Ravished

by Virginia Henley

  Kit heard the front door open to admit Rupert, then heard his friend bid Fenton a good evening. He ruthlessly crushed a feeling of panic and before the servant said anything further, Kit called down, “Rupert, come up, will you?”

  When Rupert saw that Kit’s bedchamber was empty, he turned toward Nick’s with surprise.

  “Kit has talked me into going with you to White’s tonight. He wants me to get his marker back from our insufferable cousin, Jeremy Eaton. Since I am not a member of the club, I shall have to go as your guest. You don’t object, do you, Rupert?”

  “Of course not, Nicholas, but where’s Kit?”

  “Left for Hatton this afternoon. Said something about wanting to spend the evening with Alexandra.”

  “Well, that’s good, I warrant. Actually, until the engagement dinner I had begun to doubt he would ever come up to snuff and propose,” Rupert confided.

  “Kit has far more courage than most people realize,” he said sharply. He picked up his top hat and cane. “Shall we go?”

  When they arrived at White’s, they found it rather crowded for a Tuesday evening and concluded that most of the men had left their wives in the country, while they indulged their town vices.

  A quick surveillance of the gaming rooms told Kit that the bloodsucking Eaton had not yet arrived. He cursed under his breath; waiting for the swine would add to the tension of his nerves. Three different men greeted him as Lord Hatton; three times he corrected them. Their responses were almost identical when he said that he was Nicholas. When each congratulated him on serving in the army that had defeated Napoleon and welcomed him back to London, Kit tried not to grind his teeth.

  He bought chips from the cashier and strolled toward the faro table, which was Nick’s preferred game though certainly not his. He played negligently, both winning and losing, and knew that once Eaton arrived he would move to the vingt-et-un table. As the evening dragged on, Kit would have given his eyeteeth for a whiskey, but he politely accepted the glass of claret Rupert brought him, since it was what his twin usually drank when he gambled.

  Suddenly, the hair stood up on the back of Christopher’s neck, and he realized that his instincts were warning him that his enemy had just entered the gaming room. Without turning around, Kit left the faro table and walked casually toward his game of preference.

  Rupert ambled after him and nodded to young Lord Mitford who was a casual acquaintance of the twins.

  “H’lo, Harm. Have you been waiting for me?” Jeremy drawled.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s Nicholas, I’m afraid, but I have indeed been waiting for you.”

  Eaton was taken aback for a moment, then seemed to recover. “I have business with your twin; where is he?”

  “I am here in his stead. You will have to do business with me. I understand you hold one of Lord Hatton’s markers. I’m here to win it back.” Kit invited, “Shall we play?”

  “Ah, the gallant captain riding to his twin’s rescue. Well, it isn’t the first time, is it?” Eaton sneered. “You are reputed to have the devil’s own luck, but I predict that is about to run out.”

  Rupert stood rooted to the floor behind Hatton’s chair as he heard the uncivil exchange.

  Kit Hatton caught himself before he ran his fingers through his hair. He knew it was a nervous gesture that could give his identity away. Instead, he kept his hands busy by picking up the deck of cards and dealing them in rotation. Deliberately, he dealt himself the first black jack, which determined that the first deal would be his.

  Kit swiftly gathered the cards together and shuffled them for a long time. He turned up the top card, showed it to all the players, and placed it faceup at the bottom of the pack. Then he dealt one card to each player and waited while they placed their wagers. Each player bet two chips, and Kit called for the bets to be doubled, his prerogative as dealer.

  With a smirk, Eaton redoubled his bet, then watched Hatton deal each player one card faceup. The smirk left Eaton’s face as he looked at the ace Hatton dealt himself.

  With a casualness he did not feel, Kit Hatton turned up a king, which added up to twenty-one, and everyone paid him. Without looking at Eaton, he picked up the deck of cards, shuffled them, and again dealt each player one card. Again they made their bets.

  And again, Kit dealt himself an ace.

  Jeremy Eaton jumped to his feet. “Hatton, you are cheating!”

