Page 11 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 11

L ondon Society News:

Did anyone notice the boisterous outing of Peyton, Stanton, Bradenton and the ladies? If you did not, let me assure you, you were the only one. Such laughter and gaiety is rarely heard in London, with enough mysterious glances to fill a thousand reporters’ columns. It was a sideways seesaw of happiness and anger, with every expression in between. One thing is clear: There is something rare between Lady Emma and Lord Peyton.

Exactly what remains to be seen.

The game was immediately forgotten.

So were the frivolity and fun, the plan and practically the entire world. Peyton could never be forgotten, yet he took a background position as Emma regarded the woman silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

Elizabeth Henley stood out from their group, in more ways than one. Unlike the exquisitely-garbed ladies who now cast curious glances their way, she wore a simple dark blue dress with no adornments and no embellishments. Her hair had not been expertly tended to by a maid, but instead pulled tightly back, with small ringlets escaping. Her skin was pink from the sun; her ungloved hands bore callouses from years of hard work. Yet despite this, her beauty was unmistakable, a loveliness her lower-class clothing couldn’t hide. Now it was marred by concern, as she wrung her hands tightly.

“What matter of life and death?” Peyton spoke first, in a low, somber tone Emma had not heard before.

Elizabeth glanced around as if looking for an escape.

“It’s all right.” Emma put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Tell us what’s happened. How did you find us?”

“I tried Priscilla’s home first, and they told me about your trip to White’s. I’ve looked in every store, shop and park since. Thank goodness you didn’t go far. As for why I’m here, it’s Mary. There’s been an accident.”

Emma’s heart plummeted. Mary was Mrs. Wallace’s daughter, a rambunctious three-year old full of spirit, sweetness, and sunshine. “What type of accident?”

Elizabeth’s hand trembled. “A carriage driver didn’t want to wait for the traffic blocking his way. He drove straight into the walkway to get around it.” She breathed deeply. “Straight into Mary.”

Emma gasped.

“How can we help?”

“What can we do?”

“What do you need?”

The questions came from all around, as the rest of the group stood, each with palpable concern and an offer to help a child they had never met. They truly were good people.

All of them.

“Where is she?” Peyton demanded.

“They live right next to the sanctuary,” Elizabeth explained. “She is hurt… badly.”

Peyton continued briskly, “Has the doctor seen her yet?”

Emma’s heart sank. She did not need to ask to know the answer. “There is no means,” she said quietly.

“There is now.” Peyton turned to Bradenton. “Is Dr. Hendricks in town?”

“I can fetch him. I shall be as quick as I can.” Bradenton turned to his wife. “Priscilla, you should go home. Philip, would you like your sister to go with her?”

“I would appreciate it.”

Neither Catherine nor Priscilla looked pleased, but finally the duchess nodded. “They do not need people in the way. If I can assist, please call for me.”

“The same with me.” Alexander bowed. “Otherwise, I shall take my leave.”

Emma dusted off her dress, and turned to Elizabeth. “I will accompany you to the sanctuary.”

“As will I.” Peyton picked up the blanket and shook it out. “I have some experience with injuries. I may be able to help.”

She looked at him sharply. What sort of medical experience could he possibly possess? Yet there was no time to ask as they raced from the park, with Elizabeth leading the way.

They threaded around startled pedestrians and past rapidly moving carriages, striding as quickly as they dared, as they exited the park. What had been a pleasantly serene walkway now only served as a challenge to their mission. Elizabeth tried to get around a group of debutantes and brushed too close to a gentleman.

She faltered as the man grasped her arm. “Are you all right, miss?”

Emma recognized the middle-aged man at once. The Duke of Sinders was a friend of her father’s and possessed a kind and goodhearted disposition. He smiled at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth froze. In the next second, she snatched her hand back. “I am fine, Your Grace. Thank you.”

He blinked. “Are we acquainted, miss?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, I must go!” Elizabeth did not wait for his reply before grasping Emma and pulling her down the street. The man stood still behind them, watching.

