Lady in Blue

by Lynn Kerstan

  “Wretch,” Clare whispered in his ear. “You arranged this.”

  “I tried to,” he admitted. “Are you—?”

  “I am covered and decent,” she said. “You may open the door.” For a precious moment, after Jenkins lowered the stairs and moved away, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. “It was nice, kissing you.”

  Torn between murdering Jenkins and taking Clare directly to bed, Bryn helped her alight and settled her in the other coach. “I’ll call on you tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock,” he said. “Be ready to go out.”

  With a swift hard kiss, he slammed the door and returned to his own carriage, still thinking of Clare’s last words. It was nice, kissing you.

  A pity the Thames was fouled with garbage. Right now he could use a long swim in very cold water.

  9

  The door hit the wall with a loud crash. “Get up, man!”

  Dimly, Bryn recognized Lacey’s voice. He rolled over and saw two murderous eyes glaring at him.

  The butler appeared, a large footman at his side. “I was unable to stop the gentleman, milord. Is everything in order?”

  “Certainly.” Bryn swung his legs off the bed. “Coffee, Lace?”

  “Just get rid of the palace guard. We need to talk.”

  “That will be all, Walters. Close the door, will you?”

  The viscount paced between bed and windows, beating a fist into the palm of his hand. “Why the devil are you still in bed at this hour?”

  Bryn peered at the ormulu clock on the mantel. It showed two o’clock. “What of it?” He grunted. “Are we at war again?”

  “Dammit, get moving.” With a hard swipe of his hand, Lacey flung open the drapes.

  Bryn glanced past Lacey’s rigid back into a gray afternoon. “Where am I going?”

  “To a duel. Wear anything.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Lace. If I’m to be laid out, it must be in proper attire. Final impressions are so … lasting.”

  Pivoting, the viscount bared his teeth. “This is no joke, Brynmore. I want you with me when I call the bastard out. If I confront him alone, we’ll never make it to Hounslow Heath.”

  This was serious, Bryn realized through his usual sluggishness after waking up. “Neither of us is going anywhere until you explain yourself,” he said levelly. “Exactly which bastard do you plan to dispatch?”

  “Giles Landry. He beat his daughter. Badly, with his fists.”

  “Christ.”

  The room was silent for a long moment. Finally Bryn padded naked to the bellpull to summon Walters and into the dressing room for a towel. He wrapped it around his waist and studied his reflection in the mirror, mauling a dark-bristled chin with a hand that still shook. In his own eyes, he saw the reflection of Lacey’s fury.

  Yes, someone was definitely going to kill Giles Landry.

  When Walters answered the summons, Bryn snapped instructions and within minutes coffee was delivered. His valet began laying out shaving gear and clothing in the dressing room.

  The viscount stared moodily out the window, not moving except to take the cup Bryn passed to him. Side by side, the two men regarded the gloomy sky.

  “Isabella found out,” Lacey began in a monotone. “She and Beth planned to go shopping this morning, but when Izzy went to pick her up the servants said Miss Landry was unwell. You know m’sister. She plowed right on upstairs. At first Beth wouldn’t unlock the door to her room, and her voice sounded funny, as if she couldn’t open her mouth. She almost can’t, her jaw is so swollen.”

  Bryn choked on his coffee. “I take it Landry wasn’t there.”

  “If he was, no one called him. Izzy took Beth to her house and got word to me. The doctor says there’s no permanent damage, but she’s pretty banged up.”

  “She told you Landry was responsible?”

  “No, and that’s the devil of it. Says she tripped on her skirt and fell down the stairs. And she won’t be budged. Izzy and I said flat out we didn’t believe her, but she just mumbled about stairs. I know the mark of a fist, Bryn. He might have threatened her with a worse beating, or maybe she’s being loyal because he’s her father, but she’s lying for him.”

  “Both, I suspect. Have you heard what happened last night after you left the Opera House?” When Lacey frowned, the earl described the incident, wondering if he sounded as guilty as he felt. In a way, he was responsible. Everyone in London knew the Earl of Caradoc would tolerate no outright scandal, which left him open to blackmail for the slightest indiscretion with a girl of his own class. He’d only meant to bring Elizabeth into fashion, and one dance scarcely constituted a declaration of intent, but Landry was desperate enough to exploit the opportunity.

