The Officer's Little Rebel (12 page)

“Why would she do such a thing?” Mrs. Philbert said. “She should have known better!”

“It matters not,” Royce said when another servant came in to tell him his horse was ready. But the servant had something else, as well. A stranger had come to the stable with a note, he said, and then had made off in haste. Royce tore it open, his face first pained before his expression hardened.

“This confirms it,” he said. “She’s been taken against her will. By Mr. Sutton.” He handed the note to Miss Quinn as the butler and housekeeper pressed in to read it over her shoulder.

“Major Kingsley…” Mr. Plum cleared his throat. “It seems from this letter that she’s gone quite willingly.”

“It would seem so to someone who doesn’t know her,” Royce said, and did not explain further.

Clever girl
, he thought as he all but ran from the house and mounted the horse the groom was holding in the courtyard. The large bay gelding was Royce’s fastest mount, and danced with excitement.

“Whoa!” Royce stilled the animal with one word and then mounted and turned the horse in one swift motion. The gelding leapt into a canter, heading down the snowy lane.

As the animal’s long legs ate up the distance between Royce and his destination, he recalled lines from the letter that were already burned into his memory.

I knew I could never be as happy with you as I was at my father’s inn. Life there was so comfortable. Living with you has complicated things for such a simple woman. Mr. Sutton understands this and has convinced me that marrying you would be a grave mistake. He has been patient and kind, and I look forward to marrying him, and giving him the children he desires. Forget about me. Find someone else.

She’d written the letter under duress. He recognized that now. Why else would she reference her life at the inn with such an obvious lie, or make mention of her tutor’s childless state, which she’d publicly disputed at dinner shortly after their first session? They were both subtle clues to let him know something was very wrong.

He kicked the horse from a canter to a gallop, speeding closer to the village. He knew every beat of the gait put him closer to the trap set by the actual abductor. He knew it wasn’t Mr. Sutton who was responsible; no sane man would lure a trained soldier to his door. It would take an unhinged man. One crazed by anger. Were such a man to hatch this plot, what would he do next?

Royce had sussed it quickly. Of course; he’d make it easy to find her. In fact, all one would have to do was ask. So he did, and sure enough several people he stopped were more than eager to let him know that the couple he described was at the inn.

“William, you were always so predictable,” he said later as he stood behind a church staring at the inn where his brother held the woman he loved. For the first time since Africa, he felt fear, not for himself but for Imogen. Royce had long since reconciled himself to the possibility of an early death. He was a soldier, after all, and the world could be cold and men cruel. But he could not accept the death of an innocent, especially not Imogen.

Above him, a flock of ravens lighted on the bell tower, and as he looked up, Royce said a prayer. It was the first time he’d prayed since huddling in the trenches on foreign soil, the first time he’d prayed since seeing life’s light fade from Rob’s eyes. He prayed for guidance now, and for strength. But most of all, he prayed for the safety of his beloved, and that she live to find happiness if he died trying to save her.

He knew he had options; he could afford to enlist the help of others, to alert the constabulary. However, he also knew the nature of his brother, and his desperation. And he knew the guilt of having the blood on one’s hands, even if the killing was necessary. He would not lay the guilt of William’s death on someone else. This was his task.

The shadows of the closing day were starting to fall. Royce snuck along the far wall of the church, keeping an eye on the windows of the inn until he saw the tall, straight silhouette of a man whose posture could only be that of a Kingsley. He watched as his brother lifted a drink to his mouth, downed it, and scanned the grounds below, hard eyes searching for the brother he hated.

Royce stood poised, waiting for William to turn away from the window. When he did, he shot forward, clearing the short distance from the church to the inn. As he stood against the wall, he peered around the corner at the second story; he could see the top floor window William had appeared in.

He decided he’d wait for the cover of darkness. Or at least that was the plan until he heard the sound of gruff, angry speech. The tone and slurred quality made it clear the speaker was drinking. He peeked around the corner again; William’s shadow crossed in front of the window. He could hear his brother’s voice, muffled but distinct, the tone threatening. Then came the sound of another voice.

