“Provided you clear off and never come near either Blackhaven or her ladyship again.”
Tugg scowled. “Can’t do that, gov’nor. I got a job to do. I can’t go back and tell him we couldn’t do it! She’s only a woman, and I’ve got my reputation to think of. Besides, he ain’t going to be pleased and he’s got a nasty look in his eye.”
“Then tell him you did it,” Grant suggested.
Tugg blinked. Even Wickenden was looking at him a trifle oddly.
“What?” Tugg scratched his head again.
Grant leaned forward, as though confiding. “Tell him—let’s call him Lord C for convenience…” The flicker in Tugg’s muddy eyes told him he was right in that assumption, but then he’d never really doubted it. “Tell Lord C you killed her, that she’s dead. He’ll pay you and everyone is happy.”
“Except me when he finds out she’s swanning around Blackhaven very much alive!”
“Except him when he finds out she’s alive,” Grant corrected wryly. “How is a so-called gentleman like Lord C going to find and punish a man like you? Without involving the law and his own vile conspiracy. I’m sure you have ways of lying low. Besides, it wouldn’t be for long. I have plans of my own for Lord C.”
Tugg regarded him with continued disapproval. “I never met a vicar like you before. I reckon you’d do well in my line of work.”
“What, assassinating helpless women for money?” Grant said contemptuously.
“She ain’t helpless or she’d be dead already,” Tugg retorted. “I just do what I’m paid to do. Got to earn a crust. Mind you, don’t care for the killing work much—too risky—but if a cove pays enough…”
“Quite,” Grant said repressively. “Then we’re agreed?”
“That I talk to your major and then go back to my cove—Lord C to you—and tell him I killed the lady? Get my money under false pretenses?”
“You don’t like the plan?” Grant said gently. “You’d rather go to prison for attempted murder? I expect you’d hang. You probably should.”
“Didn’t say that, did I?” Tugg scratched his head yet again. Wickenden inched further back from him. “All right. But you’re not to pursue my lads neither.”
“I won’t if they didn’t hurt the groom too badly.”
“He’ll be all right,” Tugg said comfortably. “Bit of a sick headache I should think, but no harm done.”
“Why didn’t you just kill him?” Wickenden asked curiously.
“Wasn’t paid to, was I? He was just in the way.” Tugg glared at Grant. “Like you.”
*
Their arrival at the barracks caused quite a stir. The coach was escorted across the parade ground by several running soldiers, while another vanished into the building at the far end. Their coachman—a servant of the Muirs who had once been a sergeant with the 44th—exchanged greetings and insults with acquaintances as they went, so it was hardly a threatening arrival.
By the time the coach pulled up outside the building and Grant alighted, Major Doverton was striding out to meet them. Since most of the regiment was now on the Peninsula, the barracks currently housed only a couple of officers and a handful of men, most of whom were raw recruits in training. But it seemed they’d all come out to watch the surrender of the fugitive curate.
Major Doverton scowled. The young lieutenant who’d tried to arrest Grant walked out of another building toward them, his jaw dropping as he wrestled himself into his coat.
Grant, with his hand significantly on Tugg’s grubby collar, offered a slight bow. “Major. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Tristram Grant.”
“I know who you are, sir,” Doverton said, his gaze darting over Tugg and Wickenden, then back to Grant. “Though I’m not sure who should be apologizing or explaining to whom.”
“I most definitely owe you an apology, sir,” Grant admitted, including the approaching lieutenant in his humble gesture. “I should not have fled. Indeed, I regret not accompanying the lieutenant as I originally intended. I’m afraid I panicked somewhat when I saw this fellow lurking, watching my arrest.”
“You were not arrested, sir,” Doverton said hurriedly, flicking a glance at Tugg. “Harper must have explained himself poorly.”
“As did I. I believe his information came from this miscreant—one Mr. Tugg from London. As he will tell you, the information was spitefully given. I have never in my life aided a French prisoner to escape, let alone hidden such a creature.”
