Her Only Desire (34 page)

“My lord, would you please come with us now, sir?” the brawny captain of the constables spoke up. “You're going to have to come with us and answer a few questions.”

Ian nodded at the man, but then noticed Georgie's presence. “One moment, please.”

“Aye, sir.” The captain allowed this, but still eyed him suspiciously.

Her cousin Robert gave her a taut smile of reassurance as she passed him. Georgie suddenly remembered she was wearing Indian garb, not exactly decent by London standards. That would explain the odd looks from the constables.

Ian and she walked a few paces away from the others.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I'm fine.”

“Your lip's bleeding.”

He wiped the blood away, glanced at the trace of it on his hand, and then eyed her uncertainly. “Hawk's going to take you to Winterhaven. Damien's estate. I've, er, I've got to stay in Town for a while longer until all this has been straightened out.”

“Are you under arrest?”

“I don't know.”

She glanced around and saw that the constables were already taking down the names of the onlookers who had been strolling in the park when the whole thing had happened. Another of the officers was going through the saddlebag strapped to the horse that the assassin had tried to use for his escape.

Ian followed her glance, but when she looked at him again, he stared into her eyes, his expression fierce but tormented. “I'm sorry—for this,” he forced out in a raw voice.

“No—it's all right.” She reached out and started to touch him, but something stopped her. A newfound uncertainty about him.

He saw her hesitate and closed his eyes with a stunned look, as though she had slapped him. He lowered his head. “Go,” he whispered.

“Ian, I didn't mean—” She reached for him again, more bravely, but he pulled away.

“Look after my son, will you?”

“Of course,” she whispered with a fervent nod. “We'll be waiting for you. Both of us.”

His nod was brooding and remote. She knew he had already shut her out as he turned away. “I'll see you when I can.”

         

Short of harm befalling someone he loved, the worst thing Ian could have possibly imagined happening to him had just occurred.

He had snapped, his dark side on display for all the world to see. He felt exposed…as a monster, capable of all the same bestial, warlike impulses in mankind that he struggled to curb and channel to positive ends through his diplomatic efforts.

But what choice had he had?

The threat to Georgiana and his son had ruptured all the stiff restraints with which he had so conscientiously controlled his own nature for so long. When would he ever learn that emotions could never be trusted? Every time they came pouring out, it seemed as if something bad happened.

Well, it was done, he thought in disgust, and it couldn't be called back now, could it? The cat was out of the bag—the tiger out of his cage.

In a way, he was almost relieved not to have to hide anymore. Finally, he could breathe, as if he'd been freed from a too-starched cravat. He rubbed his throat again, still jarred by how close he had come to death. Indeed, if he had not loosed the beast inside himself to destroy the maharani's agent, his son would have been stolen from him for God-only-knew what purpose, and Georgiana would probably have been the next to have been killed, since it was she who had exposed Sujana's treachery.

But in his rage, Ian had prevented that from happening. This gave him a certain dark satisfaction. Now if Queen Sujana's agents came after his family again, he'd be fully prepared to meet death with death.

He only hoped that his victory against the assassin had not cost him what mattered most: Matthew's trust. And Georgiana's love.

He was willing to do anything to hold on to these two. Whatever it took. What good was anything if they didn't feel safe around him?

But he had seen the way she shrank from him, and he was well aware of her non-violent views. He could not bear for her to look at him with the same horror and fear in her eyes that he had seen on Catherine's face in those last few seconds before her death.

The constable summoned him then, and they left Green Park. Ian was taken into the magistrate's closed chambers, where he spent the rest of the afternoon answering the same questions over and over again for a parade of officials from Bow Street and the Home Office.

Meanwhile, the Knight brothers' close-knit unit clicked into action. Hawk and their good friend Viscount Strathmore used their rank to get in to see various Eastern ambassadors around London, trying to find out whether they knew anything about this plot, or Queen Sujana or her brother Baji Rao, or if Firoz had contacted them.

