Margo Maguire (27 page)

“Aye. Baron Chetwood.”

Christina felt a scream building in her chest, but
when she tried to let it out, no sound came out.

“B
riggs!
”

Gavin pulled up short when he heard the hushed call
of his name. It was Colonel Watkins and two of his men. They were running toward
their horses, which had been tied at the opposite end of Christina’s street.
“Watkins?”

“Keep on moving, man,” the colonel ordered.
“They’ve gone around to the back of Sunderland House! We’ll follow!”

Gavin raced to the end of the street, then turned
into the alleyway behind it. He dismounted even before his horse halted,
checking his pistol as he sprinted toward Sunderland House. It was quite dark in
back, with only a bit of light from a partial moon to guide him.

He’d dealt with worse conditions, although he
wished he carried his Baker rifle, because it was a much more accurate shot. But
the pistol would have to do. He moved quickly but stealthily to Christina’s
house, and when the kitchen door fell open, Gavin retreated behind one of the
pillars at the back of the house next to hers.

With growing dread, he watched Brundle drag
Christina outside and shove her toward the stable. And when he saw a quick glint
of metal at her throat, he realized the bastard wielded a knife.

His heart pounding in his ears, Gavin raised his
pistol and prepared to fire, but there was too much movement, and Christina was
too close to his target. It was the most important shot of his life and his hand
shook at the thought of missing Brundle.

Gavin would not be able to live with himself if
Christina was injured, even if it was due to his inaction. Somehow, he had to
thwart the man who held her. He had to get her away from the knife.

Gavin lowered his pistol and started to follow
them, but a sudden burst from the door surprised him, especially when he saw
that it was Theo. The boy rushed at Christina’s captor and caught him, throwing
his arms around the man’s leg.

Brundle gave out a shrill cry, and lost his hold on
Christina, giving Gavin the opportunity he needed to get off a shot. He didn’t
need to kill the man, after all—only disable him so he could do no further
harm.

Christina scooted away and Gavin quickly took aim.
He squeezed the trigger, firing, and putting the ball into the villain’s
shoulder. The bastard howled again and fell to the ground.

Just as he did, the landau Gavin had followed
earlier bolted out of the stable and raced down the alleyway, with Baron
Chetwood driving. Colonel Watkins and his men fell into pursuit behind the
landau, chasing it out to the street and beyond.

Gavin paid them no attention.

He rushed to Christina’s side and caught her in his
arms before she fell, kissing her face, her eyes and forehead, and then her
mouth.

“Gavin,” she said softly, just before she fainted.
“I knew you’d come.”

Theo came to Gavin’s side and, with his thumb
firmly in his mouth, took hold of the edge of Gavin’s jacket. “You are a little
hero, you know that, Theo? You saved Lady Fairhaven from this worthless
scoundrel.”

Gavin left the mustachioed villain bleeding on the
ground and carried Christina into the house, but the sight that greeted them was
not a good one.

Christina’s brother stormed into the kitchen, his
hair askew as he yanked on his travel-stained shirt. Hancock was right behind
him, while Trevor and the other new footman knelt over Turner, who lay bleeding
on the floor, just inside the door.

“Someone go for MacRae,” Lang ordered. “Hancock,
get a fire going. We’ll need hot water. Where’s Mrs. Wilder?”

Lang looked directly at Gavin and then lowered his
gaze to his sister, unconscious and cradled in his arms. “What in hell is going
on here?”

Chapter 28

T
he sharp smell of vinegar woke Christina, and she found herself lying on a settee in her mother’s parlor. The first thing she saw was Gavin’s face, uncharacteristically pale. He was holding something firm and warm at her neck.

Everything that had happened suddenly came to her—except how she’d come to be lying on the settee. But a reassuring warmth slid through her as Gavin took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“Christina.” His voice was soft and gentle.

“How is Turner? Will he live?”

“MacRae thinks so. He’s done what he can for him, and now we’ll have to wait and see.”

“And Brundle?”

“The idiot in the back garden?”

She nodded and tried to sit up, but Gavin would not allow it. “He’ll live, too. Unless his shoulder becomes infected . . . And I’m not so sure about his leg.”

“What happened to his leg?”

Gavin grinned, the first time Christina had seen him truly smile. “Theo bit him. Took a large piece of flesh from his calf.”

