Tempting Taffy (House of Devon Book 8)

by Meara Platt

  She accepted his apology, amazed that he would even offer it. “Thank you, my lord.” Even his apology, so honestly given, left her weak in the knees. She wanted to tell him that he was the most finely built man in existence and she’d taken great pleasure in the glimpse of his body.

  Big. Muscled. Long, powerful legs.

  He had a dusting of dark hair across his chest and a smattering that tapered down his trim waist and below his waistband, although she could not see what was below the waistband, only imagine it. She suspected that if he ever dropped his trousers, she’d be quite pleased by what he kept hidden beneath them.

  She cleared her throat. “Will that be all, my lord?”

  “For the moment.”

  She stood to return to Rafe, and he rose along with her. “Are ye truly all right, Taffy?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at him. “More than all right. I am surprised to realize that I rather like your blunt and arrogant manner. No one’s ever behaved like a protective Scottish ape over me before. It is quite intoxicating.”

  He laughed. “Thank ye, lass…I think.”

  She returned to Rafe’s side and spent the next hour reading to him, helping him to write his name, and once again playing the hide and seek game with him. In the meanwhile, the marquis sat on his own alternating between reading and impatiently prowling back and forth between the stacks.

  As the sun began to sink on the horizon, they had an early supper in the dining room, once again the three of them. By this time, the Hartland servants seemed to accept her presence and were surprisingly cordial when serving her. She understood the reason for their change in behavior.

  They thought the marquis was in love with her and meant to marry her. Having a good sense of self preservation, they were not about to insult his future marchioness.

  Well, she’d figure out how to remedy the situation after Lord Gordon was apprehended. The Duke of Devon would be using their services again. She would have to talk to his staff and set things right, explain it was a ruse and the marquis was never going to marry her.

  However, she appreciated very much that they would believe it.

  Even if the marquis did wish to marry her, she knew it was a ridiculous, nonsensical dream on his part. She would remember him and Rafe fondly for the rest of her days.

  It was seven o’clock by the time they returned to the guest bedchamber he and Rafe occupied. The regular maids had come in and tidied in their absence, properly making up the bed, emptying the chamber pots, replenishing the water ewer and soaps, restocking the decanters in the sitting area, and providing other little niceties.

  Taffy was relieved the task had not fallen to her.

  She would take over those duties tomorrow, for the marquis would not allow anyone else in, not even a maid to clean. The hidden panel and bedchamber door were now bolted and barricaded.

  She hoped he would not insist on shuttering the windows as well. They were too high up for Lord Gordon to consider accessing their room from the windows. He’d fall to his death if he tried to break in through them.

  “Come, Master Rafe. Let me help you wash and change into your nightshirt. Then I shall continue the pirate story until our cocoa arrives. How does that sound to you?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I like the pirate story. Read me the silver eels again. And Rafe is going to find the treasure.”

  She listened as the boy chattered, barely able to get in a response. But she did not mind listening to him while she washed his hands and face, and scrubbed his squirming, little body all the way down to his feet. She then wrapped him in a big drying cloth, making a game of wrapping him up as tight as a mummy.

  When it was time to put on his nightshirt and socks, he resisted. “I can do it myself, Taffy. Let me show you.”

  “Very well, Master Rafe.” There was no harm in his trying. His father had stoked the fire and tossed on an extra log or two so that the room was warm as Rafe carelessly dropped the drying cloth to the floor and hopped about naked.

  The marquis said nothing, merely cast her another of his melting smiles that also held a hint of naughty. Was he suggesting they also get naked and hop around?

  Really, his smile was quite naughty.

  But it was also tender and gentle, and it hurt her heart very much to know their time together would soon be at an end.

  While Rafe was still hopping around the room trying to don his socks after successfully putting on his nightshirt, the marquis approached her. “Taffy, lass,” he said with aching softness.

  “Yes, my lord.” Heavens. This man.

