“Has Colin told you much of Lofton?” he asked.
“He has said very little, in truth. I sensed it, and some of what Jane related yesterday confirmed me in my belief.”
The carriage pulled to a stop some half an hour later, and the man opened the door. “You may wait in here or out there, if you wish.”
“I would be happy to stretch my legs, if you think it safe.”
“It had better be safe,” he said, scanning the scene around them. She joined him in surveying the beautiful landscape of mostly flat, grassy fields. There was a hint of sea air in the warm breeze. She would have enjoyed it greatly—if only her cousin and husband were not with that dangerous man.
“Is this Lofton’s estate or does it belong to my husband’s family?”
“You are standing on Shelton land, and beyond that rise is Lofton’s property. We wait here for a signal.”
“Do you not think Lofton will expect my husband? He knows we are very close.”
“He might, but I suspect his interest lies more in Wetherby’s fortune than his daughter.”
“Yes, I would hope for much better for Jane.”
“What of yourself?” he surprised her by asking.
“I believe it is too late or too premature to be asking me such a question.”
“I beg your pardon. It was unconscionably rude of me to ask.”
“You are concerned for Colin. I understand. I hope to be a good wife. I was to be a governess, did you know?”
“I do not pity him.” He smiled at her, and she blushed.
“Forgive me—are you married?”
“I was. I lost my wife in childbirth.”
“I am very sorry. Now it is I who am rude.”
“Do not be. It was the logical next question. I have a beautiful daughter. You may greet your new niece after we have rescued Lady Jane.”
“You are Colin’s brother?” she asked in astonishment.
“In the flesh.” He took off his hat and bowed. “I am Falteroy, William Shelton. My brother intentionally did not introduce us at the wedding to protect you and Lady Jane. He was concerned she would mention my presence to Lofton.”
“You are helping Colin?”
A long, low whistle sounded across the hill. Falteroy held up a finger to his lips as he tilted his head. “I believe that was my signal. Stay here until I return.”
He returned a loud whistle, and a groom on a horse came galloping to him. The servant jumped down and assisted Falteroy into the saddle. He was quickly mounted and away, jumping over a stone wall before she could comprehend all he had said.
Chapter Eight
Jane sat on the floor of the bedroom she had been locked in, her legs curled up to her chest, rocking back and forth as she had done as a child. She had heard the sounds of a rider arrive. She desperately wished it to be her father, yet she feared he was likely headed north.
Although she had been offered nourishment in the form of some cold meat, she had been unable to contemplate a single bite. She had not slept either. Fear of what her future might hold churned and roiled in her stomach, keeping her wide awake and unwilling to broach so much as a morsel.
She had toyed with jumping from the balcony of her room, but she was not certain she would live through the fall when she had looked down from the window over the garden. She did not wish to die, but she would rather that than be shackled to Lofton for life. How she wished she had a dagger, so she could thrust it into him!
“How dare he! How dare he!” she muttered fiercely to herself, the anger beginning to smother some of her fear.
She pushed up from the floor and listened. It seemed an age since the horse had clattered up the drive. Perhaps the rider was not, after all, her father. Did he know where to come? Would they ever find her? She wandered over to an ornate looking glass and grimaced at her reflection. Who would want her now? Her face was swollen, her cut lip was black and crusted with blood, and her hair was in total disarray. She resembled a prize-fighter.
“Lady Jane?”
The deep voice came from behind her. She spun around to see a gentleman in riding attire standing before her in front of the window.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” She had not heard a sound until he spoke.
“I was at your cousin’s wedding,” he said calmly as he removed his hat.
“Ah, yes. I do not believe we were introduced.” She was acting as if she was at an afternoon tea party, though she did relax somewhat.
“I am Colonel Shelton’s brother. Please come with me. We do not have time for small talk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Too many questions, my dearest. Would you rather stay here and take your chances with your host?”
“No, but how do I know I may trust you?”
“It is me or Lofton, whom you already know to be unscrupulous and dangerous.”
He held out his hand, and she took it. It was warm, strong, and sure. A cautionary finger to his lips, he led her onto the balcony, where he had tied a rope to the balustrade. He swung himself over the side and held out his hand for her.
“I am to climb down?” she whispered.
“If you prefer, but I had planned to hold you.”
She paused for a moment, then nodded. She was terrified of heights and prayed she was not leaving this prison for a worse fate.
She climbed over the balustrade and felt his arm wrap around her, holding her tight against his muscled body while, with the rope twisted between his boots, he used his free hand to control their descent. As soon as their feet hit the ground, he grabbed her hand and they flew across a sweep of lawn at a run. She was soon gasping for breath and struggling to keep pace with his long stride.
“Wait! Please!”
For perhaps ten seconds, he slowed. Without warning, he bent and gathered her into his arms again before hastening on. Time seemed to lose meaning until she found herself sitting on an enormous bay horse. Her escort jumped up behind her and urged the great beast into a gallop. Trees, hedges, and streams all flashed by. He took a wall with incredible speed, and she had to close her eyes.
