How to Treat a Lady (26 page)

Derrick materialized out of the smoke, his wet coat tied over his face. He bent over Chase.

After a second, he glanced up and yelled over the roar of the fire. “We must get him out of here. Once the fire gets to the wool—”

“Take his shoulders, I'll get his feet.”

Derrick did as she told him and they struggled to lift St. John. It took every ounce of strength Harriet possessed, but she managed. Together, she and Derrick staggered out of the barn, choking and wheezing as they went. They half dragged, half carried their burden to the yard and then fell into a heap, gasping for breath in the cool air.

Mother was there in an instant. She looked at Harriet and then Derrick. “If you two ever, ever do something that foolhardy again, I'll—”

“Mother,” Harriet gasped. “Chase is injured. His head—” She couldn't go on.

Mother's expression softened. “I'll see to him.” She glanced at Ophelia, who hovered nearby. “Bring
your brother and sister some water.” She turned and began to examine Chase.

Ophelia brought a bucket and dipper. Harriet sipped the water and rubbed her chest where it burned, trying hard not to think. If she thought about Chase, alone in the barn, injured and bleeding while flames crackled about him, she would cry. Cry and cry until she could cry no more. She closed her eyes and said a fervent prayer. He was so special. So dear. She loved him so much that—She opened her eyes. She loved him.

Mother rocked back on her heels, her face grave. “I can't believe it.”

Harriet's heart dropped. “He's going to die, isn't he?” Her voice cracked.

“No. He's breathing. And he's not bleeding badly at all. It's this.” She pulled back his shirtsleeves. “He was tied, Harriet. Both his hands and feet.” She met Harriet's gaze with a frightened look. “Harriet, someone tried to kill him.”

D
octor Blackthorne shook his head. “It's a sad business this.”

Harriet, who had been hovering beside the couch, stepped forward quickly. “What? Is he well? Do you need some water? Or should I—”

“Harriet,” Mother said, taking her daughter by the arm and leading her to a chair. “Come and sit here and let the doctor do his job.”

Harriet subsided into the chair, her hands clasped before her. She said a quick prayer, though she kept her gaze fastened on Chase. He looked so pale, lying there on the couch, his clothes and face smeared with soot, his hair matted with blood. Dr. Blackthorne had said no stitches were needed, but Harriet wasn't sure she believed him. All she knew was that if Chase St. John would live, she'd never want for anything again.

The door opened and Sophia came in. “Mother! A coach just arrived!”

“A coach?” Mother went to the window. “Who could that be?”

Doctor Blackthorne reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle. He uncapped it and waved it beneath Chase's nose. Almost immediately, Chase coughed and sputtered.

He waved his hand weakly, batting it away. “For the love of Hera, get that out of my face!”

Harriet didn't think she'd ever heard a sweeter sentence. She leaned forward and grasped his hand, holding it between both of hers. “Thank God you are well!”

Chase looked at Harriet, then looked past her to the doctor, and then past the doctor at the rest of the Wards, who were all lined up on the other side of the room, watching him with anxious expressions. His gaze wandered back to Harriet, and he took in the fact that she was wearing a bedraggled night rail, long black soot stains on the knees and streaking her face.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Good God, what happened to you?”

She only managed a tremulous smile as a large tear made a path down her cheek, cutting a streak through the dirt and soot. “There was a fire—and the barn—you were—”

To Chase's utter amazement, she burst into tears. Not tender tears he'd previously seen, but heavy sobs that tore at his heart. Wordlessly, he reached out and pulled her down to the settee, holding her tight.

Her cries muffled against his shirt, her tears making a warm wet splotch, Chase silently held her, waiting for her tears to subside.

From across the room, his gaze met Mrs. Ward's. She, the doctor, Derrick, Stephen, Sophia, and Ophelia all stood, watching. He reddened, but he refused to relinquish his hold on Harriet. “She's crying,” he said defensively.

“So we see,” Mrs. Ward said, a faint smile on her lips.

“And hear,” Sophia added helpfully. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and there was a trembling smile on her lips.

Chase clamped his mouth closed. He was not going to get into a discussion about this. All he wanted was for Harriet to stop crying. He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back. “Easy,” he whispered. “Easy, love. I'm fine. Really I am.”

She clutched his shirt and sobbed harder.

The door opened and the gaunt housekeeper stood in the doorway. “That fellow Gower has come, and with him are those two men from the bank.”

Stephen squared his shoulders. “Bring them in, Jane. We'd best get it over with. The wool is lost and there's nothing more to be done.”

