Thornbrook Park (27 page)

Lawson stayed so close to her that Eve could feel him breathing down her neck. He held on to the binding between her wrists and used it to push her along, sometimes to steady her when she bobbled.

“Just a few more miles,” he said.

Her head throbbed. Her stomach churned. She wanted so badly to stop.

“Are we even going the right way? It looks like we've traveled in circles,” she lied, desperate to add to his confusion and make him stop for a minute to think. She weighed her options. Once they emerged from the trees into civilization, he would have to release her wrists, wouldn't he? She could try to slip away then. Or would she even make it that far?

“We're going the right way.” He didn't give her the satisfaction of stopping to look around. “There's still plenty of daylight.”

She contemplated pointing out that they might miss the last train, but that would only make him push her harder and she was barely hanging on as it was. After walking all day, she was near exhaustion and wavering between fear and anger. It was useless to consider getting the weapon from Lawson.

What could she do with her hands bound behind her back? But oh, how she would love to get in a few jabs. She thought of Marcus in the ring, his magnificence. If only he would come bounding through the woods to save her, throwing punches, right, left, right, until Oliver Lawson fell to the ground bloody and knocked out. What a wonderful fantasy.

She thought perhaps it would be more satisfying to go down fighting rather than allowing herself to be pushed along to a slow death. If she dropped to the ground, a dead weight, could she manage to kick him down, too, and keep kicking, connecting soundly again and again until he finally overcame her and shoved the knife between her ribs?

Maybe they would never find her body, never know that she carried a child. Marcus would never know how much she loved him. The sudden ache of it all overwhelmed her, and she sobbed aloud.

“No sniveling.” Lawson continued to push at her.

Her stomach gave a heave. She stopped to steady it. He pushed again.

“No, I'm serious,” she said. “Give me a minute. I'm going to be sick.”

With the threat of nausea imminent, she didn't care what he might threaten her with—death or dismembering. Nothing mattered but to calm the overwhelming urge welling up inside her.

He nudged. She ignored him, spreading her feet to lend stability as she tried to take a deep breath. He pushed. And that was it. She fell to her knees and nearly lost control, but she remembered to breathe deeply and hum, a trick Ben had taught her to ward off nausea on their passage to India. Breathe deeply and hum. It helped.

“If I could just lean against the tree a moment, no more than a moment, to catch my breath,” she said, getting back to her feet.

He let her lean. That was it. She knew she wasn't going down without at least trying to fight. She rubbed her binding against the tree trunk. Subtle. She couldn't let him see her moving. It worked; the rope loosened. She held it with her fingers so that it wouldn't slip and give her away.

“Thank you. I think I'll be able to move much faster now.”

“At last,” he said. “Move along then.”

“Mr. Lawson?” she said, beginning to bob on her feet as Marcus had taught her, left to right, left to right.

“Is that some kind of dance? Move on.”

“No.” She dropped her ropes and showed her hands, free at last. “It's from boxing.”

And before he could react, she threw a left hook and hit him clean across the jaw. He staggered back, stunned.

And then, she heard the report of a rifle and shouts, and she tried to look up but another wave rocked her frame. She kept humming and focusing on each breath, in and out. Just as she thought she'd managed to contain herself, chaos in the form of Marcus Thorne descended.

In a flash, she saw him bounding through the trees at Oliver Lawson. Ignoring the knife, he grabbed the man by the collar and pounded him, a right hook, a left jab, and the knife dropped right out of Lawson's hand. One more jab, and Lawson himself fell backward into the leaves.

Apparently satisfied that there would be no more trouble from Lawson, Marcus rose, brushing the dust from his hands, and took her in his arms. “Damned good left hook you have there.”

“Marcus.” She fell into his arms. “I'm so glad to see you. Apparently, mine wasn't quite good enough. I needed a little help. You found me just in time.” Not caring if his brother was watching, she kissed Marcus full on the lips.

She shook her hands, trying to restore the circulation.

