Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  Matthews left to do his bidding and Le Clere grinned up at Eleanor. “You see, my lady, I amassed quite a fortune from Beauworth during the war, but Garrick managed to upset my plans.” His laugh was harsh and sounded more than a little crazed. “I moved all my money to the Continent.” The old man’s voice lowered to a mutter. “France is ruined. I am ruined.”

  The door opened with a soft click. He raised his voice, but didn’t turn around. “But what we did before, we can do again, isn’t that right, Matthews?”

  The door swung back. “I’m afraid, Le Clere, that Matthews is otherwise detained.”

  “Garrick.” Eleanor reeled at the sound of her husband’s voice. It was really Garrick, looking like Dodds, without the patch and the limp. A sob of joy rose in her throat. She started forwards, wanting the feel of his arms around her, wanting to touch him to be certain it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks.

  “Hold,” Le Clere said, grabbing her. He hooked an arm around her throat. He pressed his pistol against her temple.

  Garrick cursed.

  Eleanor could not take her gaze from his dear face. Garrick had come home. Tears ran down her face. He was alive.

  “Well, nephew,” Le Clere said with a sneer, “I heard you were dead.”

  Garrick nodded, his face grim, the lines beside his mouth deepening. “I knew it would bring you out of whatever hole you had crawled into. I must say, though, I would never have recognised you.”

  “An unlucky bullet the day you betrayed me. It hit my spine. I have not walked upright since. I should never have let you take her across the field.”

  ———

  From the wild look in the old man’s eye, Garrick judged him capable of anything, even the murder of an innocent woman. There was no doubt in his mind. Le Clere was quite mad.

  “Drop your weapon and kneel down, Garrick.”

  He should have waited for Dan, but his fears for Ellie had scrambled his wits. “Go to hell.”

  Le Clere’s lips drew back in the grimace of a smile and he jammed the pistol harder against Eleanor’s temple. Her repressed gasp told Garrick he’d hurt her. No more. He’d done her far too much ill already. He threw the pistol to one side and, with one hand on the arm of the chair, sank to his knees, praying his men would arrive soon.

  “That’s so much better.” Le Clere’s grin was sly. “I hate looking up at anyone.”

  “Let her go. Your quarrel is with me.”

  “But you don’t understand, Garrick, she is with child. Your heir.”

  He kept his face blank, despite the roar of blood in his ears. “I know. So?”

  “Sadly, you were spoiled by the time you came under my authority. I had thought that without your mother’s influence, you would settle down. Hence, I disposed of her. But you proved uncontrollable. This newest addition to the Beauworth family will learn obedience. This one will know his master.”

  By his own admission, this man had killed his mother. Anger raged inside him like a beast that refused to be chained. His vision narrowed. All he could see was Le Clere’s leering face. He clenched his fists, ready to launch himself forwards.

  Ellie. He was pointing the pistol at Ellie. Garrick took a deep breath. Then another until the beast subsided. He would not risk Ellie’s life to satisfy his lust for blood.

  Le Clere, watching him closely, nodded. “Thought better of it, eh, Garrick? You always were a coward.” He shifted his aim to Garrick. “You always tried to save your own neck. Well, it won’t work this time, dear boy.”

  Garrick gritted his teeth and fought for control. If he could just get Le Clere further away from Ellie, he could give the signal to his men. “I’m not your dear boy. I never was.”

  “True.” The old man grimaced. “I must say I was shocked when I heard of your activities in France.”

  Ellie fiddled with her cloak, as if looking for somewhere to lay it down.

  Garrick’s hackles rose. He kept his face blank and glared at his uncle. “You know nothing of my activities.”

  “No? I heard secrets exchanged hands. I sold a few myself. Had to recoup my losses somehow. Not that the bastards paid me very much.”

  Ellie leaned against the back of a sofa, her free hand fussing with the cloak’s folds, which looked strangely stiff. A long, dark object fell to the floor. Oh, no. She couldn’t have.

