Chapter Twelve

“Colonel! Gads, man, it is good to see you!” bellowed Nash’s former general. “Do come in, and may I say you are looking very well.”

“Trevy!” scolded Lady Hampshire, the general’s wife, in the shrill voice Nash remembered from his army days. “This is Lord Rydleshire now. Did you not hear Forston announce him as such?”

Sir Malcolm Trelvadere Hampshire, known as general to some and Sir Malcolm to all except his wife, ignored the woman’s nattering. The curled tips of his flamboyant white mustache twitched upward and framed his round red cheeks as he smiled. “A colonel, a knight, and now an earl. What’s next, man? A dukedom?” The portly man, confined to his chair because of the loss of both legs below the knees, stuck out his hand.

Nash gave the fearless baronet the same warrior handshake he always used with Merritt, grabbing the man’s forearm and gripping it tightly. “Good to see you, general. Forgive me for not calling more regularly.” He added a wink. “And call me anything you like, old man. You earned that right years ago.”

“There! You see, Viola? Now toddle on and leave the colonel and me to speak of things too unseemly for your delicate sensibilities.” Sir Malcolm waggled a bushy white brow at his scowling wife.

The lady puffed like a hen with ruffled feathers. “I shall have Forston bring in your port.” She dipped a curtsy in Nash’s direction. “My lord,” she said before flouncing from the room.

“I heard of your marriage,” the general said as he rocked deeper into his chair. “Her Majesty’s orders, I suppose?” With a strained grunt, he twisted to reach an ornate metal box on the table beside him. He lifted the lid, took out a cigar, then glanced Nash’s way. “May I offer you one?”

“Thank you, no.” He had never much cared for tobacco but remembered the general was rarely seen without some form of the leaf, whether it be pipe, snuff, or cigars.

Sir Malcolm accepted his decline with a nod before clamping the tip of a fresh cigar between his teeth and lighting it with a spill set ablaze from the candle on the table. After several deep draws that set the cheroot glowing bright red on the end, he settled back and smiled. “As I said, Her Majesty’s orders? You are known to be her darling.”

“A title I prefer not to use.” Nash was well aware of the gossip but helpless to change it. After all, one did not refuse Her Majesty or Prinny.

The general smiled broader and chuckled, making his great white mustache quiver. “I would never insult you, old friend. Merely curious, since I never thought of you as one interested in marriage.”

“No offense taken, since it was by order of the queen.” Nash ducked his head like a naughty schoolboy. “But now I find myself even more deeply indebted to Her Majesty for matching me with such a wonderful woman.”

“Ah…true love, is it?” Sir Malcolm took a long, slow draw off his cigar, making the end of it glow even brighter red. He lifted his chin and released the smoke, blowing it upward into a whirling pillar of gray. “I am glad for you, then.” He patted his leg. “Viola is an irritating sort with her nagging tongue loose at both ends most of the time, but I could not have survived this, neither physically nor mentally, without her. Nothing heals the body, the mind, or the soul like a love that is real.” He puffed on the cigar again, eyes narrowing as he watched Nash. “What brings you here? I wouldn’t waste my time visiting an old cripple. Why would you unless you needed something?”

Guilt at ignoring his former commander filled Nash. “You are not an old cripple, general, and I beg your forgiveness for my thoughtless neglect of our friendship.”

Sir Malcolm held up a hand. “My bluntness was not a trawling for apologies. You know me, old boy. I say what I think and fully expect my officers to do the same.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with interest. “Now, what is it that brings you here?”

“Merritt Wethersby and I could not locate Burns. Forthrite, Tomes, and Freedly said you might know where we could find him, since the two of you are quite close.” The general had saved Burns’s life once, and Burns had repaid the favor by carrying the general from the battle that had cost him both his legs. Nash went quiet and sat straighter as the butler entered the room, carrying a tray with a decanter and two glasses.

“Well met, Forston.” The general patted the arm of his chair, then pointed at the table beside Nash. “The colonel can pour. That will be all, my good man.”

“Very good, sir.” The butler bowed, then left the room, closing the door on his way out.

Nash poured them both a generous splash of the ruby liquid, handed the general his, then held his glass high. “What shall we toast, general?”

Sir Malcolm chuckled. “Success to whatever brings you here and causes you to search out the best riflemen of our regiment.”

