Marrying Mischief

by Lyn Stone

  Nick sighed. “Believe me, I asked about that. Munford just vowed he was in Boston when those events took place. Said he could prove it.”

  “And you believed him?” Emily demanded with a disbelieving roll of her eyes. “Bogus proof, I would wager. Or he could have been lying to put you off your guard until he could draw his gun and shoot.” She nodded toward the man still kneeling beside Munford. “You there, see if he has a pistol.”

  “We had better get her out of here before he comes around,” Guy suggested, eyeing her attire with a poorly hidden grin, “and also be thinking of an explanation. She could be a mad younger brother, perhaps? An underfed footman who tipples in the mornings?”

  Nick grasped Emily’s elbow, almost lifting her off her feet as he ushered her out of the room. “Go upstairs and stay there!”

  She dug in her heels and slid several feet on the marble floor. “No!”

  “Do not argue with me, Emily,” he said through gritted teeth. “And never, never do anything so foolish again, do you hear? Suppose he had been reaching for a pistol.”

  “My lord!” called Duquesne’s hireling in a loud voice. “The girl was right. He does have a loaded revolver. A Navy Colt, by the look of it.”

  Immediately Nick dropped her arm and reentered the room. “The devil you say!”

  Guy stood watching, his brows lowered in a frown. “Well, I’ll be damned. I should have checked further. Maybe that was the payment he had in mind, Nick.”

  Emily crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “There, you see?”

  “Tie him up and take him into custody, Barrett,” Guy ordered. “I’ll summon a hack to fetch you both to the station house. We shall see what the magistrate has to say about all this. Munford can offer his proof to him and see how it stands up.”

  Nick said nothing. He merely pinned Emily with a glare and pointed up the stairs.

  “You are quite welcome,” she snapped. Nevertheless, she marched to the staircase, head held high, satisfied she had done her duty as a wife. “When you get over your embarrassment, you may thank me.”

  A half hour later Nick watched through the front window as Barrett loaded Julius Munford—conscious now and protesting vehemently—into the hack.

  “Barrett will take care of him. Have another brandy?” Guy asked, holding the decanter over Nick’s snifter. They sat in the same half-furnished room where Emily had attacked Munford.

  “Hell, yes. I’m still shaking,” Nick replied. “She could have been killed.” He huffed, took a healthy sip of his brandy, then gestured toward the stairs with his glass. “And what in God’s name was she doing wearing your clothes?”

  Guy shook his head despairingly. “Outrageous,” he declared in heartfelt agreement. “I swear you’re going to have to do something about her, Nick. Hide her away in the country, perhaps.”

  Nick frowned at the suggestion. “Hardly fair. She doesn’t behave that way all the time.”

  Guy scoffed. “Well, no, I suppose not, but you never know what to expect from her, apparently. Who knows how dreadfully she might embarrass you before someone who really counts!”

  The criticism caused Nick to bridle. “She was only doing what she thought she must to save us—save me, anyway—and I resent your implication! Emily proved she can hold her own in any situation just last evening.”

  “Um,” Guy grunted noncommitally.

  “It’s true!” Nick insisted. “You should have seen her. As a matter of fact, I have never before known a woman of such courage. Emily is simply—”

  “Unpredictable,” Guy finished dryly. “Not to the manor born, you might say. By all rights, she ought to have fainted dead away, thinking Munford was drawing a pistol. Any sane woman would.”

  “How dare you question her sanity!” Nick lunged forward and grabbed Guy’s shirtfront, yanking him up on his toes.

  The fool had the temerity to laugh in Nick’s face. He patted the hand Nick had fisted at his neck. “Whoa, Kendale. I’m only playing devil’s advocate here. Can’t you see what a treasure you have in Emily?”

  “Of course I can see it!” Nick exclaimed. He realized then that Guy had only sought to point that out. He dropped him back on his feet. “All right.” Roughly he brushed smooth the handful of shirt he had bunched up at Guy’s throat. “Then I suppose I won’t kill you.”

