by Janet Woods
‘You do not intend to call him out, do you? He’s shot to death three men in the last six months.’
Gerard smiled reassuringly at Willow when she anxiously entwined her fingers through his and whispered. ‘You’ll remember your oath to your father?’
‘I promise you’ll not become a widow just yet, my love.’ His eyes filled with contempt when they met those of the marquis, and the room held a collective breath when he spoke loudly enough for the man to hear. ‘I believe there’s a wager concerning my wife. Would anyone care to tell me about it?’
Simon Carswell swaggered forward. ‘My pleasure, dear viscount. The marquis has set a purse of three hundred guineas upon her virtue.’ He leered at Willow. ‘I’d gladly pay five hundred for the privilege.’
Shocked whispers followed the insult. Contempt flamed in Willow’s eyes and Carswell took a hasty step backward when she hissed. ‘I’ll cut your eyes from your poxy head and grind them under my heel if you come one step closer.’
Gerard’ s fingers locked round hers as she made an involuntary movement towards her pocket for her dagger, though he was tempted to allow her to carry out her threat. ‘You may save your money, Carswell. We’re not here to sell, we’re here to collect.’
Someone laughed, a derisive guffaw that was picked up by the crowd. Charles grinned at the easing of tension in the room. It was inconceivable his friend would have left such a prize intact.
Dislike glittered in the eyes of the marquis. ‘You were not invited here. Take the she-devil’s spawn, Lytton. Get out before I have you both thrown into the gutter.’
There were a couple of hisses and the room erupted into a cacophony of stamping feet. When the noise died down somebody shouted. ‘Shame on you, Lynchcross. Pay the viscount.’
‘I’ll see the son of a whore in hell first.’
Charles sucked in his breath. The bounds of acceptable behavior had been well breached, and his friend was not noted for his restraint.
But Gerard merely said to the room at large. ‘I’m here to collect a debt. We all suspect of course, that the marquis is the lowest of creatures. I hadn’t realized he was also a cheat, and totally without honor.’
The marquis flushed. ‘Take care, sir. I’ll not be insulted in my own home.’
‘Your home?’ Though he smiled, the tone of Gerard’ s voice echoed the contempt he felt. ‘I understand it was paid for dearly.’ He gazed round at the mesmerized crowd. ‘The marquis earns his funds, and takes his pleasures from the children he kidnaps to amuse his depraved companions abroad.’ He picked up a glass and sniffed its contents as a shocked murmur came from the company. ‘The wine you enjoy is stolen from the inheritance of a four-year-old boy whose mother is dying. He is the son of Daphne de Vere.’
‘Shame!’ someone cried out. One or two people drifted towards the door to avoid the coming trouble. Scenting a juicy scandal, most stayed to see what the outcome would be. Without exception, every one of them hoped to see the marquis bested.
‘Take back what you said, or I’ll call you out.’
Willow made a tiny, anguished sound in her throat when she realized what he was about.
A dangerous grin slid across Gerard’s face. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’
The marquis looked bored. ‘Have it your own way, Lytton. Pistols at dawn.’
‘The choice of weapons is mine, I believe.’ He smiled as the marquis’s head jerked up. ‘My preference is swords.’
Behind him, Charles cursed. ‘I’ll act as your second. Mayhap my stitching skills will come in handy.’
Wariness came into the marquis’s eyes. Raising his cuff, he made an aside to Simon Carswell, who nodded.
‘Please, Gerard,’ Willow whispered, trembling against him with fear. ‘Retract your words. None can beat my father in a duel.’
‘Hush, angel,’ he said tenderly. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Swords it is. We’ll meet in my stable yard on the morrow. Now that’s settled, you may leave.’
‘You owe me three hundred guineas, I believe.’ Gerard’s expression was lethal now. ‘I hope you’ve no intention of refusing to honor the debt.’
‘Taking a purse from his belt the marquis threw it at Gerard’s feet and sneered. ‘I hope the slut was worth it.’
‘That’s not a topic for discussion.’ Taking her hand, he pressed the purse into her palm and closed her fingers round it. His eyes smiled into hers, but the icy fury in their depths made her shiver when he said. ‘This should support your orphans for some time to come.’