  A deathly hush fell over the table at the magnitude of the accusation. Kit, feigning outrage at the insult, stood up and faced his cousin. “Are you challenging me?”

  “Yes! I am challenging your honesty!”

  “If you are challenging me to a duel, Eaton, I accept.” Yes! He’s swallowed the bait and challenged me before everyone!

  The blood drained from Jeremy Eaton’s face.

  “Rupert, you will act as my second. As the challenged party, I believe I have the choice of weapons, time, and place,” Kit stated. “Green Park at dawn. I am used to my army weapons, but I do happen to own duelling pistols. Choose your second.”

  Through bloodless lips, Eaton asked Trevor Mitford to act as his second and nodded stiffly when Mitford accepted.

  Kit Hatton felt his blood surge, and his heartbeat deafened him. He had pulled off the first part of his plan. The die was cast and there was no going back now. He gathered his winnings and strode from the room.

  Trevor Mitford looked at Rupert. “Dawn is only a few hours away! This gives us very little time to make the arrangements!”

  “We’ll need a surgeon.” Rupert spoke as if he were dazed.

  “I have a friend who’s a doctor,” Mitford offered. “I’ll contact him immediately.”

  Rupert turned to speak to Jeremy Eaton but discovered that he had already left White’s gaming room. A sea of male faces was staring at him; Rupert lifted his chin and stared back.

  Jeremy Eaton tasted fear. He had been coerced into fighting a duel with a formidable opponent—not the twin cousin who was a weakling. He scurried along St. James’s Street and turned toward Piccadilly, frantically wondering how he could extract himself from the trap he had fallen into. His legs trembled as if they wouldn’t hold him up much longer, so he hailed a hackney. “Just drive!”

  Eaton’s mind was in such turmoil he didn’t notice his surroundings until the cabby drove through the Covent Garden area. As he gazed through the window he noticed a sign that said BOW STREET. Eaton instantly recognized that salvation was at hand.

  It was past two in the morning before Rupert and Trevor Mitford had inspected the duelling sites in Green Park and agreed upon one that was secluded by sheltering trees. Mitford’s carriage dropped Rupert off in Curzon Street, then went to pick up the surgeon. It was almost three when Rupert climbed the stairs to Nick Hatton’s bedchamber.

  Rupert’s eyes widened when he saw Nicholas. He was dressed in his Royal Horse Artillery uniform. It was slightly faded, but emblazoned with his captain’s insignia, it lent him a most commanding air. “Won’t you get in trouble, wearing your officer’s uniform while engaged in a duel?”

  Kit laughed. “I’m in trouble anyway, since duels are expressly forbidden by the Crown.”

  “Too true! You could call it off,” Rupert suggested, running a finger inside his neckcloth to loosen it a tad.

  For answer, Kit Hatton handed Rupert the leather case that held his duelling pistols. “Facing this uniform will make Eaton piss himself with fear!” His eyes glittered dangerously.

  “Y’know, I don’t think Kit actually wants you to shoot Jeremy Eaton over a gambling debt,” Rupert offered.

  “You are wrong. That is exactly what Kit wants.”

  Rupert weighed the leather case. “I’m not an expert with guns … but I gather I am supposed to inspect these.”

  “No need. I cleaned them earlier. You’ll find everything in order. Balls and gunpowder are in the case.”

  “I suppose in France you were under fire every day … but I’m a little unsettled by all this.”
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  “A gun can be your best friend, Rupert.” A combination of fear and excitement made his eyes glitter like black diamonds.

  Rupert licked his dry lips. “It’s getting close to four. Perhaps we had better get going.”

  The two men walked to the corner of Curzon and turned down Clarges. When Rupert passed his town house, he glanced up at the tall building as if he wanted nothing more than to seek the safety of his own bed. They crossed Piccadilly, entered Green Park, and followed a path that led them to a heavily treed area. They made out two carriages and a small knot of men gathered in the darkness and walked toward them.

  Rupert found Trevor Mitford. “Did you get a surgeon?”

  Mitford nodded his head in the direction of one of the coaches. “I haven’t seen hide or hair of Eaton since he left White’s.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t show! This is all so unreal.”

