A Wretched Rake, page 9
“They’re excellent. Thank you, sir.” He quickly wrapped the goods, and headed back out of the inn.
Isabelle stood next to the driver just outside the barn, the horses nearly changed out.
He broke off a hunk of bread and handed it to Isabelle and then another to Wiggins, saving the last for himself before he did the same with the cheese.
The three ate in silence as he handed Isabelle one of the apples. “You need your strength.”
“It’s not my strength that will carry us through,” she answered quietly, not meeting his gaze.
Had he upset her? Did she not like the food? The plan?
He dropped his hand holding the bread lower, assessing her. She’d made some powerful statements before they’d stopped. Words that had been swirling in his head. Did she regret them?
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked, leaning close to her ear.
“About?” She took a bite of her apple, still not meeting his eyes.
“A future with me?” He’d gone from thinking he should stay away to worrying about her rejection. If she turned away now…
Her eyes rose to his. “It’s not my mind that has been in doubt. It’s yours.”
His brows drew together before his eyes widened. He had been clear about his first position. He’d remain unattached.
But had he told her that she was changing his mind? That with every hour that passed she claimed more of his heart and soul?
The thunderous sound of several horses filled the night and both their heads lifted to the sound. “In the carriage,” he rumbled.
Isabelle started forward without question, Wiggins tossing the rest of his bread aside, as he jumped into the seat.
Bode reached for Isabelle’s waist, lifting her up and in as he quickly followed. “Let’s go,” he bit out, slamming the door shut.
Wiggins snapped the reins, the carriage jumping forward. Bode spun into a crouch, staring out the back window. Did the men stop? Did they follow?
His teeth snapped together, as his eyes locked with Rory Makem’s. “Wiggins,” he bellowed. “Make haste!”
Wiggins snapped the reins again, the carriage gaining speed. The men on horseback kicked up after them and Bode knew they’d be in a sprint to Upton’s.
“What’s wrong?” Isabelle cried as she turned to look out the window and then cried again. “It’s him.”
Bode didn’t answer as he pulled his pistols from his belt. “Ever load a gun before?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod.
He stopped for a moment, his incredulity surely showing on his face. “You have?”
She shrugged. “I hunted with my father in the country. Have a musket?”
He pointed at the bench. “I don’t want you shooting. In fact, crouch between the seats. But if you can, load my guns in between shots.”
“Of course,” she said, doing as he instructed and sitting on the floor between the two benches. She lifted the other seat and pulled out the musket powder and lead. Then, she began to prep the gun.
“You never fail to amaze me,” he said, touching her cheek. The men were gaining upon them, and he only had a few more minutes before the fight would begin.
He realized touching her like this might be the last time, he wanted to share everything he felt with a single brush to her cheek.
“And I have every confidence in you,” she said with a smile.
It was the smile that did it. He leaned down, giving her a fierce kiss. “I swear I’ll keep you safe.”
She kissed him back, her lips lingering on his, her mouth drinking from him as though she were parched.
When he finally withdrew, she brushed her thumb over one of his scars. “I know you will.”
He could hear the hoofbeats growing louder. “Stay down,” he ordered and then he threw open the door and leveled the pistol at one of the riders.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isabelle tried not to scream as the first pistol’s blast ripped through the air, acrid powder coating the inside of her mouth. For a moment, she held her ears and ducked her head low.
She’d meant what she’d said, she’d hunted with her father, mostly fowl, and she was used to the sound of guns.
But it was different in this small space, rather than in the forest, and with her own life hanging in the balance.
She’d seen Makem, his face set in hard, angry lines as he’d whipped his horse to catch them. It was the second time she’d spotted him since she’d escaped her wedding night, and each time the sight of him filled with her cold dread.
She’d rather be dead than that man’s wife.
With that thought firmly grounding her, she held back her yelp as Bode fired again, and dropped her hands from her ears, picking up the musket once again.
Return fire pelted into the carriage. Poor Lockton…his carriage was never going to be the same.
Tossing the pistols toward her, she handed Bode the musket and then began to load the other guns. Now was not the time to fall apart. And she was glad for a job, it kept her hands busy as more lead hit the vehicle. Bode ducked low to avoid a ball of lead that went whizzing past.
The thunderous sound of horses grew louder. Her heart raced in her chest. Were the horsemen gaining on them?
“Guns!” Bode bellowed, handing the musket back as she gave him the first reloaded pistol. Her hands shook but she drew in a ragged breath to steady her nerves, packing powder into the next gun.
He fired again, and this time she heard a man scream and the thud of his body hitting the ground.
“How many are there?” she gasped, the carriage only picking up speed as she started on the musket once again.
“Five now.” Another shot filled the air, but it wasn’t Bode who’d fired. “Four.”
“What?” How could that be?
“We might have help,” he shouted, firing again. “Three!”
Isabelle sat up straighter, working quickly to reload. They might just have a chance to win. Her head bent, she kept working… and suddenly, a horseman appeared next to the carriage on her side.
