The Reluctant Guardian

by Susanne Dietze

  “I would honeymoon with my sister?” Just what every bride longed to hear.

  “When the Sovereign is caught, you can come home. If I am still hunting him when Wyling’s tenure is finished abroad, I will arrange for you to travel anywhere you wish. With all the protection you require.”

  She stared at her hands. “And after he’s caught, and I come home?”

  His swallow was audible. “I would furnish a home for you, wherever you like. The boys would be able to see you whenever your brother allows it.” The pace of his words increased, like a nervous child’s. “I know how you love Petey and Eddie. And I have come to love them, too.”

  So he loved someone. At last, she dragged her gaze to meet his. “Thank you for your generous offer, but I will not marry for purposes of protection.”

  His lips mashed together and he hopped to his feet. “There is something else you may wish to consider. I had hoped to keep the burden from you.”

  “I thought we no longer kept secrets from one another.” Except for how humiliated she felt that he did not care for her like that.

  “Well, it is not as if I am comfortable telling you I have compromised you.”

  Her jaw went slack. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It seems when I was in your bedchamber at half past two in the morning, my presence drew some curiosity from the staff.”

  “You were protecting me from murderers.” Her screech had carried, no doubt, through the keyhole, and she covered her mouth.

  “After watching from the garden. But no one believes that. You know how these things work. When the gossip spreads from the cook to the butcher and the scullery maid to the peddler, which it will, half of London will think I was already in the house. The footmen know I was not below stairs. The maids know I was not in a guest chamber, either. So where else would I have been?” He spread his hands. “I cannot allow others to think you compromised. Wyling believes this is for the best.”

  Spots filled her vision. Ah, Lord, everything I ask for is given to me twisted and broken.

  “Wyling asked you to offer for me.”

  The clock ticked. How long had Wyling granted them privacy? Enough to get the job done.

  She exhaled a ragged breath. “I shall never be leaving Verity House again, and no one within its walls cares if all of London titters about me. Besides, they will forget me.”

  So, it seemed, would Tavin.

  “Long memories have a way of fertilizing the seeds of scandal. My mother—”

  “I am no duke’s daughter. I am the great-niece of a reclusive baron, and although Wyling believes I might be compromised, anyone who pays attention will know two criminals were set on murdering me in my bed, no matter where you happened to be before it occurred. No, my reputation will remain intact.” She couldn’t look at him anymore. Fussing with her lacy cuff kept her eyes and fingers occupied. “But I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Your answer is no, then.” His face, when she peeked up, was a blank mask.

  Her nod was curt. “You are free from any misguided sense of obligation Wyling placed on you.”

  “I have done naught but obliterate every opportunity for happiness you possessed.”

  “Not you. The Sovereign—and my choice to wear a red cloak.”

  If she’d donned her black one, she would probably not have been in danger. She would not have known Tavin. Or come to love him.

  But he did not love her. That much was clear. He puffed out a long breath and strode out the door without wishing her farewell.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Three days passed, and Tavin still stung from Gemma’s rejection.

  Oh, she’d been correct to reject him, of course. He had proposed out of pressure from Wyling, not of his own volition. But he had not realized until she’d refused him how much he wanted her to accept.

  Not because of duty. Not just to protect her. But because he loved her and wanted the sort of life she deserved, the kind he couldn’t give her while he held this job. But he wanted that life. Wanted to marry her. The past three days, traveling to Hampshire and scouring the New Forest, he’d thought of her every moment. Missed her. Even though she wouldn’t marry him to save her life.

  Mud splattered his coat sleeves as he galloped from the village to Verity House. Wounded pride, broken heart and all, he had to see Gemma. It could not wait.

  Wyling’s note informing him of their arrival yesterday had reached him at the posting inn not twenty minutes ago, just after he’d returned from a night of prowling the New Forest. Any weariness he felt dissipated at the thought of seeing Gemma and the boys today.

  Oh, yes, he hoped the boys would be allowed to see him.