  For all his rage, Lacey quickly put the pieces together. “You think he attacked Beth because you refused to marry her?”

  Bryn felt very cold. “Probably. But he’d no plausible reason to imagine I would. Hell, you told me to dance with her.”

  “Danced with her twice myself. But I’m not the one up to my ears in money, Bryn. Not your fault, any of it, but I expect you won’t mind coming along while I put a bullet in the man.”

  “Robert,” the earl said carefully, “because Landry went berserk is no reason to make things worse. Shoot him and you’ll have to leave the country.”

  “If you could see Beth, you wouldn’t lecture me like a pompous ass. I know bloody well what I’m doing. The only thing that matters is making sure Landry never gets his hands on her again.”

  “Yes, that is certainly true. I’ll see to it.”

  “The devil you will! This is my fight.”

  Bryn regarded him with an unblinking gaze. “How is that, Lace? Have you a particular interest in the girl?”

  He lowered his eyes. “No. This is not personal. It’s simple justice.”

  At the edges of his concentration, Bryn was aware he didn’t quite believe that. But whatever his motives, Lacey couldn’t hit an elephant at three paces with a gun, which made pistols the obvious choice of weapon for Landry. If it came to a duel, Bryn would have to fight it himself.

  He swore fluently. Because of one innocuous dance, everything he’d worked for all his life could go up in smoke. Returning to the tray, he poured himself another cup of coffee.

  “You could marry her,” Lacey said from nowhere.

  Faintly aware of coffee overrunning into the saucer, Bryn set down the pot with unsteady hands. “That is one choice.”

  “Why not? It solves everything. You get a wife and an heir for the empire you’re trying to build, and you could add a clause to the settlement requiring her father to keep his distance. Meantime Beth gets everything a girl could want, and somewhere between the wedding and Landry’s departure I’ll beat the stuffing out of him.” He squared his shoulders. “Do it, man. That, or I’ll kill the maggot.”

  “We’ll rule that out right now. I’d break your right arm before letting you at him. And keep in mind his creditors will close in to scavenge everything he owned when he’s dead. Where would that leave Elizabeth?”

  “In the poorhouse.” Lacey grimaced. “Hadn’t thought so far ahead. So, will you marry her?”

  “If it comes to that. I’m not averse to the idea, Lace. It occurred to me when I met her. She’s lovely, intelligent, and rather charming. But now is not the time. Bloody Hell, the timing couldn’t be worse. I’m about some other business right now, and it doesn’t allow for courting a dewy-eyed youngster.”

  “Not dewy-eyed,” Lacey retorted grimly. “Black-eyed, and bruised, and scared to death. Other business can wait.”

  Sensing a corner at his back, Bryn cast around in his mind for an escape. Somehow, Elizabeth must be protected, and he was the logical one to do it. But he would not give up Clare. That was not a choice. He could not have said why, but it was absolute. There had to be another way.

  At least Lacey was willing to hand the matter over to him. In the next few hours, he would consider every option and make his decision, but at
the moment he could imagine no solution that let him come out a winner. And Lacey’s bright confidence didn’t help one bit. Irrationally, he wanted to plant a fist in his friend’s belly for waking him up with this news.

  Lacey had another lance to throw. “We couldn’t leave her at Izzy’s, of course. First place Landry will look when he finds out she’s gone, and he’s got the law on his side. She’s at Ernie’s house.”

  The earl stalked to the nearest blank wall and pounded it with his fist. “Are you insane?” he thundered. “You want me to marry the chit, and you installed her in the same house with my mistress?”

  “Where else?”

  Bryn sucked his bruised fingers, infuriated because there was no one to blame. Where else indeed?

  “Bryn?” Lacey’s voice held a note of uncertainty. “You can work this out, don’t you think? Dashed awkward, of course, but we had to make sure Beth was safe. Clare will understand. Hell, she was magnificent. Didn’t bat an eyelash.”

  Bryn was sure of that. He could imagine her poise, but not what she must be thinking. Closing his eyes, he felt the same sense of powerlessness he’d experienced when his father went mad.