Royce had grown used to Imogen’s soft, sweet voice. With him she had become so submissive, so trusting. But the voice he heard now was that of a mature woman who was calm despite her circumstances. However, her reasonable tone was availing her naught. Royce could hear the heavy stomping of boots now, the sound of William’s drunken voice getting louder from the room above. He heard the sound of flesh against flesh, then the scream.

There was no thinking after that. Launching through the door, he took the steps two at a time, counting the doors when he reached the hallway and was at his brother’s room. He did not open the door, but slammed into it, his heavy body splintering the frame.

The sight that greeted him sent him into a rage. William had Imogen pinned down on the bed, her skirts raised to her hips. He was between her forcibly parted legs, his movements clearly intended to position himself for entry.

Royce grabbed the drunken man by the back of his collar, slinging him across the room before he could penetrate Imogen. The force of William’s slamming against the wall caused a framed picture of a horse to come crashing down on his head.

The impact seemed to bring Royce’s brother to his senses. With remarkable agility, he jumped to his feet and rushed headlong at Royce, tackling him around the middle. Both men fell to the floor and Royce was surprised at the strength William’s hatred gave him. He could feel broad hands around his neck, choking him, and it took all his effort to bring his knee sharply into the inside of William’s thigh, momentarily unbalancing him. Royce took the advantage, throwing his attacker off, but William rolled across the floor to where his saddle hung on the chair. On the floor underneath was a holster, and William grabbed it now to wrest the gun from within. William was just climbing to his feet when Royce heard his brother scream. To his surprise, Imogen was between them, and William’s hand was covering his face where she’d thrown hot wax from a table candle into his eyes.

“Little whore!” William hit her then, the impact of a solid backhand sending Imogen sprawling into Royce, who caught her and tossed her to the safety of the bed before launching himself at his brother. Imogen screamed again as they wrestled for the gun, which William had not had time to load. But he was reaching for his boot and Royce knew enough of combat to know what was hidden there. He grabbed his brother from behind and held him by the neck as he reached down and snatched the knife away before William could. With his brother immobilized, Royce put the blade to William’s throat.

William, his face red from the burning wax, his nose and mouth bleeding, looked back at his brother.

“What are you waiting for, little brother? I’m nothing to you. Go on. Do it.”

Royce pressed the knife against the soft, pulsing hollow above William’s collarbone. He deserved to die for all that he’d done, for all he was planning to do. But a voice pulled him back to the present.

“Major Kingsley, don’t!”

Imogen had left the bed and was walking over. Her face was bruised where William had hit her. Royce pressed the knife into William’s skin. A bead of blood appeared on the blade.

“Don’t!” she repeated.

“I have to.” Royce was looking down at his brother.

“Yes, you do,” William said. “Because if you don’t, I will kill you. I will kill you and her. It was my plan, you know, to see you die and then see her die, to stamp out you and everything you love for what you’ve made of my life.”

“No,” Imogen said. “Don’t listen to him. It’s what he wants. He wants to die, don’t you see? If he can’t kill you, he wants his blood on your conscience. Don’t do it!”

Royce looked up at her, but did not move his hand.

“What then, Imogen? Show him a kindness? Let him go? Oh, would that I could. But I’d rather carry the guilt of another death all my life than have him threaten you another minute.”

“He won’t,” she said. “Give him to the constable.” She paused. “He’s had Mr. Sutton killed. He told me.”

“Little bitch!” William’s eyes were wild with anger. “She lies. Kill me!”

“Papa, don’t!”

The room was suddenly silent. Then as the door opened and the innkeeper and his wife rushed in, Royce knew it was over. That one word—
papa
—had broken the spell of rage long enough for him to realize the wisdom of her words. He dropped the knife, picked up the nearby pistol, and used the butt to knock William unconscious before binding his hands.

“Thank you, my sweet Imogen,” Royce said, and then rose to turn to the proprietors of the inn. “Fear not,” he said. “I will pay you triple-fold for any damages. But first I need you to fetch the constable. This man here is guilty of murder and kidnapping.”

