“Drawin’ his attention, Major, as ye ordered.” Hedley fought back his laughter but not his grin as he immediately tossed up the hat again, but this time drew no fire.
“Just keep him occupied,” Grey muttered as he snatched up his dead hat from the ground and started forward to circle behind the garden. His hat was ruined, but Hedley’s joke revealed what they needed to know. Whoever was shooting at them had only one gun and needed time to reload.
He moved carefully, half crawling behind the cover of the stones. As he reached the end of the wall, he signaled to Hedley, who pulled the pistol’s trigger and sent a ball shattering into the wall near the house’s roof.
At the answering gunfire, Grey leapt to his feet and ducked around the corner. Keeping his back toward the wall, he circled behind the house and into the cover of the side garden’s overgrown bushes and fruit trees. He crouched low and waited for the next gunshot.
Well, this was a surprise. He and Emily hadn’t parted under the best of circumstances, he’d admit. But while he hadn’t known what to expect this afternoon when he rode up to her door, it sure as hell wasn’t gunfire.
When the next shots sounded, he made his way quickly through the garden. Up ahead, obscured by thick bushes, two figures crouched behind a low garden wall, where they took aim up the drive.
Grey hurled himself forward. A scream filled his ears as he tackled the shooter to the ground, discovering in a flash of confusion—
A woman.
A soft, curvaceous woman in dark blue muslin and white lace with golden-blond hair. Her large, sapphire-blue eyes stared up at him with a mix of fear and fury. Right before she sank her teeth into his forearm.
Blasting a sharp curse, he twisted to pin her arms to the ground and keep her mouth out of biting range, slinging a heavy leg over both of hers to prevent her from kicking. “Stop that!”
“Get off her, you brute!”
The handle of a wooden garden rake struck at his shoulders, and he flinched, ducking his head as an older woman in a servant’s gray dress and white cap swung the rake repeatedly at his head.
“Get off her before you hurt her!” the maid bellowed.
“Hurt her? She shot at me!” he growled, holding the blond woman’s wrists together with one hand so that he could grab at the swinging rake over his head with the other.
“You deserved it!” the blond woman hissed, futilely trying to wiggle her way out from beneath him. “What kind of gentleman would—”
At the sound of her voice, Grey froze. He searched her face as the memories triggered in his mind. “Brat, is that you?”
She ceased struggling. Those same blue eyes he now remembered so vividly widened in stunned surprise. “Captain Grey?” His name was a breathless whisper, as if she couldn’t possibly believe it was him.
He flashed her a crooked grin. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
The rake hit him over the head.
“Damnation, woman!” He made another grab for the handle. “Stop that!”
Hedley pounced on the maid from behind, seizing her by the waist and swinging her around in a circle as he yanked the rake from her hands and threw it out of reach. She kicked her legs and tried to hit him with her fists, but he simply lifted the short woman off her feet and dangled her helplessly in midair until she gave up her struggles with an angry humph.
“I got ’er, Major!” the sergeant announced proudly over the top of her head.
“Good,” Grey answered, his eyes not leaving Emily’s face as she lay beneath him on the ground, now incredibly still except for the shallow rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. “Take her inside and calm her down, will you?” He added wryly, “And try not to let her hurt you.”
“Aye, sir.” Hedley nodded and set the woman on the ground, then bowed his head politely and motioned toward the house. “After you, ma’am.”
The maid stubbornly crossed her arms. “I’m not leaving!”
“It’s all right, Yardley. They’re old friends of mine,” Emily explained. With an irritated grimace, she tugged her hands free of Grey’s grip and pushed at him to slide away.
Grey complied, although it took him a moment to clear the sudden fog from his brain and release her. Instead of helping her to her feet, however, he leaned back against the wall, his arm resting across his bent knee as he stared at her, utterly bewildered to find her like this. Shooting at him. And beautiful.
The maid glanced warily from Grey to her mistress. “My lady, I don’t—”
“I’m fine.” She drew her legs beneath her. “Would you please serve refreshments in the drawing room?” A soft pleading crossed her face, a silent communication between the two women that Grey couldn’t decipher. About him. Interesting. “Captain Grey and I will be along in a moment.”
Yardley frowned, still concerned. “All right, but I’ll be just right inside in the kitchen.” She pointed a long finger at Grey. “If you lay a hand on my lady, be advised, sir, that I keep a drawer full of knives in there, and I know how to use them!”
Grey’s lips twitched, wanting desperately to laugh at both the bulldog expression on Yardley’s face and the astonishment on Emily’s that her maid would dare threaten a man twice her size. “I have no doubt of that, ma’am,” he answered with forced solemnity.
With another humph, she spun on her heels and stomped toward the house, with Hedley following behind, his hand clamped over his laughing mouth.
Not knowing what to expect after the way they’d last parted, Grey slid his eyes to Emily. She stared back in wonder, one hand pressed against her stomach and her face pale, as if she were seeing a ghost. In a way, he supposed, she was.
