In Your Arms Again (28 page)

Sighing, he turned, running his palm over the stubble on
his jaw. “I’ve enough blood on my hands without adding yours to it. You will be safer in your own house.”

“Do not make me go, Norrie. I will be so worried about you if we are apart.” Wonderful, now she had lowered herself to begging. What next? Where was her pride, her resolve? She didn’t truly believe she could do anything to protect him, did she?

“I will worry about you if we are together. You are going, Vie. Gather your things.”

“But—”

“Must I do it for you?” He didn’t bother trying to hide the pain and resolution in his expression. “You are going, and that is all there is to it.”

He would not be refused, she knew that. If he had to he would truss her up and physically remove her from his house. This was the end. Their brief reunion was over.

“Fine,” she replied, willing strength into her voice. “I will go.” In her mind, Octavia knew he was right, and she was anything but stupid.

But in her heart, she wanted to stay, wanted to be reckless and rebellious and risk it all to be with him.

Someday she was going to give in and listen to her heart.

Someday.

She is lovely
.

The card crumpled in North’s fist, the corners digging into his palm. Rage coursed through his veins. Fear trickled down his spine. The thought of Harker visiting Octavia—speaking to Octavia—filled him with such emotions, he didn’t know where to begin trying to name them all.

He could kill Harker. Kill him and not feel one ounce of remorse. In fact, he
wanted
to kill him. He’d watch the bastard dance on the wind at the end of a hangman’s noose and laugh.

If Harker ever came near Octavia again, he’d string the bastard up himself.

Octavia.

Thank Christ she was all right. Harker hadn’t come there to hurt her—not this time. This was simply a warning. A message to North to back off or she would get hurt. Harker would never get that chance. Little did he know that his threat had the opposite effect. North was
not
going to back off. In fact, he was more determined than ever to bring Harker down—by any means necessary.

“We are ready.”

North whirled around. How had she managed to sneak up on him like that? Never mind that she was carrying luggage, or that she had Beatrice with her, normally he could sense her the moment she stepped into a room. It was just another reminder that Harker had found the perfect way to rattle him.

She stood just inside the doorway, her petite cousin behind her. Beatrice’s expression was one of bewildered concern. How much did she know about the situation? Did she know he and Octavia had been lovers? Did she know Harker was more of a threat than any foolish “admirer” could have been? Did she know just how incredibly stupid he had been? Allowing his feelings for Octavia to cloud his judgment, his senses?

Christ, he was not a stupid man, but Octavia made him feel like one.

And now she had the nerve to look at him as though she were the only one suffering. Did she think he wanted to let her go? He
never
wanted to let her go. The fact that she wanted to stay made it all the more difficult. Things never should have gotten this complicated between them. He never should have made love to her. And what about that fiasco earlier here in the parlor? He’d taken her with less finesse than a green boy, not caring about her pleasure, wanting only to assuage the desperate fear in his soul.

“As soon as I have briefed my men I will escort the two of you home.”

Octavia straightened her shoulders. “That is not necessary.”

She was so proud and defiant in her rumpled gown, her jaw still faintly pink from the rasp of his beard. Had she washed when she went upstairs to collect her things from his room? Had she wiped all traces of him from between her legs? Had she rinsed her mouth to rid herself of his taste?

She would never be rid of him. Did she not know that? She thought he was abandoning her, rejecting her. He didn’t have to be a genius to know that she’d felt cast aside by almost everyone in her life—including him. Only he knew the truth, that he had never truly abandoned her, and never would. He would know every aspect of her life right up until the day he died. He would never be free of her hold over him. And he would never let go of her. Never.

“It is necessary,” he informed her, his voice and face void of emotion. “You are my responsibility.”

“Not anymore. You have fulfilled your obligation to my fiancé. You are no longer required, nor being paid, to protect me.”

Christ, she knew just where to hit. So did he. “You are my friend. And more important than any amount of money.”

