A Woman of Love Page 4

  “Nicholas, I see three at the front. What are the chances there’s only one at the back?”

  “I’d like that. Can you handle them?”

  He didn’t answer. Nicholas knew damn well his capabilities. He adjusted the gun he’d tucked into his belt, leaving a pistol and shotgun for his brother.

  “This would work a lot better if they couldn’t see me coming. I need some sort of a distraction.”

  “Like an explosion?” Nicholas said.

  “Yes, but—”

  “There are other distractions.” Annabel jumped out of the carriage, and walked toward the three men, her hands working at the buttons of her walking-dress. Her bottom swayed as her manner transformed, revealing her sensuality. He stared at her, his mouth dry.

  “For God’s sake go after her,” Nicholas snapped.

  James flew out of the carriage, and arrived as the thug with the black cap approached.

  “Well, if it isn’t Lady Annabel. Do you want to see what a real man can do for you?” He had a wide, stupid grin, revealing a mouth that was missing its front teeth. The others were leering at her.

  Before Annabel had a chance to reply James punched Black Cap on the nose. His friend with the red waistcoat came to his aid. James blocked Waistcoat’s fist with his left arm, and jabbed him in the stomach. He turned his attention back to Black Cap, but he was still on the ground clutching his nose. The second was gasping for air. Grey-hair had his stick out, arm drawn back. James kicked him in the groin before he could strike.

  ****

  While James fought the last of the three thugs, Annabel ran up the steps two at a time. She had to reach Beth. She knew James would be angry with her for disobeying him, but didn’t care.

  The foyer was deserted. She dashed for the stairs, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Dear God, please let her be alive.

  On the staircase to the third floor, feet appeared in front of her, pounding up the steps. Elliott. Was he racing to reach her daughter? She doubled her speed, willing her body to go faster. Stretching, she grabbed one of his feet and jerked backwards. His legs went out from under him and he slammed forwards, smashing his face against the stairs.

  Annabel gathered her skirts, sprinted past him, and crashed into the small bedroom. It was exactly how she’d left it: cold, devoid of any warmth or creature comforts. The small window, covered with a plain brown curtain, ensured it was dim. The walls were grey with no pictures hanging on them, and the floors were bare boards. There wasn’t even a rug.

  Her daughter’s dark, downy hair poked out from under a blanket. Annabel’s heart stopped at the sight of the small, unmoving figure lying on the bed.

  “Beth.” Was she still alive?

  “Mummy?” The child jumped up and flung her arms out for a hug.

  Annabel enfolded her daughter against her chest, kissed her head, and turned toward the door.

  “I don’t think so.” Elliott stood, pistol levelled in one hand, while the other held a handkerchief to his bloody nose.

  Her knees quivered. She’d failed. She retreated, withdrawing until she reached the bed, where she sat, and curled herself around Beth’s small form expecting to feel pain explode through her body at any moment. She could accept getting shot to save her daughter, but what would happen to Beth? Would he shoot her too?

  “Don’t come any closer, Drake, or I’ll kill them both,” Elliott sounded calm, controlled.

  “The only way you’re getting out of here alive is if you let them go.”

  She blinked back tears and said a silent prayer of thanks. James was here. She wasn’t alone. She had run to her daughter needing to protect her, but somewhere in the back of her mind she had known James would save them. It wasn’t a question. She knew without a doubt he would be there, risking his life to save theirs.

  “You won’t shoot me. Not while I have hostages.” Elliott’s voice rose slightly. Was he scared?

  “If you so much as graze their skin, I’ll kill you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare, I’m a lord. You can’t kill me. People will notice.”

  “Let’s play a game,” Annabel whispered into Beth’s ear. “You’re going to be my shadow. You’re going to stay behind me. When I take a step, you take a step, understand?”

  Her beautiful, dark-haired girl nodded. Annabel uncurled her body, and slid off the bed. Keeping Beth behind her, she inched closer to the door. James stood in front of the exit, so she was moving toward the line of fire, but it was the only way out.

  “Did this little whore manipulate you, Drake? Don’t you realize she’s using you?” Beads of sweat trickled down Elliott’s face, and his gun started to shake. His body acknowledged his fear even if his words didn’t.

  “Let them go, and I won’t hurt you.” James took a step nearer to her while still pointing his gun at Elliott.

  Annabel inched to the door, keeping one hand on the toddler behind her.

  “They belong to me. I married her. Before me she was struggling to keep her husband’s business afloat.”

  “I won’t let you hurt them.” James bit out the words through clenched teeth.

  Elliott swung the gun from Annabel, and pointed it at James.

  “No.” The sound escaped her lips before she had time to think. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, but couldn’t stand the thought of James being hurt, of him suffering because of her. The very idea caused a jolt of pain, so real, she felt it.

  “Oh, how precious. Do you care for him? Did bedding the decorated war hero touch your heart?” Elliott sneered.

  “War hero?”

  “James here has been awarded five medals including the Victoria Cross for bravery. And he thinks he’s quite the card player, but he’s not a very good cheat.” Elliott’s upper lip curled in a sneer.

  “You knew.” James’ calm demeanour made him even more threatening.

