A Season To Remember

by Gayle Ava Stone, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Catherine

  She moved through the garden. Perhaps she should check on him. Yes, that was a very good idea. Of course, she didn’t want him to think she was actually coming after him, but a lady did have a right to stretch her legs and walk about the grounds. She didn’t have to tell him she was concerned, after all.

  With her mind made up, Louisa marched off in the direction he had gone. If anything, it would put her mind at ease. She strolled along the path, looking in each direction but did not see Marston anywhere within the thick foliage. Ahead of her the path curved and she knew it would open to a small clearing in the woods. On the other side, the path continued for a bit before it opened into the field where she and Marston had held their shooting contest. As she took a step into the clearing a stranger stepped in front of her. Behind him, Marston was tied to a tree. His eyes widened.

  “Run.”

  Louisa took a step back, ready to flee but the man grinned and brought up a gun, leveling it on her. She couldn’t run fast enough to avoid a bullet.

  Devlin thought his heart lodged in his throat when Louisa stepped through the trees. He struggled against the rope that tied his arms together behind the trunk of the tree. He would kill the filthy Frenchman if anything happened to her. But first he had to get free. He had to save her, but the bindings were too tight. How had he let himself get into this situation?

  He focused his eyes on Louisa. It was because of her! Though he wished to resent her for being a distraction even when she wasn’t around, he couldn’t. Seeing her only made him want to fight harder to get out of this predicament and live.

  “Ah, Lisette, so glad you could join us. It saves me the trouble of finding you. Will Jean Pierre be along in a moment?”

  “I am not Lisette,” Louisa argued.

  Devlin closed his eyes for a moment. Blast, he should have anticipated the Frenchman would think Louisa was her sister. The two shared a resemblance and this only put Louisa in more danger.

  The man grinned. “Of course you are. Don’t try to fool me,” he said in French.

  “I am not trying to fool anyone,” Louisa responded in French.

  “That proves you are Lisette. Only she would answer in my language.”

  “Of course I speak French. My mother was French, and my father is the son of the Duke of Danby. I’ve had an excellent education.” She crossed her arms over her chest in a huff.

  “Sit down.” He motioned to a spot beneath a tree.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I will not. I like this dress and I am not about to ruin it.”

  “Please sit down,” Devlin urged. She would be shot, and it would be on his head. Why didn’t the fool woman do what she was told? She wasn’t even screaming like she was supposed to. He strained against the rope more, feeling it cut into his flesh. A trickle of warm blood slid down the outside of his hand. Perhaps the slickness would help him slide his hands free.

  “I will not sit in the mud.” She stomped her foot.

  The Frenchman leveled the gun on her again.

  “You really intend to shoot me? They will hear the shot at the house, and who knows how many people will come running? You don’t stand a chance.”

  He pulled a knife from his pocket. “This will be silent.”

  “Please, Louisa,” Devlin begged. He couldn’t watch her being stabbed or even cut. Nothing should mar her perfect skin.

  “Louisa? Is that your real name?”

  “It’s the only one I have.”

  “If you won’t sit for him, would you do so for me?” Devlin asked. The man was not about to harm either of them until John showed up. Then they would be safe, especially if he brought Elizabeth with him. The Frenchman would not expect another Lisette. Those two would handle the situation, and he would be able to take Louisa back into the house and keep her safe before delivering a stern lecture over arguing with a man holding both a gun and a knife on her.

  Louisa met Marston’s eyes. “I am not sitting in mud,” she answered before focusing back on the man with the knife.

  She tried to remember everything Edgeworth had taught her and Elizabeth about fighting. If she weren’t in this skirt she could do more. The last thing she was going to do was sit in the mud so she could be tied to a tree and slaughtered. That man was not going to let them out of this alive, and since Marston, who thought he needed to protect all women, was currently incapacitated, it was up to her.

  Think, she had to think. She couldn’t allow him to use the knife on her.

  “I wouldn’t use that either.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you are going to tell me they will be able to hear me slit your throat?”

  She swallowed hard and tried to regain her bravado. “Of course not. I am more concerned with the boars.”

  “Boars?”

  “Yes, they are all over. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to Devlin. His shoulders shook, as if he were laughing and he was shaking his head, yet his eyes held a murderous glint. He wasn’t very happy with her at the moment, but at least she wasn’t tied to a tree. When this was over, she would not let him forget who was protecting whom.

  The Frenchman glanced around, probably looking for the boars.

  “One whiff of blood, and they will come charging. I’ve seen it happen once. My uncle was hunting and barely escaped. They don’t pause to see what is injured or dead, but attack everyone around. I hope you are quick at climbing a tree.”

  The Frenchman narrowed his eyes at her then turned to Marston, who was glaring at Louisa.

  “Why did you tell him?” Marston demanded.

  She shrugged. “He had a right to know.”

  “No, he doesn’t, because he is going to kill us anyway. At least he would have died right along with us.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought…”

  “Of course you didn’t think,” Marston yelled. “Now he will probably just tie us up and leave us for dead.”

