Lost Lords 6 - Not Quite a Wife (24 page)

As Hardwick checked the loading of his weapons, he snarled, “You bitches are going to be my hostages to get out of here. If I have guns to your heads, they’ll let me go off in a dinghy.”

His gaze locked onto Violet. “Haven’t got time to shag you, but I’m bloody well going to have a sample.” Leaving one pistol on the desk, he strode toward the bed and grabbed Violet’s hand. “Feel what’s waiting for you, slut!”

He was pulling her hand toward his crotch when she jerked free and caught hold of his little finger. Eyes blazing, she bent the finger backward with vicious force.

Hardwick pulled back, screaming with shock and pain. “
Damn you!”

Face feral, Violet hissed, “You’re the one who will be damned to hell for eternity, you vile swine!”

As Hardwick struck her with a heavy hand, the lockless door swung open so hard it smashed into the wall. “It’s all over now, Hardwick!”

Kirkland’s voice was lethally cold as he charged through the doorway, his gaze scanning the cabin. When he saw Laurel, desperate relief blazed in his eyes.

In that instant when Kirkland’s attention was on Laurel, Hardwick spun around and raised his cocked pistol, taking dead aim at Kirkland.

Noooo!
As panic screamed through Laurel, the action slowed to a hallucinatory speed. Operating on frantic instinct, she grabbed the heavy brass telescope from its stand as if it weighed no more than a broom handle and smashed it into the back of Hardwick’s head with every iota of strength she possessed.

She could feel his bones break under the impact of her blow. Hardwick made a single strangled sound before pitching over on his side. His pistol discharged into the ceiling with a deafening boom in the confined space.

Then there was silence except for the low grinding of the ships. Laurel stared aghast at Hardwick, knowing that no one could survive with his neck bent at that angle.

She had killed a man. Laurel Herbert, known for her gentleness, kindness, and cowardly inability to wring a chicken’s neck, who had broken her sacred vows and walked away when her husband killed, was herself a murderer.

She began shaking and her knees started to buckle. Then strong, warm arms embraced her, holding her safe. “Dear
God
, Laurel,” Kirkland breathed, his words an anguished prayer of relief. “I was so afraid that I’d lost you forever!”

She buried her face against him, still shaking. As if at a great distance, she heard another man enter. Rhodes called out, “Violet!”

Violet cried, “Jasper!” Laurel heard the sound of two people coming together, heard sobs and ragged prayers of thanks, but she couldn’t move to save her life.

She’d saved her husband’s life—and incinerated her soul.

B
ecause Kirkland and his friends had discussed the possibilities, cleaning up after capturing the
Jamaica Queen
was surprisingly swift. They’d achieved the best of all possible outcomes. Both women were safe and had suffered no serious physical damage. Kirkland was sure there was some mental and emotional damage, but Laurel and Violet were strong women. They had survived, and they would heal.

Several men from the
Britannia
had been wounded, but none of the injuries were serious. The
Jamaica Queen
had suffered many more casualties, with four deaths: Hardwick; Scar Face, who turned out to be a second mate named Moody; the sailor shot by Captain Gordon; and a brute of a sail maker who made the fatal mistake of trying to stab Rob Carmichael with a huge marlinespike.

Hardwick’s first mate claimed that he’d known nothing about the kidnapping in advance. He’d been appalled to learn that two women, one of them gently born, had been abducted, and he’d planned to secretly help them escape in a dinghy before the Thames emptied into the sea. Kirkland judged him as a liar and a weasel, but his earnest desire to change sides made him useful.

Rob Carmichael and Randall stayed on the
Jamaica Queen
with enough of Kirkland’s men to ensure that the surviving members of Hardwick’s crew would behave. They’d sail the ship back to London.

Kirkland, Rhodes, their ladies, and the Kirkland House men who’d been injured returned to London on the
Britannia
. With Ashton in the engine room and Captain Gordon at the helm, they steamed back to the city at a speed only slightly less than what they’d maintained on the chase downstream. Ashton was very pleased with the performance of his new steamship.

Kirkland spent most of the return trip with Laurel, lying on the bunk in a cabin and holding her in his arms. She seemed numb with shock and barely aware of him. Kirkland wasn’t in the habit of praying, but he sent up fervent prayers that she would recover swiftly from all she’d endured.

