Chapter 32

CHAPTER32

George’s eyes flew wide to the sound of a pistol crack, his heart jarring in his chest as he sat bolt upright. In the gloom of the bedchamber, the fire burned down to embers, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Usually, a pistol shot meant an angry brother or father or husband had found him, but as he glanced down at the beautiful, naked woman who lay beside him, tangled in the bedlinens, he realized he must be mistaken. No one knew they had come to the hunting lodge, and he certainly had no intention of abandoning Agnes to scandal and a ruined reputation, nor did she have any furious men in her family who would hunt him down.

I want you to be my wife, he knew without doubt, smiling as he forgot the sound that had awoken him. After all, deep in the woods, it had likely been a badger or a fox snapping a twig underfoot.

Her eyelids fluttered as he observed her, wondering how he had been blessed with a woman like her after all the reprehensible things he had done. In the moonlight that streaked through the windows, she resembled a true goddess, her pale, smooth skin almost silver, her entire being the epitome of perfection. She even slept gracefully, positioned on her side, her cheek resting on her hand, her long, slender legs slightly bent.

Reluctantly, he nudged her awake.

She cracked open one eye, and a smile spread across her face. “There you are,” she murmured. “I thought I was dreaming again.”

George was about to respond when a second pistol crack splintered the air. Without hesitation, he gathered Agnes to him and put his hand over her mouth, touching a fingertip to his own lips as a warning.

Her eyes widened in fright, but she nodded in understanding. They were not alone anymore. They had been found, but by whom, George did not know.

Listening closely, he realized it had not been a pistol crack at all, but the loud creak of the floorboards, straining under the weight of an intruder. There were many loose planks in the old hunting lodge, and if you did not know where to tread, you could fall right through. However, the dull thudding of footsteps did not seem to be coming toward the bedchamber. As he closed his eyes, picturing the parlor area of the lodge, he heard the same creak several times, suggesting that someone was pacing back and forth in there.

“Hide beneath the bed,” George whispered to Agnes. “Stay there until I tell you it is safe to emerge.”

Agnes began to shake her head, but George’s expression must have scared her as she paused and slowly began to shuffle toward the edge of the bed. George got there ahead of her and helped her to the floor, conscious of not alerting the intruder to their presence.

Once Agnes was safely underneath the bed, peeking out with frightened eyes, George tiptoed to the bedchamber door and crouched low. The door had been left ajar, but the gap between it and the jamb showed nothing but the lodge walls, prompting him to draw his eye to the level of the keyhole.

A cloaked figure strode up and down in front of the main fireplace, but he was not alone in the hunting lodge. A familiar young lady perched anxiously upon one of the comfortable armchairs as if it were made of pins and broken glass instead of soft leather, watching the figure pace.

“Will you not say something?” the cloaked figure asked, turning every time George thought he might catch a glimpse of the fellow’s face.

Lady Rose dipped her chin to her chest. “I do not know what to say, my darling. Indeed, I do not understand why you have brought me here where we might be captured. Should we not be departing for Gretna Green?”

“In due time, my love,” the man replied, his voice increasingly familiar. “The carriage will not arrive for another hour or so, for I thought I would have to wait longer until I could steal you away. You were too swift, my darling.”

“Oh…” Rose fidgeted awkwardly. “Should I return to the manor until the carriage arrives? It cannot be too far.”

The man laughed. “There is no need for that, dearest Rosie, nor am I angry that you were too swift in your escape. After all, I cannot wait to begin our lives together as husband and wife. It is all I have dreamed about since meeting you. You are all I have thought of, and it cheers my heart to know that you did not forget me or forsake me for one of these other gentlemen.”

“I never would!” Rose gasped, clasping a hand to her heart. “I love you, Lord Morton. And I cannot wait to begin our lives together either, but… I did not know why you brought us here, that is all. Now that you have explained it, I am at peace though I cannot deny that I will fret until the very moment the carriage comes. We are so close to happiness, my darling.”

