The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

She grabbed his hand where it rested on the edge of the bed. "Please don't hurt him," she said. "Please? Swear to me."

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment. She knew that tears continued to leak at the corners of her eyes. His hand was warm but tense in her own.

  "Please, Robert. Don't hurt him. And if it must be said, don't have anyone else hurt him." She furrowed her brow and held back another sob. With a small voice she added. "If possible, don't let anyone hurt him at all."

  He rose and tried to extract his hand from hers. "I'll let you rest."

  "No!" she said, clinging to his hand tenaciously. She could hear hysteria in her own tone. "Promise!"

  He sighed, using his free hand to smooth her hair. "I promise," he said softly.

  "Don't let him be harmed," she insisted.

  "I'll do my best," he agreed.

  She finally let his hand go. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Get some rest, Sabre."

  She nodded and burrowed into the pillows again. Pillows she wished smelled of lemongrass.

  Quince arrived at Robert Bittlesworth's townhouse shortly after dawn. While his men milled in the street he sprinted up the steps and pounded on the door. It was promptly opened by none other than Robert himself. The younger man did a credible job of looming in the doorway considering that they were of a size.

  Quince tried to push through anyway. "Is she-"

  "She won't see you. You aren't welcome here." Bittlesworth's stance was solid. His stare flat and implacable. The stare of a predator.

  The duke blinked. "I don't understand."

  "That's hardly my problem." Bittlesworth began to close the door.

  "Wait, stop! What happened? I don't even know why she left!"

  Robert planted a hand on the duke's chest and pushed him back. "That's hardly my problem," he said again, closing the door with a solid snap.

  Quince pounded on the door for a good five minutes but there was no other response from the occupants. Backing up he stared at the second floor, wondering if any of the windows were to Sabre's room. Realizing he was being a good deal more foolish than he should be, especially for a public street, he rejoined his men to lead them to the ducal London home. His gaze stayed on the Bittlesworth townhouse until it was out of sight.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  After spending the morning pacing restlessly, Quince sat down to write a note to his friend Gideon Wolfe, Earl of Harrington. He knew he needed to calm his mind to ensure that what he wrote would make any sort of sense. Lord knew if he wrote anything while in an agitated state it would lead Giddy to descend upon him like a mother hen. He'd made that mistake when his father died and it had taken a fortnight before Giddy had left him alone. So now he cleared his thoughts and set to writing.

  G,

  Returned to London and fancy a drink. Will you be At Home this evening?

  Q

  Simple. Certainly nothing that would alarm the earl. Quince dispatched a footman with the note to track down Gideon, whether at Parliament or home, and return with a reply. Exhausted, he took to bed. And spent a long time staring at the empty pillow next to him.

  Sabre had fallen into a half-sleep but roused when she heard footsteps in the hall. After a lifetime of hearing it, the knock at the door was familiar.

  "Go away, Jack," she said waspishly. "I don't want to talk to you."

  "Sabre, what happened?" her friend called through the door. At her silence Jack continued. "Robert called me over here because he's worried about you. Is it," her voice became hushed. "Is it Quince?"

  Sabre pushed herself from the bed and stomped over to the door, flinging it open. "I don't want to talk to you because you didn't tell me it would be like this. All your talk of love. Love doesn't make you happy. It makes you weak. It makes you powerless."

  Jack had drawn back with a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Sabre slammed the door again. And locked it.

  Jack stood in the hallway, shocked. She had never seen her friend in such a state. Hair falling from its pins, eyes red and swollen, clothing mussed. Sabre wasn't like that. Sabre was steady, determined. Remembering what she herself had gone through with Gideon, she wondered what on earth Quince could have done.

  Quince wasn't like her husband. The duke was, well, mild-mannered. Clever. Perhaps he had rejected Sabre's suit. Her friend usually didn't allow anyone to thwart her plans. Then again, she had never tried to ensnare a duke before. Or fallen in love. Jack touched the door, wishing she knew what to do for her friend.

