A Gentleman's Curse: Avenging Lords - Book 4

by Clee, Adele

  She pursed her lips and seemed to mull over his suggestion. “It’s important you’re here when your family arrive to cause mayhem. If I check on Emily tonight, I won’t need to go back for a couple of days.”

  “That’s what I thought, and it means I can collect the private papers I left with Dariell. I want to examine the letter from my father stating he’d struck me from his will.” With his parents’ erratic behaviour he had never thought to question its legitimacy. Pride had stopped him asking for proof. “The letter did not come from his solicitor, which leaves me questioning its authenticity.”

  “Under the circumstances, I understand why you’re suspicious.” A frown marred her brow. She stared into nothingness for a few seconds before saying, “How easy is it to forge someone’s signature, do you think?”

  “For fraudulent purposes?” He shrugged. “For the average person, I imagine it would take many hours of practice. But for a few pounds, one might hire someone to do the deed.”

  “Someone skilled in penmanship?”

  “Indeed, and someone without a conscience.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Then let us hurry to Falaura Glen and retrieve the items you need.”

  Lockhart brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I shall inform Simmonds and Dr Hewlett. Call Lissette to help you out of that gown and be ready to leave in twenty minutes. It’s cold out. I’ll have extra bricks warmed but wear a thick cloak.”

  Claudia came up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. “I like it when you worry about me.”

  Lockhart smiled. “This may sound perverse, but I like worrying.”

  * * *

  Darkness permeated every corner of the conveyance. While it served to aid Claudia’s need for sleep, a deep sense of foreboding forced Lockhart to remain awake and alert. Unease settled in his chest for no apparent reason—an omen some might say. It had nothing to do with the wind rattling the windows or the coachman’s cautious pace.

  To distract his thoughts, he leant forward and tugged the tartan blanket around Claudia’s knees. She had fallen asleep within minutes of leaving the chaos of London behind. And while he missed her conversation, just looking at her proved comforting.

  By Lockhart’s estimation, they’d been navigating the bumpy road for forty minutes when the coachman’s sudden shouts and wild cries held him rigid.

  Saints and devils!

  The carriage picked up speed, rocking and swaying on the road as the coachman pushed the team to their limits. Panic forced Lockhart to lower the window, to thrust his head out and enquire what the bloody hell was going on.

  “Stay inside, sir,” Fleet cried. Dariell had hired the coachman two weeks ago and assured Lockhart the man was highly respected in his field. “I’ll not outrun the blighter, but I’ll ride the last breath outta that ’orse.”

  The blighter?

  Lockhart yanked his head back inside the carriage and shuffled around on the seat. He removed the loose padding to reveal the small viewing window at the rear.

  In the dark, it was impossible to make out the identity of the rider chasing their heels. A black neckcloth covered the lower half of their pursuer’s face. The peak of a black tricorne—a fashion that had fallen out of style twenty years earlier—hid his eyes.

  Lockhart had no reason to fear the rogue. Dariell had taught him how to knock the largest oaf on his arse. But a glint of metal caught his eye, the barrel of the devil’s pistol.

  Pushing panic aside, for one did not shoot well when one’s hands shook, Lockhart removed the oak box from the cupboard beneath his seat and attempted to load the flintlock pistol.

  “Bloody hell.”

  The carriage careened to the right as Fleet swerved around a bend. The swift movement caused Lockhart to drop the damn tamping rod. After brushing powder from his breeches, he tried again, but the carriage bumped down a rut in the road sending him sliding off the seat.

  Claudia shrieked. Her eyes flew open as she jerked forward.

  “Damnation.” He scrambled up, thumped the roof and shouted out of the window, “Stop the blasted carriage before one of us suffers an injury.”

  “What’s happening?” Looking more than alarmed, Claudia blinked rapidly and gripped the seat. “Hudson, why are you waving that pistol?”

  “Because we’re about to be held up on the King’s Highway.”

  Claudia didn’t clutch her throat as ladies wearing fine jewels were wont to do. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as if her first instinct were to protect their imagined child.