“Still a sly old dog, I see,” Nash said after taking a sip of his drink.

“My body might be broken, but there is nothing wrong with my mind.” The general swirled the port in his glass, eyeing the sparkling red richness as though mesmerized. “Who is in danger?”

“My wife, my mother-in-law, and our queen.”

“And the threat?”

Nash blew out a heavy sigh. “We have yet to identify the assassin. Unfortunately, I have concluded that a trap must be set.”

Sir Malcolm frowned, then shifted his focus from his glass to Nash. “Is your mother-in-law not the infamous Lady Nia? The former spy most trusted and valued by the Crown?”

“She is. Though most do not remember her as such, since she remained in France after her husband’s assassination.” He hated to rush the general, but he needed to get back to Merritt and the others waiting for him at Rydleshire House. “Do you know of Burns’s whereabouts? You know he was the best of the four.”

The baronet’s woolly white brows knotted together over his troubled eyes. “Therein lies the problem, old boy. Burns is working for me.” He cleared his throat, downed the rest of his port, then took a long, hard draw on his cigar and blew out the smoke, filling the air with the acridly pungent scent. “He is seeing to a very personal matter of which I am most ashamed.”

A deep sense of loyalty booted Nash square in his conscience. He also wanted Burns as part of his team. If he helped the general with this personal matter, perhaps Burns would be free to help protect Sophie and the dowager countess.

“Is there something I could help with?” he asked as delicately as possible.

The old man exhaled another roiling column of smoke while frowning off into the distance. “It is Adelaide. She has not only ruined herself but thoroughly besmirched the Hampshire name.” Still scowling, he slowly shook his head. “But she is my only child. My beloved daughter whom I shall always love, no matter what. I cannot bear the thought of disowning her, even though that is what her mother wishes.”

Nash remembered Miss Adelaide Hampshire well. A stunning beauty with golden hair, large, mesmerizing eyes, and curves that made her extremely dangerous, since she was the general’s daughter. As he recalled, Miss Hampshire also possessed a somewhat forward nature that had ruined many a young lady who refused to listen to her elders. “How can I help, general?”

“That, I cannot say.” Sir Malcolm shook his head again. “After the Duke of Winstead refused to support the bastard he foisted upon her, she would not agree to come home and send the cause of her shame to a place for foundlings. Instead, she charmed an unknown source into footing the bill for the scheme she settled upon to support herself and the child.”

“And that scheme was?” Nash hazarded to ask.

“A sporting hotel on Bond Street.” The general’s shoulders sagged. He suddenly looked weary and spent. “My daughter is the madam of a brothel that caters to some of the wealthiest in London.”

Nash was at a loss for words. There was nothing he could say that would console his old friend, and he also didn’t quite know how he might help. But duty and old loyalties demanded that he try. “What can I do?”

Sir Malcolm tamped out his cigar on the plate he used to catch the ashes. He brushed his hands together, then held out his glass. “Pour me another. That is what you can do.”

After refilling both their glasses and handing the general his, Nash settled back in his chair. “How is Burns helping you?”

“He is her doorman, and protector if need be. Wealthy gentlemen of Society or not, some of her clients behave as though the world is theirs for entertainment no matter the cost—or the injury to anyone else involved.” He sipped his port, then cut his gaze back to Nash. “I realize my daughter is a fallen woman, but she did not get to that level by herself.” He snorted out a pained growl. “And Burns reports that since her child died, Adelaide has not been the same. He said it’s as though she dares fate to do something else to cause her more pain. She takes unnecessary risks.” He relit his cigar and took several long, deep puffs. “She will always be my dear little Adelaide, and I want her safe. My solicitor showed her what I set up for her in Belgium, so she might start anew, but she laughed at it and refused. Said it was too modest and common, and not enough to support her for a month. She also said she needed excitement, not some paltry little cottage on the outskirts of a dull little village in the country.”

The more the poor general talked about his daughter, the more hopeless the situation seemed to Nash. If the girl didn’t wish to change and start anew, she couldn’t be forced to do so. And there was also the matter of paying off whoever had sponsored her setting up of the sporting hotel. With it on Bond Street, that financial undertaking would have been quite substantial. Only one possible solution came to him, and it was a very weak one. “If she needs excitement, perhaps she should become a spy for the Crown. My mother-in-law’s Rydleshire Academy still trains candidates.”

