Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures

by Lillian Marek

  Harry heard Norrie get to her feet and moved slightly to keep her sheltered behind him. “What are you playing at, Landi?”

  “Playing, milord?” The title sounded contemptuous. “No, it is no game, I fear. Or rather, you should fear. You have interfered in my business, and that is not permitted.”

  “If you for one moment think that these melodramatic threats will impress Lady Elinor…”

  Landi laughed. “No, no. It is too late for that, is it not? That was simply a chance that demanded to be taken. I was speaking of my—what shall we call it?—my antiquities business.”

  “So you’re the thief. I’m not entirely surprised. It’s the sort of shabby business someone would expect of a parasite like you.”

  The laughter disappeared from Landi’s face. “It is so easy for you to be superior, is it not, Englishman? You with your arrogant assumptions that your wishes are all that matter, that everyone will bow to you. Unlike you, I had no wealthy father to provide my fortune, and my cousin shows no inclination to share his, so I need to make my own. I will not allow you or anyone else to disrupt my plans.”

  “What makes you think I have done so?”

  “Do you think I am stupid? Yesterday the gold, the statues, the urns were where I left them. Today they are gone. You were the only one wandering about yesterday, you and the lady. I am afraid I cannot let you enrich yourself at my expense. Where are they?”

  Harry could feel Norrie moving restlessly behind him and held a hand back to urge her to stay there. He could protect her with his body—for the moment, anyway. “If I give you the information, will you depart and let us be? Will you accept our word that we will tell no one?”

  Landi narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Why not? I was not planning to remain here any longer. I will be safely away before you can walk back to the castello.”

  Harry tried to look stupid enough to believe that. He’ll kill us both the minute we tell him what he wants. Norrie, remember the revolver. Give me the revolver.

  Landi continued to smile. “I doubt any of this will come as a great surprise to my cousin. He knows I have no more fondness for him than he has for me. He likes to order me about because he knows I resent it. How fortunate for me that he was away when you made your discovery.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t know by now?”

  The smile vanished from Landi’s face. “Explain yourself.”

  “Did you think that we would keep it a secret?”

  “Why not? Then you could take it for yourselves. No, you think yourself too honest, too honorable for that.” The words were pronounced as insults. “But keep silent you did. No one spoke of it last night, and everyone would have talked of nothing else if they knew. And you left the villa this morning before the prince had returned.”

  Harry shrugged. “We had no way of knowing who the thieves were, so naturally we did not shout out the news. But I told Lord Rycote and Lord Penworth, and they will have told the prince immediately upon his return.”

  Landi spat out a curse and looked off into the distance. He swung back and tightened his grip on his rifle. “Then you had best pray that he has not yet removed our goods.”

  “And if he has, what will you do? Kill us? Don’t you think our dead bodies might raise some questions? You cannot expect our families to let our deaths go unavenged. You do not know the Tremaines if you think you can escape discovery.”

  Landi shook his head in pity. “Alas, I fear your deaths would be blamed on brigands. They infest these parts, you know.” He waved at his companions. “And I myself do not plan to linger here.” He smiled at Harry’s start. “No, I have not betrayed myself to them. They speak no English, so you can expect no help from them. On the contrary, I believe they are hoping you will be stubborn and require…persuasion to give us the information we want. Do you really want to watch my friends here abuse Lady Elinor, watch her in agony when you know that a word from you could end her suffering?”

  Bile rose to choke him. He knew it was stupid but his body coiled to spring. Before he could move, Norrie burst out and took her stand in front of him. She flung the coat back at him, and he gave a grunt of pain as something struck him in the groin. It took him a moment to realize that it was the revolver. The blessed girl had remembered the revolver!

  She stood there, arms akimbo, and—good God, her bodice was still hanging open! And those pigs were staring at her, drooling. Words were spilling out of her in a torrent of fury. “You bastard. You worthless slime. You filthy pig. You steal from your cousin, who supports you and your mother, and you threaten us? How dare you!”

