Pistols at Dawn

by Andrea Pickens

  "Do be careful, Mr. Whitney," added Meredith. "Whoever is responsible is extremely dangerous."

  "Aye, miss." The steward smiled grimly as he turned to take his leave. "But if I were him, I'd be quaking in my boots at the prospect of having to face off against this little army."

  They began to file out after him, the earl having dismissed them with a distracted nod. However, as Eliza gathered her papers and brought up the rear, he stopped her with a low murmur.

  "Might I have a word, Miss Kirtland?"

  "Yes. Of course." She wasn't quite sure what to expect. Up until recently, a stinging set-down for contradicting his wishes would have followed. Or simply an imperious order, issued with infuriating sarcasm. Yet of late, his moods had been far less predictable.

  He took his time in speaking, giving Eliza an extra moment to study his profile. At first glance, the chiseled features were so harshly handsome that they appeared impervious to any self-doubt. But as he turned, she admitted that first impressions could be deceiving. Softened in morning sunlight, his face was far more nuanced than she had thought on first acquaintance. Tiny lines etched the corners of his eyes, the blades of his cheekbones were blunted by a shadow of regret, and the pinch of his mouth was anything but arrogant.

  "You think it wise to involve the young people?" he asked slowly.

  The weight of his words was a further surprise. Eliza realized how just how much he felt that the burden of their safety was resting on his shoulders.

  "You are asking for my advice?"

  "Don't sound as if you are in need of smelling salts." The quip of sardonic humor was not quite as sharp as usual. "I defer to your superior wisdom on a great many subjects these days."

  "Yes, but this is a far cry from deciding whether mangel wurtzels would yield more profits than alfalfa."

  "And a good deal more costly if I err."

  "You are worried—" began Eliza, only to have him cut her off.

  "It may come as a shock to you, but I do have feelings." Marcus raked a hand through his hair, unmindful of the curling tangle that fell over his collar.

  "Other than lust, greed and vanity," he added.

  "I did not mean to disparage your feelings, sir."

  "Just my character." He looked down at the carpet rather than at her. "You have reason to do so. I am not proud of my past."

  The frank admission drew a rueful sigh from Eliza. "If we are to be brutally honest with each other, I am not feeling very good about my own actions of late. The truth is, we all make mistakes."

  "I doubt yours have had as grievous consequences as mine."

  "Had I not judged you, or your nephew, so harshly, Lucien would not have suffered such horrible injuries," she replied. "I was so certain I was right that I mentioned my misgivings to my neighbor and, well... I have learned a lesson or two about my own overweening pride."

  A spark seemed to light his gaze, yet it died so quickly she wondered if she had only imagined its fire.

  "Ah, well, now that we have both admitted to being human, perhaps we ought to return to the question of our two young relatives." Said Marcus gruffly. "I cannot like having them exposed to further risks."

  "Nor can I," she replied. "But in this, I feel they have the right to make their own decision."

  "You have a good deal of influence, though. They admire both your wisdom and your courage. If you were to counsel that discretion would be the better part of valor..."

  Had she just heard a compliment, however oblique? Flustered, she caught only the last little bit of what he was saying. "What?"

  "My aunt." He looked at her quizzically. "I do have a family—I did not emerge fully grown from Minerva's forehead, you know. I was saying that I am sure I could convince her to invite the betrothed couple for a visit to London. It would all be very proper. Not to speak of very safe."

  Before she could react, he added, "I would of course, wish for you to accompany them. Your well-being is of no less importance to me."

  Eliza managed to swallow the odd little lump in her throat. "I thank you for your concern, milord. It would, no doubt, be the prudent course of action. But I cannot in good conscience leave you here to deal the matter, just because things have taken a dangerous turn."

  She lifted her chin. "A partnership is a partnership. I have not forgotten that against all common sense, you showed faith in me. So, until we have caught the dastard, I'm afraid you are stuck with me."

  "I can think of worse fates," he murmured.

