The Hired Hero

by Andrea Pickens

  On a low table in front of the narrow windows, was a stack of sketchbooks. She couldn’t resist the temptation to view more of his work. Seating herself in one of the simple pine chairs, she began to leaf through them. The pages were filled with bold charcoal sketches that caused her eyes to widen in admiration. A single tree, drooping with the weight of a summer rain, a heron picking its way along a river band, neck held crooked at just such an angle—Mr. Leighton had an uncanny eye for detail.

  The next book held not only vignettes of the countryside but of people as well. There, with a fishing pole on his shoulder, head turned in profile, was a familiar face. The artist had captured the intensity of his gaze, the exact curl of his lips, the brooding look that rarely cleared from his brow. But who was the lovely lady walking beside him....

  Someone gave a slight gasp.

  “Oh!” Caroline’s head came up with a start and color began to suffuse her features as she encountered Jeremy Leighton’s astonished stare. She let the cover fall closed. “Forgive me for being so rude as to look at your drawings uninvited.” She smiled tentatively. “I couldn’t help it—your work is marvelous. Really.”

  The young man’s shoulders relaxed slightly but he was clearly uncomfortable with praise. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his gaze sliding to the floor.

  She beckoned to the seat beside her. “Will you show me the rest of the drawings? That way, I’ll not feel so rag-mannered.”

  When Jeremy didn’t move, she let the books drop in her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  He dropped the rough bundle of clothes he had tucked under his bad arm and came over to sit next to her. “No, please. Don’t think such a thing, miss. It’s just that...I suppose I have lost my manners, living alone,” he said haltingly.

  “Well then, perhaps we two churls may enjoy each other’s company without worrying about the niceties of polite society. And please, my name is Caroline.” She grinned and was heartened to see a ghost of a smile come to his own lips. Taking up the sketchbook she had been perusing, she opened it at the beginning. After turning through the first few pages with him, she paused and asked if he were acquainted with the work of a minor artist who had recently caused a stir at the Academy with his style.

  Jeremy’s eyes lit with interest. “You are familiar with his work?”

  She nodded and they began an animated discussion of the other man’s merits. By the time the page turned open to the sketch of Davenport, Jeremy had lost most of his reticence.

  “You have captured his lordship’s...intensity very well,” remarked Caroline. “Do you paint portraits as well?”

  “Occasionally. But I prefer landscapes. People are too much trouble.”

  She wondered at the deliberate ambiguity of his answer, but forbore to comment on it. Instead she pointed at the delicate rendering of the lady. “Who is that beside Lord Davenport?”

  “Oh, that’s Lady Atherton.”

  Caroline’s eyes lifted from the likeness. “The earl is married, then?” For some reason, the thought bothered her more than she cared to admit. Of course he was, she reminded herself. Hadn’t Mrs. Collins already intimated such a thing? How was it that the thought of it had seemed to slip her mind...

  “Julian? Good lord, no. That is his brother, the late earl’s wife.” Jeremy hesitated for a moment. “Though I sometimes think it was Julian who was in lo...”

  The door banged closed with a rattle. Davenport stalked across the room and placed a jug of cider and a package wrapped in oilskin down on the table with more force than necessary.

  “Have neither of you anything better to do that gaze at pictures?” he snapped. His eyes, so stormy they appeared nearly as charcoal as the lines in Jeremy’s drawings, turned to Caroline. “I thought you had a modicum of concern about reaching London in one piece. It appears Jeremy has found some new garments for you, so why are you dallying about instead of trying to make yourself halfway presentable. Lord knows, you couldn’t look any worse,” he added acidly, raking over her muddy cheeks and disheveled hair with a withering look.

  “Julian!” exclaimed Jeremy in a shocked tone.

  “Don’t be angry with Mr. Leighton, sir. He found me stealing a look at his sketches and I asked that he be kind enough to allow me to continue. There is no need to get in such a pucker over it.” She couldn’t help but add, “It is no wonder you are taken with her—she’s quite beautiful.”