  “Heaven help us. Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Fleet slowed the horses and brought the carriage to a grinding halt next to a coppice.

  Frantic, Hudson closed the box but kept hold of the pistol. “During highway robberies, ladies make the mistake of hiding in the carriage, waiting like sitting ducks. You won’t. You’ll climb out with me. You’ll stand slightly behind my right shoulder, and if I tell you to run, you will run. Don’t say anything. Don’t look back no matter what you hear.” He broke for breath. “Don’t run in a straight line. Use the trees to your advantage.”

  Claudia stared at him, her eyes wide. “You’re scaring me.”

  He shuffled to the edge of the seat, cupped her cheek and poured every ounce of love he felt for her into one tender kiss. “I’ll protect you with my life.”

  She pressed her forehead to his, kissed him with the same abiding devotion. “If I loved you, I would tell you now,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I’m in love with you, Hudson.”

  His heart soared and ached at the same time. He saw a bright future ahead. A bright future brought to an abrupt end by the firing of a single lead ball.

  “And I am deeply in love with you.” It felt so damn good to say the words. If he died tonight, he’d not have that regret.

  “Stand and deliver!” The cold, masculine command pierced the air.

  “Don’t go out there. Please,” she begged. Water welled in her eyes.

  “I must. We must.” He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his breeches before offering his hand. “Remember, when I tell you to run, run and don’t look back.”

  “I know what you said, but I am not Selina. If there’s a remote chance I might save you I will.”

  Pride and love filled his chest. Terror found a way in, too.

  “Get out of the damn carriage!” the rogue cried.

  Without another word, Lockhart opened the door and vaulted to the ground. He studied the assailant, looking for clues to his identity should he need to hunt the reprobate down and seek retribution.

  Claudia climbed out of the carriage. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”

  The rogue’s ugly laugh ignited a burning fury in Lockhart’s chest. He helped her to her feet, noticed she clutched something in her hand.

  “Give me your jewels and your purse.” The blackguard spoke in an affected voice, as deep a timbre as any Lockhart had heard.

  Lockhart snorted. “I don’t have a purse, and my coachman only carries coin enough to pay the toll.”

  “Hand me your purse else I’ll shoot.” Agitated, he aimed the pistol at Lockhart. “And every lady of quality has a ring.”

  “No,” Claudia muttered beneath her breath, “not my ring.”

  “She has no jewellery. Ours is a short journey.” Lockhart spoke in a clipped tone. “We have no luggage, nothing of any value.”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you these roads are unsafe?” The blackguard snorted. He seemed to find the notion of highway robbery somewhat amusing. “A man might take a ball between the brows should he fail to comply.”

  Should he fail to comply?

  Lockhart had been away from England for five years, but to his knowledge, murderous thieves rarely spoke with the phrasing of a gentleman. Was this a ruse? The timing proved perfect. Was it Justin or Terence sitting astride the horse?
Even with the light of the carriage lamp, it was impossible to tell. But one thing was certain. Both men had a reason to pull the trigger, which made this rogue more dangerous than any highwayman.

  The blackguard teased the hammer. “Perhaps if I put the ball between your wife’s brows it might force you to reconsider.”

  The chance that this man was either Terence or Justin grew more likely by the minute. Still, Lockhart couldn’t risk pulling out an unloaded pistol. “How do you know she’s my wife? I made no mention of the fact.”

  An awkward silence ensued.

  “It was an educated guess,” the fool replied in a higher pitch. Lockhart could teach him a lot about acting. In his panic, the devil forgot to speak in a deep voice.

  “Then I shall repeat my earlier statement. We have nothing of any value.”

  The villain aimed his pistol at Claudia. “Perhaps I’ll shoot your wife, anyway.”

  Lockhart’s blood froze in his veins. What if his father hadn’t amended his will? What if killing them was a sure way to gain Lockhart’s share of the inheritance? Then again, it would be better to kill him first and deal with Claudia later.

  Thankfully, Claudia stood slightly behind him which made her a more difficult target. And so Lockhart decided to take a chance.