Elizabeth quickened her pace to almost a run. Peyton kept up easily, and Emma sprinted faster to keep up. She looked back to see the duke still watching them.

“Wait.” The sound came from behind them, distant, yet clearly yelled. Emma started to turn, but Elizabeth held her hand tighter. “This way.” She led them down an alley. “We need to hurry.”

“Of course.”

They emerged onto a main street, and a line of carriages came into view. Elizabeth seemed calmer as they were swallowed into the busy, bustling crowd.

“It will be quicker if I hire a carriage.” Peyton stopped.

The ladies waited impatiently while he quickly negotiated and paid for their ride. He waved them over to a tall carriage attended by eager horses and an attentive coachman. Just as they crossed the street, a hack lurched in front of them…

And missed hitting them by inches.

“The laws need to fix this!” Emma seethed as Peyton helped her into the carriage. “These people are a danger to society.”

“And they care even less about the poor.” Elizabeth settled herself into the plush seat across from Emma while Peyton folded his large form next to her. His knee brushed against hers. “We’re not entirely certain the driver did not see Mary when he hit her.”

Emma gasped. This was why her work was so important.

She jumped as the carriage came to a sudden start. A steady hand slipped around her waist, hidden from view by the back of the carriage. It was not about desire, but comfort, strength and security. It did all that and more as her panic receded, replaced by the warmth Peyton provided. She edged closer to him.

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “All will be well. We’ll get there in time.”

She hoped so. A life was at stake.

Escorting two ladies through the shadowy side of London was distinctly uncomfortable. The Wallaces’ home wasn’t directly accessible from the street, thus they disembarked from the carriage a few blocks away from their destination. Garbed in their finery, the women were easy targets.

Fortunately, he was anything but.

Sailors stumbled by, enjoying their breaks from the docks a little too much. Worn women clutched frightened children, as they hurried on their way. A couple of burly men sang a bawdy song, their ale sloshing in tarnished tankards as they tried to toast, missed, and fell in a guffawing heap. They saw him and stopped.

Bloody hell.

A fight was the last thing he needed. Fortunately, there were few men he couldn’t defeat, even severely outnumbered. With their inebriated state, dispatching them would be easy.

Doing so while maintaining his facade was not.

“What have we got–”

He didn’t give the sailor the chance to finish. With a child’s life at stake, he didn’t have time. It took two simple movements. Pressure in just the right place, for just the right amount of time, did what needed to be accomplished. The man crumpled as the others watched in stupefied silence. When Philip turned, the others fled.

Philip took Emma’s hand. “We must make haste.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, but she said nothing as she followed.

“What just happened?” Emma twisted back, but Philip urged her on with a gentle pull. “Did you kill him?”

“Of course not.” He wished he didn’t have to do anything, but disarming them quickly was better than showcasing his true skills. “He’ll wake up soon enough, with a headache.”

Emma stopped, her gaze distant, as if remembering something. Perhaps the alley, when he’d bested a man in a similar fashion?

He pulled again, but she didn’t budge. “Mary, remember?”

She bit her lower lip, but nodded. They continued on.

They reached the building without further incident. In truth, to call it a building was a kindness, for the wooden structure was barely more than rotted wood precariously perched together. Ramshackle patches covered numerous holes, under a thin roof that was little match for London’s weather. Elizabeth hurried forward and knocked lightly. The door opened, creaking ominously under the strain.

With one last glance to ensure no trouble trailed them, Philip followed the women into the home. A slanted wooden table, deeply stained settee and mishmash of chairs cluttered the tiny space, along with a few cooking implements, sewing tools and a doll with a missing eye. Yet despite the stark poverty, signs of love emerged – a handmade quilt, a broken jar of wildflowers and makeshift curtains. The place was scrubbed as clean as possible.

“Thank goodness you’re here.” A thin, pale woman with frizzy hair came from behind a curtain that partitioned a corner of the home. Deep lines were etched in a prematurely aged face, as she wrung raw red hands. A tiny girl in a gray tunic clung to her skirts.

Emma moved forward. “Hello Mrs. Wallace. How is Mary?”