  He turned Raghnall onto the familiar drive of Verity House. At the sight of Verity Hill looming green in the distance, he shuddered, half expecting to see Gemma donned in a red cloak and climbing to the crest.

  She was not on the hill, of course. She stood on the front drive alongside a saddled bay gelding, her vermilion riding habit waving in the wind like a flag.

  He dismounted with a leap. “What are you doing?”

  “Good day to you, too.”

  “You promised to stay indoors.”

  “The ride is not for pleasure. I must warn Hugh.”

  She would be the death of him. “Calling upon him is not necessary.”

  “This sort of news cannot be written in a missive, should a servant peek at the page.” She patted the gelding’s neck, avoiding Tavin’s gaze. “I informed you of my intentions back in London, and it is not as if the Sovereign is here.”

  Tavin’s jaw clenched. The distant stare of the young groom holding the gelding’s reins did not fool him. The lad had heard every word betwixt them. Gemma sighed and turned to the groom. “A moment alone, please, Jed.”

  The groom nodded and stepped away, his hands behind his back.

  Tavin yanked off his beaver hat and smacked it against his thigh. “Why isn’t Wyling accompanying you?”

  “He is otherwise occupied, arguing with Peter since breakfast about my future.” Gemma’s voice was low, her gaze down on the grass tickling her hem. “He is trying to take me and the boys with him and Amy to Portugal, but Peter is insistent.”

  Surprise expanded in his chest. “Peter wants the boys close?”

  “No.” She tried to smile, but her chin quivered. “I should have said the boys have his permission to go. But I do not. Cristobel has need of me to nurse her through her supposed attack of nerves. So Petey and Eddie may leave, but I must stay.”

  His chest deflated. “I am sorry.” For everything. If he had executed his proposal better, perhaps she might have agreed. Perhaps she would not have been parted from the boys, after all.

  And he would have been within his rights to haul her into his arms and kiss her, and then, when he had regained a sense of time and place, to keep her safe.

  With a snort, the gelding nudged Gemma, and she patted his neck. “Patience, Jasper.” Her clear gaze met Tavin’s, revealing the strength and determination he admired but, in this instance, feared. Her headstrong ways could get her killed.

  Perhaps another tactic would help. “Have you ever ridden Jasper? He seems far more spirited than Kay.”

  “I can handle him. After all, I had a credible, if surly, riding instructor.” Her lips twitched. “If you will excuse me, I am going to Hugh’s. Amy did not like my decision to visit him any more than you do, but she does not believe Hugh capable of such malice, so she agreed, as long as I take a groom with me. Which is sage advice, even when one is not pursued by a murderer.”

  “It is not amusing, Gemma. Someone wants to harm you.”

  “But not Hugh.”

  Tavin stifled the urge to tear his hair from the roots. “Do you have such affection for him
? Are you so blind to the connection between him and the Sovereign?”

  “Circumstance, not connection. And I never loved—” She shook her head, jiggling the pheasant feathers decorating her hat brim. “This is none of your affair.”

  She’d never loved Beauchamp?

  “Fine.” He crouched and cupped his hands for her boot. “Put your foot in my hand and climb up. I cannot stop you from going alone. So I will go with you. And Jed. Get on the horse.”

  Her boot landed with a smack against his palms. A tiny half grin pulled at his cheek.

  The errand might be foolishness itself, but he’d be spending time with Gemma again.

  He had grown familiar with the hedgerow-lined road between Verity House and its neighbors when he’d stayed here so many weeks ago investigating the Sovereign. Before Gemma became involved. Before she was Gemma to him. Back then, she was Miss Lyfeld, the pretty miss who came to represent all the things he thought he could never have: a home, a heart.

  Although, riding beside her with Jed the groom trotting behind them, he wondered how he could have thought he’d ever forget her. He loved her with every sinew in his body.

  Overhead, the clouds thickened to an ominous gloom. “Is there not a shorter route connecting your homes?”

  Gemma pointed to the rolling hills on their right. “There is a small stone wall I used to climb. Then I ran over the grass, down the slope.”

