A Convenient Bride (38 page)

He’d fallen irrevocably in love with his wife.

B
renna wanted to know how his afternoon fared but did not want to wake the baby.

“Come with me,” she whispered, and carefully eased off the bed. After placing a pillow on each side of their son, she led Richard through the sitting room to her old bedroom. They left the door ajar, in case James awakened.

She climbed onto the bed, and he joined her. She snuggled close. “How goes the planning? Are the guards in place?”

“They are.” He ran a hand over her bare arm and over her hip, covered with only the thin chemise. “Mister Jones is well qualified to watch over Beckwith Hall.”

“He is a good man,” she agreed. He was also becoming a close friend. “I trust him completely.”

Richard played with her hair. Brenna bit her bottom lip and drew a fingertip down his chest. His muscles twitched. Then she moved lower, careful to avoid anything below his waistband.

She took pleasure in teasing him to inflame his passion. The end always led to their mutual satisfaction. And she did so enjoy being satisfied by her seductive husband. Since the night of the ball, he never refused her wifely demands.

“Simon once told me that Jace used to be a marshal in
America and hunted down wanted criminals,” Brenna said. “And Jace was a trapper and a soldier. I do not know how much of that is true, but it certainly makes for a colorful history.”

“Hmm.” His hand casually cupped her left breast. He rubbed the nipple gently between his fingers.

“Can you imagine the danger in hunting wanted men?” Brenna said, pretending to be immune to his advances. She twitched as he kissed the spot below her ear. “I wonder if he was ever shot at by the criminals he hunted?”

“Hmm.” His hand flexed. Her nipple hardened.

“That must be why Jace is good at searching for killers,” she said, hiding a smile. “He has experience in that regard.”

Richard grunted, his lips on her neck. His breath tickled her skin. “Must we talk about Jace Jones?”

Brenna shrugged. “Is there something else you wish to discuss?” She finally placed her hand over his erection. “A highwayman with a dusty coat and a huge, er, pistol, perhaps? I’ve heard he likes to chase down coaches and ravish young innocents.”

He lifted his head and grinned wickedly. “The highwayman of Beckwith Hall does like to ravish.” Brenna laughed. He pushed her over onto her back and ripped off her chemise.

T
he evening meal was lively. Jace had been convinced, by Brenna, to tell some tales of his days as a marshal. Mister Freemont appeared pleased to find her attention off of him. Lucy flirted outrageously with George, who seemed delighted by her sudden attention. Richard sat next to Brenna and was the recipient of her stocking-covered foot, teasing his leg while they shared warm glances.

“How terrible,” Brenna said. She struggled to focus on the conversation, with memories of a certain highwayman-viscount driving into her heat just two hours previous, with her ankles positioned somewhere near her ears. “An arrow in the side? How did you survive?”

Jace rubbed the spot covered by his coat. “An army surgeon tried his best to kill me with his inferior treatment, but I won the battle to live. I did learn to keep my head down once the arrows started flying.”

“How fascinating,” Lucy said. From her position at the table, Brenna wasn’t certain, but she thought Lucy batted her lashes at Jace. She almost felt sorry for Mister Freemont.

“I was once almost decapitated by a tray thrown during breakfast when I was at Cambridge,” George interjected. “Two of the lads were arguing over a girl, and trays, and food, flew.”

“You were lucky you weren’t killed,” Lucy said. She placeda hand on his arm. “Who knew Cambridge was so dangerous?”

Brenna nodded and removed her foot from Richard’s thigh. “Who did the young lady choose?”

George’s face was serious, but his eyes showed good humor. “The chit ended up choosing someone else, with a more even temperament.”

Laughter followed. The rest of the meal went along those lines, with Brenna telling the tale of how she and Richard met, and how he’d killed a thief. Once the conversation turned in that vein, the men shared more stories of brushes with death.

Even Mister Freemont managed to hold Lucy’s interest when he spoke of killing a man who’d pulled a knife on him in an alley. “He wanted both my purse and my life. Instead, he came to understand the error of his decision.”

Lucy gaped. This was a side of the quiet Mister Freemont that Lucy had never seen, a bold and dangerous side.

Brenna hoped her friend would give the former Runner a chance to woo her. He was just the sort of fascinating man Lucy needed to keep her intrigued.

Later, in the drawing room, the men shared glasses of port while Lucy and Brenna settled on the settee and talked softly over tea. As the evening aged, George went off to bed, after bowing over Lucy’s hand.

“You have an admirer,” Brenna said, frowning as George left them. “I hope you do not encourage his attentions. He is a nice man and should not have his affections toyed with.”

Lucy grimaced. “He is a friendly sort. However, I will make certain he knows we can be nothing more than friends.”

Brenna looked over to where Jace and Mister Freemont were whispering together as Richard refreshed their drinks. The two men had serious expressions. As Richard returned to them, Mister Freemont nodded to Jace and took the drink, tossed back the port, and excused himself.

“Ladies.” He bowed. “Thank you for the interesting evening, but I must go. My duties require me elsewhere.”

As he walked out, a curious Brenna turned to stare at Jace. He shrugged. She suspected there was something about Freemont’s abrupt departure that he had no intention of sharing.

“That was odd,” Lucy said.

“Yes, it was,” Brenna said. “Jace does have his secrets.”

Lucy twisted the thin necklace around her neck. “I think we should torture him for information. Then perhaps he’ll tell us where Mister Freemont had gone off to.”

“What are you thinking? A torture rack? Tied to a post and covered with ants?” Brenna got into the spirit. “Unfortunately Beckwith Hall does not possess a dungeon. We could chain him to a wall in a dank cell until he cracks.”

“A delicious prospect, that,” Lucy said. “He does like to tease me. Yesterday, he said my gown was too drab and my hair too severe. As if I care what he thinks. I am in mourning.”