Sir Malcolm thoughtfully pursed his lips and tipped his head to one side. “Considering my Adelaide’s skills”—he abruptly cleared his throat,—“she might make quite the effective agent for Her Majesty.” Then his forehead wrinkled, and he appeared about to lose his composure. “But how will that keep my precious girl safe?”

“While I cannot guarantee her safety, perhaps with time, it will enable her to forgive herself for choices she wishes she never made and accept your offer of that cottage in Belgium.”

“You think it will increase her opinion of herself?”

Nash rose from his chair and set his empty glass aside. “That I cannot say, but it would provide her with the excitement she told your solicitor she needed, and a different set of acquaintances from those with whom she currently keeps company. I have also witnessed a change in those who suddenly discover they are valued and have an honorable purpose in their lives.” He tipped an uncertain shrug, at a loss for any other alternatives for the wayward lady. “Burns could go along with her if he wanted. There is a nearby village where he could stay and still watch over her.”

“Burns would go. The man loves her.” Sir Malcolm snorted. “He doesn’t think I know, but I am not a fool.” He squinted up at Nash. “But what about you? You said you needed his services.”

“I would like to have his services, but it appears your daughter needs him just as direly as I do. I have Forthrite, Tomes, Freedly, and Wethersby.” He offered his old friend a humble nod. “I shan’t be greedy.”

“How do you propose my daughter learns of this opportunity? She refuses to darken our door here.” Sir Malcolm rumbled with another irritated growl. “And rightly so, after the way her mother treated her the last time she visited.”

“I would be more than happy to go to Bond Street and speak with her,” Nash said, somewhat relieved that he’d found some small way to help his old friend. “I shall also inform Burns. Perhaps he can gently urge her to agree if she refuses at first.”

“And you are certain the infamous Lady Nia will agree? It had always been my understanding that Rydleshire Academy was quite selective.”

A snorting laugh escaped Nash as he remembered what his mother-in-law had said long ago. “Lady Nia accepts her candidates based on three prerequisites: drive, raw talent ready to be refined, and the ability to pay for her exemplary training.” With a reassuring nod, he added, “And since you are my friend, there will be no cost for Miss Hampshire’s training.” He felt sure the dowager countess would waive the fees. Especially since Sophie had shown him the ledgers of all the businesses they had funded to help women support themselves and their families. He had been amazed at the Rydleshire empire and its intricate web of ventures that gave women the opportunities they deserved.

After a throaty harrumph, Sir Malcolm resettled himself in his chair. “I do not expect charity. I may only be a baronet and a retired general, but I am not a man without means.”

“It is not charity. It is friendship. Would you not do the same for me?”

The old man harrumphed again. “That goes without saying, but you understand my meaning.”

“I do indeed, sir.” Nash held out his hand. “I shall speak with Lady Nia this evening, and pay a call on Miss Hampshire and Burns tomorrow.”

Sir Malcolm clasped Nash’s hand with the powerful grip of a man half his age. “Once again, our battlefield brotherhood has saved me. You have my gratitude, colonel.”

“As ever, I am grateful for your friendship, sir.” Nash stood at attention and saluted his commander.

The general straightened in his chair, puffed out his chest, and returned the salute. “Keep me apprised of how it goes, colonel. I look forward to hearing of your success.”

“I shall indeed, sir.” After a polite bow, Nash dismissed himself, eager to set in motion the plan to help Miss Hampshire and to speak with Burns about any recommendations the man might have to assist him in his own cause. He would consult with the dowager countess tonight in private after discussing the change in plans with Merritt and the other men.

As he stepped up into the carriage and settled in the seat, he debated whether to tell Sophie. The general and his wife were quite ashamed of their daughter’s fall from grace and had no doubt experienced as much of the ton’s scathing treatment as they could bear. Society had probably ostracized them to where only their closest friends would associate with them, and that would only be under cover of darkness and, more than likely, by using the servants’ entrance at the back of the house.