  “You’ll not hit her from that range.” Lockhart stepped to the right to shield Claudia. “I know of only one man capable. So, unless you’re Lucius Valentine, I suggest you lower your pistol and be on your way.”

  “I could always shoot you.”

  Lockhart opened his arms. “Then take your best shot.”

  Behind him, Claudia gasped. “No, Hudson. Don’t be a fool.” She tugged on the back of his coat.

  The blackguard aimed at Lockhart’s heart.

  And then chaos erupted.

  Claudia jumped out from behind Lockhart’s back and hurled a stone at the masked man sitting astride his mount. It whisked through the air and smacked the rogue hard on the hand.

  “Bloody hell!” Yelping in pain from the accurate shot, the fool loosened his grip and his weapon tumbled to the ground.

  Then Fleet made his move.

  A loud crack of the coachman’s whip sent the rogue’s horse skittish. It reared, threw the rider back onto the ground before darting off into the coppice.

  Lockhart broke into a run. He dived on the man lying squirming on the ground. A scuffle ensued, but Dariell had taught him how to use his opponent’s strength to his advantage. Two deflects, and a hard punch to the rogue’s gut rendered the fool helpless.

  “Don’t kill me,” the coward choked when Lockhart straddled him on the ground. He wrapped his fingers around the blackguard’s throat and pressed the pad of his thumb into the man’s Adam’s apple. “The … the pistol isn’t loaded. I s-swear.”

  In the fall, the tricorn hat had slipped to the left to reveal a wave of blonde hair. Lockhart tugged down the black neckcloth, unsurprised to find it was Justin Perigrew playing the part of an arrogant thief, though no theatre manager in the land would hire him after such a shoddy performance.

  Lockhart supposed he should ask a few questions, but the urge to punch his cousin proved too great. The smack sent Justin’s head whipping to the left. A stream of blood and spittle shot from his mouth. The dandy coughed and spluttered.

  Satisfaction thrummed through Lockhart’s veins.

  “That’s for threatening my wife.” Lockhart flicked Justin’s tricorn, and the hat went skittering across the ground. He grabbed a fistful of his cousin’s hair, raised the fool’s head and punched him again. The crack, quickly followed by Justin’s pained groan, rent the air. “And that’s for taking advantage of a helpless man.”

  Claudia came to stand at Lockhart’s side. “What did you hope to gain by threatening us with a pistol?” She kicked Justin in the thigh. “That’s for threatening to shoot my husband.” She kicked him again for good measure. “Well, what were you hoping to gain?”

  Silence ensued.

  “You’ve insulted my wife on more than one occasion.” Lockhart raised his fist. “Don’t insult her now by refusing to answer.”

  “All right. All right.” Justin closed his eyes briefly. “I just want rid of you.”

  “Rid of me?” Lockhart narrowed his gaze. “You said the pistol wasn’t loaded.”

  “I was attempting to frighten your wife.” He dabbed his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “I thought if she felt unsafe here she might beg you to take her back to India.”

  Lockhart couldn’t help but glance at the woman standing at his side. The woman who hadn’t run at the first sign of danger, but who had risked her life to save him. When it came to loving her, he didn’t have to pretend.

  “What, and leave you to drain my father dry?” While watching Claudia sleep in the carriage, Lockhart had contemplated the dark stain on his father’s bedsheets. Only one plausible reason sprang to mind. “I know why you sit there, day after day. A visit to the bank will prove my theory.”

  “What theory?”

  “That you wait until my father rouses from his drug-induced state. That you thrust a quill into his hand and persuade him to sign his name to numerous banknotes.” Why else would there be an ink splatter on the bed?

  Claudia placed a comforting hand on Lockhart’s shoulder before continuing the verbal attack. “It is why you object to the doctor’s presence, why you object to ours. One might wonder if Selina isn’t aware of your trick. Perhaps you share your ill-gotten gains.”

