Tempting the Heiress (27 page)
Read Tempting the Heiress Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Catching sight of her brother coming up the stairs, Wynne groaned, “I have no time for you.” With one of her daughters sleeping comfortably on her shoulder, she continued down the hall to the nursery. Brock followed in her industrious wake.
She greeted the nurse, who was dressing the infant’s twin. Obviously, he had interrupted his nieces’ bath.
“Wynne, your brother is here!” Milroy shouted from below.
His thunderous announcement woke up the sleeping infant. With a voice rivaling her sire’s, she cried out her displeasure.
Wynne gave her brother a caustic glare.
He spread his arms in supplication. “You are not the only one in a rush.”
Making soothing noises, she rubbed her daughter’s tiny back. “I was so tempted to ignore Lady Keyworth’s belated invitation. The audacity of that woman! If not for Amara, I would have tossed her note into the fire.”
“Amara had no role in the affair. Her anger matched yours when she learned of her mother’s deception.”
“You are quick to defend her. Does she know you have taken up the sword on her behalf, my gallant knight?”
Wynne waited until the nurse had placed the infant she was caring for into the crib. “Come, Aideen, give a kiss to your annoying uncle.”
Brock dutifully leaned over and pressed a kiss on the top of his niece’s head. Affectionately, he stroked the child’s head, hoping someday that he and Amara would be blessed with children. He was willing to dedicate day and night to the endeavor.
“You are grinning like a simpleton,” his sister observed disrespectfully. Bestowing a kiss on Aideen’s chubby cheek, Wynne handed her daughter to the nurse.
Rubbing the aches out of her arms, she said, “Why have you come? I had assumed we would see you later at the ball.” Satisfied the girls were settled, she headed back downstairs.
“You will,” he promised, his long legs equalizing her head start. “However, you have something I must claim first. Father told me Mother’s sapphire ring is in your temporary custody.”
“It is.” Hooking her arm around Milroy’s waist, she said, “You should be getting dressed, not playing in the stables.”
“Why would I be playing with my horses, when I could be playing with you in the bath?” Milroy teased her.
Wynne peeked at Brock, clearly embarrassed that her brother was listening to her husband’s ribald suggestion. Straightening with dignity, she ignored her husband and asked, “What do you want with Mother’s ring?”
“It is for Amara.” He took a deep breath. It amazed him that his sister’s approval meant so much. “As soon as I can obtain a special license, I intend to marry her.”
His sister was stunned, her green eyes glittering with moisture. “Oh, Brock!” She threw herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely.
“Does this mean you approve?” Brock asked, looking at Milroy for guidance.
Wynne pulled back, smiling. “Of course. I love Amara. Marrying you will make her my true sister.”
Delighted by her response, he scooped her up and spun her once. “Glad I can be so accommodating, dear sister!”
His brother-in-law pounded him on the back. “Let me be the second to congratulate you on your good fortune. Miss Claeg is an admirable lady.”
“I cannot fathom how you convinced Lord and Lady Keyworth to accept your offer of marriage,” Wynne said, awed and pleased. Some of her pleasure dimmed at his evasive shrug. “You have gained their consent?”
“Amara is old enough to marry without it,” he muttered defiantly.
Wynne folded her arms across her breasts. “What else? There is more that you are not telling us.”
The truth would be known to all in a matter of hours. “Keyworth plans to announce Amara’s betrothal to Conte Prola this evening.”
Milroy’s indigo gaze hardened subtly as he stared over his wife’s head. “How serious is the trouble you are facing?”
Whether or not he asked for it, he had the man’s support. “Keyworth and I exchanged threats. If Amara chooses me, her family will disown her.” Or worse, he added silently.
“Poor Amara must be terrified!” Wynne wailed, concerned for her friend.
“She knows I love her.”
Brock, too, was battling his personal share of fear, but he did not voice his worries aloud. Keyworth’s threats did not bother him half as much as the prospect that his lovely dove might choose family duty over love.
“Where is he?”
Anticipation and irritation had prompted the question, Matteo decided. “Soon, friend, soon.”