  “No, I will shoot you.” The Frenchman put the knife back in his pocket. “After I have Jean Pierre. Let the boars have the three of you. I will be far enough away.”

  A surge of relief passed through her when the knife was gone.

  “Come on, Lisette, over to the tree.” He motioned with his gun.

  “I am not Lisette.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “And I will not sit in the mud.”

  He shrugged. “Then stand.” He was closer now.

  “And ruin my new slippers? I think not.” She stuck her foot out so he could see the dainty slipper dyed to match her gown.

  He bent just slightly to look at her foot, his eyes narrowing in either anger or exasperation. It was all she needed. Grasping her skirts to pull them to free her legs, she bent her knee and kicked high, striking him in the bottom of his chin with the toe of her foot. The Frenchman’s head jerked up, and he staggered back a few steps.

  “Ouch!” She gave a quick hop. “My boots would have been far more practical.”

  The man straightened, rage filled his eyes, and he launched himself at her. She turned and sprinted away, intending to run back to the house. She opened her mouth to scream when he latched onto her dress, yanking her back. His arm went around her waist. Louisa flung her head backwards, connecting with his nose. His hold went slack, and she drew her arm back and jerked her elbow back and into his stomach.

  She felt a swoosh of air at the back of her neck as he doubled over. Instead of running, she turned and brought her foot up again, kicking as hard as she could, connecting with his groin. The man’s hands went to his privates. His face turned pale as he dropped to his knees and rolled to the ground, moaning. She stared at him for a moment. There was so much blood on his face. The woods began to spin.

  “Louisa,” Marston barked out.

  She fought the darkness and strained to focus on him.

  “Get John before he recovers.”

  Yes, what was she thinking? Turning, she ran back toward the house, screaming at th
e top of her lungs.

  There were two gardeners outside on the terrace, and she yelled up to them. “One of you get help, the other follow me.” The two men split and Louisa turned to go back the way she came. She couldn’t leave that man alone with Marston. What if he recovered and killed Marston? She couldn’t allow it.

  The man was still on the ground, groaning, when she ran back to the clearing. His eyes widened with fear at the sight of her, she fought the nausea that rose to her throat and the dizziness of so much fresh blood. She couldn’t faint now. She wouldn’t. Marston needed her.

  The Frenchman reached for the gun which had fallen a few feet away. She rushed forward and stomped on his hand, keeping her foot there as she reached for the gun and picked it up. She leveled it on the man. “Don’t move or I will shoot you.”

  “I would listen to her,” Marston said.

  Louisa offered him a cheeky grin. Marston merely shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest.

  The gardener ran into the clearing and stopped.

  “Please untie Lord Marston.”

  When the rope fell away, Marston stood and flexed his hands to bring feeling back to them. Blood covered his wrists and hands. Louisa looked away and focused on her surroundings, on anything that wasn’t red.

  John arrived a few moments later with a few servants. He had them haul the Frenchman to his feet so they could take him back to the house.

  Devlin came forward and pulled Louisa into his arms. There would be blood on the back of her dress, but she didn’t care. Her heart beat a mad tattoo, her hands began to shake and she became a bit dizzy. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened to her earlier or she would be tied to a tree now, waiting to die.

  “Don’t ever do something so foolish again.”

  Louisa smiled against his chest. It was a promise she could not make, but it was unlikely she would find herself in a similar situation again. Marston leaned back and looked down at her, concern etching his brow. “We should return to the house. You must be shaken from this ordeal.”

  “Yes, where are my smelling salts? I am sure I must lie down.”

  He arched a brow and narrowed his eyes.

  Really, did that man not witness what just happened? She saved his hide. Did he honestly think she still needed protecting? Though, her legs were a bit weak. It was a good thing he was holding her.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.” He bent and took her lips with his.

  Louisa sighed and leaned into him. Marston needed to feel he was in control, be the protector and shelter her. Was it really so bad to let him think he was all of those things. It was very quiet pleasant being in his arms.

  He broke the kiss, and together they turned and followed John and the others back to the house.

  As they reached the sitting area outside the library, Elizabeth rushed out, gun in her hand. “Is everyone all right?” She slipped on loose gravel, and her hand came down of a delicate cup sitting on a table. It splintered and she brought her hand up. Blood gushed from her palm, streaming down her wrist.

  Everything began to go dark.

  “Someone catch her,” Elizabeth yelled from a place far away.

  Louisa woke to the sound of voices but kept her eyes shut. What had happened? There was a wet cloth on her brow. Oh dear, she must have fainted. Elizabeth cut her hand. Louisa immediately blocked out the image.

  “I’ll think of some story she’ll believe,” Marston said.

  “A mad intruder?” John suggested.

  Did they really think she was so daft that she would believe there was a mad Frenchman wandering the area who just happened to choose this estate to take people hostage, looking for a Lisette and Jean Pierre? Really, it was too much. “You know, Elizabeth, when I learned you were a spy—” Louisa took the cloth from her head and sat as they gasped “—I thought it sounded all very exciting.”

  “Spy?” Marston questioned. “You are a spy?”