“Utterly ridiculous,” he muttered. Out of respect for them, he would not tell Sophie, nor would he elaborate on the details with Merritt or the others. The only person who needed to know the entirety of Miss Hampshire’s adventures was the dowager countess herself. Besides, a basic survival instinct warned him that his precious swan might not be especially pleased with his visiting Miss Hampshire to convince her to part ways with her current lifestyle. Hence, there was no need to upset Sophie by telling her.

As the carriage pulled up to Rydleshire House, he spotted her stepping out the door, alone and dressed for more than a simple breath of fresh air.

“Sophie!” he barked as he bounded out of the carriage.

She glared at him, clearly annoyed with the sharpness of his tone. At the moment, he didn’t care. Not when her safety depended on her doing as he had asked.

“I was merely crossing the way to Celia’s.” She fidgeted in place, passing her reticule back and forth between her gloved hands, clearly knowing she was guilty as sin.

He stepped up beside her and cradled an arm around her waist as he eyed their surroundings for anything amiss. “You agreed to have a guard accompany you any time you stepped out of the house. Remember?” He struggled to keep his voice even and calm when what he really wished to do was throw her over his shoulder, carry her back inside, and lock her in their bedroom until they captured the devil threatening her life. He hugged her closer as they walked down the steps. “You promised me, Sophie.”

“I checked the street through the windows,” she weakly defended herself, then gave him a pained look. “Merritt and the others were deep in some sort of conversation. I didn’t wish to interrupt them to toddle me across the way like a group of overly attentive nannies.”

As they reached the bottom of the steps, he turned her to face him. “That is why I brought them here, and they fully understand that. Are you going to force me to have them guard you the way Merritt once stood guard outside your mother’s bedchamber?”

“No,” she said rather sheepishly while glancing aside to avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I love you, Sophie,” he said softly, gathering her closer.

“Nash!” She hissed like one of the kittens while pushing on his chest. “Out here on the street?”

“To the devil with the street and everyone on it.” He tilted her face up to his. “You are mine. I love you, and I intend to keep you safe. That is all that matters.” He kissed her hard, pouring his love and fear for her safety into the bond. She had made him love her, and to be robbed of her now was a cruelty he was unwilling to bear.

He lifted his head and stared down at her. “Is the duchess expecting you?”

The color rode high on her cheeks. She hitched in a shuddering breath and ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. “No. I merely thought to call upon her for a visit.”

“Might you visit her tomorrow?” he whispered, while nuzzling the silky softness just beneath her ear.

She pressed closer while turning her head so he might continue his tasting of the sweet skin along her throat. “And why would I wish to delay my visit with her?”

“Come out of the street with me, my love, and I will show you.” He tugged her back up the front steps and into the house.

Thornton appeared out of nowhere, his usual staid demeanor shifting to one of worry. “My lord, my lady, is something amiss?”

“Nothing at all, Thornton,” Nash said before Sophie answered. Sweeping her up the stairs to their private suite, he called back over his shoulder, “We are not to be disturbed. We shall come down when we are ready.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler’s tone revealed no opinion whatsoever.

“Nash,” Sophie quietly scolded while ducking her head. “What will everyone think?”

“They can think whatever they wish.” He ushered her into their sitting room and bellowed, “Marie!”

“Marie is either downstairs or out. I am not sure which. I told her I would be out for a while and gave her the rest of the day to herself. I believe she is quite taken with Thomas.”

“Who is Thomas?” Nash didn’t truly care about the maid’s personal interests, but now was not the time to bring a new individual into their house. No one could be trusted.

Sophie tugged on the fingers of her elbow-length gloves until they were loosened, then slid them off and draped them over the top of a chair. “Calm down. Thomas is our footman and has been in our employ for several years.”

“Then why is this romance just happening now?”

“Because, unlike you,” she said as she plucked out her hairpins and let her coppery locks tumble free, “Thomas appears to be painfully shy.” She laughed. “But the poor man doesn’t stand a chance. Marie can be quite determined.”

Nash moved in behind her, combing his fingers through her luscious curls. An errant hairpin caught on his nail. “Missed one, my love.”

“Thank you.” Sophie took it from him and bent to place it on the table with the others.

Unable to resist the temptation, Nash caught hold of her sweet rump and pulled her back against him. “Such a wondrous woman,” he groaned while pulling her harder against him and sliding a hand around to cup one of her breasts.