At last, he slowed down, and she could breathe again. She turned to look at him and was shocked by the awareness she felt from being near him—his breath on her neck, the stubble on his face, his light grey eyes piercing into hers.
“If Colin has not killed Lofton, he will answer to me,” he said as he gently fingered the skin around her swollen, bruised lip.
She looked away, disconcerted by the heat rising within her.
“Am I to know where we are going?”
“To your cousin, and then to my house.”
“Emma? Emma is here?” she asked with relief.
“Emma has been with you the entire time,” he instructed.
“Yes, of course she has. I am very grateful to you, sir.”
He drew the horse to a halt beside a coach and four, which waited in the lane on the other side of a crooked gate. Helped from the saddle by her escort, Jane saw Emma descend from the vehicle. Without a word, she ran into her cousin’s arms.
“Write the note, Wetherby, or your precious daughter dies with her name slandered!” Lofton commanded as he held the sharp tip of a dagger to Wetherby’s throat.
Colin could not wait much longer for his brother to return. He gripped his pistol tightly in anticipation. He vastly preferred to have William as support, but he was growing concerned Lofton would lose control and slit Wetherby’s throat.
At last, he saw his brother’s face appear at the window of the study behind Lofton. William nodded. Colin returned the nod from his post behind the curtains and saw his brother move away before he pulled the trigger.
The dagger flew out of Lofton’s hand, and he grabbed his wounded arm. At the same moment, William leaped through the terrace doors into the room and pinned the viscount to the wall.
Wheezing stertorously, Lord Wetherby sank into a chair and grasped his neck. Having ascertained the earl
was not badly harmed, Colin went to his brother’s aid and to see how severely Lofton’s arm was damaged. Considered a crack shot by his fellow officers, Colin had aimed merely to scratch. Fortunately, the pistol had fired true, and he had succeeded. He did not want Lofton to die easily. Colin untied his neck cloth and wrapped the wound as William continued to hold him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lofton bellowed.
“We could ask you the same,” William replied. “Or is it common practice for you to hold an earl at knife point? Or to kidnap his daughter?”
“She came willingly,” Lofton said coolly.
Breathing more easily and having recovered some of his composure, Wetherby rose to his feet. “Your game is finished, Lofton. We have evidence of your treason and proof you committed the murder of Lieutenant Standrich.” He looked to Colin, who pulled the incriminating evidence from his pocket and threw it on the desk.
“I admit to nothing,” Lofton sneered.
“You wish to be tried in front of your peers?” Wetherby asked.
“There is nothing to try me for. You are fools if you believe it will even make it to a hearing.”
“You are suffering from delusions,” William said. “In addition to a high-ranking colonel, you have two peers, who are in direct service to the Crown, willing to testify against you.”
“If you persist with this absurdity, allow me to remove to the Continent and live out my days in exile,” Lofton suggested. He seemed remarkably calm.
“I might have considered such an arrangement if you had not chosen to play me for a fool and threaten my daughter’s life,” Wetherby exclaimed.
“Very well. I concede that was a poor move on my part. Challenge me to a duel and settle this the gentlemanly way—if you have the stomach for it!”
“You are no gentleman.” Wetherby pulled back his shoulders and stalked across the worn carpet until he stood almost nose-to-nose with the viscount. Withdrawing a tan leather riding glove from his pocket, he slapped Lofton across the face and, seconds later, planted a punch on his nose worthy of a Corinthian at Jackson’s Saloon.
“I believe a confession in writing will suit the purpose,” Colin suggested before the two men became embroiled in a vulgar brawl. He wanted unadulterated proof to clear Lieutenant Standrich’s name.
“Ah, yes, a timely reminder, Colonel. I get ahead of myself,” Wetherby said, rubbing his hand, yet looking somewhat pleased with himself. Lofton’s nose was already swelling, and blood was running down his face, dripping scarlet on his crumpled neck cloth.
William shoved Lofton roughly into the armchair behind the heavy library table, continuing to hold the viscount’s hands behind his back.
Colin aimed the gun at Lofton. “I am only here for motivation,” he remarked, lifting the muzzle in a deliberately threatening manner.
Wetherby placed the pen in Lofton’s hand and directed it towards the paper the blackguard had been attempting to force him to write on.
“What would you have me write, my esteemed comrade?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“The truth. Nothing more, nothing less,” Colin answered in clipped tones.
“I am not certain the truth is necessary. What is it you require in order to clear your puppy-faced lieutenant’s name?”
Without warning, William snapped Lofton’s head back. “Start writing, now!” he growled.
A flicker of pain passed across the viscount’s bloodied visage, but he merely laughed, a sound of bitter contempt.
“Is that any way to treat a brother-in-law?” he asked, with a haughty curl of his lip.
“You are no brother of mine,” William retorted.
Arrogant to the last, Lofton raised a supercilious eyebrow but began to write, nevertheless. His hand travelled back and forth across the page for perhaps four or five minutes. When he had finished, he held it up for Colin to view.
“I trust this will suffice, Colonel Shelton?” His tone and demeanour mocked them all.
