by Henke, Shirl
Josh looked at the twinkle of amusement in Michael’s eyes. “You mean Society’ll accept her a hell of a lot faster than it did me,” he said with an answering grin.
“Quite. We'd best split up here,” he said as they rode in sight of the park. “I'll approach by the Mall, since they probably won't recognize me. You slip in from the eastern side.”
“Watch your backside,” Josh called out as his friend rode away.
The park was beautiful, rambling and hilly, lush with tall trees and dense shrubbery allowed to grow into a natural-appearing wild habitat right in the middle of the smoky, overcrowded city. In short, a perfect place from which a keen marksman could pick off a target and vanish without a trace before the police and Foreign Office agents could respond.
Josh surveyed the lay of the land, trying to remember any clear views of the Mall from high elevation. He'd been through it a few times, but not nearly as often as Hyde Park, which was larger and offered more open space in which to ride. As he recalled, there was one rise on this side of the artificially created swan pond that might offer a good vantage point.
He approached as close as he dared on horseback, then dismounted, finding a youth who sold meat pies to passersby and offering him some coins to watch the winded black gelding. He might still have need of a mount before this afternoon was over. Josh squinted at the sun. It must now be getting on a quarter past four. Not much time to find one varmint in a ninety-acre wood.
Going on pure instinct, which he'd learned to trust during the war, he made his way past flower beds now spent in the warm autumn sun, shoving spirea bushes aside as he climbed through the most densely overgrown part of the park. Having learned to hunt small game as a boy, he moved silently, his Colt clutched in his hand. Josh peered through the still green shrubbery toward the hill overlooking the Mall.
It was then he saw a figure lying flat on his belly, aiming what looked to be a Remington-Creedmore .44/100 at the Mall below. In minutes the Royal Horse Guards would proceed ahead of the targeted carriage.
Just like Sabrina described it. Josh eyed the sniper's weapon. The rifle was the finest made for such a difficult shot. In the hands of an expert marksman, it could blow Hayashi's head clean off his shoulders. Josh drew closer, preparing to get the drop on the sniper. When he recognized the man, Josh understood why Natasha had thought it so amusing that he was the mastermind behind their schemes. Damned if he hadn't been taken in just like everyone else.
Feeling betrayed, although he knew that was a damn fool attitude, he raised his Colt; but before he could order the other man to drop his rifle, the sound of a twig snapping behind him made him crouch and pivot, to confront a knife blade that would have slit his throat in another instant.
“I would suggest you drop your weapon,” the sniper said conversationally, rolling over and aiming directly at Josh's back.
* * * *
Sabrina stood at the edge of the crowd, observing the commotion as half a dozen agents assisted by bobbies removed a sizable bundle of explosives concealed beneath a load of turnips. The two men on the wagon were in custody. She recognized neither one of them, but both were babbling in Russian.
Now if only Mr. Jamison and Josh could capture Zarenko and Valerian...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a harshly familiar whisper. “I might have known you'd be responsible for this.” She felt the cold pressure of a pistol pressed into her ribs as Nikolai Zarenko clamped one elegant hand around her arm and began leading her away from the crowd.
“You'd be best advised to release me,” she said with considerably more bravado than she felt. “The government knows everything, and agents have your companions in custody now, including your sister. There will be no assassination.”
“All the more reason you'll be useful...if what you say is true. But give me leave to doubt our sniper in the park has been taken,” he purred. “Even without this little diversion, we'll succeed—with a proper English hostage or two. Perhaps the viscount? I imagine Lord Hambleton would move heaven and earth to obtain his release in exchange for my sister.”
“Don't be foolish,” she said, trying to wrest her arm free of his punishing grasp. “How do you expect to capture Jo—the viscount?”
He pressed the gun harder against her side. “Why, with you as bait. I know he's one of the men prowling the park. And he’s your lover.” He tsked mockingly. “Servants do gossip, especially English servants. In Russia we'd cut out their tongues if they were so loose.”
“You, sir, are an animal,” she said coldly, trying to gather her racing thoughts to form some kind of plan. She would never allow this viper to use her to trap Josh.
