Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden (25 page)

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Am I to assume that this is my future daughter-in-law?” the Earl of Winsome said from behind her.

Hugh turned her. “Yes, Father. Allow me to present Lady Lorna Willis. Lorna, my father, the Earl of Winsome, and my brother, Viscount Avery.”

“I can’t tell you how happy we are to meet you, my lady,” Lord Winsome said.

Hugh’s brother echoed the sentiment.

“And,” the earl continued, “I just happen to have in my possession a special license that will allow you and my son to be married as soon as you’d like.”

Hugh locked his gaze with hers. “Today, Lorna? Now?”

Lorna thought her heart might explode with happiness. “There is nothing I’d like more.”

Winsome pointed to Reverend Cunningham. “Well, since there is a clergyman here and there are plenty of witnesses, I would be honored to give the bride away in marriage.”

“What about Chillbrooke?” Mack asked. “What should we do with him?”

Two of the brigadesmen stood as guards on either side of Chillbrooke.

“It’s your call,” Mack said to Hugh.

Hugh looked at her as if he wanted her to decide what action to take against her cousin. But she couldn’t.

“Lorna,” her cousin slurred through his bloodied lip. “You know I would never have harmed Baxter. But I needed the money. I just wanted to frighten you enough that you’d—.”

“Enough,” Hugh ordered, then looked at her.

He expected her to exact punishment on her only relative. She couldn’t do it.

She shook her head, then Hugh leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

“Take him to the Metropolitan Police Department,” Hugh said to the two men holding her cousin. “Tell Commissioner Mayne to detain him as long as possible. Describe in detail exactly what Chillbrooke planned. Take the letter with you and have him keep it in Chillbrooke’s file. Then tell him that if anything suspicious happens to me, Chillbrooke is the first suspect.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Chillbrooke argued. “I refuse to be treated like a common criminal.”

Hugh glared at him. “You should have thought of that before you carried out the actions of a common criminal.”

“Be thankful my son is so lenient,” the Earl of Winsome added.
“Because I’m not nearly so forgiving. Lady Cushing’s ball is tonight, and by the time I leave the festivities, everyone in attendance will know precisely what you tried to do to my son and Lady Lorna.”

“You can’t!” Chillbrooke hollered. “I’ll be ruined.”

“I’m sure you will,” the Earl of Winsome added.

Hugh nodded to his friends and they led Chillbrooke away. He looked to the corner where Burlingdon had been hiding. The corner was empty.

“I see the rat has left the sinking ship.”

Lorna smiled. “So it seems.”

When Chillbroooke was gone, Hugh gathered her hands in his. “Lady Lorna Willis, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”

Her eyes filled with tears and Lorna had to swallow past the lump in her throat before she could answer. “There’s nothing I would like more.”

With Hugh’s father and brother on one side of them, and Mack and Hugh’s fellow brigadesmen on the other, they stood before Reverend Cunningham and repeated their vows.

“Remember when I promised I would take care of you?” Hugh whispered to her.

With tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks, Lorna answered with a nod.

“That’s one promise I intend to keep for the rest of our lives.”

Then Hugh leaned down to kiss her again as everyone cheered for the happy couple. He touched her cheek with his steady hand.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She blushed, but instead of shrinking, she pressed toward him. His compliment rose in her breast like a small, trapped bird fluttering free at last.

Lorna had never felt more beautiful in her life.

Prologue

Reid Livingston knew he should have stopped drinking four or five tankards ago. Just like he knew he should have been wise enough to throw in his cards and play the loser instead of taking such pride in besting the ruffians at the Beef and Ale Inn. Most of all though, he shouldn’t have goaded the men at the table into betting beyond the coin they had in their pockets, then taking it from them.

But Reid never thought of important things like those until it was too late. Until he was backed into a corner with no way to escape except by the use of his fists.

“You cheatin’ bastard,” one of the three men at the table bellowed.

Reid didn’t know him, only knew his friends called him Bark. Reid wanted to ask what the hell kind of name was that, except maybe the name fit. He did seem to bark his words when he talked.

Or maybe he was called Bark because his weathered face reminded Reid of the trunk of a twisted old ugly tree. Then, Reid realized Bark’s drunken friend had said Bart. Not Bark. Not that it mattered. Bart was mad as hell, drunk as a sailor his first night ashore, and mean as a hound with a sore paw. That should have warned Reid to back off long before now, but it hadn’t. The ale he’d poured down his throat gave him a false sense of invincibility, as well as more courage than was wise to exhibit. He’d no doubt realize that in the morning when he sobered.

“Are you calling me a cheat?” Reid said, sliding back his chair. He staggered to his feet and braced his hands on the scarred table and leaned toward the man making the accusation.

“You damn betcha I am,” Bart yelled back.

“And so are we,” the other two men at the table said, rising to their
feet to make a solid line with their friend.

Reid hadn’t seen these men before tonight. One was called
Skiver, and the other Plank. That was the extent of what he knew of them. Except that they were both big as an ox and probably twice as dumb. Reid released a low groan and prepared himself for the fight that would come next. He’d been in spots like this before—more times than he wanted to remember. Odds of three to one weren’t the most favorable, but he’d faced worse and survived.

For a fleeting moment he considered his options. He could always apologize and offer to give the winnings back. He rejected that idea as quickly as it popped into his mind. No, he’d stand and fight. He may not take all three of them down, but he’d get the better of at least one of them before they relieved him of his coin.

Reid pushed away from the table and readied himself for the battle that was about to ensue. He knew every inch of his body would scream with pain when he tried to rise in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

“You are gonna tell these blokes that you’re a bloody card cheat.”
Skiver said, pointing to the crowd of onlookers who were anxiously awaiting the first punch.