  "She won't let you in?"

  Jack's heart tripped to hear Robert's voice so close behind her when she hadn't heard him approach.

  "Indeed not."

  "I don't know what happened." He looked frustrated and Jack knew that he hoped she would be able to draw the story out of his sister.

  Jack sighed. "Love."

  Robert raised a brow at her. "What do you mean?"

  "It does funny things."

  He looked at the door again, still irritated. "Last week she said she wanted to marry him. She didn't say anything about falling in love with him."

  "She told you? You approved?"

  "I thought I did."

  Sabre's voice came from the other side of the door. "Stop talking out there as though I can't hear you."

  Robert tried the handle and found it locked. "Sabre, open this door."

  "No!"

  "Sabre, open this door before I open it for you."

  Jack heard the soft click of the door unlocking again. The door remained closed and after a few moments Robert opened it. They found Sabre looking out her window over the back garden. She had taken some time to smooth her hair and skirt, and had removed the jacket of her riding habit to lay it on the bed.

  "Sabre," Robert said. "We don't know what to do for you unless you talk to us."

  "There's nothing you can do," she answered, her voice sounding hollow.

  He stepped toward her. "Sabre, you don't know-"

  She spun to look at him, hand clasped into fists at her sides, eyes dark with anger. "You needn't tell me what I don't know! I don't even know if you're part of why he's in danger. Why would I tell you anything?"

  "Quince is in danger?" Jack had asked the question without thinking and now had both Bittlesworth siblings staring at her coldly. She heard boots in the hallway and turned to look over her shoulder. She didn't think she had ever been happier to see Charlie Bittlesworth in her life. She hadn't seen him in at least a year, but he was still as lanky as she remembered. He'd let his blonde hair grow a bit longer and it fell into his eyes like it had when he was a child. And as she caught his eye he smiled at her. Thank God for Charlie. The only sweet-natured Bittlesworth in the lot.

  He paused in the doorway to take in the tableau. His two dark haired siblings looked ready to fight one another. Jack appeared, she knew, somewhat lost and out of place.

  "Hullo, Jack," he said. "Robert."

  The two brothers nodded to one another.

  Stepping into the room he said more softly, "Hullo, little bird."

  The fight seemed to drain out of Sabre. She sobbed and dashed across the room into his embrace.

  Jack linked her arm in Robert's and pulled him from the room. When they descended the steps she realized it now felt rather odd to walk again with someone closer to her own height. If he was taller it was only by the merest inch or two. She looked over at him and he seemed deep in thought.

  "How is Quince in trouble?"

  Her question pulled him from his rumination. "I'm sure that's something the duke would prefer I didn't tell you."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Because otherwise you would already know."

  "Does Giddy know?"

  He shrugged.

  "Robert, you're not being very helpful."

  He gave her a frosty smile.

  She told him sternly, "Well, I shall have to tell Gideon about this, so don't be surprised if he comes here demanding answers."

  "He can do as he w
ishes."

  Jack scowled. Robert was being vague and willful. "Why does Sabre believe you could be involved in Quince's troubles?"

  He leaned closer, his lips almost to her ear and she felt his warm breath as he whispered. "Because she is very, very smart." At that he drew away from her. "I have work. I'm sure you know how to let yourself out."

  Jack shuddered. She had grown up with Robert. Idolized him. Adored him. He had been her first crush. But just now she realized that perhaps she didn't know him at all. She let herself out of the townhouse and fled for home.

  TWENTY-SIX

  "What are you doing abed at two in the afternoon?" The earl sounded testy. Well, Quince thought, the note hadn't been as casual as he'd thought, then. Somehow he needed to severely curb the number of people who felt comfortable storming his room while he was trying to rest.

  "It seemed wise as I didn't sleep last night and had an engagement scheduled with the Earl of Harrington this evening."