  “Profoundly grateful, I’m sure. Why don’t you go and make up your little quarrel with your wife now,” Guy suggested.

  “I should follow Barrett and Munford down to the station.”

  “Not necessary just yet. I’ll go. You’ll be called in when his case is presented.”

  Nick nodded and sighed. “Looks as though I’ll be spending more time in court than in the House, what with my case against Munford and Worthing’s case against me.”

  “Oh, I haven’t had the chance to tell you. I had a conversation with the good baron at Michael’s. He won’t pursue it.”

  Not terribly surprised, but relieved, Nick guessed why. “Ah, he reconsidered the scandal, I suppose.”

  Guy shrugged and set his empty glass down on the window sill. “Well, that, too. But it seems Dierdre has made quite a name for herself in your absence. I simply pointed out that no man in his right mind would blame you for crying off any connection to a woman who has thrown up her skirts for every available male above the rank of baronet.”

  “She didn’t!” Nick exclaimed.

  Guy nodded. “She did. Everyone but yours truly, of course.” He wrinkled his nose. “Though one would think good looks counted for something, my lack of blunt saved me from her clutches. But that’s neither here nor there. As for the matter at hand, you and Emily are welcome to stay as long as you like, but I’ve little food in the house and I think the danger is over. Bodkins has Thursdays off to visit his sister, so you’ll have the place to yourselves until I return.” He winked. “I’ll be away all day.”

  “Thank you. For everything,” Nick added sincerely, feeling a bit foolish and contrite over his loss of temper, but knowing Guy would expect no apology. “We should be getting home so I can assess the damage of the fire. I hope to heaven Emily’s wardrobe is sound. Where is her cloak?”

  Guy grinned, shaking his head as if still amazed by Emily’s appearance. “On the hook just inside the hall. You’re in such a hurry, shall I saddle your horse?”

  “No,” Nick answered with a grin. “I’ll do it. Later.”

  “Don’t be gruff with her, Nick,” Guy said kindly. “Her heart’s in the right place. The girl loves you. Judging by the way I once saw her look at you when we were lads, I imagine she always has.”

  “I know that,” Nick assured him. “I was an idiot not to realize it sooner.”

  “Well, I shall say goodbye, then, Idiot,” Guy said with a snappy salute.

  “Goodbye, Advocate. I shall tell her you took her part.”

  Nick smiled and shook his head as Guy left the house. He wondered if Emily knew she had won yet another heart for her collection.

  The staff of Kendale House had gathered around her last night as if she were their queen bee. Wrecker and Rosie doted on her. The people of Bournesea would welcome her gladly when she returned there with him in two weeks. And her husband adored her in spite of his exasperation.

  Nick wanted to tell her again how much he cared and how much he valued her concern for him. Even more than that, he needed to hold her in his arms and show her. Immediately.

  And all of a sudden, as if he had called for her, there she was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “They have all gone,” she said from the doorway. “I was watching from the window upstairs.”

  Nick turned. She still wore Guy’s clothes.

  She blushed and looked to one side, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sorry.”

  “Neither am I,” Nick said. “Come here.”

  He met her halfway and put his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. “I thank you. And I love you,” he said sincerely
. “But you look damned provocative in those trousers.”

  She snuggled even closer. “Then I shall steal them and wear them always.”

  Nick chuckled as he kissed the top of her head and leaned back so he could see her face. “Oh, no, you won’t! And I would have your promise that you will never do anything so rash again as to attack anyone for any reason.”

  “Even you?” she teased.

  “Other than me,” he qualified with a laugh, then grew serious again. “Do you promise?”

  “I do. Unless, of course—”

  He pressed a kiss on her lips to silence her. “At no time.”

  “Oh, very well.” She kissed him back, a long, slow mating of mouths that had him randy and more than ready to borrow Guy’s bed again.

  He shifted his lower body against her. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  “I’ve just come from there,” she answered, her voice whispery and urgent against his mouth. “It is such a long, long trip.”

  He backed to the divan and sat down, pulling her across his lap. “Then we should rest here and fortify ourselves until we’re able to travel that far,” he assured her between kisses.

