Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords)

by Mary Gillgannon

  She walked in the other direction, moving as fast as she could without running. In truth, she had no idea what she should do, where she should go. She supposed she would eventually find someone to ask for aid. If only the footpads and criminals who lurked in the night didn’t find her first!

  She walked on, wondering if the whole area was deserted. There must be a tavern or cookshop around where the locals went to eat. The thought of going into such a place, full of coarse workingmen and sailors, made her feel sick.

  She forced her head higher, her back straighter. She came from the same stock as those men. If she didn’t appear arrogant or rude, but simply made a sincere appeal for their aid, surely someone would help her.

  The gleam of light through a window reassured her, and she hurried toward the building. Above the doorway, a sign with the crudely painted image of a parrot creaked in the faint breeze. She paused outside and took a deep breath.

  “Caroline? My God, Caroline!”

  She jerked around and stared in amazement at her husband. In the twilight, his face looked haggard and strange.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  She licked her lips, trying to make her mouth work. “I... the carriage was attacked... I ran away.”

  Devon reached out for her. She drew back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. But I fear for my driver and the two men who were with me. I heard fighting. Not pistols. Cudgels and knives, I think.”

  “Where?”

  “Back there a little ways.”

  “What are you doing here? And driving around alone!”

  He sounded angry. Caroline could not quell her fear of him. “I went see Mr. Hopper, the manager of my father’s main London warehouse.”

  “I thought the solicitor was handling the business details.”

  She could think of nothing to say. How could she tell him that she was trying to find her father’s murderer when it might be him?

  Devon swore. “You should have stayed at the town house where you would be safe.”

  Safe? From him?

  “Come on.” He grabbed her arm and began to walk. “Show me where the coach is.”

  Caroline fought the alarm rising up inside her. She could scarcely pull away and reveal her dread of him. But where was he taking her?

  Devon slowed his pace to match hers, but he didn’t speak or glance at her. Although she had not really had a good look at him, she sensed he carried himself very rigidly.

  When they reached the carriage, Caroline couldn’t bring herself to approach it. Devon let go of her arm and walked cautiously toward the vehicle.

  Caroline waited, hugging herself. Devon poked his head into the coach, and in, a moment returned. “The driver’s still alive. He took refuge inside the coach. I don’t see any sign of the other men. You said there were two, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “They’re probably hiding around here somewhere... if they’re still alive.”

  “You think they’re... dead?”

  He turned toward her, and she caught a glimpse of his grim, strained visage. “The driver’s beat up pretty bad, although the bleeding has stopped. He said there were four of them. Not your ordinary footpads, either. They didn’t demand money.”

  “Then... what did they want?”

  “The driver thinks they were after you.”

  Caroline stood rigid, her thoughts a-jumble. Devon took her arm, more gently this time. “We have to get out of here, Caroline.”

  He led her to the coach and helped her up. Inside, she saw the driver, slumped against the squabs. He opened his eyes as she took a seat across from him. “My lady, I’m pleased to see you escaped.”

  “Oh, Pennington,” Caroline breathed. “What did they do to you?”

  “Not so much.” The man grinned crookedly. “I cut up the one with my whip. He won’t be much to look at anymore. If only I’d had a cudgel, I’d o’ bashed his head in.”

  “But Jeremy and Bob... where are they?”

  The driver shook his head. “Don’t know. I must have blacked out. When I came to, everyone was gone.” His eyes—one of which was half swollen shut—regarded her with puzzlement. “How did you get away?”

  “I heard someone yell for me to run. Jeremy, I think. I climbed out the other door and took off as fast as I could. Thanks to you and the other men, I was able to get out of sight before I was pursued.”

  “But where did you meet up with his lordship? I don’t understand that part of it.”

  Nor did she, Caroline thought grimly. Was it mere coincidence that placed her husband in the very vicinity where her carriage was attacked?

  Devon leaned into the doorway of the coach. “I’ve looked all around the area and there’s no sign of anyone. If the other men are nearby, they must be too injured to call for help.”

  Caroline swallowed thickly. Poor Jeremy. Poor Bob.

  “We can’t stay here,” Devon said. “I’ll drive us back to Mayfair.” He shut the door.

  The driver thinks they were after you. The unnerving words came back to Caroline, and she turned her gaze to her coach companion. “Pennington, his lordship said you thought I was the objective of the men’s attack. Why would you think such a thing?”

  Pennington shrugged his bony shoulders. “They didn’t ask for no money. Just started fightin’, beatin’ their way to the coach likes they wanted what was inside—and what was inside was you. When I was down and Jeremy and Bob takin’ the brunt of it, I heard one o’ em say, ‘Get the woman!’ real quiet-like.”

  The dread inside Caroline deepened. Had her husband hired men to kill her? But if he had, why was she still alive?

  Ten

  When they arrived at the Beaumont town house, Devon helped Pennington from the carriage. Caroline jumped out and took the driver’s arm on the other side.

  “My lady,” he protested. “I’ve blood on me clothes. You’ll soil yourself.”

  “It’s blood which was shed in the act of protecting me,” Caroline said firmly. “And my clothes will launder.”