  Davenport’s hand slammed down on the rough wood. “That’s enough from you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She regarded him calmly. “Indeed, I am now beginning to see the resemblance. You are looking nearly as nasty as that painting of you that hangs over your mantle.”

  A choked laugh caused both of them to turn towards Jeremy. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “Right now you are taking on an unfortunate resemblance to Charles.” As Davenport glowered, Jeremy smiled at Caroline. “How astute of you, Miss Caroline. Most people wouldn’t notice anything but the handsome face, but I —well, call it my little revenge on Charles.”

  Caroline’s brows came together in confusion. “I don’t understand. The man in the painting...”

  “Is Julian’s older brother—older by ten minutes.”

  “How long had he been...”

  “Four months.”

  Comprehension slowly dawned on her face. “Good lord,” she whispered. “Then you are not him. You are not the Earl of Davenport. I mean, you are—but you are not.”

  “Ah, well.” A note of irony tinged his voice. “It would appear that neither of us is what we seem.”

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  The earl turned on his heel and retreated to the adjoining room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “I hope I have not put you in his lordship’s bad graces.” She cast an aggrieved look towards the locked chamber. “I vow, he is the most ill-tempered, high-handed, exasperating gentleman I have ever met.”

  Jeremy’s brows came together. “Julian? You have the wrong of it, Miss Caroline. He is the most steadfast, generous....” He paused and looked discomfited, as if feeling disloyal in discussing his friend behind his back. In a low voice he added, “I pray you make allowances for his behavior. He has been under considerable strain these past months.”

  It was Caroline who felt a stab of guilt. No matter how shabby his manners, the earl had risked his life to rescue her this morning. He was being well paid for it, she reminded herself, but that still did not quell the feeling that somehow it was she who was showing to disadvantage. Arrogant and mercurial though he may be, there was also no question as to his courage or quick wits. What a maddeningly complex man. That only piqued her curiosity more.

  “How do you know his lordship?” she asked.

  “We became acquainted at Oxford. Though Julian is several years my senior, we found we shared mutual interests.” Lest she imagine the worst, he hastily added, “That is, we enjoyed discussing books and paintings.” Again he halted, as if debating whether to go on.

  Caroline laid a hand on his arm. “If you would rather not discuss it—I seem to be oversetting everyone today.”

  He gave a ghost of a smile. “On the contrary. You are remarkably easy to talk to. I find that I...don’t mind. Like Julian, I am a second son as well, though of a mere baronet. Through family connections, my father wished for me to enter the navy as a career—a less likely match I cannot imagine! But my father is not one given to reason. He could never understand why I didn’t love to hunt and shoot and carouse,” As Caroline watched his sensitive face harden at the memory, she could not but wonder at how blind a man could be to the true inclinations of his progeny. “It was only grudgingly that I was allowed to enter university. When I began to paint, it was outside of enough. Only Julian encouraged me to continue.” He let out a harsh sigh. When he continued, his voice became even softer. “Then after the accident...well, my family simply disowned me. I imagine a man milliner of a painter—and a crippled one
at that—was simply too much for them to bear.”

  Caroline’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. “How terrible for you,” she whispered.

  “ It is not for your pity that I am telling you this. It is so you understand what sort of a man Julian is.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound...”

  “It is only through his generosity that I am able to survive on my own and continue my work, though I know he can ill afford it. I suppose he feels in some way responsible for what happened. He has always tried to make amends for Charles.”

  “His brother was the cause of your accident?”

  Jeremy’s mouth quirked. “Charles never gave a thought to whether his pranks caused harm to anyone. In fact, he never gave a thought to anyone save himself. The world is well rid of him. Perhaps Julian will now be able to find some peace...”

  The sound of the door opening caused him to stop abruptly.

