Once Upon an Accident 02 - Lessons in Seduction (24 page)

“Sorry about that, Lady Cicely. I have been trying for two weeks since that idiot Cummings botched the job to get up into your room to retrieve this.” He held up the diary. “But I was thwarted at every turn.”

“So you decided to abduct a young lady, which in turn will bring more awareness of our situation?” The older, cultured voice was familiar and she turned her head. Lord Oglithorpe hobbled closer, shaking his head. A look of regret and pity passed over his face as he studied her.

“I could find no way to retrieve the diary. You and I both know each day she got closer to the truth.” Dewhurst sounded as if he were a boy denied a reward.

“What…” She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The fear clawed at her belly, her heart. “What is going on here? I cannot believe your only interest in the diary is for research.”

Dewhurst laughed, although it was not a pleasant sound. It bounced off the bare walls of the small room, a thread of evil darkening it.

“Research! No, you idiot.”

“Dewhurst—”

He turned on the older man and shouted, “No, you be quiet. If it were not for your idiocy a lifetime ago, I would not have had to do this. I would be married, happily, to Lady Anna. Instead, I have lied and killed to cover up your treason.”

Cicely gasped and her gaze flew to Oglithorpe. “You are one of the five.”

He bowed. “Jupiter, at your service.”

Her attention moved back to Dewhurst. “And you? Whose heir are you?”

“Noir.”

She shook her head. “No, Cummings said he was Noir’s son.”

He snorted. “Well, he lied. I know, hard to believe that such a thieving, buggering idiot would, but there you have it.”

“He was Noir’s son, but not his heir,” Oglithorpe said.

Dewhurst turned around abruptly and raised his hand. It was then she saw the small pistol he was holding. Her fear increased tenfold as her mind raced from one idea to the next on how to get out of there.

“What the bloody hell are you rambling about?” he asked the older gentleman.

“He was your half brother. Your father had an affair with Cummings’

mother, ohh, just about the time your mother was pregnant with you. He was Apollo’s heir”—his gaze moved back to Cicely—“but Noir’s son.”

“You lie! My father was ever faithful to my mother.”

Oglithorpe cackled at that. “Your father was as faithful as a tomcat.

He liked anything that smiled and flirted, especially if it was a pretty woman. Who knows how many bastards—”

Dewhurst pulled the trigger, the deafening sound of the report causing Cicely to cover her ears with her hands. A look of mortified surprise lit the older man’s features and he stumbled back against a tattered couch, his hand clasped to his chest. Blood oozed around his hand, a violent stain against his white linen dress shirt.

“You lie.” Dewhurst’s voice had turned wooden, but there was a hint of madness to it. When he looked back at her, cold panic slipped over her heart, freezing her soul. The lunacy she saw shining in his eyes convinced her she would die next. She had done so many things she regretted. At the age of six and twenty, she had not yet truly lived, had not experienced half of what she wanted, and she had not told the man whom she adored that she loved him. That was the one thing she would never accept, that she did not tell Douglas of her true feelings.

He raised his weapon, aiming it at her head.

“I would rather you not shoot, old chap.”

She closed her eyes at the sound of Douglas’ voice. Hope shimmered through her, but she was afraid that she had dreamed him up.

She heard Dewhurst shift his feet. “What the hell are you doing here, Ethingham?”

Still afraid Douglas’ voice had been a figment of her imagination, she opened her eyes. The sweet relief she’d felt was soon followed by horror.

Dewhurst now had the gun pointed at Douglas.

“I have a bit of a problem.” Douglas’ tone was calm, as if he were discussing the weather.

“A problem?” The disbelief in Dewhurst’s voice caused a bubble of hysterical laughter to rise, but Cicely fought it back.

“See, you abducted and threatened the woman I love.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I have a small problem with that.”

“Douglas.”

He ignored her, as did Dewhurst.

“And I would rather you take your shot at me,” Douglas said.

Dewhurst laughed, the sound now slipping into a maddening snicker, one you would expect to hear in bedlam. He raised the gun, his laughter dying into a smile filled with menace. “I aim to please, Your Grace.”

Panic, fear and outright terror pushed her to her feet. Before she could reach Douglas, another movement caught her eye. A man came charging out of the darkness on the other side of the room. She could not react because someone else was tackling her, both of them falling to the floor. Her head hit the ground hard, pain sparking throughout her entire body, blinding her.

She heard shuffling, cursing and then a shot firing.

“Cicely?” Douglas said, his voice close enough for her to tell he was the one who had pushed her to the floor. The panic threading his tone gave her the strength to open her eyes.

His handsome face was contorted with worry, his concerned gaze studying her.

“Douglas.”

“Oh, thank God!” He gathered her close. His body heat chased her chills away. Still she shivered. She closed her eyes and sank into the comfort of his embrace.

“Dewhurst is out cold.”

She recognized the voice and opened her eyes again to find Bridgerton watching them.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“He came with me,” Douglas said. “He found me when he realized who the culprit behind the alley attack was.”

She shifted her weight, sitting up slightly, and frowned. “How did you find that out and where are we?”

“Yes, Bridgerton, explain how you had the connections with the Runners to find that tidbit of information out. They found that Dewhurst owned this abandoned storage building.”

He looked from Cicely to Douglas before saying, “I dabble.”

Before she could ask what that meant, the sound of feet clomping down the hallway interrupted her. He turned away as men came pouring into the room. She looked up at Douglas, who studied the earl as he moved to talk to the constables.

“What was that all about?”

