Chapter Thirteen

May 20, 1818

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

Charity yawned. The carriage-style clock on her bedside table softly chimed the eleven o'clock hour. She'd been snuggled into her bed reading one of her favorite books for a bit while Michael had gone to his club. Ever since the rout two days ago where he'd retreated into his mind, he'd been out of sorts even if he didn't speak about it.

Yesterday when they'd been out riding, he'd shared more from his life so she had a better understanding of what he was about and what motivated him, but underlying everything now, was the veiled threat from Lady Stover. Every time Charity thought about the necklace turned tiara, she had the urge to be physically ill. She'd hidden the necklace inside a book she'd hollowed out that currently rested in the library, but she didn't like having it in the house for safety reasons.

Had the countess believed her lie about knowing nothing about the piece? It had been difficult to tell, but there was something about the woman that had immediately put knots of worry in her belly.

Trying once more to concentrate on her books, the printed words seemed to swim in front of her eyes, a sure sign that she was either too tired or too distracted. Usually, when Michael went to his club, she didn't mind his absence, for when he returned, he would check in on her if she was still awake. However, tonight, she wished he hadn't gone. There was an odd feeling playing up and down her spine of something not quite right, but she didn't know why. Not only did she miss her husband, but she also felt far safer when he was in residence. Especially after their impromptu waltz in Hyde Park yesterday and the closeness that had sprung between them, she would have liked having him at home.

Did that mean she was coming to depend on him, coming to appreciate him as a man more than she should? It was something else she couldn't puzzle out just now, but perhaps that was a good thing.

When a loud thud sounded from somewhere in the vicinity of Christopher's room, Charity frowned and set her book aside. What was that? Another sound, much like a muffled cry, had her throwing off the bedclothes. As soon as her feet hit the Aubusson carpet, she reached for the thin robe that matched her night dress and quickly donned it. No sooner had she tied the sash around her waist than a feminine scream broke outside in the corridor, followed by a loud thud against Charity's door, as if someone had been slammed hard into it.

When she swung the panel inward, the upstairs maid had just picked herself off the floor. Already, there was a bruise forming on her cheek. "Oh, heavens." She pulled the young woman into her room. "What happened?"

The maid's eyes were round and full of panic. "I had just come out of Lord Winteringham's suite after putting away clean cravats when I saw someone going into the young master's room."

"Who?" Charity's heartbeat accelerated. Every hair on her body quivered with alarm. "How did an intruder gain access to the house?"

"I don't know, but it was a man, dressed in black. I didn't think it was the viscount, so I came along the corridor to have a look." Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. "Then the man took the boy from his bed." A sob was pulled from her throat. "I left the window open because the young master likes to see the stars as he goes to slee p

"What?" Dread sank like a rock into the pit of her stomach. "Someone took Christopher?"

"Yes, just now. When I cried out and tried to prevent him from leaving the room, the man struck my cheek." The maid put a hand to that abused part of her face. "He is quite strong, my lady, wrapped the boy in a blanket and tossed him over his shoulder like he didn't matter."

"All right." Charity put a hand on the maid's shoulder. "I am going after the boy, but I need you to go and wake a footman then send him off to the Rogue's Arcade and fetch the viscount. Have him tell Lord Winteringham of the break in and attempted kidnapping."

"But…"

"Can you do that, Bess?" She peered into the maid's weepy brown eyes. "I need you to pull yourself together, because I cannot do both."

"Right." The young woman nodded. "I'll find a footman."

"Good." With no time to spare, Charity moved into the corridor. "Hurry, then." The sound of glass breaking somewhere downstairs alerted her to the continuing danger. Rage welled in her chest. "I'm going to take back the boy."

If she had to beat a complete stranger senseless, so be it, and she had to trust the maid would do what was expected of her.

She fairly flew down the stairs, her bare feet making almost no sound on the treads as she went down faster than usual. A cry from Christopher directed her down to the ground floor, and with more anger than caution, she ran to the end of the corridor, arriving in the parlor just in time to see a man in black clothing attempt to break the remaining glass from a window, but Christopher's kicking and beating him about the back and shoulders hampered that effort. The blanket he must have been wrapped in had fallen to the floor.

"Stop!" Unfortunately, there was no fireplace in the small parlor, for the room was probably rarely used, so she wouldn't have a poker to use as a weapon. "Unhand the boy." The room was shrouded in darkness, for of course the intruder wouldn't have lit a candle.