  “That’s preposterous.” Justin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I would never do such a thing. And Selina is a paragon of virtue. Look, I admit to pestering my uncle, admit to playing the doting nephew in the hope he leaves me a large portion in his will.”

  “Then why drug him when there’s nothing wrong with him?” Lockhart countered. The doctor was yet to confirm the diagnosis, but something told him his father suffered from nothing other than the effects of an excessive use of laudanum.

  Justin groaned. “Can I stand? My stomach aches like the devil.”

  “Not until you answer my question.”

  “At least give me my handkerchief so I can clean the damn blood off my lips.”

  Claudia kicked Justin in the thigh. “Answer my husband’s question.”

  “Goddamn,” Justin groaned. “All right. As far as I know, he is ill. He’s been suffering from some odd malaise ever since you left. Had it not been for Selina then your mother might have sent him to an institution.”

  “What were his symptoms?” Claudia asked.

  “Disquiet, a general weakness of the body, disinterest in food and conversation. Every time someone mentioned your name he’d clutch his chest and take to his bed.”

  The answer tugged at Lockhart’s heart.

  During his time in India, he had concocted a very different story. In his chronicle, Alfred Lockhart ranted and raved. He destroyed his son’s belongings and cursed him to the devil. He stomped down to his solicitor and demanded to have the name Hudson Lockhart wiped from his will, scratched from their family’s history.

  “Your father pleaded with Terence to set sail and bring you home. He begged until he became too weak to utter the words.”

  A lump formed in Lockhart’s throat, so large he had to swallow numerous times to breathe.

  “Of course, your brother cares for no one but himself,” Justin continued. “If you knew what he’d put his wife through, you would understand why she spends so much time with your parents.”

  Perhaps Terence lacked integrity. Perhaps he did have a gaming addiction that left him no option but to pander to the likes of Mrs Fanshaw. Lockhart imagined Selina was not an easy woman to love. And the absence of any children only added to the strain.

  And yet something about the ink stain on the bed bothered him.

  He was busy phrasing another question in his mind when Claudia said, “So Terence rarely visits Alfred?”

  “Rarely?” Justin scoffed. “He’s been once this last month.
”

  “To bring the medicine,” Claudia clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “And both you and Selina attend to Alfred around the clock.”

  Justin frowned. “From ten in the morning until ten at night, yes.”

  That left twelve hours unaccounted. So Terence might have visited during the night without their knowledge. Lockhart would check with Simmonds upon his return.

  “And my father’s symptoms worsened when Lord Greystone returned from India,” Lockhart confirmed.

  Justin winced as he nodded. He pressed his fingers to his cheek. “By Selina’s reckoning, Greystone had been home for a few days when Alfred started vomiting and lost his appetite.”

  Was it a natural sickness of the heart or was foul play afoot?

  “And you’re in love with Selina,” Claudia blurted.

  The statement came as a shock. Justin was too much of a fop to satisfy a woman with Selina’s voracious appetite. Then again, he was easy to control, easy to manipulate. Many times in the past, Selina had tried to use her body to get what she wanted. Nothing of any great importance—attention, new dresses, jewels to show how much he cared.

  “Selina needs a man who loves her to distraction, not one who abuses and humiliates her publicly,” Justin replied. “Terence didn’t even have the funds to pay her modiste. The poor woman was beside herself with worry.”

  And no doubt Justin came to her rescue.

  The fool should be pitied, not beaten.

  Lockhart climbed off his cousin and dragged the fop to his feet.

  Panic flashed in Justin’s eyes. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

  For a second, Lockhart wondered if the comment was said in reference to what had happened on that fateful night at the inn. But if Justin had known the truth, he would have used the information as a weapon to attack, a shield to defend. Unless of course, he was the one hiding behind the oak tree, the one guilty of murder.

  No. Justin didn’t have the strength of mind or body to drive a blade into a man’s heart.

  “Answer one last question, and I shall release you,” Lockhart said. He would ask Greystone to monitor Justin’s movements for the next two days. “Why would Lord Greystone’s return affect my father so deeply when he believed I was dead?”