A Rake's Midnight Kiss (36 page)

M
ortification paralyzed Genevieve. She cursed herself for lingering in the loft.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Richard snarled. His grip on her hand tightened, as if to stop her running.

Greengrass’s sneer deepened. “I work here.”

“No, you don’t,” Genevieve snapped. “Neither you nor your vile master is welcome.”

With a knowing leer, the thug cocked his hip in a relaxed pose. “I figure only Vicar can give me the sack.” He sniggered. “Wonder how happy he’d be to know you two are so cozy. My, my, who’d think Dr. Barrett’s stuck-up daughter was such a goer? You might want to get the straw out of your hair before the village ladies come to tea, Miss Barrett.”

With an inarticulate exclamation, Richard released Genevieve and surged forward to plow his fist into Greengrass’s self-satisfied face. The man gasped and staggered back.

“Fucking hell!” With impressive speed, Greengrass regained his balance and aimed one meaty fist at Richard’s head.

“Richard, look out!” she screamed, lunging toward the two men.

Then she stopped, shocked and trembling, as she watched the man she’d once dismissed as a lightweight—intellectually, emotionally, and physically—dodge with a grace that lifted her heart. Greengrass’s blow connected with air, sending him stumbling within Richard’s reach.

Richard landed another punch, then another. Still Greengrass didn’t fall, but his movements became sluggish as he lurched vainly after Richard.

“Stop your bloody dancing, you bastard,” Greengrass demanded.

Blood trickled from his nose while Richard hardly broke a sweat. Despite his commanding manner with Lord Neville last night, Genevieve had never considered Richard a man of action. How wrong she’d been. She forgot her humiliation. She forgot her fear of scandal. She even forgot that if Greengrass gained the upper hand, unlikely as it seemed, he’d turn on her.

Instead she clung to the barn’s doorframe and watched in speechless admiration as Richard Harmsworth, the famous dandy, demolished a man twice his weight. Richard’s fighting technique was like ballet. Light. Sure. Devastating. In no time, Greengrass gasped like a landed mackerel, every strike swinging wild.

The fight didn’t last long. A clean clip to the jaw finished Greengrass. The big man wavered, almost recovered. Then his eyes flickered shut and he slammed onto the cobblestones in an ignominious heap.

With one foot, Richard nudged Greengrass. When there was no reaction, he glanced at Genevieve. He shook his right hand, then lifted it to blow upon the knuckles. With his unshaven face and wearing only coat and trousers, he looked
like a gorgeous ruffian. A golden gypsy prince. “The bugger has a jaw like iron.”

Genevieve stepped forward. As she caught his scent, clean sweat and Richard, need tightened her belly. Watching the man she loved defending her honor stirred primal emotions. “You’re magnificent.”

To her surprise, he blushed. “Doing it too brown, darling.”

She shook her head and cradled his poor bruised hand, wincing at the grazes across his knuckles. They must hurt, although nothing to compare to Greengrass’s headache when he awoke. “How on earth did you do that? He never laid a finger on you.”

Richard still looked uncomfortable. She cringed to realize that despite all her needling, he wasn’t a vain man. He used his diamantine façade to keep the world at bay, but he had no personal conceit. It appalled her how much she, the supposedly clever Genevieve Barrett, had got wrong because she’d accepted appearances instead of probing deeper. She’d misjudged this complex, wonderful man so badly.

His lips took on a wry twist. “Good to think I didn’t waste my time with Gentleman Jackson.”

“You must be his star pupil.” She kissed the torn skin.

“Careful, Genevieve,” he said quickly. “Someone could see.”

She made no attempt to conceal her craving. “I don’t care.”

His laugh held a hint of self-derision. “Good God, if only I’d known you’d look at me like that after I floored some unsuspecting chap. I’d have done it weeks ago.”

“Don’t joke. He could have killed you.”

Richard cast an assessing glance at his fallen foe. “He’s mostly fat once you get over his size. If he sat on me, he’d do serious damage. Otherwise I was pretty safe.”

She didn’t believe him for a moment. “You’re too modest. I felt like a damsel in a legend.”

“Casting me as St. George, Genevieve?”

She shrugged and released his hand. However much luring him back into the loft appealed, she reluctantly recognized that they’d taken too many chances. It was surprising that nobody had seen the fight. “If the armor fits.”

He scooped a bucket of water from the horse trough and flung it over Greengrass. “Get up, you scum.”

The man jerked upright, spluttering and shaking his head. “Fuck me dead!”

The curse emerged thickly through his torn mouth. With his good eye, he scowled at Richard with malevolent intensity. The other eye was swollen shut and turning purple.

Richard tossed the bucket to the cobblestones. “Get off this property. If I catch you here again, you’ll suffer more than a good thrashing.”

“You and whose army?” From his dirty puddle, Greengrass’s bombast struck a false note.

“Get out. And tell your swine of a master that he’s not welcome either.”

Greengrass stumbled to unsteady feet. “His lordship won’t take this lying down.”

Richard’s voice hardened. “Too bad.”

Greengrass cast a salacious glance at Genevieve. “Aye, I’ll go. But wait till his lordship hears how Miss High-and-Mighty Barrett is spreading her legs.”

She flushed but refused to cower. Richard took a threatening step toward Greengrass. “Unless you’re gone in the next thirty seconds, I’ll horsewhip you back to your master.”

Sirius growled.

“Call off your mongrel,” Greengrass snapped.

A daredevil smile curved Richard’s mouth. Genevieve’s
yen for him, barely restrained since the fight, surged anew and made her ache to take him into her body. Right now, she wanted to claim him as hers and to the devil with the world’s disapproval.