After two months of wearing black, Lucy had decided the color too horrid to continue wearing and changed to grays and browns. Though she continued to mourn, and did miss her husband, Brenna knew that beneath her drab gowns she was wearing a chemise she’d purchased in bright blue.

Brenna could not fault her. She’d not been married long enough to truly consider herself a wife.

Richard walked over. “I think I shall retire. The day was long. Would you care to join me, Wife?”

The warmth in his eyes spoke of something far more salacious than sleep on his mind. Heat sluiced through her. Richard presented himself as a bit of a staid presence to the world outside their bedroom, but behind the closed door, he
was a man of great passion and seductive skill. And he was hers.

She took his outstretched hand. “Good night, Jace, Lucy.” Brenna waited until they were up the stairs, and had dismissed Nanny and the guard, before she lifted her skirts with a laugh and raced him to their bed.

It was much later, when their passions were satiated and James was fed and sleeping again, that Brenna turned on her side and placed a hand over his heart.

“Why did Jace send Mister Freemont away?”

Richard caressed her back. “I’m not certain. It did rouse my curiosity, too. He said Freemont has gone off to investigate a new clue to the case and will return in a few days.”

“This is curious,” Brenna said. “And so sudden.”

He rolled Brenna onto her back and reached for the laces on her bodice. “We will have to wait until Mister Freemont returns for our answers.”

B
renna walked into the sunny garden, having found time for a few minutes to herself. She enjoyed the spring flowers as they bloomed, smiling at each new arrival.

Several birds splashed in the fountain as she passed. The lovely morning lifted her spirits.

After about fifteen minutes, she thought she heard two male voices speaking in hushed and angry tones behind the hedge that separated two sections of garden. She froze, unsure of her next course of action.

Not wanting to spy on a private conversation, she called out, “Hello.” The voices went silent. “Is someone there?”

Still nothing. Though she was within sight of the manor, and several guards lingered nearby, a sudden feeling of unease brought her hands to her skirt. She readied herself to spin about and flee.

The desire proved unnecessary. She heard the crunch of footsteps, and George appeared around the hedge.

“Brenna.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Thank goodness it’s you,” she said. “I’d thought I’d stumbled upon the killer.”

George’s smile wavered. “That would be unfortunate. Luckily, there are no killers here today.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her. “How long were you standing there?”

“Not long,” Brenna replied. “Who were you speaking with?”

Stepping forward, George took her arm and steered her back toward the manor. “It was a guard. I thought he’d left his position, but I was incorrect. He’d only stepped out of sight for a moment to, ah, take care of a delicate matter.”

She did not need any more information. “I see.” She hoped the delicate matter did not involve the desecration of the rose bushes.

They walked slowly back to the hall, chatting about nothing in particular. Eventually the conversation turned to the missing Mister Freemont. “Have you heard any news about his mysterious trip to who-knows-where? He has been gone over a week,” George said.

“I have not learned why he is gone, though I did manage to learn his destination,” she said, in a low voice, as if she had learned a very important secret.

George leaned in. His eyes gleamed. “Do tell.”

“Cambridgeshire,” she whispered, behind her cupped hand. “I overheard Jace discussing it with one of the guards. I was eavesdropping, though I do hope you will keep my secret.”

“Cambridgeshire?” He stopped walking. “What sort of clues does he expect to find there?”

Brenna shrugged. “I cannot fathom what. But it was clearly of some urgency, as Jace rushed him off after supper without a word to anyone.” It took a moment to realize George had gone pale. “George, are you ill?”

He shook his head and pressed his fingertips to his temples. “I am suddenly struck by a headache. I ask that you please excuse me.”

“Of course.” Brenna squeezed his arm, and he hurried away. She made a note to have someone take him up some headache powder. Mrs. Beal mixed it herself, and it worked quite well.

She paused to examine a topiary shaped to look like a fish. Somehow she’d missed the creation in previous ventures into the garden. Either that or the gardener had suddenly become artistic. Thoughts of George faded.

Smiling, she continued on toward the manor, nearly colliding with Richard as he rushed from the house.

“There you are,” he said, and took her hand. “Mister Freemont has returned with news.”

“What did he say?” Her heart raced.

“I knew you’d be put out if we did not wait for you. If you want to be included, you had better hurry.”

“Yes, Husband.” Brenna lifted her violet skirts and rushed after him. They were both eager to find out if the trip was successful and to learn any new clues.

Richard led her into the study, and she saw the two men standing together, sober faced, by the fireplace. They stopped conversing when Richard closed the door.

Mister Freemont was rumpled from his trip. He’d not taken time to change. The matter must be of some urgency. Brenna sat on a chair and clasped her hands together. “I understand you have information pertaining to the case?”

Jace and Mister Freemont walked over.

“Yes.” Mister Freemont drew in a deep breath. “The journey proved to be both puzzling and interesting, though I’m not certain what to make of the information I’ve received.”

Jace nodded. “It appears as though a member of this household may know more about this case than he’s let on.” Jace ran a hand over his hair. “I sent Freemont to find out if there were any murders in Cambridgeshire during the last ten years, and there was one several years ago. A laundress who worked in the village was found strangled and left in a field.”

“How dreadful,” Brenna said. Her stomach tightened.

“What has this to do with Beckwith Hall and my staff? Most have been in my employ for many years,” Richard said.

“Not your staff,” Mister Freemont replied. “This person attended Cambridge at the time of the murder.”

Suspicion grew as Brenna dug through her memories for
something she’d heard recently. It took a moment for the thought to clear. Her stomach dropped.

“Who is this person?” Richard pressed.

Brenna met his eyes, disbelief in her face. “George,” she whispered, and felt her world tilt.