  More spectators arrived, confirming that the ton was addicted to blood sport. “May I inspect the duelling pistols?” Mitford requested. When Rupert handed them over, Mitford opened the case and lifted one of the pistols, but the darkness prevented him from seeing much. “Seem to be in order.” He handed them back.

  Rupert returned to Hatton’s side. “Eaton hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “It’s a ploy to try my nerves, but it won’t work!” Kit snapped, proving that indeed it was working. He began to pace back and forth across the grass, and as the darkness began to fade, he saw that the men gathered were staring at the uniform he wore. He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his head, imitating the pride of a lion and acting as he imagined Nicholas would.

  As dawn began to lighten the sky, all present watched Jeremy Eaton arrive alone. Trevor Mitford approached him immediately, and they huddled together, speaking low. Then Mitford beckoned Rupert, who joined them with reluctant steps. Rupert opened the leather case that held the pistols, and after Eaton gazed down at them, he cast a worried look over his shoulder.

  Christopher Hatton could wait no longer. He strode over to the trio, selected a pistol, then proceeded to load it with ball and powder. Mitford handed Eaton the other pistol, but when he made no move to load it, Mitford took it back and loaded it for him.

  Rupert spoke urgently. “Gentlemen, surely you can settle your differences in a more civilized manner?”

  “Absolutely not!” Hatton snarled. “Eaton has impugned my honor. I will have satisfaction.”

  When Mitford spoke, his voice had risen an octave. “Gentlemen, you will stand back to back and count off ten paces; at the count of ten, you will turn and fire.”

  The deadly enemies stood heel to heel. Eaton’s face was paper-white. Hatton’s was flushed a dull red. Trevor and Rupert began to count in unison, “One … two … three … four … five … six … seven—”

  Three Bow Street Mounted Patrolmen rode onto the scene. “Stop, in the name of the law!”

  On what would have been the count of eight, the duelists turned. Kit Hatton fired his pistol; Jeremy Eaton fell to the ground. One patrolman went to the fallen victim, while the other two lawmen immediately closed in on the man wearing the army captain’s uniform. One confiscated his pistol; the other handcuffed him. “Nicholas Hatton, you are under arrest for the suspected murder of your father, the late Henry Hatton.”

  Kit began to struggle and shouted, “You’ve got the wrong man!” His protests were in vain, as the two men flanked him and marched him off. “Rupert! Rupert! Find my brother and fetch him to me immediately!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rupert still stood rooted to the spot after Nicholas Hatton had been taken away. Good God, they arrested him on suspicion of murder. Apparently, they don’t believe the shooting at Hatton was accidental! Nick’s shouts still rang in his ears: “Find my brother and fetch him to me immediately!” Rupert tried to recall Nick’s exact words when he had asked him where Kit was: He left for Hatton this afternoon. Said something about wanting to spend the evening with Alexandra. Rupert, suddenly mobilized, strode from Green Park and hurried to Clarges Street where his mount was stabled. He was halfway to Hatton when he realized that he didn’t know if Jeremy Eaton was alive or dead.

  Reverend Doyle had not slept well. He was an early riser who was at the Hatton church altar by six each morning, and today was no exception. He owed his living to the Hattons and seldom criticized their actions, but he had been shocked when Lord Hatton had not attended church services on Sunday when his marriage banns had been read before the congregation. Christopher’s future bride, Alexandra Sheffield, had also been conspicuous by her absence, Doyle reflected. It was his duty to chastise them, and he would have done so immediately, had it not been for the fear of losing his living.

  Doyle had allowed two days to slip by, but his conscience was now pricking him so badly, he decided that he must act. With prayer book in hand as a talisman, he closed the church door and with resolution set out for Hatton Hall.

  Nicholas Hatton lay abed. Sleep had eluded him all night as he relived the events of the last few days. They all had a surreal quality, as if they were too fantastic to be believed. Yet he actually had robbed His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, and been shot in the head for his efforts. He had discovered Alexandra in a brothel, and he had carried her off to his bed in Curzon Street. He had stolen her innocence, but only after confessing that he was in love with her. He had asked her to marry him.