The assembly applauded when they made a dignified exit from the room. Behind them, the crowd began to lambaste the marquis. Gerard grinned. Lynchcross would not be welcomed in society drawing rooms after tonight.
Rising slowly to his feet, the marquis pushed through the crowd of jeering people, looking neither to left or right. Rage fermented in his heart as one of two of his guests cuffed him from the safety of the crowd. Apart from Simon Carswell, who followed him like the mongrel dog he was, he hadn’t a friend left in London. Gerard Lytton would pay dearly for what he’d done this night.
Charles followed his friend out, and was just in time to see Willow buckle at the knees.
‘Hell!’ Such alarm colored Gerard’ s voice that Charles stepped forward and opened the carriage door before the driver could descend from his seat.
‘It’s just a faint,’ he reassured him after checking Willow’s pulse and propping her neatly turned ankles on Gerard’s lap so the blood would reach her head. ‘What do you expect after what you put her through? Are you mad, Gerard? If you intend to commit suicide, a ball through the heart is the easier way to go.’
‘Quite possibly. I cannot hope to out-shoot him, but word has it the marquis has lost his edge when it comes to swordplay. Did you see his eyes. He was plotting something. I’ve a feeling he’ll send his dogs to murder me in my bed tonight.’
‘Then your lady must be protected.’ Charles grinned. ‘I know someone who would give her sanctuary, but I must warn you. She and her sister entertain… in a discreet sort of way?’
Gazing down at Willow, who seemed to be regaining her wits, Gerard gave a wry smile. ‘Placing her in a house of ill-repute is better than jeopardizing her life, but I’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘She need never find out if you’re quick.’ Charles took a bottle from his pocket. ‘A harmless, but strong sleeping draught. Your good lady will be back in her own bed before she wakes?’
Simon Carswell was thinking of the woman with the violet eyes as he and his companion gained entrance to the Lytton residence.
His tongue slid over his lips. After they’d slit the throat of her husband he’d have free rein with her. Her debauchery would be sweeter had Lytton been allowed to live long enough to witness it, but he dare not risk it.
‘Fool,’ he hissed, when his companion stumbled against some furniture. But all remained quiet, except for the sound of snoring coming from the upper regions.
‘Lytton is an uncommonly loud sleeper,’ the other man said with a quiet laugh. ‘It’s civil of him to guide us to his chamber.’
Not only was it civil, they discovered that the door was invitingly ajar and a candle left burning to light their way. There was an outline of two figures under the sheets. One turned over on its back when a floorboard creaked. Momentarily, the snoring stopped, then it started again, louder than ever.
‘The viscount is yours,’ Carswell whispered to his companion, removing the stock from about his neck to use as a gag. ‘If you make it quick I’ll let you take a turn with the woman.’
Cold steel pressed against Carswell’s neck. He froze as a laconic voice drawled, ‘I’d drop your weapon if I were you, friend.’
As the other man spun towards the door someone stepped from behind it and pressed a pistol against his temple. He swore, and opening his hand allowed his dagger to thud to the floor.
Two figures rose from the bed. One was General Robert Marriot, cou
sin to Lady Edwina, the other a young subaltern. The subaltern was wearing one of Lady Edwina’s voluminous night robes and a lacy cap.
‘I’ll mention your brave deed at the regimental dinner, Oswald.’ The general said with a perfectly straight face.
‘I’d rather it didn’t get out, General.’ The subaltern almost panicked in his haste to divest himself of the garments. ‘I’ll never live it down.’
‘Personally, I thought you looked quite fetching.’ The general’s voice was dry as he gazed at Gerard and Charles. ‘What say you, gentlemen?’
‘I prefer my women with fewer whiskers,’ Charles drawled, the point of his knife etching a thin red line into Carswell’s neck when he dared to move.
‘Go and tell the escort we’re bringing the prisoners down, Oswald. Tell them to shoot to kill if either of them try to escape.’ Robert Marriot gazed with scorn at the two men. ‘I’m taking you cowards back to the barracks for questioning. The answers you give will determine whether your punishment be imprisonment or hanging. Is that understood?’
