Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725)
Page 43
‘Oh, they will go to Grafton Street, whatever Kirkster might say. It’s that damned sister of his I blame for this sudden attack of conscience, but I shall soon have him back under control.’
‘By feeding him laudanum until he is too befuddled to think clearly!’
Warslow scowled, but did not respond immediately. He waited in silence while Enfield picked up two of the leather bags and hurried away, then he turned back to Gil, his teeth bared in a vicious smile.
‘Always so honourable, are you not, Gilmorton? Even in the army you were always ready to condemn me, always happy to show me up in front of the other officers. But what good has it done you? You were too busy winning your battles and taking care of your men to look after your own family.’
Gil’s brows snapped together.
‘What the devil do you know of that?’ he demanded.
Warslow’s evil smile grew wider.
‘It must gall you, my lord, to think that you were not there to protect sweet little Kitty and defend her honour. Oh, yes, I can see that it does. And I think it will gall you even more to know the truth. It wasn’t that drunken sot who seduced your pretty little sister, it was I! And you will choke on this, Gilmorton, she did not think me a villain. She was besotted. So much in love that she was willing to run away with me.’
Gil fought down a growl of rage and strained his fingers to pick at the knot. It was loosening, but not enough yet for him to escape. Warslow’s eyes were shining with cruel triumph.
‘Oh, yes, sweet little Kitty. I came upon her quite by accident, you know, but having discovered she was your sister I could not resist the opportunity to repay you for spoiling my chances of promotion, for making my life hell in the army. It was absurdly easy. She was such an innocent, you see, it was amusing to see how she doted on me.’
Gil’s rage was barely contained as he listened to this, but mixed with his fury was relief for Deborah. Her brother had not seduced Kitty. His fingers were sore, his muscles ached with the strain, but Gil was sure that he would soon be able to slip the rope from his wrists. He would need to choose his moment to give him the best possible advantage. Now, more than ever, he wanted to bring Warslow to justice.
He needed to keep Warslow talking, to distract him and learn as much as possible.
‘And you used Kirkster’s name for your evil plans.’
‘Why not? It added a certain…elegance to the deception.’
‘What’s that?’ Randolph raised his head and peered across the room. ‘Who used my name?’
‘Your friend Warslow,’ barked Gil, keeping his eyes on Sir Sydney. ‘While you were at home, sleeping off the effects of the laudanum he feeds you, Warslow was seducing an innocent girl in your name!’
‘No.’ Randolph shook his head as if trying to clear it. ‘That’s not right. Couldn’t have been Sydney.’
‘He was posing as you, Kirkster. Fouling your good name,’ Gil went on. ‘And when she was with child he abandoned her. She was so ashamed that she drowned herself.’
‘No. S-Sydney wouldn’t do that.’
‘Would he not? Did you not think it odd that her brother should come to Duke Street, demanding satisfaction?’
Randolph shook his head again. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘No, of course you don’t.’ Warslow walked across to Randolph, holding out a small bottle to him. ‘You are not thinking clearly, my lord. Here, take a little more of this.’
‘No, I don’t want…’ but Randolph’s hand was already going out towards it.
Gil watched him tip up the bottle, swallowing the liquid and sinking back on the chair with a sigh. Warslow waited until his eyes were closed again, then he turned back to Gil.
‘Since you are not going to leave here alive, Gilmorton, there is no reason why you should not know the truth. In fact, I want you to know it. Yes, your brother came to Duke Street to demand satisfaction, but he was denied admittance, so he wrote to Kirkster instead.’
‘What?’ muttered Randolph, rubbing his eyes, ‘I never received any letter.’
‘No, you drunken fool,’ retorted Warslow with a contemptuous sneer. ‘The letter came into my hands and I arranged to meet him.’
‘The devil you did,’ exclaimed Gil.