Octavia paled. Beatrice stared at him with something that looked very much like respect.

But Octavia wasn’t done with him yet. “As soon as we have reached my home, I will pay you for your services.”

“You already have.” As she flushed that bright pink that only redheads could flush, he continued, “I am all the richer for it.”

She obviously did not know how to take that, which was just as well because he wasn’t quite certain how he meant it. It was romantic in a flowery and pathetic kind of way.

Octavia opened her mouth, and he cut her off with a lift of his palm. No more. No more trading these foolish barbs and thinly veiled admissions of feelings. Right now he had to be at his sharpest, and he couldn’t be with her around.

“If you ladies would not mind waiting for me in the parlor, I see that my man has arrived.”

Sure enough, Francis walked by the study window just then, bounding up the front steps with his usual and odd grace for a man of his stature.

Johnson didn’t bother to announce him, nor did Mrs. Bunting. The entire household was used to Francis coming and going at all hours.

Octavia flashed a North a glance that told him she was far from being done with him before exiting his office with all the rigidity and poise of a queen. Beatrice followed. Francis bowed to both of them at the door as they swept by.

“Shut the door,” North instructed, not caring if Octavia was out of earshot. “I do not trust her not to listen.”

Grinning, Francis closed the door. “I take it she is not pleased that you are sending her back to her fiancé?”

As much as he liked Francis, what did and did not please Octavia was none of his business.

“I want you and Barnes to watch her house. Be on your guard, Harker’s men might be around. I don’t want either of you ending up like Harris.”

“Neither do I.”

“And have some of the boys keep an eye on Harker and his lads. If Harker takes a shite I want to know about it.”

Francis’s brow furrowed. “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done a long time ago,” he replied bluntly. “I am going to bring the bastard down.”

“What about the law?”

North shrugged. “What of it?”

“We generally tend to follow it, remember?”

“You go ahead and follow it. I have other plans.”

Francis appeared genuinely concerned. “Do not be stupid. That is what Harker wants.”

“I don’t intend to give him what he wants. I intend to give him what he deserves. Now do me a favor and go fetch the women. The sooner they are out of my house, the better I’ll feel.”

Francis didn’t look as though he believed that for a second, but he was wise enough to keep his opinions to himself. He nodded sharply and exited the room.

A little while later, Francis sat up top with the coachman while North sat inside the carriage with Octavia and Beatrice. Despite the fact that Brahm’s carriage was comfortable and well appointed, North was convinced Francis got the better arrangement. Sitting outside in the light rain would definitely be preferable to ending the daggers Octavia was shooting at him with her stormy blue gaze. She was angry and hurt, and she blamed him—that was obvious. He tried not to look at her, but it was difficult, since the only thing he wanted to look at was she.

Christ, how long did it take to drive to Mayfair?

Finally the carriage rolled to a halt, and the awkward silence of the drive was broken by the opening of the door by a footman and the lowering of the steps.

Octavia surprised him by actually speaking. “I would like a moment with Mr. Sheffield, if you do not mind, Bea.”

Beatrice nodded, shooting North a look that was meant either as encouragement or a warning; he couldn’t tell. Usually he was good at reading expressions, but the Vaux-Daventry women were a mystery.

Once her cousin had exited the carriage, Octavia beckoned for the footman to close the door once more. The latch
had barely clicked before she moved to sit beside him. The bonnet she held in her hand bumped against his knee.

Gone was her expression of recrimination, replaced by stark fear—and concern.

“Will you promise me something, Norrie?”

“Only if it is a promise I can keep,” he answered honestly.

A slender, gloved hand wrapped around his own. “Will you be careful?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Naked pain shone in her dark eyes. “Will I see you again?”

No. Never again. That was what he should tell her. “If you send for me, I will come.”

It was not quite the answer she was looking for, he knew that, but it was all he could give. She nodded, her hand reaching for the door.

“Merton’s son—the boy who wrote you the letters—will be calling on you to apologize.”

