When Kevin collapsed into the Dillingham coach, Jenny’s first thought was to dash to his side to help. Fiching protested.

“Look at the people swarming about, miss,” he urged. “Half of them are drunk, and the other half are wild to celebrate. You’ll never reach him through that.”

She craned her neck to see over the people who thronged about the white carriage. “But what if he’s badly hurt? You saw that blackguard strike him again and again. He could be bleeding to death even as we speak.”

“That I doubt, Miss,” Fiching replied. “He promised you he’d come to see you as soon as he was able. Let Sir Nigel and Mr. Sloane set him to rights first. A Corinthian of Mr. Whattling’s stripe won’t much care to have his lady see him like this.”

She sighed, subsiding. Fiching was right. She could hardly reach him in this crowd, and even as she watched, Sir Nigel was starting to maneuver the carriage through the press back toward London. She would have to wait to see him when he arrived at her home.

If he arrived.

All the way back she kept telling herself that he would. He had to. She needed him to help her feel as well as think. And he needed her to think as well as feel. When the heart and the head were in accordance, nothing could gainsay them. Together, she and Kevin would both be better off.

If only she could state her case as compellingly to his face!

She returned home, changed into her dove-colored silk gown, brushed out her hair, and instructed Martha to wait at least a half hour before coming downstairs to check on her. If Kevin arrived, she wanted time alone with him. If he didn’t, she was sure she wouldn’t be very good company.

She was starting down the stairs to the sitting room when she heard the knocker sound on the front door. Fiching grinned at her as he hurried to open it.

“It appears the gentleman couldn’t wait after all,” he chuckled. He had barely pulled open the door when it was slammed into him. Fiching gasped and stumbled back, catching himself on the hall table. George Safton, mouth bloody, face bruised, strode into the entryway.

Jenny stood frozen on the stair. Fiching struggled to his feet, but before he could call out to Stevens or any of the other servants, Safton smashed his fist into the butler’s mouth. Jenny cried out as Fiching crumbled to the floor.

“Good afternoon, Miss Welch,” Safton declared, striding toward her. She scrambled back up the stairs away from him, mind whirling.

“Stevens! Jenkins!” she shouted, but Safton took the stairs two at a time and seized her about the waist. She struggled against him, kicking and slapping. Although he grunted at her exertions, his grip only tightened. Below stairs came the sound of pounding footsteps.

“It appears we are to be interrupted,” he said. “And I so wanted to further our acquaintance.” He raised her off her feet, pressing her against his chest, so that her eyes were level with his own. “Now, don’t make me do anything I will regret later.”

“Leave me alone!” she cried, wriggling in vain to escape his grip.

He started up the stairs, chuckling. “You are much more curvaceous than I had expected in a bluestocking. Keep that up, and I’ll have to more closely investigate this delightful flesh I’m feeling.”

Jenny stopped, but she did not give up as Safton carried her down the upper corridor. Voices were calling for her below, and it would be only a matter of minutes before her servants found her.

“Put me down this instant!” she insisted as he paused before an open door. “I warn you, Mr. Safton, you will not get away with this.”

“Oh, but I will, Miss Welch,” he said, maneuvering her through the door. He dropped his hold, and Jenny scrambled away from him. He didn’t pursue her, going instead to shut the door and wedge a chair under the handle.

She glanced about the room, noting that they were in one of the little-used guest bedchambers. As it was over the music room, she had had a carpenter put padding in the floor as well as the walls to prevent the sound from traveling. Worse, from the pillows on the bed to the too heavy gilt-framed picture on the wall, there was nothing she might use as a weapon against him. He could not have chosen a better room if he had tried. She would not be able to use her wit.

It was time to try Kevin’s way. She squared her shoulders and put up her fists.

Safton turned to her, took in her stance, then chuckled again. “Are you honestly trying to defend your honor that way? You saw me today, Miss Welch. For all your Mr. Whattling managed to land a lucky punch, I am the superior fighter. You have no chance here.”

“That, sir,” she informed him, fists upraised, “is your opinion.”

He took a step forward, eyes slits of malice. “Boo!”

She jumped, and he laughed. He took another step forward, and she circled away from him as she had seen Kevin do.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, voice a growl. “You may as well give up. Even if your servants find us, your reputation is in shreds. Do you honestly think Whattling will want you when I’m through with you?”

“Why are you doing this?” Jenny demanded, fighting the fears his words raised in her. “You don’t want me. You cannot think you will somehow gain from this!”

“Oh, but I will gain, Miss Welch. Can you imagine how I felt coming on the field to see the Bow Street Runners conversing with your friend Jackson and Whattling’s two little toadies? I should have realized Sloane and Dillingham were up to something. It’s obvious I’m finished. But, Whattling will pay.”

