Nothing to Commend Her (21 page)

He entered his room and went straight to the connecting door and knocked softly. He'd given Tess strict orders not to leave her alone once Miss Reynolds had retired for the night.

The seconds ticked by and there was no response. His heart jumped to his throat, as he yanked the door open, afraid of what he might find. But two steps into her room, he calmed his racing pulse.

Tess lay sleeping on a pallet at the foot of the bed, while Agatha sat curled in a chair by the fire, her notes spread around her, sound asleep. He warmed at the sight of her long dark hair tumbled about her shoulders, her robe gaped open, exposing her full breasts rising and falling with every breath beneath a thin nightgown.

"Beautiful,” he whispered.

He crossed the room and slid his arms beneath her, and lifted her from the chair. She barely fluttered an eyelash. Silently, he carried her to his room and laid her on the bed. He slid her robe from her body then tucked the covers to her chin. She murmured in her sleep, something about kisses, and he smiled.

A soft brush of his lips against hers was all he dared, but he would sleep beside her, guard her from the demon who wished to take her away.

He removed his coat and draped it over a chair, then paused. With a grin, he moved to the cabinet, took down a hanger and neatly hung up his jacket. His neck cloth, however, he was not so careful with, knowing full well it would be pressed, regardless, the following day.

After removing his boots, he sat for a spell before the fire and listened to her deep even breaths. His own fell into a rhythm with hers and for the first time in an age, he felt a peacefulness wash over him. It called him to the bed, and after stripping down to just his under-drawers, he slid between the sheets to lie beside her. He had little doubt he would wake before her in the morning, and be able to cover the scars before she awoke, but until then he would relish the warmth of her body beside his this one time.

On a sigh so sweet he ached to taste her, she rolled toward him and snuggled into his side. He held his breath, fearing she'd wake as she had before, and he knew if he so much as looked into her eyes filled with longing, he would not be able to stop himself from making her wholly and completely his.

Her hand fidgeted a moment atop his bare chest, a fraction of space away from his scars, and she murmured something. But she fell into a deeper sleep, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He placed his hand over hers where it lay and closed his eyes to sleep the most restful sleep he'd had in many a year.

Agatha woke to find herself in her husband's bed, but with no husband.

"Drat,” she said with a huff.

Not that she expected anything more than what they'd shared before, but she would've loved to have had a few minutes alone together before the day began.

As well as a few kisses and caresses.

With a sigh of regret, she rose and retrieved her robe, then made her way to her room and readied herself for the day's events, whatever they were to be. After the archery incident the day prior, she had no great desire to plan much of anything to entertain her guests.

Tess, already awake and waiting for her, helped her dress and had just finished pinning up her hair when Magnus entered.

She studied his reflection in the mirror and his furrowed brow. “Thank you, Tess. That will be all,” she said, rising from the dressing table. Whatever was on his mind, she felt certain it should be discussed in private.

He cast Tess a glance as she closed the door behind her.

"Lady Crittenden and the others are leaving this morning."

"It's just as well,” she said with a sigh. “I'd not been able to recognize the scent."

He nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you well?"

"I'm fine. My arm is a bit sore, but that's to be expected."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it is."

She cocked her head to the side as she watched him. “You obviously have something on your mind. Care to tell me what it is? Or would you rather brood over a bit longer,” she said with a small smile.

With a rough chuckle, he took two strides across the room and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was slow and delicate.

"I should have arrived sooner, before you woke,” he said, kissing and nipping his way to her ear.

She sucked in a breath at the sharp tingling sensation racing over her skin as he pulled her earlobe into his mouth.

"You should never have left the bed."

"You needed your rest.” He moved back to her mouth, his lips faintly brushing across her skin.

With a grin, she nipped his lips then swirled her tongue around their edge. “I needed you."

On a groan, he pulled her against him tighter in a fierce embrace and covered her mouth hungrily. She clung to him as he continued his delicious assault, while his hands roamed over her body, touching the small of her back, her hip, her throat, her breast. She moaned, the pleasure, so exquisite she wished it would never end.

