by Lynn Kerstan
He had killed in battle, of course. He’d cut down dacoits who attacked him on the road. He had even fought a pair of duels, although neither ended fatally. Death was no stranger to anyone who had spent time in India.
But cold-blooded, premeditated murder? That was Shivaji’s province, the proper business of an assassin with ice water for blood and a stone where his heart ought to be.
Which left Gerald Talbot, a blight on the earth who ought to be planted under it. Duran, no candidate for a heavenly reward in any case, hadn’t the slightest moral qualm about killing him. He just didn’t think he could come to scratch unless there was at least the semblance of a fair fight. It surprised him, that tattered remnant of long-abandoned chivalric idealism, but there it was.
Perhaps Talbot would be rash enough to call him out. That would solve everything.
When supper was finally done, Duran nodded in Talbot’s direction and proceeded to the library, certain his unspoken message had been received. This confrontation was inevitable, and Talbot wanted it even more than he did.
Slopping over with wine and indignation, Talbot stumbled into the room and poked his brother-in-law on the chest with a forefinger. “About time,” he said, his breath stinking of onions and claret. “Where’s the slut?”
Duran clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from targeting Talbot’s jaw. “Which slut would you be referring to?”
“M’wife. Or Jessica. Either one. Both.”
It was going to be a difficult conversation. “What say we leave the ladies out of this? Because if you don’t, I shall stuff an inkpot down your gullet.”
“They don’t much matter anyway, females,” Talbot said, dropping onto a chair.
“No.”
“But that is the last time we will agree. You think me drunk, and in part I am, but the details are stored in m’brain box. You will pay for what you did.”
Duran had seen men feign drunkenness to throw others off their guard. Hell, he’d done it himself. He ought to be able to tell how far gone Talbot was now, but he couldn’t be sure. Jessica had warned him Talbot was more clever and resilient than he appeared to be. Centered in the bloodshot whites of his eyes were two cold, pale blue pebbles, and what lay behind them at any given moment was impossible to know.
“What exactly was it I did?” Duran rested his hips against the desk and folded his arms. “I’ve scarcely been out of bed since my wedding night.”
“You’ve heard nothing?” Talbot regarded him doubtfully. “Wallingford bought the leopard, discovered it to be worthless, and is bringing charges. I’m thinking he won’t prosecute, though, if he gets his money back. It’s up to you to repay him.”
“Why would I do that? Never met the fellow. Nor am I acquainted with any leopards, worthless or otherwise. You must have me confused with some other chap.”
“Cut line, Duran. It was your leopard, your scheme, and I sold the thing believing it was worth more than the price Wallingford paid. I was your dupe.”
“Is that to be your story when you stand trial? I am all astonishment. Now I shall tell you my story. It is what you might expect. I mean to deny all knowledge of leopards, schemes, and arrangements with Sir Gerald Talbot, whose sole connection to me is that we both married into the Carville family. Oh, and that he owes me two thousand pounds. I can only think he is attempting to escape both the consequences of his crime and his debt of honor by casting blame on me.”
By this time, Talbot’s hands were clenching and unclenching. “That cock won’t fight. I had to have been misled. No one would knowingly sell a counterfeit to a downy old bird like Wallingford.”
“Except, perhaps, a desperate man. Or a fool. And you are widely known to be both. Furthermore, there is nothing to connect me to the leopard.”
“Jessica will. She was there when you perpetrated your fraud. And she knows what will happen if I am displeased with her. She’ll testify against you.”
“She might,” Duran said reflectively. “If she is permitted. These fuzzy points of law are so confusing. Can a wife testify against her husband? Indeed, I’m rather sure her legal status has been absorbed into mine, meaning that I would be speaking for her in court. Odd way to do things, but so convenient for me.”
Talbot, perspiring, had pulled out his handkerchief. “Why should anyone believe you? I’ve heard rumors. You were a traitor and a gunrunner in India, and now you are a forger here. There’s your reputation against you, and my word against yours.”