  Davenport came back into the room. He had washed the worst of the dust from his person and had brushed his garments so that they looked passably neat. His face was rigidly composed and when he spoke, his voice was under taut control once again.

  “I suggest you change,” he said curtly to Caroline, gesturing to the bedchamber.

  She rose, took up the bundle of clothes that Jeremy had let fall to the floor and went into the other room without a word.

  “And you, I would appreciate it if you would leave me out of your fanciful conversations,” he continued to his friend.

  “I’m sorry, Julian, but I didn’t wish her to have the wrong impression—you have been acting quite the bear, you know. It isn’t like you.”

  “I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me,” he growled. “I am doing this for the blunt.”

  Jeremy didn’t answer but regarded Davenport with a penetrating stare.

  The earl turned from the scrutiny and made a show of cutting a hunk of cheese from the package he had brought in with him. “A mail coach passes through in an hour. With luck, I shall return in a few days and you shall not have to worry for pigments or canvas for some time.”

  “I cannot bear being such a burden...”

  Davenport clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s merely a loan—you shall repay me after you have exhibited at the Academy and have to turn away commissions.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “The Academy—would that my work would ever hang there! But I have no connections, no influence. There is not a chance.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Caroline reemerged, dressed in a looser set of breeches that hid her shape better than the old ones, as well as a clean shirt. Her hair had been regathered and tucked up under a thick wool cap.

  “Was there not another jacket?” demanded the earl.

  Caroline clutched the old garment round her person. “I prefer this one.”

  He eyed it with distaste but merely shrugged. “I suggest you eat something. We must leave shortly.” Without bothering to note whether she heeded his advice, he turned and picked up the jug of cider, then let it thump back to the table with a grunt of disgust.

  “I don’t suppose you have any brandy?” he growled.

  When Jeremy shook his head, Davenport ran his hand through his freshly combed locks, undoing his careful efforts, and went to stand by the window, his back towards the room, his gaze riveted somewhere in the distance.

  He stayed there, unmoving, until he announced it was time to go.

  Jeremy took up his coat too. “I’ll come with you,” he said as he followed them down the stairs. “I think it would be wise if I showed you a way to the inn that avoids the streets, where someone might observe you passing.”

  Davenport looked as if to argue, but then seemed to sense how much his friend wished to be of help. “Very well.”

  They threaded their way through a series of darkened alleyways. The sun had nearly set and the air had taken on a distinct chill. It promised to be an uncomfortable passage to Salisbury, thought Caroline as she quickened her steps to keep pace with the two men ahead of her. But at least she would have plenty of time to think on all that Jeremy Leighton had revealed during....

  She was nearly jerked off her feet as an arm snaked around her neck and pulled her into an adjoining passageway. “Look ‘e what I have here,” rasped a low voice that she nonetheless recognized as that of the coachman from the mysterious carriage. “What a stroke of luck to have you stumble across my path.” The cold barrel of a pistol pressed against her temple. “Quiet!” he snarled, cutting off her cry of surprise. “Ye nearly cost me my position this morning. Well, ye won’t get away this time.”

  The sound of hurried steps caused the man’s head to turn. “Stay where ye are,” he warned as Davenport and Jeremy drew to a halt in front of him. “None of yer bloody tricks this time. Get off with ye or the girl will pay.”

  Caroline started to speak but the man struck her across the mouth, drawing blood from a split lip. “Shut up!”

  Davenport’s jaw tightened but his hand caught Jeremy square in the chest, restraining his friend’s charge towards the other man. He shoved the young man back towards the way they had come. “You heard him, Leighton. There’s nothing more we can do.”

  The coachman waited until they had disappeared in the gloom and the echo of their footsteps grew faint against the grimy bricks. With a satisfied smirk he tightened his grip on Caroline’s coat and forced her to start moving.

  “Julian!” protested Jeremy as soon as they had rounded the corner.