But it must. They had guests to see off.

"Magnus,” she murmured.

"I know, I know, but I cannot seem to get enough of you.” He held her head in his hands and delved his tongue deeper into her mouth, stealing the last of her breath with slow delicious strokes.

After a time, seconds, minutes, even hours, she couldn't be sure, he set her away from him, but thankfully, he hadn't let go. She wasn't certain she'd remain standing if he did.

She shook her head, then shook it again. He chuckled low and warm. She adjusted her spectacles and cast him a false glare.

He stepped back, extending his arm. “Shall we see this lot off so we can finally have some peace?"

With a smile and a nod, she allowed him to escort her out of the room.

They'd hardly stepped into the hall, when Barstoke appeared, winded and panting. “My lord, the potting shed is on fire!"

"Stay here,” he said, and rushed to the stair.

"No, I'm going with you."

He stopped and gripped her shoulders. “I want you here, where it's safe."

She shook her head. “My safety is in numbers, and you'll need as many hands as you can get for a bucket brigade."

He looked as if he were about to argue, but pulled her to him and crushed her lips with his. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her along as they raced toward the gardens and the small potting shed.

Together they came to a halt in the garden, the flames leaping high into the sky. Magnus went rigid by her side.

She grabbed Mr. Roberts’ sleeve as he rushed past. “Is there anyone inside?"

"No, my lady. But the rest of yer things—"

"Damn my things, Mr. Roberts! Was anyone hurt?"

"No, ma'am,” he called, as he ran toward the lead of the bucket brigade.

She turned to her husband, still frozen in place. His hand had gone limp in hers. She stepped in front of him and clutched at his coat. “Magnus, look at me."

His empty gaze sickened her. The horrors he must be reliving brought tears to her eyes. They needed to join the brigade, but she could not leave him like this.

"We have to help put it out before it spreads,” she said, but received no response.

She cupped his face in her hands, and jerked his attention down to her. “No one is hurt, do you hear me? Everyone is fine."

He blinked and shook his head as if from a trance. “Agatha.” His trembling fingers brushed her lips.

"Yes, I'm here, darling, but we have to help."

His clear gaze shot to the chaos behind her, then to her. He grabbed her and leaned close. “Promise me, you'll stay far away from the flames.” He gave her a subtle shake. “Promise me!"

"Yes, of course! But you must promise me the same."

A crooked grin tipped up the edge of his lips. He pressed a quick kiss to her brow with a murmured promise, then raced to join the bucket brigade. Agatha did the same bringing up the rear with the rest of the women.

"Agatha, we need to wet down the area near the hedge,” Katherine said, as she appeared beside her.

She nodded, understanding what she intended. If they kept the area around the shed wet, then the fire was less likely to spread.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?” Lord Crittenden shouted, snagging Katherine by the arm.

"What does it look like, you fool?"

"You shouldn't be here, it isn't safe!"

She shoved at his chest. “There isn't time to argue, go help Lord Leighton!"

With a snarl, he hurried to aide Magnus, while she and Agatha, along with several of the female staff, tossed out water as fast as they could.

Several of their male guests joined the brigade to put out the flames while the ladies watched in abject horror.

"Ninnies,” Agatha growled, and tossed another bucket filled with water.

Although it took almost the entire day, and her arm was dreadfully sore, the flames were finally doused, the house saved, and all of them weary to the bone.

Agatha leaned against the wall, feeling ready to topple over, but strong arms pulled her away and lifted her from her feet.

"Magnus, I'm all right,” she coughed.

"You're exhausted.” He moved into the house and made straight for the study. Once there, he gently placed her on the settee. A glass of brandy appeared before her and she took it with a sigh, as he inspected her arm.

"It doesn't appear to be bleeding,” he said.

"I'm sure it's fine."

"You'll have Tess change the bandages when you go to your room."

She nodded at his order, noting for the first time the scars on his chest. With his coat gone, his shirt dampened with sweat and water, they stood out sharply against his skin.