  Not again, he told himself. He was no longer a child, and there was a solution if he could figure it out. He’d made life-and-death decisions before, although a clean war with a clear enemy was little challenge compared to this debacle.

  He’d rather lead a cavalry charge unarmed and on foot than face Clare and Elizabeth together in the same house.

  THE EARL SEARCHED every gaming hell he knew, and others Lacey told him about, but Landry was not to be found at his usual haunts. Possibly he’d gone to ground, although Bryn wasn’t ready to concede him that much good sense. He decided to try St. James’s Street.

  Leaving his coach to wait nearby, he wandered through Boodle’s and Brooks’s and the Cocoa Tree, nodding to acquaintances and resisting the urge for a hefty shot of brandy. He was running out of places to look. White’s was the last ton establishment on the block, and Bryn didn’t expect to find him there. After the confrontation at the Opera House, even Landry would have sense enough to avoid the earl’s favorite club.

  But he did not. Bryn was astonished to see him seated at a green baize table, tossing dice without an apparent care in the world. Ducking into the hall, Bryn calculated ways to get the blackguard alone without another public scene.

  “Lord Caradoc, yes?”

  Bryn spun around, recognizing the man who took Landry off his hands at the Opera House.

  The gentleman bowed. “Giles told me your name. Well, to be exact, he called you ‘that bloody damned Caradoc.’ I’m Max Peyton, by the way.”

  After a beat, Bryn held out his hand. “You prevented a melee last night. I am in your debt.”

  Peyton’s grasp was firm. “As is Lord Landry. Under the circumstances, I could hardly permit you to shoot him.”

  “Someone will, one of these days.” Bryn regarded him steadily. “You wouldn’t want to be in the way.”

  Peyton grinned. “I’m no friend of his, if that’s what you are suggesting. Merely a creditor, with a vested interest in keeping him alive. He seems to think you’ll make his daughter a rich countess.”

  The earl barked a laugh. “Even if I do, you’ll not collect a shilling from the marriage settlement. Too many others queued ahead of you.”

  “As it happens,” Peyton said with a negligent wave of his hand, “money is not the issue. I have more than I can spend. But Landry bet what he didn’t have, which no gentleman ought to do, and should he scratch up a penny I intend to pluck it away. On principle, you understand.”

  At any other time, Bryn would have invited him to share a bottle of wine and further the acquaintance. Instinct told him they could be friends. It also gave him an idea. “You have done me one favor, Mr. Peyton, and I am presumptuous enough to ask another. One you’ll not mention to anyone.”

  “I think I’m flattered, Lord Caradoc. And I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Listen carefully, then. In about five minutes, get Landry away from the table. Tell him I’m waiting around the corner, in King Street. If he asks, I said something about discussing terms.”

  “And looked friendly. Or, at the least, benign.”

  “Just so.” Bryn chuckled. “Unlike Landry, I always pay my debts. Keep track of what I owe you.”

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, the carriage door swung open and Landry was tossed inside by the two footmen waiting to grab him when he turned the corner. The lamps were not fired, and Bryn was a dark shadow lounging on the leather squabs, a silver-tipped walking stick resting across his knees.

  “What the hell—”

  “Shut up, Landry.” The coach lurched away. “I wish to spend as little time in your company as possible and won’t promise for my actions if you annoy me.”

  The baron pulled himself up. “If this is about last night, I was drunk. Shouldn’t have come at you in a public place. You have my apology.”

  Bryn ignored that. “This is about your daughter, and what you did to her.”

  There was a short, tense pause. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The cane lifted an inch. “Think again.”

  Landry’s fingers wrapped around his knees. “Do you mean the accident? Beth fell down the stairs. Damnable thing, but the carpet is worn. Hell, m’luck’s been out so long it’s all I can do to put clothes on her back. Every penny is going to give her a season on the town. Promised her mother I’d bring her out, but I can’t keep the house up too. Dangerous place sometimes, with the chimneys smoking and the carpets in shreds. Easy to catch your foot. The fall bruised her up a bit, but she’ll be all right. Told me so.”