  Her blue eyes softened, and for a moment Tavin pictured her climbing the wall as a child. What had she looked like then? Gap-toothed, bedraggled, her hair flying loose? How he’d love to see her childhood face reflected in one of her children.

  He shifted in the saddle in an attempt to also shift his dangerous thinking. “You must have been a hoyden then.”

  “Then?” With a laugh, she flicked Jasper’s reins and took off at a run, leaving the road for the knolls.

  He dug his heels into Raghnall’s flanks and gave chase.

  She did not go far. At the rise of the tallest hill, she paused, a vision cloaked in flaming orange-red for the entire world to see.

  “Have you forgotten already?” He pulled up alongside her.

  “I am not overlooking Smuggler’s Road.” Exertion, not embarrassment, flushed her cheeks. “The Sovereign is in London. And Hugh is ignorant of Saul’s actions.”

  “Ho, sir, madam.” Jed’s voice called from behind them. Tavin turned as Jed leaped from his mount and knelt on the grass.

  “What is it, Jed?”

  “Not certain, sir, but ’e started dragging ’is toe after that run.”

  “Oh, ’tis my fault.” Gemma’s fingers splayed over her chest. “Poor creature.”

  “Looks like a sprain, miss, nothing serious.” Jed’s gentle smile did little to ease the expression of guilt on Gemma’s face. “I’d best take ’im back, if you don’t mind.”

  Tavin shook his head. “We shall all go back.” Thank You, Lord, for providing the means to bring us home.

  Gemma’s lips twisted. “No, you go on without us, Jed. We’ll return shortly.”

  Creaking the leather, Tavin turned in his saddle so he faced her. He reached out and rested his hand over hers. Not to take her reins but to touch her, even if just once more. “Be sensible. We should not call on Beauchamp without a chaperone. Or a party of men.”

  “I know Hugh. You do not. I owe him this much.”

  “You owe him nothing.”

  “He is my friend.”

  “And what of me?” He released her hand and cupped her chin. “What about me?”

  Her lips parted. She could not very well tell him she loved him—

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She must be the color of her riding habit. “You are my friend, too, but Hugh must be told about Saul keeping dangerous company. Please.” She licked her slightly raw lips. “His house is not far. Five minutes is all I ask.”

  He did not look at all pleased when he nodded, but his thumb brushed her chin before his hand fell and he urged Raghnall onward.

  * * *

  The ride to Beauchamp’s estate was brief, indeed, and within a few minutes, Tavin stood on the drive, helping Gemma dismount. He held her about the waist longer than he should have. “Five minutes, you said.”

  She laughed, not moving from the circle of his arms. “So I did.”

  Letting her go, he handed the horses to a slim groom who appeared as if from the air.

  A crusty-faced butler led them upstairs, past marble sculptures and exquisite tapestries, to the drawing room overlooking the back of the house. Gentle flames danced in the hearth, and a large gilt-bronze candelabrum was alight with six candles.

  Tavin’s lip curled as he surveyed the gold-hued chamber. Heavy drapes the color of mustard and honey wallpaper covered the stone walls under a high plaster ceiling dripping in gilt. The furniture and lacquered tables were accented with gold, too, and arrangements of creamy yellow blooms festooned a pair of gilt-bronzed jardinieres.

  “Too much gold is not a good thing.” Tavin paced the perimeter, his boots sinking into the plush, pollen-hued rug. “Has he not heard the story of Midas?”

  “Or perhaps not heeded its moral.” Gemma peered about the chamber, her brows lifted. Did she consider how she might have changed it had she married Beauchamp?

  “I can see why you had hoped to live here.”

  “Do not tease, Tavin.” Her mouth set in a line.

  “Not for the decor, but the proximity. It is close to the boys.”

  She moved to the window and fingered the drapes. “Things have a way of working themselves out. I have every confidence the Lord will surprise me yet.”

  That was his Gemma. “I think—”

  She spun from the window, her eyes wide, her finger extended in a point. “Tavin.”

