With This Ring (27 page)

Aaron’s jaw hardened.
Despite Dade’s words, Aaron knew a formal engagement was as binding as a wedding vow.
If Elektra actually accepted the duke, she would have to marry him or be socially destroyed.

Neville, if you sign that betrothal, you will be signing your death warrant. I will never let you touch her.

Well, then.
Perhaps he wanted to do a bit more than talk.

*   *   *

Some minutes later, Aaron had slipped into the stables behind Worthington House.
He found that his abductors had thrown his small valise into the stable for Lard-Arse to trample, roll upon, and otherwise violate.

Aaron gratefully changed into his own boots, then saddled the recalcitrant Lard-Arse, who like his new home just fine, thanks for asking.
The rangy bay gelding snapped big yellow teeth, managed to step on Aaron’s foot more than once, and delivered annoyed kicks to the crumbling wooden wall of his stall.
Aaron cursed the beast quietly and hoped that the Worthington household would merely think Lard-Arse was being his usual obnoxious self.

There were a few close calls as he tried to lead the horse out of the stables into the alley behind the house.
Lard-Arse seemed to realize that Aaron meant for him to leave his beloved Bianca behind.

Finally, mounted safely beyond the range of those teeth, Aaron kicked the furious beast into a gallop.
For once his luck seemed to be turning, for he made his getaway without anyone the wiser.

Or so he thought.

From the shadowy rafters of the stables swung a pair of skinny, pale legs with scraped knees and boots too large that threatened to drop right off.

Attie chewed the end of one of her many braids and gazed thoughtfully at the open stable door.
If she told Dade, then he would ride Icarus out at great speed and stop old Pasty Hastings from ruining Elektra’s betrothal to the duke.
Or she could
not
tell Dade, and let matters develop as they may.

Elektra would surely be furious if her betrothal were mucked up.

Attie lay back on the wide, dusty rafter and chewed a piece of straw.
Once upon a time, she had liked nothing better than to enrage Elektra.
That was before Callie had left to marry that mad hermit and Attie had begun to realize that her siblings could actually slip away from her.

And it wasn’t as though she disliked Hastings, or Black Aaron, or whatever his name was on Tuesdays after breakfast.
Actually she liked him quite a bit, mostly because she detected evident liar and ne’er-do-well about him.
She did have a fondness for a fellow mischief maker.

Unfortunately, she had recently come to suspect that this Hastings fellow had nefarious designs upon Elektra’s spinsterhood.

How else did one interpret the way his eyes had followed Elektra around the room?
How else to explain the way his hands twitched as her sister walked by, as if he wanted to reach out and brush his fingers across Elektra’s skirt as she moved past him.

There was no possibility of Atalanta willingly giving up another sibling to marriage.
She had already proven her determination in that regard.
She’d tried projectile weapons, but that had not gone well at all.
Poor Callie!
Attie’s thoughts shied away from the memory of her beloved eldest sister lying bloody on the moor.

She’d even tried poison, which had gone awry.
Callie still lived far away with her rotten Sir Lawrence Porter!

When her darling twin brothers Cas and Poll had fought over a pretty widow, Attie had then attempted benign interference, which had made a bit more progress.
That strategic counter-matchmaking, aided by her good friend Button, had gained her a new sister and an incoming niece—which did not precisely even her score but at least did not entirely lose her a brother.

It was all so stupid!
No one needed to grow up.
No one needed to go away.
And certainly, most very definitely, no one needed to go start new families of their own.
They were Worthingtons!
They had a family—the family that belonged to her.

The very fact that she was gradually being left behind, by sister after brother after sister, was enough to give Attie wakeful nights and lonely afternoons, wandering her swiftly emptying house and considering her options.

If her options in this case meant a choice between some stupid, stuffy duke or good old Black Aaron as a future brother-in-law, at least she knew that Aaron could handle the Worthington world.
And even—a fact she admired greatly—sometimes get the upper hand in it!

Chapter Twenty-two

Even as Attie was deciding not to interfere in Aaron’s quest, another set of eyes widened at the sight of the infamous Black Aaron, bruised almost beyond recognition, wearing a filthy rumpled version of formal attire, erupting from the mouth of an alley mounted upon a large, ugly bay horse.

