M Is for Marquess (3 page)

Thea tensed as the boy resisted, pulling against the other’s grip.

“I want Papa,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “He told us to wait whilst he went to purchase tickets for the camel rides.”

“We are leaving
now
.” The governess twisted his arm, and he cried out.

“Stop hurting him!” With a desperate lunge, Thea grabbed onto the governess’ arm, managing to shake the other’s grip off the boy. She pushed the child behind her, shielding him as best she could.

Desperation lit the Frenchwoman’s eyes. She shoved her hand into the side of her skirts, removing a glinting object. Stunned, Thea found herself staring at the barrel of a small pistol.

“Give him to me,” the governess said.

Thea could feel the child shaking behind her skirts—or was it her own limbs quivering?

“You’ll have to shoot me first.” She hated how winded she sounded, the shortness of her breath.
Keep calm, breathe slowly …
“If that pistol goes off, everyone will hear,” she managed. “You won’t get away.”

The woman leveled her weapon. “This is your last warning—”

“Frederick!” The masculine roar came from a distance. “Where are you?”

“Papa!” the boy shouted. “Over here!”

Thea kept her gaze on the governess. Panic flared in the other’s dark eyes, her knuckles bone-white against the gun. Thea braced, her heart thudding in her ears—

The governess turned and raced toward the trees. Dazed, Thea stared after the retreating figure. Something white fluttered from the dark skirts, landing on the grass, but the woman took no notice. She continued running, reaching the copse at the perimeter of the gardens and vanishing into the dense brush.

Thea took the few steps over to the fallen object. Bent to pick it up. It was an ordinary white handkerchief, the initials “M. F.” embroidered prominently at the center.

“Frederick! Are you all right?”

At the familiar deep male voice, Thea jerked around. Her disordered breath hitched further.
Tremont?
For an instant, their gazes locked; she saw her own shock reflected in those tempestuous grey depths.

Then he looked back to the boy. Was that…
his son?

“I’m fine, Papa,” Frederick said in a trembling voice.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” The marquess’ features set into foreboding lines. “I told you to stay put. Where’s Mademoiselle Fournier?”

“She wanted m-me to see the bears. I didn’t want to.” Frederick’s eyes welled.

Coming to her senses, Thea blurted, “It wasn’t his fault. The governess was trying to abduct him. She had a
pistol
.”

“What?” Tremont’s voice turned dangerously hushed.

“She ran off in that direction.” Thea pointed toward the trees—and realized she still held the governess’ handkerchief. “She dropped this.”

He took it from her, his jaw tightening. His muscles bunched beneath the blue superfine of his jacket. “Stay here with Frederick,” he said tersely. “I’ll take a look—”

“Papa, I don’t feel well…”

Thea’s gaze flew to Frederick. An alarming flush had crept over the boy’s face. He weaved unsteadily on his feet, and Tremont caught him before he hit the ground. Cradled in his father’s arms, the boy gasped, his head turning to one side, eyes rolling back in his head. His thin limbs began to shake.

Chapter Three

“Hang in there.” Gabriel walled off his inner chaos, keeping his voice calm and steady even though he knew his son couldn’t hear him. He held on tightly to Freddy’s small, jerking body. “It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

“What can I do?” Thea’s gentle voice reached him. She’d knelt on Freddy’s other side. Beneath the brim of her bonnet, her hazel eyes were bright with worry.

“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Gabriel said tersely.

Silently, she kept vigil with him, holding Freddy’s hand. His thudding pulse measured the passing seconds.
This fit is lasting too long. Why the devil hasn’t it stopped?

An eternity dragged by before the shaking finally ceased.

“P-papa?” Freddy mumbled, his lashes fluttering.

Relief scalded Gabriel’s insides. “I’m here. Rest. You’ve had another spell.”

A feeble moan broke from Freddy’s lips, his chest rising and falling on shallow breaths.

“Thea! We’ve been looking all over—
Lord Tremont
?” The Duchess of Strathaven approached, followed by her husband and sisters. Her gaze landed on Freddy’s prone figure. “Heavens, what is going on?”

“This is Lord Frederick, Tremont’s son. He isn’t feeling well,” Thea said, her manner blessedly discreet. “We must get him to safety as soon as possible.”

