Chapter 15
The next night, Drew attended another ball. Yet again he arrived late to make a grand entrance, stood protectively behind his wife, and commandeered her for every waltz and the supper.
Drew could feel the malice and frustration roll off Gentilly as he stood next to Marianne. Occasionally Gentilly would glare back at him but only if Marianne was distracted in some other direction.
Drew refused to acknowledge the man’s presence. He simply looked over his head or kept his attention on something or someone else. Determined to keep his rival in check, he continued to gather the support of the ton. Already Lady Summersborne and Marianne’s other friends indicated their preference in small ways such as brighter smiles, more subtly flirtatious words. Vanessa even gave him an occasional wink at a discreet moment.
Yes, things were going as planned.
After the final waltz, Drew made his bow. “I’ll see you at home, lady wife. May the rest of your evening be pleasant.” Acknowledging her pert curtsy, he left.
Not ready yet to settle in at home, especially while his wife was still out, Drew headed toward White’s. A glass of good French brandy and a quiet conversation on events at Parliament would do him good. And, walking the distance would be even better. No longer used to a sedentary life, he needed more exercise than the dancing at the balls and routs. He might have to seriously consider daily rides in the park, Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, or even fencing at Gentilly’s recommendation, Angelo’s Fencing Academy.
Striding through the streets of London late at night was something Drew had not done in the past but after years on board ship, training in the art of war at the monastery, and experiences in some of the most dangerous and raucous cities in the world, he no longer felt threatened by what some would consider a treacherous stroll. Still, he kept his senses alert, especially on those streets seemingly more deserted, not surprised when his trained ear picked up the sounds of stealthy footsteps behind him.
Listening carefully while continuing his stroll, he thought he heard the footfalls of three blackguards on his trail but quickly decided one had turned away and only two were left.
Discreetly, he pulled out the pocketknife that had served him as protector for most of his sojourn. After his first experience with being mugged in one of the ports of the independent United States colonies, he had procured the weapon and practiced for long hours with shipmates. He not only learned jabbing and thrusting, but he could also throw the sharpened implement quite accurately.
No sooner had the knife been readied than he heard the steps quicken behind him. He swung around, balanced himself on spread feet and prepared for the attack.
The first man wore a scruffy cap and ran with a slight limp. He came quickly at him while raising a blackjack ready to strike hard. Putting his arm up to deflect the blow, Drew used the momentum of his assailant to pitch the limping man over his shoulder.
Satisfied at hearing a thud and groans of pain, Drew refocused on the second thug.
Wearing no hat but sporting what looked like a torn, dirty red scarf around his neck, this one had pulled a knife of his own and faced off with him.
“What do you want?” Drew rounded on the thug in the dim glow of a street lantern. As Drew shifted toward him, his would-be attacker repositioned himself in front of the first man who still lay on the ground groaning. The knife-wielding assailant faced the lamplight hampering his vision and putting Drew in shadow. Drew could not only watch the man closer, the soft light reflected on the blade so he could see it almost constantly. And, Drew could keep his eye on the first reprobate in case he roused for another attack.
The ruffian lunged but Drew jumped back easily after he punched the fellow in the gut with his free hand. The fiend retreated to recapture his balance. He then tried to force Drew to circle but Drew would not give up his position. He made to stab at the thug to keep him in place.
Just behind the knife-wielding thug, Drew could see the first fellow sit up. Still woozy from the flight and crash over Drew’s shoulder, that thug remained unthreatening.
But the second thug tossed the tails of his tattered red scarf back over his shoulder and set himself up for another go.
Taller than this ruffian, Drew knew his own reach would be longer. When his assailant made yet another lunge at him, Drew caught his assailant’s free hand, swung his own knife up into the thug’s gut, and swung his right foot out to trip him. Despite the shock of pain through the arm holding his knife, Drew was satisfied to see the thug fall to the ground and curl into a ball around his bleeding middle.
