Her blood ran cold. Not Papa! Not poor Papa, who was innocent—a dupe, but never a traitor. He would hang; Aunt Mattie would die of shock and mortification. She swayed, dizzy with the horror of it.
All at once Slough let go. “I trust you understand now. You will marry me.”
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered. “I shall marry you.” Never. Sometimes a lie was the only choice.
He chuckled. “Go start your fire, like some fool of a servant maid. Bear in mind, Andromeda, that from now on you will serve me.”
Shaking, she crept to the fireplace. Luckily, the basket held a few sticks of kindling, the scuttle a small pile of coals. She laid the kindling on the grate, opened the tinder box, and soon a tiny flame licked around the kindling, crackling, eager to flare up. Calm down, she whispered, and Slough heard and chuckled. He wouldn’t be so pleased to see her frightened if he knew of what. The fire wanted to burn, wanted to leap out and attack Lord Slough.
The very thought made her sick. As Fen had warned, her powerful magic could be wonderful and good—or horrifying destructive.
She heaped the coals onto the kindling, and the fire took aggressive hold. “Burn slowly,” she admonished it, pushing the fuel apart with the poker. “There’s not much fuel.”
Slough broke into harsh laughter. “Talking to the fire? I’m taking a madwoman to wife. It seems the stories about your mother are true.”
Andromeda stood, setting the poker down and brushing off her hands. She now had a fire—but what to do with it? She could certainly distract Slough enough to get away, but with what consequences? She might set the entire house on fire, endangering Papa, Aunt Mattie, and all the servants, if she didn’t control the flames before she left. And if she escaped without causing a horrendous blaze, Lord Slough would put his threats into effect.
If only she had stayed away. If only she had heeded Fen’s wishes. If only...
She got a hold of herself. She had to figure out what to do. In the meantime, she had to keep Slough occupied. What had he just said? Something about her mother being mad.
“Which stories are those?” she asked.
She scarcely heard Lord Slough’s voice as he answered. She shuddered, swallowing hard as the realization hit her. He had to be stopped; he had to be killed, and since Fen and his weapons weren’t here, she would have to use the only one she possessed.
A knife to the gut, which she’d shrunk from before, would be far, far better.
Nevertheless... “If you harm my father or Lord Fen, I shall have to kill you,” she said.
Lord Slough laughed.
Fen hailed a passing hackney—one with a horse that looked reasonably fit—and gave the driver Andromeda’s address. “Quickly—the sooner we get there, the more your reward.”
“Right you are, gov,” the driver grinned. It didn’t take long, and by the time they arrived, Fen still hadn’t decided what to do. He hopped down and gave the driver five guineas, waving away his astonished thanks. He strode forward and banged on the front door.
A harried-looking footman with a sizeable belly opened it, took one look at Fen, said, “Tradesman’s entrance,” and tried to shut it again.
Fen shoved hard and the footman staggered back. Fen marched in. “Has Miss Gibbons returned?”
The footman glared. “Miss Gibbons is not at home to—”
“Not at home to the likes of me,” Fen said. “Fine. I just want to know whether she arrived here safely.”
“Lord Fenimore?” Colonel Gibbons came down the stairs, looking even more harried than his footman. “You may go, Charles. I shall handle this.” His voice and stance were stiff with disapproval—and some other emotion Fen couldn’t quite read. “Please accept my thanks for giving my daughter shelter. She returned and is safe and well.” He held the door wide as if to show Fen out.
“Where is she? I must speak to her.”
“Absolutely not,” Gibbons said. “She is with Lord Slough, who very generously agreed to marry her in spite of the damage to—”
“You left her alone with Slough?” Fen roared.
Gibbons stiffened even more. “They are betrothed, so a few minutes alone hardly merits—”
“He’s a traitor, you fool.” Now Fen recognized the other emotion on Gibbons’ face—wariness. “You have ten seconds to convince me that you’re not a traitor as well.”
“I?” Gibbons paled, his eyes round and aghast.
He’s not playing a part, Fen thought with relief.