  “We’re going to talk seriously tonight. I’ll no’ have ye hiding behind yer Bow Street duties or the circumstances of yer birth to avoid dealing with our situation. Think on it. I’ll be back within the hour. We’ll discuss it over cocoa and ginger cakes.”

  She inhaled lightly. “In front of Rafe? He’ll still be awake. Please, my lord. I do not want to say anything that might hurt him.”

  “Then dinna say it. Ye know he loves ye. Parting from ye will break his innocent heart.” He took her hand in his. “But I dinna mean to add this to yer concerns. It is unfair of me and not my intention to force ye with guilt. I want ye to make yer decision freely and speak from yer heart. Dinna think about society’s rules. Dinna concern yerself with what ye think is best for me. Let me be the judge of that.”

  He strode out. “Bolt the door behind me.”

  She’d just gone to do it when she suddenly heard a thud and then Rafe wailed. “Master Rafe! What’s the matter?”

  “I fell!” His face was a stream of tears, and he wailed louder as he stuck his foot up to show her that he’d tripped over the sock he had been trying to put on.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” She kissed the little red spot on his knee, realizing he must have fallen on it. Fortunately, he’d tumbled onto the thick, soft carpet. She was fairly certain his misery was due more to surprise than hurt. His wails were now sounding forced.

  She kissed his knee again and rubbed it gently. “Any better?”

  He nodded.

  “Here, let me help you roll it up. And the other one, too. But you did such a good job. It was an excellent try. There is a secret to rolling them up without falling over. Do you want to know what it is?”

  He nodded.

  She cupped her hand to his ear and whispered, “The secret is to always sit down while putting them on. Same for your boots.”

  She gave his nose a little tweak.

  He giggled, the wicked socks forgotten.

  She had just dried his tears and collected the pirate book, when someone rapped lightly on the door. She expected to hear the marquis calling to her to open it, but her heart shot into her throat when the knocking merely resumed.

  Oh, no! Had she thrown the bolt?

  She raced to the door, her heart lodged in her throat, and saw that she had. “Oh, thank goodness.”

  Rafe tugged on her apron strings. “What’s the matter, Taffy?”

  She knelt beside him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Master Rafe, I think we may have to play that game of hide and seek. Do you remember it?”

  He nodded.

  “And do you remember about the best hiding spot?”

  He nodded again. “Yes. In the library.”

  “Well done.” She nodded in approval and rose. “Just stay behind me now.”

  She waited for him to get around her so that her body hid him from view of anyone entering. She put a finger to her lips to motion for him to be silent.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  There was a pause, then a thin voice spoke back. “Refreshments for his lordship.”

  It was too early. They’d called for cakes and hot cocoa at eight o’clock and it was only about seven thirty now. Well, perhaps it was not all that much earlier. “Leave it by the door and go away. I’ll take care of it from here.”

  Perhaps she was being too cautious.

  The staff was on full alert and the Bow Street runners
were constantly checking the access doors and windows. It was almost impossible for Lord Gordon to have entered unnoticed. And to steal a cart, too? All while he was likely wounded? Mr. Barrow had reported that his saddle had been found to have blood on it.

  She waited for the footsteps to fade away, although it was hard to tell. Servants were taught to walk quietly so as not to disturb the members of the household.

  Keeping Rafe still securely behind her, she opened the door and checked to see if there was a cart of refreshments left in the hall. To her relief, there was. But as she rolled it in, the maid suddenly rushed in with knife in hand and attempted to stab her.

  Taffy grabbed the lid off one of the salvers and smashed it against the maid’s hand, trying to knock the blade out of her grasp. Oh, Lord! What was she thinking? This was no woman, but Lord Gordon in disguise.

  She had to lure him deeper into the room so Rafe could make his escape. She prayed the boy would not be paralyzed with fear upon realizing this was no game.

  The sight of Lord Gordon was truly frightening. He was dressed as a maid even down to the mobcap on his head. He had a scruff of beard since he’d obviously not shaved in days, and his eyes glittered as though possessed by demons.