  Gideon loomed over the bed and frowned. "You look like death. Are you ill?"

  The duke sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Get out of my room, Gideon. Wait in the parlor. Or in the kitchen for all I care. I can't stand your hovering when I'm not yet awake."

  The earl looked displeased but nodded. "Downstairs, then. I'll be in the study."

  Quince sighed as his friend left the room. He might yet regret seeking Gideon's counsel, but what else was he to do? Sabre had deserted him. He didn't trust Robert. His own household staff was suspect after the way the notes had been delivered.

  Once downstairs he did, indeed, find Gideon in his study poring over his journals. Perhaps the earl and Sabre would enjoy a party wherein they did nothing but read from the ducal accounts. Just the thought of trying to do that gave him a headache. The earl's eyes tracked him as he crossed the room to flop down in one of the side chairs along the wall.

  "You don't look like yourself," Gideon said.

  "Oh really? Then who, pray tell, do I look like?"

  "A scoundrel who has stolen the duke's cast off clothes. Even your hair is disorderly."

  Quince ran his hand through the mop. "I thought you knew that artfully mussed hair was all the rage."

  "Yes, and usually you are a model of the fashion. But right now you just look untidy."

  The duke scowled and steepled his hands across his abdomen while he slouched in the chair. "Egads," he said drily. "We all know that the worst sin is to be untidy."

  Gideon came around the desk and sat in the chair opposite. "All right, out with it."

  Quince sat forward, elbows on knees. "You're going to wish you had waited until a more reasonable hour for drinking."

  Gideon gave the duke an appraising look, then crossed his legs and settled in to wait for the story.

  Quince rubbed his face again and looked at the desk, the carpet. Most anywhere but at Gideon. "I have things to tell you and some of them have been a long time in the telling." As the earl remained quiet, Quince continued. "The most pressing concern is fairly recent."

  There was a long pause as Quince forced himself to look at his friend. Gideon's expression was still impassive. Patient.

  "I'm being blackmailed."

  "By whom?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "When did this start?"

  "Almost three weeks ago."

  "What steps have you taken?"

  "I asked Robert for his help."

  Quince saw a muscle in Gideon's jaw flex but all he said was, "That seems wise."

  "Actually I'm not sure it was. I've begun to suspect that he's somehow involved."

  Now Gideon leaned forward. "I know that you don't like Robert, but-"

  "It's not about that, believe me. And I don't dislike him precisely. In fact," now he smiled down at his clasped hands, "I'm under the impression that he has a far greater dislike for me than I ever entertained for him."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Among other things, the nickname. Although I presume you know it."

  "If Robert has a nickname for you, I'm not aware of it."

  "Interesting. He called me Gideon's Angel. He seemed quite offended by all the times I dragged you out of the gutter. I think he stopped just short of calling me a fishwife."

  Gideon snorted. "It's nothing that Robert or Charlie wouldn't have done for each other if they hadn't both been face down in that same gutter together. But Robert aside, you still haven't told me what the nature of this blackmail is."

  "There's something else I have to tell you first."

  "Something worse than blackmail and having the Hero of the Home Office irritated with you?"

  "You recall, of course, that I hadn't been aware that my mother was still alive until after my father's death?"

  "Yes," Gideon chuckled. "She detested me, if I'm not mistaken."

  "She doesn't care for overbearing men, and after my father I can't entirely blame her. When he realized how headstrong she was he banished her to a townhouse in Bath and forbade her to have any contact with me. He would still visit her from time to time, though. Hoping that along with his heir, he could have a spare."

  "It's good to know that your father was as charming in his personal life as he was on the floor of the Parliament."

  "She managed to conceal three children from him. She was afraid he would take them all away as he had me."

  Gideon sat up, alert. "Wait, you have siblings? How long have you known?"

  "Two years. It took awhile for her to even confide in me."

  Gideon strode to the side table and poured drinks. Handing one to Quince he said, "So I suppose the correct term is congratulations? It isn't often that one finds an entire family."

