The Regency Season: Hidden Desires: Courted by the Captain / Protected by the Major

‘My uncle’s coach rattled us almost to death,’ she said and laughed. ‘Casting a wheel was better fortune than we knew.’

The sound of her laughter warmed Adam. He was suddenly aware of her sitting close to him, her femininity, and her subtle perfume that he thought was her own rather than from a bottle. She was quite lovely—though no cold beauty. He thought of some of the proud London ladies he’d seen dressed in their rich gowns. In her simple travelling gown this young woman cast them all into shade. He felt something stir in his loins—a feeling he did not often associate with innocent young ladies.

Adam’s taste was normally for older women, opera singers or dancers, or the occasional widow who needed a friend’s support to keep the wolf from the door after the death of her loved one. Over the years he’d taken his lovers lightly: a Spanish tavern wench, a French actress, several English ladies who had been married, some more than once. To feel the heat of desire curl through him because of a proper young lady sitting beside him was a new experience. Though it made him smile inwardly, he ruthlessly crushed all thought of what her lips might taste of or how the softness of her skin might feel pressed against his.

Miss Jenny Hastings was out of bounds. She had no fortune and neither did he so marriage was not a viable proposition had either of them had the inclination, which it was much too soon even to consider—and anything else was out of the question, even if this feeling happened to be more than fleeting lust. He could offer her friendship and he would—but his honour forbade him to take advantage of her vulnerability. No, he must conquer the sudden and ridiculous desire to stop the carriage and catch her up in his arms. It was quite ridiculous. They were complete strangers and knew nothing of one another. He really did not know what had got into him! And yet when he’d caught her eye in that London ballroom he’d felt drawn to her somehow.

* * *

‘Are we very far now?’ she asked after he had lapsed into silence for some twenty minutes or more.

‘Are you hungry or tired?’ he asked and glanced at his watch. ‘I suppose we might have stopped, but I thought it unwise to eat at an inn. We should be at Ravenscar Court in a few minutes.’

‘Oh, good,’ Jenny said. ‘My aunt’s cook put up a hamper for us, but in the distress of the accident it went rolling into the ditch and was lost.’

‘And you are hungry.’ He heard a sound that could only be her stomach growling and became aware of his own hunger—not the sexual hunger he’d felt earlier, but a natural desire for food. ‘I promise you it will not be long. My cousins will provide us with refreshments as soon as we arrive.’’

* * *

Adam pulled his chaise to a halt at the front of a large, imposing country residence some fifteen minutes later. His tiger jumped down and went to hold the horses’ heads, while he helped first Miss Hastings and then her maid to alight.

‘Well, here we are,’ he said. ‘I am expected so someone should be here at any—’

The sound of shots being fired startled him. He looked about him in search of their source, thinking that they must have come from somewhere at the rear. It was even as he was deciding what to do for the best that a man came from the front porch and stumbled towards him. Adam saw the blood and gave a cry of distress and shock, rushing towards his cousin. He was in time to catch Mark before he collapsed. Holding him in his arms, he knelt on the gravel, looking down at the face of the man he had always believed the most favoured of the gods and practically invincible.

‘Mark, dear fellow,’ he said, for he saw that the wound was fatal and his cousin had but a short time to live. ‘What happened—who did this to you?’

‘Father...Paul...tell Father to watch out for him...’

The words were so faint that Adam scarcely heard them. His head was in a whirl, his mind suspended in disbelief. How could this be happening? Mark had sailed through all the campaigns on the Peninsula and in France. How could he be lying in Adam’s arms dying of a shotgun wound now when he was at his own home in peaceful Huntingdonshire?

‘What is happening?’ Paul’s voice cried. He came running from the side of the house, a shotgun broken for safety and lying over his arm. As he approached, he dropped the gun and flung himself down by his brother’s side. ‘No—oh God, no,’ he cried and tears started to his eyes. ‘Did you see what happened? Who could have done this? I heard shots almost at the same moment as I shot a rat in the walled garden. Did anyone come this way?’

‘No one but Mark,’ Adam said. He stood up as servants started to converge on them from all sides. ‘Some of you make a thorough search of the grounds. One of you must go for the doctor. I think it is hopeless, but the attempt must be made. If you see a stranger or intruder, apprehend them—I want justice for my cousin.’

Pandemonium broke loose. Men were shouting at each other, feet flying as they divided into groups to search for the murderer. Adam lifted Mark off the ground, carrying him into the house. Then, remembering his passengers, he turned to look at them. Both young women looked stunned.

‘As you see, my cousin has been shot,’ Adam said. ‘Forgive me. I had not expected to bring you to such a reception.’

‘You must not think of us,’ Jenny said and dabbed at her cheeks with a lace kerchief.

‘Mrs Mountfitchet,’ Adam addressed a woman dressed all in black, who hovered nearby. ‘These young ladies were in distress for their carriage has broken down—send word to Lady Dawlish, for they are meant to be her guests, and please feed them. They are hungry.’