The general was pleased with the outcome of a affair. He’d been embarrassed by the Hugh MacBride episode. Although he’d transferred the young man to a posting abroad, he needed to redeem himself in Earl Lytton’s eyes.
Willow showed no sign of restlessness when Gerard went to fetch her from her place of safety. Later, when he’d clumsily acted as maid to his lady, and successfully removed every item of clothing from her body except her chemise, he flopped her on to the bed and stared down at her. She was invitingly relaxed, her breasts jutting firmly against the material of the chemise. His arousal came, hot and strong.
Charles had promised that Willow would sleep until dawn, and he was glad she’d not be awake to worry about the duel until it was over. But if he’d misjudged the marquis he’d not live to enjoy her charms again. It didn’t seem fair to leave her unloved. Perhaps he could give her an infant to remember him by this night—an heir for Lytton.
The hastily contrived excuse banished any twinge of conscience he may have entertained. Shrugging out of his clothes, he pulled the chemise up over her head and bent his lips to her breasts. Her reaction was drowsily sensual, and he smiled.
‘Sweet dreams, angel,’ he whispered.
The sun was high when Willow woke. Her limbs felt strangely lethargic as she stretched her naked body against the sheets. Where was her chemise? A memory of delicious lovemaking flitted into her mind, then elusively slipped away.
Aware of a tender sensation between her thighs, she guessed Gerard had taken his enjoyment of her. Strange that she could not clearly remember it. She must have fallen soundly asleep after the ride to London, because all she could remember was coming out of her father’s house and… ?
‘Gerard!’ Screaming his name as her memory returned she scrambled from the bed, pulled her robe around her body and rushed to the partially open window. The scene below was so normal she couldn’t believe it. A cart trundled by, piled high with household goods of every type for sale. A woman hurried past, a basket of silver fish balanced on her head. Several honking geese were being driven along by a grubby looking lad with a stick. Glancing up at the window, he gave her a cheeky smile.
She wanted to scream at them all to go home—tell them her husband was, in all likelihood, lying dead at that very minute in the stable yard of the marquis. She did not want life to go on without him. A sob gathered in her throat and turning from the window, she was about to throw herself on the bed and weep in despair when she saw him leaning nonchalantly against the doorway.
‘You’re alive,’ she scolded, her relief a palpable thing. A smile eclipsed her frown. ‘What miracle is this, Gerard? You’re still alive.’
‘So it seems.’ His voice was dryly amused. ‘Half of London turned out to witness my demise. They were sadly disappointed. Your father set sail for France last night.’
‘He fled?’ She scowled again. ‘I knew he’d be a craven coward when put to the test.’
‘You’d rather I’d fought him and died?’ he teased, and began to advance into the room.
‘Indeed not.’ Closing the gap between them she slid into his arms and laid her head against his warmly beating heart. ‘I had no qualms you’d best him in a fair fight.’
‘Then it was not you I heard shout my name with such fright?’
She plucked from the air what seemed a perfectly feasible excuse. ‘My father is full of trickery. I slept so soundly I thought he may have drugged me somehow, and killed you while you slept.’
Though shaken, he grinned at her ingenious tale. She’d never know how close to the truth she’d come. ‘Then who do you think took possession of your senses and made your dreams so sweet?’
‘Indeed. I had no dreams worthy of note.’ Her eyes flirted with his most outrageously. ‘Are you sure it was not you who were dreaming?’
‘Perhaps I should refresh your memory, wench,’ he said with a grin. ‘I have ten minutes to tumble you on the bed before I need go out.’
‘Ten minutes?’ Gliding to the door she turned the key in the lock, and with unerring aim hurled it through the open window into the strip of garden below. Dropping her robe to the floor, she smiled so seductively through her sleep-tumbled hair that every thought was erased from his mind except his need to love her. ‘It seems you’re my prisoner, Gerard.’
If half of London turned up to see him slain by the marquis, it seemed the other half had gathered beneath the window to watch him climb down the front of the house to retrieve the key.