  Walters met them in the foyer. His eyes widened at the sight of them escorting the injured driver to the house. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “A pack of ruffians attacked the countess’s carriage,” Devon said. “Pennington was wounded in the fray, and Bob and Jeremy are missing.”

  The butler gaped at this pronouncement then remembered himself. “Jim!” He turned and called sharply to a footman. “Relieve his lordship of his burden. Take Pennington to the servant quarters and see that his hurts are tended.”

  “Should we call a physician?” Caroline asked Devon.

  The driver suddenly sprang to life. “No! I won’t have one of them blood-sucking bastards near me! Excusin’ my language, countess. I’d rather be tended by one o’ the kitchen maids. Little Jennie would be me first choice.”

  “Jennie it shall be then,” Devon said. He nodded to the footman. The servant came forward and draped Pennington’s arm over his shoulder, then helped him walk away.

  Caroline turned to Devon. “Can’t we send someone to look for Bob and Jeremy?”

  He didn’t answer her, but motioned to Walters. “Gather all the available servants—Jim, Will, the gardener, the cook’s helpers if they’re reasonably fit. I’m going back to Shadwell tonight.”

  “You, sir?” Walters asked. “Don’t you think you should have your own hurts tended to first?”

  Caroline jerked around to look at Devon. “You’re hurt?”

  “I suffered a blow to the head. It’s nothing, I assure you.”

  “Let me look at it.” She moved in front of him. Devon tried to turn his head away, but she caught a glimpse of a discolored bump on the side of his forehead.

  “La, sir,” Alice, the housemaid, breathed. “That looks to be a bad un. What happened? Did the bandits get you, too?”

  “Nothing happened,” Devon said stiffly. He addressed Walters. “Now, if you would gather
the men.”

  The butler hurried off. Devon turned toward her. Maybe it was the lines of strain around his mouth or the bruise on his temple, but she had never seen him look so grim and forbidding. “Why don’t you go to bed, Caroline. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  She nodded and started toward the stairs. On the way, her legs began to tremble. Alice hurried to help her. The maid escorted her to her bedchamber then went to get some warm milk. “To soothe your nerves, ma’am,” she said.

  Caroline sat on the bed for awhile then, restless, walked to the window. Below in the street she could see the Beaumont town carriage. She watched as two men climbed up on the driver’s perch while two others climbed inside. In a moment, a tall figure appeared and entered the coach.

  Caroline frowned into the darkness as the vehicle drove away. If Devon were part of the murder plot, he surely would not insist on going back to search for Bob and Jeremy. But how had he been injured? And why had he mysteriously appeared a few moments after the attack on her carriage?

  So many questions. Her head ached with the strain of trying to sort them out. But she could not accomplish anything tonight. She was too tired, too overwhelmed by the events of the day. Tomorrow she would get the answers she needed. She would not relent until Devon told her everything. Sighing, she returned to the bed and collapsed still wearing her disheveled, mud-spattered dress.

  ~ ~ ~

  Devon leaned his head into his hands as he sat in the master bedchamber, trying to summon the strength to take off his clothes. He could call a servant to help him, but two in the morning seemed a wretched time to disturb anyone. Besides, most of the household was in a turmoil trying to deal with the three wounded men. Both Jeremy and Bob had suffered stab wounds and lost some blood. At least he’d found them and they were alive. They told him they believed they had escaped with no serious injury because Caroline was the true target of the attack.

  Caroline. Breath-stealing terror enveloped him as he thought about how close his wife had come to being abducted and perhaps murdered. How was he to protect her? He must get her out of London first thing in the morning. At Darton Park, she would be safe. The servants there had served his family for years. He could trust them to care for his wife.

  The thought calmed him, and he leaned down to remove his boots. Bending over made his wounded head pound. He straightened and closed his eyes, thinking that he might well be tired enough to sleep fully dressed. He had just settled back into the horsehair chair when a soft knock sounded at the door. “Are you awake, my lord?”

  “Ginter?”

  The manservant entered. “What are you doing here?” Devon asked.

  “Miss Wells and I just arrived. Since it was clear you meant to remain in London for a while, we both thought we should be here.”

  “You look utterly hagged, Ginter.”

  “No worse than you, sir.”

  Devon leaned back and sighed. The manservant immediately set about removing his boots. “That bump on your head must be tended.”

  Devon reached up to gingerly touch the side of his temple. “It’s really much better.”

  “Nevertheless, some witch hazel would bring down the swelling. I’ll have one of the maids bring some up.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Devon reminded him. “And all I want to do is sleep.”

  Ginter paused in his ministrations. “I’ve known you a long time, sir, haven’t I?”

  Devon nodded groggily. “Since I finished at Eton.”

  “And you must admit that in all that time, I’ve generally been discreet. When you have disappeared for a night... or even several ... I’ve forborne to ask questions. But this time, I really must say something.”

  “Then, said” Devon growled.

  “I think it’s time you asked for help, my lord. It’s obvious you are involved in some dangerous business. From what I’ve heard of it, you were attacked and the countess narrowly escaped abduction. The authorities should be brought in. I’m not certain you can handle this yourself, begging your pardon, sir.”