She reached back to pull him around for a kiss. “Undress me, my love, and we can be wondrous together.”

If Nash had his way about it, he would rip off her clothes. The thought made him laugh as he undid the hooks and buttons of her gown.

“And what is so amusing?” she asked as she kicked off her slippers.

He spun her around to face him and caught her up against his chest. “I could have you as I want you much faster if I ripped off your clothes.”

She eyed him with mock sternness while undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. “That could become quite costly, my dear. And besides—this is one of my favorite gowns.” She tiptoed to kiss him as she shoved his jacket down off his shoulders. “I have you pinned now, my lord.”

“And what will you do with me, my wanton lover?”

She reached down, undid the buttons of his falls, and slid her hand inside. “Whatever I wish,” she promised in a throaty whisper.

His buttocks tightened as she treated him to a long, slow pull of his hardness, then reached even lower with her other hand and cupped his bollocks while stroking him more. An appreciative groan rumbled free of him. Her touch was perfection.

“Nakedness would be so much more advantageous,” she said as she shoved his pantaloons downward. “Oh dear. I forgot about your Hessians. Sit, so I can rid you of these dratted boots.”

“I believe it would be much more efficient if we each stripped ourselves.” He wanted her naked, himself buried inside her, and the lusciousness of her breasts in his mouth. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She stepped back and shed everything—petticoat, stays, chemise, and stockings—then stood there, unashamedly nude and breathtaking.

With himself stripped down to nothing, he strode forward and clutched her close, skin to skin, glorious, hot flesh to flesh. He breathed in her delectable scent of jasmine and a woman ready to be taken as he stretched her back across the couch and settled down on top of her. “Gads, I cannot get enough of you.”

“Good.” With her eyes half closed and her smile seductive, she trailed her hands down his back, caught hold of his buttocks, and squeezed. “Take me to oblivion, my love. I am more than ready.”

As he pushed into her hot wetness, he heartily agreed. “Pure heaven,” he rasped, burying himself fully and grinding deeper. He took her mouth in a heated kiss while teasing her with the slightest thrusting of his hips.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, kissing him back just as wildly while arching up into him, matching the rhythm of her movements with his.

They clung together in the fierce bond, moving as one, skin sliding against skin, fully joined. Sophie shuddered and clutched around him, her wet hotness squeezing him, urging him to give her his all. A moan escaped her as she raked her fingers down his back and dug her nails into his flanks. Her need matched his, the ache to drive and pound until they both exploded with bliss.

Elbows locked, Nash drove hard, reveling not only in every delicious sensation but also in the sight of her lying beneath him, flushed pink with passion.

She cried out, bucked upward, then trembled and groaned while clutching him tighter.

Control shattered, blind lust and passion bade him pound, and pound he did. A roar ripped from his throat as he emptied into her. Once spent, he collapsed, saving her from his weight by catching himself on his forearms.

“Gads,” he gasped against her throat.

Her arms tightened around him, and she pulled him downward. “Indeed.”

The lazy, purring way she drawled the word made him smile. He had pleased his wife as much as she had pleased him. A contentedness filled him, prompting him to lift himself enough to give her a tender kiss. “No more risks, my love. Promise me—please?”

She raked her fingers through his hair, combing it back from his forehead. “I shall try my very best to be more thoughtful about how I go about things.” Her delicate brows drew together, lightly furrowing her irritated expression. “It is so hard to behave as though one might die at any moment from a villain’s killing shot.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and smiled. “It would help if you were a bit more fearful rather than a bloodthirsty little swan. You must not take risks. Don’t you wish to spit in the fool’s eye once we capture him?”

“Spit in his eye?” she growled. “I would much rather set him up as a target for either pistols or archery.” Her fury quickly mellowed to a wickedly gleeful smile. “Your choice, of course.”

“Whatever makes you happiest, my love.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck and ran the tip of his tongue along the delicious length of her slender throat.

She stroked his sides and hugged her legs around him. “I know what would make me happiest right now,” she said with a suggestive wiggle.

“I agree, my love, and we shall go slower this time and savor it.” He nibbled along her collarbone and enjoyed the silky fullness of her breast in his palm. He moved lower and traced his tongue around her nipple. “To happiness.”

“Uhm…to happiness and an afternoon of nothing but each other.”