  "Thank you. It has been interesting, to say the least."

  Gideon resumed his seat. "Although I knew we had our differences I will admit to being surprised you haven't told me about them before this."

  "Don't take it too hard, Gideon. There were a lot of things I needed to work out for myself." He saw the muscle tense in Gideon's jaw again, but the earl didn't say anything so Quince continued. "Then I quietly set about ensuring that my brother, Jeremy, is in line for the succession. As my father hadn't been aware of him, it posed something of a legal challenge but I think it's resolved now."

  Gideon squinted, thinking. "And that means your cousin Lionel is no longer a marquess. Is he aware of that?"

  "Not yet. But soon." Quince turned the glass in his hands as he saw Gideon start drinking from his own. "And that is part of why I'm coming to you now. What I'm involved in could be dangerous. If anything should happen to me I would look to you to ensure that Jeremy is granted his title. That he has someone who can help him in taking on his new duties."

  "Why do you think this is dangerous?"

  "We'll get to that momentarily. Do I have your pledge to look after Jeremy?"

  "Of course. You needn't even ask."

  "That is a weight from my mind."

  "How old is he?"

  "Sixteen."

  Gideon considered it. "Is he more like you at sixteen or me at sixteen?"

  Quince laughed. "Somewhere between, I think." He watched Gideon mull the implications of that statement.

  The earl finally said, "I still should hope he wouldn't have to ascend at such a young age."

  "Nor would I, particularly."

  "And why are we concerned that he might need to?"

  "The blackmailer is unknown to me but the only person that I'm fairly sure is involved to some degree is Viscount Bittlesworth. I plan to bait the bear in his den to see if I can gain more information."

  Gideon frowned. "Blaise Bittlesworth?"

  "Indeed."

  "He is... unsavory, to say the least. But tell me more about this blackmailer."

  Quince recited the text of the notes, including how they were delivered. Upon recitation of the third one Gideon rose from his chair.

  "Dammit man, how can you be here if your sister is being threatened?"


  "I thought being near me, or even mother, wouldn't be the safest place for her. As such, I'm having her sent to the safest place I can think of."

  "Where would that be?"

  Quince sipped his wine and grinned. "Your house, of course. Although she will be delivered to your wife, with instructions from Miss Bittlesworth. As I wasn't sure we would have this conversation in advance of her arrival we thought it best it be between the two of them."

  Gideon had begun to pace but stopped to stare at the duke. "You were going to tell my wife about your sister before you told me?"

  "Not really. There was no indication of the relationship. Simply one Haberdasher asking another to look after a young girl."

  "And how, exactly, did Miss Bittlesworth get involved in this affair?"

  "By inserting herself. She has been at Belle Fleur for almost a fortnight."

  Gideon's frown became fiercer. "You've had the girl at your estate? Was she chaperoned?"

  "No. Although apparently Robert knew where she was."

  Gideon poured himself more brandy. "Then I suppose more congratulations are in order."

  "I'm not going to marry her."

  "The hell you aren't."

  "I'd rather hang than see Blaise Bittlesworth have the satisfaction of his daughter becoming a duchess."

  "You should have thought of that before you let her reside at your estate!"

  "I love Sabrina, and I will do right by her as far as I am able. But it won't include a title."

  "What do you mean you love her? You barely even know her."

  "Really? How long did you know your wife before you fell in love with her?"

  Gideon resumed his seat and looked at the ceiling, calculating. "Well..." he said. "It seemed like a long time."

  Quince smirked into his wine. "I'm sure it did."

  "It took more than a fortnight."

  "No surprise. You never were the sharpest knife in the drawer."

  "And it certainly didn't happen before we had achieved a certain level of intimacy." Gideon was silent for a long moment as Quince took another sip of wine. The earl narrowed his eyes. "If you've touched that girl I'll drag you into the church myself."