  "And I am sure I speak for Meredith and Lucien as well."

  The earl tilted his head in what may—or may not—have been a nod. In any case he voiced no further objection.

  Feeling slightly off balance, Eliza cleared her throat with a brusque cough. "Excellent. Then, assuming we understand each other, I believe I shall try to grab a bit of rest." Surveying his bandaged hands and scraped cheek, she added, "As should you, milord. Under the circumstances, I think we may postpone our daily review until the morrow."

  Marcus lowered his lashes, making it impossible to see his eyes. A tiny spark seemed to glimmer through the dark fringe, though she couldn't tell whether it meant he was annoyed or amused.

  "Yes, Miss Kirtland, I think we have an understanding."

  Chapter 13

  "The barn," said Eliza as she scanned down her list at the following morning's meeting with the earl. Ever practical, she had not forgotten the responsibilities of the Manor. "We will have to budget in funds for its repair."

  "Hmmm," was his noncommittal reply.

  "It may mean we have to defer one of the other projects. I would suggest..." Seeing that Marcus appeared distracted, she stopped. "Perhaps we ought to discuss this another time."

  "Hmmm."

  The thump of the ledger falling shut finally got his attention.

  "Sorry. Do go on."

  "You may add another lesson to your copybook, sir," said Eliza. "Sometimes it is better to set work aside than go through the motions when your mind refuses to attend to the business at hand. That is how mistakes are made."

  "Ah. I shall make a note of it. Try like the devil to avoid errors of judgment." Marcus spoke with his usual dry detachment, but Eliza caught the bleakness of his expression as he slowly spun a pen upon the blotter. "Well, I have certainly been a dismal failure on that score."

  Shocked by his tone, she laid her hand on his sleeve. "Lord Killingworth, you cannot blame yourself for another man's perfidy."

  "No?" He rose abruptly and went to stand by the windows. "Your sister may have a forgiving heart, but from you I expect to hear naught but the harsh realities of the matter. You need not humor me."

  Eliza refused to be brushed off so easily. Scraping back her chair, she went to join him. "When have you ever known me to humor you, sir?"

  That softened his cynicism, but only for a moment. The glint of amusement quickly died away, leaving a dullness to his gaze.

  Without thinking, she reached out to touch his cheek. His skin was still slightly scraped but surprisingly warm. As her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, she was aware of the faint stubbling of whiskers.

  He stiffened.

  "I have none of Meredith's natural grace with people." She was close enough to breathe in the subtle scent of bay rum, with hints of an intriguing masculine spice she could not put a name to. "I am outspoken—most of the time to a fault. So you may trust that I mean what I say. Your actions have, in truth, been honorable and generous from the start."

  "The tigress sheathing her claws? I would have thought you ready to tear me to shreds."

  He sounded wounded, weary. It hurt her to hear his pain. "I do not mean to appear your enemy, sir. It has been some time since I wished to rip into your character." Her sigh stirred the raven locks curling at his collar. "I know I am all sharp edges and razored teeth. I—I can't seem to help it."

  "You are rarely wrong in your assessments, Miss Kirtland. However, in judging your own assets, you have no notion of how far from th
e truth you are," His hands framed her face, then slowly slid upward to twine in the knot of her hair.

  "Damnation," he whispered. "I am not sure this is a lesson we should explore."

  There was no question that he was right. Yet practical, pragmatic Eliza found herself refusing to listen to reason. She tilted her head to meet his lidded gaze. "Why not?"

  A hairpin fell to the carpet. Then another.

  "Eliza," he murmured, as her tresses tumbled over her shoulders. "Lord, have you any idea how lovely you look with your hair loosened?"

  Lovely?

  "Y—you have left off your spectacles, sir—"

  "My name is Marcus. I should like for you to say it."

  Her lips quivered, but before they could form the first sound he stilled them with a kiss.

  The taste of him was dizzying, potent. A lick of fire raced through her limbs. To keep her knees from buckling, Eliza clung more tightly to him, reveling in the hard, sloping strength of his shoulders and the reassuring breadth of his chest.

