“Thursday. Excellent. Adam said you were a woman who knew her own mind.”
Horses brayed. The carriage Lawden ordered had arrived.
“Uninvite him, sister.”
Ruth’s glorious lips parted. “Thursday at two. As part of my Wilky family, you should be there. I need you there.”
If she could see his smile, she’d know he’d be there. “Yes, I cannot wait to meet your family and friends.” And this Chris.
“Good.” Ruth turned and walked straight into the doorframe. “Clumsy. Well. At least it wasn’t moved.”
“No. It wasn’t, my dear, you are still unsteady from the fall.” He slipped his arms about her waist again and held her close. “Use me to feel grounded. Let me know when you are ready to move forward.”
“Release her, Lord Wycliff,” Mrs. Bexeley said. “I can help her.”
“And let my cousin fall? Never.” Before either woman could object, he had Ruth up in his arms.
Hands placed in respectful places—looped about her long legs, a palm under her arms nearly cradling her ample bosom—he carried her, all the way to the carriage.
“This was not necessary, my lord,” she said. Her tone was low and crisp, not husky as when passion claimed her.
Memories of her smile, her laugh, her joy at small things like daisies—would haunt him tonight. “Carrying you, Mrs. Wilky, was very necessary. I’ll never let you be hurt again.”
Lawden assisted Mrs. Bexeley inside and tossed him a pair of broken brass spectacles.
Wycliff held on to Ruth’s door and handed her the frames. There was just enough glass left in the brass that maybe she could see him.
Ruth put the spectacles to her face and eyed him, but her expression remained unchanged.
His man coughed and pointed his head toward the second carriage.
Shutting the door, he stepped away and waved to the driver.
Soon, the carriage moved down the street at a pace far too fast for Ruth to remember, and leap out, and run back to him.
Lawden came beside him. He was a red-haired Irish man who’d apprenticed in Blaren House as a steward. The fellow literally had grown up with Adam and had taken care of his father while Adam had been lost to the Navy.
A spiritual man of good character and height to boot, Lawden was the only person Wycliff trusted. “The third step of your plan, reclaiming Blaren House, is finished. Well done.”
“We have an addition to my plans, Lawden.”
His man’s bushy brows lifted. “You never change your plans. All the steps are in place. We have steps four and five to go.”
Yes. The defrauded money had been restored to his control. Yes, everyone who cheated his father had begun to pay. Yes, he had Blaren House. Four: Blaren House had to be restored to its former glory for his sister’s enjoyment. Five: all the men who hadkilledAdam and Ruth had to lose their livelihood and freedom.
But this woman—threats to her safety could ruin it all.
Wycliff kicked at a rock, surely scuffing his meticulously polished boot. “We have an addendum to four.”
Lawden pulled out his blunderbuss. “We get to kill them? Now that’s—”
“No. I promised my father I wouldn’t. He knew I’d be the prime suspect and with prejudices as they are, I’d be lynched again. No, they all will have their downfall.”
“Oh.” Lawden lowered the gun. “Sorry, my lord.”
“Blaren House should be remade for its mistress, too. That requires gaining a wife. Lawden, I need to know everything about the Croomes. Everything, every relation, every business associate, every scandal. I especially want to know what Ruth Croome Wilky has been up to.”
There were questions in Lawden’s green eyes. “That was your wife?” He snapped to attention as if his question had stepped over a line. “It shall be done, my lord.”