Marcus gripped her wrists, gently massaging her raw, tender skin. “He hurt you. He's lucky I didn't kill him. I'm so glad we found you. I don't know what I would have done.” His voice broke, choked with raw emotion. “I love you, Eve. I've loved you all along.”

“I love you, too,” she said. “I thought you would never find me, that I would never have the chance to tell you.”

She could have stood forever in his arms.

***

Later, after the doctor had looked Eve over and declared her in sound condition, Lucy helped her to her room where she'd drawn a bath and laid out the glorious silver-beaded evening dress Eve had bought in London.

“It arrived at last. I've been eager to wear it again.” She remembered the first night she'd worn it, sparring with Marcus in the library. She didn't bother to suppress her smile.

The dress fit her perfectly, for now. There would be a lot of alterations in her future once she confirmed her pregnancy. She hadn't mentioned it to Doctor Pederson, preferring to wait for a more private appointment at a later date. Once ready, she went downstairs to meet with all of her friends.

She was early, she supposed, as she found herself alone in the drawing room. Everyone had been so happy to see her safe return that she expected they would all be waiting for her. Marcus had carried Eve all the way home while Gabriel had taken Lawson to the authorities. It made her smile to see the brothers getting along, working together.

“You look exquisite.” The voice came from behind her. She turned and nearly gasped. The sight of Marcus always somehow managed to take her breath away, whether in his fine evening clothes, as now, or wearing absolutely nothing. Especially wearing nothing.

She beamed. “And so do you.”

“No lasting ill-effects, then? The doctor gave you the all clear?” He closed the distance between them and placed his hand to her forehead as if feeling for a fever.

“I'm fine. If you think I feel a bit hot, I assure you that it's all you. Your proximity has that effect on me. Did you and Gabriel make up? You seemed to be getting along pretty well once he returned from the constable's.”

“We've made our peace, yes. I think I made it obvious that I have no intention of marrying Lady Alice.” He took her hands in his.

“Marry me,” she blurted out. She felt they had no need to wait or be polite. “Marcus, why not? I love you with all my heart.”

“Mercy, woman, won't you give me a chance to say what I've come to say? I'm supposed to be the one to make the proposals. Why do you think we're alone in the drawing room so close to dinner time?”

“You arranged for us to be alone?” She couldn't hide her astonishment.

“Of course. They've all gone in to the dining room. They're waiting for us there. I shooed them in early so that I could have you to myself for a moment to do this.” He dropped to one knee, her hand still in his. “Eve Kendal, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She sighed, for the drama of it and because she needed a moment to collect herself. The sight of him on his knee in front of her was enough to make her heart burst right out of her chest. They were going to be so happy. For always. Just the two of them. Or maybe three. She needed to find the right time to tell him about her suspicions. Now was not that time.

He pulled something out of his pocket and presented a shiny ring. With her still-blurry vision, it looked to be at least two carats, an enormous diamond. She knew she must be seeing it wrong, but it was beautiful no matter what. She looked at the ring and looked at him, stunned.

Then, he said the one word that she could never resist when it came from his lips.

He said, “Please.”

January 1908

“It's a shame Lord Markham gave up his Yorkshire estate,” Marcus said, adjusting his tie in the mirror.

He preferred to do without George's services when he had a chance to be alone with Eve. George had left the Earl of Averford's employ and come to work as Marcus's valet. Eve had hired Lettie away from Averford House to be her lady's maid, but the maid was also not needed at the moment. Sutton refused to leave London to become their butler, but he'd sent them Mr. Paulson with a stunning recommendation.

“Lady Markham never liked it here. She prefers London.” Eve checked her hair in the dressing table mirror, her gaze drawn to the brilliant flash on her left hand.

Once her vision had cleared, she had seen that the diamond was even larger than she'd first thought. It must have been difficult to find a wedding band to match its magnificence, but Marcus had. Somehow. At their wedding, she'd been afraid to lift her hand and blind all of their guests once she'd said “I do” and he'd slid it on her finger.

