Page 67 of This Earl of Mine

Boots crunched, and she heard Benedict’s achingly familiar voice shout, “Caversteed? Show yourself.”

“In here, Wylde,” Josiah called.

Her eyes teared with fright. She thumped her bound feet down on the wooden floor as loudly as she could, trying to alert him, and Josiah sent her a mocking glance for the futile gesture. Benedict appeared in the doorway, and her heart stopped at the sight of him, tall and strong and windblown. His gaze swept the room, taking in Josiah and his gun in one glance, then fixing on her. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and she nodded emphatically, trying to explain that she was unharmed; Josiah hadn’t yet made good on his threats to molest her.

He turned his attention back to Josiah, apparently unfazed by the muzzle pointing directly at him.

“Did you bring the jewels?” Josiah demanded, his voice high-pitched with strain.

Benedict glanced down at the small, lumpy bag he carried, and Georgie recognized it as her favorite beadwork reticule.

“Here.” He tossed the bag carelessly onto the floor. A puff of dust flew up and a pile of jewelry slithered out across the dirty boards. Diamonds caught the light, sparkling even in the gloom.

“Well done.” Josiah smiled and lifted the pistol.

A deafening report echoed through the room. Georgie screamed behind the gag and swung to Benedict, expecting to see a terrible red stain spreading over his chest, but he merely sent her a cocky smile that made her heart trip over. It took her a stunned moment to comprehend that he was holding a smoking pistol and that it was her cousin who was bent over in his chair, clutching his arm and wailing in agony. Blood dripped onto the dusty floor beneath him.

“You shot me!” Josiah screeched.

Benedict stepped forward and used his boot to kickaway Josiah’s pistol, which had fallen to the side of the chair. “Stop sniveling,” he said harshly. “I was in the Rifles. I once shot a man on horseback from eight hundred yards away. You’re lucky I didn’t blow a hole in your forehead, you bastard. How dare you take her?”

Josiah cringed. Benedict caught him by the collar, jerked him to his feet—and punched him clean across the jaw. Josiah’s head snapped back, and he slid to the floor in a boneless, unconscious heap.

Benedict stepped back, a look of utter contempt on his face, then glanced over at Georgie. In two strides, he was in front of her, ripping the gag from her mouth and pulling her into his arms. Georgie let out a whimper of relief and buried her nose against his shirtfront. His hold on her was so crushingly tight, she could scarcely breathe.

“God, I thought he’d hurt you,” he groaned, kissing the top of her head.

She tried to shake her head against his chest, but he’d left her no room to move. She wriggled, and his hold slackened. “It’s all right. I’m fine,” she gasped.

He clamped her cheeks between his palms, searching her features with a fierce expression, and then he pressed his mouth to hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.

A thousand conflicting emotions flowed into her: relief and desperation, fury and desire. Georgie yielded to them joyously, loving the rough tenderness of his hands in her hair, the frantic kisses he pressed to her nose, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. Her hands were still tied, trapped between them, so she couldn’t wrap her arms around his neck as she wanted to, but she leaned into him.

Then his lips were back on hers, and she matched the fierce tenderness of his kiss. Her chest ached with a sharp consciousness of how close she’d been to losinghim, how fragile and precious life was. Tears threatened, but she choked them back, losing herself in the wildness of his kiss.

It seemed forever before he pulled back, and for a few moments they just stood there, swaying together. She pressed her forehead against his sternum and closed her eyes, sinking into his sheltering strength and absorbing his solidity, his integrity. He was as big as Pieter, but the Dutchman had never held her this way, as if he could shelter her from the whole world.

This man,her heart said.

She lifted her head. “I thought you were supposed to be at the docks catching Johnstone?”

“I was. Your cousin’s note arrived just as we were leaving.”

Her heart gave a little skip; he’d chosen to come for her over catching his foe, for which she would be eternally grateful.

A footfall outside made her jump, but Benedict merely smiled and released her. “Don’t worry. That’s Seb and Alex.”

“They came too?”

He nodded, and her amazement increased. The fact that two complete strangers had also abandoned their mission to come for her was humbling—although not entirely surprising. Benedict seemed to inspire ’til-death-do-us-part loyalty in almost everyone he encountered.

He produced a knife and made quick work of the ties at her wrists, then knelt on the dusty floor to cut the rope at her ankles. Georgie quelled a brief wistful pang as she took in the sight of him kneeling before her as if he were proposing marriage. She shook her head. Foolish yearnings. He’d come to her rescue because he was a good and honorable man. He would have come for Juliet or Mama too.

She glanced over at Josiah, who was still insensible on the floor. A trickle of blood marred the corner of his mouth and a livid purple bruise was already forming on his jaw. Served him right, the idiot.

“What are we going to do with him?”

Benedict sighed. “I don’t want to leave him here. What’s to stop him from trying something equally foolish again?”

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