Genevra spat at him. It was a vain gesture. He swiped at the spittle on his cheek. He leaned close, his breath fetid with garlic, and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. ‘I wish there was time for more. I could teach you the merit of obedience, my spitfire. You’d be worthy of my bed.’
Genevra glared. He laughed at her defiance. ‘We’ll see what you think about that when the smoke reaches you. My bed might sound like a good bargain for your life.’
He slammed the door behind him, but not before Genevra caught the smell of smoke rising from downstairs. Bedevere was burning and she was alone. She tugged at the bonds around her hands, assessing their strength. The bonds held. If she couldn’t break the ropes, maybe she could break the bed post. She threw weight into it, but the strong mahogany that had served generations of Bedeveres held firm.
It wasn’t until the first fingers of smoke curled under the door that she truly began to panic. There was a real possibility she’d die before she could tell Ashe she loved him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashe flung himself off Rex, his pistol at the ready, Alex beside him. It reminded him of all the times they’d fought imaginary foes of the Round Table, Alex always at his back. But this was no child’s game.
A man stood sentry at Bedevere’s entrance. Before Ashe could speak, Alex raised his pistol and fired. The man fell, but not before Ashe saw a second too late what Alex had seen in time. The man dropped a knife, his arm arrested in the early stages of a throw. If not for Alex’s cold-blooded assessment, he’d have died on the steps.
Another man rushed them from the side of the house. Ashe swept up the dropped weapon and sent it into the man’s shoulder. The man sank to the ground and Ashe wasted no time pressing a boot to his neck. ‘Where’s Mrs Bedevere?’
The man growled and Ashe pressed harder, reaching for the knife in his own boot. The knife had the desired effect. ‘She’s in the house, on the second floor.’
The man coughed. ‘But you’ll be too late, for all the good that will do you.’
Alex was beside him. ‘I’ll take care of this swine, Ashe. Get Genevra, I’ll be behind you in a moment.’
Ashe left Alex with his pistol and raced into the house. A body lay on the floor of the hallway. Another of Henry’s so-called friends, he guessed. The smoke was rising fast. He was on the stairs and already choking. There were flames from the small front parlour. They must have set the curtains on fire. That posed a danger.
Those flames would go straight up through the ceiling and into the second floor.
There was another body at the top of the landing. What had happened here?
Then Ashe recognised the form. Good God, it was Gardener, shot straight through the heart. Who the hell had shot the butler? Rage tore through him. Ashe fell to his knees, impulsively looking for signs of life. It seemed incredible that, two hours ago, Gardener had fetched his pistols and now lay dead in a burning house. He had to find Genevra. She would not die for him, too.
‘Genevra!’ He staggered to his feet, struggling for breath. If she was hurt, she might not be able to answer. Ashe threw open each door he passed. The third door revealed success.
The smoke was thick in this room and Genevra had fallen slack against the bed frame, overcome. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’ Ashe fumbled at her neck for a pulse.
‘Neva!’ He shook her. He would not be too late, it wasn’t possible. ‘Neva!’ He took his knife and sliced the ropes. She fell into his arms, the merest groan escaping her lips.
Ashe slid his knife into his boot and lifted her into his arms. The staircase was engulfed in smoke. He hoped there were no flames at the bottom yet. There was no other choice.
He heard someone call his name. ‘Up here! Alex, I’m up here.’ His voice was fading. With the last of it, he managed a warning. ‘Get out, Alex, it’s too dangerous. The stairs won’t last.’
Something nearby cracked and crashed. He couldn’t see it. Ashe hurried on to the smoke-shrouded staircase, Genevra heavy in his arms. He turned her head against his chest trying to protect her from the smoke.
Alex emerged on the stairs, having disregarded the warning. ‘We’ll take the servants’ backstairs at the end of the hall. There’s no chance this way. The hall below is engulfed.’ Alex pushed him back up the stairs just in time. They’d gained the landing when the whole case gave way, effectively trapping them on the second floor. Alex led the way down the long hall, fearless and sure. The air was clearer here. The backstairs were as yet untouched. Alex held the door and ushered Ashe before him.