"Miss Maitland!" Christopher squirmed about on the man's shoulder. "Help!" Silvery tracks of tears were evident on his cheeks.

Without a thought to the danger involved, Charity ran across the room and threw herself bodily at the would-be kidnapper. In the scuffle that ensued, Christopher tumbled out the man's hold.

"Go run and hide!" she ordered the boy without sparing him a glance. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed in the space, but the whole of her attention was focused on her adversary. "How dare you come in here and attempt to kidnap the viscount's child."

The dark-haired man turned to face her, and he was a hulking beast of a man too. His upper lip curled with disdain. "This all could have been avoided had you given over the tiara when you were asked by my associate the other day."

This man could just piss off. With anger still flowing freely through her veins, Charity rushed at him, and when she was close enough, she threw her fist into his midsection. "As I told your employer, Lady Stover, at the rout this week, I have no idea what you are referring to."

"How stupid do you think I am?" The man took hold of her hair and yanked her about, tossing her into a curio cabinet.

Several objects fell to the floor, smashing into hundreds of pieces as she fell to the floor.

"That's debatable since you'd hoped to kidnap a child when his father makes it a point to oppose men like you at every turn." Slowly, she gained her feet while striving to ignore the parts of her body that hurt.

"He will eventually pay for that, but he is not our concern at the moment." One of his meaty hands curled into a fist. "Where the hell is the tiara? You will save yourself much pain if you tell me now."

"Even if I knew, I certainly wouldn't tell you." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that if she let this man escape, it would be all right, but he would only try again, and she wanted to give him enough scrapes that when he reported to his superiors, they would think twice about breaking in again.

Once more, Charity threw herself at the intruder, beating whatever part of him she could reach with her fists. It only worked for a few seconds, for he wrapped a big hand around her upper arm and then flung her away from him so that she crashed into a shelf.

More pieces of bric-a-brac tumbled to the floor and broke; were they valuable or sentimental? She didn't know, but some of them worked as projectiles, and she hurled bits at the man in rapid succession.

"You can't hide behind the viscount forever," the man growled when she flew at him again as he attempted to escape through the window.

"I don't hide behind anyone. Lord Winteringham is my husband." Pulling at his hand, she did the only thing she could think of and bit him hard, and she truly hoped she'd drawn blood beneath his glove. "He will clean your clock once he tracks you to earth."

With a curse, he delivered a backhanded slap across her face, but when she kept coming after him, he grabbed her by the shoulders, picked her up from the floor, and then tossed her onto a low sofa. "I rather think that Winteringham, as well as every member of the Rogue's Arcade, will come to regret they ever crossed us."

Charity whimpered from the pain that throbbed through her body. As she struggled into a sitting position, she glared. "Those men are so much better than thugs like you it's laughable. They fight for what is right, what is good."

"They think to tell us how to live our lives while they are no better than us. Every member of that club was a thief at one time, if they aren't still."

"I somehow doubt that." Surely that wasn't true. They were all upstanding members of the beau monde .

"You are as stupid as you are na?ve, yet here you are, married to one of them." The intruder chuckled, and it was a greasy, oily sound. "The next time I pay you a visit, you'll have more than bruises to show for it. Unless you give over the tiara right now."

Standing on shaky feet, she straightened her spine. "You tell Lady Stover that if she wants the damned tiara, she can come retrieve it herself. Woman to woman. Threats have never motivated me, and I don't intend to buckle under them now." Although, that was a bit of a lie, for she'd been attacked a couple of times during her travels with her father, but she had always fought back.

"Well, you have made your bed, haven't you?" The man hooked a leg over the window ledge. "There will be no mercy shown to you, just like your father was given none when he refused to give over the tiara. But my associate, the one whom the viscount rescued you from, has taken a liking to you. Most likely he'll toy with you before one of us kills you." Then he was gone, vanished into the night through the window and left silence in his wake.

Was that an admission that these men killed her father? All because he refused to give them that dratted necklace? A shiver of revulsion twisted down her spine as the remainder of that threat sank into her overworked brain.

What have I done?

Not knowing, and as her heartbeat slowed and the aches and pains made themselves known, tears welled in Charity's eyes. There was a random cut on one shoulder and the sleeve on that side had torn away from the garment to hang by a few threads at her elbow. Glass and porcelain shards were scattered over the hardwood floor. The room was a ghastly mess, and she hoped that none of the broken things had been valuable. If they were, Michael would surely not be pleased.

