Chapter 33
Sweet Piper, where are you? You haven’t answered my letters in weeks! I shall be coming home after the Haddington ball. I promise this time.
Have you ever wondered, dearest sister, how one could possibly be so dreadfully content in torturing oneself?
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The Glenrothes Townhouse
117 Eaton Square
Belgravia, London, England
The next morning
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“She’s not at home?” Aylesbury asked. “Please tell me that is nothing more than the standard society euphemism, and she really is here.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, my lord,” Hobbes said unflappably.
“Hobbes, old chap, I thought you liked me. How about a bit of appreciation for my timely intervention last night?” Aylesbury cajoled lightly.
The butler relented with a sigh. “As I am quite grateful for your intervention last evening, my lord, I might recommend that it would be to your advantage to visit the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club this morning.”
“The Roy—” the marquis parroted with brows lifted in disbelief.
Bloody hell, the tournament. He couldn’t believe that she had gone after everything had happened.
Well, he did believe, but he simply couldn’t believe it.
And to think he had brought a carriage around for her, thinking she might be too fragile to ride this morning. Instead, she was out playing golf.
Though dread was already tempting him to pinch the bridge of his nose, the marquis felt he had to ask. “Please tell me she didn’t go alone.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, my lord.”
Good God, she hadn’t told her brothers then. What on earth had she been thinking? Did she truly have no comprehension of how dire a threat was out there, or did she consider herself invincible?
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
Rope to tie Fiona down until she came to her senses sounded good to him. Handcuffs, ankle shackles.
“An acknowledgement that Lady Fiona is by far the most willful, independent, careless woman in all of Britain would be nice.”
“As you say, my lord,” the butler answered, but Aylesbury was already heading back to his carriage, imagining the many ways he might wring her neck when he found her.
* * *
The grace and beauty of the sight were almost enough to strip Aylesbury of his anger and fear.
Fiona stood poised at the first tee box, focusing on the ball before her.
She drew back her club and swung through with a smooth stroke that sent her ball sailing through the air.
As still as a statue, she watched it go, her body turning and arched where the swing had ended.
Polite applause told him that the drive along the fairway at Wimbledon Commons had been a good one, but he couldn’t take his mesmerized eyes off her.
There shouldn’t have been anything alluring about her in her prim, double-breasted red linen jacket, white linen skirt, white shirt and tie done up just so.
Despite that, she was oddly seductive. The narrow cut of her jacket molded to her lithe figure.
Her skirt clung to her hips and was hemmed well above her ankles, showing off the slender curve of her calves before they disappeared into her high leather boots.
Fiona bucked convention even more, hatless and with her navy-blue dotted tie loosened enough to leave one button on her collar open.
She was everything that was adventurous and daring. But too daring. He still couldn’t credit that she’d come here alone after all that had happened.
He should have known she wouldn’t miss it.
Torn between worry, annoyance, and reluctant respect for her nerve, he fell in among the spectators to watch the play as the four ladies in Fiona’s group finished teeing off and moved down the scenic fairway. And to keep a watchful eye on her.
Though it was a long par three-hole, her drive had reached the green. While other ladies stopped to play along the fairway, she didn’t take another turn until they reached the green. Making par on the hole, she was off to a great start.
Aylesbury relaxed his guard as she handed her putter off to her caddy and moved with the group to the second tee box.
The nine-hole tournament had drawn a fair number of spectators, and other players surrounded Fiona as well.
Though mature trees bordered the course, there were no dark corners, no alleys for a potential kidnapper to hide in.
Public and full of people. Just what she had promised to seek out days ago.
It seemed his fears had been ungrounded. She likely had more to fear from the ravine that dominated the first hundred and forty yards of the second fairway.
For the moment, at least, she was safe.
And aware of his presence.
Having the best score on the first hole, she was the last to tee off on the second.
After sending another beautifully executed drive sailing through the air and over the chasm, Fiona shot him a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes.
Aylesbury wasn’t sure if she was daring him to say anything or wondering about his opinion, but he gave a short nod, mouthing the word bravo.
A broad, dimpled smile was his reward, along with a flush of pleasure that brought lively color to the apples of her cheeks. Just when he thought she couldn’t look more beautiful!
* * *
Fiona traded her driver for the iron Aylesbury assumed she expected to use for her second shot and swung it merrily by her side as they moved on.
After crossing the bridge that spanned the ravine, she and her caddy set off for the opposite side of the fairway, searching for her ball while the others in the foursome found theirs.
He crossed his arms over his chest and watched with a grin as she used her club to poke through the rough grass bordering the short fairway until they found it near the tree line.
Apparently, it hadn’t met her expectations since she called for her caddy to bring her another club.
Over the applause from the spectators watching as other players took their turn in play, he couldn’t hear what she was saying from the distance, but displeasure was written in every line of her body as she shook her head and handed the proffered club back to the caddy, who was carrying her wicker golf bag.
When he again handed her what Aylesbury could only assume was another incorrect club, she stomped her foot and took the bag from the caddy.
Chuckling to himself with a shake of his head, he watched as she exchanged the clubs herself while scolding the man at her side.
The caddy drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and though Aylesbury might have thought it might be used to do nothing more than wipe the sweat from his beleaguered brow, the caddy clamped it over her mouth as his arm caught her around the waist.
Aylesbury was sure his eyes widened the same shock and alarm as Fiona’s did as they realized instantaneously what was happening.
Pushing off from the tree, he sprinted across the fairway with a shout of warning as she struggled against the man’s hold, scratching at his hands but he was already pulling her away into the cover of the trees.
Involved in their own shots, no one else had seen it. The shouts of protest and alarm that followed in his wake were directed at him for running across the field of play, but Aylesbury ignored them, calling for help as he ran to help her escape the villainous caddy’s grasp.