He grabbed onto the side rail, leveling a pistol at Wiggins. “Slow it down or I’ll kill you,” the man shouted, squeezing off a shot before Wiggins even had time to reply. Was their driver hit?
She gasped in terror as Bode swung around, leveling his second pistol at the other man. He fired, the man jerking back before he disappeared, his horse falling behind. Mentally, Isabelle surged with hope. Only two men left…. Then Makem appeared on the other side.
Isabelle held the musket still and she raised the barrel, her hands trembling enough that she wasn’t sure she could fire.
Makem’s gaze narrowed in on her. “You ungrateful bitch!” he screamed, aiming his weapon. She had no doubt he’d shoot. Her moment of hesitation could cost her her life.
Fear took over and Isabelle shrank back, the musket forgotten as she squeezed herself smaller.
But it was Bode who reacted.
Lunging to the side just as Makem fired, Isabelle let out a blood-curdling scream as the bullet pierced Bode’s upper arm.
She tried to raise the musket again, but before she could get the gun up, another shot filled the air.
The world stood still for a moment and then Makem fell off his horse, rolling down the dusty road….
Bode watched Makem fall, triumph thumping through his veins. Makem was as good as dead. He slumped to the side, relief making him limp. Isabelle would be safe.
He’d done it right this time and for that, he was grateful. Something unwound in him to think that he’d kept Isabelle protected from Makem’s harmful hand.
A lone rider appeared behind them, Bode had his pistol up in a second, his arm twinging with pain.
But the ache was quickly forgotten as he recognized the rider. It was his second in command, Jack Wit. “Jack!” he yelled. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping you alive,” the other man called, his eyes going to Bode’s arm. “Barely.”
Bode looked down, realizing his arm was covered in blood. He’d been hit.
Isabelle was at his back in the next moment, her arms wrapping about him. “Bode,” she cried. “Your arm.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, but his head gave a dizzy sway. Best he sat down.
He slid past Isabelle and lowered himself onto the seat. A quick inspection showed the bullet had gone clear through the fatty flesh under the bone. A good sign.
Isabelle was already ripping fabric from her skirts. Without asking, she wrapped them tightly about his arm, stemming the flow of blood. “I cannot believe you took the bullet meant for me. What were you thinking?”
“Thinking?” He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d acted on instinct. The one that demanded from the first that he keep this woman safe.
“How bad?” Jack asked, stopping his horse next to the open door of the carriage.
“Bad,” she said, her frightened, wide eyes meeting his. “You could die from this.”
He shook his head. “Naw. I’ll be fine.” He used his other arm to touch her face.
“How’d he get you?” Jack asked, swinging down from the horse, and stepping into the carriage to also look at the wound.
“He was protecting me,” Isabelle said. “The gun was aimed at me.” Her voice sounded raw and emotional, and he reached out to touch her again.
“I told you, I would never let him hurt you.”
She shook her head, a little sob breaking from her lips. “You didn’t need to use yourself as a human shield.”
“I disagree.”
“Me too,” Jack added. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?” they both asked at the same time.
“Isabelle is now the owner of several pieces of London real estate.”
“How do you figure that?” Isabelle asked, tightening the cloth tourniquet on his arm. The bleeding had already slowed.
In answer, Jack let out a lone whistle, the sound like that of a dove.
Bode’s chin lifted, his gaze piercing into Jack’s, as a memory had his gaze narrowing. “You were there that night that we raided Makem’s house.”
“I was.” Jack ran a hand through the dark strands of his hair, his mouth turning down.
“Why?”
“You know I do some side work…” Jack started, looking guilty.
Bode waited, his only response a rumble. Jack might have just saved his life, but he was also keeping some secrets that Bode did not appreciate. He’d known details of Bode’s plan before the raid. Not all of them, but enough.
Jack grimaced. “I was hired by Isabelle’s father.” Bode’s confusion only intensified but it was Isabelle who asked the next question.
“My father? Why would my father hire you?”
Jack looked at Bode with a question, but Bode only nodded, signaling Jack to continue. “To enter Makem’s house and make certain he never consummated the marriage with Isabelle.”
Bode stared at the man he’d known for the last six months, his lips parting. If he weren’t bleeding so much, he’d have punched the other man in the face. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Jack winced. “I keep my affairs and the affairs of my employers private. Just like I do yours.”
That was hardly an answer Bode found acceptable and he started to push up off the seat to give Jack the thrashing he deserved, but Isabelle pushed him back down. “You’re not dying on me now.” Then she turned back to Jack, though she kept a hand firmly planted on Bode’s chest. “Why did my father do that?”
Jack shrugged. “From what I can piece together, he had several clauses in the marriage contract that made certain you inherited all of Makem’s money and property upon his death. Makem might have been a mean snake, but he had no head for legalese and your father took advantage.”
Isabelle looked at Bode, Jack’s words sinking in. “Is Makem actually dead?”
“I’ll check,” Jack hopped down from the carriage, disappearing. “Dead,” he called back a moment later. “You, Mrs. Makem, are now a widow.”