“It’s good to see you again, Emily,” he said quietly. Although she wasn’t just Emily or Miss Matteson anymore. She was Mrs. Crenshaw now, a fact that made her seem far older than her twenty-one years. She was no longer the sweet and innocent young woman he remembered who sat for hours in the garden with her sketchbook and pencils, drawing her world. Or the starry-eyed girl who asked him one afternoon if he would teach her how to kiss.
“Captain Grey,” she forced out, as if it took all her strength to acknowledge him.
He grimaced. Oh, she wasn’t happy to see him. This was not going to be fun. “You remember me, then?” They’d gotten along well five years ago until he’d lost his mind and kissed her, and he hoped they could again. Otherwise, it was going to be a damnably long ride back to London.
“Of course I remember you.” Regret flashed in her eyes.
Her reaction pricked at him. Well, he deserved it, he supposed, for his part in the debacle. “It’s major now, actually.”
She blinked, puzzled. “Pardon?”
“I’ve been promoted.” He didn’t know why it mattered, but he felt the undeniable urge to tell her. As if she were still a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old he could impress.
“Oh.” She looked away, clearly not impressed. “Congratulations.”
Well, that stung. So the brat was still peeved at him, even after all these years. A very long ride back to London…
But something else was wrong here. Her pallid face and trembling hands, which she couldn’t keep still, how her eyes darted to look everywhere but into his—with a concerned frown, he reached gently for her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
She jerked her hand away from her stomach as if burned. Drawing back, she shifted out of his reach. “I’m fine.”
He stared at her curiously. More than lingering regret and embarrassment over that kiss burned in her sapphire eyes. Something dark lurked there as well, stirring the short hairs on the back of his neck. It was the same look he’d seen on the faces of captured soldiers during the war. He saw fear.
Concern tightened his chest. “If something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong. But I—I think it would be best if you left,” she said frankly, her lips tightening as her face grew pale.
“Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?” he aske
d gently, perplexed at the swirling mix of emotions pouring from her. Good Lord, she practically dripped with them.
For a moment, she said nothing, only staring back grimly, her eyes glistening. Then she lowered her face away as she twisted her skirt in her fingers. “I already know.”
His brow furrowed. Surely Chatham hadn’t sent another messenger to arrive before he did. “Do you?”
She nodded jerkily, then swallowed. Hard. “If you’re here, then…” Choking out so softly that he could barely hear her, she whispered, “Thomas is dead.”
A tear of grief slid down her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
The air rushed painfully from his lungs at the sight of her looking so wretched, so utterly devastated. Despite the rift between them, Thomas loved his sister, and he knew Emily loved Thomas. And Grey’s heart melted for them both.
He gently wiped away the tear with his thumb. “No, Emily.” His knuckles trailed across her cheek to soothe her. “Your brother’s alive.”
Her eyes flew open. Watery sapphire pools stared at him, incredulous and vulnerable.
“Thomas is alive,” he repeated and cupped her face in his hands. “We never expected—but he survived.” He grinned at her, unable to hold back his own relief. “He’s too damned stubborn to die.”
“Oh, thank God,” she murmured, her petite body sagging with relief. “Thank God!”
She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck. His hands lifted to her back in a loose embrace to comfort her.
As she shifted into his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, and his breath hitched—well, she was certainly no longer a stick with blond braids. The brat had grown into a woman, one whose warm lips now brushed against his neck as she murmured over and over her thanks to God for saving her brother, her thanks to him for bringing her the news…and each word shot straight through him to the tip of his tingling cock. Sweet Lucifer.
Swallowing hard, he gently took her shoulders and set her away from him.
She wiped at her eyes. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” But gratitude swelled in her soft voice. “You could have sent word—”
He grinned at her. “I’ve come to escort you to London.”
Her hand paused in mid-swipe as the bright happiness on her face disappeared, replaced once again by that mysterious fear he’d glimpsed earlier. This time stronger than before. For a moment, he thought she might just jump to her feet and flee like a frightened hare.
“Thomas asked for you,” he explained. “I promised to bring you to him.”
“Thomas asked…?” For a fleeting moment, a desperate longing registered in every inch of her, the overwhelming compassion and grief she felt for her brother palpable. She pressed her hand against her heart.
Then suddenly she stiffened, and the vulnerability he glimpsed in her vanished as a veil came down over her face. Yet she couldn’t hide the fear. That still shined in her eyes as brightly as her lingering tears. “Thank you for telling me about Thomas. I truly appreciate your kindness and your devotion to him, more than you know.” She hesitated, as if forcing herself to say, “But I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He was stunned. “Emily—”
“Mrs. Crenshaw,” she corrected, then more softly, “if you please.”
He clenched his jaw. What should he care if she preferred formality from him? But inexplicably, it angered him. So did her refusal to see her brother. Had the sweet girl he remembered turned into a coldhearted bitch?
“I can’t possibly travel right now, Major.” Her voice caught as she gave her apologies, but she hurried on. “So you and your man will have to leave after your tea.”
“We’re spending the night,” he countered.
Her eyes flared, as if she didn’t know whether to be furious or terrified at the prospect of having him as a guest. “There’s no room for you here.”
Skeptically, he raised his eyes to the large country house behind her and silently arched a brow.
