Chapter Twenty-One #2
When Jack returned, having loaded Renard’s pockets with rocks and dumped his body in the river, Lord Caindale was slumped against a pillar, his blood-spotted cravat tied around his neck.
“My horse has gone lame. He’s at the stables here in town.
A cannon bone, they say. Couldn’t ride him, in any event. ”
“My curricle is outside. Would you be able to make the journey south? Better that we don’t leave any evidence of what went on here.”
Caindale nodded. “I’ll manage. I’ve cheated death twice today. And I owe it to you. I’m eternally grateful to you, Captain Ryder.”
“No need. I promised Lord Butterstone I’d find his killer.” And Althea, he thought. He craved the opportunity to tell her himself, but better he leave that to her uncle.
They walked out through a loading bay into sunlight. Around a corner, Jack’s pair of grays stirred restlessly.
“You do believe me, don’t you, Ryder?” Lord Caindale asked desperately. “I swear I never thought he’d kill either Butterstone or that poor maid. I hoped that once Renard had the information he sought, the matter would be at an end.”
“Why did Renard consider it necessary to kill your brother-in-law?”
“Butterstone planned to consult the French ambassador. But the ambassador was away from London, as was the Foreign Secretary when my brother-in-law arrived back from France. He could have known his life was in danger and didn’t wish to stay in London any longer than he had to.”
“Why string you up; why not shoot you?”
Lord Caindale pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket.
“Made me write this. He planned for my death to look like a suicide—knew how close I was to losing everything. No one would question it.” He tucked the letter back into place.
“There was a French intelligence officer poking around, and Renard was feeling the heat in London. Didn’t want another murder that might lead back to him, particularly with the editor of The London Chronicle sniffing out the story. ”
Jack untied the reins and climbed into the curricle. “So, Bonaparte was poisoned? Why else would they go to all this trouble?” He leaned a hand down for the baron to join him.
With his face a grimace, Lord Caindale settled on the seat beside Jack. “Hard to say. But Renard said he’d been fed arsenic for weeks. Small doses in his wine.”
“Who would have administered the poison?”
“I was led to believe it was Bonaparte’s acting sommelier, the Marquis de Montholon. But I am not certain.”
“Where is the marquis now?”
“Somewhere on the Continent. No sense in searching for him. He has powerful friends. You might not make it home.”
“I have no love for Bonaparte. I’ll leave it for history to judge.” Jack drove the curricle toward the town. “Why involve yourself in this business? So, it was all about the money?”
“I must confess that was true; it was the money, but that was not the only reason. Renard and his companions feared Bonaparte was on the verge of escaping again. I lost my eldest son in the Peninsular Wars. I have another. He is sixteen years old and wants to join the army. So, as you can imagine, having been in the army yourself, I do not want another war.”
“Let’s hope a long period of peace gives England time to recover from years of war.”
The baron sighed. “Indeed.”
“You’ll need to come up with a good reason for your injuries,” Jack said as he turned the horses toward the road, in search of a surgeon.
Jack had had enough of killing in the war. Let this be the end of it.
*
Harry shut the bedchamber door while Erina, her heart pounding, watched him.
She loved him so much; it swelled up inside her, and it was hard not to put it into words.
Would he wish to hear it? What if it embarrassed him?
He took her hands and drew her close, his brown eyes brimming with tenderness and what she hoped was desire.
“First of all, Erina, I want to make it plain why I married you.”
She released a breath. “Why did you, Harry?”
“Because you are the most infuriatingly stubborn, the most deliciously attractive, the most generous-hearted woman I’ve ever met.
” He put a finger to her lips as she began to interrupt.
“And because, my darling girl, I am madly in love with you. And have been ever since that time in the stables when you introduced me to your horse.”
“Really?” she exclaimed joyfully.
Harry groaned and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “You make me feel alive, Erina. I wanted to draw you down into the hay back then. And every day since. Even when helpless and confined to my bed, the urge never left me.”
Shocked by his sudden ardor, her skin tingled, and her body warmed. She eased away to stare into his face, wanting to be sure. “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lead me to believe…?”
“I didn’t do any such thing, my love. You were determined not to marry. Not me, at any rate. I knew I could never change that stubborn mind of yours, so I waited…and hoped. And it’s almost killed me.” A look of vulnerability entered his eyes. “Do you love me a bit, Erina?”
“Oh, Harry. I love you dearly.” A soft gasp escaped her. “You mean everything to me.”
A wry but indulgent glint appeared in his eyes. “I had begun to hope you regarded me with more than fondness, but I wasn’t sure. I know how you value your freedom.”
“But I don’t. Not with you. I know you will be a reasonable husband. I want to be beside you always!”
“My darling, passionate girl.”
His words became difficult to decipher as his soft lips sought hers. Harry cradled her face as he kissed her endlessly until her knees trembled. He took her hand and led her over to the bed.
As she sat there, Harry removed the ribbon from her hair, tossing pins to the floor. Her heart throbbed with joy and love for him. But what would the servants think? “Does one do this in the daytime?”
“One does.”
He threaded her long, auburn tresses through his fingers and raised a lock to his lips. “There are strands of gold through the red, and it smells so sweet.”
He stepped away and began to remove his clothes. Coat, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt were tossed aside in a very un-Harry-like manner. Then he sat down to remove his boots and stockings.
A heavy feeling settled in her stomach as she gazed at his bare chest. She left the bed to trace the puckered, red scar on his shoulder. “Does this still hurt?”
His arms wrapped around her, he pulled her close.
“I shan’t let you destroy the mood, Erina,” he said as he nudged her ear and pressed kisses over her throat.
His fingers at her back worked at the small Dorset buttons on her gown.
Slipping it from her shoulders, it pooled at her feet.
She stepped out of it and stood in her petticoats and shirt; after kissing her shoulder, he undid the laces of her stays.
He continued to undress her with his usual efficiency, pausing to kiss parts of her as they were revealed.
Her breath quickened, and she held on to his shoulder, his bare skin invitingly smooth beneath her fingers.
When she was naked, Harry stripped off his trousers, stockings, and drawers and drew her down onto the bed. How extraordinary to lie skin to skin with a man, when her body had ached for his touch.
He cradled her breasts in his hands and bent to kiss them. “Your beauty exceeds all my boyish imaginings.”
Thrilled at his obvious pleasure in her, she swept a hand over his chest while admiring his lean, well-endowed body. “You are very handsome, Harry.”
When he lowered his head again to her breasts, a hungry desire built within her.
“Shall we have a large brood of children?” His tongue did something exquisite to a nipple.
A moan of ecstasy slipped from her lips. “Five or six seems a respectable number.”
He groaned, and she couldn’t be sure if this was a comment on the number of children to fill his nursery or… She sighed as his mouth on hers took her words and thoughts away with a deep kiss as his clever hands produced the most delightful feelings.
She arched to meet his feather-like strokes. She was losing herself as a need built within her. Then with a cry, she tumbled into a wave of delicious sensations. She lay there heavy-limbed in the afterglow and yet wanting more.
Harry rolled her beneath him, his rampant need for her nudging her belly, his eyes dark and smoldering with desire. “Shall we begin now?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Oh, Harry. I adore you. Yes, my darling. Now!”