  Lud, it felt wonderful to be so weak with desire. No wonder so many young girls fell from grace.

  The window casement helped to keep her upright. Hips pressed against the ledge, she arched into his embrace, opening her mouth to the heady new sensations. As the earl deepened his kiss, he began caressing her breasts through the thin muslin—slow, swirling strokes that teased the tips to points of fire.

  Eliza let out a soft cry. As heat surged through her, spiraling down to pool in her most intimate core, she let herself melt against him. Their bodies pressed close and she was acutely aware of his unmistakable maleness.

  But rather than feel daunted or dismayed at arousing the earl's passions, Eliza felt deliciously wicked and wanton.

  And wonderful.

  No matter a part of her warned that it was wrong, she wanted more. More.

  To the devil with being prim, practical Eliza Kirtland.

  She held very still for an instant, then shook off any doubts. For once in her life, she meant to cast all caution to the wind and experience a taste of pure, primal passion.

  As if sensing her tiny hesitation, Marcus pulled away. "Eliza..." Gently but firmly, he started to loosen her embrace.

  "I know I have none of the practiced charms of a Diamond of the First Water," she stammered, "but—"

  Her halting words were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door.

  * * *

  Hell and damnation. Marcus waited a fraction before answering. "On second thought, we will take tea in the drawing room," he called, stalling for an extra moment of reprieve.

  Eliza had managed to retrieve most of her hairpins and was making a stab at taming the disorder of her dress.

  "It is I, sir," said his nephew.

  Tugging the folds of his cravat into some semblance of order, Marcus crossed the carpet and opened the door halfway. "Ah, so it's you, Lucien." He crossed his arms, using his frame to shield Eliza from view, and inclined a nod, but made no move to step aside.

  "Might I have a word with you? I am sorry for interrupting, but it's rather important."

  "Then do come in." He hoped he did not look as guilty as spotty-faced schoolboy caught pilfering pastries. "Miss Kirtland and I were just going over some figures."

  To his relief, Lucien looked too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice the air of tension in the room.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw that Eliza had managed to straighten her bodice and take a seat at the desk. Clearing her throat, she began fumbling through the estate papers.

  "As I was saying, sir, the unexpected expenses for rebuilding the stable will be considerable," she said loudly, her voice a trifle more brittle than usual. "We may have to defer some other projects. And there won't be any profits from the estate until the first harvests."

  The announcement gave his nephew pause for thought. "If you are looking to augment income, you might consider investing in the Exchange. There are some short term opportunities that offer a good return without undo risk."

  The earl could not hide his surprise.

  "I have always had more of an interest in cerebral challenges," explained Lucien. "Rather than cutting a dash on horseback or mastering the fine points of fencing, I spend my time trying to hone my understanding of economics and politics. Mayhap you think me a man-milliner for it, but so it is."

  "On the contrary, Lucien. I am... impressed. Perhaps you might offer a few suggestions."

  "Thank you, sir. I shall be happy to look into the possibilities and see what I might recommend." His nephew resumed his limp toward the leather chair. "But that is not why I am here. Meredith and I were talking earlier and, well, I fell to thinking about our assumptions regarding our enemy..."

  As he bent down to pick up something from the carpet, Eliza's face colored to the same shade of crimson in the Oriental design.

  "...And how to apply logic."

  Marcus was seized by the irrational urge to snatch the hairpin from his nephew's hand and stuff it in his pocket. Lucien, however, merely placed it on the desk as he passed by.

  "I mean, it is logical to think that the man we seek is a gentleman with a past grudge against you, sir. But what if we look at it from another perspective? What if it is about Killingworth Manor, and not you personally?"

  "Hmmm." Eliza's embarrassment appeared to fade somewhat in light of Lucien's suggestion.

  Forgetting his other distractions, Marcus considered the idea. "Go on," he encouraged.