“Alice said there were too many reminders of Lord Markham's first wife for the new Lady Markham to bear.” Finished with his adjustments, Marcus approached her at the dressing table to massage her shoulders. “We might have a ghost. Perhaps the original Lady Markham is yet in residence.”

“Mmm, that feels wonderful.” She leaned into the warmth of his hands. He didn't even have to move her hair out of the way since she'd had it bobbed. She loved the new style. She felt so modern and free. Plus, having shorter hair was easier with the baby and her ever-questing hands. They called her Mina, short for Wilhelmina, named after William Cooper.

“Perhaps we can ask Agatha over to have a look for ghosts. For now, we'd best get going. Mina is settled with her nurse, and your sister-in-law is expecting us at Thornbrook Park for dinner at eight. I would hate to disappoint her. You know how she and Gabriel feel about punctuality.”

“I do.” Marcus reached up, undid his tie, and leaned down to kiss the back of her neck as his hands slid around to her breasts. “And I don't give a hang.”

“Marcus, you're incorrigible.” She playfully batted his hand away, and then pulled it back and slipped it inside the low neck of her dress. “That's better. We're the most unreliable couple in the neighborhood, but I can't say that I mind our reputation.”

He gestured toward the bed with his head. She nodded her complicity.

“I'll be quick,” he said.

“You'd better not be.” She stood and kissed him full on the lips.

“Oh, before I forget.” Just as she fully engaged in the kiss, feeling the heat begin to spread through her core, he pulled away. “A package came for you today. I think you should open it.”

“I will. Later.” She took his hand and tried to urge him to the bed, but he was insistent. He went to the closet, picked up a box, and put it on the bed.

“Open it,” he said. “You won't be disappointed.”

“Very well.” She took the letter opener he offered and sliced the packing tape along the edge. “Oh!”

“It's what I think it is?” he asked.

She held up the first copy, a scarlet leather-bound book embossed in gold with the title and her name. “My author copies.
The
Lieutenant's Bride
by Eve Thorne. I have to admit, it gives me goose bumps.”

He took the book and flipped to the dedication, beaming with delight at the sight of his own name. “For my husband, Marcus, my light, my world, my everything. Thank you for sharing your stories and your life.”

She peeked up at him from under her lashes to gauge his reaction. She'd told him she'd acknowledged him, but he had no idea what she'd said until now. “Do you like it?”

He nodded his approval. “Of course. I'd better get some thanks, considering I practically gave you the whole story.”

“Your journal was very helpful, but you know I changed details to make it my own. You were my inspiration.”

“I know. I'm proud of you, Eve. My wife, the famous author.” He flashed a devastating smile.

“Not famous yet,” she said. “But maybe soon. Geoffrey Dovedale said he'd like to discuss a second book tonight at dinner.”

“Ah.” He began to retie his tie. “We'd best get going, then. Your future is at stake. No time for making love.”

“There's always time for that.” She took hold of his hands and placed them on her stomach, the heat of him burning through the thin layer of silk. “Besides, I have a package for you, too.”

A spark of gold shot through his amber eyes. “You're expecting? We're going to have another baby?”

She nodded. “Right around the middle of September.”

“We have all the luck, don't we?” His hands slid around her waist and he pulled her to him. “I never dreamed I could be so happy. There's only one thing I want to do now, and it isn't head off to my brother's party. It involves you, me, and that bed.”

She looked into his eyes and she said, “Please.”

An Affair Downstairs

SHERRI BROWNING

AVAILABLE JANUARY 2015

FROM SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA

One

Thornbrook Park

November 1907

Lady Alice Emerson knew exactly what she wanted, and it wasn't a husband. She had a whole list of things she longed to accomplish in life, all on her own, with no one to tie her down.