You bastard, Seth. George’s insides roiled with fanged serpents, for he had always believed that elopement was tantamount to cowardice. If a gentleman loved a lady with his whole heart, it was his duty to persuade the lady’s family of his merits and worth, not steal her away in the dead of night and marry so that no one could argue. And now that he had experienced that feeling of love for the first time, he was even more convinced of his argument.

“We are, my darling Rosie,” Seth replied, walking to where she sat. He crouched down in front of her, resting his hands upon her knees. “By tomorrow, or the next day, depending on the sturdiness of the horses, we shall be in Scotland. From there, wherever we please.”

Rose glanced down at Seth’s hands upon her knees, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden touch. “Will we not return to Devon, to your residence?”

“There is no rush. I would have us enjoy a honeymoon together, journeying around England and Scotland and beyond if your heart desires it,” he told her. “No request will ever be too great, my love. I would give you the world itself if I could.”

George rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to snort. Among his former circle of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells, he had heard those words used a thousand times upon a thousand unsuspecting, gullible young ladies. Right up until his last moment in that unsavory underworld, it had always baffled him how ladies could believe phrases that were clearly rehearsed and deeply insincere.

Rose smiled and took hold of Seth’s hands. “I have always longed to see Italy.”

“You have?” Seth grinned back. “Then, it shall be done. As soon as we are married, we will explore the Continent at our leisure.”

Rose seemed to hesitate. “But will you not be needed in Devon? What of your business ventures? Do you have associates who supervise all of that while you are elsewhere?” She lowered her gaze. “I do not mean to sound so solemn and serious, but I would like to begin my life as your wife and as Baroness of Morton as I mean to continue. It would break my heart if anyone were to suffer because of me.”

“I would also like to begin my life with you as I mean to continue,” Seth purred, and though Rose did not appear to notice the change in his tone, George did. “Do not worry over trifling matters that concern only me. Everything is in hand. No one will suffer. But, my darling Rosie, I am suffering somewhat.”

Rose’s head shot up. “You are? Are you injured? Did you catch your leg on the undergrowth? I am certain something scratched me in the darkness, but I have not dared to look.”

Do not give him an excuse! George wanted to yell, his thighs beginning to ache from being stuck in a crouched position for so long. You should leave, Lady Rose. You must, for your own sake. Let him show his worth if his heart is true. Although, as George observed the way that Seth’s hands pulled away from Rose’s and rested on her knees once more, he began to think the Baron’s intentions were not as pure as he might have made them seem.

“I should tend to it,” Seth said as George had known he would.

Rose blinked in confusion. “Tend to what, my love?”

Without replying, Seth grasped the hem of Rose’s pretty purple gown and began to lift it. George knew he ought to look away, but he feared that something far worse than catching a glimpse of another lady’s leg might happen if he did. The hem rose up past Rose’s ankle, skimming her calf and revealing white stockings as Seth licked his lips.

“Lord Morton, cease!” Rose gasped, grabbing his hands to try and wrest them away from her skirts. But he was stronger than her, and though she protested, her pleas growing more desperate, he ignored her. “Please, Lord Morton! Cease! It is but a scratch! I shall tend to it myself. You must not be so bold with me!”

At that moment, George felt a hand upon his own shoulder. He caught a hiss of alarm before it left his lips as he turned and saw Agnes standing over him. She was as pale as a ghost and trembling with something akin to rage, her hands balled into tight fists.

George raised a finger as if to say, “One more minute.” For though the scene before him looked grave indeed, there was a part of him that wanted Rose to fight the battle herself. He wanted her to stand up for herself without Agnes running to her rescue. Of course, if Seth’s behavior continued to deteriorate, George would step in, but not yet…

In the hunting lodge parlor, Seth’s demeanor shifted as he dropped her skirts and sank back on his haunches. “You would deny me the simple act of helping to heal an injury that has been inflicted upon you?”

“It is… improper, Lord Morton,” Rose replied through harsh breaths as she fanned her face with her hand.