  She nipped lightly at his lower lip and ran her fingers over the buttons of his waistcoat. “Is this fortification you speak of anything at all like settling matters?”

  “Synonymous,” he declared with a breathless chuckle. “Absolutely synonymous.”

  Nick had just pushed the shirt off Emily’s shoulders when he heard a noise in the foyer. “Blast him, Guy’s returned,” he whispered.

  They laughed like naughty children as she scrambled off his lap and began doing up her buttons. Nick hurried to secure his own, then raked his hands through his hair and assumed a dignified air.

  Emily sucked in a deep breath to hold back her laughter and tucked her stray curls behind her ears. Together they faced the doorway.

  “Well, well. Look at the little countess! What a lovely cartoon for the dailies this would make.”

  Nick stepped in front of Emily. “What the hell are you doing here, Carrick?” But the pistol trained on his heart made the answer fairly evident. He would never have thought Carrick had it in him.

  The smile was almost familial. “I’m here to claim the title, of course. Uncle Ambrose wanted me to have it, you know. Only he died before you did, the old curmudgeon. I must admit that was my fault.”

  “You killed him,” Nick guessed.

  “No. Actually, I was waiting to hear of your fate before putting that plan into motion. Illness waits for no man, however, and he kicked up his toes before I was ready. I only meant that I should have been more careful who I hired to get rid of you in India. You truly are a hardy devil, Nick. You managed to squeeze by with your hide intact and make it home again. Since I paid in advance, that cost me dearly, I’ll have you know.” He shrugged. “But you’ll pay for it.”

  “So you hired that done.” Nick took a step, moving closer.

  Carrick nodded. “Stay where you are. Or don’t. It matters very little to me when I shoot you. And your chum, Duquesne, will take the blame for it, poor sod. I suppose we should get on with this before he returns.”

  He rubbed his thumb suggestively over the hammer of the cocked weapon. He was relishing this, Nick thought. Not only was the man greedy, he would actually enjoy killing. And Nick’s wasn’t the only life he would take. Emily, who might be carrying an heir, also stood between Carrick and what he was determined to have.

  “How did you find us?” Nick inquired, playing for time. He had to figure out some way to disarm Carrick or they were done for.

  “Simple. Hammersley and I had a congenial chat while I was sketching him for his portrait early this morning. He spoke so fondly of you and how you had maintained your life-long friendships with him and with Duquesne. I thought you might have flown to Hammersley’s last evening after my little bonfire.”

  Nick wanted to strangle him then and there. “How the hell did you get into Kendale House?”

  “My old friend Upton, of course. After my visit with Hammersley, I concluded you must have come here. Everyone knows Duquesne’s all but impoverished and keeps only that ancient butler on staff. I watched the house, waiting for you to exit. Imagine my delight when everyone in residence left but you two! This almost seems fated, doesn’t it?” He waved the gun casually.

  The distance between them was about six feet. Nick reckoned even a bad shot could hardly miss at that distance.

  “A pity you won’t live long to enjoy the title,” Emily commented wryly, sounding surprisingly unaffected by the thought of dying. “You’ll be doing us a favor actually. A quick death might be a blessing.” She stepped around Nick.

  He wanted to shove her back behind him, but was afraid to make any sudden moves. Carrick could shoot them at any time and get off several shots in rapid succession. He was wielding a revolver that held five or six shots.

  “Remember your promise to me, Em,” he said in a low voice, hoping to remind her that she had promised him she would never try another foolhardy risk such as she had taken with Munford. “A promise is sacred.”

  “I know, dear,” she assured him. “We swore not to say anything to anyone in London about the sickness, but I want to tell him anyway if he’s going to shoot us. Let him dread an ugly death as we have done. Unless he has the courage to shoot himself.”

  Carrick looked confused. “What the devil are you prating on about? If you’re planning some sort of trick, it won’t work.”

