Page 53 of What Lies Beneath

“Are you—?” she began, but Pip shook his head and looked up, seeing a figure disappear into the treeline once more.

Oh no. No chance.

“Go back to the house. At once!” he told her and took to his heels.

Whoever the man was, he was a clumsy oaf, stumbling and cursing as he tried to find his way through the forest. Pip, knowing the surroundings intimately and used to moving through the woodland, gained on him easily. The fellow paused, turning back with a snarl as he saw Pip giving chase. He was huge, damn him, but Pip was too enraged to care. He did not know if the man had come for Genevieve or for him, but either way, he had put her life in danger, and for that, he would pay. That Tilly might have been with them only increased the fury in his heart and he pushed on, hungry for retribution.

Realising he could not outrun Pip, the man stopped, and instead reloaded the pistol. Pip moved faster, knowing he likely had seconds before the gun was ready to fire. The sound of frenzied barking registered in some remote part of his mind, and he realised his father had ordered the dogs out. He didn’t care; he didn’t need dogs to deal with this blackguard.

The man’s arm came up, and for a fraction of a second, the pistol was levelled at Pip’s face, but he knocked it aside just as it fired, the sound deafening at close quarters but missing him by a mile. His ears rang, pain exploding in his head, but he ignored it, consumed with the need to ensure his family were safe.

A feminine scream of terror followed, faint against the roaring in his brain, but Pip could not worry about that. He delivered a punch to the villain’s throat that sent him sprawling backwards, choking and spluttering, the gun falling among the debris of leaf litter and dead wood on the ground. Pip threw himself on top of him as the bastard swung wildly, still fighting for breath. The first two blows he avoided neatly enough, but the third smashed into his jaw, knocking his head backwards and making him see stars. Momentarily dazed, Pip was too slow, and the brute shoved him sideways, his meaty hands closing about Pip’s throat as his head hit the ground. Deciding the fellow was no gentleman and so the usual rules did not apply, Pip brought his knee up with all the force he could muster and the man, big as he was, gave a squeal akin to that of a girl’s as the colour left his face. He fell back, clutching his privates, tears streaming down his face, but as Pip went for him again, his wits returned, and he fought back, delivering a blow to Pip’s guts that might have made him curl up in agony had he not been fighting for his life. As it was the pain hardly registered and he battled on, delivering furious punches until it occurred to him the man was no longer retaliating.

“It’s all right.”

The commanding voice brought Pip out of the blind fury that seemed to hold him in thrall, and he looked up to see his father staring down at him, breathing hard and ashen with shock.

“You won,” he added gently, as if speaking to a child.

Pip blinked, the sense of unreality persisting as Montagu gestured for the men to take the man back to the house and restrain him while they awaited the arrival of the local magistrate.

Pip realised he was shaking and glanced down at his opponent who was groaning and staring dazedly up at him. He pushed away from the villain, startled by the level of violence that had overtaken him when he had discovered the woman he loved was in danger. Loving Tilly and needing to keep her safe had been a shock to his system when she had appeared in his life, but now there was Genevieve too, and one day there might be more children. Good God, how did his father stand the stress? Glancing up again, he focused upon Genevieve and despite his terror for her, he smiled as he saw her wielding a heavy branch and breathing hard.

“If I had not come when I did, I think she might have finished him off for good, and dead bodies are so tedious to dispose of,” his father said, some of his usual insouciance returning to him.

Pip gave a choked laugh and pushed to his feet, rushing to Genevieve and pulling her into his arms. “You’re safe, the gunshot—”

She shook her head and then hit him soundly, though thankfully not with the branch, which she dropped to the floor. “You blasted idiot! What in blazes were you thinking, haring off like that and—”

Pip grinned, relief and shock and the terror of the past minutes combining to make him feel quite giddy. He laughed then, making his beloved increasingly furious as she continued to berate him for his reckless stupidity all the way back to the house.

Pip woke with a start in the early hours of Christmas Eve morning, sweating and breathless, the sound of a gunshot still ringing in his ears. Only a dream, he reassured himself as he stared up into the darkness. He tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself Genevieve was safe under his roof and, after the coming day’s ceremony, they would never have to be apart again.

Lord Wendover’s employee, a well-known criminal who went by the soubriquet Bludgeon—for reasons Pip really did not wish to dwell on—had not been informed of his lordship’s recent removal from British soil. Neither was he aware of Wendover’s journey to pastures new and, with any luck, exceedingly bad for his health, and so had carried on with his assignment to either bring Genevieve to him, or finish her off by whatever means were most appropriate. Happily he was in the custody of the local magistrate now and Pip tried to relax as he reassured himself of that fact.

Still, the dream lingered, and it was the middle of the night, and hours from dawn, and now Pip would not get a wink of sleep. So he settled himself comfortably and considered his bride-to-be, smiling in the dark as he did so until a creak made his entire body stiffen with alarm.

He held his breath, entirely alert, as he registered the sound of the door handle turning. The well-oiled hinges swung noiselessly, but whoever came through could not entirely muffle the sound of their movements as they padded softly towards the bed. Surely Wendover had no more accomplices? Genevieve had been certain there had only been the one, as had Mr Turnbull, when questioned. Yet, there was someone in his room, intending to do him or Genevieve harm.

Pip lunged, taking the intruder unawares and throwing him down onto the bed.

The figure gave a little shriek and, in the moment before Pip launched his attack, he noticed the wicked scent that filled his mind, lush with roses and spice and the faint trace of bergamot, and he realised the villain was slender and softly curving.

“Dammit, Harry! I almost murdered you,” he exclaimed in frustration.

“Almost?” she squeaked, still breathless. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” he retorted crossly, still out of sorts. “What the devil were you thinking, creeping about my bedroom in the dead of night?”

There was a taut silence.

“Do you really need me to explain it?” she replied, her voice steady enough, but with the faintest trace of laughter audible.

Pip’s mouth curved upwards in the darkness. “I think I might, actually,” he said, sitting back against his pillows with a sigh.

He listened intently, the room entirely quiet for a moment, and then came a soft rustling sound, the mattress shifting as she moved—hopefully in his direction.

Yes, thank you, thank you, God, he thought with relief as she climbed over his legs, her hands sliding up his chest, her soft mouth coming down upon his.