  “Of course.”

  “So what was your plan?”

  “I’m going to kill the little witch and her brat,” Elliott spat.

  “Do you really think I would let you do that?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m Lord Peters. You can’t kill me. You’ll get the noose, especially when it becomes known you spent the night with my wife.”

  “How are you going to explain away their deaths?” James kept asking questions. Why? Was he trying to give them time to escape? She was two feet from James, and at least four feet from the door. She took another step closer.

  “I won’t have to. Their bodies will never be found. You see, I plan to tell people she was so ashamed of her adulterous affair with you, she took her daughter and ran away. I will be inconsolable, of course. Although I have to admit I didn’t plan on you turning up here as her saviour.”

  Another two steps found her at the door. She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. Nicholas. Silently, he picked up Beth and carried her down the stairs. Did he expect her to follow? Maybe, but she couldn’t. James was still in danger. He was in this situation, not because of his own doing, but because of hers and she wouldn’t desert him. She stepped back into the room, hoping to find a way to diffuse the situation.

  “You’re an idiot if you think you can escape. We’ve been investigating you for a while,” James announced.

  Elliott’s face grew purple, and his whole body trembled, but James continued, “I needed to find out more about you, and your network of thieves. I knew a greedy man like you would have his wife pay his debts in the bedroom. I arranged to have her spend the evening with me so I could question her.”

  “You can’t believe a word she says, she’s a whore.”

  “You know that’s not true,” James snarled.

  “If I’m going to hell you’re coming with me.” Elliott fired.

  “No.” Annabel threw herself in front of James hoping to protect him, as the deafening noise echoed around the small room. James thrust her aside and shot back. Elliott’s body jerked like a marionette cut from its strings. He landed in a heap on the
floor, a bullet hole planted between his eyes. Relief swamped her. Her legs melted, and she crumbled to the ground.

  “Annabel.” James’ pale face appeared in front of her. Was he hurt?

  “James, are you—”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Oh God, did he shoot you?”

  “No, I’m fine. Why did you…?” His eyes looked black against his ashen skin.

  She struggled to sit up, but her body didn’t want to respond. She wiggled her feet. They were fine. Checked her hands, they were good. She looked along her torso. A red stain appeared on her shirt, high up by her right shoulder. It was strange how detached she felt as the blood flowed into the blouse making the red blot blossom.

  “Beth?” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

  “She’s fine.” James took off his shirt.

  “For God’s sake, put pressure on it.” Nicholas appeared next to James, leaning over her. “Help will be here soon. I’ve sent for the constabulary.”

  “What will hap—”

  “You have to stay still if I’m to stop the bleeding,” James snapped.

  “I have to care for my daughter.” She tried to put force behind her words.

  “You need to survive being shot, so you can look after her.”

  “Don’t worry about Beth. She’ll be safe with me,” Nicholas said.

  “Who’s with her now?” Annabel asked.

  “Nicholas, go take care of Beth. Annabel needs to know her daughter is safe.”

  He nodded and left the room.

  Annabel tried to grab James’ shoulders, but her right arm would not cooperate. “I need you to promise me you’ll look after her.”

  “You can look after her yourself when you’re better.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise, but only until you’re well.”

  She closed her eyes; pain twisted through her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to control the hurt, but whenever she inhaled, hot needles flared, drenching her in a cold sweat. Could she allow herself to faint and succumb to the darkness? No, not yet. She let her body go limp, hoping that would give her relief, but nothing could stop the ache in her heart. She wanted to be there for her daughter, wished she could watch her grow. And what about James? Would anything lasting have come from their night together? For the first time in months they were safe. She had no doubt James would keep his word, but still it would’ve—

  “Annabel, open your eyes.”

  She forced them open to see James, his brows knitted in concern. It was hard to believe when she first met him she had thought him a demon. So much had changed in such a short time.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she said. Countless footsteps thudded on the bare floorboards. In her peripheral vision she made out dark figures moving about the room. The constabulary. She supposed they were dealing with Elliott. The presence of so many people in such a small space should have made her alert, but it had the opposite effect. The hum of voices, and the knowledge Elliott was dead, calmed her. Beth was safe. Everything faded: the noise, the room, Elliott, everything except James. Beautiful James. She closed her eyes, and surrendered to oblivion.

  Chapter Eight

  James held Annabel’s hand while she lay in his bed, asleep. The doctor had gouged out the bullet with relative ease, but the loss of blood, and resulting infection had brought on a life-threatening fever. This morning, her fever had broken, and the weight crushing his chest lifted, allowing him to breathe.

  After a week of constant surveillance, bed baths, and cold compresses, exhaustion had driven her into a deep sleep. He touched her forehead again. Cool and dry. He prayed that when she woke he could make her see she should stay with him. They could have a good life. But what if she insisted on leaving, would he let her go? Could he? He knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t prepared to do that. What if another man like Elliott Peters took advantage of her? A woman alone was still vulnerable, especially a woman with a child. Yet he didn’t want to force her. He wanted her to stay because she loved him. But how could she? He was a scarred shell of a man who had an uncanny ability to kill. Could she overlook these things, and see the good in him? The night they shared had been enough for him to know they belonged together, but would it be enough for her?

