Farrington’s arms, still raised, flew out wider. “Your Grace!” he cried, with little need to feign a tone of fervent relief. “Thank God you have come! We are saved!”
Indeed, the Duke of Cheviot had entered his house, caped greatcoat flung back from his imposing form to allow full aim for the brace of long barreled pistols clutched in his hands. His thunderous look became even darker at taking in the scene in front of him.
The Duke’s secretary hesitated not a whit in taking hold of the opportunity the fates had so fortuitously dropped in his grasp. His finger pointed accusingly at the disheveled figure of the earl.
“I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t—he fought me off.” Farrington touched at the ugly red marks scarring his cheeks for emphasis. “He attacked Lady Caroline, the cur, and was just now going to... “ He contrived to falter quite convincingly, as if the thought of what might have happened to the young lady was too much to bear. “He took something from her jacket. It’s hidden inside his shirt.”
The duke stalked over to the earl. His boot lashed out, knocking the pistol from Davenport’s unresisting hand.
“Put my daughter down, very slowly, then get up. If you have harmed...”
“She has taken a knock to the head, but her pulse is strong and her breathing is normal. I trust she will awaken with naught but a sore brow.” He laid her gently down on the floor and stripped off his jacket to tuck under her head. Then he did as he was told, all the while trying to place the figure before him. The man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall the name. The rank, however, was clear. He shook his head slightly. The chit didn’t do things by half, did she, he thought.
The duke was barely able to contain his rage. “My god. I recognize you,” he exclaimed as his mouth quirked in disgust. “A lord, no less. I know quite well what a worthless reprobate you are, but a traitor to your class and your country as well? I should throttle your worthless neck here and now. “ And he looked quite capable of carrying out the deed, if his hands hadn’t been fully occupied.
Farrington began to sidle towards the door. “I shall fetch an armed guard and notify Whitehall of what is happening.”
Davenport’s expression remained unreadable. “I suggest you keep your secretary from disappearing, sir. When Lady Caroline recovers consciousness, you shall hear a very different tale from her lips. The traitor here is not I.”
“Liar,” spat Farrington. His eyes sought out the duke. “Surely you cannot begin to believe such outrageous slander as that, sir, not after my years of loyal service.”
That was enough to bring a faint smile to the earl’s lips. “And years of being privy to all the duke’s confidential matters as well. How curious that you, of all people, should be here when Lady Caroline arrives to an empty house. Pray, why don’t you explain where her uncle and the servants have gone. Oh, and while you are at it, how did you come by those nasty scratches on your face?” He regarded his own roughened hands, then calmly held them out for inspection. “Afraid my nails are trimmed rather too short to inflict such damage. It is usually a lady’s hand that leaves such marks.”
The duke frowned ever so slightly.
“I am perfectly content to wait here until you are satisfied with the answers. Surely your secretary should be as well. If he is telling the truth.”
Farrington took another step in the direction of the heavy oak door.
“A moment, Farrington.”
“Your Grace, you cannot countenance the wild ravings of a desperate rogue,” insisted his secretary. “We need to have him under lock and key as soon as possible. He’s a very dangerous man, capable of anything—murder as well as treason. Why, he’s left a trail of dead men in his wake. Let us not risk any more. “
The duke still hesitated.
Farrington paled imperceptibly.
Fatigue had caused Davenport to lean against the tall case clock, arms crossed over his chest. A grim expression appeared on his face at the irony of the other man’s words.
“Trail of dead men,” he repeated. “Well you should know about that. Lady Caroline and I have barely managed to avoid joining your other victims in journeying to the hereafter.” As he shifted his weight, he started, then removed the packet from his shirt. He gave it a long, hard look before tossing it back on the sidetable. “You should be extremely proud of your daughter, sir. I cannot imagine another female—nay anyone—with the courage and wits to endure what she has to bring this safely to your keeping.” His gaze went to her still form.
Confusion clouded the duke’s face. The need for a reply was forestalled, however, by the clatter of more footsteps on the entrance stairs and the entrance of his nephew, out of breath and nearly as disheveled as the earl.
“Lucien!”
“I know you sent me on to Roxbury Manor, sir. But I met up with Darwin at the first posting inn. He told me Caro had left days ago and what she had in mind. When he received no word of her safe arrival, he set out to search for—” His eyes caught sight of the body on the floor. “Good lord, who is the lad? What has happened here?”
“She has been struck—in the name of heaven, see that she is not seriously injured,” replied the duke.
Understanding dawned on Lucien’s face. He rushed to kneel by his cousin’s side and took her up in his arms. She stirred slightly.
“I think she is coming around.”
An audible sigh of relief came from the duke.
The viscount looked up, aware for the first time of the others in the room. He nodded a brief acknowledgement at Farrington, then started on seeing the earl.
“Why hello, Julian. What the devil are you doing here?”
Davenport rubbed wearily at the scar on his cheek. “Bloody hell, I should have guessed,” he muttered. “All those tales of a female cousin who could match any man at any exploit—we all though you made up most of it, to keep us entertained. Well, you didn’t tell the half.”