The woman put a hand to her lips, and her eyes flooded.

Philip clenched his jaw, and strode forward. He moved back the curtain.

It was bad.

If Elizabeth had not shared the dire situation before, it would have been obvious. Something churned inside him.

Do not let it touch you.

It was a mantra Alexander had taught him, and he repeated it often, in his everyday life, in the field and especially when treating the injured. Emotions seized instincts, blocked rational thought. He had to stay separate, uninvolved and detached.

Yet as he took in the tiny girl, little more than a baby, it was all he could do to stay stalwart.

Do not let it touch you.

He fought for impassivity, instantly transforming into the agent who’d tended dozens of wounded colleagues. He’d taught himself the medical arts, for such skills could tilt the fates toward life when death was likely. When no doctor was available, they called him.

He set to work immediately. “Clean linens.” When they simply looked at each other helplessly, he held in a curse. “Then towels, or anything clean.”

“Here.” Emma reached down to her dress, and yanked at the delicate fabric. She didn’t wince as a layer of the costly dress tore, transforming into lifesaving tools.

He moved methodically, barking orders as necessary. First the cleaning, far more thorough than many doctors performed, then a tight dressing. He tried his best, and improved on what existed, but whether it would be enough was time’s secret. As he finished all work save for the waiting, he stationed himself in the corner of the room, far enough to not bother the ladies as they bustled around the baby, yet close enough to intercede if necessary.

Do not let it touch you.

Emma asked if he wanted to sit. He declined, remaining standing as the hours passed, with no sign of Bradenton or the doctor. The sunlight streaming through the cracks in the walls gradually faded, as the golden orb crawled to the horizon. He breathed lowly and silently, as the baby’s breathing grew less straggled, as a little bit of pinkness returned to those delicate cheeks.

A hundred years later the doctor arrived, amidst a flurry of apologies that he’d been tending to the birth of a new earl. As the short, balding man examined the tiny features, Peyton remained still, the thick wall forged tightly around his heart. The doctor stood and started replacing his instruments.

“I cannot promise anything, but it looks good.” the doctor proclaimed. “The wound has been exceptionally well-tended. Was another doctor here?”

“No.” Emma stepped forward, but not before glancing at him with gratitude, relief, and unabashed curiosity. “Lord Peyton dressed the wound.”

“Really?” The doctor looked at him inquiringly. “Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

Normally such scrutiny would unnerve him, yet nothing mattered beyond the little girl. “I have a casual interest in medicine,” he murmured. “Will she be all right?”

The doctor nodded. “If she avoids a fever, which is likely now, there is an excellent chance she will make a full recovery. I expect her to be up and asking for–”

“Mama?”

All conversation ceased at the whispered word. In the next second, the world resumed in frenzied fashion, as Mrs. Wallace rushed forward, Emma teared up and even the doctor grinned. Peyton straightened as the little girl fluttered charcoal lashes to reveal bright blue eyes, awake, alert and wide. She reached out a tiny hand to her weeping mama.

“An excellent sign,” the doctor declared.

“Thank heavens,” her mama gushed.

“What a relief,” Priscilla breathed.

Yet he barely heard any of it. Because as he watched the little girl, the wall around his heart cracked, leaving only gratitude, happiness, and relief. And for the first time…

It touched him.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

The man next to her tightened, his expression one of neutrality and control. Yet something burned behind the stalwart facade, something powerful, intense and filled with unknown emotion. How she detected the moods he hid, she did not know, for most only viewed what Peyton wanted them to see.

Now she saw more.

They were in a hired carriage, closed so no one would see, on their way back from the Wallaces’ home. Bradenton had left earlier, taking with him a message to her family. Of course it included nothing of what actually occurred, and instead claimed Emma would be spending the night with Priscilla. Emma planned to sneak into her home and pretend she arrived early the next morning.

It wasn’t exactly proper, yet when one saved a life, notions of propriety seemed trivial. Life was about what they did today, not some silly notion of what women were and were not allowed to do. Of course the risk of true scandal was low with so few people out this time of night, and she was well adept at sneaking back into her home at unusual times.