Knowing it would be common gossip in the coffee houses by noon, he decided to give them their money’s worth. Urged on by the violet-eyed woman laughing at him from the window, and the cheers of the small crowd gathered below, he climbed back up again.
Daphne de Vere had died during the night, her lawyer informed Gerard when the documents were signed and exchanged. As the guardian of the young Marquis de Vere, what were his instructions regarding the London property? The house had been built by Christopher Wren for Daphne’s father. Daphne had been fond of it, and he knew she’d want it kept for her son.
‘Arrange for everything except the furniture to be packed and conveyed to Sheronwood. The house can be leased, the income invested until Edward is of age. I will give you the name of my lawyer.’
Gerard leaned forward and smiled when the lawyer’s face adopted a resigned expression. ‘Actually, I see no reason why you should not continue to manage the estate. If the marchioness trusted you with it, that’s good enough for me. It will ensure there’s no conflict of interests.’
‘His majesty the King, who sponsored the child at his christening, wishes to provide for the boy’s education. His majesty has placed a sum of gold at your disposal. He would be assured of your utmost discretion in the matter.’
‘I suggest the gold be inventoried as part of the estate,’ he murmured. ‘It can then be drawn upon without inviting comment.’
There was warm approval in the lawyer’s eyes when the business was concluded. ‘The marchioness showed good sense in her choice of wardship for her son. She always spoke warmly of you, and would have been glad you survived to attend this meeting.’
‘You had your doubts?’ Remembering how fast news travelled in London, he gave a rueful grin.
‘The duel was mentioned at Child’s coffee house this morning.’
‘Then you will know my opponent did not put in an appearance,’ he growled. ‘He fled to France.’
‘I believe there’s a warrant issued for his arrest.’ The lawyer held out his hand. ‘Be vigilant whilst he’s still at large. He does not forget a grudge.’
Gerard didn’t need the man’s warning. There was an uneasy feeling gnawing at his gut, as if he’d forgotten something important. He puzzled over it in vain, then realized what it was as soon as he reached the house and read General Marriot’s note.
The ship the marquis had sailed on intended docking at Poole to pick up cargo. He remembered the sobbing voice
echoing through the walls of Sheronwood, and the boarded up cellar. Everything clicked into place. ‘Willow!’ he shouted. ‘I leave for Lytton as soon as possible. ‘Edward is in grave danger.’ He was thankful she was not the type of woman who was subject to the Vapors.
Appearing at the top of the stairs she said simply. ‘I’m coming with you.’
This time, it was Willow who urged them on when Gerard would have stopped to let her rest. She knew her sore muscles would stiffen if she stopped and she’d be unable to mount again.
Lytton House came into sight at the break of day. A mist was rising from the lake. The sun spread its light across the land, shimmering on the dew with red and gold flashes. Beyond the house, the hills gently sloped towards the sky, retaining their mysterious shadows.
Their minds found a certain synergy as they gazed at each other. Lytton had a timelessness about it, and together they experienced the pull of its presence.
‘It never fails to awe me,’ Gerard murmured, entwining her fingers with his.
The sun gradually banished the shadows. Like a carpet, the day unrolled over the land, marching over the drab shadows to push them away. The grey slate roof of Lytton warmed to blue, the hills came alive with sheep and cattle. Dew-drenched grass gave up moisture in vapors of mist that writhed upwards to disappear into the clouds. It seemed no time before daisies, primroses, and buttercups opened to make the day golden-hued, as if they’d been painted there by the sun.
Two familiar figures detached themselves from the stables. Willow smiled, feeling as though she were truly home at last. ‘Look,’ she whispered. ‘There’s Jeffrey with James.’
They rode forward to greet them. Instead of a smile of welcome, Jeffrey took one look at her and scowled fiercely at his brother. ‘Look at the state of your lady and feel ashamed,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘She and her mount have been pushed past exhaustion.’
‘No Jeffrey,’ she whispered. ‘It’s unfair to blame Gerard, when I set the pace. Edward is in danger. His mother is dead, and my father means to harm him.’