‘You’re a crazy fool, Alex, coming in like that.’ Ashe panted as they reached the bottom and spilled out into the vegetable garden. He laid Genevra down, relieved to see signs of life as she stirred in response to the clean air.
Alex doubled over, catching his breath. ‘I could see the staircase was in jeopardy of collapsing. I knew you would try it. You didn’t know the other way was clear and it was the shortest path to an exit.’
‘You could have been killed,’ Ashe scolded.
‘You still might be. In fact, I think it is a surety.’ Ashe turned. Henry, the cousin of nine lives, stood in the gateway, gun in hand. ‘I think it’s time I did my own dirty work.’ There was madness in Henry’s blue eyes. Pale and bedraggled, he’d managed to find his own way back to the house. Ashe had no doubt his cousin meant fatal business. It was the only way this could end now for Henry. His cartel was shattered, Henry’s secrets exposed.
Ashe bent for his knife, but he knew it wouldn’t be fast enough. Gun would beat knife in this contest. He had the knife in his hand and threw from a crouch, hoping the throw would be accurate. A shot fired. There was a yell, a scream.
Neva! Then he was falling, thrown off balance. He waited for the burning sensation of the ball to take him. None came.
Ashe scrambled to his feet, searching, but there was no enemy. Genevra was scrabbling to her knees, half-crawling, half-falling towards a form on the ground.
‘Alex!’ Ashe rasped in horror.
‘He threw himself at you when Henry fired,’ Genevra gasped. She was tearing at Alex’s shirt. Henry lay still a few feet away, Ashe’s knife in his chest and Henry’s bullet finding deadly purchase. His brother had given his life for him.
Ashe knelt by Alex, closing his hands over Genevra’s where she’d pressed a hastily made pad to the wound. His throat tightened.
‘Ashe.’ Alex’s voice was a mere whisper. Ashe bent forwards, his ear to Alex’s lips. ‘You’re the earl now, little brother.’ Alex coughed.
‘We’ll get help.’ If he was talking, maybe there was some hope, Ashe thought wildly.
‘No, just stay with me. It won’t be long now.’ Alex was calm. ‘I’ve written it all down for you if the fire didn’t take it. You know most of it already.’
Ashe gripped his brother’s hand. ‘You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have thrown yourself away like that.’
‘I hadn’t long left, Ashe.’ Alex struggled for a breath. ‘It’s much better this way.’
He managed a smile. ‘Father loved you, he forgave you for leaving. Make sure you forgive yourself.’ His grip tightened on Ashe’s hands. Pain and fear flashed in his dark eyes.
‘Remember what we used to say when we played, Ashe? The king is dead, long live the king.’
‘I remember.’
A lone tear trailed out of the corner of Alex’s eye. ‘The earl is dead, long live the earl.’ Then the fear was replaced by peace as Alex breathed his last.
‘So passes the fifth Earl of Audley,’ Ashe said solemnly. Genevra held his gaze, unbothered by the tears on his cheeks. ‘Long live the earl,’ she softly echoed Alex’s words.
He pulled her to him, revelling in the feel of her body, of life. ‘When I saw the smoke, all I could think of was I was too late to tell you I loved you. I should have told you weeks ago, but I was too stubborn to admit it.’ He pushed his hands gently through her hair, tilting her face up to his.
‘I lo
ve you, too, Ashe. I think I loved you from the first.’ She kissed him softly.
Ashe laughed. ‘No, you didn’t, Neva. You slapped me across the face for insolence.’
‘Well, maybe you’re right about that.’ She smiled wearily and didn’t protest when he bent to carry her away from the heartbreak that lay in the garden and into the future.
One year later
Ashe paced the back terrace, surveying the expanse of parkland and gardens.