“I daresay he deserves it. Poor Turner.”

“What about me?” Gavin asked quietly.

Christina felt a moment’s panic at the thought that he had been injured. But he appeared to be undamaged. “What about you, Captain Briggs?”

“My heart. I thought it would stop when I saw Brundle pull you out of the house. And when I saw this cut on your neck—”

She cupped his jaw in her hand. “I love you, Gavin.”

The expressions that crossed his features were no more readable than they’d been earlier in the evening, when he’d made love to her in the study.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. When he looked at her, his eyes were hard. “Christina, I am not the man you need. I’m not who you think—”

“You are.”

He shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“Of course I do,” she countered quietly. “In spite of what you have not told me about yourself, I do know you, Gavin.”

“No. Christina . . . I’ve done some despicable, wicked things . . .”

“No, Gavin. Never. You could not.”

“Aye. I could. And did. I was in Lord Castlereagh’s service in Europe.” He said it all in one breath, as though the words were painful to articulate. “As his agent, I killed so many—”

“Like any soldier is required to do.”

He took her hand from his face, but did not let go of it. “Not like any soldier. Good God, I didn’t even wear a uniform. I was anything but an honorable adversary, shooting my targets from rooftops and behind barrels.”

“Gavin—”

“They never knew it was coming. I was the angel of death in a peasant’s clothes.”

She could not bear the agony in his eyes. “You saved Theo from his uncle.”

“As would any—”

“As would only an honorable man. People in that town must have known what was happening to that little boy, and yet no one did anything.”

“Chris—”

“You saved an entire roomful of travelers at Palmer’s Inn, when you could have let the thieves hurt whomever they pleased while they took everything of value.”

“I was not the only—”

“And the day we met, you did not drag me to Windermere when that was exactly what you wanted to do,” she said as she sat up and took his hand in hers.

“You gave me no choice.”

Her brows came together. “We both know you could have overpowered me. You didn’t. You assisted a damsel in distress. You are a better man than you think, Captain Briggs.”

Gavin shook his head and started to protest, but Lang came into the room, interrupting anything he might have said.

Her brother appeared bewildered and exhausted, and Christina was glad he had not come downstairs any sooner, or everything might have played out differently. He could have been hurt.

“Good. You’ve come to,” Lang said. “How is your neck?”

It stung a little. “Not too bad, I think.” She kept hold of Gavin’s hand, wishing they had more time alone. More time for her to convince him of what she knew about him. But that would have to come later.

Christina couldn’t help but wonder how her barrister father would have argued her point to Gavin, for she intended to win her case with him. He was the most worthy man she’d ever met. He was her anchor, her love, and she could not fathom letting him go.

Lang took a seat. “I gave my explanations earlier. Now perhaps you’ll finish with yours.”

Christina gave her brother a brief account of her relationship to the Duke of Windermere, and why Gavin had come for her, eliciting a low whistle from her brother in response to the tale.

Gavin filled in a few more details. “Baron Chetwood is Windermere’s heir, and I believe he intended to prevent Christina and her sister from inheriting anything he believed was rightfully his.”

“Even after the will was changed?” Lang asked.

Gavin shrugged. “I think he was outraged by the duke’s decision to leave his unentailed property to his granddaughters. And he has been playing out his anger ever since learning of it.”

“So, this blackmail business . . .” Lang frowned. “Brundle was in on it from the first?”

“Once Magistrate Watkins questions Brundle and Chetwood, we’ll have a better understanding,” Gavin replied. “Christina’s grandfather was not exactly quiet about summoning me and making his wishes known. Chetwood was deeply in debt, and infuriated by the loss of such a large portion of Windermere’s wealth.”

“You think he decided to get it any way he could, then? And got Brundle to help him?” Lang asked.

“I think his friend Brundle intended mischief when he ran into you at Plymouth. He saw an opportunity to have his revenge on your sister for her refusal of his suit.”

Lang stood, clenching his fists. “His
mischief
nearly cost my wife and son’s lives. Even now . . .”

“They will be all right, Lang,” Christina said gently. “I’m sure of it.”

