The Hired Hero

by Andrea Pickens

  “If you please, Jenkins,” he answered politely. “That matter is rather important, I fear, else I wouldn’t have disturbed him during the hours of his work.”

  The butler nodded sagely. “If you will wait in the...”

  “Of course. I shall find my own way.”

  Jenkins understood the implied urgency and hurried off.

  A short while later, a tall gentleman, height minimized by shoulders stooped from years of hunching over books, entered the room. His spectacles were pushed up to nest in a thatch of unruly grey locks and his face wore a vague air of consternation at being pulled from his inner sanctum.

  “You wished to see me, Mr. Farrington?” he said, his tone implying his opinion of what such a meeting was likely to yield. “Jenkins has said as much, of course, but I don’t understand...”

  No, of course you don’t, you dottering sapskull, thought Farrington to himself, all the while keeping the solicitous smile pasted on his face. But when he spoke, his words echoed the same false emotions as his expression.

  “Indeed I do,” he interrupted smoothly. “It is a matter of great importance, sir.” He withdrew a folded paper from his immaculate serge coat and waved it under the older man’s nose. “I have just now received a special dispatch from His Grace.” If the old fool thought to question it, he had no qualms that the handwriting would pass muster, even under the scrutiny of the duke’s own brother. After all, hadn’t he been handling the man’s correspondence for the past four years and more?

  But Sir Henry made no move to inspect the document. At the mention of the duke, his face became troubled. “Has...has something happened to Thomas or Lucien?” he stammered.

  “No,” assured Farrington. “It concerns Lady Caroline.”

  “But my niece is safe at Rox...”

  “Quite. And the duke wishes her to remain so. It has come to his attention that she may be in grave danger—”

  He paused for effect, letting the other man absorb the full import of what he had just said. The charade was working to perfection—Sir Henry’s expression had changed from one of concern to one of outrage. Just as he made as if to speak, Farrington cut him off and continued his prepared speech.

  “He writes that he depends on you, sir, protect her from harm.”

  “Of course!” cried Sir Henry. “I may not be as adventurous as Thomas, but the devil take me if I would allow anyone to threaten Caroline!”

  Farrington smiled primly. “His Grace has every confidence in you.”

  “What does he wish me to do?”

  “He wants you to leave at once for Roxbury Manor. With timely warning, and you to oversee the household, disaster may be averted.”

  “Jenkins!” roared Sir Henry.

  The butler appeared quickly enough that it seemed likely his ear had been glued to the keyhole.

  “Have the traveling carriage brought around immediately!”

  Farrington suppressed a smug laugh. “Sir, His Grace also suggests that you take Jenkins with you, as well as your footmen. It cannot hurt to be fully prepared.”

  Jenkins thrust out his chest and drew himself up to full height. “I shall be honored to help the family in any way.”

  Sir George chewed on his lower lip. “But that will mean leaving the house without a man to watch over it. What if...”

  The critical moment had arrived. With a slight clearing of his throat Farrington spoke up again. “Sir, if I may be so bold, I would be happy to offer my services here in order to be of help to His Grace.”

  The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “No wonder Thomas thinks so highly of you, Mr. Farrington. You are sure you do not mind? It may be...dangerous.”

  “I don’t mind.” Farrington made a little bow in order to hide his smirk of triumph. “I don’t mind at all.”

  The mail lurched to a stop at the busy posting inn on the outskirts of London. It was nearly dark yet the yard was filled with the stomping of hooves, the creaking of harnesses and the muttered curses of the ostlers as they sought to make the changes as quickly as possible and get the various phaetons, curricles and coaches on their way.

  Caroline and the earl dismounted, stiff with travel and unspoken concerns. She hesitated at the entrance of the bustling establishment. Since setting out from her father’s estate, nothing has seemed important save reaching the city with the documents from France. Yet now that she had arrived safe and sound, she was strangely reluctant to acknowledge that the journey—and all that had taken place— was over and done with. Davenport gave her little time to stew about it, however. as usual, he took her arm none too gently and moved her from blocking the doorway.