Behind him the door handle rattled.

“In here!” Jenny shouted. Safton lunged for her, and she danced out of reach. Cursing, he pursued her.

“Jenny!” Kevin’s voice came muffled through the door. “Hang on!”

“You won’t win this time, Whattling!” Safton shouted back. He lunged at Jenny again, and she managed to dart under his reach. The door shuddered as shoulders slammed into it. Safton doubled his fists.

“I’m very sorry to end it this way, my dear,” he murmured, drawing back an arm. “Goodbye, Miss Welch.”

Jenny smashed her fist up under his guard straight into the underside of his chin. Pain shot through her hand. Safton blinked.

The door crashed open, splintering the chair. Kevin clambered over the wreckage into the room, Giles, Nigel, and her footmen close on his heels. George Safton swayed on his feet, eyes rolling back into his head. Before anyone could reach him, he fell forward onto his face.

Jenny stepped back, shaking out her aching hand. “Interesting. Was that a jab or an upper cut?”

Kevin stared at her, smile slowly spreading across his own bruised face. “I take it all back, Jenny. Boxing is definitely a sport for ladies.”

 

–

 

Sometime later, Jenny, Kevin, and Miss Tindale were all safely ensconced in the sitting room, cold compresses on Kevin’s left eye and Jenny’s hand. Fiching was being tended to by a doting Mavis, and Sir Nigel and Giles were escorting Safton’s unconscious body to Bow Street to meet a just punishment from the magistrates.

“So Mr. Safton was responsible for pitting your brother against that monster,” Martha concluded after both Kevin and Jenny had explained.

“And that’s where this enmity began,” Jenny added.

Kevin nodded. “Yes, although I never thought he would go this far. My heart stopped beating the moment Giles and Nigel and I arrived and found Fiching on the floor and your name echoing above. It didn’t start beating again until I knew you were safe. If anything had happened to you, Jenny…”

She blushed under his regard. “Everything came out all right in the end, just as you promised. Mr. Sloane and Sir Nigel were very clever to trap him that way. The sight of the Bow Street Runners certainly set him off.”

Kevin sighed. “They meant for him to try something desperate, to finally give them sufficient reason to arrest him. He’s been arranging unlikely matches, at impossible odds, and wagering against his own man. While there’s nothing illegal about it, if it had come out, he would have had very little chance of being welcomed in Society again, or of lining his pockets. He did indeed grow desperate. But they never thought he’d try to strike you.”

Jenny couldn’t help the smile. “Or that I’d strike back.”

“Well, I’m simply sorry I was taken in by the man,” Martha put in. “I don’t know how they managed to convince others to see through him.”

“One of those cases that took both intellect and heart,” Kevin agreed.

Jenny blushed, thinking of her own conclusions. “It has been made clear to me that both are needed for a good life.”

“Or a good marriage,” he murmured, watching her. “Which reminds me, we still have my suit to discuss. You must know I will not rest, Jenny, until you’ve agreed to marry me.”

Jenny stared up at him, heart soaring. The sunlight from the windows behind them bathed him in a golden glow, and, even though he wore his usual navy coat and fawn trousers, she would have sworn he was dressed all in shining armor, every bit the handsome prince she had dreamed about. “You, you still want to marry me? Even though you won that purse?”

“So that was what was bothering you.” He shook his head. “You thought with money in my hand, I’d have no further use for you, Jenny.”

The warmth in his eyes was nearly her undoing. But the look he trained on Martha was far more demanding.

Her companion jumped to her feet. “Oh, dear, I seem to have misplaced my puce thread. I’ll be right back.”

Jenny rose as Martha hurriedly quit the room. In the back of her mind, she heard her companion close the door. Her eyes were only for Kevin, who reached for her and drew her to his side. For once, she was glad of his impetuosity. He would ever prefer action to words. He pulled her onto his lap and into his embrace, leaving her no doubt as to his regard for her.

She ought to declare her undying devotion, perhaps quote the Bard. But, for once, she was content merely to feel, knowing herself loved.

 

–

 

Kevin cradled Jenny against him. He had achieved his heiress objective and won himself a love beyond any he could have imagined. For the first time in a long time, the future looked bright.

He leaned back to eye her. Her eyes were closed, color was rising in her cheeks, and a smile played about her rosy lips. “Jenny,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes. “Yes?”

“When would you like to be married?”

“Now?”

He chuckled. “My dear bluestocking, I fear it takes a little bit more planning than that.”

Her blush deepened. “Very well, then, as soon as is reasonably possible.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he vowed. “And I promise you will never regret agreeing to my suit.”

Her smile lit the room. “And I promise you will never regret marrying a bluestocking. Oh, Kevin, think of all the fun we could have!”

And they did.