  Nick quit the bed with a foul oath and leaned his arms on the windowsill as he watched the sunrise. All evening he had waited for her to come to Hatton. Even now, he stubbornly refused to give up hope. If she loved him, she would come.

  When Mr. Burke brought him a freshly starched shirt and neckcloth, he hesitated. Should he don clothes more suitable for working with his horses at the Grange or wear his best in case Alex came? He compromised, and put on the fresh linen Burke supplied along with fawn breeches and tan leather boots. He picked up the book he had tried to read in the small hours of the night and returned it to the library. He was about to cross to the windows when a paper lying on the desk caught his eye. He walked over to investigate and again an oath fell from his lips. It was a special license to marry, made out in the name of Christopher Flynn Hatton and Alexandra Sheffield.

  When he read her name, his gut knotted. His heart told him that Alex loved him and would never marry his twin. His head, however, told him that he had neither wealth nor title to offer her. He had also betrayed her trust. Why should she not marry Christopher?

  When Alexandra awakened at dawn she reached out to touch Nicholas. One heartbeat later, everything came rushing back and she realized that she was in her own bed at Longford Manor. Alex closed her eyes against the pain of reality and blushed at how closemouthed she’d been with her grandmother, even though circumstances dictated the things she had said and the things she had left unsaid.

  “Margaret has taken a turn for the worse, darling, but I think she’s determined to hang on until she sees you and Christopher safely wed.”

  “I must go to her!”

  “No, the doctor dosed her with laudanum and she’s sleeping peacefully at last; don’t disturb her now.”

  That’s when Alex had told her grandmother that the dress she had ordered for the wedding was not yet ready. She had said nothing to dispel the idea that she would marry Christopher. Her hurt over Nicholas had been too sharp and far too personal to share, but today she would have to find the words that would reveal the truth to Dottie. First, however, she would ride over to Hatton and speak with Kit. He and his twin had conspired to deceive her, and she felt an overwhelming need to confront him.

  She put on her gray riding skirt but decided against the yellow jacket she usually wore with it. Her mood was not sunny today. Instead she slipped her arms into a matching gray jacket trimmed with black braid. As she brushed her hair, she absently noticed how long it was getting and pushed it back over her shoulders with impatient hands. She knew that food would stick in her throat, so she skipped breakfast and
went to the stables to saddle Zephyr.

  As she set out for Hatton Hall, she saw a rider in the distance. She stopped and shaded her eyes from the rising sun. Suddenly her heart jumped into her mouth. Only Nicholas rode at such hell-for-leather speed. As her vision focused, however, she clearly saw that it was not Nick but Rupert, of all people. Alex turned her mare and galloped to meet her brother.

  “Rupert, what on earth is wrong?”

  “I … er … I must get a message to Kit.”

  “Something has happened! Tell me!”

  “Nick just fought a duel in Green Park, and they arrested him.”

  “A duel?” Alex thought he must be mistaken. “A duel with whom, for God’s sake?”

  “With his cousin, Jeremy Eaton. He may be dead.”

  “Nick?” Without waiting for a reply, she set her heels to her mount and galloped off.

  “Stop! Wait!” Rupert thundered after her and grabbed Zephyr’s reins. “Nick isn’t dead … I meant Eaton.”

  “I must go to Nick if they’ve arrested him for shooting Eaton.”

  “They’ve arrested him on suspicion of murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Let me go!”

  “On suspicion of murdering his father, Alex.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her face turned pale as parchment. “None of this makes sense. Where have they taken him?”

  “I don’t know. Nick asked me to get Kit and fetch him to London. There’s nothing you can do, Alex; it’s a job for Christopher. He’s a Lord of the Realm.”

  As they stood arguing, the black berline coach belonging to Lord Neville Staines swept past them on its way to Hatton Hall. As they stared after it, Rupert muttered, “Hasty news travels fast.” Without another word the brother and sister followed the coach.