Lucien, meanwhile, came to look after Ian's interests during the interrogation. A fellow agent of the Foreign Office whose specialty had been intelligence gathering, Lucien had gone on inactive status as an operative ever since his marriage, but in the meantime, he had made many friends at Bow Street. He liked to keep his spy skills honed by helping the Bow Street Runners solve the occasional baffling mystery. He was the right sort of friend to have on hand at a time like this.

As for Lucien's twin brother, Damien, Colonel Lord Winterley, it was to his Berkshire country house that Georgie and Matthew had been taken. Bestowed on him by a grateful nation after his extraordinary service in the war against Napoleon, his beautiful estate of Winterhaven was ideally located, not too close and not too far from London. What made Winterhaven especially safe for a woman and child in danger was that the war hero Damien had established a racing stable there, which he preferred to man with battle-hardened veterans from his regiment, his own soldiers who had served under him in the war.

Lord Alec, the youngest of the Knight brothers, had gone with them for added protection along the road. Alec was also extremely handy with a sword, thanks to the constant duels he had fought in his days as the wickedest rakehell in London. A perfect foil for all of Damien's stern, disciplined command, Alec was sharp and daring, with the soul of a gambler, although since his marriage, he no longer touched the cards or dice.

With all this help while he was detained, Ian could enjoy at least some peace of mind that Georgie and Matthew would be quite safe until he was able to join them.

When that might be was difficult to say.

The interrogation dragged on. Finally, Lucien got hold of his colleagues from the Foreign Office, who verified the link between the dead foreigner and Ian's last diplomatic mission. His claim that the man had been Queen Sujana's agent was backed up by the fact that his miniature portrait of Matthew, which had been missing since he left Janpur, had turned up in the dead man's pocket. It also helped that several eyewitnesses in the park had seen the whole thing, and their testimony corroborated everything Ian had said.

Then the London map the officers found in the horse's saddlebag provided more information when it led them to an address of one Sir Bertram Driscoll. Newly arrived from India, the nabob and his Indian servants gave the investigators a full account of how Firoz had joined them in their travels. The rest of the staff reported their fear and suspicion of him from the start.

Though Sir Bertram swore to the Bow Street Runners that Firoz had been traveling alone, Ian was not about to rest assured that Queen Sujana had not sent additional assassins to carry out her revenge.

In truth, he was shocked that she would go so far as to try to take his son in exchange for Prince Shahu's death. Twisted woman! Ah, well. Perhaps it had been only a matter of time before one of the temperamental foreign powers that he dealt with decided to punish him personally for his role in negotiating arrangements that were not always to everybody's liking.

Finally, Ian was informed, much to his relief, that no charges were to be brought against him.

This, the officials concluded, was a clear case of natural justice and, indeed, of self-defense, since the man had been trying to strangle him to death. Ian assured them that if they had further need of him, he would continue to cooperate, and he told them where he could be reached, either at Winterhaven or at his own Cumberland estate.

He planned to stay out of London until the sensational storm of gossip died down a bit. He had no doubt that it would be all over Town by tonight that the mild-mannered Marquess of Griffith had slaughtered a man in broad daylight for trying to kidnap his son. He did not think people would blame him, generally, but he knew for sure that they would be flabbergasted to learn that he was capable of such ferocity. He had no desire to linger here and answer
their
questions, in turn. He could almost hear them now. Where had he learned those skills? Had he ever killed anyone before? Private man that he was, he shuddered with aversion at the thought of all their prying, which was sure to come.

No, the most pressing matter at hand was to get to his son and his fiancée and make sure they both were safe and not too badly traumatized by their ordeal—and by what they had seen him do.

Finally walking out of the magistrate's sweltering chambers around sunset, he and Lucien got some food and soon were on the road, riding their horses through the cool night air. Neither of them had spoken for miles, all talked out from the grueling day, each immersed in his own thoughts.