Her plan had been years in the making. The first step had been to get out from under her parents' control. As Alice's father and her maiden aunt Agatha found themselves more frequently at odds, it had been child's play to convince Mother that accompanying Agatha on an extended visit to Thornbrook Park would be best for everyone. Indeed, it could save Father's health before being around Agatha made him apoplectic. Had it been anywhere else, Mother might have hesitated, but she had full confidence in placing Agatha and Alice in the capable hands of Alice's older sister Sophia, the Countess of Averford.

Alice knew that her mother expected Sophia to find her a husband, and her sister had been more than up to the task. In her nearly two years at Thornbrook Park, Alice had dissuaded two of her sister's candidates from proposing, and she had faith that she could survive a few more attempts before Agatha was comfortably settled and she could announce her intention to depart. Who could stop her once she turned five-and-twenty, when she would come into the money her grandmother had left her? Just two more years.

Alice's great list of things to accomplish included lofty dreams: to travel the world, to climb a mountain, to ride a camel, to captain a pirate ship. And she had simpler goals that she could start on right away, like cornering the fox in a hunt, getting drunk on whiskey, and having a wild affair. She should know love at least once, even if she never planned on marrying. And she had just the man in mind, the same man who could teach her to hunt and to shoot, and who enjoyed a good whiskey—her brother-in-law's estate manager, Mr. Logan Winthrop.

Mr. Winthrop would be no easy conquest. For starters, he didn't seem to really
like
people, choosing to keep to himself as much as possible. When he did find himself in company, he maintained a cool, all-business demeanor.
Most of the time
. Alice had managed to break through his icy exterior once or twice, enough to fuel her hope that she could manage a seduction.

There were rumors that he'd killed a man, a rival for a woman's affections, and had come to Thornbrook Park to escape his dangerous past. Rumors didn't deter Alice. All men had pasts, and rumors were often far from fact. What made him the perfect candidate—besides his soulful eyes and god-like physique—was precisely that he was not the sort to form emotional attachments. There would be no pining after her or rushing into commitment. An estate manager's income wouldn't come close to supporting an earl's daughter in the style to which she'd become accustomed, or so he would believe. He would never expect her to marry him, even if she managed to seduce him. Once she could convince Logan Winthrop to let his guard down again, she would take her opportunity to kiss him.

She'd hoped to run into him that morning when she left the Dower House to breakfast with her sister at Thornbrook Park. The gardeners were preparing the grounds for winter, and she expected Winthrop to be out with the groundskeeper overseeing their efforts. Unfortunately, Winthrop hadn't been in sight. She stood outside the breakfast room, hand poised to turn the knob, when she heard his voice inside.

“Lemon trees?” His voice had that raspy edge that signaled his displeasure. Alice knew it from the many times he had asked her to stop asking questions and leave him to his work. She smiled. “I don't know much about the care of exotic fruit trees, but I will make a study of it.”

“Four trees. I can't imagine what the woman was thinking, as usual.” Her sister wasn't delighted by the prospect either, apparently. “It's practically an orchard.”

Sophia had a tendency toward exaggeration.

“Mother means well. Likely she feared a few might not make the journey safely. She wants you to have lemonade, not exactly a sinister sentiment behind the gift. You could try to be more grateful.” The rumpling of newspaper followed Lord Averford's explanation. Typical. He tended to hide behind the news once he'd had his fill of morning pleasantries, or unpleasantries, as it were.

“It's not that I'm ungrateful. I'll send her a letter as soon as they arrive, of course.”

The old Dowager Countess was sending lemon trees to Thornbrook Park from Italy, where she had taken up residence these last few years? Alice, thinking of the hours she could spend in the warm conservatory with Mr. Winthrop, couldn't muster any disappointment. There were roses, sweet peas, and lemon trees on the way. What an ideal setting for a kiss!

“You know who has some experience with lemon trees?” Lord Averford asked, not really expecting an answer. “The Marquess of Brumley. I remember his wife had several trees, oranges and lemons. Perhaps I should invite him to come offer you a hand, Winthrop.”

“I wouldn't mind some advice.” Winthrop seemed to be none too sure. He might have meant the opposite, that he would mind very much indeed.