He had had someone discreetly watching Bedegrayne’s residence all afternoon. The man’s tardiness was unexpected. Guests were already arriving at the Keyworths’ residence. If Bedegrayne was to attend the ball, he would return home eventually to dress.
“What of the servants?” the gruff voice persisted.
“Burnes observed the old cook and a housemaid departing earlier. I believe there is a manservant, but he will be no match for us if he is foolish enough to interfere.”
“I want to deliver the deathblow.”
“You may have your fun, but later,” the conte assured him. “I cannot be late for the ball.”
Entering the house, Brock thought it odd that one of the servants had left a burning oil lamp on the front hall tile.
“Sellick!”
There was a scuffling sound coming from upstairs. The asinine man had probably locked himself in the linen closet again. Before Brock could take a step forward, the
constricting strength of a man’s arm looped under his chin. Brock dug his fingers into that intractable muscle while his attacker dragged him back a few feet. He heard the door close behind him.
constricting strength of a man’s arm looped under his chin. Brock dug his fingers into that intractable muscle while his attacker dragged him back a few feet. He heard the door close behind him.
“Signor Bedegrayne,” Prola greeted him, circling around so they stood face to face. “Good, you have not dressed. I would despair over ruining your favorite coat.”
“Keyworth thought you were capable of delivering his message,” Brock sneered, his tone ripe with disbelief. “At mealtime, you probably have one of the footmen carve up the meat on your plate.”
The man threatening to crush his windpipe chuckled.
“Amusing, yes. That is why I have brought my friends. Have you met Burnes, Signor Bedegrayne?” the Italian asked, motioning to the man who stood near the parlor door.
Brock recognized the gentleman. He had been the Italian’s companion the evening he had collected Amara from the Haslakes’ theater box. Counting the immaculately dressed Prola, it was three against one. The odds were not to his liking, but he had endured worse.
“Why do we not continue our introductions in the formal parlor? If you have not murdered poor Sellick, we can summon him for the brandy.”
Prola drove his gloved fist into Brock’s stomach.
“You can do better. Amara has punched me harder than that.”
Paling at the insult, the fop demonstrated how respectable his punch could be when properly inspired. The air in his lungs exploded from his chest as Brock doubled over. The painful spasms rippled all the way down to his balls.
There was more laughter from the towering tree trunk
behind him. Finding joy in one’s work had its own rewards.
behind him. Finding joy in one’s work had its own rewards.
“Naturally, your absence will dishearten Miss Claeg,” Prola said, adjusting the fit of his glove. “I can do no less than offer her your humble regrets. Burnes, once you have discouraged the signor, bind him.” The conte’s visage gleamed with malevolence. “I have another friend who desires an introduction. Now you must forgive me. I must leave. My lady, she awaits.” The finality of the door shutting filled the house with silence.
The odds had improved, two against one. Encouraged, Brock gripped the arm around his throat and kicked out with both legs. The blow struck Burnes in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall. Twisting for his freedom, he and the laughing assailant turned in circles. Outweighing him by three stones, the man tightened his hold waiting for him to tire or pass out from the lack of breath.
“Hold him!” Burnes ordered. He landed two quick punches into Brock’s ribs. “This is for the bloody kick.” Using his booted foot, he struck the outside of Brock’s right knee.
Brock’s legs collapsed under him. His vision grayed as the full weight of the man behind him pressed him into the marble tile. At least his attacker was no longer laughing. Staggering to his feet, the man pulled Brock upright. Burnes was trying to dislocate his patella, perhaps both of them. Grunting against the pain, he deliberately put his weight on his injured leg and kicked the bastard in the crotch.
Direct hit.
Sucking air, Burnes clutched his wounded cock and fell to his knees. Brock hoped the unyielding tile ground his patellae into powder. Cursing, the other man rammed him
into the wall. Dazed, he reached back for his unseen assailant’s eyes. His fingernails scraped deep furrows into his attacker’s cheeks. The man screamed. He forced Brock’s head down, so that his next collision with the wall would be headlong.
into the wall. Dazed, he reached back for his unseen assailant’s eyes. His fingernails scraped deep furrows into his attacker’s cheeks. The man screamed. He forced Brock’s head down, so that his next collision with the wall would be headlong.