“We’re not able to accommodate guests at this time,” she clarified with an almost desperate impatience to convince him to leave. Averting her eyes, she focused intently on pulling at her skirt with her fingers. “But there’s an inn at the village—”
He grabbed her hand, stilling it against her skirt.
With a shocked gasp, she looked up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
“You really expect me to believe that?” He kept his voice low and his anger checked, but he refused to release her wrist as she attempted to yank her hand away.
“It’s true!”
“It’s a damned lie,” he growled.
“Captain Grey!” Aghast at his accusation, she struggled to free herself, but his grip only tightened. He didn’t trust her not to run for the hills. Or for a kitchen knife.
“Major Grey,” he corrected irritably, wanting no misunderstanding that he might still be the young officer she’d wrapped around her finger five years ago with her sweetness and innocence. He’d fallen for her manipulations then, but he certainly wouldn’t fall for them a second time. “This is more than simply not wanting visitors, Mrs. Crenshaw. You shot at me!”
She sniffed haughtily. “And you rode up uninvited.”
His eyes narrowed. The brat had grown into a woman, but also into one of the worst liars he’d ever met. And certainly the most infuriating. “Since when do society ladies shoot at visitors, uninvited or otherwise?”
“Since they—” Her mouth snapped shut on whatever it was she was about to say, and she stopped struggling. Her gaze dropped to his chest as she pleaded in exasperation, “Please, just go away!”
But the more she demanded he leave, the more determined he was to stay.
Yet this time when she tugged to free herself, he let her go. To give her enough rope to hang herself with her lies.
She scrambled to her feet, her restless hands brushing nervously at the bits of grass clinging to her skirt as she backed away from him. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Major, but I’m too ill to travel. I’ll write to Thomas—”
“The hell you will!” he exploded as the thin thread of his patience snapped, the curse so fierce she flinched. “You are coming with me to London, and we are leaving first thing in the morning.”
“No.” The damned chit jutted her chin defiantly into the air. “I absolutely refuse!”
Slowly, he rose to his full height and clenched his jaw to keep back the ungentlemanly response about where she could shove her refusal. Her eyes grew big as saucers at the white-hot aggravation she sensed in him. Instinctively, she stepped back.
And he pursued, advancing toward her with each step she retreated. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Please, Grey.” Another step back, another advance…until her back hit against the wall of the house, until she raised her hands futilely against his chest to push him away. “You have to go!”
The pleading tone in her voice, the increasing panic in her eyes—she was desperate to make him leave. “Why?” he demanded, refusing to budge.
“Because—because you can’t stay—”
“Why did you shoot at us?” He pressed in closer, trapping her between the house and his body. So close that her hands flattened against his chest.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“Obviously. Why?”
“Please just go—”
“What’s wrong here?”
“Nothing! I swear.”
“Tell me.”
“Grey, please!” Her shoulders slumped, and he felt her hands on him change, no longer pushing him away but now fisting into the lapels of his coat to keep him close. Not that he would have gone anywhere until he had the truth.
In her panic, her breathing faltered, unwittingly drawing his attention to her chest. And that was a mistake. Because it was a very fine chest indeed, the tops of her full breasts rising and falling rapidly against the neckline of her tight bodice with each fast b
reath.
She’s the brat, he reminded himself, tearing his gaze back up to hers. Thomas’s sister. The woman who would get him killed at the hands of his best friend if he dared lay a finger on her again. And certainly not a woman he should be looking at as…well, as a woman.
He locked his eyes on hers and refused to let them stray lower. “You shot at me.”
“There have been highwaymen—”
“Brat,” he growled in warning at the lie she was about to tell.
“There is nothing of concern here.” Then she forced a smile that did nothing to reassure him. “And I promise not to shoot at you when you leave.”
Despite her attempt at humor, his eyes narrowed. “If nothing’s wrong—”
“There’s not,” she protested, far too quickly.
“Then answer me this.” He lowered his head until his eyes leveled with hers, until his face hovered so close he could feel her trembling breath shadowing his lips. “Where are all your servants, Mrs. Crenshaw?”
She froze, the only movement a momentary widening of her eyes, a deepening of the fear in their wild depths. The look of a caught prisoner.
“I’ve been here for a while now, and no one could have missed that gunfire when we arrived. Where are your footmen and grooms?” He took her chin in his fingers and held her so she couldn’t look away. “And do not lie to me.”
She stared warily at him, as if trying to decide exactly how much she could trust him. Then she answered, the single word tearing from her in a hoarse whisper—“Gone.”
He couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“My husband was killed in a riding accident five months ago,” she whispered, as if terrified of being overheard. “But there were other…incidents. The servants feared for their lives. Half departed the night of his death, the others were gone by his burial. A handful remain, and if they hear gunfire, believe me, they will not come to investigate until it is long over.”
Grey stared at her, unable to fathom the creature before him and the situation she described. Was she really spinning ghost stories and expecting him to believe them?
He straightened away from her, yanking her fingers free from his coat. For a moment, her hands stayed in the air, as if still grasping for him, before she lowered her arms to her sides to bury her hands in the pockets of her baggy pelisse.
Along Came a Rogue Page 3