“I’ll get the carriage.” Strathaven paused, frowning. “Tremont, when did you return to Town? Where are you staying?”

To fund much-needed improvements to his country estate, Gabriel had sold his townhouse in London a while back. Strathaven, being his business partner and friend, knew about his financial circumstances. In fact, it was thanks to the duke’s brilliant investment schemes that Gabriel had made significant strides toward recovering his fortune in the last year.

“I’ve taken rooms at Mivart’s. We were only to stay for the weekend.” His chest tightened. “It is Frederick’s birthday, you see, and he wanted to see the gardens.”

“A hotel’s no place for a convalescence. You’ll come stay with us.” Strathaven’s ducal tone brooked no refusal. “I’ll send for my personal physician to see to your boy.”

“I don’t wish to inconvenience—”

To Gabriel’s consternation, Strathaven’s broad back was already fading into the distance.

“Don’t mind him. His Grace likes to have the last word,” the duchess said.

“I’m s-sorry to cause trouble,” Freddy said. “Please don’t be angry, Papa.”

“I am not angry.”
Not at you.

Thea smiled, giving his son’s hand a squeeze. “It’s no trouble at all. In fact, we would welcome the company.”

“I’m not much company, miss,” Freddy mumbled.

The forlorn admission made Gabriel want to punch something. It was damnably true. Frederick’s affliction made him unable to tolerate stimulation of any kind. When Sylvia had been alive, she’d made sure that their son remained in secluded and tranquil environments, keeping him safe from the world.

Yet Gabriel had exposed the boy to danger by bringing him to a public place—and by failing to protect him. Anger blazed as he thought of Mademoiselle Fournier. Why had the governess tried to kidnap his son? Possibilities proliferated… he pushed them aside.

Time to hunt the bitch down later. Get Freddy to safety first.

“Well, it
is
difficult to be good company when one hasn’t been properly introduced.” Thea was smiling at Frederick. “I’m Dorothea Kent.”

Christ
,
three months away from her and nothing has changed
, Gabriel thought savagely. Just the sound of her voice, one bloody glance at her coral pink lips and shining hair, and he was filled with need. With the desire to do unspeakable things to her. To possess her completely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Kent,” Freddy said shyly.

“Would you like to meet the rest of my family?” she asked.

Freddy gave a tentative nod. As she introduced her sisters and niece, the poor lad blushed, stammering out his hellos. One could hardly blame him. It required all of Gabriel’s discipline to keep his gaze vigilantly scanning the field for signs of threat. Even so, his senses hungrily absorbed Thea. Her honeysuckle scent curled into his nostrils, unleashing a ravening need.

The potent mix of danger and desire made him ready to fight, to fuck. For him, those base urges had always been two sides of the same coin, feeding off one another. When her gaze met his, softly inquiring, lust punched him in the gut.

Strathaven arrived soon thereafter with a spacious equipage, and they all bundled aboard, Gabriel carrying his son. Thea took the seat beside him. At every dip in the road, her body brushed with innocent sensuality against his, and he clenched his jaw against the sweet torture.

It’s not going to happen, you bastard. Get used to that fact.

Once, pursued by enemies through the crooked streets of Marseilles, he’d taken to the rooftops, leaping from one tiled surface to another. On the last jump, he’d nearly missed. The same sensations assailed him now. The desperate bid to regain balance, the instinct to hold on. The need to resist a greater force—because you knew what would happen if you didn’t.

***

Tremont paced before the fireplace like a caged lion. To Thea, who watched him discreetly from a nearby curricle chair, the plush green and gold backdrop of the sitting room furthered the illusion of him being some exotic beast of prey prowling jungle territory, his muscles sleek and rippling beneath his coat. Seated on an adjacent settee, Emma and Strathaven made attempts at conversation as they all waited for Dr. Abernathy to finish the examination of Lord Frederick.

In the months of their acquaintance, Tremont had mentioned his boy, of course, but only in passing. Whenever Thea had tried to ask more about the child, he’d turned reticent. According to Emma, the
ton
knew little about the marquess’ heir, and even Strathaven had never met the boy, who lived year round at Tremont’s seat in Hampshire.