  Lucien was quick to oblige. "The more I thought about what you said earlier, the more it made sense, sir—why would an enemy from Town choose here and now to exact revenge? It's not logical. The odds would be stacked against him, and our adversary, whatever his other faults, is not stupid."

  At the earl's nod, he continued on. "So, with that in mind, who is the most obvious suspect?"

  "Hastings." Both Marcus and Eliza spoke at the same time.

  "Hastings," agreed Lucien. "No doubt it came as a nasty shock to learn you meant to take up a more permanent residence at Killingworth Manor. And when he discovered that you were actually taking an interest in the estate's management, he must have realized it was just a matter of time until his embezzlement of funds came to light."

  "The same thoughts had occurred to me," said Marcus. "And yet, the truth is, I don't see how he could have been responsible for the attack on Miss Meredith or the other girl. Only a gentleman of the ton would know about Wolf's Head Society, and the details of its tattoo and what it stand for."

  "But that is just it. Hastings did know."

  "How?"

  Lucien shot an apologetic look at Eliza before answering. "Several weeks ago, there was a night I did not return to the Manor until well after dawn. Needless to say, I had been drinking heavily—so heavily that I had cast up my accounts—and I stopped at the horse trough to clean myself up before slinking up to my room. Hastings saw me and offered commiseration, along with some soap and a towel."

  He paused to think. "My memory is a bit hazy, but I do recall that he asked a number of questions and I was happy to oblige. He seemed especially curious about the mark on my breast and what it signified." His mouth tugged into a grimace. "At the time, his interest in me seemed nothing more than an effort to be friendly—which I welcomed. Now, of course, it appears in a much more sinister light."

  "Bloody hell," murmured the earl softly.

  "You think I am right, Uncle Marcus?"

  "I think you have hit it bang on the mark." Marcus started to pace. "But to prove it, we are going to have to catch him in the act."

  "How?" It was Eliza who echoed his earlier question. With an errant curl caressing her cheek and a lushness clinging to her kiss-ravaged lips, she looked achingly lovely.

  And achingly vulnerable.

  Greed, made even more volatile by hatred by hatred—Hastings had been utterly ruthless in his earlier attacks. It was only by mere luck that none of them had yet been lethal. The next strike... />
  Marcus repressed an inward shiver. He couldn't allow there to be a next strike.

  "As to that," he answered, "it may take me another day or two to work out the final plan." Marcus looked away, his voice taking on a rougher edge than he had intended. "But catch him we will."

  "What can I do to help?" asked his nephew.

  "You have already proved an invaluable in cutting to the chase. But for the moment, there is nothing that either of you can do." A sidelong glance at Eliza prompted him to add, "Save to keep a watchful eye open and not to stray far from the Manor alone."

  "Very well, sir," replied Lucien. "Then I will let you get back to your figures, sir."

  Was it his imagination, or did his nephew have the audacity to wink as he went by?

  "An excellent suggestion." Eliza grabbed up a book on crop rotation and made to follow.

  "I did not think we were quite finished here, Miss Kirtland," he said very softly.

  "Oh, I believe we covered all the essentials, sir. The rest can wait for another time."

  "Eliza..." The sound was no louder than the whispery brush of her skirts against his boots as he angled to cut off her line of retreat.

  She avoided any eye contact. "I—I need to review several of these chapters before my meeting with Whitney."

  Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they both could use an interval of solitude to reschool their emotions.

  Reluctantly, he stepped sideways and allowed her to pass.

  * * *

  Eliza stared down at the detailed diagram of properly furrowed soil. Ha! If only a hole would open up deep enough in the earth for her to drop all the way to China. Yet not even the thought of vast oceans between them could dampen her burning mortification.

  Or her simmering desire.

  What a fool she must have appeared—an aging spinster clinging to the coat of a sinfully handsome rake. To his credit, Marcus—no, she must only think of him as Killingworth—had been kind. He had not sought to humiliate her, even though her fumbling inexperience must have been pitifully obvious to a man of his amatory prowess.