In All Honour

by Beth Elliott

  He laughed. ‘And she is a dragon! But I am glad to hear it. We must all be careful until I – we – catch the villain behind these attacks.’ He hesitated. His eyes were probing now. ‘I am sorry to raise the matter but I have to ask, you have not returned to Queen Square?’

  Her chin came up. ‘Not yet. However—’

  His large hand covered hers. ‘Please do not,’ he interrupted her. ‘Even if you do what you intended, it seems to me that you would still be at risk. By association with me,’ he explained. ‘Until we can solve the mystery, you really should not go out alone.’

  Sarah thrilled at the feel of his hand clasping hers. It sent such a warmth and comfort through her. She inspected the long fingers and felt the calluses, no doubt from handling weapons. It took all her will power not to move her own hand, turn it to clasp his. Such a gentle hand for all it was so large and strong. She still remembered the feel as his hands had pulled her to him for that precious if guilty kiss. She gulped and repressed the longing for him to do it again.

  At the same moment he frowned and loosened his hold. He took a step back. She felt bereft. Blinking up at him she was dismayed to see that he looked angry. There was a remoteness in his eyes and his mouth was firmly compressed. A muscle moved in his tightly clenched jaw.

  ‘Have you seen your brother recently?’

  Sarah flashed him a puzzled glance. What relevance did that have to their present conversation? ‘No,’ she replied eventually, ‘he has not called for some time.’

  He did not explain his sudden interest in James, but, she knew what was in his mind. James was withholding vital information to do with the older brother’s death. She had come to know Greg well enough now to know that he would eventually make James reveal the truth. Greg had a will of steel for all it was hidden under a pleasant, amiable exterior. He wanted justice.

  Sarah clasped her hands tightly in her lap. It was wicked of James to deny his help. It also meant that she, as a Davenport, was tainted by association in this. She had seen Greg’s deep sorrow over the loss of his brother. This business drove a permanent wedge between them. The idea came to her that he maintained his friendly attitude to her in the hope that she would somehow get her brother to reveal the truth. That was more devastating than all the rest of her problems.

  She took a shaky breath and looked up. Greg was speaking to the others. Then he stood up. ‘Richard, we shall be late for our appointment if we do not hurry.’

  ‘Do you not think Richard should stay and rest?’ asked Lizzie. ‘He is not his usual self yet.’

  Richard protested. ‘I assure you, I am fine. Brother, I am at your service.’

  They took their leave. The girls watched them drive away. Sarah was reassured to see that Jenkins, Greg’s groom, was with them. Nobody could have tampered with the curricle this morning!

  As soon as they left Milsom Street Greg dropped his hands and let his horses canter down the main street in spite of the number of other vehicles in the road. Richard shot a glance at Jenkins, standing up behind and clinging on for dear life. The groom raised his brows and pulled the corners of his mouth down. Richard settled his hat more firmly on his head and folded his arms. He braced his feet against the inevitable sideways jolts as Greg swerved through the morning traffic.

  ‘Are we really late for an appointment?’ asked Richard, as they whirled round the corner towards the bridge, nearly running down an elderly farmer. ‘On second thoughts,’ he added, after a glance at his older brother’s set face, ‘forget I asked.’

  The only reply was a grunt. Greg was furious with himself. He had seen how Sarah looked at him. She was embarrassed and no wonder! He should never have given in to the impulse to kiss her. But the truth was that she was so damnably lovely. When he was with her he lost the ability to remain rational. But now he felt like a cad.

  She was struggling with the unwanted attentions of that evil Lord Percival and could not be expected to trust any man. Especially, he thought savagely, whisking his curricle past a slow coach in Laura Place and getting shouted at by its driver, when her own brother was so dismally lacking in a proper sense of his duty.

  Greg felt it was his responsibility to keep an eye on both girls, but it was not really a task for which he was well suited. To start with, they were far too independent, unlike the demure young ladies of London Society. Lizzie knew how to get her own way, easily twisting her uncle round her little finger. Her brothers, too, usually allowed her to do as she pleased. It was a good job she was such a sweet-natured and intelligent young lady.