Ignoring her insult, he dragged her toward a closed carriage parked across the street. The driver was one of the men she'd seen at the lodge. If she got inside, all would be lost. Willing herself to use every ounce of strength her already aching body had left, she twisted free of Zarenko's grasp and started to scream, but he raised his pistol and clubbed her over the head before she could utter a sound.
Everything went black.
He quickly handed the gun to a man inside the carriage, then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Fortunately for him, all eyes remained fixed on the excitement across the square. He scooped her into his arms and handed her to his servant before climbing aboard himself. The carriage took off with a lurch, headed toward the park.
* * * *
“I think we have what folks back home call a Mexican standoff. You can't fire or you'll give away your position,” Josh said, his Colt aimed at Sergei Valerian's heart. He backed around so he could see both men. “I reckon I savvy why Natasha thought you being the brains of this outfit was so funny, Alexi.”
“Alexi, the good-natured drunk. Everyone loves a jovial buffoon—even you, my American friend. I have fooled your arrogant British spies as well,” Alexi Kurznikov said conversationally.
“Maybe,” Josh replied, waiting for an opening as Alexi started to leap to his feet in a surprisingly supple motion for one so rotund. Small wonder he had the capacity to drink a dozen men under the table and still stagger upright. What appeared to be fat was in reality thick, well-conditioned muscle. When the barrel of the rifle moved fractionally, Josh dived to the ground, rolling as he fired at Kurznikov, grazing his arm, but the Russian did not relinquish his hold on his weapon.
Before Alexi could sight in on his target, Josh was partially concealed behind a thicket of overgrown boxwoods. “Dispose of him,” Alexi snapped in Russian to Valerian, then turned back to observe the parade on the Mall. The open carriage continued to draw nearer, although several soldiers at the rear had pulled abreast of it to offer protection as soon as Josh's shot rang out.
He got off another shot at Alexi, but Valerian threw himself across the space separating them and spoiled his aim. The Russian landed on top of him, knocking the Colt from his hand even as he brought the deadly blade up, intent on silencing his foe permanently. They rolled in the thick brush, thrashing as Josh fought to hold on to Valerian's knife hand. The wickedly gleaming steel nicked his throat before the Texan was able to force it away.
Sweat beaded their faces as they struggled. Time was running out. Alexi was going to take that shot, and if he hit the Japanese minister, it would be an international catastrophe. Josh used his leg as he'd learned to do “Injun rasslin’ ” back home and hooked it over Valerian's leg, then bent it quickly, throwing his opponent off of him. The Texan followed, never relinquishing his grip on his enemy's knife hand. Now he was on top and used the leverage to lower the blade toward Valerian's throat.
Suddenly Michael burst into the clearing, winded from his run across the bridge and up the hill. Ignoring the life-and-death struggle between Josh and Valerian, he yelled at Kurznikov, “Drop the weapon or I'll kill you where you stand.”
Alexi did not comply. His sights were in alignment and his finger squeezed the trigger. Jamison’s shot rang out, plowing into Alexi's shoulder an instant before the Russian's Re
mington went off. Kurznikov's shot kicked up dust at the hooves of one of the Guards' horses, causing the animal to shy and rear up, but no harm was done once the frightened animal was back under control.
The carriage full of dignitaries continued on to St. James' Palace.
Josh used the interruption to good advantage, pressing the knife closer to Valerian's throat, but at the last instant, the Russian grabbed a fistful of dirt with his free hand and ground it in the Texan's face, then rolled over again as Josh, coughing and blinking away the stinging pain in his eyes, tried to regain control of the fight.
Michael sighted his Webley down on Alexi, who had lost his purchase on the rifle and lay, defeated, clutching his ruined shoulder, which was bleeding profusely. The British agent moved closer and picked up the sniper's rifle. “A fine weapon,” he said. “Pity you missed with it.” Then, satisfied that Kurznikov was no longer a threat, he turned to see how Josh was faring.