“No need to thank me,” Peyton brought his attention back to her. “I did as anyone would.”

That was not even a little true. “Who are you?” The words slipped out, low and whispered. Yet she could neither retract them, nor wanted to, for the man was far more than he seemed.

His eyes blazed. “You know who I am.”

“I know what you want the world to see.” Yet his facade was not the true him. He wasn’t ignorant, carefree or directionless, a wealthy wanderer who cared little for important matters. What he had done for the little girl had been extraordinary, and revealing. He had proven himself far more than the ton imagined.

What else was he hiding?

“I simply have an interest in medicine.”

“Why don’t people know about this?”

“It is not something one discusses.”

She shook her head. She would not allow idle excuses. “Most people discuss their likes. Lord Ridgeland talks about his horses, the Duke of Dewey shares his plants and Lord Castleberry never-endingly discusses his rock collection.”

He looked affronted. “Are you comparing me to a man who talks to rocks?”

Lord Castleberry was indeed known to converse with rocks. She allowed a soft smile, but would not allow him to change the subject. “The world does not know who you truly are.”

Flashing eyes gave proof to the statement. “I am no different because I feel compassion. No one should live in those conditions, especially children.”

“No, they shouldn’t.” And no matter how many times she saw it, it broke her heart. “They have no other choice.”

Peyton frowned deeply. “Bradenton funds several sanctuaries. Perhaps they could stay there.”

If only it was as easy as that. Yet no matter how many wings or seconds stories they added, it was never enough. “They used to stay at a sanctuary, but left when they had the means to purchase a home. There are simply too many who would be on the streets to take up space, no matter how dangerous and unsuitable the alternative.”

Peyton pursed his lips. He was so different than most lords of the ton, who heard women with half an ear and listened with none. “Perhaps I could offer my assistance. I have been looking for a cause to support.”

She sucked in a breath. He wanted to help?

Her heart whispered, I told you.

“Perhaps I could start my own charitable foundation for those ready to leave the sanctuaries. I could subsidize their endeavors, provide the means to get better homes.” He sat up, and rare excitement shone in his eyes. “I could develop some of the poorer areas with safe housing.”

With inconceivable ease, he laid siege to her defenses.

“Medical care is clearly a grave concern,” he continued, with little care to her shuddering heart. “Perhaps some sort of clinic could be opened, where people could get proper attention.”

“So many lives would be saved,” she breathed. Images came, of healthy, plump children, free to enjoy the innocence of childhood. Yet a moment later, reality pieced them. Musings did not translate to reality. “All this would be very expensive.”

He gave her a dark look, and heat traced its way up her neck. Then he put a hand on her shoulders.

Heat consumed her.

It was a simple touch, and yet so much more. Light yet possessive, gentle yet commanding.

She could move away.

Should move away.

Didn’t move away.

“Are you suggesting I cannot afford it?”

An image of his luxurious townhome flashed, the wealth that eclipsed most in the elite ton. “Of course not.”

“I do not mind your query,” he murmured. “Ladies should be encouraged to engage in important discussions.”

Her throat dried.

“To answer your question, I have the funds. I carefully evaluate my endeavors to ensure their solubility and garner the best value. For instance, I plan to attain labor through the people who live there.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand before she could speak. “Before you ask, I plan to pay proper wages.”

She closed her lips. That had indeed been her inquiry. A quick, fast and seemingly reasonable assumption, but it had been wrong.

Like most of her assumptions about Peyton.

“In this way I can help even more,” he explained. “I’ll provide fair pay for fair work while creating sturdy, safe homes. Perhaps some will even learn a new trade. I plan to do the same with the clinic. While I will employ a doctor, I will hire assistants and others with medical knowledge to fill the staff.”

“Someone who just happens to have medical knowledge?” She shifted. “Someone like you?”

He hesitated. “Indeed.”

She had so many questions. Yet before she could ask, Peyton steered the conversation elsewhere. “Tell me about the Wallace family. Have you known them long?”