  “I, on the other hand, made a fortune,” Garrick said, watching his wife from the corner of his eye.

  The old man leered. “And it will all be mine.”

  As Ellie shifted, Garrick blinked at the flash of steel she let him see. Blood buzzed in his ears. Damn her. If she missed, someone was going to die.

  There was no stopping her, he could see it in her face. And she trusted him to follow her lead. He glared at Le Clere and made as if to rise.

  The old man tightened his grip on the pistol. “Are you so ready to die?”

  Ellie let the cloak drop, the blade clutched in her fist behind the sofa. A sword against a pistol. Utter madness. But she’d done it before.

  He needed to keep Le Clere looking his way. “You whoreson. You won’t get away with this.”

  Le Clere took aim. “Now then, Garrick, such language in the presence of a lady.” He sounded almost jocular.

  Garrick got a firm grip on the chair. “She is not the lady you think her.” His voice was hoarse, hating the thought of the pain she’d endure.

  Le Clere grinned. “I guessed as much.”

  One quick step. Her arm came up. The hilt arced. The pistol discharged into the ceiling with a puff of smoke, a deafening roar and a rain of plaster. She threw the sword, hilt first, to Garrick.

  He plucked the weapon from the air. “She’s Lady Moonlight.” He pricked Le Clere’s throat before he could so much as blink, watching the trickle of blood run down his neck with supreme satisfaction.

  The door sprang open. His men charged through. Ellie looked terrified. She backed against the wall, her gaze fixed on him. She must think they were Le Clere’s men.

  Dan clambered in through the window, pistol at the ready, his expression furious. He pointed his pistol at Le Clere and the old man put up an arm to shield his face.

  “Why the hell didn’t you wait?” Dan said.

  “Give me a moment.” Garrick crossed the room to where Ellie stood rigid, unsure whether to kiss her or to shake her for taking such a risk. Neither seemed appropriate from the fearful expression on her face.

  “You idiot,” he said instead. He lifted her hand, pulled off her cotton glove and looked at her bloody palm. “You were lucky. I don’t think you will need stitches.” He tied it up with his handkerchief.

  “I’m all right, or I will be, when you tell me what is going on,” she croaked. “Who are these men?”

  Some of the men were speaking French. After what his uncle had said, no wonder she looked horrified.

  “Not all Frenchmen are loyal to Napoleon. I’m sorry, chérie, I can’t talk now. Some of Le Clere’s henchmen are still on the loose. Captain Smith will see you get home.”

  He turned to survey the room. Le Clere was already handcuffed. Matthews had been dragged in. But until he saw Le Clere safely to prison he would not feel easy.

  “Dan,” he called out, “take Lady Beauworth home.”

  ———

  And that was it. Numb, reeling, not sure what to make of what was happening, Eleanor watched him stride coldly away. It was as if what was happening in the room gave him the excuse he needed to pull away, to keep her at a distance.

  A moment later, Dan was at her side. “I have a carriage waiting outside, my lady.”

  Eleanor glanced across the room to where Garrick was issuing orders in French.

  Not Napoleon’s men. Was this the truth, or had Le Clere been right? Was it simply a smokescreen to ensure her compliance? And how did Captain Smith come to be involved?

  The captain urged her forwards, supporting her around her shoulders, leading her to the waiting carriage. One of the
recent additions to her stables jumped down from the box and opened the door. Now Garrick had accomplished his goal, heard Le Clere’s admission of guilt, would he regret being trapped into marriage? He must have known about their child and yet he’d stayed away.

  Which would be worse? Finding out he was a traitor, or losing him?

  Captain Smith handed her into the coach and gave orders to the driver in a low voice, then he returned to speak to her through the window.

  “You are quite safe now, my lady. You will be taken home.”

  “But what about Garrick?” She sounded pathetic, she knew she did, but she did not care.

  “He will come to you as soon as he can, he gives his word.”