Carter Masterson, on his way to urge Daedalus Worthington to join him in his quest for brotherly vengeance, reined his horse about and took off down the London streets after his enemy, the embodiment of all evil, Lord Aaron Arbogast.

*   *   *

Elektra chose to ride in the driver’s seat with Lysander.
It was a lovely summer day and although a duchess would never do such a thing, she wasn’t a duchess yet, was she?

Furthermore, Archie and Iris were feeling frisky.
Elektra could tell by the way her father kept stroking her mother’s wrist above her glove and the way her mother kept flipping her shawl fringe at him in mock reproach.

The poorly padded driver’s bench was a far more comfortable place to be at the moment.

Love was the last thing Elektra wanted to think about.
The heavy weight of her sadness fair to stopped the carriage horses in their tracks.
Her poor little beginner heart would be stunted forever, bound in wire, forced back into the shape of Elektra-that-was.

Thank heaven for her brothers, discovering that miscreant in their house before she’d done something irreparably silly, like run off to Gretna Green for a quick, shady ceremony!

It’s lovely there this time of year.

Oh, shut it.

Thank heaven for her brothers.
She only hoped they hadn’t been overzealous.

She cleared her throat.
“Zander, what did you do with him?”

He did not look away from the road.
“Thames.”

Elektra lifted her chin.
“Ah.”
Then, because she couldn’t be sure, “You tied him up before threw him in, didn’t you?”

Lysander didn’t respond.

Elektra turned to pin her brother in the full force of her gaze.
“Zander, you
did
use the trick knot, didn’t you?”
It was the twins’ favorite scare tactic for fellows who owed them winnings.

He didn’t answer for a long time.
But even Zander wasn’t immune to her stare.
She was aware that her eyes were an unusual color, and their focused intensity could be unnerving to some.
It was most useful doled out sparingly, so she saved it for the direst of moments.

He gave a short, tiny nod, his gaze dropping to his hands.

Relief swept her.
She had no issue with giving that liar a good fright, but, for a moment there she’d feared her dear brothers had actually killed him on her behalf.

Then, Zander, quietly.
“Dade told me not to.”

Elektra nodded and swallowed.
“I see.”

How close you came to death, Black Aaron. I hope you learned from the experience.

I certainly have.

The journey continued, as uneventful as one could wish.
They stopped in a small village for the purchase of wine to add to packed basket luncheon Philpott had provided for the journey.
Since Camberton lay a short distance into Sussex from London, they expected to make it easily by nightfall.

The elderly team had other ideas.
Progress was also slowed by the left rear wheel, which had begun to wobble unless adjusted regularly.

Night had fallen fully and they were still on the road.
The old carriage lanterns cast a little light, enough for the horses to follow the road, but the moon was a mere sliver in the sky.

Nothing like the night she’d held Lord Aaron prisoner in the manor ruins.
That night, the clouds had parted to reveal a perfect silver globe that glamoured the rubble in fairy light …

“Stand and deliver!”

Highwaymen!

For a fraction of a second Elektra felt a jolt of true fright.
Lysander reacted instantly, pulling the old family dueling pistol from within his coat.

Then the familiar timbre of that voice penetrated Elektra’s surprise.
Oh, for pity’s sake!

It seemed Black Aaron intended to live up to his name.
However, he had to know that robbing the Worthingtons was an exercise in futility.

He isn’t after money. He is after me.

The fact that her heart leapt like a deer at that thought only meant that she was her mother’s daughter after all.
Romantic nonsense!
Lord Aaron Arbogast wasn’t going to fight his way past her armed brother to sweep her away into the darkness!

Except that was precisely what he did.

Zander stood in the seat, pointing his pistol into the night from whence the voice had come.
Suddenly a dark shape surged up behind him, knocked his pistol hand high, and felled him with a single mighty blow to the jaw.

Elektra jumped up.
“Zander!”
But her brother only slumped limply on the seat.

The assailant stood above Zander, shaking out his hand.
A white grin sliced the night.
“I enjoyed that!
I’ve been wanting to hit someone for days!”