Thea had assumed that Tremont’s reluctance to speak of the child was due to his natural desire for privacy… or perhaps lingering grief over the boy’s mama. It was common knowledge that he’d been grief-stricken by the loss of his marchioness, who’d passed away four years ago whilst giving birth to their stillborn child.

Everyone said that Lady Sylvia had been the ideal wife: beautiful and kind, the pinnacle of femininity. How could a spinster with a frail constitution hold a candle to such perfection?

Stop it,
Thea chided herself.
That’s over. Focus on the present.

Thinking of Freddy, she felt worry mingled with admiration. With his ailment, the little fellow carried a heavy burden and yet he’d shown such courage in standing up to the villainess who’d tried to abduct him. The boy was stronger than he looked, Thea thought, a true warrior. She prayed that his resilience would lead to a speedy recovery.

The door to the adjoining suite opened, and Dr. Abernathy, a beetled-browed Scotsman, entered. He bent his steely grey head in a precise bow. Thea smiled at him; she owed much to the gruff physician, whose unorthodox treatments had led to significant improvements in her own condition.

“How is he?” Tremont said tersely.

“My professional opinion, my lord, is that the lad has suffered from an overstimulation of the nerves. He requires rest.” The doctor’s brogue gave added emphasis to the advice. “I’ve given him a few drops of laudanum to help him sleep, and I’m confident he will recover completely.”

Some of the starkness eased from Tremont’s features. “I am in your debt, sir.”

“That is excellent news,” Strathaven said.

“Indeed.” Dr. Abernathy nodded. “A sennight or so abed and the lad should be right as rain.”

Tremont went still. “A week? He has to remain here that long?”

“Best to err on the side of caution,” the doctor said. “Today’s events have undoubtedly unbalanced Lord Frederick’s nervous system, which is sensitively calibrated due to his illness. He needs time to stabilize.”

Tremont’s stormy grey gaze suddenly swung to Thea, and awareness forked through her like lightning. Her breath hitched; her pulse raced. After these months apart, why did he still have such an effect on her?

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, my lord,” Emma said from the settee. “Strathaven would love to catch up with you, wouldn’t he?”

Thea’s brother-in-law looked amused—a common expression when he was dealing with Em.

“You know best, my love,” he drawled.

“I apologize for the inconvenience.” Lines deepened around Tremont’s mouth. “I should have known better than to take Frederick to the gardens. The fault is mine.”

“’Tis no one’s fault,” Thea couldn’t help but protest. “You wanted only to grant your son’s birthday wish. Why should he not enjoy the same delights as any other child?”

“I’ve been advised repeatedly to keep him away from public settings. To protect him from the stresses induced by boisterous environments.” Though his expression was stoic, torrents raged in his eyes. “As the doctor said, my decision triggered Frederick’s spell.”

“I said no such thing.” Dr. Abernathy frowned.

“You said today’s events unbalanced Frederick’s system.”

“I was referring to the attempted kidnapping, not your decision to take your son to the gardens.” The physician paused. “I know some of my colleagues advocate quarantining patients with falling sickness, but I disagree. Strongly. In my opinion, seclusion oft does more harm than good—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tremont said flatly. “If I’d kept Freddy safe in the country, none of this would have happened.”

Thea wanted to point out that safety was its own prison. Having been an invalid herself, she knew the cruelty of being trapped in one’s own bed, watching as life passed by. Seeing the hard set of Tremont’s features, however, she decided not to waste her breath. She’d never been one to argue—in her family, she oft played the role of peacekeeper—and, in this situation, it wasn’t her place. The marquess had made it abundantly clear months ago that he didn’t want her in his life.

Then why do I want to know him? Why do I feel this connection between us?

From the start, she’d sensed the passion beneath his aloof exterior. His eyes held an enigma that called to her, even when she knew that pursuing him would only lead to another rejection. Her hands twisted together in her lap.

The physician sighed. “I’ll take my leave, then. I’ll be back to see the patient tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tremont bowed. “I am in your debt.”

After the Scotsman departed, Emma said, “What’s done is done. We must focus on the next steps to take. Have you any inkling why the governess tried to abduct your son?”

“I have no idea, Your Grace. The most obvious motive, however, would be ransom.” Tremont’s gaze iced over. “Rest assured, I will do everything in my power to hunt her down.”