  He stalked toward her, waving his knife with menace in front of her and enjoying her fear. She now played it up, taking slow steps back to lure him further into the room before she gave Rafe the order to run. “How did you get in? The Bow Street runners are watching every entry.”

  “Those fools! Do they think they can keep me out?” He looked around. “Where’s the boy?”

  Rafe was still hiding behind the door. “He isn’t here.”

  “Liar!” He lunged at her again and she struck him again with the salver. Unfortunately, she held it in her right hand, which was her strongest hand, but it was also the one she needed to have free to reach for her pistol.

  “He’s with his father.”

  This enraged him all the more. “You lie! Falkirk walked out alone!”

  “You’re wrong. They’re playing hide and seek! Hide and seek!” she shouted again and became the aggressor, swinging at him repeatedly with the salver’s lid until she saw Rafe safely dart away.

  Please, hide.

  She prayed fervently the boy would be safe.

  Hopefully, he would run into his father or Mr. Barrow. They would immediately realize what had happened and rush to her rescue. But she had to fight as hard as she could to stay alive until then. She had to keep him distracted from hunting for the boy.

  She went on the attack, managing to land a solid blow to his face, smashing the lid with all her might against his nose and hopefully breaking it. Of course, the Duke of Devon’s salvers were made of finest silver and were quite heavy. You could drop them, jump on them, and they would not dent. They were as good as carrying a shield into battle.

  She kept hitting him as hard as she could, knowing he had to be dazed from her blows. When his knees began to buckle, she tossed aside the salver and reached for her pistol. Before she could draw it out, he lunged at her again and stabbed her.

  A blinding pain tore through her shoulder, a pain that intensified as this monster gleefully twisted the blade deeper into her shoulder. She had no time to withdraw the pistol from her pocket. She fired through the pocket straight into his gut.

  He cast her a look of disbelief, his eyes wide and demonic as he fell to his knees.

  She tried to run away, but her legs would not move. All her limbs felt leaden. The room began to spin, now whirling faster and faster. She heard a great, pounding roar in her ears, like the pounding of ocean waves into a cave.

  Everything turned dark.

  “No. No.” She fought to stay alert, but it was a losing battle.

  She did not care for herself, only for Rafe. Was he safe now?

  Had she killed Lord Gordon?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GAVIN HAD JUST walked out of the library with Mr. Barrow and Mick when he saw Rafe running toward him in his nightshirt and floppy socks. “Rafe! Where’s Taffy?”

  He picked up his son and held him tightly in his arms. “Rafe? Answer me, lad. What are ye doing running through the halls?

  “It’s our game, Papa. Remember? Taffy told me to hide in my secret place and not come out until she called me.”

  His heart began to pound a hole in his chest. “Why did she say that?”

  “Because that maid was hitting her.”

  “Blessed saints!” He handed his son to Mick. “Guard him with yer life.” He took off as fast as his legs would carry him, racing for his bedchamber.

  Mr. Barrow carried a whistle on him and now blew it so that every Bow Street man would be on alert. They would not leave their posts, except for the runners who were off shift. Those men would now rush to join them.

  “My lord, let me go in first,” Mr. Barrow said, huffing and lumbering up the stairs, trying to keep up with him. “Please! You’ll get yourself killed. Think of your son!”

  Damn it.

  He couldn’t stand back and let Taffy die. The door was open. He approached it cautiously, forcing his heart to calm while he listened for sounds to indicate their positions in the room. But all was silent. He carefully peered in, expecting to see the deranged Lord Gordon holding Taffy hostage. Instead, he saw them both motionless on the floor, their bodies in a crimson pool of blood. “Blessed saints!”

  He raced to Taffy’s side and ordered Mr. Barrow to secure Lord Gordon. By this time, two more runners had arrived. “He’s dead, m’lord,” Mr. Barrow said. “Miss Ralston got him.”

