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“Montague!” There was so much emotion in that one-word exclamation that it was the best homecoming he could have ever imagined. She dropped the boot and closed the distance between them. “I am so glad to see you!”
He caught her in a modified embrace with a grunt of pain. “Not more than I am to see you.” What would he have done if she hadn’t survived this night? How easily had she become his everything, his reason for living, and he would tell her that as soon as he could.
“Is it over?” Belle laid a palm against the side of his face and peered frantically into his eyes. “Are we safe now?”
“Yes.” Hawk buried his nose into the waterfall of her hair. The tiniest hint of lilacs remained in those strands. “Ravenscroft is dead, I’m afraid. We will need to summon the constable and explain what transpired this night.” To say nothing of sending a courier to London with the news to his superiors. Surely the constable would see it was a matter of self-defense on both their parts, and once they showed him the prison where they’d been trapped and he explained his mission for the Home Office, the matter would be closed.
“I suppose that’s to be expected out of something like this.” She pressed her lips to the side of his neck. “It’s for the best, really. Philip was too far gone in his vices.”
“Perhaps, but we completed the mission.” Somehow, it didn’t feel as euphoric or as important as he’d once assumed. Nothing was as wonderful as holding Belle close, allowing the warmth of her to seep into his cold and battered body.
“We saved the treasure,” she murmured.
“Yes, I suspect we really did.” But he wasn’t looking at the carriage. Instead, he peered into her eyes, hoping she understood what he felt but couldn’t yet say. “The most valuable thing of all is still safe.” With a sigh mixed a groan, he briefly claimed her lips, and then when fatigue got the better of him, he gladly accepted her support in keeping upright. “The Home Office will be pleased.”
“Areyou, though?”
“Of course. Tracking the treasure has been my life’s pursuit these past several months.” And if not for that, he wouldn’t have met her. “Let’s get this back to the house and send for a constable. Also, I’m in need of brandy laced tea, for I rather doubt my feet will ever thaw.”
She slipped an arm about his waist. “Now? It’s after midnight, and Christmas besides.”
A faint chuckle left his throat. “Crime doesn’t stop for a holiday, love. And neither will fortune hunters. Since the cache has been unearthed, gossip about it will spread. That means other more unscrupulous men will soon descend on Ravenscroft House hoping to take advantage of it.” From over her shoulder, movement caught his eye. “It appears the driver is trying to make his exit.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Belle left him and he sagged against the side of the carriage. Soon, he’d pass out from the pain, but watching the woman he loved take up the boot from the ground and finish beating the other man kept him conscious a bit longer.
Was there any wonder he adored her?
Eventually, they wandered back to Ravenscroft House where they summoned all available stable hands and footmen. The driver was bound and gagged and then thrown into an empty stall in the barn. Ravenscroft’s body was dumped into another one and covered with a blanket. The carriage was driven into an empty outbuilding, which was then locked and one of the footmen volunteered for guard duty once the harrowing tale of kidnapping and escape was told.
It only added another layer of excitement to the remaining guests at the ball. The bulk of the party goers had left before midnight in order to attend church services in the village.
Hawk and Belle were led into the kitchens on a merry tide. He was given his tea with copious amounts of brandy while Belle opted for warmed rum punch. Mrs. McGee and Mrs. Peters fussed about them, and under their expert care, the gunshot wound in his shoulder was cleaned and redressed, which would hold until a doctor could have a look.
In a lull of activity when they were left mostly alone in front of the hearth in the servants’ hall, he glanced at Belle. She looked rather green about the gills and worry clouded her eyes.
“I suppose you’ll return to London?”
Poor thing.But he knew how she felt. “That depends on many things.”
“Meaning?” So much hope rode on that one word it tugged at his heart.
“Meaning I’m too tired and in too much pain just now to have this conversation. At least give me until after dinner tonight, hmm? Once a surgeon has seen me, if possible. I would rather be fully conscious and in a more private setting when next I talk with you.” Would she understand what he didn’t say?
“That’s fair.” Slowly, she nodded. Her eyelids drooped. “I suppose I’m too exhausted to argue with any sense of authority anyway.”
When he chuckled, pain skittered through his shoulder. “Somehow, sweeting, I rather doubt that.”
She sighed and rested her head on his good shoulder. “Happy Christmas, Montague. I will certainly never forget this night.”
Neither will I.“Happy Christmas, Belle. I hope the season brings all your dreams to fruition.”
And if he had his way, it would.
Chapter Seventeen
December 31, 1819
As fate had it, Belle didn’t have an opportunity to speak with Hawk alone on Christmas after all. The local constable had indeed been summoned, but he didn’t come until late that afternoon, and Hawk had spent hours closeted with that fellow. Once the captain had dashed off a quickly scrawled letter, he’d dispatched a footman to carry it to London and the Home Office. Then both he and she were sent to upstairs for baths and beds—separately—by the housekeeper and the servants who continued to fuss over them.