“Not precisely.” Duran rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, signaling boredom. “Much as I’m enjoying this exchange of pleasantries, I think it may be time to put all my cards on the table. It turns out, my good fellow, that you purchased a quantity of gold and paste gemstones, which you then provided to a craftsman with instructions to sculpt a leopard from base metal and coat it with the gold and paste.” Gasping sounds were coming from Talbot’s throat. “That surprises you, I know. But those involved in the transactions will bear witness that Sir Gerald Talbot, and only Sir Gerald Talbot, caused the counterfeit icon to be made. Oh, and you still owe the sculptor half the agreed price. He’s a trifle put out about that.”
“But no such thing ever happened!”
“No? Well, it doesn’t matter. That’s what you get for doing business, or not doing business, with disreputable fellows who are perfectly willing to lie to the authorities. In fact, they delight in it. And then there’s the matter of your gaming debts. Since I dislike exerting myself to collect what’s owed me, I sold your signed notes to a man with the influence to squeeze you like a lemon. The Duke of Devonshire is fond of Jessica and does not like to see her distressed. You have distressed her. He will make you sorry for it.”
Duran came up from the desk, dominating the room by the simple act of standing. “Here is what is going to happen, Talbot. Devonshire will see you driven from Society. Wallingford will see you in prison or transported. And I have already seen to it you will never again lay eyes or hands or fists on your wife. Do you, at last, understand your position?”
Talbot half rose from his chair. “By God, I ought to call you out!”
“Oh, would you? I should like that above all things.”
“I daresay.” Talbot sank back again. “You’d choose pistols. And you’re a crack shot. Do you ever play fair, Duran?”
“Would you know fair if it bit you on the arse? I do what I must. Which is why, against every instinct, I am going to do you a favor. This”—he tossed a square of paper onto Talbot’s lap—”represents passage on a ship departing Bristol tomorrow midnight. I’m not altogether sure where Newfoundland is, which makes it the ideal place for you to hide from creditors and the law. No one will bother to chase after you. If you are capable of making a fresh start, this is your chance. I strongly advise you to take it.”
With shaking fingers, Talbot picked up the voucher and studied it, as if something more than price paid, ship name, origin, destination, and other pertinent information were inscribed there. For a time, Duran fancied he meant to take the offer and found himself sorry for it.
The voucher fluttered to the carpet. “If you want me to do this, stands to reason it’s a bad idea. I think you want rid of me for fear what I can do—will do—if I remain. You tricked me, and you will pay for it. Before I am done, everyone will have paid. The scandal will ruin you all. Your wife’s business, Aubrey’s pride, the earl’s reputation, all of them in the sewer.”
“How so? Most families boast a black sheep or two. The Carvilles won’t be blamed for your crimes.”
“We’ll see. It’s not as if I’m the only black sheep in the paddock.” Talbot came up from the chair like a toad springing off a lily pad. “Consider your wife. Will spread her legs for any man, will Jessica. Gets half her clients that way. Insatiable, too, but I expect you know that. Near to wore me out every time, and then she’d want another go, and another. Likes to give orders, the bitch, but I know how to stop up her mouth.”
Duran
stopped Talbot’s mouth with a backhand across the face. “That’s quite enough. I don’t believe a word of it, but damned if I’ll let you spew that poison beyond this room.”
“You’re calling me out?” Talbot looked as if he hadn’t expected it. “Dueling is illegal. If you kill me, you’ll have to leave the country.”
“That’s my problem. Yours is being dead.”
“Don’t be so sure of it. Your challenge, my choice of weapons. And I don’t expect the son of a John Company writer had the education and training of a gentleman. It will be swords, and my fencing master was Antonio. But you won’t have heard of him.”
“No. Nor do I have a sword. You will have to provide me one. When and where?”
Talbot thought it over. “No point waiting. Devil’s Tor at dawn tomorrow. Near the top is a ring of standing stones around a patch of flat ground.”