But the disasters weren’t over. When Kirkland and Laurel arrived home in late morning, Laurel closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her belly, a spasm of pain twisting her face. “Please,” she whispered, “ask Lady Julia to come as soon as she can.”

Dear God, what if she was miscarrying? The thought made him ill, but Kirkland guessed that after all that she endured in the last day, it wasn’t surprising. “I’ll bring her right away,” he promised, “but first we need to get you to your bed.”

When he scooped her up in his arms, he saw two or three tiny drops of scarlet blood on the foyer’s marble floor. His heart twisted beyond grief.

With most of the male servants not yet returned, it was a housemaid who appeared when he called out. Tersely he said, “Send Mrs. Stratton up to Lady Kirkland’s rooms immediately.” Then he carried his wife up the long stairs, each step pounding like a lead weight on his brain.

He hated to leave her, but he could bring Julia most quickly. Plus, he needed to reassure Mariah as well as Lady Julia that their husbands were all right.

By the time he laid Laurel on her bed, Mrs. Stratton was there, her expression aghast. “Poor sweet lady! We’ll take care of her.”

Kirkland brushed a kiss on Laurel’s pale cheek, then headed out to the mews, not bothering to change his muddy clothing. He would have hitched the horses to his chaise himself, but the one groom who hadn’t gone after Laurel because he’d lost a leg in the army insisted on doing it for him. Kirkland leaned against the stable wall, so tired that he was in the numb state that lay beyond exhaustion.

Luckily, it was a short drive to Ashton House. As soon as he was admitted, Mariah, Julia, and Sarah came flying down the sweeping staircase along with Randall’s foster son, Benjamin, and Rob’s daughter, Bree.

“Our mission was a complete success,” Kirkland said quickly, realizing he should have known his friends’ families would gather here for mutual support. “Your menfolk are unhurt, and they made it possible to rescue Laurel and Violet.”

As Benjamin whooped with relief and Bree hugged Sarah, Mariah said fervently, “Thank heaven! What happened?”

“The kidnapper, Hardwick, got them onto his ship and was sailing down the Thames,” Kirkland explained. “But Ashton’s steamship, the
Britannia,
was moored nearby, so we went in pursuit. With Ashton ruining his clothes in the engine room, we made record speed. We overtook and boarded the kidnappers’ ship, ably led by Rob and Randall. No serious casualties on our side.”

“When will they be home?” Mariah asked.

“Ashton will be here quite soon. He brought us back on the
Britannia
, but he had to shut the boilers down or some such before he could leave the boat.” To Julia, Kirkland said, “Randall will be home later today, probably this evening. He and Rob are bringing back the sailing ship with prisoners.” He exhaled roughly. “I am fortunate in my friends.”

“You’ve more than earned that, James,” Julia said quietly as she wrapped an arm around Benjamin’s shoulders. “Given everything Alex has survived, I shouldn’t have been worried, but it’s hard not to. How is Laurel doing?”

Every muscle in Kirkland’s body tensed. “I think . . . I think she’s miscarrying. She sent me to get you. Do I need to call in a physician as well?”

Her face compassionate, Lady Julia said, “Not unless there are complications, which is unlikely this early in the pregnancy. I’ll go upstairs for my midwife bag and we can leave right away.”

As Lady Julia moved swiftly up the stairs, Sarah said softly, “I’m so sorry, Kirkland. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

He closed his eyes, knowing there was nothing that could be done for the child that would never be. “Thank you. As long as Laurel is all right . . .” His voice trailed off.

“She will be,” Mariah said firmly. “Julia is probably the best midwife in England. She saved my life when Richard was born. But you, sir, also need some saving. Or at the very least, a long rest.” Her nose wrinkled. “And a bath!”

He smiled a little at that. Trust Mariah to bring a bit of light into a dark day. “I fully intend to sleep the clock around once I know Laurel is all right.”

“See that you do,” she ordered.

Lady Julia was already gliding downstairs, one hand on the railing and the other holding a sizable tapestry bag. He took it from her and led the way out to the chaise.