  “Wait here,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see to arranging for you to be taken to—wherever you are going.” A scowl darkened his already stormy countenance as he seemed to chew on the words. “And try to stay out of trouble, for once.”

  Odious man, she thought. As if she meant to cause any of the problems that had befallen them.

  He returned in a few minutes. “We are in luck. There are a few hackneys returning to the city after discharging their passengers. One shall come by directly.” He stopped to clear his throat, and when he continued, his voice sounded strangely pinched. “I...Do you wish that I accompany you to your destination?”

  Caroline failed to meet his eyes. “I don’t think that is necessary, sir. I believe we are well out of danger now.”

  Only the tightening of his jaw betrayed any emotion on his part. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I shall need to ask you for some of the blunt for my own ride.”

  She removed a few coins and handed him the rest of the purse.

  “Where...will you go?”

  Davenport seemed to weigh his options as he stared at the bulging leather bag in his palm. Then, with a slight curl of his lips, he tucked it into his pocket.

  “It is of no matter to you,” he answered harshly. “You know where to deliver the rest. And don’t forget you owe me for the horse as well.” He sucked in his breath. “There’s no charge for the...extra service, though I know of plenty of females who get paid handsomely for such things.”

  Caroline recoiled as if struck. Her face drained of all color.

  The hackney arrived and he turned on his heel and stalked off, not waiting to see her off. She climbed blindly into the musty interior, hoping no one had remarked on the odd sight of a lad with the tears streaming down his face.

  Davenport rounded the corner of the inn and quickly slipped into another hackney after barking a set of terse orders at the driver. A slap of the reins set the vehicle in motion, throwing the earl back up against the worn squabs. Pain shot through his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the mental lashing he was doling out to himself.

  What in the name of Hades had possessed him to say such a monstrous thing? She may have cut him to the quick with her obvious desire to have him well out of her life, but it had not been a deliberate cruelty.

  His hand raked through his hair. He had meant to hurt her. Yet seeing her face twist in shock had only made him feel even more miserable. Rather than proving that he had regained mastery over his emotions, it mocked the fact that his vaunted self-control had somehow slipped away, leaving him raw, vulnerable.

  He felt defenseless, and it frightened him more than he cared to admit.

  A bitter smile twitched at his lips. Well, he had learned to protect himself from other slings and arrows in life. Surely he would learn to block this out as well.

  For if he admitted to himself that he cared for her, he was utterly lost.

  The horses slowed and the ruts gave way to smooth cobblestones. Davenport glanced out the grimy window and saw they were approaching the fashionable area of Mayfair, with its well-lit streets and imposing dwellings. Up ahead was the dark shape of another lumbering vehicle. True to his orders, the driver had kept right on the tail of the hackney carrying Caroline. The earl sank back in his seat, satisfied. In light of his recent behavior, she had every reason to think
him a cad, but he had made a promise and he meant to keep it. He would see her safely to her destination, regardless of whether she wanted him to or not.

  He would damn well earn every farthing of that thousand pounds.

  * * * *

  Caroline bounded up the polished marble steps and let the knocker fall in a series of impatient raps. It seemed an age before the door cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out into the night.

  “Be off, urchin.”

  Caroline had all but forgotten about the rather disreputable figure she must be presenting. She hastily shoved her worn boot into the gap to keep the door from being slammed in her face.

  “Where is Jenkins?” she demanded. “And who the devil—oh, is it you, Mr. Farrington? Forgive my rather unorthodox appearance, but I shall explain everything shortly.”

  Her father’s secretary fell back a step or two. “Lady Caroline?” he gasped, his hand flying up to his chest in surprise.

