A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (25 page)

“I will be happy to loan you a dozen of my own men to search, if you think…” Hadderly trailed off, his gaze meeting hers and then lowering to his dog. The earl shot to his feet. “Titan. Come here, boy,” he ordered sharply.

The wolfhound turned around. Theresa wanted to yell that she knew where Tolly was, knew who had him, but she needed to be certain. Holding her breath, she lunged forward, snatching the leather out of the dog’s mouth.

“Miss Weller!” the earl roared. “Leave my dog alone. And give me back his damned toy.”

The leather brace was sticky and malformed, but she recognized it. And the brass buckles Tolly used for fastening it around his knee. Standing up, she jabbed it in Hadderly’s direction. “This is Tolly’s leg brace,” she shouted, her voice shaking. “What have you done with him? Tell me! Tell me!”

The earl advanced on her, then stopped short as Sommerset grabbed him around the throat and backed him up again. “You heard Miss Weller,” he murmured, ignoring Hadderly clawing at his forearm. “Where is Colonel James?”

“You’re all mad,” the earl croaked. “The fool killed himself. Accept that, and move on.”

Theresa ran to the door and out into the main part of the house. “Tolly!” she yelled. “Bartholomew James!”

“Tess, slow down,” her brother ordered, grabbing her by the arm.

“He’s here.” Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t care. “Michael, they had him here. What if they’ve—”

“We’ll find him. I promise you.”

Stephen came pounding up behind them, Montrose on his heels. “The cellar,” Lord Gardner panted, pointing. “This way.”

They wound down the hallways toward the back of the house. A half dozen servants and menacing looking men fell back, out of the way, as they advanced. Theresa would have fought them all single-handedly if she had to. He had to be well. Surely Hadderly wouldn’t have harmed him. Not until he could finish spinning his ugly little tale about suicide.

Just outside the kitchen Stephen put his shoulder against a door and shoved it open. The men pushed past her, charging down the stairs, and leaving her to follow behind. Inside, sprawled on the floor with another man slumped beside him, was Tolly.

“Tess,” he said, ignoring everything else.

She flung herself forward, falling into his arms. “Thank God,” she sobbed, digging her hands into his jacket. “Thank God.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “You came to rescue me again,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair.

Theresa straightened a little. He had an ugly bruise
over one eye, dried blood trickling down from the cut there. “Again?”

“You rescued me the moment I set eyes on you. You were all I could think of. I love you, Theresa. So much.”

“So very much,” she whispered back.

“Come on, Tess,” Michael said, taking her beneath the arms. “Off the floor.”

She didn’t want to let go of Tolly, but he couldn’t have been easy there on the floor with everyone towering over him. Stephen hefted him up onto the second stair. “You seemed to be doing a fair job of rescuing yourself,” Lord Gardner noted, pulling a knife from his boot and cutting the rope that remained around one of Tolly’s forearms. Both of his wrists looked raw and torn, but from his smile he didn’t care.

Sommerset stepped into the doorway above them. “All is well, I presume?” he asked, looking down at them.

“Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.” Stephen looked near tears, himself.

“Thank Miss Weller. She figured it out before I did.” He moved aside. “Montrose, might I impose on you to keep watch on Hadderly while I pay a visit to Lord Liverpool? This will take some delicacy.”

Goodness. Now the prime minister was involved. Before Alexander climbed the stairs, Theresa took his hand. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

The marquis gave a brief smile. “I said I wasn’t the villain of this piece.” He glanced at Tolly, then back to her again. “Not the hero, either. He’s still
a crippled former soldier, you know. And I’m still a marquis. I’ll wait for a time. Just in case.”

“He can wait until hell freezes over,” Tolly rumbled, taking her hand and drawing her down across his legs. “You’re mine.”

“I love you, Tolly,” she whispered, leaning into his shoulder. “And I don’t care who knows. I
want
everyone to know.”

“We do, now,” Michael said wryly. “Let’s get everyone back to James House, shall we?”

Once Tolly climbed to his feet she wrapped her arm around his waist to help him climb the stairs. “You’re certain, Theresa? No regrets?” he murmured.

“Never.”

The rest of the Season flew by in a flurry of parties and wedding preparations and abrupt, unwanted hero worship for Tolly. Once the
London Times
published his editorial and Lord Hadderly mysteriously left London for the West Indies, everyone seemed to forget that they’d once refused even to speak to Colonel Bartholomew James.

“Tess, you look so pretty tonight,” Harriet said, greeting her as she walked into the ballroom of Garrity House, her grandmother and Michael on either side.

Theresa kissed her friend’s cheek. She felt pretty. And she felt happy; in fact, her face hurt some evenings, she’d been smiling so much. “You look lovely yourself, Harriet,” she returned. “Doesn’t she, Michael?”

Her brother lifted an eyebrow, then sketched an
elaborate bow. “You do indeed, Miss Silder. Have you a waltz to spare?”

Harriet blushed. “I happen to have one, yes.”

Theresa’s dance card filled nearly as swiftly as it used to when half the men present were pursuing her. She’d never expected that they would still wish to dance when she didn’t have a dowry to offer, and when she’d actually begun speaking her mind when the mood struck her—which it did more and more often.

The best part of the flurry of balls and soirees—all of them demanding their presence once the wedding announcement had appeared—was the one dance she always saved for Tolly. It was always the first waltz of the evening, and their quiet, kiss-filled walks in gardens or along terraces or in someone’s ill-used library were absolutely the only things that gave her the patience to wait for a formal, proper wedding. Otherwise she was half certain she would simply have moved into James House to live with him in sin.

Tonight, however, by the end of the quadrille with Francis Henning, Tolly still hadn’t appeared. She frowned. Where the devil was Bartholomew? He’d said he would attend tonight, whatever he thought of crowds and of the fickle-mindedness of people who could shun him one moment and celebrate him the next.

“Theresa.”

With a start, she turned around. “Tolly,” she said, smiling.
Thank goodness
.

He sat in his wheeled chair, Lackaby behind him. “Did you save me a dance?”

“I did.” She always would. Always. “What shall we do this evening?” She had several ideas, but she couldn’t precisely mention those in front of the valet. “The Garrity House garden has a lovely fish pond, I hear.”

“Does it?” Tolly slowly pushed to his feet, then took a step forward. And another. It took a moment for her to realize that he’d left his cane behind, and that he was barely limping at all. “What shall we do this evening, my love?” he repeated, gazing down at her as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I think we should waltz.”