She heard the men bellowing, but she didn’t wait. She picked her skirts up higher, the rough ground biting into her feet beneath her thin slippers she hadn’t changed out of before they left her home. It nearly tempted her to take them off, but she couldn’t spare the seconds. She pushed harder, moving faster than she ever had. She didn’t dare look back lest she slam into a tree in front of her, but she desperately wanted to know how Ben fared. She’d run for his sake, not hers.
She skidded a few feet down the path before lying flat on her belly. She heard the men charge past her, cursing their inability to find her. She waited what felt like an eternity but was likely ten minutes before she pushed her torso up so she could look around. She heard nothing, so she rose to a crouch and made her way back up the path.
“Jemma.” She whirled toward Ben and sprinted into his arms. He crushed her against him as she trembled.
“Tell me you’re all right,” she begged.
“I’m fine, except for a few split knuckles. What about you?”
“I’m hale. I hid on the path, so they never saw me in the dark. Did they attack you? You didn’t get hurt?”
“The only one hurt was that bastard who dared look at you.”
“What did you do?” Jemma held her breath. She knew Zachary’s type. He wouldn’t let his embarrassment in front of his men go unpunished. It sounded like Ben had roughed him up, and she—a woman—had held a gun to his head.
“Ensured everyone who sees him here knows he’s unwelcomed. No one will believe him if he claims bandits, and he won’t admit the truth. Let’s get you home.” They rode in silence and shared only a brief kiss before she entered herhome. “I’m going back to the summerhouse until I’m certain that miscreant won’t demand the constable search your home.”
Jemma wanted to argue, but after facing a group of men with muskets who wouldn’t hesitate a second time to shoot Ben, she relented. She prayed she hadn’t made a grave mistake agreeing with him.
Chapter Six
Jemma woke to someone pounding on the door to her home. She rolled toward her window, where only part of the sun barely appeared above the horizon. She threw back the covers and went to her window that overlooked the front drive. She recognized the parish constable and feared they were there to question her about the previous night. She hurried to don a day dress before running a comb through her hair. She tied back her waist-length locks with a ribbon before she crept from her chamber. Raised voices greeted her as she made her way to the stairs. From the balustrade, she could see down to the foyer.
She smothered her gasp as she watched their family butler, Samson, usher the constable to the drawing room. The elderly Samson, with tufts of white hair and milky-blue eyes, was ready for retirement. But he’d been a member of her grandfather’s household. Her parents couldn’t bring themselves to force him from his position.
“Jemma, go to your chamber.” Vinita spoke softly behind her shoulder. “Let your father sort this out. I don’t want our guest seeing you.”
“Guest?” She hadn’t known someone visited.
“Lord Zachary Windsor-Clive appeared just as your father and Raj returned home. The Earl arrived and demanded we offer him a chamber for the night. Rather than disturb the entire household, your father admitted him. I suspect his battered face is the reason for the constable’s visit.”
“Did he summon the constable?”
“I don’t know. Hurry. I don’t trust the Earl. I don’t want him anywhere near you.” Vinita nodded down the corridor to Jemma’s chamber. The younger woman rushed to obey her mother, but she kept her door open a crack. When she heard Zachary’s voice along with her father’s belowstairs, she crept back to the landing. Once the drawing room door closed, she could no longer hear anything. She tiptoed down the stairs to the music room. The walls were thin, so she pressed her ear against it and could hear clearly next door.
“I demand to know why I was woken to answer questions when I am clearly the victim.” Zachary’s voice boomed through the wall.
“My lord, you were seen attacking a young woman on the path last night. The witnesses gave incontrovertible proof.”
“Who?” Zachary’s pitch notched up, and Jemma thought she heard his voice waver. Had he done something worse after she escaped, and Ben came looking for her?
“The men with you. They recounted how you threatened the man she was with and tried to take her. It explains your face.”
“That bloody bastard!”
“You will not use foul language in my home, my lord.” It was Theo who spoke up, his warning firm. It did not matter Zachary outranked him by several levels. Theo was twice the younger man’s size, his build similar to Ben’s. Zachary had a willowy physique, likely from fencing and riding, but he possessed no significant athleticism or strength. It was why he’d thoughtCharlie would make a fine target while she was a governess to his much younger half siblings.
“I did no such thing,” Zachary contested, not acknowledging Theo, but making his voice less strident.
“A dozen men, along with the one who reported you, say otherwise. My lord, I would rather avoid arresting you. I do not need the paperwork or the hassle of taking you to London. I suggest you be on your way, and we will forget anything happened.”
“I will not forget anything. It was that Pedrick man and his whore—” A gurgling sound carried.
“That’s my daughter, and well you know it. Think again before you speak about her like that. I may only be a baronet, but it doesn’t negate my wife being a princess. I will have you at the gallows if you touched my daughter.”
A crash boomed, and Jemma jumped back as though whatever it was might come through the partition. She wondered what piece of furniture broke from her father likely flinging Zachary halfway across the room. Theo was viciously protective of his wife and daughter, and her brothers followed suit. It was a foolish man who thought to impugn either woman’s reputation.
Jemma glanced toward the door as her mother entered, her expression conveying her displeasure. She said nothing to Jemma. Neither did she join her to eavesdrop. She merely gave her daughter an expression that only mothers mastered, especially one who had four sons and a precocious youngest and only daughter.