“Brumley?” The sound of her sister's teacup clinking in the saucer made Alice jump. “The
widower
Brumley? Your brother's former classmate, the one with the ancient wife who recently passed away?”

“The very one. Marguerite died last year, though, not so recent. He's—”

“Out of mourning.” Alice could picture her sister clasping her hands in glee. “And a marquess. I'm sure he's lonely. We should invite him for an extended stay.”

Alice felt the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. A widower. Her sister's next candidate to win over Alice to the idea of marriage. Not again. If the aroma of cinnamon toast tempted her to enter the room, the idea of a marquess being pushed at her changed her mind. She backed slowly away from the door. Perhaps she would break her fast with Aunt Agatha in the Dower House after all. She turned and began to walk quietly down the hall when the housekeeper, Mrs. Hoyle, sprang on her from out of nowhere.

“Good morning, Lady Alice. Have you come for breakfast?”

“I thought I left a pair of gloves behind last night. I just had a quick look in the drawing room. No gloves. I'll be on my way.”

“But I've just come from the drawing room. I didn't see you come in.” The infernal woman cocked an accusing brow. “Perhaps one of the maids picked them up. Come along to the kitchen and we'll have a look.”

Alice couldn't imagine a way to decline gracefully, and at least the kitchen wasn't the breakfast room. She would manage to avoid her sister's attempts to make the Marquess of Brumley, undoubtedly a toad, out to be a charming fairy-tale prince. “Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle.”

She followed the old hen to the kitchen, where the few maids at the table jumped to attention to greet her, causing Alice to blush and mutter an apology for interrupting them. The three maids all ran off to tend to duties elsewhere in the house despite Alice's protestations to stay put, and Mrs. Hoyle excused herself to ask Mr. Finch about the gloves, leaving Alice to stand alone next to the great table where the servants took their meals.

Off in the adjoining room, she could see Mrs. Mallows covered in flour as she rolled out dough and occasionally cursed at Sally, the kitchen maid. A footman rushed right by Alice with a tray, not even noticing her in his haste to fetch what he was after and get back to the breakfast room. Alice, glad to go unnoticed, stepped into a shadowy corner to wait for Hoyle's inevitable return with the news that her gloves were not to be found.

“Looking for your next victim, Lady Alice?”

“Mr. Winthrop.” He hadn't failed to notice her. His voice caressed her like one of the velvet gloves she claimed to be missing, causing her heart to beat faster. She turned and stepped back into the light. “I'm not sure I know what you mean. I'm waiting for Mrs. Hoyle to confirm if she could find something I've lost.”

“Oh, is that the ruse? You've
lost
something. Meanwhile, you're deciding which of the servants to trail after all day asking questions to the point of vexation.” He laughed. Laughed! What a rare occasion. Never mind that he was laughing at her. She was entranced by the way his eyes lightened ever so slightly from black to cobalt with his mirth. So dark were his eyes, so normally inscrutable, that she'd had no idea that they were actually a very deep blue and not brown at all. Or maybe they simply appeared cobalt in the light, drawing from the dark blue of his coat.

Forgetting herself, she took a step closer to examine them. He seemed to hesitate an extra second, staring back at her, but he didn't move away. “Naturally, Mrs. Hoyle will come along any moment now to report that she was unable to find the item, for you've lost nothing at all. What really brings you to Thornbrook Park?”

“
Why, you, Logan. I've come to deliver this, just for you,
” was what she said in her mind, as she imagined placing a hand to the silk plum waistcoat covering his solid chest and leaning in. In actuality, she stammered like a fool and clenched her hands at her sides. “Wh-why on earth would you suspect me of having an ulterior motive?”

She
had
lost something after all. She'd lost her nerve. She'd had the perfect opportunity to completely surprise him with a kiss, and she hadn't been able to manage it.

“Why do you do anything, my lady? Because you can. Forgive my impertinence.” He cleared his throat. “I've come to fetch a set of keys from Mr. Finch. I'll leave you to your search.”