“On top of which,” Wickenden interjected, “you should know that Mr. Grant was a captain of the Queen’s Own.”
“This is Lord Wickenden,” Grant said hastily. “Who helped me track down and capture Mr. Tugg.”
“Lieutenant Harper,” Overton barked. “Are you hearing this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Always check the source of your information! Especially when it’s against someone as upstanding as a clergyman!”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said miserably. He turned to Grant, lifting his chin. “I was heavy handed and overzealous, sir. I apologize.”
Grant, feeling a shade uncomfortable, said ruefully, “Perhaps, but the true fault was mine, sir. I suspected a conspiracy when I saw this fellow, and I bolted. I apologize for that. Now, perhaps we should go inside so you can see what this fellow has to say…”
*
“I don’t understand,” Vernon complained yet again.
He’d followed Kate, Peter, and Little into the hotel’s small reception room, where once she’d bathed Grant’s knuckles. Now, she cleaned and bandaged Peter’s head while the hotel staff arranged the return of the horses to the stables.
“It’s perfectly simple,” Kate said. “Those men attacked Peter to get to me. Mr. Grant stopped them.”
“But even if such a wild story is true, how could he know?” Vernon demanded with an air of triumph.
“Well, it isn’t the first time he’s saved me from those same men,” Kate informed him.
Vernon didn’t quite like that, but then he wasn’t meant to. Scowling, he said, “Why is he sniffing around you? Why didn’t you tell me you’d met him here?”
“For one thing, it’s none of your business who I meet where. For another, he seems to value his privacy.”
Vernon let out a crack of laughter. “No wonder. My father would crucify him if he caught up with him.”
Kate glanced at him, holding the bandage in place around Peter’s head. “You will respect that privacy, won’t you?”
Perhaps he heard the genuine anxiety in her voice, for a speculative look came into his eyes. “That might depend.”
Kate scowled and seized the pin from Little’s fingers. She had to remember to be careful jabbing it into the bandage and not into Peter’s head. “Don’t you dare consider coercing me over this. It won’t work. I don’t want a husband, Vernon, and I don’t want a lover. You might as well return to London.”
“Not without you. You need a husband, Kate. I won’t get in your way.”
Idiotically, Kate felt both annoyed at the concept of a husband who wouldn’t get in the way, and irritated by the false concept of “needing” a husband at all. “Go away, Vernon,” she said wearily. “If you want to be useful, tell them to arrange a room here for Peter. He can’t return to the stables in this state.”
“Course I can, my lady,” Peter said at once.
“No, you can’t. You’ll stay here, and what’s more, I’ll be sending for a physician.”
Vernon at least did her bidding, and by the time she emerged with Peter, a young man waited to show them to Peter’s room, conveniently close to her own. The young man, who had shiny shoes, seemed to make Little blush. Kate wondered, with mixed feelings, if she was about to lose her maid. She’d grown too used and too familiar with Little. She didn’t want to go back to having some fussy stranger constantly about her.
With Peter settled on the bed, resting in the darkened chamber, Kate left and found Vernon still in the passage, frowning.
“It doesn’t make sense. Isn’t the curate the fellow everyone’s talking about? The one who gave the soldiers the runaround when they tried to arrest him for hiding a French prisoner?”
Kate brushed past him. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” he agreed. “Because although Tris is a pain in the neck, I can’t imagine him aiding and abetting the enemy! He fought them, for God’s sake.”
“Good morning, Vernon,” she said civilly, opening her own door.
“Wait, don’t you want to ride?” Vernon reminded her.
“No, I’ve gone off the idea. I shall make morning calls instead.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Kate shut the door on him, although the gesture was spoiled slightly by having to open it again almost immediately to let Little in. Her mind was all on Grant and what further trouble he might have got himself into trying to help her. Why did people never believe she could help herself?
In truth, she’d been afraid their quarrel in the secret passage had parted them for good. She certainly hadn’t expected him to be rushing to her rescue from his own fugitive position. And so, she changed from her riding habit into the first morning dress Little suggested, and then had to pace the rooms until it was a reasonable time to call.