“Seth,” he urged, lifting his hand to her face. “Call me by my name.”

The sound of Rose’s anxious gulp made it all the way to George’s ears. “I will tend to the scratch myself, Seth,” she said gingerly. “Of course, when we are married, I will turn to you for all I need, but… not now.”

“But what is the difference?” Seth argued. “In two days’ time, we will be husband and wife. In my heart, you are already my wife and my love. What does it matter if we begin our nuptials, and everything that comes with it, a few days early?”

There it was—the intent that George had feared. It was another trick the rakes liked to use to win the favor and willingness of a woman. Indeed, deceit of any kind was something George had refused to use in his bygone flirtations and seductions, for he had never wanted any lady to be left feeling as if she had been robbed of something. Whenever he had encountered a rake like this, a rake who used every wile and artifice and treachery they could think of, he had made a point of telling them how despicable they were.

You are one of them, George understood, noting the hungry glint in Seth’s eyes and the way he leaned in with one hand on either armrest, trapping Rose in the armchair.

“What do you mean?” Rose eyed Seth warily. “Our nuptials and our marriage cannot begin until we are bound together in the eyes of the Lord.”

Seth chuckled darkly. “I am a lord, am I not?”

“The Lord,” Rose hastened to reiterate as she shuffled further back into the armchair, like it could somehow protect her. “Seth, I would prefer it if you would maintain a polite distance.”

He tilted his head to one side, moving closer instead. “You did not say that when I kissed you earlier. You did not say that when I stole a kiss at the opera. You did not say that when I kissed you at the races. Nor did you say that when we danced, and you changed the entire course of my life, making my heart yours.”

“We were not entirely alone then,” Rose replied, her voice shaking.

Seth sighed. “How do you expect us to journey to Gretna Green together if you cannot be near to me?” He settled his hand upon her thigh. “Let me show you how deeply I love you, Rosie. Let us begin our life now and bind ourselves together in the eyes of our love; the Lord’s officiating can come later, in two days’ time. Just two days, my love.”

“If it is ’just’ two days, then you can wait that long to touch me,” Rose shot back, a sprout of strength springing from that nervous tremor.

“I cannot kiss you as I have done before?” Seth challenged, bending forward until he was practically on top of Rose.

Rose slammed her palms into the wretch’s chest, bringing her knees up to catch him hard in the stomach. Seth wheezed and rocked back, glaring at Rose as he pressed a hand against his bruised abdomen. “I asked you to wait!” she snarled. “I have not dreamt of love for this long, only to have it ruined at the last moment. Indeed, I am starting to think that this is no dream at all but a nightmare!”

“Peace, Rosie. Peace.” Seth’s demeanor shifted once more, putting on an act of submission as he put his palms up in surrender. “I did not mean to upset you. I did not mean to frighten you. I just… cannot resist you, Rosie. I love you, I cherish you, and I am desperate for you to become my wife. Do not quarrel with me now. Do not send me away. Do not ruin both our dreams by behaving this way.”

Rose seemed to relax, and George bit the inside of his cheek, knowing she should get up and leave immediately. He did not know if Seth was the sort of man who would take what was not willingly given, but he could not risk that being so.

“Just let me kiss you as an apology,” Seth urged, and though she had shown such fire and strength, Rose appeared to be contemplating it.

“Just one kiss.”

George cursed under his breath as Seth crawled his fingertips across the armrests and leaned over Rose once again, for if she gave him that one kiss, Seth would demand more. And if the carriage was not due to arrive for another hour or so—if there was a carriage coming at all—he would believe he could get away with anything.

Of course, Seth did not know that he was not alone with Rose.

Standing up slowly, George grabbed his trousers from where they had been discarded and shuffled them on. Bare chested and furious with himself for not seeing the devil beneath the angelic façade of Lord Morton, George swung open the bedchamber door with all the force he could muster.

Yet, it was not him who ran full pelt toward Seth as a blur of wrath and vengeance sped past him, screaming at the top of her lungs.