‘Do not worry for them, sir,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Come along, my dears. I’ll find you a comfortable parlour to sit in and you shall have some bread and butter, cold meats and pickles—and a pot of tea.’

‘Thank you...so kind...’ Jenny said, then, in a louder voice. ‘Please, I would know how your cousin goes on, sir.’

Adam made no answer for he was hurrying away and up the stairs, the younger man hard on his heels.

‘I can’t believe it,’ the housekeeper said. ‘That such a thing should happen to the young master here in his own home. It’s scandalous, that’s what it is, and no mistake.’

‘It was such a shock,’ Jenny said and dabbed at her eyes again. ‘I am so very sorry. I wish we were not here to cause you more trouble.’

‘Now don’t you be worrying about that, miss. It has given me a proper shock, but as for looking after you, well, I’d rather have something to do. His lordship’s man will do all that is needed upstairs. Are you related to Miss Dawlish, miss—the poor young lady? What she’ll do now I dread to think.’

‘It is terrible for both families. Everyone was so happy, looking forward to the wedding...’ Jenny’s throat caught. She had come down for Lucy’s wedding and now her husband-to-be was dying. ‘I cannot believe such a wicked thing could happen here.’

‘There’s a good many wicked things go on,’ the housekeeper said in dire tones. ‘But not at Ravenscar. What his lordship will say to it all I do not know...’

Chapter Three (#u4750029e-c2f4-5d7c-a63d-31afb8d983c8)

‘How can it have happened?’ Lord Ravenscar asked, staring at Adam in disbelief. ‘You say that you heard shots just as you arrived?’

‘We had just got down from the phaeton,’ Adam confirmed. ‘I had brought a young lady I found in distress, her coach having broken down, and was about to take her into the house when it happened. The shots seemed to come from the back of the building’

‘And my son?’

‘Mark is dying, sir,’ Adam replied. There was no way of softening the blow. ‘He was conscious only for a moment or two after he fell into my arms. I carried him to his room and the doctor was summoned, but he thinks as I do that it is only a matter of time. The wound is fatal. I have seen such wounds before and Mark cannot survive more than an hour or so.’

‘My God!’ The elderly man covered his face with shaking hands. ‘It beggars belief that he should come through so many battles with hardly a scratch only to die of gunshot wounds here in his own home.’

‘Whoever shot him did so at close range. He would have had little chance to defend himself,’ Adam said grimly. ‘I am sorry, sir. I wish I could give you better news, but there is no point in giving you false hope.’

‘Has the assassin been apprehended?’

‘Not to my knowledge. I have scarcely left Mark’s side until now. I hoped we might do something to save him, but all the doctor was able to do was to give him something that would ease his pain should he come to himself.’

‘If only I had been here when it happened...’

‘How could it have altered things?’ Adam looked at him with compassion. ‘Paul and I were here and there was nothing either of us could do.’

‘Has Hallam been sent for? Those two have always been close—as you know, Adam.’

‘Yes, sir. All of us loved Mark. He was like a golden god to the men he commanded. They would have followed him anywhere and he was universally loved by his fellow officers.’

‘Someone did not love him,’ Mark’s father said, his features harsh with grief. ‘I would have sworn he did not have an enemy in the world—but this was murder. Someone must have done this wicked thing deliberately—come here on purpose to kill Mark. Have you any idea of who might have done it?’

Adam shook his head. He could not forget his cousin’s last words, but how could he raise doubts in the grieving father’s mind? Mark might have been accusing his brother or he might have been warning them to watch out that the same fate did not happen to Paul. The fact that Paul had appeared carrying a shotgun that had been fired at about the time of the fatal shooting was damning—and yet it might be coincidental. Adam would not cast the first stone until he’d had time to investigate—even if it were the truth he would find it difficult to believe.

‘I believe I shall sit with my son now,’ Lord Ravenscar said, his face showing the extent of his shock and grief. ‘If you will excuse me...’

‘Of course.’ Adam watched him walk up the stairs and then turned towards the sound of voices coming from the large front parlour. There was the sound of crying and a babble of voices. If he were not mistaken, Lucy Dawlish had arrived.

He hesitated outside the parlour and then walked in on a touching scene. Lucy was in floods of tears at the news, as one would expect. Miss Jenny Hastings had her arms about her and was attempting to comfort her—and both Paul and Hallam were watching with varying degrees of distress and horror.

‘Oh, Adam,’ Lucy cried as he entered the parlour. ‘Tell me it isn’t true, I beg you. Please tell me Mark will recover and this is all a bad dream.’

‘I wish that I might do so,’ Adam said. Lucy’s grief was a piteous thing. He noticed that she threw a look almost of accusation at Paul, almost as if she blamed him for being hale when his brother lay dying. ‘However, the doctor told me that it is a matter of hours. He does not expect that Mark will recover consciousness.’