  His word. He gives his word. It was all that sustained her on the long drive home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The case clock announced five in the morning and Eleanor pulled back the edge of the drawing-room drapes. No word from Garrick. She rubbed her arms, trying to maintain some warmth in her limbs. The fire in the hearth had died long ago.

  If he was not a traitor to England, he would have revealed his presence instead of skulking in her stables for weeks on end. Or would he? She still found it hard to believe he would betray his country. Nevertheless, she had sent the scullery maid back to bed when she had come to light the fire just a few minutes ago. She didn’t want the servants seeing him and talking.

  If he came.

  She heard a noise in the entrance hall and ran to see. Garrick was already climbing the stairs. He turned when he heard the drawing-room door open.

  He had changed his clothes. His hair was still impossibly short, but the scruffy beard was gone and she had no trouble recognising her husband.

  “Ellie, I didn’t expect to find you awake.” He spoke softly and came back down to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

  “You expected me to sleep?” She pushed him away.

  “I thought we would talk tomorrow.” A gentle smile curved his lips, his gaze dropping to her stomach. “You need your rest.”

  “Will you be here tomorrow? For months, you let me think you were dead.” Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. “I have to know why.”

  His expression filled with doubt, then he nodded. He took her hand and led her back into the drawing room.

  “It’s cold in here,” he said, looking at the empty grate. “No wonder your hands are like ice.” He sat opposite her and leaned back negligently. “What would you like to know?”

  There it was again, the withdrawal. The feeling he didn’t want her involved in his life. “Everything. Start with tonight.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “Tonight was almost a disaster. I had sworn to bring Le Clere to justice for his part in what he did to you. He admitted it all to the magistrate just now. How he made me believe I killed my mother. How he drained the estate year by year after her death.”

  “The man was evil.”

  He looked up as if surprised at her vehemence, then returned his gaze to the empty fire.

  “I knew Le Clere would never give up, not once he heard you were with child and I was dead. I used you as bait.” He paused, as if expecting a reaction. When she said nothing, he went on.

  “I persuaded Dan to get me and my men into this house so I could be close to you.” He chuckled slightly. “I thought you had recognised me that first day, and I thanked my lucky stars for that evil cough left over from the Dutch prison. I have never seen such a look of disgust as on your face.”

  He glowered. “I almost missed you when you slipped out tonight. We had no idea you’d had contact with him. It must have been during that damnable walk in the park. I couldn’t leave the horses.” He looked at her for confirmation and she nodded. “If I hadn’t known that walk of yours, the determined tilt of your chin, I might not have guessed who you were tonight.”

  He frowned. “You risked my child.” He brushed his knuckles down the line of her jaw. “I would have been at pointe non plus right now if you had not stopped under the light.”

  Guilt clenched her stomach. He was right. She had risked their child. She hadn’t given it a thought. All she could think of was Garrick. She should have known something was wrong. Impetuosity always had been her downfall. “Thank God you did know it was me.”

  His eyebrow flew up.

  “But Garrick, Le Clere said you sold secrets to the French. And those men?” The catch in her voice betrayed her efforts to appear calm. “Who were they?”

  “The two men Dan placed here are from my old regiment. Known as “sweeps”, they do all of the army’s dirty work. Reconnoitring, spying, cleaning up the messes left by the redcoats. The Frenchmen are friends of mine. They followed Le Clere from France and had the inn surrounded before we arrived. I thought I could handle Le Clere alone. They were waiting outside for a signal from me.”

  His mouth quirked up in the cynical smile she had realised he used to hide his feelings. “It was very nearly a bullet in my brain that brought them in on us.”

  She couldn’t prevent a shudder.

  He looked at her as if surprised. “Would you have cared, mignonette?”

  “How can you ask? How did you come to be involved with these men? Frenchmen, Garrick.”

  He hesitated, his eyes shuttered against her. Her heart sank. What web of lies would he spin?

  “Chérie,” he answered, soft and low, “these are not my secrets to tell.”

  “I am your wife. If you can’t trust me, there is no more to be said.” She started to rise.

  “What then, ma perle? Will you send me away again?” He sounded bitter.

