Chapter Fourteen

After receiving the panicked message from his footman that there was trouble at the townhouse, Michael had come immediately home, and upon arriving, he'd expected chaos, but instead, there was nothing except silence. Apparently, his wife had singlehandedly beaten back the would-be kidnapper. Once his son was ensconced in his bed and Charity had been tucked into a bath, he went down to the parlor to survey the scene. Everything was still in shambles, for the maids had been needed to assist in making a bath for his wife.

Neelson had given him a bare-bones account, then Michael had gone outside and taken Sir Alexander Tattingham to task, for it had been the baron's night to guard the perimeter of the townhouse.

"What the hell were you thinking, allowing an intruder into my son's room?" He kept his voice low, for they stood in the garden at the rear of the house, which his own rooms overlooked, and he didn't want the conversation to bother the boy. "He was very nearly kidnapped."

"I swear to you on my life that I didn't see the intruder while making my rounds." The other man shook his head. "And I heard nothing in the way of a scuffle or screaming. That might have been once I'd gone ‘round to the front of the house." His expression in the illumination from various windows was aghast. Clearly, he was telling the truth. "How many times must I apologize?"

With a tight chest, Michael waved a hand. "I forgive you, of course. This wasn't your fault; these people are skilled in what they do, and they are quite motivated." The pounding of his pulse at his temples reminded him that he was alive but did little to help ground him to the moment. "We all need to remain extra vigilant from here on out. I suspect the threats will continue to come."

"What about relocating your family while in Town? Or removing to your estate in Essex?"

"Both are options, of course, but I'd rather not put my aging mother in danger, and part of me hopes there is another attack, for I'll be here waiting with my fists and a loaded pistol." Michael shoved the fingers of one hand through his hair. "Regardless, I shall discuss things with Lady Winteringham before deciding." The whole of his being yearned to go inside and check on his family. "If you will excuse me? I need to see if my son is well."

"Of course." The baron nodded. "Again, I am sorry, and I will strive to do better next time."

With a sigh, Michael closed the distance and laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. I berated you and I shouldn't have. It is a very emotional time." His fellow club member didn't deserve a dressing down; there was only so much a man could do against a criminal network bent on revenge.

"I appreciate that." The baron offered a hand, and Michael shook it. "Go attend to your family. I will continue to stand vigil."

"No." He shook his head. "Go home. I have the job for the remainder of the night, and trust me when I say nothing and no one is coming in. I'll drop by the club sometime tomorrow and give everyone an update."

"Fair enough. Best wishes to you, then."

With a nod, Michael moved into the house. The maids had returned to the parlor.

"Please, leave the mess until the morning. We shall all tackle this at first light." He waved them out of the room and then pulled the door closed. "Seek your beds and find sleep. There is nothing else we can do for now."

Moments later, he paused outside his own bedchamber where his son had temporarily been settled. His chest was so tight it hurt to draw breath. His thoughts spun out of control. Lady Stover and the men who worked for her needed to be stopped. How that would happen, he didn't have the first clue, but he only knew the terror they were inflicting on his fellow club members was outside of enough.

They must be neutralized.

As he strove to even out his breathing and force the wave of anxiety away, he braced a hand against the wall and prayed for calm. It wouldn't do for his son to see him held in the grip of another attack on the heels of a failed kidnapping. Eventually, he tamped the wild worry and fear enough that he could function once more.

After entering his bedchamber, relief coursed down his spine to find Christopher burrowed beneath the bedclothes; the enormous four-poster swallowed his eight-year-old body until he resembled an urchin. "How are you faring after your ordeal?"

"Quite well, and it was jolly fun."

"Is that so?" Though concern still held him captive, Michael sat on the side of the bed. "No aches or pains? No places that hurt you?" When the boy shook his head, he sighed. "Do you want to talk about what happened to you?" And please God, don't let him have nightmares about it.

"It was such an adventure, Papa!" The child's eyes sparkled, and his voice held awe. "Miss Maitland—er, Mama—was amazing. She was as brave as you."

Michael's chest tightened, for this was the second time in his hearing that his son had called Charity "Mama", and to be honest, he didn't know how he felt about that. Yes, his boy had been quite small when his own mother had died, but could she be so easily replaced?

