Wolfishly Yours (21 page)

“Good,” Etienne chimed in. “We’re in agreement then. The best thing for our sister is to leave this place and forget she ever met any of you.”

“Armand, Etienne—” Livi began, but her words died on her tongue when Etienne directed her, rather roughly, truth be told, back over the threshold into the corridor.

“Now,” Armand said, just a few feet behind them, “I want Marie to pack your things and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.” If one didn’t know better, they would think Armand was a pack alpha. Then he surprised her by pulling her into his arms and holding her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Livi,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry for what Hadley’s done. Sorry you were sent to live with that old arse. Sorry I didn’t stop Father when I should have.” He tipped her chin up so she had to look him in the eyes. “I’ll never shirk my duties again, and I don’t care who I have to fight to keep you unharmed.”

The sentiment in his voice brought tears to Livi’s eyes. “None of this is your fault.”

But Armand shook his head. “If I’d stood up to Father, none of this would have happened.”

If Armand had stood up to Papa, she’d have never met Gray. Livi’s heart ached at the thought. But perhaps Armand was right. If Gray had decided against marrying her, she certainly didn’t want to stay in England. She didn’t want to have to face him in society. It would hurt too much.

“Let’s call for Marie,” she said as she swiped at the tears now trailing down her cheeks.

How the devil had Honeywell trained his pistol on Gray all night long? One would have thought the man would get drowsy at the very least, but he hadn’t. Honeywell looked as wide-eyed as any fellow who might have gotten a good night’s sleep, even if he did appear a bit deranged. If only Gray knew what the devil the man wanted with him. But Honeywell had been very tight lipped about the whole affair, demanding silence and shifting the aim of his gun from Gray’s chest to his head.

Sunlight began to spill through a crack in the window of the inn bedchamber in which Gray had been imprisoned the whole night. Daylight already? Damn it all, he couldn’t spend all day staring down Honeywell’s pistol. “When might you tell me what your plan is, old man?”

Honeywell narrowed his eyes on Gray. “I don’t think I will.” Then the odiferous man glanced at his pocket watch and smiled to himself. “Almost time.”

“Time for?” Gray pressed.

“Time for me to step up and take your place, Hadley.”

“My place?” If Gray didn’t know better, he’d think his captor was foxed, but there wasn’t a scent of spirits about the man. His usual unfortunate odor, yes. Spirits, no.

“Hmm.” Honeywell rose from the chair in which he’d spent the night. “I’ve always thought you the worst sort of villain. Did you know that?”

Gray snorted. “And yet you are the one holding the pistol.”

His captor shrugged off the comment. “The worst sort of villain. Your drinking, your gambling, your whoring. Your complete lack of social graces. And then you actually threw me out of Holmesfield’s. I’m doing the rest of society a favor.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tossed the man out onto the street the day before. “I’m sorry I treated you so shabbily yesterday.”

“A little late for that,” Honeywell sneered. “But don’t worry about Miss Mayeux. After her dowry pays my debts, I promise she’ll be well taken care of.” Then he pointed the gun at Gray’s chest and pulled the trigger.

The blast hit him like a bullet in the shoulder, which was fitting because… well… It was a bullet in the shoulder. A burning sensation, as though he’d been stabbed with a hot poker, spread from his wound down his arm and across his back. Gray couldn’t quite catch his breath, and he clutched at his shoulder and watched, unable to form a single word to stop Honeywell, as the man escaped out the inn window.

Dear God, he felt on fire and struggled for a normal breath. Would he die right here, right now? There was so much he’d left undone in his life. Did his mother know how much he loved her? Did Archer? Wes and Maddie? Dash and Cait? And Livi… Dear God! Would Livi ever know how much he loved her?

Sadly, the answer was no. She couldn’t possibly know. He’d never told her. He hadn’t even known until this very moment. But it was true. Her image flashed in his mind, her long, inky black hair spilling over her shoulders and her piercing blue eyes beckoning him to be a better man, her hand outstretched toward him.

“Livi,” he breathed, and reached out to the image. The pain in his shoulder receded incrementally. Gray blinked in surprise and his next breath was slightly easier to take. Was his pain really receding? Or was he drifting to his death with Livi’s image floating in his unconscious mind to ease his passage to the other side?

“What was that?” barked an unfamiliar voice not too far away.

“Sounded like a pistol,” another voice answered.

Gray’s unconscious mind wouldn’t dream up two unfamiliar voices, would it? He didn’t think so. And being in such a public place, clearly someone must have heard Honeywell’s pistol and would be along momentarily to discover him in the rented room. Damn it all. His shoulder still burned, but the pain was in fact receding. If someone came to help him, they’d see his accelerated rate of healing and he’d be putting himself and everyone he loved in danger.