  It was hopeless. She began to move away, but his low voice continued and she sank back down. He was staring at the hearth as if seeing events unfolding in the cold ashes.

  “I bought a commission in a regiment after I saw you at Castlefield, as you probably know. The Ninety-Fifth. It’s not one of the most glamorous regiments and the work is dangerous. It suited my mood.”

  He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees. “You know what I feared I had done.”

  “You are innocent. William has the letter. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. Sissy told Dan and he told me.”

  She thought he’d be pleased, but it seemed to make him sadder, more remote as if he was already lost to her. Could she blame him? After all, she had trapped him in a marriage he didn’t want. She wanted to reached out, but didn’t dare, kept her hands clenched in her lap.

  “You saw Le Clere. That blood runs in my veins.” He looked sickened. “I hoped I would be killed and end the damned curse. Indeed, when I first joined the regiment I cared so little for my own safety, men called me the mad Marquess.” He smiled, but there was no joy in it, just bleak satisfaction.

  She shivered.

  “I liked army life. The danger kept my mind off other things.”

  “What things?” It was foolish to ask, and she couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.

  He glanced up. “You.” It was said so simply, without anger or accusation, that she felt his pain. She forced herself to remain still, much as she wanted to kneel at his feet and beg forgiveness.

  Once more he sat silent and gathered his thoughts, staring into the past. Finally, he continued in the same low tone.

  “Then the rumours started. I’d ruined a virtuous lady. Beaten a youth to within an inch of his life. They were muttered behind my back, and sometimes hinted at to my face. Slowly, my friends among my brother officers dwindled away. They believed it. No smoke without fire, eh, chérie?”

  She winced. He would never forgive William for starting those rumours or her for believing them. How could he? If only she’d trusted her heart. “Go on.”

  “During that time my French background came to the attention of a certain man on the general’s staff. You will forgive me if I do not give you his name. The fact that I had little care for my own personal safety also suited his plans. Briefly, I was recruited as a spy, but not by the
French.” He smiled grimly. “For England. I was honoured to be chosen. It was, and is, a very important task. But it has some drawbacks.” He laughed softly.

  Wishing she could comfort him, Eleanor reached out. He saw her hand, but didn’t take it, keeping his gaze fixed on the fireplace as if he couldn’t bear to look at her face.

  “It was the hardest thing I ever had to do…almost.” He gave her a look of such raw agony, she knew instinctively he was referring to the day he had walked away from Castlefield Hall. Her heart shrank painfully small. She felt his hurt with pain of her own. The pain of regret.

  “I sold out. Complained I’d been passed over for promotion.” He shook his head. “My fellow officers suspected me of more cowardice. All but Dan, poor lad, cut me dead.” This time his smile was warm.

  “I became a malcontent. Half-French, bitter at England and highly placed. The perfect material for use by England’s enemy. Unfortunately, I was seen in France by a captured English officer. More rumours made the rounds. Not a bad thing as a smokescreen, but if I became a pariah, I would lose my usefulness to the French. We arranged for the Prince of Wales to befriend me—after all, who would speak out against Prinny’s closest companion without proof? The French were delighted with the development. The Prince thought it a great joke. Able to move freely in France, I rallied the few remaining loyalists. Some of whom you saw tonight. I still hold the rank of Major in the British army. Not that it will ever be acknowledged.”

  That hurt him. She could hear it in his voice. “Garrick, I—”

  He winced and held up his hand, his face stark, his eyes clouded by inner storms. “As a spy, I had access to many resources, here and abroad. I discovered your brother was the source of the rumours about what I had done to you. It didn’t come as a surprise. I was just glad he never let fall your name. For that I would have been forced to take his life.”

  The chill determination in his face sent a shiver down her back.

  He took a deep breath, as if forcing himself to go on. “Over the years, I thought about the letter’s disappearance.” He laughed, a bitter, self-disparaging sound. “I’m such a bloody romantic, I thought you’d tried to save my worthless skin by hiding it.”