  Harry took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the revolver under the coat. As soon as he was sure he had it untangled and firmly in hand, he whispered to Norrie, “Dive left on three and run like hell.”

  The attention of the two brigands was focused entirely on her bosom. Landi sucked in a breath and looked at her with an appreciative smile. “Ah, bella, you should have married me. It would have spared us all this unpleasantness.”

  “One.”

  Unseen behind Norrie, Harry removed the revolver from his coat.

  “Two.”

  She gave Landi a contemptuous look. “Marry a creature like you? I can imagine nothing more disgusting than the touch of a cowardly cur.”

  Harry cocked the revolver as she spoke.

  “Three!”

  Norrie dove left, and Harry swung the Colt up. His first shot hit Landi, and before the two brigands had recovered from the sudden turn of events, his second shot took down the barrel-shaped lout on the right. He swung to the left and pulled up just in time.

  Instead of running as he told her to, Norrie had gone straight for the scrawny fellow and taken him down with a classic Rugby tackle. His ancient fowling piece flew off to the side, going off with an explosion that damaged some grass but nothing else. Norrie had him down and was kneeling on his chest, bashing his face with a rock. A quick glance showed that Landi had vanished from sight, so Harry went to her aid, not that it seemed to be needed.

  He stuck the revolver into his waistband, flinching slightly at the heat of the barrel, and put his hands on her waist to lift her up. The brigand moaned, half dazed, and tried to rise. Harry knocked him back down with a kick. “It’s all right, Norrie,” Harry murmured. “It’s over.”

  The rock was still clutched in her raised hand. She looked over her shoulder at Harry, then at the space where Landi had stood, and then back at the brigand cowering at her feet. Tears filled her eyes. “He leered at me,” she said.

  She started to shake, and he turned her to him and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently. “It’s all right, my love. It’s all right.”

  Eventually she stopped shaking and straightened up. “They were going to kill us, weren’t they? Whether we told them or not.”

  Harry hesitated but nodded.

  “He was looking forward to it. And besides, he leered at me.”

  “And so deserved anything you might give him.” Harry kept his face solemn. “I was impressed by your tackle.”

  She shrugged and lowered the hand still holding the rock. “You and Pip taught me years ago.” Her voice was not quite steady yet.

  Harry stared at her in a mixture of awe and amusement. “Who would have thought football would be so useful?”

  The brigand was starting to make noises.

  Harry looked down at him, then kicked him over onto his stomach and put a foot on his back. “I think you may need to sacrifice a petticoat. I don’t think any of those rags he is wearing are sturdy enough to truss him up.”

  “Gladly.” She sounded calm until she looked down and realized that her bodice was still hanging open. She hastily put it to rights before she lifted her skirt, then a petticoat, then another.

  Harry stared. “How many of those do you wear?”

  “Only four today, since we were going on a picnic, but the nicest ones are on top and I don’t want to sacrifice them. I don’t thin
k he deserves anything better than the bottom one.”

  “I’m sure you are right.” Harry’s mouth felt dry as he stared at the legs she uncovered as the bottom petticoat fell to the ground and she stepped out of it. His private parts were reacting in a thoroughly inappropriate manner. This was not the time for such thoughts, but he wasn’t thinking. His body was behaving quite independently of his mind. God, she had incredible legs. He closed his eyes and thought about cold baths and congealed porridge. With a shake of his head, he took the petticoat she handed him and tore it into strips.

  As he tied the captive’s hands behind him, the fellow was foolish enough to begin a string of filthy curses aimed at foreign hellcats. Harry sighed, pulled out his revolver again, and held it under the fellow’s chin. Silence followed immediately.

  “The lady speaks excellent Italian.” Harry spoke in Italian. “However, I do not believe she understands precisely what you said. That is just as well, is it not?”

  The brigand jerked his head in agreement.

  “Yes. And while we are at it, I think that when we deliver you to the authorities, you might wish to tell them that it was I who administered those bruises on your face.”