When they reached Kirkland House, he returned the chaise while Lady Julia went inside immediately. By the time he returned to Laurel, Lady Julia was able to meet him outside the bedroom with a diagnosis.

“It’s as expected,” Julia said quietly. “It was far too early to know if it would have been a boy or a girl. As miscarriages go, this one was fairly easy physically, if that’s any comfort. Laurel is doing well, but very, very tired. She just wants to sleep. She said that you were to do the same.”

“Can I sleep with her? Just . . . to hold her?”

Julia shook her head. “You both need deep, uncomplicated rest. Someone will stay with her. She’ll be tired for a few days, but she should be back to normal within a fortnight.” Julia hesitated, then added, “Physically, anyhow. She’s had a difficult time of it. I know I don’t have to tell you to be gentle with her.”

His mouth twisted humorlessly. “I shall do my clumsy male best. I assume there’s no reason I can’t see her, just to be sure she’s all right?”

“Go ahead, but quietly. She’s sleeping now.”

He opened the door to her bedroom and saw that, rather unexpectedly, Mrs. Simond was the one sitting with Laurel. But they had become good friends, and Badger had followed along. The cat lay sleeping at Laurel’s side. She’d be happy to see him when she woke.

He moved silently to her bedside and saw that she’d been cleaned up and put into a nightgown with her lovely bronze hair in a braid. She lay peacefully, looking very young. He kissed her hair with gossamer lightness. “Sleep well, my love.”

When he headed out to his own room, he realized that he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. But the numbness that wrapped body and soul had also numbed his appetite. Sleep first. There’d be time enough to eat when he awoke.

He barely managed to get his boots off. Rhodes-the-valet would have been upset by their condition, but Rhodes-the-lover probably wasn’t thinking about much beyond the fact that he had Violet safely back.

Kirkland stripped off his coat, which was ruined, and his cravat, whose condition didn’t interest him in the least. Then he crawled into bed, wrapped his arms around a pillow as a poor substitute for Laurel, and slept the clock around—despite recurring nightmares of losing his wife beyond recall.

 

 

It was barely dawn when Laurel woke the next morning. She lay in bed and watched the shape of the canopy become more visible in the lightening room. Physically, she felt fairly well. The cramping was gone, and while she had bruises all over her body, when she considered what her condition would have been on the
Jamaica Queen
, she felt amazing.

Except . . . she rested her hand on her belly, which no longer contained that bright spark of possibility. She felt hollow. Worthless. She’d failed her husband and herself.

And she’d killed a man. Not in cold blood, and not without cause. But she would remember the crunching bones when the heavy telescope smashed into her victim for as long as she lived.

Wanting to obliterate the memory, she sat up in bed and looked around the familiar room. Mrs. Stratton was asleep on the most comfortable chair. Everyone had taken such good care of her. And yet . . .

With sudden desperation, she wanted to go home. Not this grand house which belonged to Lady Kirkland, but home to Bristol to her brother and her friends and her plain, practical clothing. Lady Kirkland, after all, had failed in the first duty of a peeress, which was to produce an heir. She didn’t deserve this grand house.

Quietly, so as not to wake the housekeeper, she rose and tiptoed into her dressing room. It took only a few minutes to don one of her simple old gowns and to throw a few items into a bag. Most of her life was back in Bristol, after all.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and headed downstairs and out to the mews. The household would be waking soon, and the stables were already stirring. The grooms were awake and drinking strong tea, grooming horses, and telling each other stories of their grand adventure of rescuing her ladyship and the pretty lady’s maid.

The grooms fell silent when they saw her approaching. She managed a smile, though it didn’t feel real. “I owe you more than I can ever say. Thank you.”

They smiled and shuffled and looked very proud of themselves, as they deserved to. Addressing the head groom, she said, “Could you hitch up the travel coach? I’m going home to Bristol.”

“Will his lordship be coming with you, my lady?” the groom asked doubtfully.

She shook her head. “No, he has a great deal to do here before he can go anywhere. Being a pirate in the Thames requires a fair amount of explanation.”

They laughed at that, then went to hitch the horses to the travel coach. In here as in all ways, Kirkland had made her life so easy.

Such a pity that she hadn’t done the same for him.