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“That’s never bothered me.” He shook his head, firmly. “Let the scandal sheets talk of this. All I care about is making sure that man can’t come after you again. From today, he won’t.” His words were spoken with such conviction that her lips flickered into a smile.
Never could I have imagined when we first met that he would be this kind, this devoted to keeping me safe.
“I will be back soon.” Bending down behind the horse so that their action was hidden from the others, he quickly kissed her on the lips.
“That kiss wasn’t long enough,” she teased him, watching as he smiled.
“Then I’ll make up for it later, I promise.” He winked with the words then pulled himself into the saddle, hurrying toward Michael and the others.
“You have found him, Your Grace?” the constable at the front of the group asked.
“I have. He is the Marquess of Stanton. Follow me, I shall show you where he lives.” At James’ words, he turned away.
Marina hurried back to the front stoop outside of the house and scurried up it, the better to keep her eyes on James for longer. She watched as he disappeared down the drive with Michael and the constables following him.
The Marquess of Stanton.
The name felt dark and almost unnatural. With the man who had attacked her only ever wearing a mask in her presence, it had been easy to think he was some sort of monster, a demon walking this earth. To hear he had a title and was a member of the ton rather lowered the threat.
“He is a man like any other,” she whispered aloud, watching the last of the horses leave the driveway, kicking up gravel behind them. “He can be beaten.”
* * *
James turned the steed into the pebbled drive of the Marquess of Stanton’s house, the horse growing tired enough after such mad riding to lower his nose as they came to a stop. Behind James, the constables climbed down from their saddles, along with Michael, then James made his way toward the door of the house.
As before, the first knock wasn’t answered. He knocked again as Constable Jones and Michael moved to stand behind him.
“He confessed to the crime?” Constable Jones asked in amazement.
“He offered to give me my money back,” James hurried to explain. “I thought it would buy me some time to get a message to you if I pretended that I only wanted him gone from London.”
“Cleverly done, Your Grace,” Constable Jones said in approval, nodding.
James banged on the door, harder this time, until the butler appeared. He was heavily flushed, breathing heavily.
“Oh, it’s you again!” he exclaimed. “My master has a broken nose because of you.”
“He deserves worse,” Michael said from behind James.
“I quite agree. Now, move aside.” James waited for the butler to move, but when the old man didn’t, James looked to the constable who nodded, urging him on. James took the butler’s shoulder and purposefully steered him away, giving the space for James and the others to step into the house.
“You cannot barge your way in here,” the butler spluttered, just as Constable Jones stepped in his way.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Constable Jones.” His words made the butler fall silent. “And your master is under arrest. Where is he?” The butler paled and said nothing. His eyes only shot upward to the ceiling.
James looked to the stairs as he realized there were sounds overhead of footsteps running and something heavy being toppled over.
“This way,” Constable Jones called to his men and led a path up the stairs. “Two of you, stay by the door!” Two men were left to keep guard as James and Michael followed the other constables up the stairs.
It wasn’t difficult to find the Marquess of Stanton’s bedchamber, for the door was flung open and sounds were coming from inside it.
“I need my carriage as soon as possible,” the Marquess was calling out of the door, evidently thinking the footsteps belonged to his butler rather than a constable. “I’ll take a ship from Southampton. This evening, before the Duke can report me to…”
The Marquess trailed off as James pushed open the bedchamber door, wider. The Marquess stalled from where he was tossing clothes into a large case, his hair wild and his face bright red from the exertion. His body stilled, his lips pressed flatly together, and those cold blue eyes danced about those in front of him.
“Constable Jones,” James said, capturing the attention of the Marquess. “This is the Marquess of Stanton. He attacked my wife once in her carriage, burned down my gambling hall, assaulted the Viscount Thorne here,” he looked to Michael with the words, “then he assaulted my wife and kidnapped her, extracting money from me in order to get her back.”
“That’s quite a lot of crimes you’ve been totting up there, My Lord,” the constable said with satisfaction as he stepped forward. “You’re under arrest.”
