Corey McFadden (47 page)

He nibbled softly at her neck. He could feel her pulse pounding. Their lips met and clung together, the kiss as desperate as their struggle in the water had been. He pulled her closer....

“Ow,” she suddenly grunted and pulled away.

“What's wrong?” he asked with immediate concern.

“Something is poking me in the ribs,” she answered. Reaching into the jacket she still wore, she withdrew a small jewelry box, once covered in beautiful velvet, now a soggy mess. She handed it to him, a question in her eyes.

“Ah, that, yes,” he said, taking it from her with a grin. “Surprised it's still there.” He pried the box open and removed the necklace which glittered faintly in the light of the lantern that still burned outside.

“Something beautiful for my beautiful countess,” he said softly, holding it up to catch the light.

“Oh, Edward, it's exquisite. Much too grand for me,” she said.

“Nothing is too grand for you, my love,” he whispered, fastening it around her small neck. Then he pulled her close again, holding her tight to his chest as if he could not bear to let her go.

“We have to leave before you freeze to death,” he finally said, softly.

Maude looked up at him. “I don’t feel cold,” she answered with a glint of mischief in her eye, “in fact, I feel decidedly warm at the moment.” She snuggled against his chest.

“I can make you feel warmer still if you like,” he whispered, calling her bluff, his hands roaming down to where her bare thighs met the tops of her still-damp stockings.

With a small shriek, Maude pulled away and then giggled. “Not here! We’re on a public roadway, for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, then let’s go, and we can pick up this conversation later,” he murmured, nuzzling her hair.

She turned toward him, her eyes sorrowful again. “Where shall we go?” she asked.

He heard the unshed tears in her voice. “I’ll take you home. To Romney Manor. Your Uncle James will be glad to see you, don’t you think?” He brushed a stray tendril away from her face.

“Yes, but—”

He placed a finger gently across her lips. “Shhh,” he said gently, aware of her turmoil. “We’ll tell him the truth about what’s happened, if he’s...awake.” He had almost said “sober,” but she did not need to be hurt again. “And don’t worry about the rest of it. There will be no scandal. Your aunt and cousin will have had a tragic accident when she drove out to meet his carriage. You have been off visiting friends and now you’ve come back. And we’ll be married as soon as we can post the banns.”

Radford studied her, seeing the sorrow that still shadowed her eyes.

“Do you still want to marry me? After all this awful business with my horrible family?” she asked ruefully. “You don’t have to now, you know. I can just go home.”

“Those people have nothing to do with your family, Maude, never mistake that.” His voice was gruff with anger. “Dead or not, they were a pack of scoundrels, scavengers who lived off what they could grab from other people. It was your Uncle James’ bad luck to get mixed up with that bunch, but they were not Romneys. The Radfords have been proud to call the Romneys neighbor these many generations, and I am proud of it still.” His voice softened. “And as far as not marrying you goes, why, you wouldn’t want me to pine away to nothing would you? Of course, I suppose Bella....” He laughed and pulled away as a shrieking Maude launched herself at him, then he grabbed her and held her tight for one more kiss. When he let her go, his eyes were tender.

“Now let me go so I can drive us away from here, if you please, because if you’re not freezing to death I am.”

He gave her a pat on the bottom and climbed out, taking with him one of the several thick carriage rugs which he draped over his back. He quickly tied the hired horses to the back of the coach, while Maude watched his every move from the doorway, as if, yet, some evil could rear up and snatch him away.

Finally she settled back against the seats, snug and warm in his jacket that still smelled of him, under the blanket. She was aware she would make quite a sight arriving at Romney Manor but she hoped Claire had slipped out and left the door unlatched. It was late enough that the few servants would be abed. If she could get upstairs to her room and put on one of her old dresses before seeing anyone, she might be able to carry off the charade. She reached up and was surprised to find that the well-pinned chignon was still attached to her head, although much the worse for wear, no doubt. Another small problem solved, possibly.

She looked out at the water, still swirling and black. All of her fears had washed down the river. She watched as Radford came out from behind the carriage, carrying the lantern. He tossed the pistol Claire had dropped in through the window, then leaned in for a quick kiss. Then he climbed up on the seat and flicked the reins. Maude was going home.

Epilogue

Edward Almsworth, the ninth Earl of Radford, seated at his desk, sorted through rather mundane correspondence, at peace with the world. He spent most of his time now at Radford, the city somehow having lost its lure in recent years. There was no noise in the room, except for the gentle ticking of the large clock that stood on the mantle and kept perfect time. He made the most of this most unusual quiet while it lasted.

An earth-shattering shriek split the air, and Radford sighed. The sound of pounding footsteps, two sets, he thought—that was good, it meant no pursuit by an outraged nanny—reached him in his quiet lair. He braced himself for the onslaught as the door burst open with the force of a hurricane.