But Fiona needed more than assistance. Real fear chilled him when she slumped like a ragdoll against the man, who, more prepared than he for that happenstance, smoothly flung her unconscious body over his shoulder and dashed further into the trees.
“Stop!” Aylesbury commanded, gaining ground on the man’s encumbered lurching.
Thank God he hadn’t come out as unprepared as he had been the previous day, Aylesbury thought as he pulled a small pistol from his breast pocket.
A lot of good it would do him, though. There was no chance of firing now with her slumped over the kidnapper’s shoulder and covering half of his back.
Still, it didn’t hurt to make the threat. “Drop her, or I will shoot!”
He didn’t stop, so Aylesbury fired a broad warning that splintered the bark of a tree to the scoundrel’s right.
Veering instinctively away from it, the kidnapper’s foot slid on the grass, and he was thrown off balance under Fiona’s unresisting weight.
He fell to one knee, and she slipped from his shoulder.
Hefting her up once more, he sought clumsily to recover his footing.
Having gained ground in the interval, Aylesbury slowed and steadied the gun on his target. “Leave her, or I swear I will not miss again. Whatever you are being paid cannot be worth your life.”
The grim promise in his voice caught the kidnapper’s attention, but it wasn’t panic that stared up at Aylesbury. It was self-satisfaction. “Ye won’t shoot me, gov. Don’ wanna risk hurtin’ the little lady now, do ye?”
“I could put a bullet in your head without splitting a hair on hers,” Aylesbury promised with unnerving matter-of-factness as he cocked the pistol. “I killed a man just yesterday for trying this very thing. I am giving you a chance to save your own life, but my patience is wearing quite thin.”
Getting back on his feet, the man had the audacity to grin impudently as he pulled out a knife. “How’s about I jus’ kill ’er right ’ere?”
“If you did, there would be no reward and a certain death,” Aylesbury warned him, but the man cavalierly patted Fiona’s derriere like one might burp a baby. Fury ran like ice through his veins, and he pulled the trigger.
The kidnapper howled with pained surprise, clenching his ear. He gaped at his bloody hand, then at Aylesbury. “Yer bloody loony, ye are. Ye could ’ave killed ’er!”
“I could have killed you. Now put. Her. Down.”
The kidnapper paused indecisively, obviously reluctant to lose his shield. “’Ow do I know ye won’t jus’ kill me if I do?”
“You don’t,” he growled, pacing slowly forward. “I will give you to the count of three. One.” The would-be kidnapper looked around, assessing his options. “Two.” With wide anxious eyes, he looked back at Aylesbury. “Thr– ”
Before Aylesbury could take the shot, the bloody scoundrel heaved Fiona off his shoulder and threw her bodily at him.
Startled by the unexpected reaction, he instinctively reached out for her.
Though he caught her around the shoulders, they both fell to the ground anyway.
The kidnapper fled before Aylesbury could recover his weapon.
He scanned the area to assure himself that the thug was truly gone before turning her in his arms.
“Fiona?” he said urgently, patting her cheek. “Come on, darling girl. Wake up. Wake up now.”
That she didn’t even stir worried Aylesbury. More than likely, the handkerchief had been doused in chloroform, but it might have been something else. Ether perhaps? No, she wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to unconsciousness.
“Come now, Fiona. Up you go.”
She moaned but while her eyelids fluttered and her brow furrowed, she still didn’t wake.
“Oi there! What happened?”
Pulling his pistol once more, he turned and leveled the barrel at the man behind them. He was young, modestly dressed and appeared thoroughly confused.
“Who are you?”
“Peters, my lord. Please don’t shoot,” he said hurriedly, eyeing the pistol with open trepidation as he lifted his hands. “Glenrothes’ footman. Lady Fiona asked me to accompany her today. To protect her.”
“Fine lot of good you did,” Aylesbury grumbled, lowering the gun. “Where were you when this happened?”
“I’m still not even sure what happened, my lord,” Peters said anxiously. “One minute, she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. To be fair, my lord, Lady Fiona didn’t tell me exactly what I was to protect her from.”
“Of course, she didn’t.”
With a sigh, Aylesbury straightened Fiona’s skirts to cover her bare knees and smoothed back her hair. What was he to do with her? If she didn’t have more of a care for her safety, she was going to be the death of him.
“Peters, I want you to fetch Lord Glenrothes and have him come to the club.”
“No,” Fiona groaned hoarsely, blinking her eyes before squeezing them shut tightly.
“They have to be told,” he countered firmly.
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “But not like this. Please.”
Aylesbury matched her sigh. “Very well. Peters, run back to the clubhouse and have my driver bring my carriage around to the street through there.” He pointed through the trees to the road that bordered the course. “The Causeway, I believe. I will carry Lady Fiona through and meet you both there.”
Peters nodded and dashed away. Harry turned his attention back to Fiona, who was finally coming around more fully. “I ought to lay my hand to your bare backside.”
“That sounds lovely,” she said groggily.
“This is no time for jokes.”
“Amusing coming from you.” She rubbed her temples and tried to push herself into a sitting position. Her head swam dizzily before a fierce pounding began, and she felt as if her brain were knocking against her skull. “Oh, my head.”
“Just relax against me.”
He lifted her into his arms as he stood.
She rested her cheek against his broad chest with a sigh, and he looked down at her, her warm, dark hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the treetops.
Of all the times he imagined lifting her into his arms, never had he thought it would be under such circumstances.
Something had to be done.
“Oh, Harry,” she breathed softly.
“Yes, my love?” he asked, brushing his lips over her hair.
“Please don’t forget my clubs.”
“It would serve you right if I did.”