Warslow laughed. ‘Just another thought to take to your grave with you, Gilmorton. It should have been you defending your sister’s honour, not a schoolboy. But you won’t worry over it for long, you will be dead before morning, and your body will be found floating in the river.’
‘No.’ Randolph struggled to his feet, but fell back against his chair. ‘That, that’s murder. I won’t be party to murder.’
‘You already are, Kirkster,’ Gil told him. ‘Warslow has been using you for his own ends and when he’s finished he will destroy you with as little compunction as he destroyed my sister and brother.’
Gil had no idea if he heard him, for Randolph had collapsed on the floor, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged.
‘You are wasting your time, Gilmorton, the fool is too full of opium and wine to understand you.’
‘And you keep him that way, so you may use his house and his name for your own purposes.’
‘Why not?’ Warslow laughed. ‘What else is the fool fit for? He has proved to be a convenient tool for me, first in Liverpool, where I used his identity to cover my tracks, and now here in London. You would not believe how many rich men and their wives are ready to toady up to a man just because he is a lord. He has been my entrée into another world, one where I can disperse even more of my counterfeit notes. No one would ever think to suspect Lord Kirkster and his good friend of anything untoward. But you are right, the fellow is becoming unreliable. He will have to go, but not yet. I need to keep him sweet for a little longer, at least until I can get his sister in my bed. The puritanical Deborah is proving very elusive, but the prize is always better for being hard-won, don’t you think, Gilmorton?’
Only by supreme force of will could Gil remain impassive as Warslow looked at him, a triumphant smile on his face.
‘You had an interest there yourself at one time, did you not, my lord? When I came to Fallbridge there was some talk that you were trying to fix your interest with Miss Meltham, but no doubt it was all part of your attempts to get closer to her brother. Fortunately for the lady, I queered your pitch there.’
Gil taunted Warslow with a laugh. ‘Do you think you will fare any better?’
‘I am sure I shall, because if she will not come into my arms willingly, then I shall use other methods—’ He broke off, raising his head at the sounds of movement below. He moved towards the rail and looked down. ‘Ah, Miss Meltham herself, we were just talking of you. How did you…ah, but I suppose Enfield left the door unbolted. Well, you had best come up, my dear.’
Gil’s blood froze. He was not yet free. He did not want Deborah to walk into danger while he was unable to protect her.
‘No!’ he shouted down to her. ‘Leave here now, madam. Go!’
‘You will stay!’ Warslow screamed over him. ‘If you wish to keep your brother alive!’
Gil did not need to see the man’s self-satisfied look to know that Deborah would remain. She would protect Randolph at all costs. He heard her light feet on the steps.
‘That is right, my dear,’ purred Warslow. ‘Do come and join us. Ah, and you have brought your brother’s valet. That was very thoughtful of you.’ He weighed Gil’s duelling pistol in his hand before casting a swift, sneering glance towards Gil. ‘Who knows, I may even have the chance to try out this little beauty.’
Gil schooled his features to stony indifference as Deborah reached the top of the stairs, praying she would follow his lead and pretend they had not met since Fallbridge.
‘What is going on here?’ Deborah demanded. ‘Where is…?’
‘I want to see my brother.’ A groan from the shadowed corner caught her attention. ‘Randolph!’
She flew across to him. Miller, the valet, hesitated, until Warslow indicated by a jerk of the head that he should attend his master. Gil watched as they struggled to help Randolph on to the chair, Deborah murmuring to him and gently pushing the hair from his forehead. Warslow strolled over, as if to observe them, and it was only at the last moment that Gil realised what he was about to do. He called a warning, but it was too late, Warslow brought the handle of the pistol crashing down on Miller’s head and he crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.
Deborah gave a cry and jumped aside, staring aghast at the valet’s inert form.
‘He will survive,’ Warslow told her, dropping the pistol into his pocket. ‘But the odds were stacking up against me and I could not risk being overpowered.’
