Page 69 of Secrets of the Heart

She ate an early supper and spent most of the evening reading. The whole time there was a niggling little hope inside her that Michael might come home earlier than he had said, though she tried time and again to quell it.

Finally, around ten, she went up to her bedchamber and rang for her maid. She did not want to appear to be waiting up for Michael, so she put on her nightgown and dressing gown and took down her hair. Turning the lamp down low, she sat down on the window seat in her room, gazing out into the dark night and brushing her hair.

The moon was only a sliver, providing little light on the landscape, but street lamps at the end of the block provided two circles of illumination in the blackness. Outside the glow of the lamps, one could see little other than the looming bulk of buildings.

Rachel brushed her hair, the long even strokes soothing, almost hypnotic, her gaze on the street. She would not have admitted, even to herself, that she was watching for Michael, but when the dark figure of a man came walking into view in the distance, she straightened, leaning forward to focus on it. As he strode into the light of the street lamp, she saw that it was indeed Michael, and her pulse speeded up a little.

She continued to watch as she tried to decide what she should do. Go to bed and pretend that she did not care what time he came in? Or perhaps she could go down to the library and look for a book, act surprised when he walked in the door. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was waiting for him. She was not. Yet she would like to hear what he and Sir Robert had discussed.

All such thoughts flew out of her head, however, for as she watched Michael leave the circle of light and step into the dark again, suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, three men rushed out from the darkness at him and set upon him with their fists.

17

“Michael!” Rachel shrieked, jumping to her feet.

She whirled and ran from the room, pelting down the stairs, calling for the servants at the top of her lungs. “Westhampton is being attacked. Help! Help!”

By the time she reached the front door, footmen, maids, Michael’s valet and even the dignified butler were rushing toward her. Rachel flung open the door, then, seeing a potential weapon in the umbrellas stuck into the umbrella stand beside it, she grabbed the stoutest-handled one and ran out into the night, brandishing the umbrella in her hand and screaming Michael’s name.

Michael had stayed longer with Sir Robert than he had intended to, but even after they had gone over the facts of the cases, as well as the possibilities, in great detail, he found himself reluctant to return to his house, knowing that Rachel would not be there. He tried not to think about her at a party somewhere, laughing and talking with her friends, thinking not at all of him. So it had taken little urging on his friend’s part to get him to have a drink, and then another, before he set out for home again.

He had almost reached the house when suddenly three men darted out from behind the bushes and came straight at him. Caught by surprise, he did not manage to completely dodge the first fist aimed at him, and it caught him on the side of his head. Michael turned and swung at his attacker, landing a flush hit on the man’s jaw that sent him staggering backward. But the other two men jumped on him, and though he kicked and punched, he was no match for the two of them, especially after the man he had hit staggered to his feet and waded into the fight again.

Michael was knocked to the ground, and as he struggled to stand, fists and feet thudding into him, he saw the astonishing sight of Rachel running down the street toward him, holding aloft an umbrella, hard, hooked handle upward, and screaming like a banshee. Behind her came the rest of his household, from the hardiest footman to the lowly potboy, shouting and carrying torches and assorted weapons such as pokers, mops and iron skillets.

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!” exclaimed one of his attackers, with the distinct sound of Ireland in his voice, as he looked up and saw the group bearing down on them.

The three men hesitated for an instant, then took to their heels, leaving Michael where he lay.

“Michael!” Rachel reached him and dropped down beside him on her knees.

Her robe had come undone as she ran and now hung open; her hair was loose and tumbled down around her shoulders in a thick black fall. She was, Michael thought, the loveliest sight he had ever seen.

“Rachel…” Michael said and smiled. “You came to my rescue.”

“Of course! I was at my window, and I saw those men set upon you.”

“My lord! Are you all right?” Garson, Michael’s valet, squatted down on the pavement beside Michael and reached out to help him rise, while the butler hovered over him anxiously.

Several of the footmen kept after the attackers, chasing them down the block, but most of the servants stopped when they reached Michael, forming a gawking semicircle around Michael and Rachel on the ground.

“I am fine,” Michael assured them, ignoring the pain in his side as well as the throbbing in his head.

Rachel reached out to take his other arm, and between them, she and the valet helped Michael to his feet. Solicitously, Rachel slipped her arm around Michael’s waist, and he put his arm around her shoulder, leaning slightly against her as they walked back to the house, the crowd of servants trailing along after them. The truth was that, though he was feeling various aches throughout his body, he could have walked without assistance, but Michael enjoyed the feeling of Rachel’s body close against his side too much to tell her that.

Once inside the house, the butler took charge of the servants once again, sending a maid to bring cold water and cloths up to Michael’s room

Garson escorted Michael up the stairs, solicitously hovering at his side, ready to reach out and give him an assist. Once inside him bedchamber, Rachel guided Michael over to the side of his bed, where he sat down.

Garson bustled up, saying, “Let me help you out of that coat, my lord, so that we can see to your injuries.”

“I’m all right, Garson. No need to hover. Lady Westhampton can tend to me.”

Garson looked startled. He cast a quick glance at Rachel, then looked back at Michael. “Very well, my lord. If you are sure.”

“I am.”

Looking somewhat affronted, the valet bowed and left the room. Rachel helped Michael off with his coat and laid it aside, then started to unbutton his shirt. She was bending down, her head close to his, and her perfume filled his nostrils. He was very aware of her fingers on the buttons of his shirt, and he could not help but think of the other day, when Rachel had seduced him as part of her revenge, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off his body.