  And then, as for Sarah, she was used to running a country estate and she had learned the hard way that she must look after herself. But he felt a fierce urge to protect her. Lord Percival’s scheme was nothing short of criminal abduction and rape. Greg’s eyes darted fire. This was yet another score he must settle with that man.

  He glanced at Richard, so valiant and still so ill. If the worst had happened, Greg knew his father would not have survived it. He swore that he would bring that rogue, Percival, to justice. If they could not prove that he was involved in the smuggling scandal, he would fight him in a duel. He was debating on swords or pistols when Richard’s voice penetrated his thoughts.

  ‘Are we going on past our house?’

  Greg came back to the present. They had reached Sydney Place. He pulled up the sweating bays. ‘Sorry, old fellow,’ he said, ‘I was busy thinking.’

  Richard cast him a bemused glance. ‘Well, I suppose you could call it that,’ he said, preparing to climb down. ‘Perhaps I will have a rest after all before we go to the concert.’ He winked at Jenkins, ‘I think we must have completed that journey in record time.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ‘So let us go through all the facts.’ Greg leaned his chin on his hand as he sat at the dressing-table in his bedchamber. His valet, now restored to his usual appearance, gave the russet jacket a shake and laid it carefully on the bed. Only the twinkle in his grey eyes betrayed his enjoyment of the task he had undertaken.

  ‘Yes, Major. As you instructed me, I played whist at the Assembly Rooms and got into conversation with Lord Davenport. He was reasonably sober. It was a table with two elderly gentlemen – from what they said they must have been friends of his father. We partnered each other. The luck went both ways but in the end he was the winner. He took a matter of fifty guineas from me that first night.’

  ‘And did any of his friends join you?’

  Preston shook his head. ‘One or two men watched the game, but … you know how they stand there for a few minutes and then go away again. They were mostly older gentlemen. Now, the second evening I went there, he was quite sober and willing to play with me again. This time he suggested piquet. We spent a while discovering each other’s game, then I must say, he played well. I could not get the better of him. He did not drink more than a bottle of claret. I lost a couple of hundred guineas to him.’ He gave his master an apologetic look.

  Greg waved a hand dismissively. ‘All part of our work, Preston. And then…?’

  ‘And then, sir, I noticed that overdressed fop nosing around.’

  ‘Lord Montallan?’

  Preston nodded. ‘That’s the one, sir. Most curious he was. When I withdrew from the table, he was joshing Lord Davenport about the luck changing for the better and saying as how he must give him the pleasure of a game … but first, he took him away for a drink.’

  ‘Aha!’ Greg’s eyes narrowed. ‘So very likely they are dosing him with drink to fuddle him. This is serious.’

  ‘Maybe they give him more than drink, Major. If they’re the same men as poisoned Mr Richard.’

  ‘And what happened on the third occasion?’

  Preston frowned and shook his head. ‘Last night, he looked bad, as if he had drunk a load of bad spirits and not slept. Not willing to play. I reckon he’d lost all his guineas. And them two other fine lords, they were playing and taking no notice of him.’

  There was a silence. Then Gre
g’s fist crashed down on to the table. ‘That damned villain has a deal to pay for!’ he growled through clenched teeth. With an effort he made himself speak calmly. ‘Thank you, Preston. This is very useful information.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’ asked his valet hopefully.

  Greg shook his head. ‘Not at present. Just find me my pistols.’

  Preston was startled into dropping the clothes brush. ‘You’re never going after ’em now?’

  ‘No – not that I do not wish it.’ His voice was harsher than he intended and Preston looked at him consideringly. Greg stood up. ‘No,’ he said again, ‘we need more proof yet, Preston. But I may need your help shortly.’

  He held out his hand for the wooden box with his silver-mounted pistols and kit in it. ‘I am going to the shooting gallery for some practice.’ He held up his right arm and turned his wrist this way and that. ‘I must be certain my aim is as good as it was before.’