Gray lumbered to his feet with an oath and jerked a chair from beneath the table with his good arm. He shoved it beneath the door handle and sat down in it. He’d have to keep everyone out, at least long enough for the wound to heal, which it seemed to be doing. He wasn’t going to die. At least not like this. If anyone found out what he was, what his brothers were, they’d probably all hang from their necks at Newgate.

Heavy footsteps boomed down the corridor and Gray hung his head in his hand. Good God, couldn’t they give him a few minutes to recover alone? A frantic knock sounded at the door. Gray tore at his shirt so he could look at the wound. If the warm substance dripping down his back was any indication, the bullet had gone straight through. So at least he didn’t have to worry about anyone having to retrieve it. The pounding at the door continued.

“A moment!” Gray bellowed. What was he to do? Tell them to go after Honeywell? But they’d want to know why.

“Is everything all right, sir?” a man asked. The door handle jiggled and Gray planted his feet more firmly on the floor.

“A small misfire is all,” Gray called back. “Everything is fine.”

“Please open the door, sir, so we can confirm the circumstances.”

“I’ll open the bloody door when I’m damn good and ready,” he called back. “Now go away.”

The door handle stopped jiggling. Thank God. Gray looked down at his wound. It would be a good hour before he was fully healed. Then he would have to go to Dash’s to change clothes before he could go to Livi. He couldn’t marry her covered in blood. Well, he could; but he didn’t want her to see him like this. And he certainly didn’t want her brothers to see him in such a state. Who knew what they’d think, and they already didn’t approve of him.

Gray turned and opened the door, sticking his head out to look down the corridor. “Have someone ready a horse for hire. I’ll be departing momentarily.”

The innkeeper glared at him. “Did you do much damage?”

The damage he’d suffered was healing nicely. “No. I’m fine, thank you.” Or would be soon enough.

“I don’t give a donkey’s arse about you. Did you do any damage to my room? You’ll be paying for anything you’ve broken.”

Paying for what was broken. Of course he would have to do that. Was anything broken? Gray didn’t have as much as a shilling in his pocket. He’d spent all his funds the night before on Armand and Etienne Mayeux. The sole reason for leaving the gaming hell when they did last night was because Gray was out of funds. “I’ll have to leave you my vowels,” Gray offered. “For any damage you find. I’m good for them.”

“The same way you’re good for not shooting up the place.”

“I never said I was good for not shooting up the place. But I’m guaranteeing that I’m good for any money I owe you.” Truth be told, he didn’t owe the man anything; if anyone did, it was Honeywell. Gray leaned heavily against the wall. Getting shot took a lot out of a man. More than he’d imagined. “Extraordinary circumstances,” Gray said.

The innkeeper narrowed his eyes at him.

“If you want your money, you have no choice but to let me go and retrieve it.”

“I’ll send someone to accompany you.”

“Of course, you will,” Gray muttered. “I just need a few minutes, then I’ll be ready to travel.” He shut the door behind him and dropped back into the chair he’d occupied most of the night. He just needed a little time to recover his strength enough to ride. If he fell from a horse, there was no recovery from a broken neck.

***

Livi bit back an oath as Armand accidentally dropped a satchel on her toe. Tears came to her eyes. Not because of the satchel, but because of the fact that she’d been left at the proverbial altar by a man she’d never wanted to begin with. But she wanted him now. And he’d turned tail and run.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered to herself.

“Good God, Livi,” Armand taunted. “Don’t tell me you’ve picked up the way they talk too? Bloody this and bloody that. You’d think the whole place was a battlefield instead of high society. Although what I’ve seen of their society doesn’t mark it very highly in my opinion.” He gave her a gentle smile and ran his hand down her hair in the way that only an irritating brother can do. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your destiny is in New Orleans, Livi. I can feel it. There’s some decent fellow at home who will make you happy.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip to keep from crying. Then she sighed heavily and gave him a watery smile. “We shall soon find out, won’t we?” She nodded to the footman who was still loading her trunks and sank onto the settee in the front parlor. Even though she’d agreed to return home, she’d hoped the entire time she and Marie packed her bags that Gray would stumble into her grandfather’s home and say he overslept or forgot the time, or something along those lines. Her hopes had bordered on the pathetic. She’d waited as long as her pride would allow her to wait. But the time had come to give up foolish hopes and try to pick up the pieces that were left of her heart.

The butler stepped into the room and held out a silver salver with a calling card. “You have a visitor, Miss Mayeux.” He thrust the platter toward her.

“Whoever it is, tell them to go away, Flemming.” She fluttered her hand toward the card. “And take that away.” She brought her finger to her mouth to nibble her fingernail.