Isabelle blinked at Bode, her eyes brimming with tears. Was she relieved? Upset? “We need to get you to Upton’s.”
“We will.”
“Please promise me you’ll live.” She leaned her forehead against his, tears flowing.
“I’ll live.” He’d just let go of the past. He had no intention of dying now.
Jack appeared back in the doorway, climbing into the carriage. “Let’s get you to a doctor. I’ll take my thank you when you’ve recovered.”
“You can have it now,” Bode answered. “Thank you and you’re fired.”
Jack only laughed, whatever trepidation he’d had before, gone. “Don’t fire me yet. You’ll need me now that you’re about to retire.”
Bode shook his head. How did Jack know that? “I’m not—"
“Course you are. Isabelle’s rich enough to see you out of the business and she isn’t letting you out of her sight for a good long while, are you sweetheart?”
Jack calling Isabelle sweetheart had Bode rumbling again. But Jack had made several good points.
He had no intention of letting Isabelle out of his sight either. Nor would he bring her back to a whorehouse. And he’d already planned to retire… to join Duke.
Not that he’d trust Jack to take over.
The man had a great many secrets of his own…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“He’ll live, provided he doesn’t get an infection,” the doctor said as he leaned back after his inspection of Bode’s wound.
“I’m not dying,” Bode growled back.
Isabelle had noted that his mood had been worsening over the past few hours. “How is the pain?” she asked softly, guilt piercing through her.
He softened his features as he turned to her. “Just fine.”
“All the same.” The doctor reached into his bag. “Here is something to help you sleep and ease the pain. Send for me if he develops a fever.”
Isabelle nodded, gently sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping her hand into Bode’s as the doctor crossed the room to speak quietly with the Duke of Upton.
The duke had the craggy sort of dark looks that might intimidate any woman, but Bode had told her that this man had a heart of gold.
And judging by his effervescent wife, Isabelle suspected it must be true. The other woman glowed with happiness.
The duke nodded, his gaze drifting to Isabelle and Bode. She couldn’t hear anything they said, but judging by how the duke’s frown deepened, Isabelle worried it wasn’t good.
Was the doctor concerned that Bode would develop an infection? She drew in a ragged breath, her thoughts swirling.
She’d been made a widow today, though the marriage had never really been a thing. She’d endured a few hours of fear and then she’d found her real future.
She had no idea exactly how much real estate she now owned, or how rich she’d become.
Was it enough that some second son would overlook how she’d attained that wealth and marry her?
Her mouth twisted. The money would benefit her sisters. She’d not deny that. And she’d done all of this for them.
But they’d find decent husbands with the dowries they were provided, regardless of whom she wed just now. While she still wanted to provide for them, she wished for her own happiness too. And that would be at Bode’s side.
The man had stepped in front of a bullet meant for her. What more could a woman ask for? She looked down at his closed eyes, his skin paler than normal.
Would he have her? That was a question for another day after she knew he’d survive the wound.
Right now, she needed to focus on taking care of him. Rising, she crossed the room and stoked the fire.
The duke watched her as she returned to the bed. The doctor had washed the wound, putting fresh bandages on his arm.
She brushed Bode’s hair back from his forehead, and he opened his eyes. “You look worried.”
“I am worried.”
“I told you, don’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”
In answer, she ran a finger over one of his scars, tracing it across his cheek. “What did Mama Rose do to treat these?”
“She told you about that, did she?”
Isabelle nodded.
“She used a salve from a plant. Aloe.”
“I’ll find some.”
She leaned over, kissing the edge of the scar she’d just traced, forgetting about the other men in the room.
He used his good hand to wrap around her waist.
“Save your strength,” she said with a shake of her head. “I take care of you now, not the other way around.”
One side of his mouth quirked. “Listen. Just in case…”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to be fine, remember.”
“Just in case.” He lifted his head to press his forehead to hers. “You sell all those houses to the Smiths. One bulk purchase. They can deal with any disgruntled partners or problems. You take the money and move far from London. Here maybe. Or near Lockton in Scotland. I know you want to care for your sisters, but my friends will get them well matched. Upton…” He called over to his friend.
Upton broke from the doctor, crossing the room to the side of the bed. Bode repeated all his instructions, the duke silently listening as Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears again.
“Her father can’t be trusted,” Bode finished. “I’m sure he had some plan, but Isabelle keeps the money.”
“I’ll see to that.”
“I never saw the contracts. Perhaps my father named himself—”
“Your father didn’t have to suffer the wedding night,” Bode growled. “She gets the money. You make it happen by any means necessary. Please, Rath.”
The Duke of Upton, Rath, gave a single jerk of his chin. “Don’t worry, Drake and I will see it done.”
“Drake?” Isabelle looked back at Bode, confusion knitting her brow even as her heart beat painfully in her chest. Even hurt as he was, he was orchestrating her future to make her as comfortable as possible. She slipped her fingers into his again.