Lucien managed a weak grin. “Ah, I take it that you have met Caroline when she was in possession of all her faculties, then?”
He couldn’t catch exactly what the earl said under his breath, but the duke had no such problems in making himself understood.
“You are a friend of the Earl of Davenport?” he demanded of his nephew. “Lucien, I gave you more credit than to have any sort of association with a man of his character”
“But he’s not Davenport—”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“Oh. Charles stick his spoon in the wall?”
The earl nodded. “Some months back.”
There was a slight pause. “Can’t say that I am sorry.”
“Nor can I.”
The duke had followed the exchange with increasing puzzlement. “What utter nonsense are you talking about, Lucien? I recognize the fellow—”
“Twins,” explained his nephew. “Julian isn’t the one who is—or was—a rake. And he most certainly isn’t the traitor we are searching for, that I’d stake my life on.”
The discussion had diverted attention away from Farrington. Well aware that his chances for escape were dwindling with every passing moment, he intuitively recognized one last opportunity to turn disaster into triumph. With cat-like agility, he lunged towards the duke, catching him off guard. A hard shove sent the gentleman sprawling in the direction of his nephew. The pistols flew from his grip and clattered across the floor. Without missing a step, Farrington continued on, scooped up the object of all his efforts from the sidetable and raced for where the door stood half opened to the beckoning darkness of the night.
Suddenly the tall mahogany clock crashed to the floor, catching the fleeing man on the shoulder and knocking him off stride. It slowed him down just enough to allow the earl to catch hold of his coat. With a strangled oath, Farrington was spun around just short of his only hope of escape.
As he did so, his arm slashed out in a wide arc. Davenport had forgotten about the knife and echoed the other man’s obscenity as the blade cut a gash
across his forearm. Still, he hung on and dragged Farrington to a standstill, though the force of the blow had knocked him to his knees. The knife came up again, light flashing off the razor sharp edge.
Lucien, helpless with the weight of his cousin in his arms, cried out a warning.
“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered Davenport, as he let go of the coat and threw himself to one side.
Farrington’s desperate slash caught nothing but air. He tried to recover his balance, but the earl was already on his feet and coming at him. A powerful right connected square on the secretary’s jaw, dropping him to the floor like a sack of grain.
Davenport forgot his gentlemanly scruples long enough to add a kick to the ribs of the fallen man for good measure.
“That’s for the lady,” he murmured, as he bent to retrieve the packet from Farrington’s senseless hand. On straightening up, he found the two beady eyes of the pistols trained on him, as well as the duke’s piercing gaze.
“Oh, put those damn things away,” he growled. “I’ve had more than enough of guns and fists and cudgels and knives to last me for quite some time.”
The duke hesitated for only a fraction. A rueful smile crossed his lips as he let the weapons fall to his side.
Davenport limped over to him and put the documents into his hands. To his surprise, he noted that somehow half the packet had turned a dark crimson.
“Good lord, Julian.” Lucien was staring at his arm.
The earl looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve and drew in his breath. “Would you mind telling your cousin that next time she takes it into her head to save the Empire, she may want to hire a regiment to keep up with her—it is beyond the power of one mere mortal.”
Their startled expressions dissolved in a haze as he passed out cold.
* * * *
The pain in his arm had subsided to a mere throbbing. As Davenport finished buttoning his shirt, he felt gingerly at his ribs. They, too, were less tender. Just a day’s rest had him well on the mend, and a bath and shave had made him feel nearly human again. Clean clothes helped as well, he thought as he knotted the borrowed cravat. It was fortunate Lucien was nearly his height. At least he could appear in public without disgracing himself, a feat impossible to accomplish in his own tattered rags.
He stared in the mirror. So, everything had worked out in the end—the traitor was caught, the documents were safe and they had both come through it all more or less unscathed. Why, the maid delivering an early morning tray of tea had informed him that Lady Caroline was already up and about, despite the pleadings of the doctor and her family.
So why did he feel so glum?
A soft knock came at the door. It opened before he could voice a response, and a slim figure stole in with barely a rustle.
It took him a moment to recognize her. Gone were the breeches and loose shirt, replaced by an elegant gown of figured hunter green silk. Even so, the willowy curves were unmistakable and the cut of the bodice, though hardly revealing, showed a good deal more of her flesh than he was used to seeing. The bruises had disappeared from her face, leaving her complexion unmarred for the first time since her had known her. The color had returned to her cheeks, only heightening the depth of her eyes, which were now fixing him with an all too familiar intensity.
He turned away to adjust his collar. “You must leave off visiting a man’s chamber,” he said in a gruff tone. “Surely you must know that sort of behavior can no longer be tolerated. The consequences would be...” His voice trailed off.
“Lucien told me you are leaving this morning.”
“That’s right.”
“Were you not going to say goodbye?”
He shrugged.
The mirror reflected a glimpse of her brows drawing together. There was a pause, then she went on doggedly. “I never had a chance to...thank you.”
He brushed out the wrinkles on his sleeve. “Consider it done. Now, you better leave before anyone...”
Caroline put a hand on his arm. “Why you are acting as if we are complete strangers? I owe you my very life and...”