“He was quite insistent, miss,” the servant declared. “Said he wouldn’t go away unless you saw him. He’s prepared to wait all night.”

Who the devil could it be? It wasn’t one of the Hadley men. They’d left as soon as Gray failed to show up for the wedding, as had their secret half brother, stating that they were going to find Gray and bring him back. Or so Sophie had told her. But Livi hadn’t seen any of them in hours, nor their wives who had left along with them.

And after his heated exchange with Armand, their grandfather had stopped by her chambers to cast her a stern look, as though this was all her fault, before retiring to his own set of rooms. He hadn’t even said a word. He’d just worn that accusatory expression he’d donned when she first arrived in England.

Was all of this her fault? Was it her fault Gray had run? Had she done something?

“Miss,” the butler prompted. He tugged at his neckcloth.

She snatched the card from Flemming’s hand and opened it. “Lord Honeywell?” she asked. “What does he want?”

A voice from the corridor reached her ears. “He wants to marry you,” Lord Honeywell called as he walked into the parlor. “I heard Hadley was absent. So, that leaves a need for a groom.” He straightened his jacket across his rounded belly. “I’m here to fill your need for a marriage. And any other needs you have, as well.” He winked at Livi. His face was slightly sallow beneath his ruddy cheeks. And his collar was so high and starched that he didn’t seem able to turn his head in either direction.

There was no way in hell she’d marry an ill-attired fop like Lord Honeywell. Much less bed him. She rubbed absently at her nose. What was that smell? Then Honeywell stepped toward her and she realized it was him. He breathed into her face when he next spoke. “You do look ravishing today, if I may say so,” he said, and it nearly knocked her from her feet.

“Get out,” Armand ordered.

A look of fear flashed in Honeywell’s eyes. “I beg your pardon. Who are you?” He squinted as though he was quite perplexed.

“I’m Armand Mayeux, and my sister and I have had enough of perfidious Englishmen for a lifetime. Get out.” He gestured toward the corridor with a tilt of his head.

“B-b-but,” Honeywell stammered. “I’ve come to rescue Miss Mayeux. Grayson Hadley is perfidious, I agree. But I have nothing but esteem for your sister. I don’t care that her reputation is sullied. I want to give her the protection of my name.”

The blood in Livi’s veins turned to ice. How could the man say something like that? And to her brother of all people?

“What’s this about a sullied reputation?” Etienne asked from the doorway.

Honeywell looked from Armand to Etienne and back. “There are two of you?”

“You didn’t answer my brother’s question,” Armand barked.

“Q-question?”

“You said,” Etienne growled as he stepped farther into the room, “something about our sister’s reputation, I believe.”

Livi wished the settee would swallow her whole. “It’s nothing…”

“Everyone in Bath knows there’s something going on with Miss Mayeux and Grayson Hadley. If one of them isn’t muttering the vilest of curses or stumbling around foxed, then they’re tussling outside assembly rooms or dousing each other with drinks. But I want to protect her from all of that. No one would say another bad word about your sister if she were to marry me.”

“A regular Sir Galahad, are you?” Etienne snorted.

“Well, I think under the circumstances,” Honeywell shot Livi a look of desperation, “Miss Mayeux would be grateful for my willingness to overlook her indiscretions, make her a lady in name, and give her my protection.”

He must think he truly was coming to her rescue. But even if her brothers hadn’t come to England for her, she could never accept an offer from Lord Honeywell. Even if he was attractive, could turn his head in his foolish clothing, or didn’t smell odd, she could never marry him. She could never love him. He wasn’t Gray.

Gray, blast his abandoning soul! The faster she left England, the faster her heart could heal, or attempt to.

Livi rose from her seat and offered a conciliatory smile to her suitor. “Your offer is a kind one, my lord, but not necessary. I’ll be returning to New Orleans with my brothers.”

“What my sister means,” Etienne grumbled, “is you can take your English arse and insulting offer and get the hell out.”

Lord Honeywell blanched. “Insulting offer? I’m attempting to remedy your sister’s circumstances. After the way she and Grayson Hadley carried on, no decent man would have her.”

“You’re not a decent man?” Armand asked smoothly, though there was a dangerous tone to his voice.

“Besides me,” Honeywell clarified. “She won’t receive any decent offers besides mine.”

“And who is to say yours is decent?” Etienne barked. “Are you deaf, fop? Get. The. Hell. Out.”

Honeywell sucked in a breath and scrambled toward the door. “Y-you’re making a mistake.”

“You’re right,” Armand called after him. “We should tear you limb from limb for maligning our sister’s name. I suggest you make haste before we change our minds.”