The pair scurried away, leaving the trio alone once again. Royce could see that Imogen was no longer afraid; she knew he’d not let his brother go until the danger was abated. She felt safe with him, even now.

Chapter Twelve: The Officer’s Little Wife

The wedding was delayed a fortnight by mutual agreement. Imogen arrived home with her face so swollen and bruised that Nanny Quinn sobbed openly upon seeing it.

Imogen never believed anyone could make such a fuss as the staff in the wake of her return. She was gently bathed and put abed, and not allowed to do a thing for herself. Even her meals were brought to her.

But the attention of the staff was nothing compared to the solicitousness of Major Kingsley, who delegated the running of his estate entirely to a secretary while he doted on his betrothed.

There were daily gifts—sweets, dolls, stuffed animals, books, clothing.

“It looks like a village shop in here,” she observed to Miss Quinn the day before her wedding. “I love how kind he is, but can’t you make him stop? I feel almost guilty, getting so much.”

“Let him fuss,” the nanny said. “He’s so very happy to have you home, and safe.” She paused. “And so very proud of you. You were very brave, Imogen.”

“I did no more than he would have,” she said. “I never thought I would have a papa, let alone one who would also be my husband. I would have died for him.”

“Yes, and it would have killed him if you had,” Nanny Quinn said. “But let’s not even think on that. You are here and so is he. And William… well…”

The mood grew solemn.

“Will they really hang him?” Imogen asked.

“Yes,” she said. “What he did to you was bad enough. But what he had done to Mr. Sutton… your tutor may have been an opportunistic fellow, but he deserved better than a rock tied about his neck dragging him to a watery grave.” Nanny Quinn made the sign of the cross on her chest.

“Do you think papa understands now, that everyone can’t be saved?”

“I believe he does,” the nanny said. “I believe in the case of William, he has learned to let go. And to focus on you.”

Imogen smiled.

“I love him so,” she said.

“And he loves you.” Nanny Quinn stood. “And here he is, the man himself.”

Major Kingsley smiled as he came into the room. He was carrying a small box that played a pretty tune when he opened the lid.

“I’ll see to Imogen this evening, Miss Quinn,” he said, and Imogen bid her minder a fond farewell as she left, smiling as she watched her go.

“She reminds me more and more of my mother,” Imogen sighed, and then took his hand. “You’ve given me so much, you know. Love, a home, a family. And to think I didn’t want it.”

“Sometimes we don’t know our heart is empty until it is filled,” he said, and pulled her onto his lap. “I’ve filled your heart, and you’ve filled mine. And come tomorrow, we’ll be man and wife. And I will claim you by taking your last virginity.”

She blushed, looking down. “Papa,” she said. “Would you think me terribly greedy if I asked you for something?”

He looked around the room. “Something else? Did I forget something, my darling?”

“Oh, it’s not a
thing
I want. It’s a feeling.” She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. “Take me now, papa. Please. Don’t make your little girl wait.”

She could feel the effect her words were having as underneath her bottom, Royce’s cock stiffened and nudged.

“It’s one more day,” he said, but she could hear the weakness in his voice.

“Please?” she asked. “We are already wed in our hearts. I’ve already given myself to you.” She breathed softly into his ear. “Please,” she said again. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

That was all she needed to say. Royce’s mouth found hers, and Imogen’s heart soared as he kissed her with commanding passion. His hand slid under her gown and between her legs, and she parted her thighs to give him access to a pussy already slick with desire.

He groaned as he slid first one and then two fingers inside her, pumping slowly in and out as she moved up and down in time to his ministrations. She was eager for his mouth, his hands, and pulled her gown over her head, sweetly offering her freshly bared breasts for him to suckle upon.

Imogen cried out as he took first one peak, and then the other in his mouth, laving each nipple with his tongue before administering little sucking bites that sent waves of pained pleasure to the hungry core still being plumbed by his skilled fingers.

“Papa…”