Elektra knelt next to her brother, checking him with quick hands.
It wasn’t too serious, no more than a knot on his skull.
She glared up at Lord Aaron.
“Was it necessary to hit him so hard?”

Lord Aaron paused in the act of appropriating the heirloom pistol to point down at Zander in affront.
“He hit me first!”

Elektra stood and folded her arms in disapproval.
“Men!”

She wanted to say,
Boys!
But the dark, broad-shouldered figure before her was no lad.

Without another word, he stepped toward her.
She drew back but there was nowhere to go.
Leaping down from the high top driver’s seat—in a gown!—was not an option.

It did not even occur to her to call for her parents.
What could Archie do that Zander could not?

When the strong arm of Black Aaron swept her from the carriage and deposited her in the saddle of his tall, leggy horse, her heart pounded with mingled fright and delight.
I am doomed!

This man did not alarm her.

It was of herself she lived in mortal fear!

*   *   *

With a decidedly middle-aged grunt, Archie lugged his unconscious middle son into the carriage seat opposite Iris.
“Good news, pet!”
he gasped.
“Our Lysander has put on a bit of weight!”

Iris leaned forward, her eyes bright.
Her hair was a bit mussed and she’d not quite managed to set her diaphanous layers right again after her little … ahem …
nap
on the wide carriage seat with Archie.

“We could toss a bit of cool water in his face,” she offered.
“I’ve seen that done in plays.”

Archie settled on the seat beside her, his arm draped over her shoulders.
“Oh, let the lad sleep.
He looks so peaceful.”

Then he leaned to peer through the carriage window.
“Are you sure I ought not to go after them?
What if this Aaron fellow means her harm?”

Iris waved a languid hand.
“And interrupt the most romantic moment of her life?
She’d never forgive you.”
She snuggled into his side.
“Bliss vows that he is entirely gentlemanly and heroic.
Besides, Elektra can handle herself.
Remember when she tricked Cas into the linen closet and locked him in there for hours for dipping her braid into hot candle wax?”

“It was Poll, and it was because he put liver cheese into her best shoes.”

“It was both of them, and the girl who can outsmart our clever twins is more than a match for Black Aaron!”

Archie chuckled and relaxed, pulling Iris closer.
“Beauty and brains!
She takes after you, my goddess.”

“Well, I had worried that she had hardened her heart, poor little thing.
If this fellow cracked that shell, he is made of superior stuff.
Worthington-worthy stuff!”

“Ah, yes.”
Archie let out a satisfied sigh and leaned back, propping his feet up next to his son’s limp body.
“We’ve done well, haven’t we, my fairy-queen?
Eight wonderful children, all unique, all exceptional.
No ordinary dullards among the lot!”

“That’s all due to your genius, my warrior.”
Iris fluttered her eyelashes at her husband and let her shawl fringe trail over his wrist.

Archie lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her palm.
“
Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world slip: we shall ne’er be younger
,” he quoted huskily.

Iris sighed blissfully.
“
The Taming of the Shrew
, Induction, Scene Two,” she breathed.
“Grab that lap blanket, won’t you, my love?
I saw a grassy patch a few yards down the road.”

*   *   *

In the kitchen of the Green Donkey Inn, chambermaid Edith laid a piece of fine linen over the brass tray—the one saved for only the finest guests—and set about fixing his lordship’s tea.
It was her way of ensuring that Lord Aaron got his medicines with none the wiser at the inn.

“He wants a special blend,” she told Cook.
“Don’t you worry none.
I’ll do it for you.”

Cook was just as happy to hand over the chore, though she gave Edith a knowing look.
“Take care not to be foolish, girl.
Don’t be looking above your station.
That just gets a girl in trouble.”

Edith only shook her head and continued to serve his lordship.
She was only doing her duty, for if one had the healing Knowledge, one was bound by duty to use it to help others.
That was the only reason for her constant attendance upon his lordship.

Any other thoughts were utter nonsense.
As if a man like that would have eyes for a plain little sparrow like her!
He was grateful for the nursing, that was all.