Rebuilt, redecorated, Bedevere had never looked so well, or perhaps it was his own happiness that painted everything with a rosy veneer these days. Ashe could not recall having ever been this content in his adult life, not even when he’d been playing piano in Vienna. He shifted the bundle in his arms ever so gently.
‘Fatherhood becomes you,’ Genevra said softly, shutting the veranda door behind her. ‘Is he asleep?’ She peered into the blanket at the little face. ‘I missed him too much today.’ It had been her first day out of the house since little Alexander had been born two months ago.
‘How is Seaton Hall?’ Ashe asked. It had become operational a few months ago, Genevra’s dream of a place for women to run their own business fully realised.
‘It’s fine. I am happy to say they’re ably running things on their own. They hardly need me at all.’
‘That’s good.’ Ashe bent to kiss her. ‘There are plenty of us who need you here.’
‘That reminds me, I have a surprise for you.’ Genevra smiled. ‘Come walk with me.’
Baby in one arm, his wife on the other, Ashe let Genevra lead him through the garden to the fountain. It still wasn’t working. After the fire, there’d been plenty of projects to oversee that took precedence in order to make Bedevere livable again.
Genevra gave a nod of her head and the fountain sprang to life. Water plumed high into the air, arcing gracefully into the wide basin below. ‘Happy birthday, Ashe,’ she whispered. With a gesture of her hand, people began to emerge from behind the trees—the staff were there, his aunts were there, Markham Marsbury was there.
‘I’m sorry we missed it last year. I didn’t know.’ Genevra shrugged apologetically. She moved to take the baby from him, but he declined.
‘No, I want to hold him a while longer.’
‘You’ll be the only lord in England to actually raise his own child,’ Genevra teased.
Ashe grinned.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking what a difference a year makes.’ Last year had been full of loss.
He’d lost his father, his brother, even a chance to make amends, but he’d found Genevra and he’d found peace. The future lay in his arms and stood by his side.
‘I have a gift for you.’ Genevra reached for an awkwardly wrapped package at the base of the fountain. ‘Now you’ll have to let me take the baby.’
Ashe obliged and undid the wrapping. Beneath the paper was a model four-masted schooner. He was speechless for a moment. ‘It’s perfect, Neva. Does it float?’
‘Put it in the fountain and find out.’
*
There were those who believed Ashe Bedevere was the greatest pleasure of the Season, but he knew better. The best pleasure was being loved by Genevra through all the seasons to come, and there would be plenty of them if he had anything to say about it. Ashe Bedevere was home.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt of Whirlwind Cowboy by Debra Cowan!
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Chapter One
West Texas
June 1886
Where was she? The ground was hard beneath her back. Her head pounded as she stared up at a gray sky and the sun hidden behind red-tinted clouds. Carefully pushing herself up on her elbows, she winced as sharp pain speared through her skull. Her shoulder ached, too. She was behind a two-story white brick building she didn’t recognize.
She touched her temple, and her fingers came away bloody. She inhaled sharply. Blood also streaked her pale blue floral bodice. What had happened?
A creaking sound had her looking over her shoulder. A saddled black horse watched her with dark eyes. Then she saw a wet stain a couple of feet away.
She eased over and touched it, startled to realize it was more blood.
Cold, savage fear ripped through her and she got unsteadily to her feet, fighting back panic. Whatever had happened here had been deadly. She couldn’t remember it, but she knew it.
Her head throbbed as she looked around wildly, trying to identify something, anything. Not the building hiding her or the store across a dusty street or the railroad tracks beyond. Nothing was familiar.
Alarmed and confused, she felt tears sting her eyes.
From the front of the building she heard the heavy thud of boots. A man muttered in a low, vicious voice. The hairs on her arms stood up and fear rushed through her.
There was no thought, only instinct. She gathered her skirts and hurriedly mounted the waiting horse, riding astride. Her skull felt as though it was being cracked open and she thought she might pass out from the pain.