Above all, she needed to check on Christopher, to make certain he was unharmed. That had to have been terrifying for a young boy. Wiping at the tears on her cheeks, she staggered over the floor, picking her way through the mess as best she could so that she wouldn't cut the soles of her feet. In the corridor, she was ambushed by the boy, who slipped his arms about her person and hugged her tight.

"You were brilliant, Miss Maitland," he said with more than enough enthusiasm in his voice that one would think he'd just witnessed a bare-knuckle fight.

"Thank you. My only thought was to keep you from being taken." She pulled back and looked him up and down as the butler and a couple of maids came running down the corridor toward them. "Are you hurt? Did the man hit you?" When she ran her fingers through his strawberry-blond hair, he waved her away.

"I am all right. Stop fussing, but you look a fright."

Of course she did. When the members of the staff reached their location, everyone spoke at once, but the cacophony was too loud for her brain. She gave them a weak smile. "I am well enough, but the parlor is quite a mess." When she glanced at the butler, she sighed. "Has the viscount arrived home yet?"

"Not that I am aware of, my lady."

"Thank you, Neelson." Suddenly, she was exhausted. "Could you please check Christopher's room and make certain all is secure?" Above everything, she didn't want to send him back to bed if someone else was lurking.

"Of course, my lady." After ordering the two maids to start cleaning the parlor, the butler made his way toward the stairs.

Her mind refused to turn over, but she couldn't send Christoper back upstairs. Instead, she kneeled before him, running her hands over his arms and chest as he stood there like a little ghost in his linen sleeping shirt. "I know you don't like me to fuss over you, but I need to check for myself that you are unharmed."

"I am. Stop." Christopher pushed her hands away. "But you are hurt, Miss Maitland." Then he looked her straight in the eyes, for they were of the same height as she kneeled. His eyes filled with awe and his little chin trembled. "You jumped into danger to rescue me."

"Yes, I did. I couldn't let them take you." She took one of his hands and held it. "You are very important to me."

"You are as brave as Papa."'

She snorted. "I don't know about that. Your father was in the military. I just refused to let a bad man take you away."

"Thank you." Again, he slipped his arms around her and hugged her neck. "That is what a good mama does." Then he bussed her cheek before wriggling out of her hold.

"Oh." Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. "Do you consider me a mother? "

"Yes." His grin was very reminiscent of his father's. "May I call you Mama?"

"You can, of course but—"

"I have missed having one, you see, and now I know you can fight as well as Papa, I want you to be my new mama." He waggled his eyebrows. "And that means I can teach you how to sail boats on the Serpentine."

A few tears spilled onto her cheeks. This one little soul trusted her enough to consider her his new mother. "I would enjoy that. Thank you." As she stood, every muscle she had protested the movement. Her cheek smarted from where the man had hit her. The shoulder with the torn sleeve ached like the devil. Various other cuts and bumps she'd received from being tossed against pieces of furniture throbbed; her body practically pleaded for attention. "I think for now we should get you back to bed."

"In my room?" He frowned as he shook his head. A trace of fear jumped into his eyes. "What if the bad man returns? I don't know if I can be as brave as you."

"That is understandable. For now, why don't we put you in your father's bed?"

Before the boy could answer, before she could make any other suggestions, the sound of shouting erupted at the other end of the corridor.

"Charity? Christopher?" The concern in Michael's voice nearly broke her as he ran down the hall toward them. "Neelson told me what happened." Then he was there, and first he hugged his son to him, engulfing him in a mighty embrace. Afterward, he took her into his arms and held her close for long moments without care for his evening clothing or tailcoat, enough that she wanted to melt into his hold. "Are you both all right?"

"A bit rattled, I think, but glad you are back" she managed to whisper then the strength gave out in her knees, but he was there, picking her up into his strong arms and holding her against his chest.

"Neelson! Tell the maids and the housekeeper to draw Lady Winteringham a bath, and someone find Miss Simpkins so she can look after my son."

"Papa?" Christopher tugged on the viscount's arm. "Mama said I could sleep in your bed tonight, so I don't worry about the man coming in my window again."

The emotions flitting over her husband's face were remarkable and they tugged at her heart. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I think that's a fine idea, but only after I check for myself that you are well."

A groan issued from the boy. "She already did that."

"Even still." Then Michael met her gaze as he adjusted his hold on her. "And I shall want the story. We have much to discuss. "

Charity nodded. "If you don't, I'd like that conversation to come with a nip of something quite strong. It has been a trying night." While he called again for the butler and anyone else on his staff, she winked at Christopher as the boy trailed behind them on their way upstairs.