Taffeta & Hotspur (19 page)

“
Aye,” said the Hotspur,
feeling like the devil on the hunt. “Aye…”

Chapter
Thirteen

Taffy’s hand went to her stinging
cheek as she backed up against the building. It was dark, and she
tripped over something, went down on her hands and knees, and when
she stood back up, leaned with her hands behind her back against
the limestone wall of the building.

She was in a rage, but she needed to
stall for time. They weren’t so deep into the alley that a passerby
wouldn’t hear if she screamed. She needed to bide her time and make
one last attempt to either escape or call for help. “You know,” she
said slowly, loudly, “if Tarrant doesn’t kill you for this night’s
work, I shall. You will never be safe again.”

“
No? But I will be rich,” he
sneered at her.

“
Do you think so? You will
need to be alive in order to enjoy it, Bruton. So if I were you, I
would think about what I was doing. In the end, it won’t be worth
it. I can promise you that.”

“
Shut up, tart. Just shut
up. What do you know about the trials of poverty? I have nothing
left. What little my father didn’t gamble away, I have spent in
maintaining our lands. I’ll have your money, and that is all I am
thinking about. That is all I care about.” He shrugged. “It won’t
be so bad for you. I shall not be a difficult husband. In fact, I
shall allow you to come and go as you please after our
nuptials.”

“
Husband? I loathe you and
shall never call you husband. Fool—you are a fool. You have not
seen past your own immediate needs. You have not seen what the
consequences will be. You will never call me wife because you will
be dead. I will happily, easily, slit your throat while you sleep
if I have to, but I rather think Tarrant will obliterate you from
the face of the earth long before that … don’t you?”

Bruton frowned, but she taunted,
“Didn’t expect I would escape your coach and ruin your
plans?”

“
You haven’t ruined a
thing.”

“
Catherine will tell, and
they will know…”

“
It will be too late. You
will be my wife. I will own your fortune.”

“
Tarrant will make me a
widow,” she snapped angrily.

He frowned again and sounding
infuriated, he answered, “What good will it do him? He will end in
prison.”

Taffy had positioned herself as subtly
as she could and now used the moment. She swung the board of wood
she had been holding at her back all this while, and she swung it
with all her might.

She didn’t give him time to duck, and
it hit him square.

She charged away from the alley, left
it at her back, and was on the main thoroughfare a few moments
later, and yelled with all her heart, “Help!”

~*~

They were slowed almost to a stop in
traffic, and Tarrant saw her before he heard her. He threw the
reins of the horses to Fenmore, nimbly jumped down from the
carriage, and began to run.

Had his heart ever beat with such
frenzy? Had he ever felt so slow? She was disheveled, her gown
torn, and she was running as though for her life. Bruton, damn his
soul, was at her back.

He reached her and held her as she
collapsed into his arms, saying, “I knew you would come … just a
little while ago … I saw it…” And she began to cry.

He put her behind him as Bruton
stumbled down towards them, and he went forward to land Bruton a
leveler, and even as Bruton hit the ground, he picked him up and
hit him again.

He turned and took Taffy into his
embrace and saw immediately, even in the dim light of the street
lamp, her cheek was bruised. “Taffy … my own sunbeam … did he do
this?” He didn’t wait for her answer but turned to pick up Bruton
so he could hit him again, but Taffy stayed him.

“
No … oh, Thurston … do just
take me home.”

There was a commotion behind them, for
Catherine arrived with a beadle. Seth and Nigel also were
there.

“
Tarrant—you’re here? We
would have been here sooner … saw Cathy running and screaming like
a banshee… Cathy never screams … took off after her on foot,” Seth
announced in a breathless voice like a ban.

Fenmore, now on the scene, took
Catherine’s hands to his lips and was cooing to her, as the beadle
was addressing Tarrant.

“
Thank you, sir,” said the
Hotspur. “We can take it from here.”

“
Would ye be wanting to
press charges?”

Taffy shook her head.

They didn’t need a scandal, so Hotspur
answered softly, “I think not … as I said, we thank you for your
quick service, but we will get him to where he belongs.”

The beadle seemed well pleased for the
compliment and the accompanying coin. He tipped his hat and moved
off.

“
Taffeta, I need you to go
home with Catherine, your brother, and Nigel. Fenmore and I will
see to Bruton. Will you do that for me?”

“
What are you going to do?
You must not kill him!”

“
Never mind what I am going
to do. Please, my love, Catherine too needs you, and you both need
to get home to a hot tub and relax. I will call on you first thing
in the morning.”

“
Right then … but, Thurston…
I…”

“
Steady, my brave beauty.”
He touched her under chin and saw her and Catherine installed in
the hack the boys had waiting for them.

“
Take the ladies home and
not a word of this to anyone,” Tarrant said quietly before turning
to Fenmore. Together they picked up the unconscious Bruton and
threw him into Fenmore’s coach.

“
What shall we do with
him?”

“
Drop him into the Thames,”
said Hotspur on a hard note.

“
Aye…” Fenmore regarded his
friend. “But, really?”

“
Really,” replied the
Hotspur wickedly.

Epilogue

One month later

Taffeta leaned into her husband as
their gondola plowed through one of Venice’s deep water canals. Her
rakehell had insisted on an early wedding and would wait only long
enough for her to have a gown created and a wedding party
assembled.

Their honeymoon had been, from the
moment they began, a trip filled with laughter, new experiences,
and lovemaking that took her to what she told him were depraved
heights.

She had questioned him a few times
over the last few weeks about Bruton, who had vanished from
society. A part of her was worried her beloved had indeed killed
the man in a fit of rage.