  “As is John, as you well know,” Louisa answered.

  Marston seemed even more shocked. The man really should be on the stage.

  “How do you know?” Elizabeth finally asked.

  “I listened at doors, of course.” Louisa grinned.

  Elizabeth groaned. “I had forgotten how apt you were at eavesdropping.”

  “I am shocked,” Devlin protested, a hand over his heart.

  Louisa leveled her eyes on him. “Really? Weren’t you in Paris with them?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, but no words came out. At least he wasn’t going to tell her an outright lie.

  “I could see you from the window that first day, when you sat on the terrace talking with Elizabeth and John.”

  “She also has excellent eyesight and can read lips,” Elizabeth explained.

  “You thanked them for the warning. If Elizabeth and John hadn’t had their backs to me, I would have known everything that was said.”

  Marston walked to the sideboard.

  “You no longer think it’s exciting?” Elizabeth asked.

  Marston poured a glass of wine and handed it to Louisa.

  “I am sure it is.” She took a sip. “But I have no wish to ruin a dress, or another pair of shoes. And if I injured someone and they bled, it wouldn’t go well for me, I am sure.”

  “You kept your head when you bloodied the Frenchman’s nose,” Marston reminded her.

  That was true. “I was about to faint when you yelled at me. The urgency must have kept me conscious. But I promptly fainted when Elizabeth cut her hand. I think I will stick to the more genteel pursuits.”

  “I won’t be returning to the Home Office,” Marston announced. “Warning Elizabeth and John was my last assignment.”

  “Are you still in danger?” Louisa looked at all three of them, trying to gauge their reaction.

  John laughed first. “No.”

  “But this Savary, he sent that man after you?”

  “Savary has issued a warrant in France. The man today, and another in London, took it upon themselves to come after John and Elizabeth,” Marston explained. “They wanted to prove themselves to Savary and gain favor.”

  “Well, he didn’t seem very bright,” Louisa mused. “Who would believe a tale about wild boars?”

  Marston grinned. “If I wouldn’t worry myself sick, I would suggest you offer your services to the Home Office. With your fluent French, eavesdropping, and shooting ability, you would be a valuable asset.”

  John and Elizabeth both looked at him as if he had gone mad.

  Louisa’s face warmed. It was the nicest compliment she had ever received. “So you admit that I don’t need a gentleman to protect me?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He took a drink. What should she have expected? Marston would always view women as if they needed to be sheltered, despite the compliment he just delivered.

  Elizabeth stood. “Let’s get you upstairs to prepare for dinner.”

  “What will become of that man?” Louisa put her wine glass on the table and came to her feet.

  “I will be taking him back to London tomorrow,” Marston answered.

  Her heart lurched, but instead of asking him to stay longer, she forced a pleasant smile. “I wish you a safe journey.”

  His eyebrows drew together as if her words confused him. She didn’t wait to be questioned and followed her sister out the door.

  Devlin sighed and thrust his fingers through his hair. Safe journey? That is what someone said to an acquaintance, not a man who kissed you senseless earlier in the day. Had he misread her somehow? He tipped the glass back and drained the brandy. It burned down his throat.

  Marching to the sideboard, he poured another. It didn’t matter that it was his third. He was angry from being caught today and mortified that it was Louisa who had to save him and bring down Savary’s man without any help from him. Now she acted as if he were no more than an acquaintance. Had the fact that he had been the one tied to the tree
while she delivered the disabling blows made her think less of him? It should have been the other way around. He should have been coming to her rescue.

  Damn and blast.

  He turned to find John staring at him as he leaned against the closed door, a curious look upon his face.

  “What exactly are your intentions toward my sister-in-law?”

  Bloody hell, he didn’t want to have this conversation now. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  John straightened and walked toward him. “You would worry if she were with the Home Office. You’ve worked with other women and it never seemed to bother you.”

  “That was different.” They weren’t Louisa. “And I didn’t like it.”

  “I think it’s more.”

  Did he dare tell John the truth? They had known each other for years, and if anyone would understand, it was John. “I wish to court her.” There, he said it. “However, I can’t until my sisters are settled. I can’t be distracted by a lady.”

  John laughed. “Whether you are courting Louisa or not, you will still be distracted by her.”

  “No, I won’t,” Devlin insisted.

  “If you say so.” John grinned into his glass before he took a drink.

  Louisa looked up from her seat by the window. Marston walked toward her when the gentlemen filtered into the drawing room after dinner. He stopped before her chair.

  “Would you join me for a turn in the garden?”

  She hoped he would ask. They had barely spoken since she left him to dress for supper. Without a word, she rose and placed her hand on his arm, and he led her outside into the star filled night. They turned down a path bordered with roses still blooming and stopped at a small bench. Louisa took a seat, and he joined her.

  He didn’t utter a word but drew her close for a kiss. Louisa melted into him. All would be well.

  His lips were gentle, nothing like the passion of this morning. How many different kisses were there? She hoped to experience them all with Marston.

  He pulled back and cupped her cheek. “I leave tomorrow.”