can’t trust him to respect a pretty maid.”
Rafe shook his head. Not once had he considered that explanation. “You really don’t care?”
She tugged a hand free to cup his scarred cheek. “You may look alike on the surface, but inside, Alex is arrogant, autocratic, and intolerant. You care about the world and the people in it – as individuals, not just as names attached to duties. I prefer people who care.”
His heart swelled with joy. “I need you, Helen.” Kicking off his shoes, he tugged off his pantaloons, delighted that she took advantage of her freed hands to help. This time there would be no interruptions. Guards, locks, and bolts kept the world at bay. Free of clothes, he pinned her to the bed. “I haven’t slept for days for wanting you … going mad … unable to think…”
Helen’s bones turned to water as he poured out his need in desperate snatches between bone-melting kisses. His hands were everywhere, filling her soul and sating hunger she’d not recognized. Alex had needed an excuse to slip away. Her father had needed someone to take over his affairs. Her mother had needed a nurse. Only Rafe had ever needed her.
She moaned, rolling so she could explore his body. Touching him banished her loneliness. His passion promised more joy than she had ever dreamed possible.
Rafe trembled, gasping as Helen’s caresses sent fire through his veins. Her fingers explored every inch of his skin, filling his head with color and light and sound until it nearly burst.
He returned the favor, reveling in her passion and in the knowledge that she was his alone. He couldn’t get enough of her, feasting until he was incoherent. His pounding heart left him dizzy, but nothing could stop him from feeding his all-consuming need.
He’d feared that urgency would force a frenzied coupling, but as she matched him stroke for stroke, he discovered a newer, greater need to savor, to explore, to share the joy overflowing his heart. She savored in turn, licking and biting until sparks blinded him and tremors shook him from head to toe.
“Need—” He groaned, positioning her under him.
“Now!” she panted, eyes blurring as she gripped his hips with her legs.
He eased past her barrier, then plunged.
She was perfect. So tight, so hot, so passionate that if Steven burst in with a band of armed ruffians, he would not notice.
All control splintered. Nails scored his back as he pounded into her, no longer able to wait. Not that it mattered. She was as desperate as he, bucking and moaning as she fought for release, her hair a blazing halo framing her face.
“Rafe! Aaahh!”
They exploded together in glorious ecstasy.
“Heavens,” she murmured when her breathing finally steadied. “I’d no idea.”
Nor had he. Lovemaking had never been as powerful. He tried to speak, to say something witty or seductive or even thankful, but a week of frustration and night watches left him too limp. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he finally managed, pulling her against him.
“In a minute.” When his arm tightened, she added. “I need to use the commode.”
“Ah.” He kissed her ear, then sank into oblivion.
* * * *
Rafe jerked awake as the door squeaked open, then relaxed. Helen was returning. He started shifting to make room for her on the bed, but suddenly froze.
Helen’s door didn’t squeak. None of the master suite doors squeaked.
Wide awake, he stealthily scanned the room. He’d not lit lamps, so it was too dark to make out more than vague shapes, but one of them was moving. A second shadow separated from the deeper shadow beyond the fireplace.
An eternity passed before his brain identified his peril.
“Help!” he shouted as the shadows rushed toward the bed. “Portland! Tweed! Attack!”
He scrambled toward the table where he’d left a pistol, but th
e tangled covers pulled him up short.
A blow landed on his hip.
“Bastard!” he choked, smashing a fist into the man’s head.
Steven grunted.
“Die, Thomas!” Dudley’s knife slashed downward, missing Rafe by an inch.
He had a better chance with Steven. His lunge ripped the sheet and plowed his jaw into a fist. Shaking away the pain, he slammed his own fist into Steven’s body.
“Ooomph!”
A second blow struck Steven’s thigh, but the man remained standing. Instead of striking back, he shoved Rafe toward Dudley.
Rafe’s foot lashed out, knocking something to the floor. Before he could follow through, Steven pinned him to the bed.
Dudley’s teeth flashed as the knife descended.