“Ah,
Skiver. Nobody would believe me if I told such a lie. There isn’t a man in here who doesn’t know how poorly you and your friends play.”

“Why you bloody—”

Those three words were the only warning Reid had before Skiver threw the first punch.

The table overturned and one of the chairs flew across the room. The man called Plank swung his fist. Luckily, Reid anticipated his move and brought his fist up beneath Plank’s jaw.

Plank’s head flew back and his eyes rolled in his head as he toppled over backward and landed on the floor.

A feeling of confidence rushed through Reid’s body and he smiled. The odds suddenly seemed more balanced—until Bart pinned Reid’s arms behind him, and
Skiver punched him in the gut.

The air left Reid’s body in a rush, then
Skiver’s fist flew forward and slammed into his jaw.

Reid’s head snapped to the side and bright lights exploded behind his eyelids. He shook his head to clear it, then kicked out his leg and caught
Skiver in the groin.

The big man bellowed in a voice that sounded as if it had been squeezed from his throat. The crowd of onlookers roared. Reid strutted. It would be fun to relive the scuffle for Roarke later. He had no idea what
it was Roarke wanted to meet him here tonight for. Whatever it was, his twin brother was damned excited about it. It would have to wait, though, until Reid filled him in on his latest victory. But Reid’s triumph was short-lived. Skiver heaved himself up from the floor and with a demented roar turned on him with a vengeance. At the same moment Bart dove toward him.

The three of them fell on a table and it crashed into a million splinters beneath them.

Reid tried to get free, but the two giants had him pinned down. Large, beefy fists struck him in the face and gut. One eye was already swollen shut, and blood ran down his face in thick rivulets that made seeing out of his good eye nearly impossible.

The beating
Skiver and Bart gave him was taking its toll. Reid knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness, and almost welcomed it. The beating might continue after he was out, but at least he wouldn’t feel it.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more,
Skiver’s weight lifted off him. Then Bart’s.

Reid swiped the blood from his eye to see what had happened. He groaned when he realized that his rescuer was his brother Roarke.

“Blimey,” Skiver bellowed. “There be two of him!”

“Get the hell out of here, Roarke!” Reid bellowed.

The last person he wanted anywhere near a fight was his brother. It wasn’t that Roarke couldn’t handle himself in a brawl, he could. As good if not better than Reid. But the only time Roarke was involved in a fight, it was Reid’s fault.

Roarke would never have a part in something so undisciplined. Or even worse, would
never
start
a fight.

Even though they were twins and few could tell them apart, they were as different as night and day. As different as black from white. As different as good from bad. And Reid doubted Roarke had ever done a bad thing in his life.

Reid bolted to his feet and tried to shove Roarke away from Skiver’s lethal fists. But Roarke deflected the giant’s blow, then turned to take aim at Bart.

“Get out of here, Roarke!” Reid bellowed again. “This isn’t your fight.”

Roarke ignored Reid and swung his fist at an attacking Skiver.

Reid wanted to call a halt to the fight so he could shove his brother from the inn, but that wasn’t possible. Now he’d have to look at the bruises that would be a week-long reminder that his brother had once again come to his rescue. That his brother had borne the brunt of the
punishment that should have been his.

Now Reid would have to live with the guilt that always plagued him after Roarke got him out of the trouble his irresponsible behavior got him into.

When would he learn? When would he turn over a leaf and be more like his brother? Like the
good
twin?

Reid threw a hard punch into Bart’s face. Bones snapped beneath his knuckles and blood spurted out of Bart’s nose and mouth. The painful bellow that filled the noisy room was louder than the shouting and cheering from the onlookers.

Reid turned away from Bart and moved to help his brother, but there was nothing to help him with. Skiver was sprawled on the floor. Reid doubted he’d wake up before morning.

Reid looked into Roarke’s face. Bruises were already darkening his cheeks and one eye was swollen. “I didn’t need your help,” Reid said, struggling to form words through his swollen lips.

“The hell you didn’t. I can’t remember a time when you
didn’t
need my help.” He grinned. “’Sides, who’s going to help me celebrate tonight if you’re dead to the world?” He slapped Reid on the shoulder and they winced in unison.

Reid reached for a cup of ale one of the patrons of the inn handed him while patting him on the back, and took a swallow. The ale that ran out of his mouth burned as it hit his split lip.

“Here,” he said, handing Roarke the tankard. “This will help.”

Roarke reached for the cup, then lifted his gaze to a spot behind Reid.

“No!” he hollered, as he shoved Reid out of the way and lunged forward.

Reid wasn’t sure what happened next. All he knew was that when he looked, Roarke was staggering above him. His face bore a look of confusion and disbelief. And his hands clutched at a long-handled knife that was sticking out of his chest.

“No!” Reid bellowed as he scrambled to his feet. He reached for Roarke and caught him as he crumpled to the floor.

“Roarke!”

The expression on Roarke’s face changed to one of peaceful resolve. “It’s all right…Reid,” he gasped through his heavy breaths. “It doesn’t…hurt.”

“Hang in there, Roarke. We’ll get a doctor.”

Roarke clutched at Reid’s shirt and pulled him closer. “It’s too late.”

“No, it isn’t. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you are.”

“I’m not worried about…me,” Roarke said. His voice was weaker now. His words more slurred. “It’s you. Who’s going to take care of you…now? You and…and…”

“You will,” Reid said, cradling his brother’s body in his arms. “Like you always have,” he finished, after Roarke’s limp hand released the hold he had on Reid’s shirt.