Even so, she was aware it was unconscionably early for fashionable households. Fortunately, the Muirs did not count themselves fashionable, and a young footman showed her at once into an upstairs sitting room where she found not only the ladies of the house and the baby, but Cornelius, who eased to his feet as she entered.
“Oh, Kate, have you news?” Gillie cried, rushing toward her. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“I was hoping you did,” Kate said in dismay, pausing only to greet Gillie’s aunt and stepmother with civility before she allowed herself to be yanked down on the sofa by Gillie.
Gillie said, “I know only that David and Mr. Grant left here at the crack of dawn, taking Danny with them.”
“Danny?” Kate asked, since Gillie seemed to accord some significance to his presence with them.
“My father’s old sergeant. Among other things, he’s most useful in a fight,” Gillie said ruefully. “Which is what makes me wonder. Only, in this case, he was driving our travelling coach!”
“Well, that makes sense,” Kate allowed. “I saw them briefly, outside the hotel, where I’m afraid they—er—snatched someone off the street. I believe they were trying to help me, only I’m very afraid they’ve got themselves into more trouble.”
“Who was this man they snatched?” Cornelius demanded, apparently torn between amusement and outrage that they’d acted without him.
“Someone who threatened me,” Kate said reluctantly. “I have a complicated life,” she admitted when everyone stared at her. Even the baby, who surprised her by suddenly smiling at her. To her own astonishment, Kate smiled back. Then, pulling herself together, she coughed. “We must work out where on earth they’ve gone. Are you sure they haven’t returned to the cellar?”
“Not when I came up ten minutes ago,” Cornelius said. “We’re pretending I’m a morning caller,” he explained.
Regarding him properly for the first time, Kate registered that he was wearing a set of smart clothes that almost fitted him. “Well, you almost look the part. Wickenden’s clothes, I apprehend.”
Cornelius grinned. “They’d never believe this in the clubs. What a pity I’ll never be able to tell.”
“Ah. Talking of telling, you should know that your other brother, Lord Vernon, is here, and that he’s seen Mr. Grant. I don’t begin to understand your relationship to each other or your father, but I feel you should both be aware.”
“Damn,” Cornelius said with feeling. “Beg your pardon, ladies. Does he know I’m here, too?”
Kate shrugged. “Why should he?”
“If you told him,” Cornelius said bluntly.
“I didn’t tell him anything except ‘go back to London’,” Kate snapped. Catching Gillie’s eye, she paused and admitted, “Though, come to think of it, I might have encouraged him to beg, borrow, or steel an invitation to the Winslows’ ball on Saturday. Maybe Bernard can shoot him before then.”
Cornelius gave a bark of laughter. “Anyone would think you and Vernon were married. What does he think about you and Tris?”
Kate stood abruptly. “Don’t be ridiculous. There is no me and Tris. And if there were, it would be neither his business nor yours. Gillie, I’m going to the pump room, which is always a hot bed of gossip—” She broke off, for Gillie had turned to her, one finger on her lips in a gesture of silence.
And sure enough, muffled voices and even laughter drifted from below. An instant later, there came quick, steady footsteps, more than one pair, and Wickenden’s voice. Gillie jumped to her feet, the door opened, and Wickenden and Grant walked in.
Gillie ran to her husband with uninhibited joy and he caught her to him with the same natural affection. It cost Kate an unexpected pang, not for her lost love with David, but for the unlikelihood of her ever knowing any relationship so honest and intense.
I kiss you to make you love me. But I can’t, can I? Grant’s words in the tunnel came back to her without warning. It had seemed an odd admission of surrender from the man who never gave up. She wondered suddenly if he’d seen Vernon before that, if he knew her old lover was here.
Have I made him jealous? The possibility awed her for a moment before simple curiosity took over.
“Where have you been?” Gillie demanded, beating Wickenden’s chest with her little fist. “Why did you abduct that man? And why is Mr. Grant now wandering about as though he’s free?”