  “Quiet,” hissed Davenport. He pushed his friend forward. “Show me where that passageway comes out. Quickly, man!”

  Without hesitation, Jeremy broke into a lope and guided them between a row of decaying wooden houses, avoiding the piles of garbage strewn around their feet and the snapping jaws of a roving mongrel. In a short time, after more than a few twists and turns, Jeremy pointed to a dark gap between low warehouses. Davenport nodded and pressed his finger to his lips. Signaling Jeremy to move away into the shadows, he took up position to one side of the opening and drew his own pistol.

  Within moments, the scrabbling of boots over loose stones gave indication that someone was moving towards them from the inky depths of the passageway. Caroline stumbled out first, the man’s hand still firmly clasped at her neck. The pistol had come away from her head but still pressed menacingly at the small of her back. That caused Davenport to pause for an instant. Then as the coachman emerged from the darkness, the earl’s hand shot out, wrenching the man’s gun up and away from Caroline.

  A shot rang out.

  With a muffled oath, Davenport pried the weapon from the other man’s grasp and let it drop to the ground. The other man, no stranger to fisticuffs, recovered with astonishing speed. Pushing Caroline to the ground, his booted foot lashed out in a vicious kick, catching the earl on the knee and sending him staggering. A chopping blow sent Davenport’s pistol skittering under a jumble of hogsheads.

  Both men began circling each other.

  “Want a beating to that pretty face o’ yers?” sneered the coachman , feinting to the right. “I’ll be happy to oblige. When I finish with ye, yer own doxy won’t recognize ye.” With a bob of his head, he sought an opening, but the earl hadn’t been fooled. “I see the snivelin’ cripple has run off,” he baited. “Not that ‘e be any use te ye.”

  Davenport parried a wicked left, then countered with a hard shot that caught the man square on the nose. As blood spurted out, the man gave a roar of pain and lunged straight ahead, knocking the earl back into the wall. His beefy fist came up, poised to deliver a punishing blow, when suddenly a length of stout hickory came down on his head. Reeling from the unexpected impact, he staggered a step or two until a lashing punch to the jaw from Davenport laid him out cold.

  “Likes to hit people until they hit back,” muttered the earl from between clenched teeth. He looked up at the slight figure brandishing a section of broken axle in one hand. “Well done, Jeremy. My thanks.”

  “My lord, you are
hurt!” Caroline had picked herself up from the mud and was staring at the dark stain spreading at Davenport’s shoulder.

  “It’s naught but a scratch,” he replied. “Come, that shot will have a crowd here at any moment. We must be away.”

  Jeremy threw down his makeshift cudgel. “Follow me.”

  Caroline lit the lantern and held it close to the unconscious form of the earl. “Is he...”

  “He’s fainted.” Jeremy looked up uncertainly. “The wound doesn’t look too bad. But there is quite a lot of blood.”

  Caroline untucked her shirt and began tearing the long tails into strips. “I know a bit about tending to injuries.” She knelt down beside him and carefully peeled Davenport’s coat and shirt back from his injured shoulder. With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled the earl’s shirttails out as well and ripped a goodly amount of fabric from them. “I fear the shirt was ruined anyway,” she said wryly as she folded the material into a thick compress and pressed it hard against the ragged gash.

  But in truth, the heavy bleeding had her worried. After a few minutes, she used the strips she had torn to bind the pad to the wound, then looked over to Jeremy. “He needs to be properly attended to, but I’m afraid that your rooms are no longer safe. Is there somewhere we may take him, somewhere away from this town? Though how we shall manage to move him...”

  Jeremy gestured towards the small gig standing beside them. “Can you harness a horse?”

  She nodded.

  “A lady of many talents.” He flashed a smile as he brushed the straw from his breeches and stood up. “Old Patch is as docile as they come. I am acquainted with the owner and when he learns of the circumstances, I doubt he shall be overly angry if we...borrow his conveyance for a short while.”