Casting him a look of loathing, Deb turned back to her brother. His head had rolled back, his eyes half-closed as he muttered incoherently. She scooped up the little bottle and sniffed at it. ‘Laudanum!’ She glared at Warslow, her eyes flashing. ‘You devil, to feed him such stuff when you know it will kill him.’
‘Eventually, perhaps, but not yet.’
‘Fiend!’ She threw the flask on the floor and took a step forward, her hands clenching into fists at her side. ‘You have used him, embroiled him in your monstrous schemes!’
‘Yes, I admit it.’ Warslow laughed and moved towards her. ‘You are both enmeshed so surely now that you have no choice but to continue. The law takes the manufacture of forged notes very seriously. It is a hanging offence, madam, you will not want to risk that. But if you show me a little kindness, my dear, I will make sure you are well rewarded. Who knows, if you please me, I may even spare your brother.’
He reached out and grabbed Deb’s wrist, pulling her towards him. Deb swung her free arm up and caught him a resounding slap, but Warslow’s response was merely to laugh again as he caught her hand.
‘Damn you, let go of her!’
Gil’s outburst merely brought more laughter. ‘Ever the gentlemen, eh, Gilmorton? Well you couldn’t save your own sister and you won’t save Miss Meltham. But you might enjoy watching, to see how one tames a reluctant woman.’
Still laughing, he dragged Deborah into his arms, tearing away her cloak and ripping her gown in the process. She fought him violently, but was no match for his strength and could only turn her face to avoid his mouth. Gil’s fingers worked at the knot binding his wrists. It was loosening, almost enough. And all the time Warslow was overpowering Deborah. He caught her face, determined to kiss her. Gil saw that she had one hand free and she reached up to her hair. The light flashed on the steel of the hatpin she pulled out and stabbed into Warslow’s neck. He screamed and she managed to wrench herself out of his grip.
Gil felt the rope burning the skin as he dragged his hands free. He leapt at Warslow even as Deborah staggered away. Gil brought one fist back and landed a crashing blow upon his opponent’s jaw, sending him sprawling, unconscious, to the floor.
Quickly Gil turned to Deborah. She was crouching against the sideboard, shaking.
‘Oh, my poor love!’ In a stride he was beside her, helping her to her feet. He said unsteadily, ‘Confounded woman. Why did you not do as you were told and stay at the inn?’
Her hands clung to him. ‘I c-could not. I had to come—’ Her wandering gaze moved past him and she gasped, her fingers digging into his arms. ‘Gil, look out!’
He was already turning. Warslow was on his feet and reaching into his pocket, but before Gil could move, Randolph shot past and with a cry of rage launched himself at Warslow. He ran full-tilt into him, the force of it carrying both men against the railing. It splintered under the weight and they plunged down to the ground below.
* * *
‘Ran!’
Deborah shrieked her brother’s name as she saw him disappear. She ran forward, but Gil caught her before she reached the broken railing, holding her back. Carefully they approached the edge of the platform and peered down into the shadowy space beneath them. To Deb’s relief Randolph was pushing himself to his feet and she called down to him. He looked up, swaying slightly.
‘Nothing broken, I think.’
Satisfied that he was not hurt, Deborah quickly turned back to Gil. She was already clutching his coat, holding it tightly, as if her fingers never wanted to let him go again. Now she reached up to touch the freshly grazed skin on his cheekbone and the cut on his lip.
‘Oh, Gil, I am so sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘I should never have involved you in our troubles.’
‘They are my troubles, too.’ His arm tightened around her. ‘You were right, Deb. Warslow confessed it all to me, how he masqueraded as Randolph to woo my sister and kill my brother.’
‘Oh, Gil.’
Just for a moment he allowed her sympathy to warm him, then he frowned at her. ‘But what are you doing here, why did you not wait for Harris?’
‘It was not yet nine when I reached the White Horse, I could not bear to wait for him. I left Elsie there to give him your message, but I was so anxious I had to come and find out what was happening.’