He shook his head. “Not a clue and I really do not care.” His gaze captured hers. “You will never know the fear I felt when I found you had been abducted.”

“Probably no more than I felt when you told Dewhurst to shoot you.

What on earth possessed you to do that?”

“Bridgerton’s plan. We had to divert his attention.” He pulled away, cupping her face with his hands, then studied the gash on her head.

“Does it hurt?”

She shook her head, which caused sparks of pain to radiate from her injury. Sighing, she said, “Well, just a little.”

He smiled as he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers tenderly, lovingly. It was the sweetest gesture, and her nerves, already a mess, jumbled again. Tears filled her eyes at the gentleness of the kiss.

When he pulled away, he studied her.

“I did not mean to make you cry, love.”

“You told him you loved me.”

His face blanked. “Of course.”

“Of course? You have never told me.”

Guilt stole over his features and he dropped his hands. “I know. But I just assumed… I know I was wrong. I realized that and was coming to tell you when Catherine told me you had been abducted.”

“Catherine?”

He nodded. “She saw the whole thing and ran for help.” He sighed.

“But I realized, quite belatedly, that one thing you wanted, and I wanted to give it to you, share it with you.”

She smiled. “Love. But that is not all I want.”

His eyes narrowed. “And what else is it you want?”

The aggravated tone of his voice had her laughing. “I don’t want to be told we will marry. I want to be asked.”

“I did ask.”

“You did not. You told.”

“I…” His face flushed red. “Oh, well, you are right.”

She said nothing, just continued staring at him, waiting, hoping.

“Lady Cicely, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Laughing she said, “Try and stop me, Your Grace.” With that, she scrambled into his arms, ignoring the pain throbbing in her head, and kissed him soundly on the lips. The conversation that had been bubbling around them dissolved.

Douglas lifted his head and found that they had gained the attention of everyone in the room. “Leave off.” Then he got down to the business of kissing her back.

In which they live happily ever after—of course.

Douglas smiled as his wife snuggled closer to his side. The early-morning sun was peeking through a slit in the curtains, but he felt no need to rise from bed. It had been a fortnight since their wedding, and they had rarely left their bedroom. He closed his eyes as memories of last night’s lovemaking washed over him. Who would have thought that this little slip of a woman would have so much energy, or could be so inventive in the bedchamber?

Then again, what more could he expect from a woman who asked him to teach her about seduction while they danced a waltz. He chuckled.

“What is that for?” She rose to stretch, completely comfortable in her nudity. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and opened them. The drowsy, satisfied look in the depths of her chocolate brown gaze melted his heart.

“Nothing in particular.” He reached out to stroke his thumb over her pert breast, focusing on her rosy nipple, smiling when it pebbled at his touch. She playfully swatted his hand away. “I was just thinking of how our life together started.”

She smiled. “If I had never requested your help, you would have never noticed me.”

He frowned up at her. “I do not think that is accurate, my love.”

She snorted. “I guess we will never know.” Her smile faded. “We need to think about returning to London.”

They had run from London, wanting some peace and privacy from the excitement of a surprise wedding in society. He had tried to suggest a trip to the continent but she had not wanted to go too far from her family after the last few tumultuous weeks. It had been Cicely who had convinced him to come to Ethingham. He had not wanted the memories of his haunted past here, the sight of some of the worst of his childhood abuse, to darken his new life with her. But she had insisted on it, wanting to meet the staff. Once there, his little minx of a wife had proposed “christening” every room to rid it of its evil memories. And they’d almost accomplished that goal on this floor. He saw no reason to leave with so many rooms left on their list.

“I like it here.”

She rolled her eyes, but he ignored her sarcastic look and reached out to touch her other nipple.

“You did not want to come here to begin with. Besides, Colleen wrote to say she is worried about Anna. She seems to have taken Dewhurst’s duplicity to heart.”

Even these weeks later, the familiar anger rose along with a fair dose of aggravation. Granted, he had saved her from the crazed man, but he should have wondered about the man’s sudden interest in Anna and how solicitous he was to Cicely.

“I am just sad the State Department confiscated my diary. I know they will never tell me everything that went on.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pouted. “Knowing them, they will never arrest anyone. The traitors will get away with it.”

“Face it. The men who did this are all dead. And it is not their crime that is the worst. While they schemed, they truly did nothing quite as horrible as Dewhurst.”

She nodded. “Colleen wrote that they think he will end up in bedlam.

Bridgerton had told her that Dewhurst keeps raving about deceit of the father.”

She sighed again, her magnificent bosom rising then falling.

He felt his groin grow heavy as a wave of heat washed through him.

Even if he lived another thousand years, he would never get enough of this woman.

“Enough of cousins and diaries and old traitors.” He tugged her down onto the bed and rolled over to cover her with his body. “I thought I could convince my wife to engage in a not-so-adventurous bout of lovemaking, in of all places, a bed.”

She laughed and then moaned his name as he pressed his mouth against her neck. Just before he claimed her mouth, he hesitated, his lips close to hers but not touching. She opened her eyes so they gazed at each other.

“Wife,” he barked.

“Husband,” she responded.

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “For what, my love?”

He shook his head, nipped at her lip, sucked it. “For being so bold as to ask for lessons in the middle of a crowded dance floor. For accepting me, and especially for giving me back my hope. I love you.”

She said nothing, so he drew back. Unshed tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, love, I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Only tears of happiness.” She slipped her hand to the back of his head and urged him closer. “Now, teacher, what are we going to work on today?”