Buck up, man. You married the woman, so you have moved on, at least in theory.

"Were you frightened when the intruder entered your room?"

"At first, yes." His lips pulled downward with a frown. "I didn't know what was happening, and I was even more scared when he rolled me into a blanket and hefted me up." As Christopher met his gaze, Michael trembled. If things had been different, he wouldn't be having this conversation. "I tried to fight him, but he was far too large."

"I can only imagine." The butler had informed him that the intruder had scaled the side of the townhouse, using ivy and the bricks to cling there like a spider. Since the window was left open, it was the perfect invitation for a criminal. Of course, he couldn't exit the way he'd come while carrying a child, so he'd opted to break the window in the back and make his escape that way. "Did he say anything while in your room? "

"No." His son shook his head. "He was just this big, hulking thing in the darkness."

"What happened after he picked you up?" As he spoke, Michael peeled off his gloves and removed his tailcoat. Then he tossed the garments to the foot of the bed.

"Mama came running in. She shouted at the man to unhand me."

One of his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Was she armed?"

"I don't think so, but she came at him like the most horrible storm you could ever think of." The wide grin on his son's face said he'd enjoyed every moment of the adventure. "She flew at him and beat her fists on him until he dropped me."

Oh, God. He rubbed a hand along the side of his face while forcing down a few swallows to stave off the urge to retch. "And then?" It must have been quite the sight to see Charity take on a man three times larger than her.

"She told me to run away and hide."

"She did?"

"Yes." Christopher grinned. "I thought about hiding, but then I wouldn't have seen Mama fight in splendid fashion, but that man was mean to her. I think she's hurt."

"What?" Panic rose in a hot wave through Michael's chest.

His son nodded. "I watched from the doorway. That man threw her into shelves and onto a sofa, but she was having none of it." Veritable hero worship reflected in his son's eyes. "She could be a prize fighter." Then his features shifted to reveal a vulnerability that nearly broke Michael's heart. "Mama was there, Papa. Not even the servants came. She stopped that man from taking me, so it's good you married her."

"Indeed." He could hardly speak due to the ball of tears lodged in his throat. For a few moments, he composed himself. There would be plenty of time to fall apart later. "The man came after you first?"

"Yes."

"He wasn't interested in Charity?"

"I don't think so. He didn't like her much."

"Ah." The need to see her grew stronger as the seconds passed. "You are quite certain you don't hurt anywhere?"

"Yes, Papa." The little boy pointed his gaze to the ceiling before focusing it on him once more. "Don't fuss."

"All right." He leaned over and pressed his lips to Christopher's forehead, regardless of if the child thought it was unnecessary. "Try to sleep. I'm going to check on Charity."

"I call her mama."

"So I've heard."

Another frown touched his lips. "She is my mama now. "

"It certainly seems that she is." He had no words for what she'd done for his son. Not to mention his respect and admiration for her grew exponentially. "I don't want you to leave this bed for the remainder of the night. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Papa." The boy yawned. "I can't wait to tell Miss Simpkins about tonight."

"Good." After standing, he blew out the candle on the bedside table then proceeded to remove his cuffs, collar, and his waistcoat. They joined the other clothing at the foot of the bed. "I'm going to check on her now, but tomorrow you can tell everyone about your adventure." On the way out, he took off his cravat and left it in the adjoining dressing room.

It took next to no time to traverse the corridor. At Charity's door, he softly knocked upon the wood, and then when bid to enter, he did so and closed the door behind him. "I wanted to check on you and make certain you were doing well after your ordeal." Except as he came further into the shadow-shrouded room, his throat went dry, for his wife had just come out of the porcelain tub where she'd been soaking.

She glanced at him as she slipped into a thin robe that one of the maids held for her. In the dim illumination from the candle at the bedside table, her curves were on display, especially through the thin fabric that had been dampened. The outlines of her dark pink nipples were visible through the robe, and he could think of nothing he would like more than to rid her of the superfluous garment. "I won't lie. There are some bruises forming and my body hurts in various places." A few tendrils of her black hair had come loose from the pins to cling to her slender neck. Obviously, she hadn't wished to fuss with washing those tresses, and he couldn't help but agree, for his fingers itched to bury themselves in that mass.