  It was just an evil chance that Lord Percival should be at the shooting gallery at the same time as Greg. He watched while Greg carefully shot wafer after wafer, hitting the target each time. Greg, who normally put the bullet dead centre, was dissatisfied when he only marked the edge on two out of five tiny targets. He had managed to hit three through the centre but that was not good enough. His wrist still needed more exercise to restore it completely.

  But his shooting was applauded by the other gentlemen in the room and, to his surprise, it moved Lord Percival to utter a few words of praise.

  ‘Demned fine shooting, sir!’ he drawled. ‘You have a very steady aim. I declare I have not seen such fine shooting in months.’

  Greg gave a curt nod. He reloaded his gun and wiped his fingers, blackened by the gunpowder. The task kept him too busy to make any reply.

  ‘I shall hope to challenge you to a match on another occasion,’ persisted Lord Percival. ‘Perhaps you know Theodore Weston? He is one of our finest shots, but I venture to say I am a match for him, eh Monty?’ He turned to his faithful friend who nodded in agreement.

  Greg set his teeth and took aim for the sixth time. His shot pipped the wafer dead centre. He drew a relieved breath. That was more like it. There was another murmur of approval from the watching gentlemen. He moved away to clean his pistol before placing it in the polished wooden case. He ignored Lord Percival’s comments, but apparently the idea of a match was causing some discussion.

  ‘So what do you say, Thatcham?’ one of the men hailed him. ‘I would put my money on you.’

  Greg finished pulling on his coat before answering. ‘I cannot take up such a challenge.’ He gave a slight smile at the chorus of protest, ‘You will have to excuse me, gentlemen, until my arm has fully recovered.’

  There was an outcry at this. ‘But with such shooting as we have just seen, what can you have to fear?’

  Greg shook his head. ‘It was merely my first practice. I do not consider it satisfactory.’

  When they still protested, he told them, ‘Ask again in a week. I need more time to improve.’ His eyes were on Lord Percival, who had taken off his coat and was preparing to shoot. Greg waited to see the result of that first shot. It hit the wafer dead centre. Lord Percival looked round and acknowledged the applause with a satisfied smirk. Greg waited for the second shot. That also hit the target close to the centre. So the man was indeed an excellent shot.

  Could he have caused Henry’s death by frightening the horse as he jumped that fence? Greg felt he would never know the answer, but his heart ached for the loss of his brother. Suddenly he felt stifled in the gallery. He had to get out into the fresh air, away from the sight of this man. However, if he left now, it would cause some comment among the others, still watching him as they debated the suggested match.

  Lord Percival shot again and clipped the edge of the wafer. His faithful shadow raised his hands admiringly. ‘ ’Pon my soul, it would be a very evenly fought match, eh?’ He nodded at the intent faces then slanted a disdainful glance at Greg. One or two of the onlookers murmured agreement. A few gave Greg a cold stare.

  By now, Greg had donned his riding coat and his hat. He picked up the pistol case. ‘On second thoughts,’ he drawled to the room at large in a very clear, carrying voice, ‘it would be a better test of skill to shoot at a moving target. Do you agree, Percival?’

  Lord Percival, who had already raised his arm to fire at the next wafer, gave a noticeable start just as he squeezed the trigger. There was a loud curse. He had missed the target completely. Greg raised his brows and stared blandly as Lord Percival swivelled round to glare at him, his face purple with rage.

  So that caught him on the raw! But it did not constitute proof. Greg maintained the bland expression until Lord Percival looked away and went back to reloading his pistol. Then, with a nod to the other onlookers, Greg walked out. Now his face was grim. He gave an impatient sigh. He should have held his tongue. That comment had roused the man’s suspicions. And if he thought Greg was hunting him, James Davenport was going to need protection as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Judging by the number of people arriving at the Assembly Hall that evening, the concert was going to be very well attended. The soprano, Madame Elvira, was internationally renowned for the sweetness and range of her voice. Everyone who enjoyed music was eager to listen to her singing. Sarah knew that Sir Thomas had taken seats for them at the front of the hall. She thought that his great pleasure in music would be a welcome tonic for him after all the fears of the previous weekend.

