Page 39

Montagu looked out of the library window, watching in amusement as his son and soon–to-be daughter-in-law gambolled about in the snow like puppies.

Finally, he could let go of the worry he had felt for his eldest son for so long, the fear that he might never find the person who completed him and would help him succeed and find happiness no matter what life threw at him.

That he had found the right woman was not in doubt, as far as Montagu was concerned.

He had harboured suspicions about Mrs Harris for a very long time, and to find that not only had his supposition been correct, but things had worked out just as he had hoped, was most gratifying.

So it was with no little self-satisfaction that he watched them laugh and run about like fools, remembering having done much the same thing in his time.

In fact, he wondered if his lady might be in the mood for a little stroll in the garden.

Smiling at the thought, he was about to turn away when something caught his eye.

Had that been movement at the edge of the woodland?

He told himself it was likely just a bird, or some wild creature hiding in the shadows, but his senses prickled, and from the time he was but a boy, he had learned not to turn his back if something did not feel right.

A moment later a figure slid from the treeline: a man, watching the couple as Montagu had, but with quite different sentiments. He raised his arm.

A shaft of fear pierced Montagu’s heart and, knowing he could not get to them in time, he tugged the window open and leaned out.

Pip’s breath billowed on the frozen air, and he gasped, for it was difficult to run when you were laughing like a fool. Once again, Genevieve—yes, Genevieve —danced out of reach and gave a little yip of triumph.

“Can’t catch me,” she teased, though she was a fool if she really believed that.

If he’d really wanted to, he could have caught her a dozen times, but he adored watching her laugh and taunt him for missing her, calling out cheeky retorts like she was the veriest hoyden.

He had only glimpsed this side of her before, and now he wished to drink his fill, finding out just how merry and playful and ridiculous she could really be.

A shout cut through the air, audible even over Genevieve’s gurgle of laughter, and Pip frowned, turning towards the house. His father was leaning out of the library window, bellowing and gesticulating. Montagu, gesticulating? That was odd. And then the words reached him.

“Gun! Get down!”

Pip swung back to Genevieve. He did not know where or why there was a gun, but his father would not be mistaken.

He ran, moving as fast as he had ever done in his life, though his limbs seemed to wade through tar, the world slowing to a crawl as he lunged for Genevieve, taking her down and covering her body with his own.

They fell hard, Genevieve crying out in fright as he forced her to the ground.

The crack of gunfire rang in his ears, an obscene explosion devastating the peace of the morning, of their world, and for a moment he thought his heart had shattered at the sound.

But then everything was silent until his pulse began thundering in his ears once more.

“Love? Harry?” he said, breathless now, his hands moving over her, searching for wounds, for blood.

“I’m f-fine,” she stammered, her lovely face ashen. “I’m fine.”

“Are you—?” she began, but Pip shook his head and looked up, seeing a figure disappear into the treeline once more.

Oh no. No chance .

“Go back to the house. At once!” he told her and took to his heels.

Whoever the man was, he was a clumsy oaf, stumbling and cursing as he tried to find his way through the forest. Pip, knowing the surroundings intimately and used to moving through the woodland, gained on him easily.

The fellow paused, turning back with a snarl as he saw Pip giving chase.

He was huge, damn him, but Pip was too enraged to care.

He did not know if the man had come for Genevieve or for him, but either way, he had put her life in danger, and for that, he would pay.

That Tilly might have been with them only increased the fury in his heart and he pushed on, hungry for retribution.

Realising he could not outrun Pip, the man stopped, and instead reloaded the pistol.

Pip moved faster, knowing he likely had seconds before the gun was ready to fire.

The sound of frenzied barking registered in some remote part of his mind, and he realised his father had ordered the dogs out.

He didn’t care; he didn’t need dogs to deal with this blackguard.

The man’s arm came up, and for a fraction of a second, the pistol was levelled at Pip’s face, but he knocked it aside just as it fired, the sound deafening at close quarters but missing him by a mile.

His ears rang, pain exploding in his head, but he ignored it, consumed with the need to ensure his family were safe.

A feminine scream of terror followed, faint against the roaring in his brain, but Pip could not worry about that.

He delivered a punch to the villain’s throat that sent him sprawling backwards, choking and spluttering, the gun falling among the debris of leaf litter and dead wood on the ground.

Pip threw himself on top of him as the bastard swung wildly, still fighting for breath.

The first two blows he avoided neatly enough, but the third smashed into his jaw, knocking his head backwards and making him see stars.

Momentarily dazed, Pip was too slow, and the brute shoved him sideways, his meaty hands closing about Pip’s throat as his head hit the ground.

Deciding the fellow was no gentleman and so the usual rules did not apply, Pip brought his knee up with all the force he could muster and the man, big as he was, gave a squeal akin to that of a girl’s as the colour left his face.

He fell back, clutching his privates, tears streaming down his face, but as Pip went for him again, his wits returned, and he fought back, delivering a blow to Pip’s guts that might have made him curl up in agony had he not been fighting for his life.

As it was the pain hardly registered and he battled on, delivering furious punches until it occurred to him the man was no longer retaliating.

“It’s all right.”

The commanding voice brought Pip out of the blind fury that seemed to hold him in thrall, and he looked up to see his father staring down at him, breathing hard and ashen with shock.

“You won,” he added gently, as if speaking to a child.

Pip blinked, the sense of unreality persisting as Montagu gestured for the men to take the man back to the house and restrain him while they awaited the arrival of the local magistrate.

Pip realised he was shaking and glanced down at his opponent who was groaning and staring dazedly up at him.