“I could use a mite of help, ole chap,” the viscount drawled as he punched blindly at the Russian's face. His fist connected with a glancing blow just as his vision started to clear. He rolled up on top again and put all his weight onto Valerian's arm so the knife blade pressed into his foe’s throat. “Drop it or bleed,” Josh said.
The Russian let the knife fall from his grasp, glaring up at the grinning Texan.
“Much obliged for your help,” Josh said dryly to Michael, who was hauling a pale, stoic Alexi Kurznikov to his feet.
“Think nothing of it, old chap,” Jamison said. “My first priority was to protect Count Hayashi. You are, after all, merely a viscount, and England already has a surfeit of them.”
“But only one Texas viscount,” Josh countered as he recovered his Colt from where it lay hidden in the brush and motioned for Valerian to stand. “That ought to mean somethin’.”
“We have a saying in jolly old England. A viscount by any other name is still a viscount,” Michael replied cheerily as they herded their prisoners down the slope.
“Will Shakespeare was talking about roses,” Josh groused.
Ignoring the gibe, Jamison looked around. “Where the deuce are our agents? The place should be swarming with them in response to those shots.”
“It's a large park, and I arranged for one of my servants to take them on a bit of a wild goose chase, I believe you English call it,” Nikolai Zarenko said conversationally as he stepped into their pathway with a pistol. When Josh and Michael started to turn their guns toward him, he added, “I would not advise shooting me, else Yuri will be forced to break Miss Edgewater's interfering neck.”
Josh swore as a bear of a man appeared beside him carrying an unconscious Sabrina in his arms. “If you've hurt her—”
“Not yet. But I would advise you to drop your weapons, lest she come to a swift and ugly end.”
“You have no hope whatever of escaping, Zarenko. Give yourself up, and your diplomatic immunity will see you safely back to Mother Russia,” Jamison said coolly.
“Forgive me if I place little faith in your government’s ‘immunity’ ” Alexi wheezed, struggling to stand upright as he broke free of Michael's hold.
Valerian stepped away from Josh at the same time. Sabrina, who had returned to consciousness just as she was being hauled from the carriage, had overheard Zarenko instructing his men to carry out this escape plan. She knew she had to do something, but, held fast by such a brute, all she could do was feign unconsciousness, praying for inspiration as they made their way toward the assassination site to locate their leader.
Now Josh and Mr. Jamison were here, and the Russians might kill them. She allowed her lashes to lift just enough to see where everyone stood. Both her love and the British agent were armed. She had to move before they dropped their weapons. Zarenko stood close beside her, his pistol aimed at Josh. In one sudden movement, she kicked out as hard and fast as she could, aiming for his gun arm, while at the same time sinking sharp little teeth into the hairy throat of the bear who held her.
With a startled oath, he dropped her. Zarenko's weapon discharged as the toe of her boot connected wickedly with the bones in his elbow. The shot skimmed by Josh, who dived toward his nemesis, unable to fire for fear of hitting Sabrina. Still, his Colt made a formidable club, and he smashed it into the side of the Russian's face as they went down together. The servant who had been carrying her made a guttural sound as one meaty paw rubbed at his throat where she had drawn blood. His other hand lashed out, connecting with the side of her head and knocking her to the ground.
Sabrina literally saw stars as the earth came up to meet her and everything around her whirled in dizzying circles. On all fours, she shook her head to clear it as the sounds of life-and-death struggling surrounded her. I will not be used as a bargaining chip again! That was all she could think of as she saw Josh and Zarenko punching each other bloody.
Alexi was too weak from his injuries to make it more than three steps before he fell to his knees. Ignoring him for an instant, Jamison fired at Valerian, who had seized the pistol Zarenko had dropped when Sabrina kicked him. Valerian went down, hit point-blank in the heart. Zarenko’s servant reached for her, knowing that she was the key to ending the fight before help arrived for the English; but she kicked and struggled, engaging his attention until Jamison could reach them. When she twisted away from the Russian's grasp, Jamison dispatched him just as he had Valerian.