The first man struggled to his knees. “Let’s go, Eddie,” he huffed, still out of breath from his plunge to the ground.
These few words let Drew identify a dockside accent but these were no sailors. They didn’t have the strength or agility of men currently active onboard a ship.
The ruffian continued, “We weren’t paid enough for this and we weren’t told the bloody bugger could fight neither.”
“Who sent you?” Drew made to grab the capped thug by the arm but he pulled away.
“We don’t know nothin’, m’lud. We just got some blunt in a envelope as asked us to follow you and take you out. Said more to come if we did it. Don’t knows who. Don’t knows nothin’.”
The capped man struggled to his feet, then bent to help his mate. The second thug still clasped his middle as the two leaned on each other and hobbled down a darkened alley, leaving a trail of smeared blood in their wake.
Drew let them go. Nothing would be learned from the two of them.
Turning away, Drew made for the nearest street corner to hail a hansom. After the altercation, he figured going home would be a better choice. He had some serious thinking to do.
Who would want him dead so badly as to set these ruffians on him? Certainly he had made a few enemies over the last few years but none that he knew would be in London or so put out they would hire killers.
It took nearly half an hour to arrive at his front door. As he walked in, Blevins met him in the foyer having just emerged from behind the baize door.
“Good evening, my lord. Have you had a good night out?”
Drew closed the door behind him. “Most eventful. Is Lady Reignsfield home?” Drew lifted a hand to swipe a strand of hair out of his face.
Apparently the butler had gotten a good look at Drew’s disheveled appearance. Alarm swept over Blevins’ face. “No, my lord. She’s not yet returned.” Blevins took a step forward. “Do you know you are bleeding, my lord? Your cuff is red with blood. You’re dripping on the Aubusson. Let me see your hand.”
Drew looked down at his cuff only to find a small stream of blood curling down his hand and arm. The adrenaline must not have worn off as he felt nothing.
Blevins took his hand to examine an obvious gash, though not deep, on the back of Drew’s hand. “My lord, may I suggest you head to the library. I’ll get some clean cloths and meet you there. I also suggest you might imbibe a shot or two of brandy while you wait. Your favorite French cognac is on the sideboard. The glasses are clean and waiting. I’ll return momentarily.”
Drew did as asked, holding his right hand up as he walked down the hall to prevent further damage to any of the flooring. His new valet, Johnstone, would be livid over the bloodstains on his shirt and jacket with little likelihood of getting them out.
Entering the library, Drew found a small fire in the grate, making the room comfortably warm and welcoming. He made his way to the sideboard, uncorked the crystal decanter with his undamaged left hand and poured three fingers into a snifter. Though slightly awkward, life at sea had developed stronger skills with his lesser used hand. No sooner had he taken a few sips than the door flew open and Marianne marched in, clean white cloths in hand.
“What in bloody hell happened to you? You’re not home a full month and you’re accosted and stabbed? Does this have something to do with your kidnapping? Are you in further danger? Are we?” She closed the door behind her and strode across the room to take his right hand in hers. “Come nearer the fire so I can see.” She coaxed him along until the heat of the hearth warmed him further.
Or, could it be the nearness of his wife? The concern in her voice?
Marianne examined his hand while Drew looked down at the top of her head glowing a warm, dark red-blonde in the firelight. Tenderly she pressed the slash, checking the damage. She took one of the clean cloths out of her other hand, dipped it in his brandy snifter and, before he could say nay, applied it to the slash. He felt the burn flash up his arm in seconds.
“Well, Marianne, are you trying to heal me or kill me?” He fought the desire to pull his hand away as she continued to dab the wound and the fire of the brandy flashed up his arm again. He preferred drinking the libations, especially considering its value.
“Nonsense. I’m merely trying to clean it. Since I have no water here I’m using the nearest thing to hand. The brandy should do nicely.”