He pushed away from the villain, startled by the level of violence that had overtaken him when he had discovered the woman he loved was in danger.

Loving Tilly and needing to keep her safe had been a shock to his system when she had appeared in his life, but now there was Genevieve too, and one day there might be more children.

Good God, how did his father stand the stress?

Glancing up again, he focused upon Genevieve and despite his terror for her, he smiled as he saw her wielding a heavy branch and breathing hard.

“If I had not come when I did, I think she might have finished him off for good, and dead bodies are so tedious to dispose of,” his father said, some of his usual insouciance returning to him.

Pip gave a choked laugh and pushed to his feet, rushing to Genevieve and pulling her into his arms. “You’re safe, the gunshot—”

She shook her head and then hit him soundly, though thankfully not with the branch, which she dropped to the floor. “You blasted idiot! What in blazes were you thinking, haring off like that and—”

Pip grinned, relief and shock and the terror of the past minutes combining to make him feel quite giddy. He laughed then, making his beloved increasingly furious as she continued to berate him for his reckless stupidity all the way back to the house.

Pip woke with a start in the early hours of Christmas Eve morning, sweating and breathless, the sound of a gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Only a dream, he reassured himself as he stared up into the darkness.

He tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself Genevieve was safe under his roof and, after the coming day’s ceremony, they would never have to be apart again.

Lord Wendover’s employee, a well-known criminal who went by the soubriquet Bludgeon —for reasons Pip really did not wish to dwell on—had not been informed of his lordship’s recent removal from British soil.

Neither was he aware of Wendover’s journey to pastures new and, with any luck, exceedingly bad for his health, and so had carried on with his assignment to either bring Genevieve to him, or finish her off by whatever means were most appropriate.

Happily he was in the custody of the local magistrate now and Pip tried to relax as he reassured himself of that fact.

Still, the dream lingered, and it was the middle of the night, and hours from dawn, and now Pip would not get a wink of sleep. So he settled himself comfortably and considered his bride-to-be, smiling in the dark as he did so until a creak made his entire body stiffen with alarm.

He held his breath, entirely alert, as he registered the sound of the door handle turning.

The well-oiled hinges swung noiselessly, but whoever came through could not entirely muffle the sound of their movements as they padded softly towards the bed.

Surely Wendover had no more accomplices?

Genevieve had been certain there had only been the one, as had Mr Turnbull, when questioned.

Yet, there was someone in his room, intending to do him or Genevieve harm.

Pip lunged, taking the intruder unawares and throwing him down onto the bed.

The figure gave a little shriek and, in the moment before Pip launched his attack, he noticed the wicked scent that filled his mind, lush with roses and spice and the faint trace of bergamot, and he realised the villain was slender and softly curving.

“Dammit, Harry! I almost murdered you,” he exclaimed in frustration.

“Almost?” she squeaked, still breathless. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” he retorted crossly, still out of sorts. “What the devil were you thinking, creeping about my bedroom in the dead of night?”

There was a taut silence.

“Do you really need me to explain it?” she replied, her voice steady enough, but with the faintest trace of laughter audible.

Pip’s mouth curved upwards in the darkness. “I think I might, actually,” he said, sitting back against his pillows with a sigh.

He listened intently, the room entirely quiet for a moment, and then came a soft rustling sound, the mattress shifting as she moved—hopefully in his direction.

Yes, thank you, thank you, God, he thought with relief as she climbed over his legs, her hands sliding up his chest, her soft mouth coming down upon his.

“It seems to take a very long time to get married,” she whispered, sounding quite as cross about it as he was. “And I’m all out of patience.”

“Why, Mrs Harris, I do not believe this is at all the correct behaviour for a strict governess,” he teased, sliding his hands beneath her nightgown and encountering nothing but silken skin and the lush form of the woman he loved beyond reason.

“I should think not,” she murmured against his mouth, pressing herself closer and making him gasp as desire jolted through him. “But I think it is entirely correct for a soon-to-be countess, don’t you?”

Pip, who would rather have died than contradict her, decided there had been quite enough talking, and lowered her to the bed.

It might not be their wedding night, but it was their wedding day, and he was going to ensure he took all the time and trouble he ought to have taken on their first night together.

Though he had resolved there was no need for any more conversation, the words he owed her were long overdue, and he whispered them against her skin. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling her shiver as she wrapped her arms about him.

“Whatever for?” she asked as he pressed tender kisses to her neck.

“For that night, for being such a brute. But I did not know! You must understand, I thought you had been married. I thought—”

“I’m not sorry,” she told him, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him.

“I shall never be sorry for that, so don’t spoil it with pointless regrets.

I loved you that night, and I love you now.

Show me, my darling, how much you love me, for I am going to do so again, and again, and again, so there will be no more apologies, only a reminder of what I feel for you. ”

“Again and again and again?” he repeated, finding this an excellent plan.

She laughed at that, and the sound, so full of life and joy, reverberated through his chest.

“Unless you have any objections?” she asked, her voice entirely earnest now.

“Oh, no,” Pip said, with an equally solemn tone. “None at all. It sounds an excellent plan. Please do proceed.”

And so she did, capturing his mouth with as much ease as she had captured every corner of his heart, and Pip did just as she had asked him to do.

He showed her just what he felt for his troublesome governess, and the truth of the woman who existed beneath the facade.

With whispers and sighs, and with lips and tongue and the tenderest of caresses, he showed her what it would mean to be his wife, to be the woman he loved for the rest of his days, his countess, the love he had been searching for all this time.