“Papa! Papa! It’s my turn to go first today! It is! It is! Mama said—”

“Not so! You traded me firsts yesterday, don’t you remember? I let you go first when we found the—” the small boy broke off suddenly, his face suffusing crimson. “I mean, well, Molly, you did, too!” he finished lamely, coaxingly, urging her to recall.

Molly, too, looked perfectly horrified. Now she remembered the trade, but how stupid of Mike even to mention what they never got caught at yesterday.

Little Lord Peter Lewis Michael Almsworth and Lady Mary Maude Almsworth, known to the family as Mike and Molly for reasons only their doting parents, and perhaps Mrs. Formby, were aware of, stood glaring daggers at one another, at an utter impasse.

Their papa looked from one redheaded, bedraggled moppet to another, marveling anew how adorable they were—and how filthy. He noted their embarrassed confusion and knew without asking that some horror awaited discovery in his formerly well-ordered household. A well-hidden garden snake perhaps—that was always good fun—or lots of very wet mud in Hobbs’s best boots, just before he was to go courting. They were uncanny, these five year-old twins, at seeking out new mischiefs and fresh victims.

“What is it that you are supposed to take turns with today? And what did you find yesterday?” Radford asked, leaning forward with what he hoped was a menacing, no-nonsense air.

The twins looked at each other with an air of cooperation and conspiracy. Their parents were convinced that they shared one mind between them and they were right.

As if a silent agreement had been reached, Molly turned with great dignity to her father. “It’s nothing, Papa. I believe we can work it out. We apologize for having disturbed you.”

As one, they both turned to leave.

“Just a minute, you two.”

At the sound of his tone, they turned back, looks of chagrin and resignation chasing across their faces. Molly had a great smudge over her nose, Radford noticed. The boy didn’t look much better. They waited.

“What was it you were trading turns for yesterday?” Radford asked with a great show of nonchalance.

Silence.

“Well?”

Finally, Mike, always the designated spokesman when there was a really sticky one to explain their way out of, said, “It really wasn’t anything important, sir.” He drew a breath. This occasionally worked with Nanny, who sometimes didn’t really want to know, but nothing had ever worked with Papa. Not yet.

“What was it that wasn’t important, son?”

Mike and Molly exchanged awkward glances. The only rule they knew well enough not to violate was that the truth must be told when asked a direct question. Oh, a little avoidance was all right, but never an outright lie.

Mike drew himself up, never one to cower under fire. It wouldn’t be so very terrible. After all, they hadn’t actually fired the pistols, had they? It would have been too noisy. He could hear a small sigh from Molly and knew that she was regretting, as was he at this moment, the lost opportunity. It would be a long time, before they found those pistols again....

Their mother and Great-Uncle James came upon this scene just as their father was finishing explaining,
ad nauseam
, it seemed to the guilty parties, how terribly dangerous pistols could be in anyone’s hands, let alone those of a child. Saved at last! The thought shouted itself through the mind the twins shared between them.

With cries and squeals of delight, they flew at their Great-Uncle James, sparing a kiss for Mama along the way. The three of them fell to the ground in a tangle of petticoats and boots with shrieks of laughter.

Radford reached for Maude and drew her into his arms with his head resting on top of hers as they fondly surveyed their offspring. He could smell the fresh scent of her.

It was a wonder to Radford to this day how Uncle James had not touched a drop of liquor since that awful night he and Maude had arrived at the manor. Bright-eyed and clear-headed, the man now went about the business of running Romney Manor with such energy and exuberance, as if those awful years of neglect and corruption had never happened. Indeed, the manor looked like a showplace now under James’ loving direction, just as Radford remembered it from the years when Maude’s parents had held the reins in their competent, caring hands.

It was also clear that James loved nothing so much in the world as his precious grandniece and grandnephew, unless perhaps it was playing cards all night at his club in London, where he took himself occasionally to sample the delights of city life, availing himself of the hospitality of the Radford townhouse. And although any number of determined widows and spinsters had made approaches, he remained a widower, once bitten, twice shy.

Maude turned in her husband’s arms and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ve been to see the new stables at Romney Manor,” she said. “They look splendid. In fact, everything looks splendid now that it’s being kept up properly. Joe is proud as a peacock.”

She was smiling up at him, as if he was the center of her universe. He hoped he was.

“Wonderful, my love. I’ll get a full report from James when that pack of wildcats finishes tearing him to bits.”

With his beautiful wife secure in his arms, the scent of lilac wafting from her long auburn tresses, the ninth Earl of Radford surveyed his noisy domain and found it perfect indeed.

Copyright © 1993 by Corey McFadden

Originally published by Leisure Books [ISBN 0843935200]

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.BelgraveHouse.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.