Ophelia sighed and dropped into the window seat, her skirts billowing out about her. “All that work—for nothing.” Her voice echoed hollowly.

“Nonsense,” Sophia said with false cheer. “We had a lovely time and I'm certain I'll never laugh as hard as I did when I saw Mr. St. John's sheep.”

Harriet hiccupped a sob, then pulled away from Chase. “G—give me a moment to compose myself. I'll talk to Gower—”

“No, you won't,” Mother said briskly. “You aren't in any shape to talk to anyone. Just lie there on the settee with Mr. St. John and let me deal with this mess.”

“Lie on the settee with Mr. St. John?” Harriet blinked down at him.

Chase grinned and pulled her back to his side. “Do as your mother says.”

Mother beamed.

“I'll bring the gentlemen in,” Jane said with a fierce glower, “but I will
not
bring them anything to eat.”

Doctor Blackthorne replaced the smelling salts in his bag. “I can see that I'm not needed here. I'll be off.” He glanced at Mrs. Ward. “I'll stop back by this evening to make certain everyone is well.”

Mrs. Ward nodded. “Thank you so much. I will walk you out, but—”

He held up his hand. “Don't even think of it.” He made his way to the door, stopping briefly by the settee. “You're going to have the devil of a headache.”

Chase shrugged. “I'll live with it.”

The doctor eyed Harriet, who was snuggled neatly beside Chase. “I daresay you will.” With a wink, he left the room.

A moment later, Jane returned, the bankers in tow.

Stephen came forward. “Gentlemen.”

Gower nodded his head. “Stephen. Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, and I were just looking at the barn. It's still smoldering, but it seems a complete loss.”

“It is,” Stephen said shortly.

Gower smirked. “I thought it would be best to bring them out here myself so that they could see the damage firsthand.”

Chase had never wanted to box someone's ears so badly in his life.

Stephen lifted his chin. “We might as well make
this easier on all of us. Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, we cannot pay the note.”

Gower brightened. “There! I told you that—”

“Mr. Gower!” Mr. Silverstone frowned at his assistant. “One does not gloat over others' misfortunes. This is a sad business. These people have worked hard.”

Chase looked at the Wards' faces, at the hopelessness in their expressions. He caught Harriet's gaze and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Don't despair.”

She smiled then, and though it was a tremulous smile, he knew what it cost her. “I am not despairing. We will come about, one way or another. Even without Garrett Park, we are still a family.”

His heart warmed. He was graced by the beauty of the woman he held in his arms. “You are the most generous woman I have ever met.”

She placed her free hand on his face, her fingers gentle. “I love you, Chase St. John. And nothing is more important than that.”

He couldn't speak. Not one word. His heart bounded with joy, his soul burst into song, but not a single word came forth. And he knew in that moment that he had indeed finally found the strength he needed to face whatever the world had to offer.

He captured Harriet's free hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Harriet Ward, I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes once again, but they were held in check by the huge smile that graced her lips.

“That's enough of that!” Gower said, his face red. “We are here on official bank business. I have no wish to see—”

“Goodness!” Ophelia said from where she sat perched on the window seat. “You won't believe this!”

“What?” Sophia asked. “What's happened?”

“There's a carriage and eight in the drive! Two of them! And they both have crests on the doors and footmen and—”

Jane stood in the door. “If you are going to announce the guests, then I'll go back upstairs and change the linens.”

“Who is it?” Stephen asked, looking completely confused.

Mr. Silverstone cleared his throat. “Perhaps Mr. Picknard, Mr. Gower, and I should leave so that—”

“No,” Chase said, pushing himself upright. He pulled Harriet with him and settled her on the settee beside him. “Sorry, sweet, but we've guests.”

Harriet snuggled in beside Chase, her heart humming. But before she could speak, a shadow darkened the doorway.

A man walked into the room. He was tall—only slightly more than Chase—but he exuded a raw power that made even Mr. Silverstone stand more at attention. He was soberly dressed, yet in the height of fashion, a blue sapphire nestled in the center of his cravat.

His gaze cut across the room and found Chase instantly. Harriet was suddenly struck with the resemblance. Black hair and clear blue eyes, an aristocratic nose, a natural air of hauteur…

Chase struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. “Marcus!”

The man came forward immediately and grasped Chase's arm. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

Chase grinned. “You always said I needed a business venture, so I took up sheep shearing.”

“It looks like incredibly dirty and dangerous work. You'd better sit before you fall.”

Chase sat back down, immediately returning Harriet to his side.

Harriet caught Marcus's considering gaze, her cheeks heating. To her surprise, he offered her a slight, calm smile before turning back to Chase. “I'm sorry I'm late. It took us some time to discover your whereabouts.”