“You scoundrel, how dare you suggest such a thing?” Gibbons said.
“I suppose he told you I’m a traitor.” Fen rolled his eyes. “Think about it, Colonel. Why do you suppose Slough is so set on marrying Andromeda? It’s not because he loves her—he doesn’t, and if you’d heard the insults he heaped on her yesterday in my hearing, you wouldn’t let him near her.”
Gibbons digested that. “He—he does seem rather cynical about marriage.”
“Cynical? He’s ruthless and brutal, a villain through and through. He only wants her because he can get sensitive information from you to sell to French spies.”
“Impossible,” Gibbons said, “I don’t believe it,” but he was clearly shaken.
A cruel laugh sounded from above. Slough!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANDROMEDA STOOD TO one side of the fireplace, trembling but determined, allowing the fire room to leap unhindered. “I meant what I said. I cannot marry you, and if you do not go away this instant, you will die a... a horridly painful death.”
Lord Slough kept on laughing.
Andromeda steeled herself, close to weeping at the thought of what she must do. The fire flared eagerly, almost as if speaking to her. Set me free, it seemed to say.
The door burst open. Fen! Oh, thank God, thank—
Quick as thought, Lord Slough pulled out a pistol. “Leave, damn you,” he snarled, “or I’ll shoot her.”
“And blame it on me, I suppose,” Fen said, cleaning his nails with a little penknife. “That won’t fadge; Colonel Gibbons is close behind me.” He glanced from Andromeda to the fire to Slough, and sure enough, there came the faint sound of Papa’s panting breaths as he toiled up the stairs.
Where was Fen’s tool belt? He couldn’t kill Slough with a penknife. His eyes were intent; he was saying that it was up to her.
Now or never. She steeled herself and whispered, “Burn!”
The fire leapt straight for Lord Slough.
Oh, hell, muttered Fen as the penknife left his hand, embedding itself happily at the crook of Slough’s elbow. He’d meant Andromeda to distract Slough while he disarmed him, but now the man’s coat was on fire. Andromeda’s fists were clenched, her eyes closed. Slough had to die, but not this way. Andromeda would never get over what she’d done.
Slough dropped his pistol and staggered about, cursing. Blood welled up around the penknife, soaking one coat sleeve while the other sleeve burned. The fire, seeking something more flammable than wool, sizzled its way up his arm toward his cravat, but with his other arm incapacitated, Slough could do nothing to stop it. Terror suffused his features. It served him right.
But it was time to end it. Fen called to the fireplace poker. It stood up at his command.
“Straight to the heart,” he told it, and it obeyed.
Lord Slough slumped to the ground, the poker buried in his chest. “Thank you, but he’s not a threat anymore,” Andromeda said, and the fire struggling up the earl’s coat sleeve fizzled out. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, tremulously smiling at Fen.
He pulled her close and kissed her hard. “I love you,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered.
Fen scooped up the pistol. He lowered his voice as Papa’s footsteps slowly approached. “We’d better concoct a tale. How about this: you refused to marry him, after which he lost his temper and tried to ravish you.”
She nodded—quite a convincing story, and the first part at least was true.
“You s
truggled, he fell into the fireplace, then staggered up and went for you again, but when I arrived, distracting him, he slipped and fell onto the poker.”
That would be a little harder to believe. “I’d much rather say you arrived just in time and saved my life.”
“I didn’t save it,” Fen said. “You were doing fine on your own.”
“Not really. I didn’t want him to burn to death.”
“I know,” Fen said, “but I’d rather not take credit where it isn’t due.”
She sighed. “Very well, I’d—I’d set the poker upside down in its stand,” she improvised. She laid the stand with the remaining fire irons on the floor.
“Good one, love,” said Fen. He removed the penknife from Slough’s bicep. When had he thrown it? He thanked it—in French!—snapped it closed, and stowed it in his pocket. “It belonged to one of the spies last night. It wouldn’t obey me until I addressed it in French.”
