Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,173

didn’t think Wellough would try to escape. Snow was falling fast, and the roads would soon be impassable. In any event, where would he go?

He wasn’t likely to try to compromise Dorothea either, but one never knew what folly he might embark on out of desperation, and Dorothea’s mother was even worse. Cecil had heard the old bat disown Dorothea just before the bells began to peal. He knew what that felt like. He would sleep on the sofa in her room, giving her protection and, he hoped, a degree of comfort.

Including the opportunity to change her mind about him.

Dorothea sat gazing into the fire, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. There was nothing to be done about Mother. She must continue to be strong and determined—and convince Cecil to share his bed with her. To make her his wife in every way possible, short of a marriage ceremony.

The door opened, and she raised her eyes, a smile dawning…then fading with shock.

Lord Wellough stopped short, seemingly as surprised as she. What was he doing here, and where was Cecil? Had Wellough harmed him?

His lordship recovered first. “If it isn’t the lovely Miss Darsington. As much a whore as any other woman, aren’t you, my dear?” He pushed the door to and approached, eyeing her greedily. “You’re not what I came for, but you’ll do just as well.”

She stood, clutching the coverlet. “For what, my lord?”

“To ensure my survival. Hale talked a lot of nonsense, but when it comes down to it, your Papa will protect me as his future son-in-law.” He reached for her. “You’re coming with me.”

She sidestepped. “Don’t be absurd.”

He lunged forward. She dropped the coverlet, and he stumbled on it, but righted himself with surprising speed. She scurried around the other side of the sofa. How could she reach the door? She had to find Cecil, to make sure he was safe.

“Don’t make me force you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.

She had never been obliged to use her pistol before. Her heart thudded, but with an assumption of calm, she took out her own gun. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Fury chased across Wellough’s features. He laughed shortly. “A pretty thing like you? Even if you can shoot straight, you don’t have the stomach for it.”

“You may take that risk if you wish.” Drat, her voice was trembling. A movement of the door caught her eye. With an effort of will, she kept her gaze on Wellough. At all costs, he must continue to watch her. If that was Cecil… If Wellough saw and shot him…

He wouldn’t, because she would shoot him first. Meanwhile, she would keep his attention on her. She ducked behind the sofa and put up a hand to fend him off. “I don’t want to kill you, but I shall.”

Wellough laughed again. “You’re shaking all over, girl. You couldn’t hit a stable door at close quarters, much less—

Cecil wrenched Wellough’s pistol hand down hard. The gun exploded, and Wellough screamed.

Half an hour later, the house was quiet once again. The gunshot had brought both Restive and DuFair from their rooms. Cecil had given a curt explanation of Wellough’s infamy, including two attempts to ravish Dorothea. She, in turn, recounted the conversation she had overheard between Wellough and the Contessa.

“My cousin, a traitor,” Restive said bitterly. “I should let him bleed to death.” The old man lay weeping on the carpet, clutching his injured foot. “This will mean scandal and likely ruin for my family.”

Cecil shook his head. “Sir Frederick Darsington will hush it up. It’s bad for morale if our aristocracy is seduced into working for the French. Our story will be that we were comparing guns, and his went off accidentally.”

Restive and DuFair between them carried the old man to his bedchamber, where they fully intended to lock him in. Not that he was likely to escape, with only one sound foot.

Cecil shut the door after them. Dorothea flung her arms around him and kissed him. “You were wonderful! How do you creep so silently? I was so afraid I would have to shoot him.”

“You’re the essence of courage, love. So cool, so calm, in the face of his gun. I was terrified for you.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.

He should escort her to her room. She wasn’t in danger anymore.

Meanwhile, his cock reveled in their proximity, in her lush uncorseted curves and her intoxicating aroma. Soft, golden strands had escaped