  The hairs at his nape rose as he dashed to her, sidling against the gold drape. Sliding the panel aside an inch, he peered down. Beauchamp faced the house, engaged in a heated conversation with a brown-garbed man.

  “Who is the other man?”

  “Him.”

  “The man from Verity Hill and Piccadilly? The man who struck you?” He spared her a glance. She nodded, her lips mashed together, her face leached of color.

  Every muscle in Tavin’s body flexed as his brain discarded strategies. If he were alone, he would not hesitate to do what was necessary. But with Gemma here, his options were few.

  “You were right.” Grief laced her whisper. “Hugh is the Sovereign. He ordered those deaths. Even mine.”

  He lowered the drape and cradled her cheek, forcing her gaze to meet his. “They did not see us arrive, and they will not see you leave.”

  “Me?” She gripped his lapel. “No, both of us must go. Now.”

  “I submitted my card. If he doesn’t yet know I was here, he will shortly, but I will wait here and tell Beauchamp we had an argument and you returned home without me. That would not be so unexpected, would it? Nor would it be a lie. We bickered just this morning.”

  Her grip on his coat strained the seams of his coat. “How can you jest?”

  “Because I do not want you to be frightened. Now go. Get Wyling, your brother, anyone you see along the way. If you cannae get to the horses, run the way you showed me, over the wall. I will keep Beauchamp occupied long enough for you to reach home.” He dropped his hands.

  “Tavin.” There was something other than fear in her eyes.

  He cradled her bonneted head and pulled her to him, brushing a swift kiss on her brow. His eyes squeezed shut as he memorized the moment, praying it would not be their last. “May the Lord go with you.”

  Her fingers traced his cheek. Then she fled out the door.

  Guard her, Lord, for I cannot.

  He faced the door, rehearsing his words. Play jealous
about Gemma; that should not be hard. Engage his pride—

  The door opened, revealing Beauchamp, the shoulders of his pale blue coat lifted in a sheepish-looking pose. “Mr. Knox. Forgive the delay. I fear I was occupied.”

  “I can return later.” With shackles and a dozen armed men.

  “Not after you have come so far.” He stepped all the way into the room. Behind him trailed Gemma. And Beauchamp’s companion.

  Gray-headed and icy-eyed, the brown-garbed man held Gemma’s arm. “Hello, Knox.”

  Garner.

  The fireplace poker was in Tavin’s hand before Garner could take another step. He’d have Beauchamp’s legs out from under him in a trice, then Garner’s—

  The click stopped him cold. He had no choice. He dropped the poker.

  Garner pointed a pistol at Gemma’s throat.

  * * *

  Gemma winced at the raw sting of rope against her wrists as she wiggled against the chair where Hugh had bound her. But her pain couldn’t compare to Tavin’s, his jaw and temple red from Garner’s repeated blows. Why did Garner continue? Tavin was already shackled in hideous manacles and chained to a metal ring in the fireplace grate.

  “Stop, you monster!” Her screams and stomps should have alerted someone.

  “The staff is too well paid to stop polishing silver and come to your aid.” Hugh patted the crown of her head, bonnetless, thanks to Garner’s insistence it obscured her features, and he wanted to fully see the girl who’d thought to end his reign.

  She shrank from Hugh’s touch on her head. To think she’d planned a future with him. At least Hugh sported a bloody nose. And Garner had not gained the upper hand without cost. One arm curled against his chest, and a bruise blossomed under one eye.

  At last Garner stepped back. He pointed at Tavin. “He keeps a knife at his back, Beauchamp. Take it.”

  Grimacing, Hugh flipped Tavin’s coattails and unsheathed the knife from his waist. “I do not know whether to be horrified or impressed.”

  The loss of the knife was a blow, true, but not a crippling one. Did Tavin’s superior know of the blade in his boot?

  “Remove his Hessians, as well.” Garner waved the pistol at Tavin. “And do not think to lash out with your feet, Knox. Miss Lyfeld will pay the price if you do.”