“Marianne, that’s fifty-year-old cognac you’re pouring on a wound that is no more than a mere scratch,” Drew said dryly.
“No matter. There’s more in the basement and you’ve already told me you have money to burn. What matter if we pour it or drink it?” She continued dabbing.
Gently, Drew pulled his hand away. “Enough. The bleeding has stopped. It’s only a scratch. I’ve suffered much worst over the last years.”
Marianne looked up, her pale blue eyes darker in the firelight, her brow furrowed in worry. “Worse. What has happened that you have suffered such pain? Why have you not told me?”
She was beautiful to him. The years and her motherhood had brought her to full blossom as a woman. Her breasts rounded nicely at the edge of her gown. He could see them rising and falling with each breath. Her skin glowed from the warmth of the fire. Her eyes were busy searching his face, looking askance at the traumas he had suffered over the intervening years.
He would not go there now.
The bleeding staunched, Drew lifted his hand to cup Marianne’s cheek. “You look beautiful tonight. The firelight flatters you. I enjoyed dancing and supping with you earlier.”
She stood very still as he looked down into her eyes. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for something to happen.
And now he would make it happen.
He lowered his mouth to hers, testing her compliance. Would she pull away? He brushed her lips with his in a feather touch, relieved when she didn’t draw away. He slid his left arm around her waist, pulled her closer. She came willingly into his arms. He deepened the kiss and was rewarded with her arms sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, felt her fingers rake through the hair at his nape.
Her scent enfolded him, enticed him, entranced him. The lavender and musk of her womanhood made his desire grow, his need escalate. He teased his tongue along the seam of her lips, then gently invaded her mouth when she opened to him.
She pulled him closer.
Drew’s entire body tensed with desire and need. He moved his right hand from caressing her cheek to cradle the back of her head, drawing the kiss out, dancing his tongue with hers. She seemed untutored in the art of tongue kissing but learned quickly. Soon she explored his mouth, pressed up against his chest, stood on her toes as she clung to his neck, his shoulders.
His left hand moved down her hip, squeezed her derrière, lured her even closer. She made a soft moan in his mouth.
His right hand moved from her neck, down her side and slid up to her breast, gently squeezing, rubbing. Her plump breast eased out of her décolleté. His hand moved to rub the stiff peak of her nipple.
Marianne’s breathing quickened in rapid response to his attentions.
Drew wanted her. He wanted to plunge deep inside of her. To watch her face as he came, as he made her come. His body ached for the joining.
A knock came at the door.
The two paused in the midst of their trysting. Gently, Drew pulled away.
Marianne turned away to right her dress, smooth her breast into her gown.
“Come,” Drew called, wishing he was doing so at that very moment.
Blevins entered. “My lord, my lady, I wish to know if there is anything else I can do for you this night. My lord, how is your hand? Do you need more clean cloths?”
“I’m fine. We have plenty of cloths and need no more. It’s late, Blevins. Go to bed. We’ll not need you any further tonight. Thank you for your care.”
“Yes, yes, Blevins. Thank you for all you have done. Good night.” Marianne turned to face the butler. In only moments she had put herself to rights and faced the manservant with cool nonchalance.
“Well then, have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning. My lord. My lady.” With a brief bow, Blevins took his leave.
The ensuing silence of the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire, lay heavy between them.
Marianne turned away, possibly in embarrassment. “It’s been a long night, my lord. I must be off to bed. Andrea will be up early, I’m sure.” She moved toward the door.
Drew thought of reaching for her, regaining the emotion, the desire, that had built up between them only moments before. Then thought better of it. Waiting a little longer would do no harm. In fact, it could heighten the outcome.
“Good night, lady wife,” he said softly as she opened the door. “May you have sweet and happy dreams.”
Leaving her wanting, wondering just a little longer might be better. When he took her, he wanted there to be no doubts, no hesitations. He wanted her to be a willing, fully engaged participant when they made love again.
He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.
And now he wanted her more than anything.