“I know the place.” It was a risk, but Duran thought it necessary to ask the question. “What about seconds? I’m not sure I can scratch one up before morning, and most of the gentlemen in residence could not climb so far.”
“Shall we agree to dispense with seconds?” Talbot seemed both nervous and elated, an incendiary combination. “Let’s keep this to ourselves. There are places below the escarpment to dispose of the evidence. The winner tosses the loser into a bog and walks away whistling.”
He sounded like a man with an ace up his sleeve, or one who had no intention of keeping the appointment. Perhaps he thought his opponent would not. Duran wanted him there and ready to fight, but unable to read his intentions, he was uncertain how to play the final card. Goad him? Show fear? Disclose weakness?
Ah, well. It was all a gamble, wasn’t it? And with Shivaji circling overhead like a great vulture, his choices were decidedly limited. “By God, you’re a cold-hearted bastard,” he said in an admiring tone. “Not so much as a corpse for m’wife to weep over? I wonder if she would. No question about your wife, though. She’ll be dancing a jig.”
“When my sword is stuck in your belly,” said Talbot between his teeth, “you will tell me where she is. Then we’ll see who dances.”
It would have been a grand exit, Duran thought, watching him with wry amusement, if Talbot hadn’t run into trouble with the door latch. When it finally came free, he flung open the door and stomped out without a backward look.
Duran remained in the library for several minutes, allowing sufficient time for Talbot to get out of the way before he went to fetch Jessica. In the quiet room, his heart thumped like a drum. The air he breathed hissed in his throat. His body, tuned to the rhythm of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece, counted down the last hours and minutes of his life.
He would probably survive the duel, if there was one. Talbot had been right about the fencing master he’d never had, but he had been a cavalry officer. How much difference could there be, swordplay and fighting with a saber?
He had no objection to throwing Talbot into a bog. And he might even get all the way to the ship and be on his way to Jamaica without Shivaji and the Others catching him. It was a long shot, but he was getting used to betting against the odds.
What he lacked, what there could never be, was time enough to steel himself for what was to happen next.
With no reason to put it off any longer, he went to where his impatient wife was waiting, led her to the room where virgin and unicorn were poised for the touch of his fingers, and set himself to disarm her.
Not unexpectedly, she demanded to hear every word of his conversation with Talbot. He gave her what he could, embellishing some parts, omitting entirely those relating to the duel. Talk ceased when the servants arrived with Jessica’s supper and resumed again the moment they had gone.
“You never told me you’d sold Gerald’s gaming vouchers to Devonshire,” she said irritably.
He helped her settle at the small round table by the window, elicited a smile when he draped a napkin over his arm, and went to the sideboard to pour her a glass of wine. “Sold is rather an overstatement. I gave them to him, more or less, during the legal arrangements for the marriage. You know, the ones where I so confused his solicitors that they inadvertently granted me full rights to everything you own, right down to your underdrawers.”
“You will look splendid wearing them. But I dislike inconveniencing the duke. He has been a good friend and does not merit being punished by having to deal with my brother-in-law. You should have asked me before taking such high-handed action.”
He gave her, with a flourishing bow, the glass of drug-laced wine. “My humble apologies. Of course you must have your say. In future, I shall ask your permission before so much as breaking wind.”
“I’d rather you leave the room, thank you very much.” She was, greatly to his relief, trying not to smile. “What will Gerald do, then?”
“Sleep late, I expect. He was fairly well gone before he got to supper, and he emptied his glass several times that I saw. When he sobers up and remembers what I said, he’ll go abroad. It’s that or prison.”
“And what if he forgets?”
“Then I’ll remind him. And put him aboard a ship with my own two hands if it comes to that.” He stirred a little of the sleeping powder into the lobster bisque, carried the bowl to the table, and set it in front of her.
His hands were shaking. Quickly returning to the sideboard, he planted them on the wood and pressed down hard as he drew in a series of deep breaths. This was even more difficult than he had imagined. Could have imagined. Lie after lie. Betrayal upon betrayal.