“Brundle and Chetwood are Hellfire cronies, the most depraved of men,” Gavin continued. “The baron must have been delighted with Brundle’s trick. And while I was occupied tracking Christina’s sister, they concocted this plan to make Christina’s life miserable as well as recoup some of Windermere’s wealth for Chetwood.”

Lang rubbed his head, disheveling his already mussed hair, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. “Do you think Brundle would have killed my sister?”

Gavin shook his head, still feeling more than slightly raw himself. “I think he intended only to threaten her and take her to Chetwood. Then Chetwood . . .” He swallowed, unwilling and unable to think what would have happened had Brundle succeeded in getting Christina to Chetwood’s landau.

“So, now you will go to Windermere to collect the bequest from a grandfather who disowned you when you were a child, in the greatest need of his help?” Lang asked.

“No,” she replied. “I won’t.”

Gavin looked at her blankly for a moment, then with an expression of resigned disappointment. Christina squeezed his hand. “I’ll only go so that Gavin can collect his reward for finding me. And to meet my sister. But I want nothing from that horrid old man.”

“C
hristina . . .”

At that moment, Hancock brought Colonel Watkins into the parlor and announced him. “Magistrate Watkins to see you, my lady.”

Watkins entered the room looking as battle-weary as the entire Ninety-fifth had felt after the fighting at Buçaco. He bowed to Christina, then turned his gaze toward Lang and Gavin. “Perhaps we gentlemen can adjourn for a moment while—”

“I will not hear of it,” Christina countered. “Be seated, Magistrate.”

Gavin’s chest swelled with emotion. His Christina was as fierce as Boudicca must have been.

And she loved him. Her words rang in his ears, so incredibly impossible.

Watkins nodded and took the seat offered to him. “It was Baron Chetwood in Lord Brundle’s landau.”

Gavin nodded. “I thought so.”

Watkins tapped his fingertips against his knees. “When you shot Brundle, Chetwood took the landau and raced out of Stratford Place and into Oxford Street. From there, he dashed westward at breakneck speed, the carriage bobbing wildly. We thought he would overturn in the street.”

Lang raised his brows and started to ask a question, but Watkins continued.

“We pursued him all the way to Hyde Park, where he lost a wheel. The carriage became airborne.”

“What happened?” Gavin asked.

“It flew into the Serpentine, with Baron Chetwood underneath it.”

“Good God,” Lang breathed.

Watkins nodded. “He drowned.”

There was much more to be said, but now was not the time. Watkins indicated that Brundle was being taken to his home and would be kept under guard until he could be questioned about his role in Baron Chetwood’s crimes.

“I’m going to bed,” Christina’s brother said when the magistrate had left.

Gavin was not sorry to see Lang and Watkins leave. He wanted Christina to himself, wanted to hear the words again. He wanted her assertion that he was as decent as any other man in spite of all he’d told her about his past.

And then he wanted to take her to bed and hold her until morning.

“Sleep as long as you can tomorrow,” Christina said before Lang took his leave. “I will write to Father, and—”

“No, I already told you—”

“Because I have something else—something very important—to tell him.”

“What could that possibly be, my dear sister?” Lang asked wearily.

“News of my upcoming nuptials.”

“Gesu, Christina, will you speak plainly? I am far too tired to try to decipher—”

“I am going to become engaged tonight, and late this summer, I intend to marry Captain Briggs.”

A
s improper as it was to lie with Christina in her bed under her father’s roof, Gavin gathered her close and kissed her mouth.

God, how he loved her.

He slid his thigh between hers. “You did not listen to anything I said, did you?”

She slid her hands down his chest, lingering at his most sensitive spots. “You are a hero, Gavin.
My
hero.”

“I’m no one’s hero, Christina,” he said. “But I’ve fallen so hard and so deeply in love with you, that I cannot find the strength to argue.”

She smiled up at him. “I am very glad to hear that. Because there are much more enjoyable things to do than argue.”

He groaned with pleasure when she dipped her head and swirled her tongue around his nipple. Her hands made a tingling path down his belly and found what they sought, hard and ready for her.

“Mmmm . . .” The sound came from the back of her throat just before she took him into her mouth, and he knew she derived a great deal of pleasure from the act. Perhaps as much as he.

“Christina,” he groaned.

She drove him nearly mad with her mouth and tongue, then arched up and straddled him. “You are my hero, Gavin Briggs. And never forget it.”