He stepped back, obviously deciding that whatever course he'd been taking with her was the wrong one to follow. Flirting? Could she conclude that he'd been flirting with her? And if so, what had she done to frighten him away? He turned on his heel.

Quickly, she had to say something to bring him back. “Mr. Winthrop?”

“Yes?” He turned to face her again. She released the breath that she'd been holding.

“Do I really vex you?” She didn't attempt to hide the concern in her voice.

He sighed. “No, Lady Alice. You do not. I'm sorry to have upset you.”

“Oh, I'm not upset.” She hazarded a step closer to him, and another one. “I was simply making sure before I tell you that I actually know quite a bit about the care of citrus trees. Mother kept oranges in our conservatory back home. I might be of some assistance to you when they arrive, if you'll allow me.”

He quirked a dark brow. “Oranges? Lady Averford didn't mention it.”

Alice nibbled her lip, desperate not to be exposed as a fraud. Certainly she would have time to read up on the subject and try to appear knowledgeable. “She wouldn't. She didn't notice. My sister is so often in her own world.”

“I see.” He stroked his jaw as if considering. “And how do you know about the fruit trees, seeing as the news only came at breakfast and I don't recall you at the table when Lord Averford opened the letter in front of me?”

“You've got me there.” Alice wasn't well-versed in the art of lying, but she guessed that a bit of candor might help when nearly being caught in a complete fabrication. “I was listening at the door. Eavesdropping, can you imagine? What a terrible habit. I didn't mean to, of course. I was about to join my sister for breakfast and then I heard—”

“The mention of Lord Brumley?” He nodded, and his lips curved up in a smile. “The countess enjoys a bit of matchmaking. Before you came along, she tried to pair me with her maid.”

“Mrs. Jenks?” She wrinkled her nose at the idea. Jenks was a mousy slip of a woman, no match for a robust, vigorous man like Winthrop.

“No, the one before her. Mrs. Bowles.”

“Dear me, no.” Worse than Jenks, Bowles was a snip-nosed shrew and certainly far too old for Mr. Winthrop. “I'm sorry. Despite her penchant for it, Sophia clearly has no talent for making matches.”

“Perhaps not. You were wise to run away instead of sitting through another conversation about yet another bachelor. I don't blame you a bit.”

“You—you don't?” Ah, a man of sense. She knew she could rely on his sound judgment, at least. And she appreciated it, though it would make seducing him more of a challenge.

“Any pretty girl in her right mind dreams of a dashing suitor to sweep her away, doesn't she? Alas, Lady Averford's only suitable choice for you so far had eyes for another.”

“Captain Thorne.” Alice rolled her eyes. “He's better off with Eve Kendal. They're perfectly suited. I didn't care for him much myself, if you must know.”

“I mustn't.” He shrugged. “It's none of my affair.”

Alice bit the inside of her cheek. How she
wanted
it to be his affair. “There
isn't
a suitable choice. I'll never marry.”

“Don't despair, Lady Alice. There's someone out there for you. Your sister simply hasn't found him yet.”

“It's not despair.” Defensive, she crossed her arms. “I've no interest in marriage. None.”

His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to peer inside her soul. “I shouldn't have said anything. You might like Lord Brumley. I must go.”

“No.” She reached out, eager to stop him, and ended up with her hand on his sleeve, over the thick muscles of his upper arm that she had seen in full daylight, bared to the sun, when he'd removed his coat and shirt while out raking the early autumn leaves. “Please, tell me about Brumley. You know him?”

His gaze went to her hand, and trailed back to her face. “We were at Harrow together. I believe he made Lord Averford's acquaintance later, at Oxford. He might have changed considerably in so many years.”

“Fourteen years?” She did the math. “If you're the same age as the earl, then it has been fourteen years since you were at Harrow.”

“In fourteen years, a man can go through remarkable changes in his life.” His full lips drew to a grim line. “In our youth, Brumley was a bit of an oaf. To be fair, I've no idea what kind of man he has become.”