Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
“Lamartine?” Rafe asked.
Alix nodded.
He knelt by the body; his fingers pressed against the Frenchman’s neck.
He was relieved to feel a slow but steady pulse.
Moving quickly about the room, Rafe lit several candles, then pulled the cord from the window curtains.
Looping it around Lamartine’s neck, he tied the man’s hands and then his feet.
“There,” he said rising as he finished, “that should take care of Monsieur Lamartine, at least for the present. If he regains consciousness and tries to move, he’ll find the rope around his throat a major inconvenience.
Now,” he continued, casting his eyes around the room for the washbasin and towels, “let’s see about fixing you up. ”
Rafe settled next to Alix on the bed and began gently dabbing at the blood on her neck.
“It looks a mess,” he said more to himself than to her.
“But underneath it all there’s not much more than a scratch.
” He brushed her swollen cheek. “But you’re going to have quite the shiner there.
Major Harris and Lord Minton may have to do without your company for a week or so.
” His tone grew serious as he looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere else, love?’
Alix shook her head. Rafe brushed her hair back from her face. “I want to know everything that happened here, but first I think we’d better decide what to do about your unwanted visitor.”
Alix nodded slowly. “If I call for a footman and they send for the authorities, what will happen?’
Rafe considered. “They’ll take him to Old Bailey where he’ll rest uncomfortably for a few months until his trial and then in all likelihood he’ll hang for attempted murder.”
“The broadsheets will cover it, won’t they? It’ll be quite a scandal.”
“There’ll be a great deal of noise about it, no doubt, but I’ll be there for you and there’s no one who’ll blame you.”
Alix’s eyes were cloudy and her fingers played at the painful line across her throat.
“He said he arranged to have my father killed. He seemed so proud of himself. I can just see him boasting about it at a trial.” She shuddered.
“I don’t care about the scandal, but I couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear to keep reliving the nightmare of Valcour, and this night over and over till he’s dead.
” Her eyes cleared and she looked up at Rafe, her expression suddenly fierce.
“I hear London is a dangerous city. Couldn’t you take him somewhere and dump him? ’
Rafe took her hands, they were unnaturally cold, and he worried that she might be slipping into shock.
He began to rub them between his own large, warm ones.
“I won’t just dump him, Alix. I want to know that when we are rid of him there will be no chance of him returning to harm you or anyone else in your family.
” He had an idea, but he knew she would oppose it; still, if she trusted him, he felt certain it would work.
“Alix,” he began carefully. “I want to give Lamartine the titles and send him back to France.”
She pulled her hands free of his and stared at him aghast “You what? You want me to give him the titles? And send him back to claim my lands? Are you mad?”
“Alix, listen to me,” Rafe said urgently, “if we send him back with the titles and the letter from your father, I can promise you he will be denounced as soon as he sets foot in France.”
She leapt off the bed glaring at him. “I think not!”
“Alix,” Rafe tried to interject “I have certain connections. I can make sure that Lamartine will never walk free and that the titles...”
She turned on him, incredulity rampant in her face and in her voice. “You would have me surrender the last scrap of my heritage, the last bit of who I am, to this... animal, this filth!”
“You don’t understand, let me explain—“
“No,” she said coldly, “you don’t understand.”
“I do understand, Alix,” he said sharply.
He was overwhelmed by the sight of her, her hair streaming, her face bruised, the angry red line across her throat.
He’d come so close to losing her. Lamartine might have killed her.
She’d risked her life for titles that in a month’s time would be worthless.
Even now, with Alix and her mother in England, the titles were already as good as worthless.
“I understand that you are determined to have your way, no matter what the costs, no matter what the consequences. You might have been safe with me, living in my home, surrounded by my servants, but you chose instead to stay with a stranger.” The words tumbled out, gaining speed as his pent up anxiety, frustration, and anger over their separation spilled over.
“You flirt with Major Harris, Lord Minton, Lord knows who else... You wander about Vauxhall at night unattended—”
“I beg your pardon? I flirt? I socialize with respectable gentleman while you, you...” she said stepping closer her voice filled with outrage. “You traipse about London with Anne Dinsmore draped all over you—”
“Lady Anne Dinsmore is nothing more than a friend.”
“A friend who thinks to slip in your bed.”