Colin tore the paper from the man’s hand. It was more detailed and painful to read than he would ever admit in front of Lofton, who, he did not doubt for a second, had embellished the report for his benefit. Colin refused to give him the satisfaction of showing emotion.
“How do you wish to proceed?” William asked Lord Wetherby.
“Grant me one request,” Lofton interceded before the earl could answer. “I wish you would recount this enchanting tale to my niece when she is old enough to understand why she has no more living relatives on her mother’s side.”
Such sentiments might have aided his defence had he not spoken with such disdain, Colin thought with disgust. He was undoubtedly about to be handed over for trial.
“I do believe that is the first honourable statement I have ever heard from your lips. Whether or not it is truly for my daughter’s sake or for yours, I refuse to ponder,” William said.
Wetherby coughed and lifted an imperious hand. “Very well. If you gentlemen will kindly leave me your pistols and wait outside, I would like a private word with the viscount.”
“Is that wise? Are you certain you wish to remain in the room alone with him?” William asked.
“No, but I do not trust him not to run away. He is a Peer of the Realm and, as such, deserves the chance to make amends.”
Making no secret of their reluctance, Colin and William did as directed by their superior.
“I abhor the fact he is allowed to take the honourable course,” Colin said.
“I agree, but consider Evangeline. And Lady Jane,” William countered.
“And even Emma. I could not ask her to suffer the notoriety a trial would bring. Nonetheless, he does not deserve the coward’s way out.”
There was a chilling silence from within the room, and then came the hideous, deafening report of a gun being discharged. Colin flinched. The sound never got any easier to bear. He glanced at William and read the same response in his expression.
“Do you think he . . .?” Colin began to ask, but William held up his hand.
“I think it better not to know,” he said, quietly opening the door. The body of Viscount Lofton lay slumped across the desk, a pool of blood seeping in gruesome avowal. One arm hung limply towards the floor and on the carpet, inches from his fingers, lay the empty pistol. Lord Wetherby stood before the fireplace, his back to the room and his head bowed, his very posture one of horror and sorrow.
Chapter Nine
When the men finally returned to the Shelton estate and entered the house, Emma and Jane immediately ran to them. Jane threw her arms around her father, who was still visibly shaken. Emma felt the urge to do the same to her husband, but she held back. She did walk over to him, and he reached out his hand towards her. She put her palm in his and looked up at him.
“Lofton is dead,” Colin said softly.
“Why do I not feel more relieved?” Emma said sadly.
“There was no happy ending to this situation. Now two men are dead.”
“How did it happen? Are any of you hurt?” Jane asked. She pulled back to inspect her father and then the other men.
“We are all unharmed,” Lord Wetherby said quietly. “I think it best if we not discuss Lofton’s death. Shelton, Falteroy, and I will deal with the authorities.”
“What of Christopher?” Emma asked.
“Lofton signed a confession before he died,” Colin answered.
“Thank heavens.” Emma sighed. A great burden lifted from her heart.
“I believe I would like to rest, if you can spare a room, Falteroy,” Lord Wetherby remarked. He looked exhausted.
“Yes, of course. Everyone is welcome. I will call the housekeeper to show you to your chambers and order baths.”
Jane and her uncle both accepted the offer of a room and bath. When they had been shown out, Colin turned to her.
“Would you like to rest, as well?”
“I do not think I could. I was able to sleep a little in the carriage. You must be exh
austed, however. I doubt you slept.”
“I did not, but I could not sleep now. Would you walk with me?” he asked, holding out his arm to her.
She laid her fingers on his arm, and he led her out into the gardens. They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes before they stopped at a point overlooking the marshes. The wind whipped at Emma’s dress and bonnet as she held her face to the sun.
“It is beautiful,” she said.
“I did not think so when I was growing up here, but I found myself longing for it after I left. I suppose knowing it would never be mine did not endear it to me.”
“What is Newton Park like?”
“It is a charming property. Once the house is redecorated to your liking, I think you will find it pleasing. The house is situated in a meadow, surrounded by rolling hills.”
“I am sure it will be lovely.”
“Emma, I owe you some explanations,” Colin said, looking her in the eye.
“You do not.”
“I do. I owe you the truth, even though the dishonesty was for a good cause.”
She remained silent.
“William and I have been working for years to catch Lofton. We long suspected his nefarious activities—but I get ahead of myself and shall start at the beginning.
“I believed myself in love with Lofton’s sister, Cassie. I was a young officer and was sent away to the Continent. In those days, Lofton was also a second son and a year younger than I. He was placed under my authority as a young lieutenant, much like your brother was. However, unlike your brother, Lofton was constantly in trouble, and I grew tired of his gambling debts and of bear-leading him. We were home on leave together one time, and I spoke with his father about transferring him to another unit. I felt it would do him good to be under someone he could not take advantage of. His father agreed. Melvyn was furious with me and, of course, blamed me for everything.”
Emma remained quiet.
“The next morning, my dogs were found brutally killed—and there was evidence of Lofton having been at the scene. His handkerchief was there, covered in blood.”
A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Page 6