The westward road away from London stretched like a silver ribbon ahead, and Ian kept thinking about Georgiana. The way she had looked at him after the fight. The way she had reached out to touch him and then stopped herself—had actually been afraid to touch him. Ian knew he could not have that. He was used to a Georgiana who could hardly keep her hands off him. She had gotten him addicted to her boundless affection and he'd die if she took it away from him now. He'd never had love like this before.

It tormented him to contemplate Georgie rejecting him, but Lucien's words of a few hours ago had helped. When asked if he thought what he had done was wrong, his friend had answered, “All I can tell you is I would have done the same thing, and so would all my brothers.
And,
I wager, so would Georgiana's brothers, too.”

He knew Lucien was right, and that bolstered his determination to hold onto her esteem, even if he had to take drastic measures. His work and training had made him a master of manipulation; he knew just how to seduce people by giving them their heart's desire. By God, he was not going to lose her love now that he had finally won it, nor Matthew's, for that matter. He felt exposed, but could not bear for them to see him as a monster, and so he had come prepared, with a special gift for his son and potent plans in mind for winning back Georgiana.

At last, Lucien signaled him to the turn ahead, leaving the road for the gated drive up to Winterhaven. Ian was pleased to find the iron gates locked, just as they should be, the gatehouse being guarded by four armed sentries. As Ian and Lucien paused to let their horses breathe, the guards told them that Damien had posted lookouts all around the boundaries of the property, and so far, all was quiet.

Welcome news, indeed.

“They're waiting for you up at the house, my lords.”

“Thank you very much,” Lucien replied, nodding to them as the men shut and locked the gates again.

From there, it was an easy canter up the avenue of young plane trees that led up to the house. The drive meandered through the sprawling park, past the fine gardens with their ornamental lake, and of course, past the elaborate stable block. Ahead, the pale limestone mansion took on a pearly glow in the moonlight.

They dismounted wearily and dusted themselves off a bit as grooms and footmen came out to attend the horses and men alike.

Ian took a swig of wine from the flask in his jacket and paused to stretch his back a bit. He looked up to scan the skies for signs of rain, but it was clear. The waxing crescent moon gave off little light. The sky was very black, the stars garish in their brilliance.

He put his flask away and followed Lucien into the house. Damien greeted them in the drawing room. Ian shook his hand and thanked the elder twin for his help, also thanking Alec when he sauntered in with his air of effortless ease. Ian told them briefly what had transpired; then Damien's wife, Miranda, came bustling in, gave him a sisterly kiss on his cheek, and informed him that he had the room next to Alec's for the duration of his visit and that he could stay for as long as he liked. He smiled at her take-charge warmth, remembering the days when Damien had actually tried to foist her off on him before the fierce colonel had come to his senses and realized the woman had been made for him.

“Oh, and by the way,” Miranda added, twirling around to face him on her way out of the drawing room, “Georgiana put your son to bed half an hour ago. Third floor. Turn left at the top of the stairs. He's probably still awake if you want to see him.”

“How is he?” he asked uneasily, but he trusted Miranda's female judgment on this, since Damien's countess was raising twin sons of her own.

She sighed. “Georgie was able to calm him down a lot—she's so good with him! Still, you're his papa and I think a visit from you would make him feel much better. He was worried about you. So was Georgie, for that matter.”

“We all were,” Alec interjected.

Ian cast him a look of gratitude. “Where is your cousin?” he asked quietly.

“She went out walking in the gardens. It's such a beautiful night.”

He nodded. “Thanks,” he said to all of them, then sketched a bow and went up to check on his son, the canvas knapsack containing Matthew's present slung over his shoulder.

He found his way up to the third floor as Miranda had instructed. He peeked in a few of the nursery room doors, all of which had been left a few inches ajar so the wee ones could have a little light shining into their rooms.

At last he spotted his son, and for a moment he stayed where he was, just staring at the boy, so little in his bed.