  It took a little time to make their way into the large room, following the crowd of people, many of whom were elderly and some of them walking very slowly with the aid of canes and servants to support them. At last the girls, escorted by Greg, reached the front of the hall, where Sir Thomas was watching for them. Richard was already seated. He looked very smart in his evening clothes, but he was pale and lacked his usual vigorous energy.

  ‘Welcome.’ Sir Thomas bowed with his exquisite courtesy to the girls. He looked from Lizzie to Sarah approvingly. ‘What a charming picture you present.’

  Lizzie was wearing her white dress with the blue trimming that Sarah had sewn on for her and she wore a matching blue scarf draped elegantly over her elbows. Prue had styled her dark hair into ringlets from the top of her head. She was attracting admiring glances but seemed unaware of the attention.

  Sarah had refreshed one of her simple white muslin gowns with some bands of pink satin ribbon making a pattern on the bodice. The effect was charming, enhancing her creamy skin and the shining gold of her hair. She had dressed it in a knot, bound with a pink ribbon. Little tendrils curled around her ears and a few strands escaped from the gold clip holding the knot in place.

  ‘Do you not agree?’ Sir Thomas turned smilingly to his son.

  Greg, standing by his father and looking very elegant himself, seemed to have lost his tongue. He gave a noticeable start and managed to stammer, ‘Oh … er … yes, sir. Absolutely charming.’ He gazed from Lizzie to Sarah as if seeing them for the first time. His eyes glowed as he handed Lizzie to a seat next to Richard. He then sat between her and Sarah. When Sir Thomas was satisfied that everyone was comfortable, he took his seat at the end of the row, next to Sarah.

  He handed her the programme. ‘What do you think of the choice of music, Miss Davenport?’ They examined it together. Sarah’s face lit up. ‘A wonderful choice of songs. And I am delighted to see that Madame Elvira will perform this Mozart aria. It is one of my favourites. I feel sure we are going to enjoy the evening thoroughly.’ She looked at him keenly. ‘It is a most welcome change after the events of the last few days.’

  Sir Thomas did not pretend to misunderstand her. He nodded, his amber eyes growing fierce. ‘I am just thankful that we are all here together and safe!’ He leaned forward and glanced at Richard. Sarah followed his gaze. But her heart began to thump as she sensed Greg’s large presence so close by.

  She fanned herself and discreetly looked his way again. He was g
azing into space, apparently lost in his own thoughts. She took a stealthy survey of his appearance. His clothes were impeccable and set off his athletic figure to perfection. She caught the scent of clean linen and cologne and she could see the fine cloth of his jacket and the gleaming white of his shirt cuffs. It was too alluring. She ached to feel his arms round her shoulders, to enjoy the sensations he had aroused in her by his kiss. Her lips parted and her eyes half closed.

  But this would not do! She must remember James’s stubborn refusal to shed light on the oldest brother’s fatal accident and how it meant that, as a Davenport, she could never become close to Greg. She turned her head away, just as he became aware of her and seemed about to speak. The orchestra had finished tuning up and the conductor tapped his baton ready to begin. Silence fell in the hall, the orchestra struck up an overture and then they sat and enjoyed the enchantment of a very fine performance.

  During the interval Greg offered to fetch lemonade for the girls. He was glad of a chance to move around. Since Sarah apparently did not wish to talk to him, he was better off keeping his distance. She was so tantalizing, especially when he was right by her side. The scent of lavender drifted to him and enticed him to get closer. It was devilish hard to keep from sliding a hand into that silky hair. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on working his way through the crowd without spilling the lemonade from the glasses.

  The people were shifting to and fro in the passage down the centre of the hall. A cheerful buzz of conversation filled the air. Greg sidestepped an elderly dowager shuffling her way across the aisle. He found himself blocked by an expensively dressed dandy and a smartly dressed lady. She was a rather ripe beauty with improbable blonde curls, but she had a very fashionable air. They both seemed to be trying to look at something at the very front of the hall.