“We?” Chase asked.

The doorway was immediately filled, this time with a younger man, though he was clearly marked by his black hair and laughing blue eyes. “There you are, you scoundrel.”

“Devon!” Chase grinned. “Marcus has you running fetch and carry, does he?”

“Lud, no. That's why Anthony is here.”

“You brought our half brother?”

“Oh yes. He's in the carriage now, with your present.”

“Present?”

“An early birthday gift.” Devon looked around the room, skimming over the bankers and coming to rest on Sophia. “Well! What have we here?”

Sophia's cheeks flooded with color and she dimpled adorably.

Chase's smile dimmed. “She's sixteen, Devon.”

“Oh. What a pity.” Devon shrugged. “I wish I wasn't a man of scruples.”

“Chase,” Marcus said softly, “perhaps you could do the introductions?”

“With pleasure. This,” he hugged Harriet tighter, “is Miss Harriet Ward. Harriet, m'love, these are my brothers, the Marquis of Treymount and Devon St. John.”

Harriet managed a nod, for Chase held her so tightly she couldn't rise.

Marcus bowed. “A pleasure, Miss Ward.”

“Indeed,” Devon said, sweeping a gallant bow.

Chase didn't give them more time. “And this is Miss Sophia and Miss Ophelia. Derrick. And Stephen.”

Marcus bowed again, then eyed Gower, who stood rigidly in the center of the room. “And these gentlemen?”

“Mr. Picknard and Mr. Silverstone from the bank, and his assistant, Mr. Gower.”

Mr. Silverstone cleared his throat. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. I'm afraid I don't quite understand what's happening—”

“Neither do I,” Marcus assured him with a cool smile. “But I'm certain my brother can explain everything.”

“Brother?” Mr. Silverstone looked at Chase, his brows raised. “The captain is your—”

“No,” Chase said. “I am not a captain. I'm Chase St. John.”

“Captain?” Devon asked, obviously amused. “When did you become a captain?”

“I'll explain later,” Chase muttered, sending his brother a quelling glance.

“Explain now,” Marcus cut in, his brow lowered. “The short version, if you please.”

Chase sighed. “I was attacked by footpads on the road near here. It was my fault; I was drunk and an obvious target. Anyway, when I woke up, I—”

“—kindly agreed to pretend to be my fiancé,” Harriet said breathlessly. She met Marcus's glance and colored adorably. “My fiancé that did not really exist. We call him Captain John Frakenham. We made him up to keep the bank at bay.”

Devon burst out laughing. “So Chase pretended
to be a sea captain? B'God, I would have given gold money to have seen that!”

“St. John?” Gower suddenly sputtered. “Wait! I read that name in Debrett's! Y—you are not telling me that—No. I will not believe it.”

“You don't have to. It's none of your concern.” Chase reached into his pocket and pulled out the talisman ring. He glanced at Marcus. “Though I was waylaid by thieves, fortunately this was saved.”

“Thank goodness,” Marcus murmured. He eyed the ring a moment. “I think.”

Devon frowned. “Chase, I don't mean to pry, but you look like hell.”

“I was in the barn putting up the wool when someone knocked me on the head and set the building on fire.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Devon chuckled. “Always willing to play a joke, aren't you?”

“I am not joking.”

Harriet glanced at Chase's stern expression. She placed her hand on his and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze.

Devon's smile faded. “Oh. I can believe you were attacked and nearly set afire…but putting up wool? You expect us to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Attacked?” Mr. Silverstone said, looking concerned. “You were attacked?”

“And tied and left to burn,” Stephen added grimly.

Derrick looked at Gower. “Didn't you tell them about the fire?”

Mr. Silverstone frowned. “All Mr. Gower has told me is that your barn burned to the ground and you cannot make the final payment.”

Gower waved his hand. “I didn't know anyone was tied and left to burn—”

“You knew someone was in the barn while it was burning,” Derrick said grimly, “because we asked for your help, and you just turned and rode off.”

Silverstone whirled on Gower, the older man's thick brows lowered even more. “Did you witness their misfortune and then turn and leave?”

Gower's face turned bright red. “I saw no need to—”

“You—” Silverstone's jaw set. He glared at Gower. “There have been several instances when I've wondered at your moral fiber. I can see my concerns were well founded. You've wanted the Wards to fail since you first came to the bank.”

Mr. Picknard nodded. “I believe we've seen enough, Silverstone.”

“Indeed we have. Mr. Gower, the second we return to the bank, you will clean out your desk.”