Urging the animal into motion, she rode hard away from the unfamiliar buildings and headed for the open prairie. Someone yelled after her. She wasn’t sure what he said, but she didn’t stop.
Gripping the pommel with sweat-slick hands, she kept the horse at a full-out run until she was assured no one was behind her.
Then she slowed the horse to an easy pace. As far as she could see there was an endless sea of golden-brown prairie grass, dotted here and there with a few evergreen trees. The landscape looked familiar, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything.
A forceful gust of wind had her grabbing the pommel. Bits of dirt and grass pelted her face as well as her mount’s. The animal slowed, but kept moving.
Dust whirled across the prairie. The horse’s hooves pounded in a steady lope.
On and on. Daylight turned to gray. They crossed a dry creek bed, then topped a small rise. Through the swirling light and dirt, she spied a small cabin and a barn.
As she rode up to the front of the house, she called out, but no one answered.
There was no sign of anyone at all.
Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at a boiling mass of clouds sweeping across the ground. The first stirrings of a dust storm. Being caught out in it could be deadly.
Fighting back panic, she decided to take shelter in the small cabin. She wasted no time settling the horse in the barn. After filling the trough with water from the pump just outside, she closed the animal inside and ran to the cabin, praying she would be able to get in. When she tried the door, it opened and she slipped inside with a big sigh of relief.
Shaking out her skirts then brushing off her hair and bodice, she took stock. A Franklin stove sat in the corner to her left, along with a sink and a pump and a short work cabinet. There was a small but sturdy-looking table, and straight ahead an open door revealed the foot of a bed.
The windows, real pane glass, shook as the wind gathered force. Her shoulders and neck throbbed, but she searched for candles or a lamp in case she needed light later.
Though small, the cabin was solid and would offer protection from the storm.
Looking down, she stared at the bloodstains on her bodice. Her mind was empty.
Why couldn’t she remember anything?
A shiver rippled up her spine. Not only was she completely alone and lost—she had no idea who she was.
*
After a week of tracking Cosgrove, Bram had lost him and returned home.
> Whirlwind’s sheriff, Davis Lee Holt, had wired every lawman in the state and promised to send word to Bram if he received any news.
Bram had duties at the ranch, but he still checked with Davis Lee every day about Cosgrove. Two weeks after the trail had gone cold, Bram got news.
Surprisingly it was from his uncle, not the sheriff. Uncle Ike had witnessed Cosgrove robbing a bank in Monaco.
Bram had ridden straight to the small town located northwest of Whirlwind, where he discovered Cosgrove had murdered a man during that robbery.
Bram had picked up the outlaw’s trail again, this time headed east toward Whirlwind. Cosgrove would be a fool to go back there and probably hadn’t, but the approaching dust storm had erased any sign that he might have changed direction.
The past three weeks had been hell, and Bram laid that on Deborah as much as the outlaw he chased. He hadn’t spoken to her mother or sisters again, though Bram’s brother, Jake, had. He had felt it his duty to let Bram know Deborah still hadn’t returned home.
Bram tried to tell himself he didn’t care. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t him.
The spiraling wind swirled across the prairie, flaying his face and body with sharp bits of dirt and grit. The gunshot graze on his cheek was healing. Dragging his dark bandanna up to cover his nose and mouth, he knotted it tightly.
He was worn slick, dirty and madder than hell that this dust storm would force him to briefly suspend his search for Cosgrove, but he would find the low-down dog again. He wouldn’t stop until he did. In addition to being a rustler, Cosgrove was now a murderer. Bram wouldn’t be the only one out for the bastard’s blood.
If possible, he hated the cattle thief even more than he had three weeks ago.
The wind swept around him and he barely caught his hat before it blew off.
The small cabin on the edge of Circle R property was less than a mile away, so Bram directed his mount there.
How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption) Page 21