Papa came in at last, pale and heaving for breath. His eyes widened at the sight of Lord Slough. “God help us, you’ve killed him!”
“Oh, Papa.” Andromeda took his arm and settled him in a chair. “You needn’t have rushed up the stairs. With Fen here, I was safe.”
“But—but Andromeda, he’s—he’s a traitor and—”
“Nonsense,” Andromeda said. “Surely you didn’t believe Lord Slough’s lies.” She caught Fen’s eyes. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked hurriedly away.
“But—but you cried your heart out when he told you Lord Fen was the traitor.” Papa protested, his wary eyes on Fen, who had turned Slough onto his back. The lifeless earl’s eyes stared at nothing. The odor of singed wool rose from his blackened sleeve.
“Not because I believed him,” Andromeda said softly.
Fen yanked the poker from Slough’s chest and wiped it with his handkerchief. He returned the fire iron stand to its position by the hearth. “Thank you,” he said to the poker and set it in its proper place.
Had he seen the shame in her eyes? Andromeda wondered. He showed no sign of it. Would he forgive her for almost believing the worst of him?
“As I tried to explain earlier, Slough wished to marry Andromeda in order to have regular access to you, Colonel Gibbons,” Fen said. “He stole the names of two of our operatives in France.”
Papa paled even more. “From me?”
Fen nodded. “I’m not sure whether he succeeded in passing them to the French. My father’s men are pursuing the French spies.”
Papa slumped. “He must have seen some correspondence I was putting into coded form. He knows a surprising amount about codes.” He paused, eyes on the corpse. “Knew, I should say. We had a fascinating discussion one evening.” He sighed heavily. “I would never, ever have suspected a peer of the realm of such infamy.”
“Nor would I,” said a smooth voice from the doorway, “nor would I.”
The devil, thought Fen, as the Marquis of Overwood strolled in. “I told the coachman to take you home, Father. You need medical attention.”
“Pooh,” said Lord Overwood. “A mere tap on the chin.” Which was an angry red and would develop quite a bruise, Fen thought, but the marquis seemed his languid self. Regret seared through Fen that he’d struck his own father.
The marquis gazed tranquilly at Lord Slough’s corpse. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”
The regret vanished as quickly as it had come. “There was nothing ‘well enough’ about Miss Gibbons being left to the mercy of Lord Slough.” The poker quivered, and the little penknife shifted in Fen’s pocket. Hush.
“Tsk,” the marquis said. “However, I remember what it was like to be young and in love. I would have stopped at nothing to prevent your mother from marrying another man, so I am not entirely unsympathetic.”
Fen clamped hard on the penknife, which seemed to have a Gallic temper. Perhaps he shouldn’t try to make his father understand. Perhaps a permanent estrangement was for the best, if even an understanding remark infuriated Fen.
Lord Overwood’s eyes lit upon Andromeda. “A good disguise, but most improper. I assume you two have concocted a good tale to explain this appalling mess?”
“There was no need to concoct anything,” Andromeda said, facing Lord Overwood with a cool, ladylike composure that would have befitted a duchess. If she was embarrassed at the impropriety of her clothing, she hid it well.
And she now believed he loved her! Fen had to struggle not to grin.
“At the Corington ball, I realized that I couldn’t possibly marry Lord Slough,” she said. “I had been having my doubts, but his horrid remarks about Fen were the last straw.”
“How gauche of him. What did he say?”
“That Fen had bad taste in furniture. Can you conceive of anything more ridiculous, my lord?”
The marquis gave a faint smile. “Only when it comes to furniture custom-made for the Regent, who is addicted to excess. Otherwise, my son’s designs are quite, quite brilliant. I intend to purchase a desk from him—a roll-top I inspected this morning.”
Fen glowered at this blatant falsehood.
Andromeda continued her story. “I should have taken my courage in my hands and broken the engagement, but instead I ran away.”
“Not believable enough,” the marquis retorted. “Think of something better.”
Andromeda pondered, her composure intact—an accomplishment where his father was concerned. “Very well, let’s say I did broach the subject to Lord Slough. He was furious, which frightened me so much that I ran away.”