"I can imagine." When he came forward, he addressed the maid. "Thank you, Bess. I shall tend to my wife for the rest of the night. You are free to retire."

"Of course, my lord. Thank you." With a tiny curtsey, the maid fled the room.

When the door snicked quietly closed, Michael extended a hand to Charity. "You are beautiful."

"Ha." She huffed as she slipped her fingers into his palm. "I know I must be a fright with the forming bruises. My body certainly is protesting the treatment I've been given." Appreciation reflected in her eyes. "But seeing you in such a state of undress is certainly helping."

A rush of heat crept up the back of his neck. "You should never have been put into this position to begin with." Guilt crashed with blatant need as he tugged her into his arms and simply held her close. When she looped her arms about his shoulders, he nearly cried with relief. For the first time since he'd married her, he realized how precious of a person she truly was. "I'm sorry I chose to go to my club instead of staying here."

"It's not your fault. In fact, it is mine thanks to that dratted necklace." As Charity pulled slightly away. She sought out his gaze. Hers was full of tears. "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to render the intruder unconscious so you could question him. It took much from me to stop him from taking your son. I'm sorry also that I brought this danger to your doorstep."

"Ah, Charity." His chest tightened, but this time it wasn't due to his usual anxiety. "You defended Christopher as well as the house. There is nothing to apologize for."

"But I—"

"No." He shook his head. "You are truly a warrior, and the boy can't stop singing your praises."

A blush stained her cheeks. "I did what was needed, what anyone would do."

The willingness to downplay her role endeared her to him more. "Anyone didn't; you did. Because of you, Christopher is safe." A piece of his heart flew into her keeping, and what was more, he didn't mind. Needing to touch her, to convince himself she was safe as well, Michael framed her face in his hands. "Never frighten me like that again."

"I will try, but I didn't set out to find trouble. The only thing I thought about in that moment was Christopher and keeping him safe." She gave him an odd look, but when she grinned, it was everything.

The sensation of falling, of tumbling assailed him, and he hadn't experienced that for far too many years. "You have truly earned the title of mother, which is what he impressed upon me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I—"

Michael quelled her soft protest with a kiss. There was an unexpected surge of hunger in that one meeting of mouths, and they shared that sentiment. When that wasn't enough, he settled her more comfortably into his embrace and then set out to kiss her senseless.

His wife was so soft and welcoming, and the scent of lilacs on her silky skin called to him like a siren's song. This was more than needing to assure himself that she'd suffered no ill effects more than bumps and bruises; this was the wish to connect more deeply with the woman he'd married than he'd been doing thus far. Though they hadn't been wed more than a week, something about her compelled him to be with her, to enjoy what she offered, for it gave him back a piece of himself he'd missed for far too long .

Barely audible sounds came from her of encouragement or enjoyment, he couldn't say, but he wanted to hear them all the more. It took very little effort to loosen the tie of her robe and then push it from her shoulders. As the garment fluttered to the floor, Michael skimmed his palms up and down her arms and sides, treating her to gentle teasing that he hoped would bring her to shivering awareness.

And all the while, he kissed her, fenced with her tongue, told her in that way what he planned to do with his body quite soon.

"Michael? What are you doing?" Confusion mixed with desire in both her eyes and voice as she plucked at his fine lawn shirt. "I thought we agreed that being together carnally shouldn't happen again."

"I'm not sure we did." He paused long enough to tug his shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. Dear God, her form was so beautiful, so tempting. "Tonight, let me show you how much I'm grateful for you and help to soothe your rattled nerves." Between the words, he kissed her lips and walked her backward over the floor toward her bed. "I intend to kiss my way over each bruise, every scratch, to assure myself that you aren't hurt badly."

"You know I'm not." When she pressed her lips to his chest, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "A few days of rest and I should be well enough."

"How about an unforgettable night in bed with your husband?" It was far too easy to deposit her onto the bed. "After all, Christopher is occupying mine, and I do need to sleep somewhere…"

The smile she gave him could rival the noon day sun, and the feeling of falling tingled over him once more. "Perhaps I do need some personal attention, and from a handsome viscount to boot. I have had an unusually difficult evening."

As he joined her on the bed and covered her body with his, he was utterly and completely lost to the moment. Never again would he allow her to be put into such danger.

Fuck me. I'm beginning to fall for my wife.