  “Very well, I promise to visit Bow Street, as soon as I’ve taken Caroline safely back to Darton Park.” Devon raised his eyes to meet Ginter’s. “I’m charging you with protecting her. I want you to make certain that there’s a trusted servant with her at all times.”

  “And what about you, sir?”

  “I don’t think the villain is after me. He could have killed me on several occasions, but he did not. For some reason, I’m part of his plan.” Devon laughed mirthlessly. “Perhaps he hopes to bleed me of Beaumont’s fortune before he disposes of me.”

  “You think the motive is money, sir?”

  Devon frowned. If it was only money the enemy was after, why had Caroline been attacked?

  Ginter finally got his boots and clothes off. Clad only in his smallclothes, Devon stumbled to the bed and fell instantly asleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  Caroline gazed around the drawing room as the tension inside her built. As soon as Devon made an appearance downstairs, she would speak with him. She could not go on like this. If he was involved in her father’s death, she had to know. .

  Since rising, she’d given the matter a great deal of thought and decided that it was ludicrous to think her husband had plotted to kill her. But her father’s death—that was another matter.

  She walked to the window and gazed out. In the back of her mind, the awful question haunted her. If Devon had killed her parent, how could she forgive him? Or even remain married to him?

  She told herself that there were different kinds of murder. If Devon had killed her father in a fit of passion, that was much less damning than if he’d planned it. It was entirely conceivable that her father had provoked him, pushed him beyond the limits of what a man could endure.

  Hearing a sound behind her, she turned. Devon stood in the doorway. Gazing at his dark, compelling countenance, she knew she was lost. Her mysterious, alluring husband. What was it about him that made her desire him, even as she considered that he might be a murderer?

  “Caroline, how are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’m quite well.” Her throat was so dry, she was surprised she could speak at all. She regarded him carefully. “You look tired. The bruise on your forehead...” She started to approach him then changed her mind. As much as she wanted to smooth the hair away from his face and kiss the bruise on his temple, she had to remember her purpose. She must insist he tell her the truth.

  “Devon... I...”

  “I’ve ordered Alice to pack your things,” he interrupted curtly. “You’ll be leaving this morning for Darton Park. It’s not safe for you here.”

  Her ire rose. “And what of you? You were attacked as well! You think I’m a fool, a simpering miss who can be packed off to the country, conveniently out of the way. Well, I won’t stand for it! I will know what is going on! You’re going to tell me, or not move from this room!” She faced him, arms folded across her chest. Her heart pounded, but she was determined not to back down.

  “Caroline...”

  “Did you kill my father?” she demanded. “Is that what this is all about? You killed my father and now someone is blackmailing you?”

  He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

  Then he sighed deeply. “I suppose... you must be told.” Her heart sank. She could feel tears pricking her eyelids.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t kill your father, but... I was there when he died.” He jerked around and paced to the fireplace. “I was supposed to meet him at the inn. He’d sent me a letter, asking me to come to London. That was why I left Darton so suddenly. I swear, that’s all I know about it.”

  He took a deep breath. “I went to the inn and waited in an upstairs room. I drank some punch a servant brought up. Apparently, it was drugged, and the servant in league with the killer. When I described the man who brought the punch to the innkeeper the next day, he said that it was no one who worked for him. Anyway, when I came
to in the morning, your father was lying right next to me. Dead.” He turned around and. raised his gaze to hers. “I know how it looks, Caroline, but I swear, I didn’t kill him.”

  Relief swept through her as she looked at his tense, anguished face. “I believe you,” she said. “I didn’t really think you could do such a thing. But—” She took a shaky breath, realizing the danger they both faced. “Who did? Could the murderer be the same person who arranged the attack on my carriage? And what about you? Who struck you? Is someone stalking both of us?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps.” He approached her and reached for her hand. “Come, sit down by the fire. This has all been a strain for you... for both of us.”

  At his touch, she wanted to collapse in his arms and weep. But she wouldn’t let herself. She let him lead her to the chair. She sank down. He remained standing. “You are right about the blackmail part,” he said. “I did receive a note threatening to tell you that I was there when your father’s body was discovered.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked angrily. “I would have believed you if you had just come to me and explained!”

  “I know that now. But at the time... You were grieving. I wanted to protect you.”

  She looked at him. He appeared so distraught, so sincere. If he wanted to protect her, did that mean he truly cared about her? As a woman, or simply someone he was responsible for? “Go on. Did you pay the blackmailer?”

  “Yes.”

  Devon regarded his wife with awe. She believed him. It made him feel almost speechless with amazement. She had not questioned him, nor appeared suspicious. He said he hadn’t killed her father, and she took him at his word.

  He forced himself to respond to her question, telling her how he had gone to the Blue Parrot and met the woman. About going back to wait in the woman’s room and then being hit on the head. “When I came to,” he continued, “it was morning, and I was lying in the alleyway behind the Blue Parrot. I felt quite ill. I went back to the street, intending to find a hackney to take me back to the town house. But when I reached the front of the tavern I saw two watchmen carrying out a body wrapped in bed linen. As they loaded the corpse onto a cart, I caught a glimpse of long brown hair.”