  “The next lie,” said the earl with quiet menace, “will deprive you of several teeth. Now listen hard, because I’ll say this once. I know exactly what happened, and it will not happen again. There is one way to make sure of that, but for Elizabeth’s sake I am going to give you another choice.” He smiled thinly. “I rather hope you will not accept it.”

  “Is this some scheme to get out of marrying m’daughter? You can’t bluff me, Caradoc. I saw you come in with her from the terrace at Wetherford’s ball. She says you kissed her. Put your hand up her skirt and cut her lip with your teeth, by God.”

  “You are digging your own grave,” Bryn warned softly.

  Landry would not be stopped. “She had expectations after that, and I won’t see my little girl unhappy. Not altogether sure I ought to hand Elizabeth over to a disreputable family like the Talgarths, but her heart is set on it.”

  In a quick motion, Bryn stabbed the knobbed cane into Landry’s paunchy belly. He doubled over, groaning.

  “I trust that got your attention.” The cane pressed under the baron’s chin, lifting his head and forcing his mouth shut. “You are going on an extended holiday, worm. This carriage will take you to your house, where you’ll have ten minutes to pack. Then to Dover, and I don’t give a damn where you go from there so long as it’s across the channel.”

  When Landry tried to speak, the cane pushed harder.

  “Naturally, you are wondering what’s in this for you. First of all, let me make it clear the alternative is a glove across the face, followed quickly by your unmourned demise. I understand Italy is pleasant this time of year. For that matter, a brief exile under the Mediterranean sun rather appeals to me, especially when coupled with the pleasure of putting a bullet through your head. But if you’d rather not face me, I shall remain in foggy London while you enjoy a warmer clime at my expense.”

  Landry’s eyes widened.

  “Ah, yes, there is good news. I am actually willing to pay an allowance to get you out of my sight. Not a great deal, mind you. Some thrift will be required to keep you the three months I expect you to be gone. Should you never come back, you’ll not be missed. But if you set foot in England before the end of July, I will cut you down like a weed. Nod if you understand.”

  Unable to move his head, Lan
dry blinked rapidly.

  “Excellent. In the meantime, your daughter will enjoy her season free of your company.” With reluctance, Bryn lowered the cane.

  Rubbing his chin, Landry kept his eyes on the silver knob poised inches from his torso. “You can’t prove anything,” he blustered. “Elizabeth will back up whatever I say.”

  Bryn began to think the man was demented. “You misunderstand, lout. You are no longer in a position to terrorize her or beat her into lying for you. Things have changed. Now it is I who will terrorize you, and I won’t stop at a beating.”

  The baron shook his head. “This is all hot air. I knew your father back when he rutted with every gullible female in London. How many husbands did he cuckold? And when they called him out, how many did he dispatch? Five? Ten? You think society will tolerate another Caradoc running wild? I’m giving you the chance to marry Elizabeth without a scandal, but if you refuse I’ll spread the word you compromised her. You have a taste for virgins and everybody knows it. For all I know, you’ve already bedded the chit.”

  Bryn folded his arms across his chest, the cane dangling loosely from his fingers. “Apparently I’ve wasted my time, Landry. Consider my previous offer withdrawn. Better we continue to a quiet place along the river and dump your corpse in the Thames. I doubt there will be so much as a cursory investigation.”

  If Landry could have seen his eyes, Bryn thought in the silence that followed, he’d have given up long ago. As it was, the rattle of the coach wheels was the only sound, that and the clicking of his own fingernails against the cane.

  “How much?” Landry muttered. “Maybe I’ll take a few months to think things through. But I’ve nothing to live on.”

  “Certainly not your wits. You can stretch what I give you to support three months of frugal existence or gamble it away in one night. It’s all the same to me, so long as you remain abroad through July.”

  “And what about Elizabeth? What’s to become of her without me?”

  “I strongly advise that you do not mention her again. At the moment I want nothing more in this world than to give you a taste of what you’ve given her.” Feeling himself slipping out of control, Bryn rapped on the panel and the coach pulled over. After instructing the footman to locate a hackney, he seized Landry’s neckcloth in a wrenching grip. “I’ll leave you now in the care of three very strong men who have been informed that I don’t like you. Give them trouble, and even I will never know what became of your body.”