  “But did he get her?” asked the runner he recognized as Collins in obvious dismay.

  Gavin’s hands were shaking as he put two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. “Thank heaven. No. She’s breathing. We need a doctor. Fast!”

  Mr. Barrow sent Collins off to town with all haste.

  When Gavin lifted Taffy into his arms, he saw a knife that had been hidden by her shoulder and realized this was the weapon used to stab her. “Collect that thing. Search that devil for other weapons. Make damn certain he’s dead before ye put away yer own weapons. Bind his hands and stow his body in one of the outbuildings. I don’t want him in the house. I won’t rest easy until maggots collect on his body.”

  He carried Taffy to his bed and placed her in it, then took the knife he kept under his pillow and carefully began to cut the gown away to expose her shoulder. He’d cleanse it with brandy and then keep a clean cloth pressed to it until the doctor arrived. He hoped that a few stitches was all she needed.

  She looked so slight and pale in the big bed. The infernal mobcap she always wore must have fallen off in her struggle as had most of her hairpins. Her hair was a magnificent shade of auburn-red and looked beautiful as it cascaded onto the pillow. “Forgive me, lass. I should have been here for ye. I should have protected ye.”

  “Is Rafe all right?” she asked in a ragged whisper, her eyes fluttering open. He saw they were shadowed with pain.

  “Aye, love. He is, thanks to ye. He’s with Mick in the library, just as ye taught him.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes again. “Thank goodness. I couldn’t let that monster get him.”

  “We’ll no longer have to worry about him. Ye shot him, lass. He’s dead.”

  She gave a slight nod. “He stabbed me. My shoulder is on fire.”

  “Did he get ye anywhere else? I’ll check the rest of ye now. I have to cut away yer clothing. Ye’re soaked in blood, but I think most of it is Gordon’s.”

  She smiled at him. “Cut away my clothes? A likely excuse, my lord. You’ve been itching to undress me from the moment you met me. Is that not so?”

  “Aye, lass. It is.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “But I need to know. Did he hurt ye anywhere else?”

  “No. I think I stopped him before he could stab me again. But I don’t know. I passed out.”

  He ran his hands gently up and down her legs, her sides, and carefully a
long her back. But he found no other puncture marks. He had never been a particularly pious man, but he silently began to recite every prayer he could recall. “It seems to be just the shoulder. Rest now, love. I’ll take care of ye. Ye’ll need stitching. The doctor will tend to that. I’ll be with ye all the while.” He waited for the Bow Street men to remove the body before he shut the door. He returned to her side and removed her garments with aching care.

  Her body was beautiful, slender and creamy. Her breasts were full and their buds pink. The patch of hair between her legs was the same auburn-red as her mane of curls. But he quickly tucked the sheet around her, just enough to cover her up to her breasts. He needed to leave the shoulder exposed while he cleansed it.

  She was blushing.

  “Och, lass. This is not the way I’d hoped to glimpse yer body. But ye need never feel any shame with me. I wish to be yer husband. Ye know that.” He left her side a moment to retrieve the brandy and cloth. “Love, this will burn. But I must clean the wound to prevent an infection of the blood.”

  “I know.”

  He tried to be as gentle as possible. It crushed him to see her be as brave as she was, hardly making a sound, no more than the slightest whimper as he put the brandy-laced cloth to her slender shoulder. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by the time he was done.

  He wiped her face with another clean, damp cloth. “I canno’ dress ye yet. The doctor will need to get at yer shoulder. But I’ll stay beside ye and hold yer hand all the while. When he’s done, I’ll dress ye in one of my shirts. Or do ye have a nightrail up in yer maid quarters? I’ll ask Mr. Barrow to fetch it.”

  “No need. I can sleep up there once the–”

  “Lass, let’s be clear on this point. Ye and I shall never be apart again. I intend to get the special license tomorrow and marry ye before sundown.”

  “We have to discuss this.”

  “Do ye love me, lass?”