  “Trick?” Emily said, shaking her head slowly as she released a huff. “I only wish it were. Abrasia Rosa is deadly, a most contagious plague. I swear I never thought to see such as I witnessed at Bournesea in the weeks past. And now…” She sniffled loudly. “Even Lord Duquesne rushed out of here when we told him. Brave as he is, the man was terrified. He’s probably gone for his physician.”

  “At Bournesea you had this?” Carrick demanded.

  Nick could see the fright take hold. His cousin had always dreaded sickness of any kind and took on any symptoms displayed by those around him who were afflicted.

  Emily was aware of it. Nick recalled telling her of it at Bournesea. Whatever she had in mind now was purchasing them time if nothing else.

  “How is it I’ve never heard of this disease?” Carrick asked.

  Nick improvised. “Because the discovery of it is so recent, and was peculiar to the inner provinces of India. But I’m afraid that isn’t true any longer.” He had Carrick’s full attention now, so he continued. “When I realized several of the men were down with it on the voyage, we tried to contain it, you see. That’s why I couldn’t let you inside the gates at Bournesea. We were quarantined.”

  Emily shook her head despairingly. “We were too optimistic in lifting it, I’m sad to say. However, I’m not sorry you are afflicted, as well, since you mean us harm. Strange, they say Abrasia rarely takes hold so soon! You only had contact with me, really, and that just two days ago. And yet…” She pointed to him and shrugged.

  Carrick laughed aloud, but it sounded forced. His voice was unnaturally loud when he spoke. “Good effort, I’ll grant you that. You had me on there for a moment. But you see, I know our noble Nick here would never risk spreading a contagion. If you weren’t completely well of whatever it was, he would never have unlocked those gates, much less come to town.”

  “True, but after a fortnight in seclusion, we thought surely we’d been spared. However,” she said as she reached up to her collar and pulled it down to expose her neck and upper chest. “See this? We only noticed late last night as I was bathing after the fire. The initial sign. You have it creeping up your own neck, though yours doesn’t look quite as red as mine. Earlier stage, I expect.”

  “What?” He ran a finger beneath his collar and felt around the inside of it.

  Emily nodded. “Itchy, isn’t it? Wait until you experience the rapid heartbeats that follow, the mounting confusion, and finally…well, one simply comes undone and…it�
��s all over. At least I needn’t dread that now.” She lifted her shoulders, held out her hands in a futile gesture and looked at Nick with a perfectly straight face. Then she continued. “It is a hard thing to watch happen.” She shuddered violently.

  Carrick had blanched and was squinting at her neck and chest, which she had left exposed. A very prominent red rash splotched the creaminess of her skin.

  Nick touched his now clean-shaven chin, knowing exactly what had caused her so-called plague.

  With his free hand Carrick yanked off his neckcloth and undid his collar. “Clasp your hands over your head and come here,” he ordered, his voice shaking as he motioned with the weapon. “See if it’s the same.”

  “No!” Nick almost shouted the word, but it was too late. Emily had already danced out of his reach and Carrick held the cocked pistol aimed straight at Nick’s midsection.

  Arms stretched upward, hands locked together, Emily peered closely at Carrick’s collar, the pistol only inches from her head, though still pointed directly at Nick.

  She was going to try something. But what could she do? Get herself shot, that was what. Nick debated whether to charge Carrick now and take a bullet himself, on the chance Emily could get away. But Carrick was not limited to one shot. And Emily would never run out of here and leave him, especially if he’d been wounded or killed. Nick held steady, watching for his chance. If Carrick would only lower the gun.

  “Oh, dear,” Emily moaned dramatically. “Oh, Nick, look at this!”

  Carrick’s gun hand trembled dangerously. “W-what?” His wide-eyed gaze flew to Emily, then straight back to Nick. “You stay where you are!”

  Emily darted Nick a meaningful look and mouthed the word “Duck.”

  Nick’s heart almost stopped. “Wait!” He held up his hands in a calming motion. “Easy, Carrick. Look I know this disease can make you do things you ordinarily wouldn’t consider. If you surrender the pistol, we can try to get help for you. Once you’re well—”

  “No!” Carrick cried, shaking, his voice hoarse with fear. One hand rubbed frantically at his throat.