The sickening thud made both men flinch. The arm around his throat loosened and fell away. Brock whirled around in time to see the large man collapse in an unconscious heap.
Smiling, with a fireplace poker in his hands, Sellick stepped over the body. “Am I too late, sir? It took longer than I had anticipated to escape my bindings.”
Bracing his palm against the wall, Brock took the fire poker from his manservant’s hands. “Sellick, remind me tomorrow that I am increasing your wages.” Limping forward, he proceeded to give Burnes a complimentary lesson on discouragement.
Amara stood next to her parents as they greeted the late arrivals. She wore the gown the dressmaker had delivered in the late afternoon. It was a white crêpe train dress. The sleeves and round bottom were scalloped with amethyst satin ribbon. A wide band of black velvet confined the waist with a clasp encrusted with diamonds and amethysts. For the special occasion, Lady Keyworth had loaned her one of the Claeg necklace and earring sets that best complemented her gown.
All she needed was Brock.
Her gaze drifted to the front door each time Buckle opened it. Brock had yet to appear. By now, she had welcomed most of the Bedegrayne clan. As late as an hour ago, Wynne and Milroy had arrived. Her friend had
embraced her warmly and kissed her on the cheek. She even complimented Lady Keyworth on her gown. The wary viscountess had returned the flattery and directed Miss Novell to escort the couple upstairs.
embraced her warmly and kissed her on the cheek. She even complimented Lady Keyworth on her gown. The wary viscountess had returned the flattery and directed Miss Novell to escort the couple upstairs.
Where was he?
Her afternoon sojourn in her bedchamber had given her the opportunity to sort through her confusion about Doran. Amara had decided to tell Brock about her brother’s return. He was a gentleman whom she could trust with all her secrets.
“Ladies, it is time we proceed along to the ballroom,” her father said. “Buckle will contend with the laggards.”
Giving the closed door a final glance, Amara followed behind her parents. She halted at the threshold, letting her parents disappear into the silken throng. Standing on her toes, she craned her head searching for anyone related to the Bedegraynes. Undoubtedly, one of them knew of Brock’s whereabouts.
“Signorina Claeg!”
The man glided toward her with a silent swiftness worthy of her father’s peregrine Ellette. She curtsied and extended her hand. “Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?”
He kissed her fingers lightly. “
Sí,
your presence enchants all.”
Sí,
your presence enchants all.”
The gentleman had a lovely way of speaking. It was a pity she could never love him. “The dancing is about to commence. Would you grant me a small favor and invite Miss Novell to join you in the first set? There are several hostess duties I must attend to before I am allowed to enjoy the festivities.” If she did not want him, there was no reason her cousin might not find him a suitable candidate for a husband.
His expression revealed that he wanted to refuse, but
good manners prevailed. “For you, signorina, anything. A small favor for you,” he said, staring eloquently into her eyes. “Later, a grand one for me.”
good manners prevailed. “For you, signorina, anything. A small favor for you,” he said, staring eloquently into her eyes. “Later, a grand one for me.”
The reminder of her duty made her stomach roil. She walked away from him trying to keep from retching. Blindly, she ran straight into Tipton. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“You seem unwell.” He beckoned to someone in the distance. “Can I get you something?”
“Someone,” she amended. “I need to speak with your wife or Wynne.”
The man wielded mysterious powers, for the two ladies appeared.
Wynne held her hand. “What is wrong?” she asked quietly.
“I will get her something to drink,” Devona volunteered, slipping back into the crowd.
“Where is Brock? He promised to be here.”
Wynne glanced questioningly at Tipton. The surgeon shook his head. “He will come. My brother does not break his promises. Besides …” She trailed off, reluctant to disclose the rest.
Amara squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue. “You know something more. What?”
The other woman wrinkled her nose. “I will incur Brock’s wrath for telling you this, but he called on us this afternoon.”
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