Page 80 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“A nice little place you have here,” Mr Honeyfield said, looking about as he walked into the kitchen, tramping dirty footprints across the clean floor.

Ned’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes raked about for any signs Miss Honeyfield had been there. “It suits me,” he said, aware he was being patronised. He searched out the bottle of brandy and poured three stingy measures. The sooner these men were gone the better he’d like it. “To your sister finding safety,” he said, raising his glass to the men.

“Indeed,” Mr Honeyfield said with a tight smile.

Ned watched him as he downed his drink, and the man’s eyes searched the room. He wasn’t certain his sister had been here, but he wasn’t certain she hadn’t, either.

“Well, thank you for your hospitality, Mr Hardy,” he said, placing the glass down and holding out his hand to Ned.

Ned forced himself to take it, to shake the hand that had left those ugly bruises on Miss Honeyfield’s delicate skin. If this man ever came back once he’d made her his wife, he’d show the fellow what it was like to be at the receiving end of a beating he wouldn’t forget.

He was surprised at the rage he felt, at the fury seething beneath his skin. His temper had never troubled him. Even as a young man he’d never been hot-headed. As the biggest fellow for miles around, he’d been a magnet for trouble, for all those fools who wanted to tell the world they’d taken on Ned Hardy and felled him like an oak… except he’d rarely let them rouse him to anger. Violence solved nothing, and he knew the power of his own body, knew he could do too much damage if he indulged in temper and pride.

He’d been called a coward a time or two as a young man, until he’d been forced to stand and fight. They’d chosen the biggest, most evil fellow they could find for the job, ex-army he’d been, and a deal older than Ned. The man had been scarred, belligerent, and full of himself. Ned had knocked him out with a single blow and walked away. The poor bastard had been out cold for hours. No one had troubled him after that.

Ned saw Mr Honeyfield and his coachman out and then walked with them across the yard to the gate. He wanted to be sure they’d gone.

“Good evening to you, Mr Hardy,” Mr Honeyfield said, raising a hand as he disappeared into the darkness.

“Good riddance to ye,” Ned murmured under his breath, and strode back to the house.

Once inside, Ned bolted the door.

“Guard,” he said to Rufus, who immediately sat, staring at the door as if it might fly open at any moment to reveal the hounds of hell.

Satisfied that the door was secure, Ned took the stairs two at a time and hurried to the bedroom. There was a little shriek as he opened the chest.

“It’s all right, Miss Honeyfield,” he said, feeling his chest constrict at the fear in her eyes. “Your brother is gone.”

She sat up, staring at him in disbelief. “G-Gone?”

Ned reached down a hand and helped her to her feet. The desire to seek retribution only grew as she clung to his hand, looking at him as if he was her saviour.

“He’s really gone?” she said again, her voice faint.

“He is,” he said, smiling.

“Oh!”

She threw her arms about his neck, and all the breath left Ned’s chest in a rush. Even through the shapeless garments that swamped her lovely form, he was aware of the soft press of her breasts against him, of the warmth of her, and of the subtle scent of roses. Heat grew within him, his entire body flaming to life in an instant, in a way he’d forgotten was even possible. His arms went about her without him even thinking about it, his hands at her tiny waist as he marvelled at how delicate she was.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Ned laughed a little at that. “Ye agreed to marry me, Miss Honeyfield. I reckon that’s thanks enough.”

She drew back then, her cheeks blazing, and Ned regretted having said anything that made her let go of him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at her toes and looking mortified. “I… I ought not have… I was just so relieved.”

He frowned at her, surprised. “Are ye apologising for hugging me?” he said, unable to stop the way his mouth curved at the idea. “For, if so, I wish ye would not. I liked it fine.”

“Oh,” she said, letting out a little breath, and daring to glance up at him again.

She smiled then, a little shyly, and Ned wondered if he’d ever get used to the sight. It was like being hit in the head with a heavy, blunt object. He felt dazed by it, too stupid to think of anything but when she might let him kiss her. Dumb ox, he cursed himself. He’d just rescued her from her bloody brother; the last thing she’d want was him acting the fool.

She was marrying him because she had no choice, not because she wanted to. He’d do well to remember that fact. Yes, she was grateful for his help, but he’d not force his attentions on a woman who only suffered him out of gratitude. That would be worse than Sarah doing her duty.

No, thank you.