“I am being well paid for it,” he said curtly. “That is, I assume you will honor your word. After all, it is evident you can well afford it.”
The shock of his harsh words was immediately evident on her face. But she quickly schooled her features to reveal nothing further. “Your appearance and dress may have improved,” she said coldly. “But your manners most certainly have not—you are still the most irritable, odious man I have ever had the misfortune of becoming acquainted with.”
She dug into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a sheaf of banknotes. “Pray, count them to make sure you have not been shortchanged! I believe I have taken into account your horse. And I have added something extra for blood being drawn—that was not in our original agreement.”
She flung the wad at his chest and stormed from the room. The exit was not quite as noiseless as the entrance, as the door came shut with a sound suspiciously akin to a slam.
Davenport winced, at both the sound and his own inexplicable behavior. He stared at the notes scattered over the expensive Aubusson carpet.
Damn the chit for having such an effect on him. Damn her for making him feel hot and cold, for sending his world spinning off kilter, for forcing him to confront emotions he wanted desperately to leave unvisited.
His boot kicked away the fortune at his feet, then he stalked from the room as well.
* * * *
“Wonder why Julian bolted so quickly this morning,” remarked Lucien as he helped himself to another slice of sirloin and refilled his cup from steaming pot of tea the footman had just deposited near his elbow. “Looked like he could have used a decent meal, regardless of his hurry.” He speared a kipper. “I know for certain that the Davenport townhouse is closed up tight. Any idea if he is staying in Town for long?”
Caroline didn’t look up from slowly turning a piece of toast into crumbs. “I have no idea what Ju—Lord Davenport’s plans are. I can’t imagine why you should think he would inform me of his intentions, whatever they may be.”
Her cousin’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, the two of you did weather some rather tight spots.”
She didn’t answer, but raised her cup to her lips, studiously avoiding his gaze.
“When am I going to hear the full account? I’ve gotten only bits and pieces of the story from Uncle Thomas.”
The cup came back to its saucer. “I’m sure you’ve heard the important parts. Farrington set two ruffians to ambush the coach. There was an accident. Poor John Coachman was killed. I was hurt somewhat but managed to make my escape. Lord Davenport found me, I recovered from my injuries at his estate, then he helped me get to London. It’s as simple as that.”
The eyebrow raised even higher. “Simple as that? You expect to foist such a Banbury tale off on me, cuz, who have a modicum of experience with your sort of adventures? Simple is not quite the word I would ever choose.”
Another piece of toast began to disintegrate onto her plate.
“It’s odd,” he continued.” Julian seemed to have no notion of who you were.”
“I didn’t tell him. Not exactly, that is.”
“How did you convince him to take you to London in the face of such danger? Surely he demanded some sort of explanation?”
“He did. But then I offered him a goodly sum to serve as an escort. His pockets are well to let, you know, because of his brother.”
Lucien’s tone became incredulous. “You...hired the Earl of Davenport?
“It was apparent he really needed the blunt,” she muttered, then sought to deflect her cousin’s line of questioning. “How is it you are acquainted with him?”
“Julian? Met him at Oxford. He got Tom Courtney and me out of a silly scrape, and we became friendly, though he’s a bit senior to us. It’s very like him, helping people out of a coil.” His face became serious. “I wonder where Leighton has taken himself too? That’s another of us that Julian took unde
r his wing.”
Finally her gaze came up to meet his. “Jeremy?” she exclaimed. “You know him as well?”
He nodded.
“What a prodigious talent!” Her eyes took on a speculative look. “Then you shall be pleased to help me with...”
“A simple story,” he interrupted with a drawl. “Just how did it come about that you ran into Jeremy?” When he saw her mouth set into a mulish expression he merely shrugged. “Well, I imagine I shall hear it all at some time. It promises to be a good deal more intriguing than you are letting on at the moment. At least you were with someone capable of keeping you in one piece. Bang up to the mark, Julian is, don’t you think?”
“Actually, I think the man is insufferable.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound quite as shrill as it did to her own ear.
Lucien regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, well.”
“Well, what?”
“How interesting, is what I meant.”
Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “What nonsense. I told you, I find Lord Davenport to be the most provoking of men.”
Ah, that is what is so interesting, my dear Caro.” He tried unsuccessfully to repress a grin. “Normally you don’t pay enough attention to the gentlemen around you to care one way or another about them.”
Caroline stared in dismay at the ruins on her plate. She carefully wiped her fingers on the thick damask napkin, then rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of pressing matters to attend to.”
In the privacy of her own room, Caroline contemplated the pile of banknotes that the agitated young upstairs maid had promptly turned over to her keeping. Of course she would see to it that they were delivered to Highwood. A bargain was a bargain. But the earl’s actions made no sense to her. Hadn’t he made it coldly clear that he had endured her company for sole purpose of earning the thousand pounds?
Yet he left it untouched, though lord knows, he had dire need of it. She shook her head. Pride could cause one to act in the strangest ways, most of them having no connection at all to common sense, she mused, knowing full well that she was not unacquainted with the vagaries of such feelings. Still, it didn’t seem the answer to all of the man’s quirks.
The Hired Hero Page 18
