Free When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories by Samantha Kane Page A

here,” Geoffrey ordered, “I don’t want you hurt.”
    Sylvie could only watch as he marched down the steps.
     
    The gun went off right behind Edmund and he spun around in shock. A young man stood there, the smoking pistol pointed into the air. The damned coachman took advantage of his inattention to throw him off, but before he could launch himself at Edmund again, the young man spoke.
    “The next time I fire it will be at you, coachman. You are easily explained away.” His voice was clipped, but Edmund could hear the sincerity in it, and the bloodied young coachman froze.
    “I was protecting your mum, your Lordship,” he whined. “This one over here were trying to have his way with her right there on the floor of the parlor.”
    “You lying dog,” Edmund snarled, scrambling to his feet. He froze when the freshly loaded pistol turned in his direction.
    “You would be harder to explain, Mr. James, but not impossible.”
    “Geoffrey,” Sylvie said quietly, her voice pained. She’d rushed down to them after the gunshot. “Please. May we discuss this inside?”
    John’s eyes turned calculating. “That’s right, Your Lordship. We wouldn’t want your mother’s reputation getting any more tarnished than it is, now would we?” He smiled with a smirk. “I’d be more than happy to discuss how I can make sure that doesn’t happen.”
    “You are fired.” The young marquis’s voice was flat. “Collect your things and go.”
    John’s eyes widened with shock. “Now don’t be hasty, sir—“
    The Marquis of Bartlebyrne cut him off coldly. “Be grateful you leave here with your life and your belongings, cur.” He motioned imperiously to Jernigan. “Have two of the footmen escort him from the property.” He paused a moment. “Have them escort him out of Byrnham. He is not welcome there anymore, either.”
    John lost all semblance of courtesy or respect. “That whore begged me for it!” he snarled, pointing at Sylvie. “And then that bloody vicar come along and took her right out from under me nose! He’s been crawling in between her sheets for weeks now, and all I got was one bloody fuck!”
    Edmund didn’t care if he got shot for it—he dove for the coachman and punched him so hard his hand exploded with pain. “You goddamned bastard! You are speaking of my future wife!”
    He heard the collective gasp of the crowd that had gathered.
    “Now,” Lord Bartlebyrne said, his voice a low growl, “we take it inside.” He walked over and kicked the coachman where he lay on the ground moaning. “Get rid of this offal.” He turned furious eyes, the same soft blue as Sylvie’s, on Edmund. “Inside, Mr. James.” He turned and offered his arm to Sylvie, who looked frantic and scared and still lusciously rumpled from their fuck in the solar.
    Edmund didn’t think—he just reacted. He walked quickly over to Sylvie and fell to his knees.
    “As God as my witness, Sylvie, I love you. I love you more than I can say. Please marry me, my love.” She gasped and looked frantically between Edmund and her son. Edmund grabbed her hand. “I was nothing before you, Sylvie. If you cast me aside I will be less than nothing. I will be a shell of a man. My heart will remain with you, always, forever.” His frustration got the better of him, and he gestured angrily to the coachman being dragged away between two footmen, who were staring agog over their shoulders at the spectacle he was making of himself. He didn’t care. “That means nothing. His lies mean nothing. I don’t care about the scandal.” He kissed her hand fervently, noticing absently that he left some blood behind. He closed his eyes and held the back of her hand to his pounding forehead. “I need you, Sylvie. I care nothing about age or scandal, or what should be, or gossip.” He looked up into her eyes, which were swimming with tears. “I just care about you, about us. You are brave and beautiful and brilliant, and I need you, Sylvie. Please