And yet, he was pleased when she spooned the soup into her mouth, raised the glass to her lips. He rejoiced when time came to refill it. Jessica smiling her thanks, swallowing the wine, sliding into his trap.
What separated him from Gerald Talbot, he wondered, except the different ways they found to hurt the women they were supposed to protect?
Jessica ate a little of the cold roasted chicken and a bite or two of cheese before covering a yawn with her hand. “I think the journey to Mrs. Bellwood’s must have done me in,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. “And I do want to be bright in the morning to see Gerald slinking away.” Another yawn.
He assisted her to her feet, and when she asked, helped her undress. And when she was in bed, he thought that it was over. But she lifted her arms and smiled at him.
“Will you not make love to me? Perhaps not with so much energy as this afternoon, though. I feel a bit cotton headed. But I should like to go to sleep in your arms.”
He hadn’t anticipated this. He didn’t think he could bear it.
But . . . one more chance to hold her. Bury himself inside her. Give her what little of himself remained to be given.
Leaving his clothes in a heap beside the bed, he slipped in beside her and began gently to caress her. Dreamy and languid, she unfolded under his hands like a water flower, and when he slid into her moist center, her low sigh of pleasure whispered against his cheek. He loved her slowly then, and tenderly, fulfilling his wedding vow, the only one of them he was permitted to keep. With my body, I thee worship.
He was still inside her when she quieted. Lifting himself on his elbows, he looked down at her face, and was surprised when her eyes opened again. Gazing up at him, she raised a hand and brushed the damp hair from his forehead.
“I am so very glad you came back from India,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. “And came back again, when you might have escaped with the leopard. I didn’t expect it, and yet I did. It is so very strange.” Her hand moved to his cheek and rested against it. “I have never trusted you, Duran. But somehow, I cannot say why, I have always believed in you.”
At the declaration of faith he had never expected or deserved, his eyes went on fire. She seemed to dissolve beneath him. He felt her hand leave his face, and when he was able to see again, her eyes had closed.
He remained there, enclosed in her body, for a long time, painting into his memory the wing of mahogany hair against her fine-grained skin
, the curve of her chin, the heavy lashes fanned against her cheeks, the impertinent nose. Jessie. His wife. His beloved.
Sometime later, careful not to disturb her, he removed himself from her flesh and her bed, took up his clothes, and went to the dressing room to put them on. Leaving a single candle burning there and taking another with him, he closed the door, extinguished all lights in the room but the one he carried, and crouched in front of the carved wainscoting. At his touch the panel opened.
This was it, then. He should have ducked through and kept on going. That had been his intention. But he rose again, returned to the bed, and lifted the candle for one last, lingering moment. Golden light danced with the shadows on her face.
“I’m sorry, princess,” he told her soundlessly. “But think of it this way. I will never again lie to you. And this is the last time, my word on it, that I will ever leave you.”
Shortly after, he pulled the panel closed behind him and began his journey under the earth.
Chapter 29
Duran had left early for the rendezvous on Devil’s Tor, intending to arrive at the stone circle well before sunrise, find a concealed spot with a good view of the footpath, and keep watch for his adversary.
Talbot might actually keep the appointment, although the odds were against it. In the sober light of morning, he’d more likely roll over and go back to sleep. Or perhaps he would come to his senses, decide to flee the country after all, and go looking in the library for the bill of passage he’d dropped.
Duran had left it there in the event Talbot changed his mind. Or it might be discovered by Shivaji, who would realize fairly early in the day that his sacrificial goat had slipped the noose. With any luck, he’d hare out to Bristol while the goat loped on down to Plymouth.
More than likely, though, a servant would find the damn thing. Making plans, Duran had learned, had a good deal in common with spitting into the wind.
The trip through the narrow crawlway was as unpleasant as it had been the first time. When he was finally able to stand, he took a few moments to stretch his aching limbs and look around. The air in the mine shaft felt thick and damp. Beads of moisture had condensed on the chiseled stone, glittering in the candlelight like yellow diamonds. It was like walking through a tunnel of stars.