  “Sorry to give you such a shock.” She stepped into the entrance hall and tore off her cap. “Where are all the servants? And Uncle Henry?” she asked as she removed the pins and shook out her hair.

  “Why, they have left for Roxbury Manor not an hour ago in response to an urgent letter from your father.”

  Caroline’s lips compressed. “They will have a long journey for naught.”

  Farrington’s eyes were still widened in amazement. They now slowly traveled up from her ragged breeches to her streaked face. “Are...are you all right?” he ventured.

  She let out a sigh. “It is a long story, but yes.”

  Now that she was finally here, within the solid walls of her own home, surrounded by the reassuring presence of familiar things, she felt an overwhelming weariness steal over her. For an instant, her knees buckled slightly.

  A hand steadied her shoulder and the sound of Farrington’s voice, dripping with concern, oozed through the fogginess clouding her brain.

  “Lady Caroline, let me help you to a chair.”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes pressed closed. She didn’t dare sit down, not yet. “If you would ring for a maid, I’ll go directly upstairs.” She envisioned a tub, filled to the brim with steaming suds, and a soft bed with clean sheets.

  His hand remained where it was. “Your father mentioned something else.” He cleared his throat. “Have you got...the papers?”

  She hesitated for a moment, a frown clouding her face, then her expression lightened.

  “Yes, of course you would know about that. Well, never fear. I have them safe.” As she spoke, she patted at the breast of her jacket.

  A gleam of pure malice flashed in his eyes before the lids dropped to mask his emotion. He lowered his voice as well, to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can only imagine what you have endured to reach London—your father naturally confided in me that there exists a traitor in our midst. Why don’t you let me relieve you of the burden? I shall see they are delivered into the right hands, I assure you.”

  Caroline shook her head. “How very kind of you, but I have carried them this far, and I shall keep them until I can turn them over to my father.”

  His fingers unconsciously dug into her skin.

  “Mr. Farrington, I think you may release me.” She tried to keep her tone light to avoid causing him any embarrassment. “I promise that my collapse is not imminent.”

  All at once he was shaking her. “Give them to me!”

  Caroline tried to pull away. “Mr. Farrington!”

  He kept hold of her jacket and nearly wrenched her off her feet. “You damn bitch. You’ve caused me more than enough trouble—but no more. Now give me those documents!”

  “My god. You!” She stared at him, unbelieving. “But why?

  “Why?” he repeated. “Are you daft? Do you think I plan to live the rest of my life accepting my station as a ill-paid younger son, having to bow and scrape in front of dolts like your father, who have had the damn luck of birth rather than brains, like me? I think not! Unfortunately I shall have to leave a tad sooner than I had planned, but my last delivery will set me up quite nicely—I shall live very well on the Continent.”

  She tried to twist out of his grasp as she let out a loud cry for help.

  “Go ahead and yell all you wish,” he sneered. “There is no one to hear you. I’ve sent the rest of the servants to their quarters. And don’t expect that rakehell Davenport this time around. If he’s not lying foxed in some gaming hell, he’s lying with his manhood up some lightskirt, now that he’s finished with you.” His face took on an ugly leer. “Always prancing around in front of me, with your hoydenish ways. I always knew you were no better than you should be. Gave the earl a good ride, did you? Perhaps I’ll see for myself before I leave.”

  Her fist caught him smack on the nose.

  Farrington let out a scream of rage as blood spurted onto his snowy shirtfront.

  “You bitch!” he roared again as he struck her hard across the temple.

  Dazed, Caroline would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had such a tight hold of her jacket. As she hung limply in his grasp, his free hand pawed the inside of the garment, ripping at its lining. With a grunt of triumph, he came away with the oilskin packet.