* * * *
Helen had just fastened her dressing gown and snuffed the last candle in her room when a squeak echoed through the open connecting door. Rafe’s bed? She’d not noticed it earlier, but passion could deafen her to a trumpeter in full fanfare. Making a mental note to have the estate carpenter check the frame, she collected the pistol from her dressing table and—
“Help! Portland! Tweed! Attack!”
“Rafe!” Helen raced to his room as a series of dull thuds erupted. Moonlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, creating faint shadows. Figures grappled on the bed. The far one swung a dagger.
She fired.
Rafe screamed in pain.
A figure crumpled to the floor.
“Rafe!” Cursing herself for shooting an unidentified shadow, she rushed forward.
“Bitch!” Steven charged.
She slammed the pistol into his face, clawing for his eyes with her other hand.
He smashed her aside. A fist landed in her stomach.
“Beast!” As she fell, her kick connected with his knee. He toppled against the bed table. Lamp oil and glass exploded in all directions.
Curses joined Rafe’s groans.
She needed a weapon. Hoping to find a shard of glass big enough to be useful, she ran her hands over the floor. Her fist closed over a dagger.
“You asked for this,” growled Steven, hauling her to her feet.
She slashed.
Bellowing in pain, he knocked the knife away, then grabbed her throat and squeezed.
* * * *
Rafe fought past the pain in his shoulder. Helen needed help. She could never defeat Steven alone. Staggering from the bed, he hooked an arm around Steven’s neck and punched him in the kidneys.
Steven twisted. A stray elbow sent sparks darting through Rafe’s eyes, but he held on. He couldn’t let the bastard hurt Helen. Fury rammed his knee into Steven’s groin. When his grip prevented the man from doubling over, he kneed him a second time, then a third. But he was fading fast.
Shouts sounded in the hall. Fists pounded the door. A shadow lurched around the bed.
Rafe cursed. He was too dizzy to hold off Dudley, too.
But it was Portland.
* * * *
Helen staggered to the window the moment Steven let go. Pulling down the curtains flooded the room with moonlight. She whirled…
Three men grappled near the bed. Grunts and the thud of fists smashing into flesh filled the air. Even with the moonlight, she couldn’t identify individuals until Steven collapsed. The others resolved into Rafe and Alex.
Thank God!
With relief came the shakes. Blood covered Rafe’s torso. Horrified, she barely noticed Alex swoon atop Steven’s body.
“My God, Rafe.” She rushed to his side. “Lie down. How bad is it?”
“Shhh.” Rafe pulled her into his arms. “You saved my life. Your shot deflected his knife and saved my life.”
“And you saved mine. Now get back in bed. You’re bleeding.”
“Need to tie—” He groaned, swaying.
“Down, Rafe.” Shoving him back, she wiped away the blood, and gasped. More welled from a gash on his shoulder.
She pressed the wadded sheet against the wound.
“Are you awake?” she demanded. His eyes were shut.
“Just dizzy.”
“So you should be.” She pressed harder.
“Open up!” shouted Hillcrest, pounding on the door.
“Hold this while I let him in. He sounds frantic.”
Rafe nodded. “We need light. Bind everyone. Can’t afford a new attack.” Someone moaned, punctuating his words. “Might be more down there.” He gestured toward the hole near the fireplace where a stag had pivoted into the room.
“One thing at a time, Rafe.” She made sure he was exerting enough pressure, then headed for the door.
Hillcrest stared. “My God! Are you all right?”
“What happened?” demanded Alice, stepping around him. “Oh, no! Mr. Portland!” She flew to Alex’s side.
Riley followed.
Pounding footsteps whirled Helen around as Tweed charged through the hole and skidded to a halt. “Mr. Portland!” he gasped.
“Enough!” Helen clapped her hands, drawing all eyes. “Who is on guard in the hall?”
“I locked the door,” said Riley.
“Return to your post,” she ordered. “There may be others, and they may have keys. Tweed, where does this passage go?”
“That bookroom near the library, ma’am.”
“Is anyone else down there?”
“Charlie, Vince, and Nalley, but I tied them securely.”
“Good. Light the lamps here, then wake Frank. He must send David to guard the bookroom, then summon a magistrate – Sir Montrose is the nearest.”
He nodded, the tinderbox already in his hand.