The attempt at distraction was obvious for what it was, but still she answered, “For a bit. They used to be in better circumstances, but Mr. Wallace was injured at work. Not only did the company not compensate him for the injury they caused, they immediately sacked him. He’s been looking for a job ever since. He wasn’t there tonight because he’s out of town, hoping to find work.”

For the briefest of moments, anger flashed in his eyes. It was gone in an instant. “I will do what I can to assist the Wallaces and others like them.”

A lump formed in her throat. He truly meant it. “That would be wonderful. Despite their circumstances, they have so much love.”

“I could see that,” he said softly. “The little girl stayed close to her sister the entire time.”

She smiled. “Those two are inseparable. Despite their tender ages, they share a tremendous bond.” She paused. It really was none of her business, but… “You shouldn’t be so harsh with your sister.”

His eyes shuttered. “I only wish to care for Catherine.”

“I know.” Yet good intentions did not always translate to the right actions, especially when it came to overprotective lords. “You were unhappy to see her at White’s.”

“Of course I was unhappy.” He flexed his fingers. “I do not want to cause any sort of talk that would affect her come out.”

She brushed an invisible fleck of dust off her sleeve. “It didn’t bother you that I took the same chance.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re taken.”

Her heart stumbled. They both knew she was not taken – not really. Did he say these things to unnerve her?

Or did he truly believe it?

“I very much plan to discuss your propensity for taking chances, yet I will be there to ensure your safety. While I will always look out for Catherine, my ability to do so will be constrained once she chooses a match.” His eyes darkened. “I must ensure she makes a proper one.”

She cringed. “Do you realize how high-handed that sounds?”

“It’s what I have to do.”

“Why?”

“Because I care for her.”

“Have you told her that?”

He opened and closed his mouth. “Well, surely she knows.”

“Does she?” Emma pressed forward. “How?”

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I provide all that she needs. I am ensuring she secures a suitable match.”

Emma shrugged. “That is fulfilling your responsibilities, which is an entirely different entity altogether.”

“Not to me it isn’t.”

The carriage hit a bump. With a low screech it skewed, tipping sideways. The driver overcorrected, and the carriage dipped to the other side, and then back again. As it righted, Emma fell into the seat next to her.

Directly. Into. Peyton.

Had he always been this hard? This massive? He was pure muscle under fine clothing, a warrior underneath a gentleman’s facade. Muscles flexed, power untold. She should move back, yet she stayed frozen as the scent of oak and spice surrounded her, as heat swirled all around. Overtaking, overwhelming, possessing.

“Are you all right?” His voice was low and husky, infusing warmth directly into her body.

“I am well,” she whispered, but it was a lie. Held in his arms, craving the forbidden, she was unbalanced and adrift. She willed herself to move, and she did.

Closer.

His feelings shone off his eyes, a reflection of her own growing hunger.

“You are…” Amazing. Gorgeous. Perfection. The wind whispered the words she couldn’t voice. She moved closer, bringing tender breasts into contact with a hard chest, as he held her tighter. Then…

Lightning.

The kiss started slow, a tangle of breaths, a touch of the lips. In an instant, heat surged in her blood, commanding undeniable power. Then he was everywhere, plundering her lips, caressing her back, touching bare skin under the thin clothing.

She should have been shocked, appalled and perhaps even frightened, yet instead her own power surged, as she parried in the sensual duel. A sense of rightness flared, accompanied by pure pleasure. Yet it was beyond the physical, beyond simple desire. It was flawless .

It was dangerous, yet she couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. In a moment of clarity, a single question burned:

Why should she?

Every man in the ton enjoyed relations with ladies, with many baldly keeping mistresses, even after marriage. Why should she not pursue the same freedom? Soon the betrothal would end, and they would separate, never to share closeness again. She had imagined being with Peyton so many times.

Now was her chance.

With one last kiss, she forced herself back. No longer could she ever view him as anything but power and magnificence, strength and authority. As eyes blazed golden fire in the moonlight, he was all warrior.

But so was she. She sat up, and in a strong voice filled with power, declared, “I want to be with you tonight.”