She looked up at him now and asked
softly, “Tarrant love, I need to know, and I need to know the
truth, not a fairy tale. What have you done with Bruton? For when I
asked Seth and Nigel, they said I must not ask and were convinced
you drowned him in the Thames.”

He laughed, “They must have had that
from James.”

“
Did you … drown him? I
shall forgive you if you did, for he deserved it, but … oh, I hope
there won’t be repercussions.”

He hugged her fiercely. “If I drowned
him as was my first inclination, I would have done so in a manner
where there would never be any repercussions to worry you. However,
I allowed Fenmore to persuade me to take another route.”

“
Huh, what then?”

“
Bruton was a desperate man.
He was about to be served, and if he could not come up with the
money he owed, he would have been hauled off to debtor’s prison …
perhaps even sent to Australia. I gave him a choice he didn’t
deserve.”

“
What choice? What did you
do?”

“
We, James and I, helped him
pack all his belongings, and we delivered him to a ship that was
about to depart for the Colonies. What do they call themselves, ah
yes, the United States. I bought him a first class ticket for the
passage and gave him a tidy sum to invest when he got there. I
rather think he will do well in the colonies … and hopefully stay
there.”

“
Brilliant! You are
absolutely brilliant,” Taffeta said as she bounced in his arms and
planted a kiss on his cheek.

“
I am, am I not?” He
laughed. “And I want that kiss, but not on my cheek.” He bent his
head and brushed his lips against hers. “You drive me mad with
need, do you know that? I want you all the time.”

“
The gondolier will hear
you.” She giggled and snuggled closer.

“
Let him hear me.” Tarrant
sighed, settling back and looking around. “Ah, I think we are
nearly there. Are you hungry my sweet?”

“
Yes, yes, I am starving,
and I do so adore Italian food.” She eyed him and said naughtily,
“It is a shame we couldn’t have drowned him. He did so deserve
it.”

He barked a laugh, “Wicked wife, you
suit me, you fit me.”

Taffeta sighed. “Next month James and
Cath will marry. It will be so much fun. Their wedding will be
beautiful. I shall be so proud to stand as her maid of honor with
you as James’ best man.”

“
Indeed, but I wish we had
more time here in Italy. I love it so,” he whispered
softly.

“
Yes, I do as well, but
Tarrant, we go to your Grange, and that will be very exciting, and
it is so very near Grantham that Seth and Nigel will be able to
visit often and—”

He laughed and said, “And who knows
what my sunbeam and her rogues will get up to?”

She smiled sweetly. “Oh, yes, poor
Tarrant. You could not have thought it out when you asked for my
hand … as I go, those two as well. Three for the price of one.” She
giggled.

“
Rogues Three … aye… and my
own sweet love, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A short blurb from Rogues,
Rakes & Jewels

The Marquis of Lyndhurst wanted a
woman who was more attracted to him than his title and money. He
went to the Isle of Wight (at his mother’s request), to meet yet
another eligible woman, but this time, he was going to play a
little game! His cousin Robby would pose as him…And he would pose
as his cousin.

Thought he had it all figured
out.

What the Marquis didn’t expect,
however, was a woman like Jewelene. Lovely and
provocative--intelligent and headstrong, and playing a game of her
own.

Each night she posed as Babette, the
French Card Dealer in a House of Cards and turned the Marquis’ game
inside out.

Here’s a taste of another
of Claudy’s spicy Regency romances:

Myriah Fire

~ One ~

LONDON, 1813

CASCADING RINGLETS OF fire framed an
elf-like countenance of peaches and cream. Dark brows and curling
lashes accentuated the almond shape of the blue-green eyes.
Champagne organza fell alluringly about a form as delicate as it
was provocative, yet the owner of these enviable attributes gazed
at her reflection in the gilt-edged looking glass and sighed
deeply.

A maid popped her linen-covered head
into Lady Myriah’s dressing room and clucked her tongue
disapprovingly. “Tch tch, m’lady, here you be, idling your time
away with your papa that anxious for you down in the ballroom! Why,
gracious, the music is sweet to hear, and the dancers looking fine
as five pence … and here you be, looking that sad! Why, it fair
sets me in a huff, it does!” said the middle-aged woman, taking all
the liberty that years of faithful service had won her.

Lady Myriah raised an eyebrow, and
there was warning in her look though her tone was light. “Now, now,
love, don’t be hipped with me. ’Twould never do! I don’t see why I
must go down just yet, especially when I feel disinclined.” She
stopped abruptly and noted the troubled look on the older woman’s
face. “Oh, very well, don’t worry yourself over me, I’ll go,”
Myriah said with one of her spontaneous smiles.

“
Good girl—’tis that much
those fine bucks below be wanting a look at yer sweet face!” her
maid said, nodding and returning Myriah’s smile.

“
Nonsense, Nelly, love. They
have seen it all this season and last! All right, all right, don’t
get yourself all puckered up again. I’m going!”

Myriah made her way down the
red-carpeted, circular staircase, a slight frown between her eyes.
The music floated up and enfolded her gently. Usually its
mesmerizing effects lifted her spirits, but now she only
sighed.

Whatever is the matter? This one
question haunted, irritated, and left her burdened. She did not
know the answer, but she did know that she had no wish to hear the
music she loved and no need to join the merrily waltzing ton in the
ballroom below.

About to embark upon the glorious age
of one and twenty, Myriah had already enjoyed two London Seasons
and was about to take on her third. Yet the young lady was
bored—bored and totally disenchanted with the beau monde, London,
and all its frivolous activities.

She was Lady Myriah, the only child of
Lord Whitney, and he was well able to indulge her many whims, and
he had always seen fit to do so in the past. Lately, however, her
worthy father had begun to lose patience with his headstrong
darling. She lived in an age where women were supposed to be demure
and submissive—which did not work for Myriah.