“Josh, watch out!” Sabrina screamed, looking past Michael to where Josh had just knocked Zarenko flat. Alexi, still on his knees and white as the cliffs of Dover, had picked up Valerian's pistol and was taking aim at Hambleton's heir.
“My last act for Mother Russia,” he said with a sigh.
But Josh's instincts were honed by years of bar fights and backroom brawls. He dived behind Zarenko, who was struggling to get back up. Alexi's bullet hit his compatriot an instant before Jamison put a second shot into the ringleader.
Peering across the carnage, the Texan grinned. “About time you did something to help me,” he said as he stood up, dusting off his torn and bloody clothes.
“Happy to oblige now that diplomacy's been served,” Michael replied coolly.
“Are all men idiots?” Sabrina asked rhetorically, swallowing her gorge as she tried not to look at the dead Russians littering St. James’ Park. Instead, she fixed her eyes on Josh, who was striding toward her.
“I can't rightly speak for all the members of my gender, but when it comes to you, darlin', I reckon I'm one,” he said, picking her up and whirling her around in a circle.
“Put me down,” she hissed as the sounds of men approaching were quickly followed by the appearance of a phalanx of bobbies and Mr. Parker's agents.
Josh ignored them and her command, holding her fast as he let her curvaceous little body slide down his. He kept one arm around her waist and cupped her face with the other hand, gently caressing the angry red swelling where the Russian had struck her. “Can't you ever stay out of trouble?” he asked, planting soft kisses on her injury.
“Josh, we have an audience,” she whispered as the officers of the law began to haul away bodies while Michael Jamison calmly related to Mr. Parker what had transpired.
“Appears to me half of ‘em is past caring and the other half is too busy to pay us any mind,” Josh said, silencing her next protest by lowering his mouth to hers and kissing her soundly.
“Whatever am I to do with you?” she asked in a dreamy voice when he relinquished her lips.
“Marry me?” he supplied.
“Josh, don't be absurd. You’re Lord Hambleton’s heir and I'm—oh!” She realized the deadly Mr. Jamison was standing directly beside them now, grinning as he listened to every word they said!
“You can’t possibly be as unsuitable as Grandmother Beth was when my great-grandfather Blackthorne forced my grandfather Derrick to marry her,” Michael said. “The Countess of Lynden was reputed to cavort naked with Italian artists, and even lived in an Algerian seraglio for a time.”
> Sabrina blinked. “You're jesting,” was all she could think to say.
“ ‘Pon my honor, it is the truth.” Michael raised one hand solemnly.
“And a spy would never prevaricate,” she replied dryly.
“More ten-dollar words,” Josh said. “I reckon I'll have to buy a dictionary just so I can palaver with her once we're married.” By this time the three of them were alone. He winked at Michael.
“Oh, Josh, you don't realize what you're asking,” Sabrina said softly as she met his laughing green eyes. “I'm the daughter of a country squire, a—a nobody compared to a viscount, much less an earl.”
Josh scratched his head. “You know, I've been studying on why Uncle Ab hired your fool cousin and then you. Now I know the reason. Clear as sunrise.”
She had been wondering about that herself. “And, pray, what could that be?” she asked suspiciously, not daring to hope this wonderful dream could ever work in the real world.
“We'll just go and ask him right now,” he said resolutely.
Sabrina swallowed for courage. How could she dare to face the Earl of Hambleton with such an audacious proposal? But Josh appeared so determined, so certain. After all they had been through together, she knew, for good or ill, that she would brave the old man's wrath. “I shall go with you, but I fear you're going to be given a sharp set-down.”
“Would it bother you to marry a plain ole Texas stockman—who happens to be a millionaire? ‘Course, you'd have to come live with me in America.”
Now his certainty appeared to waver. “Oh, Josh, you cannot abdicate your family duty,” she protested.
“Hel—I mean, shucks, darlin’, the only reason I agreed to be a viscount in the first place was because President Roosevelt asked me to.” He remembered how Uncle Ab had pulled strings to bring that about and grinned, his confidence once again rising. “No more balking. Come on,” he said, taking her hand and practically dragging her to where the boy watching his horse stood dutifully waiting.