Her eyes slid closed as she felt a deep pain in her chest for him. He'd endured so much, the fire, the loss of his wife, and now this lunatic determined to take revenge for something they couldn't fathom.

Katherine sat beside her with the assistance of Lord Crittenden.

"Can I get you anything else?” George asked her, as he handed her a glass of brandy.

"No, this is fine,” she replied with a heavy sigh.

The door closed and Lady Crittenden appeared before them. “Is there anything I can do, Magnus? It seems this week has been fraught with troubles."

"No, but thank you,” Magnus replied.

She looked down at Agatha and Katherine, a worried frown in her face. “Are you all right?"

"They both nodded and sipped their drinks."

"Well, I must say I've never seen such a sight,” Lady Crittenden said with a huff. “The two of you heaving buckets and the like? Such things are generally left to the men. I can understand such things from you, Miss Reynolds, American's are—
different
.” She cast a sly glance over her shoulder at her son. “But Ladies don't generally do such things."

"That's quite enough,” George snapped. “I'll not have you slight Miss Reynolds for her bravery and clear thinking. If she'd not thought to wet down the surrounding gardens, the whole house could be ablaze."

A grin teased the older woman's lips. “But George, dear—"

"Now is not the time for a lecture on deportment. Now if you don't mind, I'd like a word with Lord and Lady Leighton."

"Very well. I'll see to the others and make certain you're not disturbed,” she said with a nod toward Magnus before disappearing, a satisfied smile on her face.

Agatha glanced at Katherine who sat somewhat stunned, but no less aware of what had just happened. Lady Crittenden had been quite obvious in her little play, for they both knew she'd been filling buckets as fast as she could at the well. But George had been completely taken in. So much for doing nothing. Although to George's eyes, she was no longer prodding him to marry, the poor blind fool. The question was, however, did Katherine wish for George's suit?

Agatha shook her head at the quandary, there was little room left for more ponderings in her weary mind.

George bent low before Katherine. “You should be resting."

Katherine eyed him over her glass. “No, I'm quite fine. Right here with you,” she said softly, placing her hand atop his.

George's mouth fell open then closed with a click as he straightened and tugged at his neck cloth.

Agatha and Katherine exchanged amused glances.

"Yes, well,” George said, clearing his throat. “This business today—"

"It was set,” Katherine said without preamble.

Agatha nodded. “I'd feared as much. But how did you come to that conclusion?"

"You'd said that all of your chemicals had been removed. There was nothing left to cause such a blaze, so it had to be helped along."

"Agreed."

"Bloody hell,” Magnus said with a growl as he lifted his drink and downed its contents.

Katherine set her glass aside. “What I'd like to know is why the potting shed?"

George threw up his hands. “She's trying to kill her!"

Agatha chuckled roughly, her fatigue gaining ground. “George, what Katherine means is it was obvious I wasn't in the shed at the time, so why bother burning it down?"

"Isn't that what I said?” Katherine asked, her dainty brows arched.

"Not directly, no,” George grumbled.

It would seem an intelligent woman was a bit more than George had expected.

Agatha laid back against the cushions her head suddenly pounding. Matchmaking mothers, killers, chemicals, and a husband who teased her to distraction, all of it was paying a heavy toll on her sanity.

"Perhaps she was warning you,” Katherine said.

"That seems rather odd, she's made several direct attempts, supplied a note, why would she warn her?” George asked.

Before anyone could attempt an answer, Barstoke appeared.

"My lord, the Magistrate has returned, per your summons."

"Show him in,” Magnus said.

Katherine touched her hand. “Do you wish me to leave?"

She gripped her friend's hand in return. “No, but I warn you, he's not an easy fellow to deal with."

Katherine chuckled. “Neither are English lords,” she said, shooting her a grin.

"But you seem to manage so nicely."

They both chuckled, while George grumbled a choice explicative or two.

"You should go up to your room and rest,” Magnus said, taking her drink from her hand. “As should you, Miss Reynolds. Crittenden and I will handle this."