  The brigand started to object.

  “No, I am not seeking the glory—there is no glory in defeating a cockroach. However, you do not really want to have to tell people that you were taken down and beaten by a little slip of a girl, do you?” A guttural snarl escaped as Harry prodded him with the revolver once more. “Do you? I can just imagine what the other prisoners will think of you.”

  Another curse was followed by a nod of acquiescence.

  Harry smiled and finished tying the fellow up. Norrie had restored her clothing to respectability and was twisting her hair into a neat bun. Harry picked up the brigand’s flintlock fowling piece and handed her the revolver. “Stay here with him. I want to see about the other fellows.”

  She hesitated a moment before taking the revolver but nodded and took it in her hand. It apparently weighed more than she had expected, because she came near to dropping it, but she steadied it and her shoulders straightened. She swung the muzzle around to point at the brigand and seemed pleased at the look of panic on his face.

  She was still pointing the revolver at the brigand when Harry returned, but her fingers had grown stiff. He had to almost peel them from the pistol. After tucking it into his belt, he put his arm around her, and she sagged against him.

  “It’s all right now,” he said. “The fat fellow is dead, and Landi is gone. I think I hit him—I saw a trail of blood, and he left his gun behind—but he seems to have vanished. It looks as if they had horses tied just beyond those trees, and he must have driven off the others. There are hoofprints, but no horses, so I couldn’t go after him.” She pulled away and gave him such a look of horror that he wanted to laugh. “No, I wouldn’t leave you behind to go chasing after him, but he didn’t know that, now did he?” She subsided, and he returned to the problem. “We can put this one in the back of the buggy, but we’ll have to leave the dead one. Even if they would both fit, I can’t stomach putting them on there together.”

  Norrie looked sick. “No. That would be…” She shivered. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”

  “Oh, yes, what a foolish girl you are. Instead of shrieking and swooning, you keep your head and pass me the revolver right under Landi’s nose. Then you tackle a bandit and beat him up when you are told to run for safety. What a useless little ninny, to be sure.”

  She managed a smile. “We did do pretty well together, didn’t we?”

  Eighteen

  The trip home was managed with no more dispatch than the morning trip. Neither gunshots nor bloodshed had disturbed the plow horse, nor had he discovered any reserves of energy during his wait. He was content to plod onward, one thudding foot at a time, and no amount of urging could increase his pace. At least that meant that their passage raised little dust.

  Although the sun was still high, Norrie shivered from time to time. Tunbury had wrapped his coat around her and kept her close by his side, but his stomach churned with anger—at Landi and his villains, obviously; at Savelli, for having sheltered this viper; even at the Etruscans, for having left behind treasures to steal—but most of all at himself.

  How could he have been so stupidly careless? No matter what Norrie might say, he should have protected her, and instead he had led her into danger. He should have realized that the thieves would not take the loss of their goods lightly. Without her quick thinking, they would both be dead now.

  By the time they arrived at the villa, his scowl was sufficiently ferocious to make the servant who appeared at the door blanch and take a step back. Tunbury snapped a few commands that brought the servant to the wagon to peer over the side.

  The fellow gasped at the sight of the bruised and battered captive. “Bandito. Sì.”

  While a second servant ran off to find the prince, Tunbury swung Elinor off the seat and carried her in, holding her too tightly to allow for protests, were she so inclined. He hesitated briefly at the door of the sitting room but swung away and continued up the stairs to Elinor’s room. “Fetch her mother,” he commanded Martha, “and prepare a bath for her.”

  “I can stand, you know,” Elinor said, her face pressed into his shirt.

  He placed her carefully on her feet next to the bed, lest she fall. She did sway slightly, but remained erect and even smiled at him. Her bodice was buttoned now, but her dress was streaked with blood. He put his hands on her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers in mute apology.

  “I will wait until your mother gets here. Then I must tell the prince and your father what happened.”