Light illuminated the carnage.
Hillcrest knelt over a gasping Dudley. Alice was mopping the reopened cut on Alex’s forehead. Rafe still clutched the sheet to his shoulder.
“Bind Dudley,” she ordered Hillcrest.
“No point. He’s dying.”
Her stomach lurched, but she forced her feet forward. Her shot had torn Dudley’s chest. Blood pooled heavily on the floor. Gone was his habitual sneer and the fury that threatened everyone in his path. All that remained was the pitiful shell of a dissipated wastrel.
“Bind Steven, then. He may wake at any moment. I don’t think we did him serious damage.”
As Hillcrest moved away, Rafe pulled her down beside him.
“Don’t think about it, Helen,” he murmured. “You had no choice. If you hadn’t shot him, I would be dead.”
“I know. But I wish there had been another way.” Shaking off her growing dizziness, she renewed the pressure on his shoulder.
“He brought this on himself by scheming to steal your inheritance. Don’t waste time mourning him.”
“I won’t.”
Steven awoke, cursing.
Hillcrest finished tying him, then returned to the bed, shaking his head over Rafe. “How bad are you hurt?”
“It’s only a scratch,” vowed Rafe.
“Nonsense.” Helen turned to Hillcrest. “Dudley stabbed him. Do you want some brandy?” she added to Rafe.
“No.”
Hillcrest lifted the sheet to peer at the wound. “The bleeding is nearly stopped, but you need stitches.”
“I can treat him,” said Tweed from the doorway. He clutched a small box in one hand. “Mr. Portland also needs stitches.” He turned to Helen. “A groom is fetching the magistrate, ma’am. And David is on his way to the bookroom.”
“Thank—”
A woman’s scream burst from the passage. “Johnny! You killed my brother!”
Hillcrest rushed to block the opening, but Maude knocked him down, then gasped when she saw Dudley.
“Dudley!” She caught his shoulders and shook. “What have they done to you?”
Dudley’s throat rattled one last time, then went silent.
“No! No! Wake up!”
“It’s no use, ma’am,” said Hillcrest, pulling her up. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?
Gone! That bastard!” Tearing from his grasp, she kicked Steven viciously in the side. “I told you to leave England while we had the chance. I told you this would never work. But you never listen to anything! Idiot! Ten times an idiot!” Another kick landed.
“Shut your mouth, Maude,” gasped Steven.
“Restrain her,” Helen ordered Hillcrest. “I want him alive to stand trial.”
“Murderer!” shrieked Maude, hopping over Steven to kick his other side. “You killed my brother!”
“Nonsense.” Steven’s eyes widened when Maude scooped a pistol from the bed table. “Put it down, Maude. Nalley was fine when I came up here. If anything happened, blame them.” He nodded weakly toward Rafe.
“Liar! He’s dead. Your fault. Everything is your fault.” She cocked the pistol. “We should never have listened to you.”
Hillcrest tackled her as she pulled the trigger. Helen covered her ears. The basin on Rafe’s shaving stand shattered, raining china fragments on Alex.
Riley raced in from the hall.
“Watch out,” cried Helen as Maude twisted from Hillcrest’s grasp. “She’s a hellcat.”
Riley tackled her. Hillcrest helped drag her to a chair.
“You’ll pay for this,” she screamed at Steven. “Bastard! Johnny dead. My baby dead. You’ll rot in hell.” She broke into gusty sobs.
“Baby?” asked Rafe.
“She was Dudley’s nurse, then stayed on as Steven’s mistress. But I had no idea Nalley was her brother.” She wondered how Nalley had died.
Riley tied Maude while Hillcrest applied a gag. Blessed silence fell. Hillcrest collapsed on the other chair and closed his eyes.
Alex gestured to Riley. “Make sure David is in the bookroom, then return to your post. I don’t want anyone else in here.”
“Let’s see that shoulder.” Tweed nodded to Rafe. “Hold him down, ma’am. They always move at the worst times.”
Helen nodded. She was beginning to feel unreal. “I hope you have lots of thread. Sir Steven’s arm also needs attention.”
“Let him suffer,” growled Rafe.