  It was her turn to feel a wave of fury. The sight of the precious papers, those she had fought so hard to keep safe, now in the possession of the enemy after all gave her new strength to fight back. Rather than struggling to break free, she launched herself right at him, her nails raking down his cheeks. Both of them stumbled backwards, colliding with an ornate mahogany case clock set near the curved staircase. A corner of it caught Caroline’s brow, knocking her farther off balance. It gave Farrington just the time he needed to recover and knock her to the floor with another ringing blow. He stood over her, a harsh laugh escaping from him as he drew a small dagger from the depths of his pocket.

  “Step away from the lady, lest you want your guts spilling onto your shirt as well.”

  The click of the pistol being cocked put an exclamation point to Davenport’s words.

  Caroline managed to raise her head a few inches off the Aubusson carpet. “Still having to scrape me out of the mud, I’m afraid,” she croaked before falling into a dead faint.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Davenport took another step into the entrance hall and slowly closed the door.

  “Lay the documents on the sidetable, then step away from Lady Caroline.”

  Farrington hesitated as his eyes narrowed, then darted from the floor to all of the possible egresses from the hallway.

  A grim smile came to the earl’s lips. “Go ahead. I should welcome an excuse to pull the trigger, for unfortunately, my honor as a gentleman prevents me from shooting even such a cowardly cur as you down like a savage dog, though it is all you deserve.”

  The other man ground his teeth, then reluctantly tossed the packet onto the polished wood. With a murderous look in his eye, he fell back a few paces from Caroline’s prostrate form.

  Davenport then moved deliberately to the sidetable, all the while never taking his eyes from the Duke’s traitorous secretary. He took up the slim oilskin square and tucked it carefully into the bosom of his shirt. With another few strides, he was at Caroline’s side, crouching and gently raising her head and shoulders with one arm. The pistol, however, never wavered in its aim at the other man’s chest.

  “A charming pair,” sneered Farrington. “ The ton shall no doubt find the acquaintance a, shall we say, fascinating topic for conversation. But now, let us be done with the touching charade. How much do you want?” His face relaxed slightly as he began to feel on familiar ground. “I imagine you are here since it suddenly occurred to you that the possibilities for blackmail are rather limitless. How much has she paid you already? I assure you, I am in a position to offer you more—much more.” His hand made a suggestive gesture towards his pocket. “Think on it—you will have plenty of blunt right away, with none of the wait or the tedium of extr
acting regular payments. Decide quickly, however.” The calculating smile that finished off his words left little doubt as to what he imagined the response would be. His hand was already reaching for the bulging purse in his coat.

  A muscle twitched in the earl’s face as he made no effort to hide his contempt.

  “On second thought, perhaps you have given me more than ample reason for ridding the world of your scurvy presence.”

  Farrington blinked, uncomprehending. A slight sheen of sweat began to form at his temples. Cunning and guile had seen him through any number of desperate situations—and of course, money. Words and force may fail at times, but the chink of gold upon gold? Never.

  Was he dealing with a madman?

  His brow furrowed and he essayed another tact. “Ah, a canny bargainer, I see. You impress me, sir. Your reputation would not lead one to think you so clever.” There was an exaggerated pause to let the compliment sink in. “I admit it, you hold the upper hand. What else do you want?”

  Davenport merely stared at him.

  “Come, man! Name your price!” There was a note of rising panic in the man’s voice, as well as disbelief.

  Still no answer, just lips curled in loathing. When finally the earl did speak, it was a low, gentle murmur, too soft for any ears but Caroline’s to comprehend, as he sought to bring her around. Though his words were for her only, his eyes still remained riveted on the man in front of him.

  Farrington had by now worked himself into a veritable rage. To Davenport it seemed that never had a face more resembled an image of the devil incarnate. The other man raised his hands in a menacing gesture and took a convulsive step towards the earl.

  A gesture of the pistol caused him to reconsider. But even standing still, he remained quivering with impotent fury.

  Davenport found himself wondering whether the man’s next move would be cause to pull the trigger, and whether he would truly feel as little compunction at ending a human life, however flawed, as he did now. The answer would remain a mystery, as the front door suddenly flung open.