  “You are going to try to find him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “But you will come to me when you return.”

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her fiercely, possessively.

  There was no time for further talk. Lady Penworth flew in, a Fury prepared to take on the world in defense of her child. The look she threw at Tunbury knocked him back three paces while she wrapped her arms around her daughter.

  “I’ll explain. Go now, but be careful,” Elinor told him.

  After a quick look at the servants pouring into the room with pitchers of hot water, a pot of tea, and a bottle of brandy, he fled downstairs.

  Things were no better there. Lord Penworth seized hold of him at the bottom of the stairs. “Where is Elinor? How badly is she injured?”

  “She isn’t hurt.” Tunbury tried for a calming tone despite the sick fury writhing within him.

  His effort was not particularly successful. Penworth was, if anything, even more distraught than his wife. “They said there was blood.” Iron fingers sank into Tunbury’s shoulder, as if to claw answers from him.

  “Not her blood. We were attacked, but she was not injured.” At least not physically, Tunbury thought, but did not say.

  Just then, Savelli appeared, striding into the hall and looking thunderous. “What is this I hear about bandits—my cousin—attacking my guests?”

  “Could we go someplace private?” Tunbury stood stiffly, taking advantage of his height and looking down at the prince.

  Savelli checked momentarily, then nodded and led the way into a study. Its civilized trappings, with leather-covered volumes residing in glass-fronted cabinets and plush curtains dimming the light, seemed an incongruous setting for a melodramatic tale.

  It did not take long to recount the day’s events, but even an expurgated account was enough to turn Penworth white and send him charging from the room to see for himself that his daughter was uninjured.

  Savelli, on the other hand, seemed turned to stone. Gone was the enthusiastic antiquarian, the languid aristocrat, the courteous host. All that remained was the stern autocrat who ruled this little kingdom. For all his fondness for the pleasure-loving Etruscans, the prince was a stern, proud Roman to the bone. He reached out a hand to
ring for a servant and, when one appeared, fired off a dozen questions and responded to the answers with a series of orders so rapid that Tunbury had difficulty following. Then he snapped out at Tunbury, “Come with me.”

  It did not occur to Tunbury to refuse. He followed the prince into the stables.

  Savelli tossed a glance at an empty stall and barked a short, bitter laugh without breaking stride. “I see he has stolen my best horse as well, and will doubtless run him into the ground, fool that he is.” He came to a halt at the entrance to the tack room. On the floor, still bound with the strips of Norrie’s petticoat, was the bandit, watched over by a pair of sturdy grooms. Savelli flicked his hand and one of them kicked the captive over. The bruises Norrie had given him seemed to have multiplied under the care of the grooms. The prince gave another short bark of laughter. “I see you dealt appropriately with this piece of carrion.”

  The piece of carrion opened his mouth as if to snarl, but a look from Tunbury was enough to silence him.

  Savelli was nodding. “Yes, I recognize him. He was discharged for insolence some time ago.” He looked at the grooms. “Get what information you can out of him first.”

  Tunbury did not ask what would be second. He did not care. The mere thought that this creature very nearly had Norrie in his power…

  Savelli turned back and stalked out into the courtyard where half a dozen mounted men and a pair of saddled horses waited. “My servants tell me that Armando already returned to the house. His mother is in considerable distress. It appears he helped himself to whatever jewelry and money she had in her room. He has about half an hour’s lead on us, and he may have friends willing to help him. I do not know if we will be able to catch him, but I intend to try. Do you wish to come?”

  Oh yes. He most definitely did.

  *

  Full night had fallen by the time they returned. Lantern light threw bizarre shadows about the stable yard as the weary riders slipped from their horses and silently passed the care of their mounts to the grooms. Failure and disappointment cloaked them, and they parted wordlessly. Prince Savelli, his posture still rigid but his eyes bleak, strode off through the arch leading to the entrance hall. Tunbury began to follow, then checked his steps and turned to the garden.