‘And put yourself into grave danger,’ he retorted. ‘If ever there was anyone so foolish!’ He stopped and his face lost something of its hard, angry look. ‘I do not know why I should be so surprised. I know you would do anything for your brother.’
She caught the faintest trace of wistfulness in his voice, saw the bleak look in his eyes and her hand, which had slipped to his shoulder, lifted, ready to cup his face.
‘It wasn’t only for—’
‘Deborah.’
There was an urgency in Randolph’s voice that cut across her words. Gil released her and they turned again to look down to the lower floor. Ran was kneeling beside Warslow’s body.
‘I landed on top of him,’ he said now. ‘He broke my fall, but I think I killed him.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Warslow’s contorted figure lay sprawled on the ground like a broken rag doll. Kneeling beside him, it took Gil only a moment to confirm that he was dead. There was a trickle of blood on his neck where Deborah had stabbed him and the hatpin had fallen on to the dusty floor close by.
Randolph leaned heavily against his sister. ‘I never meant to kill him, Deb, you must believe me.’
‘No, it was an accident, I know that.’ She was standing with one arm about her brother, helping to steady him, but her voice broke as she whispered, ‘But who will believe it?’
The door banged open. Gil’s head snapped round, but he relaxed visibly as Harris came in.
‘You have the travelling carriage outside?’
‘In the alley alongside here, yes. And not a moment too soon, my lord. There is a party of men making their way along Katherine Street, checking every warehouse.’ He added grimly, ‘They looks mighty like the Bank inspector and the Bow Street Runner we saw in Liverpool.’
‘The devil it is,’ exclaimed Gil.
‘We must get you out of here, now,’ he said to Deborah. He looked up to see the valet coming down the stairs. ‘Miller, come and help your master. You and Harris must get Miss Meltham and Lord Kirkster away from here. You will find a couple of boards loose in the back wall over there, if you leave that way you will not be seen. Go now, get them away to Dover and on to France as quick as you can.’
Deborah watched him pick up the hatpin and thrust it into his pocket.
‘What about you?’ She caught his arm. ‘You must come with us.’
He was tense, like a man going into battle. His eyes were blazing with energy
and she thought he was not really seeing her.
He said, ‘If they find Warslow’s body here, in your warehouse, there will be an immediate hue and cry. I will delay them. Give you time to get away.’
‘But you can’t.’ She stared at him, horrified. ‘If they find you here, they will think…’
‘That is not important now. We must get you to safety.’
‘No.’ The word was no more than a whisper, her throat clogged with fear. ‘You cannot do this. They will hang you!’
He looked at her. The blaze in his eyes softened for a brief moment.
‘We will worry about that once you are safe. Now go. Harris, get them out of here.’
‘I can’t leave you.’ Deborah felt as if her feet were nailed to the floor. ‘Let Miller take Randolph to France. I want to stay here, with you!’
She saw the shadow cross his face, then he was smiling, running a finger along her cheek.
‘There is nothing you can do here, Deb. Go and look after your brother.’
His face hardened. He looked over her head and barked an order to his man.
‘John, take ’em away. Now.’
I want to stay. I want to be with Gil.
Deb felt a touch on her arm and heard Harris say quietly, ‘Mistress, let us go.’
Her brother or her love.
Deborah hesitated, but Gil had turned away and was retrieving his pistols from the dead man’s pockets. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling sick as Harris hurried her away.
They had just reached the loose boards at the back of the warehouse when Deb heard the heavy crash of the door being flung open and the confused noise of many feet and voices. Harris pushed her through the opening and followed her out, hurrying her away towards the waiting chaise.
* * *
After the dusty gloom of the warehouse the sunlight was glaring. Deborah breathed in, clearing her lungs and her head. Miller was half-carrying, half-dragging Randolph along the street, but Deborah stopped.
‘You must go back,’ she said to Gil’s man. ‘You must help your master.’