“He is free,” Wickenden replied, detaching his lapel from her clutching fingers, although it was noticeable he kept one arm around her.
“Am I?” Cornelius asked hopefully.
“You,” said Grant, “will be taken by coach to the estate at Filby, where you can properly recover and then go where you will. I’m only free because I denied any knowledge of a French prisoner—”
“Technically true,” Cornelius pointed out.
“So, if you’re discovered here,” Grant pursued. “We’re both done for, and so is Keith, who vouched for me.”
“Is he well enough to travel?” Kate asked doubtfully.
It was Cornelius himself who answered with a sigh. “Yes, I am. Filby isn’t so far from here, and my father hates the place so he’s not likely to come anywhere near. So, this fellow you abducted, is he under lock and key? Did you do some kind of exchange with the military?”
“No, I pled for him and sent him back to London,” Grant said casually. He’d barely looked at Kate, and her warm pleasure in his care for her was slowly freezing.
“Why?” she asked, as everyone looked at her askance.
Slowly, Grant swung his gaze around to her face. “So that he’ll tell Dickie Crowmore he killed you.”
Her breath caught at the ugly word.
“Mr. Grant!” Gillie protested, clearly distressed.
“Bit sick, little brother,” Cornelius said sternly.
But Kate understood at once. “He’ll betray himself. Why on earth should he imagine I’m dead when I’m clearly shocking the natives in Blackhaven?”
Grant’s lips quirked. He inclined his head.
“Clever,” she allowed. “Gets rid of them, baits Dickie, and sets you free, all in one blow. If he tells Dickie. Do you think he will?”
Grant shrugged. “I believe so. He has every reason to. How is your groom?”
“He has a sore head. I’ve asked Dr. Lampton to call on him, just to be safe, but I think he’ll recover.” She rose to her feet, uncomfortable with having all this discussed in public, which was ridiculous considering the nature of the gossip she knew was discussed about her all the time. “It only remains for me to thank you both,” she said lightly, with a bow, “and to be on my way. Good morning, ladies. Gentlemen.”
“I
’ll walk down with you,” Grant said. “I have a hundred and one things to do at the church.”
Cornelius made a derisory noise before adding, “Yes, and you’d better watch out, especially in Lady Crowmore’s company, when Vernon’s in town.”
“I know,” Grant said. She could imagine his carelessness was studied. Certainly, he didn’t even glance at her as he spoke. So, he had known before but said nothing. Why would he say nothing? Through delicacy? Suspicion? And she wasn’t going to marry him anyway, so why did it matter?
Because he wanted to court her and, God help her, she liked that idea. Without the marriage at the end of it, of course.
“Well,” Kate said as they left the house after making civil farewells to the Muirs and Wickendens, “We may both finally walk without fear in Blackhaven. Except fear of gossip, of course.”
He cast her a glance of sardonic amusement. “I never heard that Lady Crowmore feared gossips.”
“I meant you, sir,” Kate replied, and he laughed. She liked his laugh, ready and infectious, the kind that came from genuine entertainment rather than politeness or affectation. And the way it lit his face sparked butterflies in her stomach. She drew in her breath. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Grant.”
“You do?”
“I was ill-tempered yesterday and quite unreasonable. I am not used to being one of a crowd and I didn’t like to think of myself as just one of the people you help. And yet, that you help everyone in need is one of the things I like most about you.”
It wasn’t easy to say, but at least she’d surprised him. His gaze lingered on her face. “You do apologies very well,” he acknowledged. “But in this case at least, there is no need. No offence was taken. In fact, I thought it was my interference which irritated you.”
“Perhaps it did. I can be quite bad tempered.”
His lips quirked. “And sweet-natured.”
Warmth rushed upon her, at the same time as sadness. She looked away. “I’m not. I wish you didn’t have these illusions about me.” Now was her moment to tell him about Vernon, to explain that nothing had ever happened between them beyond a flirtation that she had no desire to repeat. That she didn’t want him here, that he meant nothing to her.
The Wicked Lady (Blackhaven Brides Book 2) Page 15