“To Fen.” Must he sound so incredulous?
“Well, of course!” Andromeda opened her eyes wide as if it was obvious. “I’m thankful he came to the ball, because I hadn’t seen him for years and years and mightn’t have thought of him otherwise. It was wonderful to see Fen again. I knew that with him I would be safe.”
“Why couldn’t you just come home?” Colonel Gibbons said. “Your flight to Lord Fenimore makes no sense at all when you had a perfectly good home to come to.”
“I was afraid you and Aunt Mattie wouldn’t believe me. I thought you would try to make me change my mind—which you did. It was almost impossible to convince you that Slough was a traitor.”
The colonel threw up his hands. “What else was I to think?”
The marquis waved the colonel’s objections away. “My dear Gibbons, we are concocting this story in order to avoid a scandal of disastrous proportions. Pray forget that Slough was a traitor and think of him only as the man who frightened your daughter at the ball.”
“And tried to ravish her tonight,” Fen said. “But didn’t succeed, because Lord Slough tripped, falling into the fireplace.”
“Because you arrived just in time to distract him,” Andromeda said. “I’d rather give credit where it’s due.”
“I don’t want any credit,” Fen said. “In his subsequent attempts to put out his burning coat, Slough stumbled and impaled himself on the poker, which was upside down in the stand.”
The marquis rolled his eyes.
Fen shrugged. “It’s more or less true.”
“It’s also ludicrous,” his father said. “We shall merely say that you rescued her in the nick of time. Everyone knows about your violent tendencies, so they will have no difficulty believing you killed him in the ensuing struggle. A simple, vulgarly dramatic tale is what pleases the gossips.”
“Perfect,” Andromeda said primly. “Fen, if I don’t mind playing the helpless female, you shouldn’t mind playing the hero.”
Colonel Gibbons stuck out his chin. “What about the scandal that has ruined my daughter?”
“That must be addressed as well,” the marquis said. “So far your story will do, Miss Gibbons, but you can’t run for shelter to a single man unless you intend to marry him.”
“Oh, but I do intend to marry him,” Andromeda said. “If he’ll take me.”
Andromeda couldn’t bring herself to look at Fen. He’d said his offer would always be open,
but she’d almost lost faith in him. She didn’t deserve him. Her heart beat so fast she could scarcely stand.
“Andromeda, love, no,” Papa said. “This is not what I wanted for you.” He blenched at the expression on Lord Overwood’s face. One didn’t disrespect the son of a marquis, even a younger son engaged in trade. “I humbly beg your pardon, my lord, but...”
“I quite understand,” Lord Overwood drawled, “and it so happens that I agree. Your father is right, my child, and while there is not the slightest doubt that Fen will take you, I’m sure you can do much, much better.”
“I can’t possibly do better.” Too late, she realized how that might be construed. Now it was more doubtful than ever that Fen would take her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I—”
The marquis waved her words away. “Indeed, you can do better. With my wife to vouch for you—she will agree to say that you ran to her—you may return to society and find someone far more appropriate than my wayward son.”
“I don’t want to find someone else,” she said.
“You could have been a countess, my love,” Papa said. “Perhaps you will do just as well the second time.”
“That may be a little too high to hope for,” the marquis said dryly, “but think hard before you decide, Miss Gibbons. If you marry Fen, you will be taking a sizeable step down. Many of the beau monde will no longer receive you.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.” Andromeda finally summoned the courage to glance at Fen, but he was meticulously cleaning the folding knife with his handkerchief. “The events of the past few days have shown me how little I care for the opinions of others.”
“Foolish, foolish girl,” Papa said. “Have you no consideration for those of us who do care what others think? This is not what I wanted, nor your aunt Mattie, nor your poor mother...”
“That’s not true,” Fen said. With Andromeda coming to his support so nicely, he’d hesitated to interrupt, but this was something she didn’t know. “Mrs. Gibbons hoped I would marry Andromeda.”
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