“Sirius, chase,” he said softly.

The dog bounded forward with a happy yip. Sirius was so well trained, he hadn’t moved a muscle during the struggle.

“Bugger me!” Greengrass limped at a clumsy run toward the gate, Sirius worrying at his heels.

Richard bent over the trough and splashed his head and shoulders. When he looked up, dripping hair clung to his face. He smiled at Genevieve with that glowing fondness that always made her belly cramp with longing. “I doubt we’d pass muster at Almack’s.”

“I never aspired to elegance.” She made herself smile back, but the reminder of his real life punctured her foolish hopes that he’d stay.

“I certainly did. I’d be tossed out of my clubs if they saw me now.”

Richard’s breathtaking display of skilled violence had fended off immediate danger, but other, long-term threats remained. Greengrass wouldn’t hesitate to attack her reputation. She’d face scandal alone while Richard was far away in London. Choosing a diamond of the first water to marry, if Mrs. Meacham’s magazines had it right.

Richard’s lips quirked as he strolled forward, drops of water sparkling on his coat in the bright sunlight. Under the coat, ridges of muscle banded his bare torso. She should have realized long ago that his lean strength was handy for more than turning a lady’s knees to custard.

“I think you look very nice,” she whispered. As he approached, shyness gripped her. Which was insane, given what they’d done.

“Passion has turned your mind.” He spoke lightly, but the hand that curled around the back of her head was hard and his kiss sizzled with a fierce possessiveness that made her shake. She’d loved his gentleness last night, but his ardor today thrilled her beyond imagining.

Far too soon, he raised his head. His tender smile threatened to make her even more besotted, curse the reprobate. “We’re asking to become the talk of the town, standing here.”

She curled her hands around his biceps, this time recognizing the power beneath the grubby superfine coat. She forced a practical tone. “We can use the elm to climb into my study. I hear that it’s an effective way to break in.”

His face lit with laughing admiration. “Only the best people arrive via the window,” he said solemnly and extended his hand. “Come, Juliet. Let’s get you onto your balcony.”

While Genevieve slept upstairs, Richard commandeered the parlor to write to Cam, suggesting a meeting to plot Fairbrother’s comeuppance. Apart from Dorcas, Richard and Genevieve were alone in the house. Daylight added a respectability that darkness lacked. The vicar called on a parishioner—and dodged his daughter—while Mrs. Warren visited Mrs. Garson. She hadn’t wanted to leave her niece, until Richard had alerted her to the watching footmen.

Fairbrother should hang for attempted rape and kidnapping, but involving the law meant unavoidable scandal. Scandal already loomed too close. Greengrass wasn’t well liked in the village, but his tales of Genevieve’s fall from grace would find an avid audience.

The quiet afternoon shattered. Upstairs, glass smashed. Richard leaped to his feet and sprinted toward the noise before conscious thought kicked in. On the landing, his beloved hovered in front of her study.

“Are you all right?” He strode toward her.

“I was in my room.” She turned to him, pale with fright. She wore her scholarly outfit, a pale blue muslin dress under a dauntingly efficient pinafore sewn with multiple pockets. “Someone’s thrown a rock through the window.”

“Come here.” He opened his arms and as naturally as a snowdrop grew upward in spring, she flung herself at him, pressing her cheek to his heart. His poor, reckless, longing heart.

Too soon she withdrew and stared up at him. To his astonishment, he read trust in her eyes. He’d never imagined she’d look at him like this. Damn it, now that she did, he never wanted that radiance to fade. “I hate being on edge all the time. I hate being at the mercy of these thugs.”

“We’ll come through this.” He glanced past her to the study. Shards of glass littered the threadbare carpet. His eyes sharpened. Perhaps this wasn’t merely an act of wanton vandalism. There was a sheet of paper tied around the stone that had caused the damage. He moved past Genevieve and crunched across the glass to pick up the rock.

“What is it?” she asked, just behind him.

“Be careful. The glass could cut through your slippers,” he said, even as he untied the string holding the note.

“What is it?” she repeated more urgently as he unfolded the crumpled sheet of paper.

Disbelieving fury set the words dancing before his eyes. “Fairbrother has Sirius. He’ll shoot him unless you deliver the Harmsworth Jewel within the next half hour.”

P
ulse skittering with nerves, Genevieve crept through the trees toward the ruined Cistercian Abbey that had once dominated Little Derrick. Her sweaty palm tightened around her pistol.

She’d expected shouting, but she only heard murmuring. Strangely that scared her more than raw aggression. Her belly clenched with trepidation. Not only because of Lord Neville’s proximity, but because Richard wouldn’t appreciate her going against his instructions.

He’d been adamant that he’d rescue Sirius alone. He’d refused to take the Harmsworth Jewel, although she’d begged him to carry it in case he needed to exchange it. Which if nothing else convinced her that somewhere during the last day she’d learned to trust him.

He seemed sure that a brace of pistols and self-assurance could vanquish Lord Neville. Genevieve wasn’t so sure. Lord Neville now knew that Richard was handy in a fight, and despite his lordship’s stipulations that Genevieve come alone, he must assume that she’d turn to last night’s rescuer.

But with time so short, she couldn’t persuade Richard to take her. Instead he’d sent her to alert the duke and Hillbrook. She’d found George and given him a note for Sedgemoor, then she’d rushed to this isolated spot.

She was terrified for Richard. Lord Neville had every advantage in this meeting. Well, every advantage save what she knew about the Harmsworth Jewel.