  He glanced at the cot that lay at the foot of the bed. Beth was still asleep. Traumatized by her time in captivity, and having her mother shot, she had been remote and shy at first, scared to leave her mother’s side. But in the last two days she had transformed into a little scamp, bouncing around the house. If she wasn’t running, playing, or climbing, she was asleep. At this moment she was curled on her side, her feathery dark hair sticking out in all directions. She must favour her father because she looked nothing like Annabel. With Beth’s deep chestnut hair, and her large brown eyes she could be mistaken for his daughter. Could he use that in his favour? In the last week he had grown fond of the little imp, and the thought of not seeing her grow into a spirited young woman hurt him in a way he hadn’t expected.

  He tiptoed to the dresser, poured a basin of water, and carried it, a washcloth, and a towel back to Annabel.

  “Sweeting, can you hear me?” he whispered.

  Her heavy eyelids flickered and she mumbled.

  “I’m going to give you a sponge bath.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but set to work, stripping her of her old nightgown. He ignored the temptation to touch her silky flesh, instead concentrating on her care. The two inch jagged scar above her right shoulder blade was a testament to luck. The bullet had missed the bone, and the main arteries. In fact, the surgery to remove the missile had caused more damage than the projectile itself.

  He had finished drying her off and dressing her in a new gown when Beth awoke. The little imp clambered up the side of the bed, and bounced over to him. How Annabel slept through the commotion was beyond him.

  “Are you hungry?” He smiled when she threw her arms around his neck.

  “I want jam tarts for breakfast,” she announced.

  “You’ll have porridge with me.” He scooped her up. “Come on, we’ll let Mummy sleep.”

  ****

  Annabel awoke wondering how much time had passed since that dreadful day at the house in Windsor. She had no perception of time after the shooting. She did remember the doctor digging at her shoulder until she fainted. Thank God. Her life since that moment had been a haze of pain and fever.

  Her next coherent memory was of James carrying her up the stairs to his room, the same room where they had made love. This morning, at least she thought it was this morning, he had helped her bathe, and dress.

  Where was Beth? Annabel’s hand went to her cheek. She remembered her daughter kissing her better, and was comforted by the knowledge her child was safe. Daisies and a slate chalkboard lay on her pillow. Her muddled mind recalled Beth describing the picture on the board. She had drawn a family. It was easy to make out James in the role the father, because she had added a scar to the father’s face.

  Annabel threw back the covers, trying to rid her mind of the blanket of fog. The trauma of being shot had a detrimental effect on her ability to reason, and although the pain and fever had left her weakened, the fact she could now think clearly buoyed her spirits and gave her back a sense of control.

  She stood. Her legs were shaky, and her shoulder throbbed, but the sharp stabbing pain that had originally accompanied every movement was gone. She smoothed her white linen nightshirt flattening the wrinkles and winced. The mobility in her right arm wasn’t what it should be. She could lift it but found raising it level with her shoulder changed the ache into intense pain. She lowered her arm and shrugged off her concern. They were safe; what did a little twinge matter?

  The room looked different from the first time she had been here. There was a cot at the foot of the bed. She searched her fuzzy memory. Beth had slept in the cot, so where had James slept? With her? Yes, he had wrapped her in his arms comforting her. No wonder Beth had drawn the pi
cture of a family.

  A long, freestanding, oval mirror stood near the large bay window, and a mahogany chest sat to the left of the fireplace. Glancing in the mirror she was horrified to see her hair was a tangled, matted mess. She searched the room, and on the chest found a shaving kit, a pair of scissors, and a comb. She started to use her right hand to comb her hair but changed to her left when a sharp stab reminded her of her injury. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she left the room.

  Given the lack of furniture in the house, she decided to try the library first. The musty taste that had permeated the air when she first arrived had lessened, and although there were no obvious outward changes, the house seemed more like a home. She opened the polished wood door to see Beth, sleeping across James’ chest. He was slouched on the settee with his eyes closed, presumably asleep himself.

  Annabel had no doubt about his ability to be a father to Beth, but was that what he wanted? She stopped, giving herself a minute to gather her thoughts. What did she want? James. Plain and simple. She wanted to be with him, but it was an impossible dream. She was a woman of questionable reputation. Sold for a hand at cards, she had gone to bed with James after only knowing him for a few minutes. Then her lover shot and killed her husband. It didn’t matter that Elliott had been a vile creature with a dark heart. It was scandalous. She would be an outcast.

  Normally, she didn’t care what people thought especially when it came to the safety of her daughter, but would James feel the same way? Or would he see her as a trollop?

  This wonderful, heroic, tortured man deserved an acceptable woman. One who could help him re-enter society, not a pariah despised, and scorned by everyone. He had his own demons and nightmares to deal with. He deserved an uncomplicated wife.

  His hand rumpled Beth’s soft hair, drawing Annabel’s attention. Intense, dark-brown eyes smiled at her, and despite her weakened condition heat pooled in her belly. He had shaved his beard, and cut his hair. His groomed appearance should have made him seem civilized, but it made him dangerous, more attractive. How was she ever to resist him?