“All right.” Her hand curled around the handle.

“Tell Spinton I will call on him tomorrow.”

Another nod.

Christ, this was hard. “Vie?”

Something in his tone must have reached her, must have given him away, because she whirled around at the sound of her name. He reached for her just as she reached for him, and they seized each other in a fierce embrace, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss that seemed to last for hours.

Finally, breathless and gasping, they broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other, their hands clasped around each other’s necks.

“Be happy,” he whispered.

She stroked the stubble on his jaw with her thumbs. “Knowing you are alive and safe is all I will ever need to make me happy.”

And then she was gone, leaving him alone with a heart so full of her it was slowly breaking.

But not slowly enough.

“I want your help.”

North stood in his father’s house, in the room where he and his father used to talk. Where he and his brothers always used to talk.

“My help?” Setting his cane nearby, Brahm lowered himself into a brown brocade wing chair, stretching his lame leg out in front of him. “You have never asked for my assistance before.”

North shrugged, scratching his jaw. He was going to have to shave again. “I never needed it.”

His brother rubbed his own smooth jaw thoughtfully. “Why now?”

Brahm obviously knew something was amiss, so there was no point skirting the issue. “I want Harker out of business. Permanently.”

Brahm smiled. “Why not just have Dev shoot him?” The smile faded. “You are serious.”

“I am.”

Sitting as straight as his lame leg would allow, Brahm was all seriousness. “What has happened?”

“He came to my house. He spoke to Octavia.” To North that was explanation enough.

Brahm frowned, massaging his leg with his left hand. “Vaux-Daventry?”

“Yes.”

“What was she doing at your house?”

What did that have to do with anything? There was no need explaining. Brahm was perfectly capable of drawing his own conclusions. “We were shot at. I thought she was the target.”

“Now you know it was you.”

“Yes.” Shite, and now Brahm did too. Brahm might not have been a perfect elder brother—not in the eyes of the
ton
—but he was loyal and protective. North wouldn’t put it past him to go after Harker himself.

Brahm kept his expression carefully disinterested. It wasn’t a good sign when Brahm put on his card-playing face. “Where is Lady Octavia now?”

“I returned her to her own home.” He hoped she would stay there.

Brahm’s dark eyes narrowed. “For her protection.”

Meeting his brother’s gaze, North kept his own shuttered. “Of course.”

“I thought perhaps it might have been for your own.”

His patience fraying, North rose from his own chair. “I haven’t the time for your insights. Will you help me or not?”

Brahm was in no way intimidated by having to look up at his younger brother. Nothing intimidated Brahm—nothing human, that was. “Of course I will, but not when it comes to breaking the law.”

“Christ, you’re a peer,” North reminded him, shoving a hand through the messy curls of his hair. “You are above the law.”

“True.” Brahm’s tone was calm. “But you are the law.”

It was tempting to confess all about Wynthrope’s involvement with the thieves and how North risked his career to save him. Let his brother toss such nonsense in his face after that. But Wyn would never speak to him again if he imparted such information to their eldest brother.

Instead he murmured, “You and I both know the law does not always work.”

Gripping his cane, Brahm pulled himself to his feet again, grimacing as his weight settled on his bad leg. “But it is still the law. You cannot bend and change it to suit yourself.”

Now was not the time for a brotherly lecture. “Can’t I?”
Right now he didn’t give a rat’s arse how petulant he sounded. He was
this
close to throwing a tantrum.

“That makes you no better than the scoundrels you pursue.”

North folded his arms across his chest. How very sanctimonious and damnably
right
his brother sounded. “You never preached like this when you were foxed.”

Both hands braced on the head of his cane, Brahm shrugged. “I never cared.”

“You were also much easier to anger.” If only that were the case now. He was spoiling for a fight, and usually his brothers were very good about indulging him.

“Not now. What would you like me to do, North?” His tone said that he would do whatever was in his power. “I have very few friends left among the
ton
.”