“A bed that should be filled with my wife.”
“Why, Rafe Harcrest,” she said sarcastically, “I had no idea you were so particular about your bedmates.”
He stepped closer, looming over her, his eyes and hair seem to flare golden in the candlelight. “When it comes to you, madame, I am most particular.”
She stared defiantly up at him. “Why?” she demanded.
“Because I love you, you infuriating little hoyden.”
Alix felt as if she were standing on a ledge that had suddenly given way. Her mouth fell open in silent shock.
“That’s right, sweetheart. I’ve fallen in love with you.
I’ve offered you my name and my protection, and now, heaven help me, I’m offering you my heart so that you can throw that back at me, too.
Go ahead,” he continued savagely. “Then wrap yourself in your titles and see if they keep you as warm as I can.”
Rafe seized her arms and took her mouth in a kiss that seared, leaving one thought like a standard streaming fiercely in the breeze: He loved her.
Rafe Harcrest loved her.
Alix struggled to free her mouth, to tell him that she loved him, too, but his lips offered no quarter. Instead, they pressed more deeply against hers, his tongue plundering hers, carrying away all thoughts of resistance.
Her arms locked in his grip, Alix strained upwards on her toes, trying to reach him, trying to tell him with her lips and tongue, and all the body she could lay against his, that she loved him, too.
A strangled groan from the floor caused Rafe to push her away, not harshly but resolutely.
“Send for Ginny,” he said hoarsely, “and tell her to bring her home remedies with her.”
Alix cast him a bewildered look, but did as he asked.
Several moments later Ginny appeared, disheveled as if she had just fallen out of bed, a mobcap hastily thrown over her curls.
She was accompanied by an oddly dressed footman.
Even in her distracted state, Alix couldn’t help noticing that his jacket was too large and his britches were too tight.
When he stepped into the candlelight, she realized the footman was Jervis.
“But how?’ she began.
“I’ve had you followed,” Rafe said curtly.
“Ever since Jervis recognized Lamartine as the man who was waiting for you that night we broke into your mother’s apartments in Paris.
” Rafe nodded toward the figure on the floor.
“Jervis noticed him skulking about Lady Melbourne’s several days ago.
We figured he was up to something, but we weren’t sure what until this afternoon.
” His eyes moved to her swollen cheek and neck. “I didn’t think he’d go away easily.”
Alix sank down onto the bed. Wandering about Vauxhall at night unattended, he’d said earlier and she understood that he’d been there tonight. It occurred to her that she might have raged against him for spying on her, but the fight had gone out of her. “You recognized him,” she repeated, confused.
“I didn’t know his name until today, but yes, I recognized him. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you with my speculations.” He paused. “Perhaps I was wrong.”
Alix knew it was as close as he would get to an apology. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Alix,” he said sharply; she looked up at him. “Jervis and I are going to take Lamartine with us. Ginny will help you into bed.”
“Ginny,” he continued, “Perhaps you should tell the household that your mistress is ill and does not wish to be disturbed.” His eyes flickered to Alix’s cheek. “You might say that she fainted and struck her cheek on the desk.”
Jervis, who’d bound Lamartine’s mouth with a soiled handkerchief, untied his legs and pulled the battered Frenchman up on his feet.
Retrieving a hat from the floor, he placed it atop Lamartine’s lopsided bagwig.
“Shoo, Monsieur, now I understand why you wear that awful excuse for a wig.” He chortled.
“If I went around getting hit on the head with candlesticks and inkstands and the like, I just might get me one for protection, too.” Grasping Lamartine firmly by the arm, Jervis pushed Lamartine out the door into the hall.
Rafe took one more look at Alix, then followed.
“Rafe wait.” Alix rose and went to an armoire across the room.
Throwing open the painted doors, she began rifling through the drawers until she found a familiar set of satin stays.
“The titles are still sewn in them,” she said holding them out to him.
She looked him straight in the eyes. “I want you to take them.” She nodded towards the door. “So that he won’t bother us again.”
“Are you sure, Alix?” Rafe asked softly.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I understand now that they are not the most important thing I possess.”
A curious light flared in Rafe’s hazel eyes. “Do you trust me Alix?” he asked.
“I do, Rafe.”
He grasped the stays. “I’ll be back in a day or two. Take good care of my wife, Ginny.”